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covetyou · 4 months

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when we begin again

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dub-con (reader was paying a debt, less so now), oral (f receiving), fingering, masturbation, thigh slaps (three small ones), small description of a hand injury, cumplay/cumshot/cum marking, praise kink, maybe Joel has a bit of a pain kink idk, possessive slutty Joel, derogatory names ("whore"), drug reference, unspecified age gap word count: 4.1k summary: He wasn't one to lick his wounds, but after a deal gone wrong Joel finds something he'd much rather put his mouth on.

A/N: and here we be, the first of the SWAT oneshots that serves as a sort of bridge between the main series and the few ideas I have brewing and ready to go. This is a whole re-write in less than 24 hours because the original fic I was almost finished with felt too me and not enough SWAT. no one needs sad girl monologuing about life and death and grief with their porn. you're welcome.

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"Hrrrmph!"

Joel's lips crash into yours the moment you step inside. One moment he's running an anxious hand through his graying hair, and the next he's making quick work of the space between you, striding across the floor to grab you and plant his lips firmly on yours.

It's not what you'd come here for, funnily enough. You wanted to talk and, glorious as it was to have your lips against his, you couldn't talk like this.

Wretching yourself away is stupid. After everything you know it's stupid, yet you do it anyway.

"Joel -"

Cupping your head in his hands his lips find yours again before you can get another word out, teeth knocking together as he licks into your mouth, and you briefly lose yourself, turning to putty in his arms, ready to sculpt into whatever he sees fit that day. Before the bonelessness takes hold completely, you pull back once more.

Searching his face you look for the sudden need, the sudden rush, the desire to kiss you and have your face in his hands that hadn't been there any other time until now. You see nothing, his dark eyes refusing to meet yours as his hands find themselves at the front of your pants, deftly unbuttoning them before you can even question him. Before he can unzip them, your hands find his, holding him gently in place.

Joel freezes, hands stilling on your zipper, and he pulls a small, sharp breath of air in through his nose as if you hurt him, wounded him by daring to slow him down.

"You want me to stop?" he growls.

"No, I just -"

"Then quit your complainin'."

You do. Briefly. Until the zip snags as he pulls on it again and he curses in frustration.

"Let me do it." Until last time, which wasn't really like any other time, he'd always asked you to strip yourself, made you strip in front of him before he touched out. His clumsy hands on your clothes felt alien, and as it was he was being too slow, even in his desperation.

"You not want me to touch you or somethin'?" he snaps, frowning down at your pants now as he fiddles with the zipper, trying to get it to budge.

"I never said that."

"Then quit your fuckin' complainin'."

And this time you really do when you finally see the tremble in his hands and the blood on his knuckles, and it occurs to you that maybe you did hurt him, that grabbing his hand to stop his frantic movement caused him pain.

Joel hadn't been in a rush before you got here. He'd been the opposite, pacing the floor, willing himself to slow down, calm down. And it had been working - each turn he could feel himself relaxing, all the pent up energy from a deal gone to absolute shit steadily leaving his bones. But your delicate knock on the door had sent his blood boiling in a different way. He'd fought with himself to ignore it, to tell you through the door to fuck off for another day, but the idea of something warm and wet and compliant to soothe his aches and pains was too enticing to pass up. Making you in particular moan and writhe and give in to him was even more impossible to let go. In the end, the door had practically let you in all on its own.

So when his hands pull at your zipper again, yanking it in frustration, you will it down, beg with your mind for it to not snag again, and you sigh with relief when it doesn't.

In one fluid movement your pants are unceremoniously pulled to your knees, and Joel is crowding you back against his dining table, rough and aching hands on your hips to guide you. Your exposed ass collides with the solid wood, and he's pressing into you, the hardening lump in the front of his jeans poking into the softness of your belly. You can feel the frustration in him and how it twitches through his fingertips, swells in his cock, and each time you feel how the need wins out over frustration as he grinds into you, latching him onto you as his veins hunt for some kind of relief.

Another yank of your jeans and he's pulled them to your ankles, stepping on them as he pushes you to sit on the table. Your jeans stay behind, dragging your shoes from your feet with a dull thud, and Joel kicks them away. Winters in Boston are bitter, none moreso than this one, and your frozen ass barely registers the feeling of the wooden surface as you sit on it, still kitted out in your hat, coat and gloves. When you move to pull them off his hand pushes between your breasts, knocking you back onto the table. A second later there's a harsh scrape of a chair across the floor and, just as you manage to tug one glove off, he's yanking you down the table toward him.

You sit up and look down where he sits between your legs, enraptured by the softness of your skin beneath hands that glide up and down your thighs, gripping and squeezing the soft flesh more gently than the wounds on his knuckles suggest he's capable of. He's holding off, you realize then as you watch his hands, trying to slow himself from taking what he needs.

Tossing your hat to the side you lift your hips, shimmying your panties down just enough for Joel's fingers to work them down the rest of the way. Sitting back in his chair he looks between your legs, and you know that he can see what you've been feeling since you stepped onto his street. By this point, the response was Pavlovian. Each step closer to Joel's apartment you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your cheeks feeling hotter and hotter. You wonder if one day he'd stop having this affect on you, or if he'd stop responding to it exactly how you knew he would, but with a knowing quirk in his brow, you know that day is not today.

"Fuck me, sweetheart. You sure no one else been down here today?"

Shaking your head, you manage one more look at him before he's pulling your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders and diving into your slick folds with a firm lick.

"N-no," you gasp, bucking slightly into his face with your legs spread over his broad shoulders. He should know that you haven't, that you wouldn't, but you think he just needs to hear the confirmation, needs to know that this thing in front of him right now is just his for the taking, and so you let him have it. "Haven't even touched myself today."

He moans into your cunt, cold nose pressing into the softness of your mound as his tongue laps and laves you. With a slurp, having cleaned up the arousal that had leaked out of you on your way here, he looks up at you, ticking his head to the side and nodding down to your bare pussy. "Well, shit, looks like all o' this is just for me, huh?"

There's no air left in your lungs for you to respond when his tongue circles your clit and makes you groan into the cold air. Whatever he needs, if this is how he was going to take it, you were damn well going to let him take everything you had.

And so, pinning you to the table he begins to devour your cunt, licking messily all over you, coating you in his saliva. He pulls you open with his arms hooked over your thighs, spreading your lips further for him. The chill hits you for just one second when you're fully spread to the cold air, but his mouth soon descends on you and all you can see are his eyes and the curve of his nose, his mouth hidden as he buries it into you.

You shuffle your jacket off, the room suddenly feeling much warmer than when you first entered it, and earn yourself a small slap to your thigh, making you squeak out a yelp of surprise, when Joel's mouth involuntarily pulls from your cunt.

"You gonna keep still? Or you gonna keep fuckin' wrigglin'?"

You shift again, biting your cheek as you test him. Channelling his energy into eating your cunt is working wonders for him and he seems calmer already, but that doesn't stop him lightly slapping your thigh again, shooting a warning look up at you.

"Got a way to keep you still if you can't fuckin' do it by yourself, sweetheart," he warns and, as if sensing you're about to test him again, he unhooks one arm from you and pushes a finger straight into your wet heat.

You moan, gasping again when he sucks your clit for good measure.

"Huh?" He's coaxing you, trying to get you to wiggle again and earn yourself another surprise. Not one to push your luck you simply moan, letting your back arch slightly when he begins to move his finger inside you. "What was that?"

"Fu-nothing. Just - fuck - so good."

You mind is liquid, seeping out of your ears and making a mess of your jacket when he licks you again, dancing the tip of two fingers around your entrance before sliding both into you. If it hurts him, he doesn't let on, but you can tell it does something to him by the groan he makes into your cunt as his fingers curl in you, making your walls clamp and twitch around his fingers.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Like gettin' this pussy ate, don't you?"

"Mm."

"Thought so. Needy fuckin' pussy. Not just your mouth that wants to be kissed is it, she needs it too?"

"Oh god, yes please, she needs it too."

And you can feel it, the moment he switches from eating your cunt to kissing it. You know the shapes, the trails he kisses, the way his tongue dances. You'd committed it to memory the past week, made yourself come at the thought of his mouth, the scratch of his beard, the feel of him beneath your fingertips, touching him as much as he was touching you. His mouth and the memory work together then, bringing you so impossibly close to coming you can feel as your moans leave you more high pitched, how you push into him, chasing and chasing that feeling that's right there -

"See," he says, stopping your orgasm in it's tracks when he pulls back, a knowing smile on his face. He pushes another finger into you too, watching as your legs twitch open wider to take him, the rim of your pussy spreading across his fingers with slicked up ease. "Don't even gotta stuff your mouth, just gotta keep this thing right here stuffed and suddenly you're actin' all nice and polite."

There's a brief hope in you that he'll go for a fourth finger, stretch you out across his sore knuckles and ready you for his hard cock, but the hope fizzles away, cast to the side and forgotten, the second his mouth joins his hand back between your thighs.

You're almost there again already, the crest of the orgasm he stole from you a moment ago barely behind you. His tongue laps rhythmically, never ceasing, and his breaths come in heavy, fanning across your folds as he feasts on you, fingers pumping so deep you're sloshing around them. You're hot, so impossibly hot in spite of the cold. You want to shed more layers, bare yourself for him, but you're so close and he's getting you there fast, goading you on with each satisfied groan into your cunt.

"That's it," he mumbles into your twitching pussy. "Fuck that's it sweetheart, come on my fingers."

You can feel it build, Joel's mouth engulfing you and lapping at everything you have to give. The beginnings of your orgasm start to shudder through you, your legs stuttering with every flick of his tongue. Your back arches from the table, toes curling in thick socks as your heels press into his back, pushing him into you. And then it hits you.

The coil in your belly snaps, letting loose an orgasm that swamps all your senses. Held down by Joel's muscular arm and pinned by the fingers hooked in you, you buck into his mouth. Quivering thighs have clamped around his ears, attempting to draw up and pull back as you squirm in his firm grip. You're screaming too, you think, a breathy high pitched shout of his name that you just can't hold back, that gets shakier and shakier the longer it goes on.

And it does go on. Joel doesn't stop, determined to wring from you as much as he can. His fingers are locked inside of you, forced to stillness by the pulsing in your pussy. Still, he can flex them, curling his pruning fingertips into you while he tongues your clit, groaning with each twitch of it beneath his tongue. You know that sound, how it's gotten deeper and more desperate as he's devoured you. It's a sound that tells you he's hard, that he needs relief and will be desperate for it the second he pulls away from you. That thought only makes you come harder, and by the time your cunt has stopped its erratic pulsing around Joel's fingers and you've fallen limp, deaf, and winded against his table, he's already standing, pushing the chair back and letting it crash to the floor.

Dragging his fingers from you he pushes between your legs, pulling his jeans open as best he can, wincing when he rasps his knuckles on the fabric a little too harshly. You reach for him, wanting to help, wanting to be a relief for him like he is for you.

"Let me -"

But he knocks your hand away, tugging down his jeans a moment later, his cock springing free and knocking into your thigh before he can capture it in his fist. It's hot against you, burning and dripping, likely feeling as achey as his knuckles do.

You expect him to plunge into you immediately, to take advantage of the position between your thighs and your pussy still fluttering with want at the sight of him, but he doesn't. Instead you watch for a moment as he strokes himself, the bloody scrapes on his knuckles contrasting harshly with the smooth, solid plains of his cock.

"Your hand, Joel, I can -"

"Fuck, my hand," he growls, resting his unmarred hand on your though to hold you still.

Your legs fall open further, his touch light on your thigh barely applying any pressure to open you up for him. Still, he doesn't take the clear route in, and you're rocking forward trying to notch his tip on your entrance just as the rough scrape of his knuckles drags across your sensitive inner thigh.

"Please put it in me," you finally beg, needing to feel the deep stretch of his cock as it pierces you.

"Nuh-uh, sweetheart, you get what you're given and you be grateful. You gonna take it?"

"Yes," you say quickly, following on with a small, "Please."

He groans at your eagerness to please. Making a man like Joel desire you so much he can't help but moan, just with small words and gasps of your own, makes you feel a power you've never had before and your eyes just about roll back in your head.

"Use your hands, show me that hole," he demands, giving you a little space to reach down and spread yourself for him. Your pussy is leaking, still, you can feel the slick spread on your fingers as you spread yourself for him. "That's it, hold yourself open. Fuck she's still twitchin'. Fuuuck. That's it."

His strokes become longer, more fluid, as he stares at your aching, empty cunt. You still want him inside, would do anything to get him there, but the desire in his eyes tells you he's getting exactly what he wants right now, and you almost want that more.

Tilting his head back as he strokes his cock with pussy drenched fingers, his bruised knuckles rub against your cunt with every stroke. Holding yourself open is easy, but keeping your legs from snapping shut each time his fist rubs your clit feels almost impossible. As if noticing, Joel pulls back, looking down where your cunt is spread open for it.

"That's it, keep it open. Good girl."

You know you're glistening for him, he'd eaten you so fiercely his saliva had been dripping from you, mixing with your own slick as you came on his tongue. He can see the evidence of it now, and the evidence of what his words do to you at the tell tale twitch of your cunt at his praise.

You can't take it any more and you beg in desperation again. "Please put it in, please."

It does nothing but earn you another soft slap to your thigh, which he rubs, grabbing the meat of you and squeezing in his large hand as his cock twitches and drips in his damaged one.

"No," he grunts, breath coming in more ragged now. "Want you to fuckin' wear me. Know who's pussy this is?"

"Yours."

"Fuck," he hisses. "Yeah it is. Pussy's mine, sweetheart. Mine."

Gripping your thigh tighter he moves in closer again, his hand bumping your sensitive nub as he jerks so closely you slick up his knuckles, soothing the soreness and jerking your clit in tandem.

"Oh fuck, that's it, sweetheart. Keep it just like that, show me that pussy. Show me," he's saying, over and over as he watches you.

A second later he's looking up, staring straight into your eyes and pinning you there on the table with them. You nod, words stuck in your throat when all you want to scream is for him to come, to cover you in it, to claim your pussy just like he needs, just like you want.

The sneer on his lips tells you he wants it too, and before you know it his tip is pressing firmly to your clit, jerking it with every frantic movement of his fist, his hips thrusting minutely into it like he can't control it, can't hold it back any more. And neither can you. The pressure and the movement on your clit is too much and you're coming again, so soon after the first it brings tears to your eyes.

"Ohhh, f-Joel, pleasecomeonme."

Looking down where he's pressed to you, he hisses a breath in through his teeth, holding it for just one second until it pushes out of him with a deep, shakey moan, cum exploding out of his tip and coating your folds, dripping through you until the last spurt coats your mound and he's left breathless.

You flop onto the table, grateful for the padding your coat offers your bones as you collapse into the wood. He's leaning over you, finally releasing his grip on your thigh and running a thumb across his mouth, cock still in his aching fist. Using the oversensitive tip, he smears the cum into your bare cunt and the insides of your thighs, catching your eyes just in time to watch them turn from glassy to rattling in your head, your mouth in a small O when he jerks your clit with his head, making you both gasp.

"You did say this pussy was mine," he says, letting a small wry smile tug at his cheeks. He pulls back then, letting go of his spent cock to run his fingers through your cum covered folds, scooping up a drop with his thumb.

Leaning leaning over you, he swipes his cum slicked thumb against your lips. You suck on it, tasting him, salty and bitter and sweet and Joel exploding on your tongue all at once. You want to thank him for it, but he pulls your mouth open with his thumb and pushes two fingers in, making you clean them with broad soothing strokes. You're careful not to catch him with your teeth, still aware of the wounds on his knuckles as you taste yourself off of his cum soaked fingers. If his hand looks like that, you wonder what the person on the receiving end looks like - the thought shouldn't make your cunt twitch, you know it shouldn't, that it's likely sick and twisted and wrong, but it does, and you moan around his fingers just has he pulls them from your mouth.

When your eyes flick to his lips, he smirks, knowing what you want without even asking. Cupping your face with his bruised, wet fingers, he makes you look at him, waits for the desperation in your eyes to ramp up to the point of frustration before he gives it to you.

Just a peck, that's all he gives, soft lips and the tickle of his facial hair so fleeting you could have blinked and missed it, before picking up the chair with a groan and settling back in it with a deep sigh, inspecting his wrinkled fingers. They'd spent so long buried in you the tips are starting to pucker, the ache that your warmth had soothed slowly crawling back down his knuckles.

Your mind is slowly pulling itself together, slowly crawling back into your ears and taking root in your skull again. Joel's eyes scan across you before finding something apparently considerably more interesting on the floor by his dining table.

"Where the fuck you shoppin' this late in the day?" he says with a frown, and you sit up, following his gaze to the floor.

Your pants are in a tangle, a sprawled mess on the floor with your shoes from where Joel had dragged them from your body and there, next to them in a messy pile, is a small stack of cards that you'd brought with you.

"Oh."

Right. You came here to talk to him, to renegotiate your arrangement, before Joel had needed more from you than a chat in that first moment through the door and pushed all thought of conversation from your mind. You clear your throat and square your shoulders, pushing away the last haze of orgasm and look back up at him. "I'm not. They're for you."

With a groan, he bends to pick them up, counting them as he stands and then raising them to you with a question on his lips.

"What're these for?"

"For the pills," you say, like it's obvious, like you hadn't been using your body as payment for months.

"I've already taken my payment," he says with a look to your cum coated cunt. "'n' if you wanna pay me for your daddies pills, you know it's more than this, right?"

"I can take 'em back if you don't want 'em. I just figured we can pay a bit now and, y'know... I wanna come here because I wanna come here, for me, not just for pills all the time." It sounded better when you rehearsed it in your head this morning, but coming out of your mouth now it sounds ridiculous.

He looks at you for a moment, taking you in, sat pantsless and dripping on his dining table.

"Y'know, there's a simpler solution to this than dumpin' cards on me without warnin', right?" If there is, you haven't thought of it. "Stop only comin' by when you need pills." Oh.

"If you want somethin' else, you know where I am. Now, if you don't wanna whore yourself for meds anymore, if you wanna be respectable, then that's fine. I'll take your cards. But I ain't takin' all of 'em. I'm keepin' these," he says raising a few cards up to you. "And you're takin' these," he pushes the remaining ones into your hand along with a small bag of pills he slips out of his pocket and you frown. You already weren't offering him enough.

"Now I get a nice respectable, good girl to fuck, and you get to pretend you're not a whore. Win-win."

"I'm not a whore," you insist, rolling your eyes, even though you know it's not exactly true.

Joel simply shrugs, shaking out your jeans and throwing them on the table next to you before placing his hand by your ass, thumb stroking delicately along the soft skin there, and leaning down toward you. He tilts your head up to face him, his nose catching yours as your eyes meet his.

"Whore or not, sweetheart," he smirks. "Pussy's still mine."

You weren't going to argue with him there.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #fic: SWAT #coveted fics

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azrielbrainrot · 2 months

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, Memory loss, mentions of death

Word Count: 5950

Notes: Sorry for the wait but I had to map things out to answer all the questions I started in the previous chapters (set myself up there) and lack of motivation was kicking my ass. Still, I hope you enjoy!

Part 2 ○ Part 4

You were picking at the food on your plate as Azriel stared at you, looking like he'd rather feed you himself. As hungry as you were, everything was hard to stomach. You tried to tell him as much but had only been met with a scolding, he seemed extremely interested in your health. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was content with watching you even if you never actually gave him anything. It seemed like the spymaster wasn't too preoccupied with the fact that he had caught you stealing from his High Lord.

Following your sudden breakdown, Azriel had managed to calm you down enough, insisting that you didn't talk about anything else until you ate and were ready for it. Your eyes still hurt and were probably puffy from the tears that had flowed not even an hour ago, and your head still ached, even if it didn't come anywhere close to the excruciating pain you felt before.

The same feeling as before still crawled under your skin, the same questions swirling around in your mind, but you managed to find your composure after the ache had transformed into something manageable and the tears had dried. Admittedly, you were a bit scared of prying into your mind and triggering the same reaction as before - it really had felt like your brain was trying to forcefully escape your skull.

You were still trying to make sense of everything, denying that you were missing important information wouldn't help you. There was no way Azriel was confusing you for someone else, not with the way your body reacted to him and the dreams you've had for far longer than you've been here. There was also the problem of you being a prisoner in this room, as nice and attentive as your prison guard has been there has to be a punishment waiting for you.

When your head felt like it was going to burst, you could swear someone else had barged into the room but you couldn't stay focused on it or hear what they were saying through your own desperate screams. You think you saw something red glinting, but didn't even make out anyone's form, your vision was too blurry. You're not even sure how many of them walked through the door. By the time you came to and calmed down it was only you and Azriel in the room again, and all you could feel was his arms around you, grounding you.

You bite down on another small piece of sausage, arranged as if they were meant to feed a child - you hadn't seen him cut them but you know it has to be his work - as you remembered how desperate he sounded in that moment. You're not sure if the soothing words he whispered in your ear were meant for you or for himself, he was just short of begging you to be okay. It was a little embarrassing to think about how fragile he had seen you in that moment but it was even worse remembering how intimately he held you.

Looking up at Azriel, you're not surprised to meet his eyes, they haven't left you for longer than a second, it's like he's scared you'll disappear if he looks away. You can still see the concern swirling in the beautiful hazel.

You had so many questions, knew he had even more, but you weren't sure where to even begin. Any hope of him starting to talk was evaporating faster with every second. He had told you he wouldn't bring anything up until you were ready but you thought he'd at least ask about the robbery, start off easy. You couldn't push your doubts aside any longer, it felt like you were both playing a part, ignoring the elephant in the room.

“Azriel?” His name triggers the same reaction every time you say it. You might have to go to a healer if you survive this, having your heart fluttering so often can't be healthy.

“Yes?” He leans closer letting his wings pull in closer to his body, ready to give you his undivided attention.

You've noticed how his wings move with him and can give you small clues on what he might be feeling sometimes, like a cat's ears, perking up or dropping with his emotions. The same happens with his shadows really, moving towards you when they're interested, like a tail you suppose.

“There's something wrong.” His eyes open wide and he's on his feet before you can even blink, standing over you and reaching out for your hand. That might not have been the best way to start.

“What's wrong?” He holds onto your wrist, feeling for your pulse. “Does it hurt again?”

“No, nothing hurts,” you try to calm him down, cheeks slightly flushed. “I mean this.” You gesture between the two of you, hoping he's aware of the terrified expression on his face. “You're worried about me.” He visibly relaxes at that, understanding you're not physically hurting again.

“Of course, I am.” He sits on the side of the bed, never letting go of your wrist but holding onto it a little softer, drawing circles with his thumb over your skin. You're not even sure if he's doing it on purpose, or if it simply comes naturally.

“Why would you be?” You have an idea of the answer, he's already made it more than clear that he knows you very well. “I thought you'd be guarding me to make sure I didn't escape but you've been taking care of me instead.”

His eyes roam over your desperate face, taking notice of every expression you make. He's probably scared of saying something that will send you into the same state as before, clawing at your head to stop, but you can see how much he wants to tell you, to stop pretending.

“You're my wife,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips right after, like saying the word is enough to make him happy, and looks down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, running his thumb down the veins to the palm of your hand, loosely holding it instead.

“I don't…” You thought there had to be some sort of romantic relationship between you and him, or the person he thinks you are, but you didn't expect him to say wife. “I've never been married.” You never even thought it would be a possibility with your job.

Him thinking you're his wife definitely answers a lot of questions, mostly the reason why you aren't in a dark dungeon after what you've done to them, but it just opens up a whole other box of chaos.

You set the plate aside, knowing you can't keep any more food down with the way the conversation has to go. You wish you could just crawl into your own bed, in your own home and wait until all of this mess passes. Running a hand down your face, you steel yourself, recognizing you need to get to the bottom of this, not only for your sake but his as well. Whatever was at play here was larger than you could have imagined.

“I don't remember you at all, Azriel,” you admit. He just nods, almost pouting, without looking away from your hand still clutched in his. “But I've dreamt about you.” He perks up at that, surprised eyes darting up to meet yours.

“I dream about you almost every night,” he admits softly, a reddish tint covering the tips of his ears.

“If I'm supposed to be your wife, should I be offended that it's not every night?” The lame joke does nothing to ease your nerves, as you intended, but the blinding smile he rewards you with certainly makes the next words easier to come out.

“What you called me before… that's not my name,” you continue slowly, “My name is Maya.”

“Maya,” he tries it out but the discomfort is obvious on his face. To your surprise, you don't like how it sounds coming from him either, while every other word he utters sounds like honey.

“I know that's my name. I know I'ver never been here or met you before,” you explain, “I know I never married you either. I can account for every year of my life, there are no gaps in my memories. You're not in any of them, neither is this house,” you look into his eyes the whole time, squeezing his hand slightly, wanting him to feel your sincerity, “but there's something wrong.”

He studies your face with an unreadable expression. If this whole situation is hard for you to wrap your head around, you can't imagine what it is like looking in from the outside. The only reason you believed him was because of your body's response to him, but all he can see is a female who looks just like his wife yet doesn't recognize him.

His hand leaves yours as he takes the ring he was wearing off slowly, taking your hand and depositing it on your palm gently.

“What's this?” It's a simple silver ring, worn out from what you assume is years of training and fighting while wearing it. Your heart palpitations come back the longer you study it, you know it.

“My wedding ring,” he almost whispers, “You had yours when…” You look up at him and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, “I don't have it.”

You nod and let it fall on your finger, in place of where your own wedding ring would be. It's too big on you, it would likely be too loose even if you had put it on your thumb, but you almost don't want to take it off. Goosebumps spread all over your body, your heart rate picking up.

“Do you feel anything?”

“I'm not sure I can explain it,” you breathe, not fully understanding the reaction your body has to him.

“Try me,” he insisted.

“Ever since I heard about this mission and stepped foot into this city, it feels like my brain is screaming at me to remember something really important but I can't,” you say, watching the way the wedding band hangs around your finger, “and when I put this ring on just now.” You hold up your hand for him to see, the light catching on it.

You look up at him before continuing, “When I first saw you. When you told me your name. When I… When I stabbed you.” Your eyes travel to his stomach, where an open wound had been just a few hours ago. “I feel a pain in my chest.” It makes itself known again as you think of the way his blood had dripped down your hands. “Holding the ring feels right. Saying your name feels right. But hurting you… didn't.” You take a deep breath in, knowing there's no going back, “So, as insane as this whole situation is, I think I believe you, Azriel.”

The admission lingers in the air as both of you feel its weight. Acknowledging the particular situation you've found yourselves in is only the beginning. Now you must try to understand what happened and how to fix things, if you want that. Part of recognizing what Azriel told you as the truth comes with accepting that some of your life was a lie, and, at this moment, you have no tangible evidence for what is real or not aside from the goosebumps you get when the male in front of you touches you. You don't even know who you truly are.

“If you say I'm your wife then what made me leave?”

“You didn't,” the hesitation is almost tangible in his tone, “I thought you were dead.” Your hand immediately shoots up to your neck, feeling the softened scar under your fingertips. The movement seems to break the dam holding his emotions in check, making everything flow out at once.

“I don't know what happened,” he lets go of you and stands up, running a hand through his hair and pacing around as he explained with an anguished voice, “It was a simple mission. We never found out how exactly but it looked like you were taken by surprise and attacked by bandits. My shadows told me they couldn't sense you so I went to meet you but when I got there all I saw was blood. There was so much blood.”

When he meets your eyes again you can clearly see the tears gathering in them, the pain that still lingers from recalling that moment.

“I looked for you. We all did. We searched in every corner of the world, I sent spies everywhere. We found the bandits and made them talk but when they left your body was still there and your throat was cut.” His wings droop, the bottoms of it touching the floor. Azriel looks defeated. “We thought you were dead. I tried denying it for a while but it came to a point where I couldn't anymore. But now you're here and I- Fuck. I should have kept looking. I shouldn't have given up so easily.”

“Azriel,” you call for him, bringing his attention back to you. The desperation and raw pain in his voice were breaking your heart. “Whatever happened wasn't your fault.”

“I should have found you,” he whispers, completely contrasting with his tone mere moments before.

“You thought I was dead.” The words are hard to form, and you can't linger on them too long. You always knew the injury you suffered was severe, that it had been near miraculous that you survived but finding out there were people out there that truly believed you were dead was chilling. “This whole situation still feels impossible, there's no way you could have known I was still alive.”

He nods at you, but you can clearly see he can't let go of it. The attentiveness and overprotection he's been showing you makes much more sense now. Azriel sits on the chair he has barely left since you were brought to this room. He seems to try to regain his composure, combing back the hair he had tousled and bringing his wings up closer to his body again. But his eyes don't meet yours like before.

You fall back against the headboard, the impact softened by the pillows he fluffled out for you, picking at his wedding ring still on your finger. You feel like you're going insane. Maybe letting the guild find you wouldn't be so bad, at least they'd put you out of your misery. Though it's hard to ignore the fact that they seem to be the ones who put you in this situation, letting you live a lie for almost a century.

“It's been a century since then,” you repeated aloud, “And you still…” Love me? You wanted to say, but that wasn't really you, not for now at least. You don't remember anything of your time together, or about yourself. Maybe the only thing that survived was your body. There's a possibility that the female he loved had actually died, that he'll never fully get her back even if you regain your memories.

“I told you,” the smile you witnessed earlier comes back to his face, even if with only half the prior intensity, “I dream about you almost every night.”

“This doesn't make any sense.” You had moved to sit cross legged over the covers, tired of laying in bed when your body wasn't even hurting. Nibbling on a chocolate cookie the House, who Azriel told you is sort of sentient, gave you.

“I know.” He had calmed down since his outburst, going back to what you assume is closer to his usual demeanor, though he might not always act the same as when his dead wife is sitting across from him. His shadows seemed to have relaxed as well, most of them had left him in favor of swirling around the room like smoke. “When I saw you in the living room, I thought you came back.”

“But I came to rob you instead.”

He lets out a chuckle, “I couldn't have imagined that in my wildest dreams.” His gaze turns a bit more serious before he adds, “my High Lord and High Lady want to speak to you.”

“I figured as much.” You were actually surprised they hadn't shown up yet, the sun was already close to setting. “Did you tell them you think I'm your wife?”

“They know. You and Rhys were friends too.”

The thought that you could be friends with a High Lord is almost laughable, but so was being married to his shadowsinger and yet the fluttering of your heart every time he speaks to you in that deep, soft voice of his doesn't lie.

You think for a bit, remembering the information you had been granted before coming on your mission. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful one in history and the bearer of one of the most sought-after and frightening abilities - daemati. It's said his mate, the recently turned fae, Feyre Archeron, shares the same talent.

“Is it true that he's a daemati?” He simply nods, knowing you're following his train of thought.

“You want him to look into my head.”

“He might be able to find out what happened to you,” he nods, “the reason you forgot me, forgot us.”

“And you're sure he'll want to help me after what I did? He looked pretty mad when I saw him last night,” you say as you chew on your lip.

Granting him passage into your mind might be more than a leap of faith. You've found it easy to talk to Azriel, to trust him, but you haven't met anyone else, and can't trust they won't want to hurt you. Azriel seemed to not care much about your initial reason for coming to the court or even what you did to him but you can't expect everyone to feel the same, even if they had been your friends a century ago. And a daemati could break you beyond repair, even just seeing their abilities in action has always left you unsettled.

“Rhys won't hurt you,” he tells you, his face showing he has no doubts about his words.

“It's not like I have much of a choice anyway,” you brush the crumbs off your nightgown, stretching your legs and moving until you are sitting at the edge of the mattress. It brought you closer to him, your knees brushing his, the feeling of the leather feeling oh so familiar against your bare skin, making your next words come out breathier than you wanted them to, “You can call them.”

Something flashes across his tantalizing eyes when he looks down at your bare legs, noting the change in your tone, but it disappears when he looks back at you, nodding softly and letting his eyelids shut as if to level himself. Some of his shadows come back to him and, as his silence prolongs, you realize he must be speaking to them in his mind, calling his High Lord just as you asked.

The pressure in the room changes as soon as he opens his eyes, the air getting harder to breathe. It's not as strong as what you'd felt the night before but the tamed magic is enough to have the hairs on the back of your neck stand, and a shiver to run down your spine. You truly hope Azriel is right about them.

Azriel stands just as the door opens to reveal his High Lord followed closely by his mate. His unreadable purple eyes study your stiff form, walking inside the room and letting Feyre close the door behind them. She seems more serene, not showing any obvious hostility towards you but you know not to underestimate the human who freed the fae of Prythian.

You stand when they stop in front of you, not letting fear make you appear weak. If they chose to hold you accountable for your actions you would accept their punishment head on.

The first word out of the High Lord's lips is the same name Azriel had called you before, and the same feeling of deja vu consumes you once more.

“Maya,” you correct. His head tilts to the side briefly, before looking over at Azriel who is watching the scene unfold warily.

“Well Maya,” his eyes meet yours again, “Are you going to explain why I've found you lurking around my house?” The venom was clear in his voice, but you expected as much.

“I was sent here on a mission,” you say as emotionlessly as you can, just like the guild taught you, “I was supposed to find an ancient book with a particular set of runes, it seems it belonged to your grandfather.” You hope the lack of information doesn't make you appear suspicious because it truly is the only thing the guild had deemed enough for you to be able to complete your mission. “Since I failed the mission, they've probably already sent assassins after me, in case I tell you or anyone about them.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” Azriel promises, anger rising at the mention of someone wanting to kill you.

“You were in the wrong place for that,” the High Lord responds after a moment, and watching Azriel's reaction. “The book is in the library under this House.”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“You're right, it doesn't. What I want to know is where you've been all these years and why you attacked my brother.”

The pressure in the room increased again but you could now see it was the result of him trying to hold his power down even though his temper was rising.

“Rhys,” his mate warns, but it falls on deaf ears, his striking eyes never leaving yours.

“I don't remember you or him,” you admit.

“So he's told me.” Rhysand didn't sound too convinced. “You won't mind if I check for myself right?” He barely made it sound like a question but you nod in answer all the same.

Black talons scrape along your mental walls as soon as you give him permission, you lower them for him, pushing everything the guild taught you aside, inviting the enemy straight into your mind. If they could see you now you would definitely be mocked and executed on the spot.

His presence is barely felt in your mind before a sharp pain takes your senses, similar to the one you'd felt before. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands moving to hold your head. Scarred hands are on you immediately, holding you up against a strong body before your knees meet the ground. As the talons retreat from your mind, the pressure lessens and you take a few deep breaths before opening your eyes.

When you manage to blink away the wetness making your vision blurry, you find the High Lord looking at you with wide eyes, remorse clear on his face and his mate holding onto his arm.

“What did you do to her?” Azriel's voice was rough with barely restrained anger.

The High Lord ignores him, looking into your eyes as he explains with a notably softer tone than earlier, “There is something blocking your memories. When I tried to bypass it… It hurt you.”

“What does that mean?” Your voice was scratchy, a dull ache lingering in your head. You lean away from Azriel and sit back on the mattress. No use trying to act tough, you're truly at their mercy.

“It means I can't access your memories for the time being,” the change in his demeanor would give you whiplash if the pain you were feeling gave way long enough for you to focus on anything else, “I've never seen anything like this, there's no way of knowing what it can do to you.”

“I think your memories aren't only being blocked,” he's still speaking directly at you but you can't really wrap your mind around anything at the moment, letting them discuss amongst themselves. “They're being overwritten at the same time.”

“That's why she forgot Azriel but remembers her life at the guild?”

“I've never heard of anything like that,” Azriel's voice sounds further away, you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you.

“Me neither,” the High Lord admits, watching your crouched form warily. “We'll have to ask Amren and research it in the library but it's the only explanation.” You find yourself nodding, even if you don't know Amren you understand the ancient creature might be able to help, if she wants to that is.

“At least your mental walls are still intact. They're the same ones I taught you to build.”

“No, I learned at the guild,” you finally look up at him, sweat still covering your forehead.

“There's still an open channel, like an open door for me to be able to talk to you.” So I can do this. You can't help but jump slightly at the sound of his voice in your mind, and the promise of a smile twitches on his lips. It doesn't go unnoticed that the talons moved a lot more carefully in your mind, almost tenderly.

“You're staying in this house until we can be sure you're not a threat.” His eyes move to Azriel's, an unimpressed look taking over his face at the scowl the shadowsinger sends him. “In the meantime you can fill Azriel in on everything you can about the guild. I want to know if there's a chance they'll try to attack us again.”

“We'll try to find any information on what is blocking your memories and keep you safe from the guild in exchange,” the High Lady adds, “It's a fair trade for both parties.”

You can't tell if she's saying it to convince you or her mate but appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. Also noticing how she omits the biggest reason for this mutual cooperation - the shadowsinger standing by your side.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

His hair was still wet when he started dressing himself, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't too happy about leaving you with Feyre either. He can tell everyone is still suspicious of you, even after Rhys tried to read into her memories to find nothing, stuck between their memories and stories they heard about you and the image of you stabbing a knife through his stomach.

Azriel knows his High Lady, his friend, wouldn't hurt you, but you're in a complicated situation at the moment and he doesn't want to find out what that guild has taught you to do in cases such as these, doesn't even want to think what Feyre would do to stop you. She didn't know you before, meaning she wouldn't have any reason to hold back if not for his sake - something he knows she wouldn't put above saving Velaris, he would never ask that of her either.

It's hard to accept he doesn't know how you'll react in certain situations, there was a time he knew you better than he knew himself. Now, he can't even begin to understand what you must have been through working for a world known assassin guild.

He'd obviously heard about them before, he wouldn't be a decent Spymaster if he hadn't. There wasn't much information on them, no one knew how large the group even was since there were rumors other groups were actually integrated in the guild. Names for it vary as well.

Even if you hadn't tried to steal from his High Lord, he knows he'll have to try getting as much information about them from you as he can, for his court's sake, and he can only pray you'll give it to him willingly or he'll have to let go of his position.

He doesn't know how you've been able to bear the guilt a job like this brings. As much as you've forgotten, your personality didn't seem to change a lot. You always reminded him of Cassian at times like these, gratuitous killing had never been for you. He hopes you don't have to deal with the torment he had been through in the first decades of working for the former High Lord, his soul had never recovered from everything he'd seen and done during that time.

Noticing his shadows reach up his shoulders, he physically shakes the dark thoughts out of his brain. Everything has been going better than expected, not only did you agree to cooperate but Rhys had given you the benefit of the doubt. You also agreed to have dinner with him so you could talk more.

He just told you he'd be joining you for dinner, omitting how excited, downright giddy, he felt at just the idea. It had been so long since you two shared a meal, talking for hours while enjoying the tasty food the House prepared for you.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been this nervous for an outing, even if it wasn't exactly that - it was simply a trip to one of the House of Wind's guest rooms. Going as far as picking clothes in your favorite colors on him, letting the top buttons on his shirt undone because he knows how much you liked seeing the beginnings of his swirling bargain marks.

All of this could be for nothing, you don't remember him after all, but, he was almost certain your body did in some way and it gave him hope. You calmed down in his arms just as you did a century ago, said his name in the same sweet cadence and never shied away from his touch, from his hands. His shadows told him as much. Sang to him about the way goosebumps rose in your skin at his touch and attentiveness, how your thoughts and intuition warred in his favor. He refused to let his thoughts deter him.

When he gets to the room he sees you and Feyre standing by the dresser, almost wanting to apologize for winnowing in instead of knocking first, but he can't seem to find any words as he sees you've changed as well, ditching the nightgown in favor of a sleeveless dress that went down to your knees. The cobalt blue was as striking against your skin as he remembered, the garment in itself was simple enough yet in his eyes you had never looked so stunning.

Feyre must have been the one to give you the dress, he was only surprised it had taken her so long to meddle in your relationship. If there were any doubts, they were quickly answered when she threw him a knowing smile before excusing herself from the room.

“I'm guessing the blue is supposed to match those gems you wear.”

“Siphons,” he offers, entranced by the way you walk closer to him, the silky fabric moving with your body and giving you an ethereal glow.

“Did I used to do that a lot?”

“Yes.” He observes the way your eyes run over his body, lingering on the unbuttoned shirt. Seems like his old tricks still work. “I always loved seeing you in blue.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly, biting the inside of your lip the way you always did. He tries to stand as still as possible without appearing too awkward, making sure you knew it was alright to do with him anything that crossed your pretty brain. You seem to make up your mind as you walk closer to him.

“Can I see them?” You hold up your palm and he holds his hand over it without hesitation, letting you grab onto his hand to study the glowing siphon. The swirling light shone in your eyes and he can't help but be reminded of the first time you asked him to do the same exact thing shortly after meeting him.

“All Illyrian warriors have them,” he explains, “They're used to help us control our powers.”

“It's beautiful.” He tries not to let his wings twitch as you now hold his hand with both of yours. “I don't think I've seen anything like this before.”

“You have,” he can't help the somber smile that crosses his face. The reminder makes you look away from his hand to watch him, a conflicted expression falling over your pretty face. “You always liked them.”

The abrupt change in the atmosphere has him asking the house to get the room ready for your dinner. Not being able to hide the smile as he watches your amazed expression at the table that pops up beside you, full of delicious looking food and decorated with candlesticks, the faelights around the room dim in favor of the candlelight.

“I only asked for the food,” he admits with a bashful expression. He's glad you can't tell that, aside from the candles, the plates were also some of the fanciest ones. The House was going all out for the two of you.

He uses the grip you had on his hand to guide you to the chair and help you sit before making his way to his own seat, settling down and giving order for the House to serve both of you. Letting himself enjoy every little expression you made as you eat and listening to anything you felt like telling him, also answering all your questions about the House and the food.

He knows this doesn't have the same meaning to you as it does to him, knows that, as much as you don't seem to hate his company, you're more interested in finding out more about the version of you in his memories, trying to make sense of your own identity. It's hard to imagine how this whole thing must feel for you, finding out half of your life was made up and that you forgot such an important part of it. Still, this must be the best night he's had in a century.

You set your elbows on the table and rest your face on your hands, watching him with undivided attention as he tells you about his sparring match with Cassian. Your eyes don't leave his face after he finishes, appearing lost in thought. He lets you gather them, relishing in the comfortable silence. He'd be content with simply watching you for eternity.

You let out a soft sigh and lean back against the chair, closing your eyes for a few seconds before meeting his gaze again.

“What happens if I never remember you, Azriel?” Your voice barely above a whisper.

The question and the uncertainty in your voice as you asked it make him pause. He keeps trying to push back the thought that you won't regain your memories but it seems you were having the same doubts.

Just last week, he wouldn't have believed having you back was even a possibility, so getting your memories back can't be out of reach, it just can't. He was ready to give his life to make it so.

Still, he witnessed how painful it had been for you when Rhys simply tried to access your memories, he'd also told him trying harder, forcefully, could break your mind completely. If their research doesn't go well, if they can't find who did this to you, there might not be another way of bringing your memories back.

But he'd sooner die than live another day without you, whether your memories come back or not.

“I'll make you fall for me again.”

taglist: @thisblogisaboutabook @chessebookgirl @going-through-shit @starcrossedsan @macimads @janebirkln @dr4g0ngirl @harrystyles2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @queensl1234 @lisanna2000 @starryhiraeth @shadowsaz @sakurafrost3-blog @evergreenlark @sisterjuliennes @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @historygeekqueen @abysshaven @pablopascal @writingcroissant @that-girl-reading @naturakaashi @tenshis-cake @sharknutz @isa1b2h3 @thehighlordishere @tarathia @sfhsgrad-blog @acourtofbatboydreams @starsandnightmares @cuethedepession @emryb @mybestfriendmademe @fxckmiup @adharanotfound @b0xerdancer @ervotica @aria-chikage @serendipityx150 @fanboyluvr @rogersbarnesxx @that-one-little-soybean @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @saltedcoffeescotch @astarlitsoul @just-a-social-casualty-1

(for some reason I couldn't tag some of you. check your settings because you might have tags disabled.)

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #divider by saradika

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feralforfrank · 18 days

Text

fuck it, give me mean!reader. / pt2

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER

cw cursing, bad writing, NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER

a/n i see so many innocent/soft/polite!reader paired with simon, but i've barely come across mean!reader (to everyone except, eventually, simon).

i want reader that isn't intimidated by his size or his glare or his mask at all. she just finds it annoying as fuck. (you'll see)

masterlist | taglist

simon's attention is completely on you from the moment he laid eyes on you. you're in a bar, and he's coming out of the loo, not looking in front of him. he bumps into you — a pretty thing, shorter than him, the top of your head reaching his shoulder — and the collision causes your beer to spill all over your shirt.

"bloody fucking hell, man! watch where you're fucking going!"

you're soaked and your shirt clings on your body, and simon's wide eyes shamelessly wander over it. you're hot.

you look down at the mess he's made, fingers dripping beer as you wave the empty bottle away from you. your eyes snap up to meet his in an icy glare, and he must admit that his rookies back in base would definitely cower under your stare.

"a sorry would be nice. i have nothing to cover myself with and it's cold outside." you scoff.

you raise your eyebrows, waiting for a response. you're surprised he hasn't walked away yet. his eyes express the boredom and unamusement of the situation. you sigh a few seconds later, realising he's opted at staring at your bra rather than being a gentleman and apologising.

you nod at brenda, the bartender, calling her name and sliding the empty bottle her way. to the bathroom it is, then. you just hope you can dry it enough for your bra not to show.

"move, you brute." you push past the silent giant, cursing like a sailor under your breath.

you don't realise he's followed you, in the women's restroom, until several minutes later, when you're struggling to soak up the alcohol with paper towels. simon's leaning on the doorway, arms crossed as he watches you unbutton your shirt.

"y'gonna giv'me a show, lov'?"

he startles you, and you grab the soap by the sink, arm raised to throw it at him, but you stop yourself.

"you've come to spill another drink on me, or just to stare at my boobs?"

you turn your back on him, unbuttoning the rest. sneaking a glance in the mirror, you're surprised to find his eyes cast elsewhere. good.

"you need something, dickhead?" you look at him as you place your shirt directly under the hand dryer, hoping it'll do the job faster.

his eyes don't meet yours, stuck on a big ben painting on the wall.

"didn't get to apologise." his voice is smooth, accent thick.

"well, you're not forgiven. shirt's still soaked and i smell like beer. so..."

if simon was being one hundred percent honest, he was shocked by your boldness. you'd met him several moments ago, yet you'd called him several names, while also glaring daggers. he wasn't used to anyone behaving like that around him or talking to him in that way. he was definitely intrigued.

"a drink on me, then?" additionally to finding you extremely attractive, you seemed interesting and he — although, he wouldn't admit it — wanted to hear more of the variety of names you had for him.

you shake your head. "there's no way i'm staying another minute in here." you pull on your semi-dry shirt. "i stink, curtesy of some random, abnormally tall idiot, who forgets there's shorter pople in the world."

the laugh comes unexpectedly. your eyes train on him as you button up, glaring.

"you're laughing at me, now?"

simon barely shakes his head (while also trying to conceal his laughing), and you, once again, push past him. he follows you albeit a lot slower, watches you as you grab your things and call brenda over to pay her.

he slams the cash on the bar before you can take your wallet out, nodding at the woman and telling her to keep the change.

"i told you, stranger, apology not accepted."

he shrugs, draping his jacket over your shoulders. he'd picked up his things on the way over, dead set on apologising - in his own way. he was never good with words, and you seemed not to like that method either.

"simon."

"what?" you look up to him.

"name's simon. not stranger, or idiot, or dickhead. although, i quite like that one."

your eyes soften the tiniest bit as he looks down to meet your gaze. you notice the crinkle by his eyes when he gives you a stiff smile.

"well, si—dickhead, i'd appreciate it if you didn't use me as a human hanger, and let me go home." you move to shrug off his jacket, but he stops you.

his big hand brushes to the small of your back and he pushes you forwars softly. "go on, then. i don't know the way to your house."

you look confused. eyes narrowed and lips turned downwards in a pout. cute.

"a-are you...? you're walking me home?"

"i gotta show how sorry i am for drenching you in beer, one way or another, right?"

you sigh, shoulders slumping in surrender. you pull your arms through the sleeves, and to no one's surprise, the jacket is massive on you.

you motion for him to follow you. "i got peper spray in my bag though." your icy tone from before is back.

simon suppresses his smirk. "mhm."

"i won't hesitate to use it, dickhead."

man....this is kind of shit....but i got do many ideas off of it....

#ohmygkd i need him #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley fluff #fluff #cod: mwii #frank writes

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therantingsage · 1 month

Text

Because I promised this, and I really wanted to do it anyway, here's a really really long-winded rambling dissertation on:

Why N and Uzi secretly dating since before episode 5 is genuinely super plausible and also stupidly hilarious /pos

Under the cut cuz it got obscenely long oops-

Idk where to start, so I'll just cover my bases: why people think they've been in a relationship already in the first place.

We all saw this scene:

And legit it can only be implying one of two things. Either A: this is his confession of feelings for her. Or B: this is him admitting that they've been dating for a while at this point. With the hearts it's pretty clear that this statement is meant to be romantically interpreted, and Nori's aghast reaction confirms that that's how it's being interpreted.

Obviously no matter the interpretation, N only writes that because he can't think of anything else to snap Uzi out of it and thereby stop this confrontation from ending poorly. And it works obviously so good on him for the quick thinking.

Two things that make me lean towards the 'we're dating' interpretation over 'confession' interpretation, though: firstly, he's not writing this to tell Uzi something, he specifically calls out to Nori before writing it. "Hey btw I'm dating your daughter" makes more sense than "Hey btw I like your daughter romantically" because if it was the latter, Nori has far less reason to be mad at Uzi about it rather than N. It's not like Uzi can control how N feels. But if they're dating, that means Uzi is partially to blame for that and Nori can get upset at HER.

Secondly, the awkward wording. Like it's really vague and without the hearts you'd have no reason to assume anything but platonic meaning. But these are words we, and him, have heard before:

...from Uzi, in response to a question about who she is and, by proxy, the nature of their relationship. She says it defensively, follows it up by telling N to shut up. N repeating her wording which, again, is a description of the nature of their relationship....but this time implying something romantic with it, it suggests the idea that it had romantic implications the first time.

I don't think it's far-fetched to say Uzi at least has feelings for N at this point in the story. I don't think anyone's arguing that that's not true. But the idea that 'hang out' means the exact same thing both times is what I'm arguing here. They're dating, but this version of N is a stranger to her. A cute stranger, as she says, but a stranger nonetheless who she isn't comfortable admitting to that she's dating him in the future to his face.

Backing up a bit, Uzi's reaction to Nori's reaction:

This is a clear and obvious parallel to the previous episode, when 'Tessa' says "Don't date my robot, please."

In both instances, someone gets on her case about the idea of them dating, and in both cases she doesn't deny it but instead defends both his and her own agency in the matter. No one is allowed to tell them what to do and Uzi refuses to let anyone try.

When Nori says it, though, she does seem to try and deny it for a moment. "I'm not-" She cuts herself off so we can't say for certain what she was going to say (if anything. it's entirely possible she started that sentence with no plan how to finish it, I do that a lot personally). But that's also because, like, she's Uzi. If this was meant to be a secret relationship, it would probably be her who made that decision. And like with butler N, she has no reason to disclose that kind of information to a stranger. She'd probably try and deny it whether its true or not.

As for when it would've started, after camp is the only big timeskip where we don't have much clue went on during. Cabin Fever is a big episode for them, and the three episodes that come after it are all back-to-back-to-back. The only time it makes sense to have started is sometime between eps 4 and 5.

And guys. Guys.

This, more than anything to me, paired with the idea that they've been dating for a while by the time the most recent couple episodes happen.....doesn't this seem so, so romantic? You could easily call this a love confession! So easily! It sounds like one much more than 'we just kinda are hanging out a lot idk' at least.

Like, rephrase that even a little: "Being with you makes scary things fun. Being with you makes me feel brave. It makes me feel safe. So I want to keep being with you."

And Uzi agrees with that sentiment. He promises to stick with her. And she laughs and smiles with him as he makes the scary thing she's been dealing with into something fun, something they can laugh about. The together line gets repeated in the most recent episode, directly calling back to this scene as well.

Like, just...AGH. In Cabin Fever he says it once as they're falling and a second time once they're grounded. The second time its a question, and one she eagerly answers with physical affection, which is super rare for her. In Mass Destruction its a statement, because he already knows her answer. Its a repeated promise. A vow.

Backing up again. Let's assess some interactions under this context. Assuming they're dating in secret. Because it paints so many things in a different light and basically nothing contradicts it which is fricken wild. This:

Isn't a sheepish Uzi trying to hold her crush's hand in a moment of fear. This is an Uzi who wants to keep their relationship a secret but is so in need of comfort right now she's willing to risk exposing them to get it.

This:

Her being so relieved because she almost watched him die but he's alive he's ok and she doesn't care who sees it because she needs to hug her boyfriend rIGHT NOW GUYS I DON'T CARE I'M HUGGING MY BOYFRIEND-

This whole scene. Uzi interacts with him so gently here. She's not gentle with anybody else at all. She sees him stressed and uses his own "you good?" on him and it's just so dang tender when you think about it. Because no one else can hear them talking to each other. It's just these two sending face texts and everyone else's focus is on the Sentinal so they can afford to be as couple-y in this conversation as they want.

And after:

Blushing because they like each other so so dang much.......sweating bullets because the other two can see them do this. Suddenly without either of them really thinking about it they're being romantic around other people and wow! That's nerve-wracking! Peak young love early-in-the-relationship behavior they ain't slick.

His tone of voice in this scene is gentler I think than we've ever heard from him before (Michael Kovach you are so damn good at your job). His loss-filled fury is cooled in an instant when he realizes how close he came to hurting his girlfriend. It's heartbreakingly gentle before 'Tessa' cuts him off.

And when she cuts Uzi off:

He looks like genuinely pissed at her. "Did you really just interrupt my gf while she was talking?? She's scared and you're disrespecting her tf is wrong with u??"

And like- the fact he was genuinely willing to off Tessa for her. Like he realizes there's a possibility she tried to get his gf killed for no reason and upon her not even trying to deny it he just kills her instantly. Because it's no longer a question of the universe or Uzi. It's a question of Tessa or Uzi, and its a choice his heart has already made before this point.

But here's like. The thing about all this that gets me. This is meant to be a secret relationship, right? Like nobody but them is supposed to know about this. And the fact that we the audience didn't have any reason to assume them to be an established relationship without heavy headcanoning means they did a decent job at that, right?

Guys. Guys.

N is terrible at keeping secrets. Like. Horrendously bad at keeping things on the down-low. Every single time in the series he's supposed to not spill info he like. Fails. It's wild. And because the relationship happens after "Inclusive reflexes!" that means that Uzi damn well knows this and still trusts him to try.

But based on V's reaction to the handholding in Dead End:

I'm honestly willing to bet she knew. She doesn't sound surprised, just annoyed that she has to see it. Which means N probably like, heard her badmouthing Uzi or something and got like way too defensive about it and she clocked him instantly. Because he's bad at keeping secrets. And she doesn't bother mentioning it during any of these episodes out loud because she doesn't care what these idiots do in their free time.

Can you imagine how many hundred close calls they must've had? How many times Uzi must've had to aggressively shush him or cover his mouth because he was going to say something slightly too sappy in public? The only reason we don't get to see the time period between eps 4 and 5 is because it would've been painfully obvious that these two dating is the worst kept secret in the entire bunker. I'm going insane.

Uzi fell in love with a proud himbo and they both know it. It's genuinely a miracle they didn't clue the audience in sooner.

#Murder Drones #Murder Drones Spoilers #md N #md Uzi #Uzi Doorman #Nuzi #Biscuitbites #Listen!! I'm feral and I site my sources!!!#This is a hill I'm willing to die on. And then I will rise to keep talking #I miss doing posts like this. I have so so much to say always #Me when I hyperfixate to the point of essays. Oops. Glad I can read

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enviedear · 6 months

Text

holy terrain ⟶ anakin skywalker

description ⌙ anakin can't deny the pull his bratty princess has over him, or rather, has always had over him.

pairing ⌙ anakin x f!princess!reader

warnings ⌙ nsfw, 18+ mdni i will block you. mean(ish)!anakin, equally mean(ish)!reader, they're toxic 'friends', an unreciprocated childhood kiss, also an unexpected kiss, mention of alcohol, brief mention of anidala (they're not tg), a flashback (it's not long dw), improper acts in a royal garden, fingering f!receiving, use of the nicknames petnames princess and jedi, no use of y/n.

word count ⌙ 4.1k

— request | masterlist

ur gonna have to pry anakin & princess!reader fics from my cold dead hands

loosely based off of mother's song.

to the untrained eye, the elaborate ball around you would seem perfect, flawless even. a truly divine display of political power and proceeds all around, but all you're able to take note of is the glaring absence of a certain jedi knight.

it's not your place to ask for his whereabouts, and the idea of anyone knowing that you're looking for him has your head throbbing.

you'd grown up with him, running around the halls of both the jedi temple and your castle respectively.

while your mother, the queen, would discuss and debate with the senior jedi and pompous planetary delegates— you were off getting the young padawan into trouble.

you've never been the most considerate to him— rather, you liked to tease and push him around. anakin was your first and only acquaintance to allow you to deter from the rigid nature of your regality.

he'd take your witticisms and throw some back at you with even more vigor, and when you'd roughhouse with him he never drew back his hits.

he was anakin, and to him, you were just you.

but since the war, and its recent end— you've seen little of him. the most, if only, of him you've seen has been on your holopad.

'hero without fear', the words most always surrounding his likeness.

you're half inclined to think that the boy you grew up with may now be too substantial for you.

you fiddle with your dress' skirt, trying to keep your eyes from drifting back to the jedi and their apprentices who are present, lined in an almost perfect row against a wall. one more glance and you fear you may be drawn into a long conversation about the force, and you'd rather brood in your corner than deal with that.

your body goes stiff at the feeling of two hands coming from behind to clutch your shoulders, "princess, don't tell me you're sulking."

the voice that hits your ears is familiar and warm, and you fight back a grin as you turn to face the young man, "no. but i will now you're here."

his lips upturn in a simper, "oh, then shall i leave you? all alone?"

you hum, in faux thought, "never! i always need a jester at my side. what could be better than your funny face?"

you take him in while he laughs off your quip. his hair is neatly out of his face, longer and more curly than you've ever seen, and his long arms have become fuller, muscles apparent even with his tunics and robe.

his black and flowing garments starkly contrast your fitted and fair-shaded gown, and you take it as a reminder of your evident differences. anakin is a warrior now, while you're left to relegate menial court duty. in a strange way, you envy him.

his path has standards and steps to prove to him and everyone else that he is growing, learning, and becoming more. in your case, you come up lacking.

most people look and speak to you as though you're an idea. a sheltered royal with little to no concept of the galaxy around her.

you like to believe their whispers weren't true, but as you look upon your jedi companion, you feel a deep sense of ineptitude. how could you compete or compare to someone who has seen more planets than you could even name?

you put a small smile on your face, trying to block out your thoughts, "how have you been? i heard a certain senator has been keeping a close eye on you."

anakin's eyes narrow, "royal gossip? may i be privy to such information, your highness?"

he's being coy and you know it, you bring your voice to a whisper, "amidala. i hear you've been seen fleeing her chambers."

he hums, hands coming to rest at his hips, "well, princess, are you asking if the whispers are true," he pauses, head dipping closer to you and whispering, "or are you confused as to what goes on behind closed doors?"

you roll your eyes, "i most certainly do not need any aid in understanding such matters. i have my fair share of suitors. i just wonder how long until such information finds itself back to your council."

he gives you a contemptuous look, "you think too highly of my affection toward her. besides, i've heard she's found someone new to engage with."

"you've heard, or you were told?" you can't help the smugness in your words. truthfully, you've known of anakin's obsession with the young senator for years, and when you learned of her shared interest in him at the beginning of the war you had a strange aggression towards the idea.

the knowledge of the endeavor finally coming to an end relieves an unidentified weight on your chest.

anakin waves you off, "the specifics aren't important, however..." he trails off, looking you up and down.

his words and look pique your interest, "yes, anakin?"

you watch as his eyes leave your form to scan the ballroom. guests are everywhere, leaving the room crowded— and the walls seem to reek of whiskey and nectar wine— usual amongst 'high status' officials.

anakin leans down to you to whisper into your ear, "follow me."

your eyebrows knit together but you do as you're instructed, slipping away from the noisy ball and out into the night air.

there are a few stragglers outside, either intoxicated, engaging in less than pure actions, or a mix of the two.

you look away from a couple touching each other hungrily to glower at anakin, "why are we out here?"

his head turns to look back at you before he continues forward, "patience, dear princess."

your face scrunches in confusion but you continue on, hands pulling your skirts off the ground as you enter into the royal gardens.

you've walked the path beneath you countless times, and one of your earliest memories of the footpaths was shared with anakin. his boyish face covered in dirt after you had convinced him to unearth a large plot of soil for a lake— in your honor of course.

he had spent hours on his assignment, promising that you'd get what you desired.

in truth, a twelve year old you desired no lake, you simply wished to see how far you could get him to go for you.

it was you who held the power then, and he was a faithful devotee— albeit to his masters' chagrin. No one was able to really understand the hold you held over him.

not even the pair of you.

the incident landed both of you in a great deal of trouble, and you were forced to spend the next morning filling said hole. little you was apt to make anakin do most of that chore himself.

not that he had complained.

after a few quiet minutes of walking, anakin stops at one of the smaller fountains in the green. one of the oldest landmarks in this garden, predating the lavish castle on its horizon. it sits surrounded by tall fruit trees, leaving the area sweetly scented and mostly hidden.

"do you remember when i pushed you into this fountain?" anakin asks, voice deviant and deep.

you ponder up at him, "yes, and i also remember how i pulled you in with me."

he hums, a light chuckle falling out of his lips, "hm, and what did i do right after?"

you think back to the day, you, fourteen, and he fifteen. your defensive action had made him so outraged at you. his teenage face had been vibrant pink and his knuckles white.

"maker, you're such a brat!" anakin's voice was riddled with annoyance as he pushed himself out of the fountain, "look at me! i'm all wet and master obi-wan is never going to let me hear the end of this."

you had simply laughed, following him out of the chilly water, "i'm not a brat, and you pushed me first! goodness anakin, you're so boring now."

he turned to glare at you, "don't say that— i am not!"

you rolled your eyes, "are too."

in one quick movement, he had your back pressed hard into one of the trees, "i'm not boring. and if you say it again i'll make you regret it, princess."

you weren't scared of him, you could never be scared of anakin, "well, skywalker, if you're not boring, why don't you prove it."

it had been a silly and childish remark, and you weren't exactly sure how you wanted him to showcase opposition to your teasing. you weren't sure if even he knew how, but his thumbs traced along the veins at your wrists. his touch had left the air around you soft and hushed.

his blue eyes met your own for a split second before he leaned down to you, flushed lips parting ever so gently. he let his hands drop from your wrists down to your hips, and you stiffened at the touch. he had never behaved in such a way before, and the contact had your heart racing.

with little time to think, you watched him erase the space between the two of you, pausing for a short instant, before closing the gap between you. your eyes had gone wide at the feeling of his lips on yours. those perfect lips, full and chapped, lamented at your own— so foreign and new to you.

there wasn't much to the exchange, very little movement on your end and your eyes had stayed open in shock the entire time. just as you thought to kiss him back— he had pulled away.

He had then wiped his lips with the back of his hand before speaking, voice higher than normal, "there. i'm not so boring." and with that, he ran away, back to the castle, and you didn't see him again until months later.

you'd never brought it up and neither had he, so his question had you reigning yourself in, eerily motionless. he had taken your first kiss and never mentioned it again, why would he bring it up now?

you can't shame him much for it, as you had replayed the memory back in your mind thousands of times. commonly going so far as to try and remember what he had tasted like, to memorize the feel of his hands on you.

your mind often wondered what your reaction would be now, you hoped you'd at least be able to kiss him back now. but anakin didn't need to know that.

with a sharp look at him, you reply, "you robbed me of my first kiss, jedi." you inflect when you mention his title, reminding him of his virtuous position.

his left hand finds a place on your waist, drawing you into him, "i've never been considered a thief before— is that really how you recall it, princess?"

you fight your fluster, refusing to cower down to whatever game he's playing at, "oh? what would you call it?"

he quirks an eyebrow, "unfinished."

your stare up at him, body turning to fully mirror his own, "excuse me?"

"incomplete, insufficient," you watch as his other hand, metal, and cool comes to a rest at your shoulder, tugging you even more so to him, "i'd hate to think that was as good as you could do, sweet princess. you couldn't even rally the courage to kiss me back."

you look at him and decide that the jedi knight before you has changed. no longer was he the boy who followed along with your every whim with silent invocation, no longer the young man who engaged in your childish games— instead, the man before you had a presence that alone could send your mind rushing into quite debauched places.

"who said i ever thought about kissing you back in the first place." your voice is barely a mutter, despite the teasing intention.

anakin gives you a smug look, head tipping to the left, "you've grown to be quite the liar, princess."

your words go pointed, "you've grown overconfident."

in truth, he hadn't. his assumptions were correct, but how could you give in to him so easily? anakin is almost entirely overpowering, but you can see the soft pink tint on his cheeks. and you know you have an equal, if not greater, effect on him.

his metal arm is stern against you, and you feel his grasp growing stronger, almost evidence of your words.

lips upturned, he speaks, "overconfidence isn't what this is, i only wish to be useful, princess. how cruel it is to have my dedication be met with apprehension."

his words inflict a firey sensation deep within you, and the atmosphere between you seems to build, fizzling around. you feel as though your sanity has become severed— evolving into an amalgamation entirely made of him.

"and how remiss would i be if i didn't let you fulfill your favor?" your voice feels shakey, but you allow your own hands to find his shoulders, digging in ever so gently and forcing him closer.

he chuckles, eyebrows darting up in surprise, "horribly remiss i'm afraid."

your lips curve, "and this favor," you pause, narrowing your eyes, "you think it should be a kiss? that seems self-seeking."

the knight looks down to your lips, mirth clouding his features, "this is purely for your benefit, princess. don't you deserve the practice?"

in the back of your mind, you could find a tactful solution to this situation. perhaps something that involves stepping farther away from the man peering down at you, but strangely, you've never wanted to be closer to him than you do now.

"as if i need it, jedi." your voice is low when you speak, and you catch anakin's adam's apple hitch up.

you feel like your body is humming as you slide your hands from his shoulders— grazing over his clavicle, up, and towards his neck. you watch his eyes widen slightly, and you can hear his little intake of breath— you got him right where you wanted.

you look up at him once more, silently looking for approval, gratitude, need— something. the blue eyes peering down at you fail to disappoint.

you let yourself stand a bit taller and pull him down to you, inching up until your lips graze his own. you feel his smile when your lips brush, and you bite your tongue before kissing him.

your kiss is deliberate and delicate, but you're fully in control.

he gives into you so easily. he waits for you to pull him closer before he follows suit, nose pressing into the side of your own. he tastes of fruit, and you let your tongue slide into his mouth, greedy for him.

he exhales at that, palming your hips and pressing himself into you ever so slightly. you let out a lewd breath at that, and anakin breaks the kiss to lean his forehead on your own.

you wait a second before looking up at him, and he stares back down at you. his lips part again, but this time you expect them to be followed by words. possibly an apology or a rejection.

he surprises you instead, by dipping down to you once more. his hands trail up from your hips, stopping just below your breasts. you groan when you feel his lips begin to leave kisses along your jaw, trailing down toward your neck.

your shared behavior is absolutely improper for both of you, but you can't seem to care while he's leaving lingering kisses upon your neck, sending goosebumps along your flesh.

your hands push upward, fingers knotting themselves in his hair. you let yourself give his locks a little tug just as he begins to suck on your skin.

you catch your breath from his raw and desperate action. your heart pounds harder, the sensation overcoming you, sending a swell of pleasure through you. he takes every signal you give him, pulling himself closer to you until you can feel the flutter of his heartbeat against your chest.

his lips graze your ear before he speaks, voice barely a whisper, "i'd say we're even now, princess."

your eyes remain closed at his words, enjoying the feeling of his breath against you, "i'm not so sure, jedi."

his hands find a home at both sides of your face, and you look up at him, "and how does my crime of stealing your first kiss continue to go unpunished?"

you're not sure of what to say for a second, shocked still by the look of conviction caught in his eyes, "i never said i wanted to punish you for it."

he moves one hand from the side of your face, tracing it back down towards your hips. he smiles at your words, and looks up at the sky before answering in a low voice," then how else should i show my appreciation?"

you take a step back, leaning against the tree for support. you can feel his gaze on you, but before he can say anything your own bravery speaks up, "appreciation?"

He lifts an eyebrow at your remark and tilts his head inquisitively in response, "yes princess, don't you want me to show you how grateful i am?"

You grin devilishly in response and answer him confidently, “i think i could come up with something."

he grins back lazily, humming a response, and moves closer, hands still firmly positioned on either side of your face. his lips meet the corner of your smile. he leaves a gentle kiss there before meeting your lips with so much passion that your body feels faint.

each trace of his lips sends electric sparks through your body as his kisses fall down your neck towards your collarbone. you shiver at the touch, as he brushes across each sensitive spot. you feel as if he's satirizing you in some way until his lips finally meet the delicate area around your shoulders— leaving soft nipping kisses that cause an uncontrollable moan to escape from you.

you feel his hands drop to your dress' skirt, bunching up the tight fabric and inching it up. when his skin makes contact with the flesh of your thighs, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder.

anakin seems to like this motion, breath hitting against your ear again, "do you want me to touch you, princess?"

you feel overwhelmed, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. you manage a slight nod before finally croaking out, "yes."

anakin's hands immediately respond, brushing up the side of your thighs until they find their way near your pulsing cunt. you feel obscene and exposed by your own need, but anakin seems to grow more confident the closer his fingers dance to you. you hear him laugh lightly as you press yourself into him, silently begging for more.

he abides by your wish, nimble fingers beginning to stroke your clothed slit. you moan at the contact, voice somewhat muffled as your head remains at his shoulder. anakin however chooses this moment to speak, tone falsely saccharine, "sweet princess, aren't you going to tell me what you want? use your words."

for a brief second, you feel impossibly hot and annoyed. you'd rather not voice your desperation for him. you'd be reckless to follow his orders so blindly.

"you're the one with your hands under my dress. what is it you're wanting, jedi?" you finally draw your head back from him, eyes catching his.

anakin lets himself grin, haphazardly letting his thumb brush your needy nub. he watches as you attempt to hide the roll of your hips, "i want you."

he doesn't continue with words, no, he slides your underwear to the side and feels your wetness against his fingers. he lets out a low groan when you grip him tighter.

your back is pressed into the tree behind you and anakin's body seems to lock you in place, not that you'd move away from him now. not when he's teasing your opening and causing your mind to go wild.

"tell me what you want," he smirks, one digit dipping ever so slightly into your heat, "and i'll obey."

you screw your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself. your voice is uneven when you respond, "touch me, please."

he doesn't neglect your demand and he lets his finger slide into you, slow. you clench around the digit, hands snaking into his hair and forehead pressing against his own.

he lets you feel him, as deep inside you as he can possibly get, before sliding out and back in again. you want to scream at the way his digit barely hits the spongey part inside of you, but instead, you let your hands grasp him harder.

he takes pleasure in your whiney noises, pushing further into you before sliding out once more. you whine at his teasing, and you catch the softest grin on his lips as he presses into you, two fingers this time.

you feel more full of him, and the notion has you reeling.

"maker, anakin." you barely hear yourself when you speak, voice so low.

he arches his fingers inside you, hitting the spot that sends your weight fully into his being, "yeah? am i doing a good job princess?"

you hum in assurance, blissful and teetering the edge. you feel drunk with how good he feels, how good he's making you feel.

"good," you moan. "so good."

you cry out his name in praise, only to be met by a lament. the rumble that answers you sounds like distant thunder colliding with sand and stone. a rolling sensation races through your body at the sound of it. your heart thuds in your chest and he watches its movements in delight.

he seems to like the way you're falling apart for him, eyes unwavering in their view of you. slowly but surely, you feel him putting pressure right where you need it until you can hardly handle it anymore. anakin thrusts his digits faster and faster, and you can't help but pull quite firmly at his curls.

his throat elicits a wanton groan at the feeling, and you feel yourself rock your hips to meet his hand. you're so close to the brink.

"do you want to come? hm, want me to make you feel good." you can hear the strain in his voice.

"please, ani." your voice begging, warm at your own words.

his thumb finds your clit again, this time though, his touch isn't feather-light. no, instead he's cruel in the way he massages the bundle of nerves, leaving you a moaning mess beneath his body. he knows exactly how much pressure to use as he presses down on your bud repeatedly. making it impossible to form a coherent thought inside your head.

instead, all you can focus on is the thumb on your clit and the two digits in your core—driving into you relentlessly and the other pressing into you until your eyes shine white, you can feel yourself blanking.

his digits continue to pump in and out of you, humming his approval at your vulgar display— your eyes are heavy, legs unsteady, and lip slightly raw from biting it.

"i'm so close, anakin." you pant, fingers stiffening in his hair.

he whines, "yeah? let go, princess, i've got you."

and with one final plunge of his digits in and out of your warmth you feel a rather sudden wave overcoming your body, jolting everything inside and outside too. the sensation is a pure high, and you claw at anakin's shoulders until the feeling begins to subside. the night air suddenly feels so chilly, but you nuzzle closer into anakin. with you face hidden, you allow yourself a satisfied smile upon your, as well as anakin's, lips.

anakin grins down at you and kisses the top of your head in adulation before slowly removing his hands from you. you feel him trail his fingertips up your spine before speaking in a raspy tone, "how was that, princess?"

your body feels as if it could quaver at the sight of this man before you— a strong and assertive jedi warrior— so taken with you, eyes brimming down with a mixture of pride and adoration.

he pushes himself back slightly, still hovering above you, and looks down into your eyes with an unmistakable warmth in his gaze. you'e sure no one had ever looked at you like that before—like they wanted to consume every fiber of your being, of your soul.

anakin's eyes search yours for a moment before he presses his lips gently against yours in a temperate kiss.

as he moves away again, this time, drawing away enough to extend his arm above your head, fingers now clutching the tree's trunk.

you both remain still there for some time, taking comfort in each other's presence, until finally, anakin speaks softly again,"i thank the force to have met you, to know you. i've missed you, princess." his voice sounds brazen yet gentle.

his free hand lifts, raising your chin up to look into his eyes once more.

you hum, "you've grown better with apologies."

anakin huffs, lips upturned, "maybe, or perhaps solely for my benefit regarding you."

you roll your eyes, "is that what this was? some self-aggrandizing ruse?"

he smirks, eyes widening in faux horror, "never, princess. i only mean to say that i seem to behave best in your company. you wield a tight reign."

you can't help but smile at the compliment, unabashed. "i have no hold over you, jedi."

anakin's lips quirk into a fiendish grin as he reaches up to gently brush his thumb along your chin, "of course you do, princess," he murmurs softly. "of course you do."

#anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker x reader fluff #anakin x you #darth vader #vader x reader

623 notes · View notes

two-white-butterflies · 8 months

Text

you won't forget me | m33

Description: Max Verstappen attends an event - coincidentally his ex girlfriend plays her new song.

Author's Note: Angst

(ONE YEAR AGO)

maxverstappen1: Congratulations on the world tour, y/n ❤️ #Y/NWORLDTOUR #REVIVAL

liked by yourusername and 1,283,912 others

comments

danielricciardostan: you really don't want to reveal the pet name huh?? 🤣

yourusername: Wishing that you were here 💞

revivalstan: Mommy mommy..sorry mommy?

yourusername: finally saw this man, thank you belgium! #Spa #RevivalWorldTour22

liked by maxverstappen1 and 1,283,292 others

comments

maxverstappen1: ❤️

landonorris: Don't Stop ft. Max Verstappen was surprisingly an 8/10. 🤣 - yourusername: don't let him hear you say that. he only accepts perfect 10s 😭 - - maxverstappen1: @yourusername indeed! 😉😘

(SPA. 2022)

"I was a little worried because you weren't replying to my texts," he hummed while settling his mug on the table beside him. The International Date Line was a shitty imaginary line - separating the times in which he was awake and you were asleep (vice versa) it didn't help with the fact that you were always busy memorizing the cover songs for your concert.

It was horrible being away from each other - but at the same time, you both loved your freedom.

"I don't even hold my phone 50% of the time, I'm really sorry." you hummed while wrapping your arms around his back. Max was always warm - even when it was snowing - his body was always warm.

"I'll be over soon, I'll be back and we'll return to whatever paradise we have." you smiled, while reaching for his mug and taking a slow sip.

"Uhuh," he hummed - and you didn't fail to notice the sadness in his tone. Maybe the freedom was too good - he wasn't used to having you back.

A small sigh escapes your mouth. You place the mug on the table. "Is there something that you're not telling me?" you frowned - feeling a familiar fear creep up your throat. Did he want to break up? "No, I'm happy that I'll have you back - not really a fan of sharing you with fans." he chuckled amusingly.

Max Verstappen was a fucking idiot - he doesn't realize his emotions until they're too late. "I'm thinking of taking a break after the concert. I want to have time for us, and I don't want to share me with my career." you admit, a small smile painted on your lips.

He smiled at you in return - and you knew that the break wasn't coming anytime soon. That he'd break your heart before that.

And if he breaks your heart, so what? You'd rather be broken by his hand a million times than not at all.

f1updates: Max Verstappen and singer-girlfriend have reportedly broken up according to insiders.

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maxverslovvee: I DID NOT SEE THIS COMING.

ynstan: Oh no...I hope that it was for the best

baloney3: MAX-YN STANS HOW ARE WE? 😭

maxverstappen1: We were just kids when we fell in love. Now as adults, we chose to fall in love with ourselves. ❤️

liked by carlossainz55 and 1,238,291 others

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danielricciardo: ❤️

yourusername: ❤️

yourusername: After five years we've decided to call it quits. All my love goes towards Max. ❤️

liked by maxverstappen1 and 4,923,192 others

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danielricciardo: ❤️

rileykeough: Power to you, sister. ✨

yourusername: Silver Springs: Emillia out in DAWN ✨🍿🎪

liked by taylorswift and 11,293,182 others

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ynstannie3: OH THIS ABOUT TO HURT

maxandyn: isn't emillia the name of their cat? 😭 - loviemee3: Sassy and Jimmy's half sister 😭

(ONE YEAR LATER)

yourusername: #YNLN in the VMA's Music Awards.

liked by arianagrande and 2,912,912 others

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bumpertobumpertraffic: MOM YOU ATE

lovingyouwwe: Graduated in the university of KUNTSERVEN

maxverstappenupdates: Max Verstappen arriving in the VMA's music awards. More updates soon!

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maxandyn: ISN'T Y/N THERE?

(VMA's Music Awards. USA.)

Max's eyes narrowed - slowly adjusting to the mellow light around him. Apparently, the performance was supposed to be intimate, thus the use of such lights. It was his first time attending these types of events - you always refused to string him along when you were nominated, in fear that he'd feel out of place - and he does feel out of place. He was one of the few athletes inside the building.

"Can you tell me it was worth it? Baby, I don't want to know." he hears your familiar voice, and his grip tightens on his chair. He was aware of the cameras that were pointed in his direction - no doubt about to be plastered on an article a few hours after this. "We can leave," his publicist mumbles but he shakes his head.

He doesn't want to leave you - not again.

"Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me." you sang, while the lights slowly shifted to a green tone. He couldn't keep his eyes off you - there was a weird aura around him, forcing him to watch and listen to a song written about him.

"I know, I could have loved you but you would not let me." you shook your head - searching the crowd for his face. How you gained enough strength to look at him? He'd never know. "Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me." you repeated - finally meeting his gaze.

His eyes were moist - threatening to leak tears.

"I know I could have loved you, but you would not let me." you sang again, this time with more intonation as your muse returned home. "I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you." you swore and he could only nod his head.

He hasn't listened to music since you broke up.

"You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you." you breathed, feeling the room begin to grow smaller. Oh, why did he have to return? Why couldn't he have stayed in Europe? Where you didn't have to deal with the shadow of his name.

Max Verstappen, why do you keep hurting me?

"I'll follow you down til' the sound of my voice will haunt you." you raised your voice a few decibels. Praying to god that what you're saying was halfway true. The sound of his name haunted you - and your name should have the same effect.

"You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you." you continued singing the bridge, not taking your eyes a minute off him. Max, please remember me for the rest of your life. "Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me. I know I could've loved you, but you would not let me." you finished and the lights slowly dimmed.

maxverstappenupdates: Max Verstappen in VMA's afterparty.

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maxandlandolover: He looks sad. - ynloveee: you'll never get away from the sounndd of the woman that lovesss you !!

lovemelikeyoudo: TIME PUT A SPELL ON YOU, BUT YOU WON'T FORGET ME! YESS QUEEN

(VMA's Bathroom. USA)

"That was strangely moving," Daniel takes a deep breath, leaning on the counter as Max washes his hands. "I don't know, Dan." he shook his head - trying to ignore the voices in his head that told him he was wrong, that he made a mistake breaking up with you.

He loved you, with all of his heart - but none of you were willing to give up certain luxuries for each other. "You wouldn't stop staring at her." his friend pointed out, and Max stopped for a second. "She was a performer, of course I'd watch her." he defended himself.

"Sure, whatever." Daniel rolled his eyes while walking out of the room.

#max verstappen #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x female reader #f1 fics #f1 #f1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz social media au #f1 social media au

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aphroditesbaby1616 · 2 months

Text

Allspice (c.b oneshot)

♡ O.S Inspo: Forever & Always - Fearless (TV) ; "Was I out of line, did I say something way too honest, made you run and hide like a scared little boy?" ♡ Pairing : CarmyxAFAB Reader as little physical description possible | She/Her pronouns used, NO use of Y/N :)

♡ Summary: You have a very successful Culinary Review blog, the social media manager of one of your new hometown restaurants 'The Bear' has been dying to get you out to try their food. But since the EC is a bit of an overzealous competitor, you end up having to go back for round 2- you end up having a delicious dinner, and a free show.

♡ W/C: 4,381

♡ Posted Date: 03/18/24

♡ A/N: FIRST THING: I am HORRIDDDD at writing Claire- I'm much better at writing Carmy cause were alot more similar- so this Claire isn't gonna be CRAZY canon, but I think she got the job done. Anyway- EEEEEP!!! Here is my VERY FIRST ONE SHOT EVER!! Inspired by my amazing, wonderful, PRECIOUS FLOWER @daysofyellowroses that can be found here :) AAAAA!!! My precious Rose I hope you enjoy this, It could ABSOLUTELY have a part 2 if y'all like it. I ended it here cause I'm sooo wordy and I didn't want it to turn in to a multi-chap. fic by mistake...but ofc if y'all want more just tell me and ill get RIGHT TO WORK!!! I really hope this comes off how I saw it in my head. There's no smut/sexy stuff, just mutual pining and flirty teasing, I hope thats ok!! aaa here we goooo!!! Enjoy <3

♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, Drinking alcohol (Literally it LOL)

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Being a Food Critic wasn’t an easy gig, as much as people wanted to believe it’s simply going to famous restaurants, trying their most popular dishes- and giving your opinion, it was much more then that.

Each and every aspect of the restaurant was under your review, from the second you walked in the door, you were judging everything. From the atmosphere, to the music, to the decor, to the comfortability of the furniture all of it, was to meet your expectations if the owner of the establishment wanted a good review.

Today was finally the day you'd review one of the restaurants that had sent 3 requests for you to feature a review of them on your blog.

The Bear. Interesting name, you thought.

With the rugged name- you’d assumed a more millennial hipster-New American vibe. But when you’d arrived- you were quite…impressed? That instead of leaning into that all too common aesthetic, it was more of a classy, comfortable vibe.

They’d not even had bear art, anything of the sort. It was pure comfort, mixed with subtle class. The kind that spoke to the cost of the dishes- but wasn’t in your face obnoxious. The only ‘Bear’ was the little golden bear embossed into the leather menu you’d been handed when seated at the table.

The way you did your reviews was…a tad unusual - some chefs in the industry called it ‘unfair’ but you called it…the fairest things could be. Instead of telling them when you’d be swinging by for a review since where’s the fun in that you’d call, make a reservation under some random name, and they’d know you’d accepted their offer when the review had been posted on your blog.

It felt most honest and fair because you were one of the most renowned food critics in the country right now. If they knew you were coming- any EC with a brain would spend the night before your arrival, prepping the entire restaurant and staff - assuring they’d be on their best behavior to try and squeeze a higher grade out of you.

But you were just a reader once upon a time, years ago- when you realized in culinary school that the making of the art didn’t interest you, it was the observing. Food wasn’t just about taste, but rather the whole experience. And if every famous food critic you’d taken interest in back in the day- never got a true experience due to their notability? You’d never have gotten into this field. So, you were most keen on keeping things fair.

A woman with mousey brown hair comes up to your table, dressed in the typical waitress slacks and black button up shirt. “Hello! Welcome to The Bear. My name is Sam, have you dined with us before?” she asks.

You sit up in your chair, peeling your eyes from the menu. You give her a small kind smile “I haven’t” you replied, urging her to continue her script.

“Well welcome in, we're so happy you chose to spend your evening with us. So for our menu” she opens it in front of you. “Here” she points “are our wine options, fabulous selection this month. Then we have draft beers right next to it. On the following page” she points “all of our craft cocktails, then this,” she points in the bottom corner.

“Our house cocktail - Just called The Bear. It’s wonderful, if you like old fashions you’ll love this - made with Bearface Triple Oak Whiskey.” She said and you nod.

“That please. That’s what I’ll start with” you said and she nodded.

“I’ll get that right in. But quickly, just so you’re aware” she flipped the page and pointed.

“These - are the dishes of the month. Each crafted by one of our two head chefs, they change monthly so if something calls to you I recommend you try- because it won’t be back” she said. You raised your eyebrows a bit in surprise and nod.

“Thank you” you said and she gives a nod before heading off to the bar to put in your drink order before heading off to tend to other tables in your section.

Having an alternating menu intrigued you, for such a high end establishment- one with a Michelin star at that- implementing such a menu would consistently have their star at risk. One dish, one app, one drink- that was not up to par and it would be revoked. You guessed the owners of this place liked living on the edge, as if being in this industry wasn’t already being constantly on edge.

You gaze over the menu, the Chilean Seabass sounded like a fair assessment. Seafood was quite difficult to get right, especially in the springtime before peak season, and you’d be able to judge the consistency of the chopping and such because there was a fresh tomato corn salad that came with it. That was your rule when you came to judge restaurants, one main course, and one dessert.

You’d felt like the main courses were the true stars of the show anyhow, and it would be unfair to muck up your palate with an app that was usually something easy to get right (since they were usually fried, covered in cheese, or some kind of carb). And the dessert usually showed the restaurant's creativity, which you loved to see, so 2 dishes was your max.

The waitress returns with the cocktail, setting it down with a napkin under it. “Here you are, now- have you decided on a starter?” She questioned and you shook your head.

“Straight to the good stuff, I’d like the Chilean Sea Bass please. And for dessert,” you flick the page and your eyes settle on the words savory cannoli - hmm, imaginative indeed. “And uh- The Michael Cannoli?” You said, shutting the menu and handing it to her.

She nods with a smile, jotting down the order into her notepad before taking the menu and holding it to her chest. “That will be out soon as possible. Enjoy your drink” she said and headed back to the kitchen.

You sit back sipping the cocktail and humming. She was right, much like an old fashioned, but floral notes. Almost…chamomile? Yes! That was it. Very interesting.

You slipped your iPad out of your bag, opening up your journaling app and grabbing the pencil out of the little sleeve. You quickly snapped a picture with your phone of the drink, airdropping it to yourself and adding it into the entry and writing;

‘To start; ‘The Bear’ house cocktail- initial thoughts ; not too sweet, strong (but not overpowering), chamomile? Some kind of herbal tea flower’

You take another sip, letting the flavors sit on your tongue a moment before swallowing. “Mmm!” You hum to yourself, finally realizing where the herby taste beneath the chamomile was coming from that gave it that oaky piney taste.

‘Angostura bitters- will confirm!!’ You wrote just as someone approaches your table. You look up to see a man, short brown hair, stubble. He was smiling, holding a plate.

“Hello! Here we have Arancini with our house-made pesto, courtesy of Executive Chef Carmen” he placed the dish in front of you next to your iPad. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking up at him, scarcel confused.

“Wrong table” you murmured, thumbing the dish back in his direction lightly. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Nope- ah, he- he said this table.” He replied. It did smell fantastic, and any other day you’d never deny delicious, deep fried balls of risotto dipped in smooth, decedent pesto- but you’re working right now and it’s not fair.

“Well, you can tell him” you lifted the dish, offering it back. “I have a system. And I’m unsure how he realized that I’m coming here, tonight, but I dislike cheaters. And he should know if he’s read my blog- I don’t muck up my palate with grease before I try the main course.” The plate was so close to him now it was nearly digging into his chest.

He nodded quickly, taking the plate without another word and briskly walking back to the kitchen. You sat back in your seat with a slight scoff.

He thinks he can win you over just like that? How did he even know you would be here?

You picked up your pencil once again, adding a note.

For the chef; Arancini smelt delicious. Didn’t order it, so I didn’t taste it . Presentation wise; 7/10. Pesto looked like it was spooned in the dish a tad bit messy to me.

You smiled to yourself, you knew he’d read the final review once it was posted. And since he wanted to be a little cheater and get a overall higher score since he was trying to weasel you into trying extra dishes- you’d kick his ego down a few extra pegs for fun.

You sat, nursing your drink, adding extra little notes here and there, as well as editing a blog post about Ghost Kitchens you’d been working on and how they were ruining the mobile order industry on the side. You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly.

Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh.

“Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table.

You swore even in the ambient lighting, his cheeks flushed slightly. “You- uh- you declined, my Arancini. Why?” He asked, holding his hands behind his back, the position making his already toned and tattooed arms appear more muscular. It makes him all the more impressive he has all these tattoos and still made it in this industry. I can only imagine the shit he got for them.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his boldness. “Because that’s Cheating. Mr.Berzatto. I’d assume you know my work well. Considering you know what I look like, so- why try to cheat? You know how I feel about appetizers. It’s a scapegoat.” You shrugged, locking your iPad when you realized he’d been peeking at the notes.

“Messy” his eyes narrow. He scoffs a bit, alluding to the note you’d written a short while prior “Messy?” He asks again, you laugh a bit.

“Mmhmm! Oh, was it you chef? Wow…I mean- now that I think about it” you shook your head, now just messing with him since you see how much he was dying to impress you. “I could’ve sworn- the pesto it just..was too loose. Overblended maybe? That’s why it was impossible to plate without making a mess.” You shrugged, cutting up your fish carefully and spreading the vegetables with your knife to observe the cohesivity of the cuts.

He scoffs, “too- too loose?! W-y’know what. No. No. It- you’re gonna try it.” He demands and you look up at him, nearly laughing at the seriousness of his tone.

“That depends. Bring me a pesto worth trying and I’ll think about it. Now” you wave him off casually “I can’t work with the chef over my shoulder. So- Shoo chef don’t bother me” you teased and he shook his head.

“Game on.” He muttered, heading back to the kitchen.

You smiled to yourself, the Arancini absolutely isn’t going into the review. But you’ll humor his ego by trying it.

You cut the fish thoroughly, checking the texture and the evenness of the seasonings slathered on the skin, writing little notes as you go along. The cuts of the vegetables were pristine. Nearly perfect. The only misshapen pieces were clearly cosmetic defects of the vegetable. The chef that cut these was immaculate with a knife.

When you took your first bite, you nearly moaned. The fish was buttery, the skin was crispy, slightly spicy, tangy, the flesh melted in your mouth. The risotto was so cheesy and buttery and wonderful. You could eat this meal every night for the rest of your life and never get sick of it. It was the best Sea bass you’d ever tasted.

You opened your iPad again, jotting down notes about the flavors, the mouth feel, all the usual points you hit in your review.

This meal is a 9.2 out of 10.

You write at the bottom. Very fair score, you never had rated something as a 10. Something being a 10 would be- you don’t even know what it would be. But it would be what the score says, perfection. And while this dish was wonderful, and very very good- it was not perfect. At least to your heavily trained palate.

You finished what you wanted out of the meal, pushing the plate to the side and not soon after, Carmen was back at your table. He placed the plate in front of you, 3 perfectly circular Arancini discs were placed equal distance on the plate, and truly beautiful pesto, sat in the dish alongside it. It frankly was immaculately plated.

“Unbroken pesto. Sorry again, about the last one.” He said, watching you carefully. You hum as you grab your fork, splitting one of the discs and digging out some of the risotto.

“Could be firmer.” You said, eyes flicking to his. He nods, clearing his throat a bit.

“It’s not- uh- it’s”

“Fresh” you finished for him, raising your brows and he nods. “So- since you’re frying it. You cook it for about..a minute- maybe forty seconds less than you usually would.” You said, daintily taking the bite off your fork.

“Heard..” he nodded, waiting for your reaction. You hummed a bit.

“Great balance of parm and butter though. I’ll give you that. Neither overpowers the other, that’s hard to do considering the notes” you added, cutting up the crust and tasting it.

“Mm-“ you scrunch your nose and his face visibly drops. “Mm-mm…no- not peanut oil…why would you do that? It totally overpowers the breadcrumb with this like…cheapy taste. I’d say it would be way better if you fried it in sunflower oil” you added, digging out more of the risotto and dipping it in the pesto before having a bite and humming.

“This though” you point at the little dish of green sauce with your fork. “This is great.” You add and he nods.

“Ok-yeah…ok…” he nods, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Thank y’for trying it.” He said and you nod.

“I’ll be back for a fair assessment. I think I’ll pass on the cannoli tonight, and just get the bill. Thank you” you slipped your pencil in the case before putting your iPad in your bag and holding your hands on the table in front of you.

“Y-y’re coming back” he said, sounding slightly surprised.

You shrugged “well- you clearly want a full review based on your behavior tonight, Chef. So I’ll humor you. I won’t tell you when of course, so just pray that it’s a day like today-“ you paused, looking around. “Where things seem to be running…alright.” You sat back in your chair casually with a small smile.

“I look forward to your review.” He gave a nod and headed back to the kitchen.

It was 3 weeks before you’d decided to return back to The Bear spring had quickly turned to early summer, and you thought you’d given enough time for your little conversation with the head chef to slip his mind.

It was 9:20, 40 minutes before closing. You did promise to come back at a random time, and no time is more random then a Friday night less than an hour before the kitchen closed.

You pulled open the door, stepped in and headed up to the host stand where the same man that originally offered you the Arancini stood. “The picky critic returns.” He said, tapping his pen against the reservation book absentmindedly.

“She does” you smiled a bit.

“Well lucky f’you cousin said you get a table any time, right this way” he leads you to a booth near the back, where you had a perfect view of the restaurant. Much cozier then before, right next to the doors of the kitchen where you could hear the back of house crew buzzing about.

“Same cocktail as last time?” He asked and you raised your brows in slight surprise as you sit.

“No waitress?” You asked, getting comfortable and setting your iPad down next to the empty plate.

“She’ll be over, just figured a friendly offer couldn’t hurt” he said with a small smirk.

You roll your eyes playfully. “House cocktail please, and thank you. But don’t count on kindness boosting your hospitality score-“ you stop, realizing he never gave you his name.

“Richie” he said, sticking his hand out to shake.

“Richie.” You repeat, giving him your firm professional shake.

“House cocktail comin’ up” he said and headed back to the bar. You mulled over the menu, lemon chicken picatta, that sounded like a perfect dish to judge this time around.

A few minutes later, Richie returns, setting the glass down in front of you. “Waitress should be by momentarily, enjoy your meal” he said, heading back to the host stand.

A bit after the waitress came to take your order, the restaurant had begun to die down. You were going to be the last person served tonight it looked like, since in 5 minutes they would stop seating people.

You added additional notes to your section about the cocktail, getting a better photo of it for your blog when you hear a bit of commotion up front.

You look up, to see a woman with curled brown hair in navy blue scrubs, her hands on her hips, talking with Richie with a frustrated look. There were tears in her eyes, you couldn’t help but tune in to their conversation.

“Richie, please let me see him- he- he hasn’t said anything and I…I just need to hear him say it to my face. Please!” She begs, tears were streaming down her face now.

Richie looks around nervously, tugging her to the side so they weren’t standing right in front of the host stand. You lean over just a bit- not so much it would be noticeable, but enough your nosy ears could continue to pick up what was being said.

“Claire. You shouldn’t be here…I’m sorry- he told me-he said that..that you can’t come here anymore. It’s too much and he will apologize when he can find the words. But he can’t. So please before he sees you. Leave” he said softly, attempting to soothingly rub her arm and she jerks away like his touch burned her skin.

“Fuck you, Richie. Get him. Now. I’m not working on his time anymore. This is my time now. I’ve waited around enough for him. I’m done waiting. Either get him yourself? Or I swear to god I’ll go in that kitchen and embarrass the fucking shit out of him” she hissed.

Your eyebrows raised, shit. Whoever fucked her over should at least be warned.

He snorts, clearly amused before stepping back and raising his arms in defeat. “Have at it ClaireBear.” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think he’s gonna take kindly to you startin’ w’him in his house? Be my guest.” He shrugged, going back over to the host stand.

And then it clicked. She’s here for Carmen.

She laughed dryly, sarcastically, like a woman who’d had it. “You think I’m scared? Richie? You think I’m scared of little Carmy who couldn’t even check out a library book by himself? mm?” She goads him, arms crossed, chest heaving with rage.

His head snaps back to look at her, brows raised in shock. “Kid- I really think you should go calm the fuck down, because Y’re not gonna like the way that this conversation ends w’him- at all.”

And with that, she shoves open the kitchen door. You couldn’t just sit there and not watch- this was the juiciest drama you’d ever been privy to in person, and this means he’s single. You slightly curse yourself for being so giddy that this means the sexy chef would likely be on the market.

Your foot catches the door before it closes, leaning against the frame. She storms in, eyes frantically darting over the kitchen.

“Carmen.” She barks, the entire kitchen stops moving and looks at her, as if they were in shock and awe someone would ever raise their voice to him in such a way.

He rounds the corner, holding a pan of focaccia dough that he nearly drops at the sight of her. He blinks a few times, squeezing his eyes shut as if she’d disappear when he opened them again.

“The fuck are you-“ his eyes meet yours, his face going pale quickly, he looked white as a sheet. “Leave.” He orders her, slamming the dough down on the counter.

“Leave?!” She laughs coldly, “you’re gonna tell me to leave?! You’re a fucking pussy Carmen. A pussy. Y’know- it was charity giving you a chance. Pity work.” She spits and you blink a few times, taken aback by such harsh words.

Is she serious? She thinks anyone could believe dating a super hot, ripped, talented, chef prodigy - that was charity work in any sense of the word?

He scoffs, “Charity?” He chuckled dryly. “Claire- you begged me to fuckin’ be with you! You-you-y’re a fuckin gnat! Claire! You- all you do is-is fuckin’-” he runs his hand through his hair, his chest heaving in anger, “You dont know me, Claire! Alright? There- And I-I-I don’t want you i’m-i’m sorry-”

She laughed, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “You-” she whispered, her chest shaking with a sob. “You- fucker- I- I gave you a chance…” she whispered and gripped her wrist sadly. “I- I was there for you, Carmen- when no one else could fucking stand you.” she croaked.

“And I never asked for you too- please- just…leave me alone-” he shook his head. “Leave. Please…just-pretend we never happened, it was a mistake, Claire.” he breathed, clearly utterly defeated, and It sounded like he’d told this girl these same words multiple times.

“M-Mikey would be sick- Carmy, he’d- he’d hate who you’ve become…” she said meekly, and with that- something behind his eyes snapped.

“Claire I’m not DOING THIS I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKIN’ RESTAURANT. WERE OVER. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME! YOU MEAN NOTHING CLAIRE!” He roars, the veins in his neck popping out, angrily and aggressively pointing to the door. “OUT. get the fuck out. G-get out, b-before I-I-I fuckin- holy fuck” he finds his composure once more, even though his breath was still ragged from his outburst, flicking his hand next to him his entire body trembling with panic.

She looks to her left and right, she’s not that-

Your thoughts were quickly proven wrong, when you see she was stupid enough to grab a pan off the stove to whip at him.

“Aht!” the spanish woman standing a few paces to the right said, quickly grabbing the arm with the pan and twisting it behind her back. “Drop it.” she hissed.

Carmen looks between the two of them, utterly in shock. “Y-y’were gonna hit me?” He asked her, face twisting in rage. “Fuck you. Fuck you Claire.” He seethed, taking the pan from his employees grasp and tossing it in the sink with a loud clatter.

“Get the fuck out” you told her, grabbing her from the handle of the woman who’d stopped the assault, shoving her towards the kitchen door and into the front of the restaurant. “Y’re a fuckin crazy bitch.” You laughed dryly, giving her a hard shove for good measure.

“Oh and who are you” she straightened herself out, pushing her bag up on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. Glad to see that Carmy still needs someone to protect him. I’ll gladly give up that spot.” she said, causing you to laugh.

“Oh my god- you are pathetic. He just spelt it clear as day sweetheart- you are over. O-v-e-r. He doesn’t want you babe! And no, he doesn’t need my protection- I was enjoying dinner and apparently a show until you went batshit bitch.” You snip, plopping back down at your booth.

She scoffed “he doesn’t want anyone. The only thing he wants - is to remain miserable. Good fucking luck, whoever you are.” She said before stomping out.

“Yo she was really gonna throw somethin?” Richie asked as he walked over. Thankfully, it was just you, him, and the bartender in the front of the restaurant.

You nod “thankfully she didn’t realize I was there- Carmen would have had a nasty burn, and a concussion.” You said, taking a large sip of your drink.

Carmen comes out, eyes meeting yours immediately. “Fuck- I- don’t worry y’re meal is comped and don’t…don’t worry about a review, i’m sorry- I-I guess it wasn't in the cards f’r us to be featured on y’r blog... I’m really so sorry… Shes- ah..” he rubs his arm nervously, trying to find the words.

“A woman scorned” You teased, and he snorts a laugh, nodding a bit.

“Hell hath no fury, right?” He joked, sighing a bit. “It’s uh…it’s my fault I guess…I uh- I should’ve dealt with that…I've been putting it off” he said and you nod a bit.

“You off the clock?” you looked at your phone for the time, 10:07.

“Shit- fuck- sorry- I’m so sorry- give me like- I was making y’r food…and then-” you shook your head, stopping him.

“No- No…I was uh-Asking to see if you maybe wanted to..have a drink with me? Not-not like…professionally…” you shrugged, stirring your half full cocktail with the bar straw that floated in it.

“Sure- uh…sure- I’d like that lemme..lemme go change, i’ll be right out” he nodded, heading back into the kitchen.

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the-kr8tor · 3 months

Note

hihi!! I hope you're having a great day and a new year!

I have a small fic request (u can take it any other forms u want, all up to you!) Can I request a fic where reader asked Hobie if he would rather elope instead of a normal wedding? Since he doesn't like the idea of getting marriage (My hc by the way). Eloping is still kinda like a wedding but just the two of them! No loud music, not alot of money spent etc etc! U can write on how they would do it!

(also I'd like to imagine this is them getting 'enganged' before having the twins HEEHHEHEHE) (i hope this isn't too much) (i would love to see on how you'd write this!!)

reader can be gn or FEM btw :)

Thank you for the adorable request 😘

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Brown/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: No use Y/N, no specific description of the reader (r is mentioned wearing makeup though), lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie watches you sing with the band that's currently playing further away on stage. He dragged you out behind all the crowd so you could properly enjoy the concert without getting elbowed by someone. He doesn't mind standing that far from the stage since he gets to see you dance unabashedly when there aren't a lot of people this far back.

The music isn't that loud from where you're both standing, helping Hobie hear your singing, providing a front row seat to your very own concert. He thinks you deserve top billing from how you belt out the lyrics.

The strobe lights illuminate your face, lighting up your best features, add it up with the moonlight shining directly at you like your very own spotlight, he can't get his eyes off you, lips softly smiling, fondness seeping out from his pores.

You feel his stare before you feel his featherlight touch atop your arm, knuckles brushing on your skin, goosebumps spreading through them like fire.

Grinning at him, you wipe sweat off your brow, guessing the summer heat has probably melted all of your makeup, thinking that you look worse for wear.

“Yeah, Hobs?” He once hated that nickname but with you saying it, it might as well be his given name. He loves it if it's you who says it.

Hobie has never seen you look so beautiful even with your mascara running down your cheeks. He's seen you at your worst, loved you more through it, and will continue to love you through your best too.

He loops his pinky around yours, clammy hands meeting equally clammy skin. He blames the weather for the lack of physical affection, if it weren't for the heat he'd be embracing you like a boa constrictor, taking your breath away without devouring you for dinner of course.

“You okay? You look like you're about to pass out. Do you want to sit down for a minute?”

His next words shocks you both.

“I have no idea where we go from here.”

“What?” You chuckle nervously. Maybe you should've worn waterproof mascara. “What are you saying, Hobie?” You forgo his pinky, opting to hold both his hands instead.

Your frown tells him he should've thought this through.

“Sorry,” he laughs shakily, none of the usual Hobie charisma you're used to. “I meant, fuck this is hard.” he's sweating, why did he decide to wear leather vest and heavy boots in this heat? He blames the weather for his shortcomings.

Your heart falls in your stomach. “Are you…are you breaking up with me?” words barely strung together with your tongue tied up.

“What? No!” Hobie backtracks in a split second. “No, love, that's not what I meant.” shaking his head, he removes his hands from yours, deepening your frown.

In an attempt to fix his blunder, he cups your face, thumbs rubbing just under your eyes, spreading the dark ink all over your skin. He definitely needed to think it all through.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, mascara running with the wetness, turning you into one of the heavy metal band mates that played a couple hours ago.

“Shit!” He roams his face around the concert hall, not knowing how to fix the situation.

“What did you really mean, Hobie?” You sob, balling his shirt in your hands tightly.

Hobie inhales and exhales, collecting his thoughts properly. “We're living together.”

“Uh huh.” You nod, confused.

“We clearly love each other.”

“You're just stating the obvious.” you pause your weeping when he groans in frustration. “What is happening?”

“I–” his next words surprises you more than him. “I wanna fuckin' marry you, love.”

You blink rapidly, tilting your head, utterly flabbergasted. “Huh?”

“That's what I meant with ‘I have no idea where we go from here.’” he sighs, facepalming, pursing his lips. “I want to take another step forward with you, but fuckin' hell I hate the bloody pomp and circumstance of it all.” A smile spreads across your face with every word he says.

Did he just ask for your hand in marriage?

“At the same time I don't think we have to marry just so people would know how committed we are to each other.” He's rambling and you smile wider through mascara filled tears. “Not to mention the fuckin' government knowing about all of it, seriously, why can't they just mind their own business about—”

“Hobs,” it's your turn to hold his face, he stops speaking, his chest heaving, eyes glued to you. “Let's elope then.” Hobie mentally conks himself right on the head for not thinking that. “just us, no two hundred guests, no thousands of pounds needed for the ceremony, no stuffy officiant. Just us and our vows.”

Hobie laughs at himself before he places his head on your shoulder, he can't believe he just asked you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Nosing your neck, he embraces you fully, swinging you slightly to the music that's definitely not for slow dancing. Holding on to him, you kiss his hairline, tracing it with your lips.

While Hobie recuperates from his blunder, you on the other hand feel like you're about to burst out of the seams, flooding the entire venue with your love for the man before you.

After the song ends and they announce the new act, with the roar of the crowd Hobie has one last thing to add.

“Let's do it now.” Hobie lifts his head, facing you in all your glory, heart shaped eyes staring at him affectionately, face aglow with so much love that Hobie can feel it flowing directly to his chest. “Let's elope right now, say our vows, we don't need an officiant to declare us married when the band corroded coffin works just as fine.”

“With a few hundred witnesses and a cover band as our wedding singers?” You loop your arms around his neck, linking your fingers together just to hold him closer. Nodding, you can't help but giggle. “Sure, let's do it right now.”

“You first.” Hobie thinks he chose right.

“Nu-huh, you asked, you go first.”

With a joking huff and a thumping heart, he eggs you on.

“I think the bride goes first.”

“Yeah? You've been to a ton of weddings?”

He laughs, the sound is better than the band playing in the background. And in that musky concert hall, underneath the stars and strobe lights, you do your vows.

“Okay, I'll go first.” You clear your throat, hands shaking not from nerves but from excitement. “I vow to always mend your wounds when you get home.” He smiles, eyes shining with unshed happy tears. “But I can't promise that I won't complain and nag you the entire time.”

Chuckling, you continue. “I vow to always be understanding, and to love you until I'm six feet under ground and even then I'd continue to love the shit out of you, Hobart Larry Brown. Even love your government name.”

Hobie can't help in anymore so he leans in but you stop him with your hand shielding your lips.

“You're horrible.” His words lack venom, all love and endearment pointed at you.

“I just vowed to love you unconditionally and you call me horrible?” Your words are muffled that he barely understood it. Yet he still pecks the top of your hand, to satisfy his need to kiss you. “You're not allowed to kiss me, not until we finish our vows.”

He rolls his eyes comically and you laugh. Your lips hurt from all the smiling.

Face hot, (not from the weather) you wipe his cheek free from sweat, leaving your hand to grasp his face. You hope it's enough to convey how utterly in love you are with him.

“My turn?”

“Mm-hmm”

Hobie inhales, he has fought a bunch of villains who wanted to end him but asking you if you want to marry him has him more terrified than facing green goblin. He's exhausted just from that. But he's more than ready to do this, to make his vows. It's only you isn't it? The love of his life who's currently staring at him warmly.

He's glad you agreed to elope, he can't imagine doing this in front of a hundred guests.

“I vow to always come home even when I'm beat up and bloodied. I'll crawl just to get to you.”

If your makeup wasn't ruined before it's properly ruined now with how much tears you're letting out. A few people look at you two weirdly.

“I vow to make time for you, I'd sacrifice sleep if you ask me.” He whispers the next line. “I'm serious. That's how much I love you.”

You laugh through the tears, gripping his collar, it might look like you're about to beat him up but you're actually holding back from snogging the shit out him.

“I promise to love you as long as you let me.” Hobie takes one of his rings off his finger, a favourite of his, a promise to you. The word wife slips his tongue and it has you almost fainting.

That got you and now you're sobbing your heart out. But after a beat, he lifts your face by your chin to let him look at you, he's right, he chose the right one.

“How does forever sound?” you manage to let out, lips still wobbly.

“Perfect. Forever sounds bloody perfect.” He leans once again, this time you don't stop him.

“You may kiss the sweaty bride.” You laugh and you kiss your husband.

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #hobie fluff #hobie x reader #fanfic #spiderpunk

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soft-and-bitter · 1 year

Text

We Can Last Forever

Mafia!Bucky x Ex!Reader

You turn to an old flame in a moment of desperation. Bucky takes full advantage of the situation to bargain for something he's wanted as soon as he set eyes on you.

Word Count: 1853

Warning(s): swearing, descriptions drug use and sexual situations

If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving some feedback, thanks! ❤

M A S T E R L I S T

"Look who we have here," he murmured, smirking. There wasn't a trace of worry in his tone, nor on his handsome face. And for reasons you couldn't quite grasp, these facts only served to elevate your own stress, the urgency of the situation now clearer than ever.

Bucky was your last resort.

"Hi," you greeted. Despite the sheer brevity involved, even you could hear how unsure you sounded, but it was just as well; you were winging this after all, what with all your options up in flames. On the other hand, you also couldn't fuck this up either, because what else would you come up with if this didn't work out?

With a deep breath, you tried again. "Hi, Bucky. I'm sorry this is so last minute."

He tilted his head, the black turtleneck he wore accentuating the steep line of his jaw. "It wouldn't have been if you'd called ahead of time. Oh, wait," he said, lip curling, "you got rid of my number from your phone. How could I have ever forgotten?"

You looked away, both hands gripping your phone behind your purse. Rather than place it next to you on the plush sofa, you'd opted to set it on your lap. Maybe you saw it as a barrier, however meagre, just something other than the distance that separated you from Bucky. For protection? But it was you who had sought him out, not the other way around.

There was no stilling your frantic thoughts, all those contradictions and uncertainties colliding against each other to form some ugly kaleidoscope of confusion in your head. Several stories below, the club was at the height of its frenzy, the bass throbbing faintly against the walls of Bucky's office, a cursed soundtrack to score the situation you were in, with no promise it was ending anytime soon.

"I . . . it felt like the right thing to do at the time," you tried explaining, still clutching your phone tightly. "I wasn`t ready to deal with the truth."

He chuckled softly. "Yet here you are," he said, each word sliding past his lips in a slow drawl. "I guess there's no keeping me out of your life after all, despite that text of yours."

You turned your head to look back up at him again. Bucky was leaning against his expansive chrome and glass desk, long fingers curled around the edges. His jet-black suit was tailored within an inch of its life; one of his cufflinks winking at you playfully, as if amused by your discomfort and panic.

"You're right, I guess I can't."

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Well, it is what it is. Now tell me why you're here."

Here was your moment, your golden opportunity. You didn't shy away from the details. Why would you when everything you described was all part of his sordid world, the drugs and the money owed, the nefarious parties involved? And so you laid it all out before him like a spread made up of your family's suffering: stressed and overworked, David had gone back to an old habit his dirt bag of an uncle had first introduced him to more than a decade ago. One hit after another, then another, and now your brother—the smarter of the two, in your opinion, and certainly the more successful—was now in so much debt he'd brought up the possibility of selling your mom's home for cash.

Bucky didn't react when you told him how much you needed to borrow. That soothed your nerves somewhat; if he wasn't fazed by the amount, then maybe he'd be more willing to part with his money.

You hoped.

"We'll have the money back in your hands before you even get a chance to miss it," you assured with a smile you hoped was blinding enough for Bucky. "David just has to get through this hump, but once he does, everything will be fine."

Just for a moment you wondered whose worries you were really trying to assuage—Bucky's or yours? Because paying off David's dealer was one thing, but your brother had also promised to check into rehab asap. Yet even with his high-paying FAANG job in Silicon Valley, he had already blown through his savings, together with any credit he'd been approved for. To top it all off, the massive bonus he kept harping on about wouldn't get paid out until the end of the year. You yourself had funnelled whatever money you could spare to help his cause. Where the hell would the money come from until then?

Bucky sighed audibly, pulling you out of your thoughts. "You haven't exactly explained why I should help you in the first place," he said.

He wasn't wrong, you realized. And really, it was what you`d hoped to avoid all along. "Listen, I know you probably won't believe me when I say this, but . . . I guess I thought we had something special going on between us. Special enough that I felt I could turn to you."

"You're right, I don't believe you," he confirmed, shaking his head. "Try harder, won't you?"

You stared up at him, a furrow between your brows. "It's the truth, Bucky. I was scared, okay? And let's face it: you knew I'd be, didn't you? Otherwise you would've told me from the start what the hell you really were."

He didn't respond to that right away. In the silence that ensued, with the club's bass pounding at the same speed as your heartbeat, you began to doubt yourself. Couldn't you have handled that with a little more finesse? What if Bucky was offended by your response that he decided he was going to turn you away?

When he finally spoke, it was with an edge of mockery and triumph in his voice. "Just so we're clear: you've come to ask a crime lord to help you when the very fact of me being one had you running off in the first place."

"I couldn't think of anyone else to go to."

Bucky scoffed. "I sure hope the irony's not lost on you."

The smile you offered him was sardonic at best. "Believe me, it's not."

Just when you were convinced that you'd screwed this up entirely, Bucky pushed himself off the edge of his desk and moved towards you, closing the distance. Neon blue strobe lights flashed through the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the club, casting otherworldly shadows across his face as he stalked nearer. You didn't turn your head to watch when he dropped into the sofa next to you, stretching his arms wide across the headrest. His fingers feathered against one of your shoulder blades.

From the corner of your eye you watched as he tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, sighing once again. "If you want my help, you'll comply with whatever I set out for you," he said.

"Like what?"

You could feel his gaze on you. "For starters, I'd like a kiss."

"Are you serious? Now?"

"Now," he echoed.

"And that's it?"

He gave a light shrug. "The night's still young. We'll just have to see how things go."

"But why?"

"Why not?" he countered, fingers drumming against the headrest. "Besides, you're the one who thought there was something special between us. Let's see what's left."

For a moment, you hesitated. Bucky's request was simple, but that was where the uncertainty lay. There was something between the two of you, even now, even after you left him in the lurch, that it was enough for you to reach out to him. You were doubtful a kiss would prove that to him, though.

There had been so much more you'd done with him, after all.

"Well?"

You studied his face. His expression was still passive, but curiosity shone bright in his eyes. What choice did you have? David was counting on you now, his own fear and panic elevating your own. With a tilt of your head you leaned forward, eyes falling closed, as you caught Bucky's lips with yours.

Bucky didn't react at first, and you nearly stopped, too shy and uncertain to entertain the possibility of being unwanted, that this was just a cheap way for him to get back at you. But then his lips moved against yours, bold and intentional; when he coaxed your mouth opened and his tongue slid past your teeth, you realized.

He still wanted you.

Both your phone and your purse dropped somewhere below you as one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders tightly. Bucky drew you in deeper, his hold fierce, lips desperate and bruising, pulling you into a well of memories: his naked body against yours, mouth lingering on intimate spots that made you cry out in ecstasy, the sweet words he'd whispered in your ear while you came down from your high. Let me give you more. Let me give you everything. You just have to stay. Can you do that? For me?

His lips latched onto the side of your neck as you lost yourself further in his touch, fingers tangled in his dark hair, while his large hand fanned across your breast—

Your phone was like a grenade going off. You jerked back in panic, gasping for breath while the familiar melody on your device blared throughout the room. It was Bucky who got to it first.

"How fitting," he said, turning your phone around so you could see the screen. "It's your brother."

Heart hammering in your chest, you didn't move at first.

"Go ahead, answer it," he ordered, holding out your phone to you. "Tell David the money will be wired to his account in less than thirty and he's got you to thank for this."

His words were like a bucket of cold water flung at your face. With sudden clarity you remembered why you'd come here in the first place, and it wasn't to re-ignite things with an old flame. You needed Bucky's help, and, to your immense relief, he was giving it to you.

When you accepted your brother's call you cut straight to the chase, telling him of the lifeline Bucky was throwing his way. The only one, you emphasized, hanging up before he could profess any gratitude. David had work to do, but you'd done your part. Your mom would get to keep her house, just like she deserved to.

You looked at Bucky. "Thank you. You don't know how much this means to my family."

He smirked at you, his hair now tousled thanks to your doing. "Don't thank me just yet, sweetheart. We're not quite done, are we?"

During the call one of his hands had crept along the inside of your thigh. It remained there, his hold entirely too tight and too hot, even through the fabric of your slacks. When Bucky spoke, you didn't miss the raw desire in his voice, the predatory anticipation that lingered on his smirk.

"We'll finally finish what we started, sweetheart. Just like we were always meant to."

Jimin's "Like Crazy" had me in such a chokehold when I first listened to it that it inspired this whole damn story; it's the song I imagined blasting down in the club while Reader haggles with Bucky. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #bucky barnes au #james buchanan bucky barnes

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heartthrobin · 10 months

Text

my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night

jake lockley x female!reader

wc: 9.5k

warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me

an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers

summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?

Mouse was noisy.

You really wished he wouldn't be.

He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.

Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.

It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.

When he'd be left alone in the flat.

Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.

You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.

There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.

It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.

After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.

Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.

You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?

He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.

You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.

Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.

That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.

Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.

Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.

You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.

Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.

From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.

Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.

Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.

He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.

There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.

You met Marc eventually.

He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.

You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.

More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.

It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.

It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.

The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.

Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.

He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.

There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.

Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.

You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"

His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.

"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.

Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.

He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.

"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.

The man's brow tightened, "Sure."

There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.

"Uh ... I suppose so."

Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.

Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.

"It was nice meeting--"

It closed with a thump.

"... you."

Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.

Steven worried about him, about Jake.

Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.

"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"

Marc's eyes flickered up just once.

"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His eyes flickered.

"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.

His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.

"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"

And so it passed that way, for weeks.

Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.

It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.

The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.

Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.

You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.

The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.

"Jake?"

He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.

"Yeah?"

His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?

"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"

Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.

You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."

He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."

When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.

That was the first night.

The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.

It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.

Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.

"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.

In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.

Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.

"Jake?"

The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.

"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.

Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"

"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.

He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."

Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.

You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"

"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."

Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.

"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"

Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.

You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"

Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.

"You're a doc, aren't you?"

"For animals!"

He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."

Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.

The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.

You nodded eventually.

"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."

There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.

He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.

"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."

With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.

"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.

When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.

He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.

"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."

"He tenido peores."

I've had worse.

You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.

Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.

You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.

Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.

When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.

"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."

The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.

"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"

You huffed. "Jake, please."

It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.

You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.

He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.

When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.

He shrugged, "Are you?"

Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.

Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.

The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.

Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.

"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."

A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.

"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."

You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.

It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.

Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.

When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.

Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."

You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."

He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.

The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.

"Thank you."

You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."

But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.

His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.

"What is it?"

Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."

You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."

"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."

"Meaning?"

He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.

"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."

The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.

"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"

He shook his head in place of answering.

"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.

The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.

In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.

Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.

You didn't see Jake once in that time.

Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.

Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.

But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.

That was until he came again.

Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.

The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."

You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.

He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.

"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.

Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.

Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.

When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.

You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.

"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."

Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.

You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.

Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.

Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.

The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.

Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.

Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.

"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.

He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"

There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.

"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."

Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.

"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."

You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.

Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.

"Who took out the stitches?"

His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."

The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."

"Yeah."

"What did they say? About the scar?"

Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.

Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."

Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.

Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.

It was warm and sticky with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"

His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.

You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.

"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."

You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.

Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.

It peaked suspicion in you.

"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"

Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."

Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."

"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.

Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.

It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.

Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.

He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"

"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."

You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."

That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.

It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.

You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.

He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.

The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.

It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.

He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.

His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.

A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.

He didn't.

The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.

Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.

It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.

The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.

Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.

Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.

Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.

Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.

"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"

I never stop.

"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"

He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.

You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.

Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.

And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.

You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.

"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"

Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.

Why're you doing it then?

Because Marc and Steven are in there.

They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.

"What's it to ya, Lockley?"

Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.

He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.

Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.

Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.

It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.

"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"

You hummed, not looking at him.

Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."

A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.

"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.

Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."

You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.

He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.

"And white roses?"

"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."

It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.

"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."

"Not to you, I didn't."

Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.

He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.

"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."

You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.

"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"

"You kissed him."

That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.

Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.

"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.

Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.

"Yeah. Tha's all."

He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.

The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.

"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"

As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."

"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."

"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"

You swallowed. "That you're okay."

His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?

"You have work in the morning."

A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."

He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.

"I'm not gonna go change."

"But you're wet."

"A little rain never killed anybody."

"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"

You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.

"Shut up." He mumbled.

You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.

"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.

He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.

The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.

"Where did you find this giant dog--?"

"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"

Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.

"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."

He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.

A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.

You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.

"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."

There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.

He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.

Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.

A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.

He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.

It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.

His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.

He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.

Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.

Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.

That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--

He blinked the thought away.

There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit.

Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.

But not him.

It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length.

Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights.

You twitched against him.

"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."

I promise.

Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.

You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.

It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.

Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.

Marc was around almost as much as Steven.

He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.

You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.

He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.

His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.

"Steven?" You whispered against him.

Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.

"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."

You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."

He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."

You kissed him.

Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.

You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.

But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.

He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.

Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.

"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."

It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.

"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.

He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."

That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.

"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.

Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."

"Jake, wait--"

His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"

He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."

You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."

It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.

Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.

You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"

"Like that."

"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.

"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.

Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.

"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.

His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"

He was gone again.

It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.

Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"

"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."

Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.

There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.

You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.

The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.

Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.

But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.

With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.

The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"

Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.

Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.

Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.

It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.

You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.

The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.

Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"

Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."

The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.

“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.

He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”

He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.

“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.

“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”

It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.

The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.

But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.

“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."

Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.

"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."

"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.

"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"

He betrayed you with his silence.

"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.

Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I can't have what I want."

You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.

"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."

Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"

"It's not the same. thing"

"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"

Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.

"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"

You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.

"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.

He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.

His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.

"Don't come back, Jake."

Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.

"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."

Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?

"I want what they have."

He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"

His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."

You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."

It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.

"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"

You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.

"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."

Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"

His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.

"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."

Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.

There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.

When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.

"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."

He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.

"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"

He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."

You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.

"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.

You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"

"You're very annoying."

Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."

His face ran hot all over at the allegation.

"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."

Your face drew closer against his own.

"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."

His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"

"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."

It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.

His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.

"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"

Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."

Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."

Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.

"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"

A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."

"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."

Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.

comment and repost <3 mwah!

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offtorivendell · 3 months

Text

My thoughts on the Bryce, Azriel and Nesta HOFAS bonus chapter...

Disclaimer: as suggested by the title, the following discusses the Walmart HOFAS bonus chapter featuring Azriel, Bryce and Nesta. I haven't read the main text, so it won't feature anything related to that, but there are massive Maasverse and HOFAS spoilers ahead regardless. Please beware.

These are just my initial thoughts, not expanded upon in any substantial way and, as usual, I could always be way off the mark.

Also, yes, fair warning that I'll be mentioning the ACOTAR characters a lot. If that's not your jam, and you'd rather avoid any of the possible implications of the crossover, then I'd give this post a miss. On the other hand, if you're interested in how CC/HOFAS may affect Prythian going forward, please read on.

Music:

The Stone Mother song has me 👀 especially as the stone and water were "talking" at the start.

@cassianfanclub and @wingedblooms have already posted about the Stone Mother (here and here); @ladynightcourt3 has found the Phrygian goddess Cybele, also known as the "Mountain Mother," who sounds very relevant.

That being said, am I crazy to think Elain could have been listening in? Is Azriel stone and Elain water? His stone siphons - which Elain called beautiful, did she hear their song, as kin? - and Elain possibly as water? Was she using salt water to boost her powers, or a reflection pool to scry, and keep tabs on her sister and friend?

Or is it the space between linking worlds? Are the old gods talking?

Alternatively, could stone be referring to Nuala and Cerridwen, who are capable of manifesting stone around themselves and others (ACOTAR).

Is this what SJM meant when she said we'd see Elain in "some form" in the next book?

@psychee92 said she wished that SJM had somehow included Mr Brightside, and now I wish the same; even a mention of indie rock. 😭

Josie and Laurel - "He/god will add/increase" "(laurel) trees/victory"? Elain? Lol sorry, but it's either giving gardener, or Elain killing Hybern.

Wraith-like harmonies? After the description of Josie and Laurel's voices? It's crack, but is it a metaphor for Nuala and Cerridwen?

The musical similarities between what Juniper dances to and Prythian's music?!

Azriel's humming/singing made the shadows dance, once more suggesting that shadows dancing is a response to power, not mate bonds

The music Az liked was death metal. Could this link to any sort of metal artefact, like an iron crown for grounding? Or wyrdstone jewellery?

The glass coffin?

"Nineteenth century literature presents the glass coffin as a prison within which sleeping women are frequently mistaken for dead or vice versa." (Source). It's giving Sleeping Beauty (credit to @elriell for the OG SB theory), and a little Snow White.

Check out this tale from The Brothers Grimm, which sounds... suspiciously relevant to Elain.

@cassianfanclub also suggested that it's giving necromancer vibes, and I'd love that for Elain.

Feyre once said she could sleep for a hundred years after coming back from the Prison, right before going to the Hewn City in ACOWAR. After Elain had left the room, and before Feyre went to check in on her to find her "asleep—breathing."

Let's not forget Elain's assistance in rescuing the human COTB, Briar, from Hybern's camp.

Will Elain prick herself while weaving?

I was tired enough that I could barely summon the breath to ask, “Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?” “I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “All right.” My breath snagged on the words. “Tomorrow morning.” I managed a shallow nod, rallying my strength to rise from the chair. Heavy—there was an old heaviness in me. Like I could sleep for a hundred years and it wouldn’t be enough. “Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.” I gave him one final nod, speech suddenly beyond me. I knew Nesta still wasn’t asleep as I walked past her room. Knew she’d heard every word of our conversation thanks to that Fae hearing. And I knew she heard as I listened at Elain’s door, knocked once, and poked my head in to find her asleep—breathing. - ACOWAR, chapter 27

Azriel specifically said Nesta "beheaded" Hybern, after looking down at Truth-Teller.

This is not Azriel giving Nesta credit for the assassination. If anything he's hiding Elain's involvement.

I've said before, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who has done so, but I would expect Azriel to protect his LI with silence, whoever they are.

He had to have been thinking about Elain, who I've theorised could now/soon be known as "The Shadowsinger's Knife" after she became the "knife in the dark" in Azriel's place at the end of ACOWAR.

The young girl sitting on the mushroom:

I'm still looking into the carving of the young girl sitting on the toadstool with the hound sprawled on the ground beside her, as I find it really interesting. My initial thought was that it seemed like a convenient place to drop a mention of a garden-like fairy carving with a hound right after Bryce had quizzed Azriel about his hypothetical mate, or lack thereof (Elain being both heavily associated with plant life, thanks to her "little garden," as well as dogs, after Nesta called her one in ACOSF).

I also wonder if it has anything to do with the Czech tale that amanita muscaria - while psychoactive/toxic - are said to protect from lightning and other ill fortune. If this is correct, it reminds me a little of the markings - wyrdmarks - on the Archeron cottage.

I don't know where Bryce and co were walking, as I have only read this bonus chapter and the prologue, but given it was carved on an underground wall, and I suspect that there are underground portals in at least the Hewn City and the Prison, and maybe the waterways... could it have been for protection against the invading lightning Asteri? Or did the Asteri (Daglan?) put them there to protect against Thunderbirds, or whatever Hunt is?

Miscellany

Maybe Bryce hadn't been sent there by Urd? Who then? Was @silverlinedeyes right all along?

The mention of pleasure halls seems like a call back to Azriel's bonus chapter, but it's also likely that they aren't all brothels (see Rita's).

Azriel listening closely about Nesta now liking being Fae; he could extrapolate her responses to Elain. Maybe she's no longer miserable, and in need of their pity. And maybe she's changed her mind from ACOFAS, when she said to Feyre "I don't want a mate, I don't want a male."

Azriel said "no" to whether or not he has a mate rather quickly. Hmm... the shadowsinger doth protest too much?

It's also potentially important that Nesta said "yes, WE are" curious about Azriel's mate status. Her, Azriel and most of the fandom! 😂

"Okay, okay," Bryce said. "But it'd be cool to know something about your world. Or about you." They were both silent. Bryce asked Nesta, "You have a mate, right?" She nodded to Azriel. "Do you?" "No." Azriel said quickly, flatly. "A partner or spouse?" "No." Bryce sighed. "Okay, then." Azriel's wings twitched. "You're incurably nosy." "I think that's the nicest thing you've said about me." Bryce winked at him. "Look, I just... I'm curious. Aren't you?" Azriel didn't answer, but Nesta said, "Yes. We are." - HOFAS, Bryce, Azriel and Nesta bonus chapter

All in all, while there were no overt mentions of Elain - and really, why would SJM do that in a series that wasn't Elain's own - imo we got the Elain-shaped holes in the text that I was hoping for, and I can't wait to see if there are any more in the full book.

#hofas spoilers #hofas bonus chapter #bryce azriel nesta bonus chapter #crescent city spoilers #hofas #hosab spoilers #acotar cc tog crossover theory #bryce quinlan #azriel shadowsinger #nesta archeron #elain archeron

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wlntrsldler · 4 months

Note

song challenge with Jamie tartt ! The just friends one please ☺️❤️

just friends | jamie tartt

based on just friends by virginia to vegas

description: you meet jamie tartt at a gala and he can't help but fall for you.

warnings: language-- it's ted lasso, what did you expect? angst! miscommunication! drinking! making out!

length: 4K words

ted lasso requests are open | main masterlist

When your uncle Trent invited you to a "work party," you expected maybe a private room in a restaurant in Tooting, or at most, a cocktail hour on a boat with snooty, businessmen. You did not expect a full-on red carpet gala with paparazzi, and famous footballers, and well, you got the snooty businessmen part right at least.

You knew your uncle had worked with AFC Richmond in the past. You weren't completely out of the loop. You read the book he wrote-- which was marvelous-- and watched a few of the games last season, but you didn't think he stayed in touch with the Richmond crew. Especially not to the point where he's still invited to their annual charity gala with a plus one.

Because of your lack of preparation, you felt severely underprepared for the event. You stood beside the open bar while your uncle walked around and mingled. You made the excuse that you needed some liquid courage to loosen up before you started chatting with folks who could buy half of England if they wanted to.

"Y/N?" You turned around to find a woman dressed in a gorgeous, sparkly dress, smiling at you. She outstretched her hand, which you gladly accepted. "I'm Keeley. Trent has told me so much about you."

"Keeley Jones!" You exclaimed, a smile overtaking your features. "So nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she beamed, "What ya doin' all the way over here? Come on, have you met the boys yet?"

You didn't have a chance to say no before she was pulling you towards a crowd of men dressed to the nines. You saw your uncle talking to one of them and he shot you a comforting smile as you approached.

"Lads, this is Y/N! Trent's niece."

"Nice to meet you, Y/N!" The boy beside your uncle called out, raising his beer bottle in a hello, "Name's Colin."

Then, the one next to you turned his body to introduce himself, "Hello, my name is Sam. It's a pleasure to meet you."

This caused a domino effect where all the men began introducing themselves to you. It was overwhelming, in a good way, but you knew that you would not be able to remember all of their names.

Finally, there were two boys left to introduce themselves. One had a glass of champagne in his hand, grinning brightly as he waited for his turn to speak. The other was wearing sunglasses indoors--prick-- and looked like he would rather be anywhere else but here.

"Hello, Y/N. My name is Jan Maas." The happier of the two grinned at you. "Trent did not tell us you were this pretty."

"Oi, bruv," Isaac, who you learned was the captain of the team, smacked Jan Maas on his arm, "You don't have to say everything that pops into your head all the time."

You blushed, laughing at the two men bickering. "No worries, I appreciate the compliment, Jan Maas."

The circle was hushed as they waited for the last man to speak up. When it became evident that he was not gonna say anything-- again, prick-- Roy spoke up. "And that's Jamie."

Ah. It made sense now. Jamie Tartt. You heard a lot about him from your uncle and from the sports blogs you read last season when you were trying to get caught up on all things AFC Richmond. You knew Jamie Tartt was the real deal. It suddenly wasn't so surprising that he felt like he was too good to engage in conversation with you.

But you would be a liar if you said that you didn't find him attractive. If he put in the effort to be decent, then you'd definitely be crushing on him already. He looked good. His jacket was discarded somewhere. He had the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows with a gold chain peeking out from under the collar. You had to give credit where credit is due.

You awkwardly moved on from the situation and mingled with the boys. You met Rebecca, Coach Beard, and Nate later in the night. As the gala progressed, your ability to function properly in society deteriorated with every free drink from the open bar. Before you knew it, Keeley was hanging off your arm, giggling over a stupid joke that Richard made.

Wiping your tears of laughter from your eyes, you untangled yourself from Keeley, "Okay, I'm gonna go get us some water."

You walked to the bar area, careful not to trip over your own feet. You sighed a breath of relief when you made it to the counter in one piece, "Two waters, please."

You looked to your left and couldn't help but scoff when you saw Jamie beside you. You rolled your eyes, "Prick."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Are you talking to me?"

It was definitely the alcohol talking. And boy, was it running its mouth. "Yeah, you're bein' a prick."

"I haven't done anythin' to ya," he complained, taking a sip of his water. "What are you callin' me a prick for?"

"Where do I start?" He motioned for you to continue so you did. "First of all, who the hell wears sunnies indoors? There isn't sun in here! And it's nighttime, you don't even need it outside! Oh! And we're in bloody England, when do we ever get sunlight? Sunnies are useless."

He opened his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it, "Second, you didn't have the courtesy to introduce yourself to me. Made Roy do it. Like I get it, you're Mr. Jamie Fucking Tartt. Star Player of AFC Richmond and Golden Boy of the Champions League and gorgeous with amazing hair and I'm just Trent's niece. But would it hurt ya to say hello?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, taken aback by your bluntness. Drunk you could give Jan Maas a run for his money. He couldn't focus on anything else besides the fact that you called him gorgeous.

"'m not done," you continued, taking a deep breath. Ranting about Jamie made you lose your breath, "Lastly, you've been avoiding your teammates, your friends! I literally saw Dani frown! I didn't even think that was possible. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Jamie was stuck staring at you. He hoped you were too drunk to notice the blush on his cheeks. You were wrong about one thing, the sunnies were useful. If he didn't have them on, he was sure you'd notice the way his eyes have been heart-shaped since you first introduced yourself to the group.

He wasn't sure when he stopped being able to talk to pretty girls, but when he saw you approach with Keeley, his knees buckled and suddenly he forgot his own name. He didn't mean to be rude earlier. He wanted to introduce himself but he physically couldn't. By the time he remembered who he was, it was too awkward.

He's spent the rest of the night anxiously replaying the interaction in his head. If he had a sip of liquor, he would, no doubt, yak all over the dance floor so he stayed on the outskirts of the party, dead sober.

Before he could properly apologize for the terrible first impression, you'd already retrieved the two glasses of water from the bartender and began walking toward Keeley.

The day after, Jamie texted Keeley for your number. At first, he tried to play it off as just wanting to apologize to you for being rude the night before, but Keeley could read him like the back of her hand.

She smirked and sent your number over to Jamie.

That's how you found yourself nursing a hangover, cursing whoever texted your phone because it dinged so loud that your headache increased tenfold. When you checked your phone and saw an unknown number, you didn't think much of it at first. You knew you exchanged numbers with a few people last night so it wasn't out of the ordinary to get random texts. But when you saw the follow-up texts, you quickly sobered up.

From: Unknown

"Hi, Y/N. Got your number from Keeley."

From: Unknown

"Just wanted to say sorry for bein a prick yesterday. Promise, I'm not like that."

From: Unknown

"This is Jamie, btw."

From: Unknown

"Jamie Tartt"

From: Unknown

"From Richmond"

You laughed at his texts. Did he seriously think you wouldn't be able to deduce that it was him? You didn't know many Jamies. In fact, he's the only Jamie you knew. Plus, the prick thing gave it away.

To: Jamie Tartt From Richmond

"Figured it was you, Jamie. But thanks for the clarification. - Y/N Y/L/N, Trent Crimm's niece."

That was the start of your friendship with Jamie.

"Jamie fucking Tartt!" Your voice boomed throughout the locker room, easily drowning out the hum of conversations that the boys were having. "You're dead!"

A chorus of "oooohs" rang across the room with all the boys patiently waiting to see what Jamie did this time. You and Jamie have been engaged in a month-long prank war. How Jamie managed to be a professional footballer (who is leading the team in goals and plays a large part in the team's 5 game-winning streak) and still have time to meticulously plan pranks was beyond your understanding.

Jamie was halfway done with getting dressed when you walked in. His shirt was still folded neatly in his cubby when he turned around to greet you with a smirk, "Hey, love. Are you wrapped up?"

You couldn't help but let your eyes roam down his chest and his torso. On your scan back up, your eyes stopped at his arms. God, his arms. For the most part, you were able to control your attraction for Jamie, but sometimes, the universe tested you. This was one of those moments.

Jamie bit his lip when he realized you were checking him out. He cleared his throat, breaking you from your trance, "So, you wrapped up and ready to go?"

You remembered why you were pissed at him. "You wrapped my entire car in plastic wrap! How the hell am I going to get home?"

At your explanation, the team chuckled at Jamie's latest prank. You turned around to shoot daggers at all of them. The laughter stopped.

"Someone wrapped your car in plastic wrap?" He faked a shocked face, "That's horrible."

Two can play that game.

"Is that why you invited me to watch training today?" You gasped, acting like your feelings were hurt. You pretended to cry, sniffling as you lowered your head, "Thought you wanted to see me. Whole time you just wanted to prank me."

Jamie's eyes widened. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you towards his chest as he began to mumble a million apologies, "No, no, Y/N. I did want to see you, promise! I just thought that it would also be fun to pull a prank, but you know I wanted to see you. Always want to see you, love. Please don't cry."

For a while, you forgot you were playing a bit. All you could focus on was that your head was laying on Jamie Tartt's bare chest while his arms were wrapped around you. He was kissing the top of your head and apologizing to you for a stupid prank.

You'd been in these situations before. After a few months of being friends with Jamie, you found that he was extremely touchy and clingy, which you did not expect from him. When he'd come over to hang out and watch movies, he'd end up with his head on your lap while you played with his hair. After games where Richmond won, you'd meet him in the car park when everyone's gone home where he'd run to you, hug you, then spin you around while you giggled and told him to put you down.

But this time was different. You were in front of people who were staring at you. Their hushed whispers, traces of smiles in their voice, brought you back to reality. You pulled away from him, red-cheeked, and stuttering. You saw Bumbercatch from the corner of your eye, sending you a wink.

"Jam," you said, "I'm just kidding. I'm not really upset."

"Oi," he frowned, finally putting a shirt on. "That's not nice. I thought I actually made you upset."

"Well, I am upset because you wrapped my car in plastic wrap." You reminded him. The room started to clear out, the boys bidding you a goodbye as they exited. You waited for Jamie to get his things together before walking out with him. "Can we call it a truce on the pranking?"

"You givin' up?" he raised his eyebrows, "Didn't peg you as a quitter."

"Not giving up," you shoved him lightly, "Just don't want to hurt your feelings again. Seriously, Jamie, you nearly cried and got on your knees when you thought I was upset! Embarrassing for you."

He was about to argue when he saw your teasing smile. He shook his head, blushing. It was embarrassing, really. It was so embarrassing how he was so gone for you. The idea of making you feel bad, even on accident, killed Jamie. He never wants you to be upset.

There was something magnetic about you. No matter how hard he tried-- and he did try-- to stay away from you, or at the very least ignore his romantic feelings towards you, the stronger your pull was. Jamie can't remember the last time he woke up without thinking of you or the last time he went to bed without the thought of you in his dreams.

Ever since the night of the gala, Jamie only fell harder for you. At first, it started out with just finding you attractive. Jan Maas was right, Trent did not mention just how beautiful you were. Even if Trent did try to explain it, Jamie didn't think the English language could do your beauty any justice. As he got to know you, your goofiness, kindness, and gigantic heart, he knew he was a goner.

With you, he could act like a stupid little kid. He can have fun with you, laugh at everything, and do nothing but sit on your couch eating junk food. But he can also be vulnerable with you. He hasn't mentioned all of his past to you, half afraid that you'd run away once you get a deeper look into who he is and what he's gone through, and half nervous that once he lets you in completely, he'll never recover if you ever break his heart.

He wasn't ready to lose you. Not yet. Not ever.

"Let me help you get your car untangled," he offered, opening the door to leave the facility. "Least I can do."

"How the hell did you do this while you were at training? I literally watched you the entire time and you were on the pitch."

"You were watching me?" he asked, looking at you with a glimmer in his eye.

You scrunched your nose, feeling caught. You had a joke ready as a response but it never made its way past your throat. You looked at him, a small smile on your face. You leaned over and placed a hand on his bicep, "Always am."

Jamie gulped, the feeling of your touch making his brain short-circuit. He felt his heart beating out of his chest. He really was pathetic. He backed away from your touch before he could do something he would later regret, "I paid Kenneth to do it while we were trainin'."

Your jaw hung low, a look of disbelief now on your face. Jamie, knowing you too well, sensed that you were about to tackle him and ran away from you. You chased him around the empty car park, with your plastic-wrapped car and his obnoxious sports car as the only inhabitants, while yelling, "I'm going to get you back so good!"

This, you thought, this is a life you could get used to.

You shouldn’t have gotten used to it.

You didn’t know how things changed so quickly. One minute, you were leaning your drunk self on Jamie as you sang a horrible rendition of “When He Sees Me” from The Waitress, the next, he was ignoring your calls and avoiding every event where you’d be in attendance.

It’s been a week since you last heard from Jamie and you were tired of it. You marched on the pitch, ignoring Roy’s complaints. The boys halted their movements, glancing at each other with worried looks, before staring directly at Jamie.

“Stop being a fucking prick!” You exclaimed. He huffed, continuing to ignore you. He continued the drills he was doing before you showed up, though none of his teammates joined him. “Tartt!”

He rolled his eyes, finally stopping to look at you, “What?”

“Oi! Tartt, Y/L/N, can you settle your lover’s quarrel in the tunnel? We have trainin’!” Roy yelled.

“Start walking, Tartt,” You weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily. You walked behind him as he made his way to the tunnel behind the coaches. You were really glad today was a closed practice.

By the time you made it to the tunnel, your initial anger had subsided. You just felt bad. Why did he stop talking to you? Was it something you did? You knew that he was avoiding you given how he just reacted on the pitch. What you didn’t understand was why.

“What do you want, Y/N?” There was venom in his tone.

You blinked, not used to that tone from Jamie. “Why’re you bein’ such a prick all of a sudden? What have I done?”

“Seriously?” he let out a humorless laugh.

Now it was your turn, “What are you on about? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me and I don’t even know why!”

“Don’t turn this on me.” He ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up just enough for a few loose stands to fall in front of his face. It took all the strength in the world not to reach over to fix it for him. “You’re the one being cruel and mean. That little prank you pulled.”

“Jamie, what prank?” you took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers, “I have no idea what happened! Please do enlighten me!”

“No, I’m not going to recount the most embarrassing moment of my life for your enjoyment.”

“Enjoyment?!” You yelled, more confused than ever. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Right,” he shook his head, looking at you. Tears were pooling in his eyes. He bit his bottom lip before continuing, “You don’t remember being in the back seat of the Uber after karaoke where you were playing with my feelings.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, come off it, Y/N,” he sighed. He shut his eyes, blinking away his tears. “You know how I feel about you. Everyone does at this point! Like, I’m so pathetic when it comes to ya. So when you look at me with that look in your eye like you might actually feel the same way as I do and tell me that you want to kiss me, just to remind me that we shouldn’t because we’re just friends, you’re just being plain cruel. It’s mean, Y/N.”

You were speechless, which Jamie mistook as another rejection. He continued to ramble on. “I’ve been so in love with you since I met you. I’ve never met anyone like you, never felt this way with anyone. And I haven’t really been discreet about it, either. Even fucking Beard have said somethin’ about how I look at ya. The lads haven’t stopped teasin’ me about you since you showed up in my kit at our first home game.”

“Jam,” you began, out of breath like the wind was just knocked right out of you. “I don’t remember this happening in the car.”

Jamie finally looked at you, as if the mist of anger dissipated from his vision. He looked at you intently. Your bottom lip was quivering and your eyes were trying to desperately make sense of the situation.

“Oh, fuck,” he gulped. He scratched the back of his neck with his left hand, rocking on the balls of his feet. “You really don’t remember, huh?”

You shook your head, “No, I don’t. I blacked out after I sang that last song.”

“Now, I feel awkward.”

“Yeah, you should,” you chuckled. You walked closer to him, reaching out to fix his hair. You felt him stop breathing for a second. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them back up to see you so close to him. So close. You cradled his face in the palm of your hand, letting your thumb run across his cheekbone. “You love me?”

The tips of his ears turned pink, “Yeah, I do.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, inching closer to him. “For the record, I probably did want to kiss you then even though I can’t remember it now because I always want to kiss you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” It was your turn to stop breathing. Jamie placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Also probably only said we shouldn’t because I was too scared to lose you, but I don’t want to be just your friend, Jam.”

“Don’t wanna be just your friend either.”

“Well, we should probabl-”

“For fuck’s sake,” The two of you jumped apart at Roy’s voice from the pitch. “Just fucking make out already!”

You both looked at the pitch to see the entire team, coaches and Will included, staring at the both of you in anticipation. Jamie laced your fingers together and led you inside the facility, the sound of groans and boo’s from the team echoing through the tunnel. You laughed heartily at their reaction. As he was leading you to the boot room, Jamie looked over his shoulder and sent you a shy smile.

He opened the door and turned the lights on with his free hand, never once letting go of yours. Before you could say a thing, Jamie pressed you up against the wall and kissed you like his life depended on it. You sighed into the kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair, and gave it a soft tug. He grunted in approval, slipping his tongue swiftly into your mouth. As things started to get heated, you felt him smile against your lips, causing you to pull back.

After you’ve separated, he pressed a soft kiss on your lips, looking as content as ever. He gave you one last peck before giving some space between both of your bodies, “So does that mean that you fancy me too?”

“Jamie, come on,” you pressed your head on his shoulder, unable to stop the blush from your cheeks from spreading, “You know I love you, too.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured with how you kissed me.”

“Hey!” you protested, glaring at him playfully.

He laughed, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. His hands found your waist again. He was drawing shapes with his thumb on the small piece of exposed skin on your stomach. “I love you.”

“So what does this make us?”

“Well, you’re my girlfriend now.”

You pushed him away a bit, raising one eyebrow, “I don’t recall being asked to be your girlfriend.”

“Fine,” he conceded, “I’ll ask, but it’s going to be so over the top and so ridiculous that you’ll regret that you had me ask.”

You giggled, pulling him closer again, “Don’t think I’ll ever regret that, Jam.”

He placed his lips on you again, slowly and passionately. When he pulled away, he had a serious look on his face. “You may not be my girlfriend yet, but I am 100% your boyfriend. I am taken. I’ve already been taken for a while, but it’s official now.”

You grabbed his face in your hands, placing a kiss on his nose, “Of course, boyfriend.”

#ted lasso #ted lasso fics #ted lasso imagines #ted lasso imagine #jamie tartt #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt x yn #afc richmond #frances song fics #frances writes #jamie tartt oneshot

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tigertales9 · 5 months

Text

Hard Reset VIII

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut / Fluff

Description: This fic covers the trip to fall fest, plus a little before & after, during the bye week secret honeymoon.

Time/Place: Wednesday, Oct. 18, 2023 / the lakehouse + fall fest

A/N: This is the eighth fic in the Hard Reset series.

I had a lot of fun writing this fall fest chapter. I actually had a few more ideas, but I nixed them because it was getting too long. I have one more lakehouse/honeymoon chapter to post after this, and then we'll be heading back to the city. I'm really busy right now due to the holidays, but I'll try to have the next installment up in the next week or so.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The smell of coffee entices you awake the next morning; you stretch your deliciously sore, nude body under the soft sheets before fluttering your eyes open, smiling at Joe as he leans over you holding a large cup of coffee, a twinkle in his eyes as he blows coffee fumes in your direction.

"What are you doing?" you laugh, pushing up into a sitting position and making a half-ass effort to tame your bedhead.

"I knew if you smelled this coffee you'd wake up," he gloats, obviously proud of himself for being right.

"Well, it smells amazing," you groan, making grabby hands at the oversized cup. "Thank you," you sigh, taking a small sip to gauge the heat level. You lick your lips in appreciation and take another sip while looking at the logo on the side of the cup. "The Cove Café," you read out loud, recognizing it as the one-stop-shop type of place -- conveniently located just across the lake -- that specializes in coffee, pastries, sandwiches, smoothies and gelato. "Did you get it delivered?"

"Yeah. The delivery guy came by boat since it's only about five minutes instead of twenty minutes by car on these curvy, winding roads. I met him down at the dock."

"It's still nice and hot," you state, shivering a little as you warm both hands on the cup and take another sip.

"Are you cold?" Joe asks.

"A little."

He whips his long sleeve t-shirt off and hands it to you, holding your coffee cup while you shimmy into it. "Better?" he asks, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips before handing your cup back to you.

"Much better, thanks."

"Good." He stares at you for several heartbeats, his expression hard to read in the dim light.

"What are you thinking?" you eventually ask.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. "You know last night when we saw the shooting star or possible UFO?"

"Yeah."

"And you said you didn't wish for anything because you already have everything you want?"

"Yeah," you repeat, slightly concerned at the intense look on his face.

"Were you talking about me? Because I thought you were, but then I kind of talked myself out of it and …"

"Of course I was talking about you," you soothe, brushing your fingers through his tousled curls while giving him a smile. "You're everything I've ever wanted and more."

"Okay, good," he mutters, giving you a sheepish smile. "Just wanted to make sure." He breaks eye contact and fiddles with his wristbands as he continues. "I've been worried that I might have rushed you into this secret marriage thing."

"You didn't rush me at all," you assure him. "I wanted this just as much as you."

"That's hard to believe, but I'll take your word for it."

You try to think of something to say to reassure him, your mind landing on a thought from last night. "Remember when you said there's no place in the world you'd rather be than right here with me?" you ask.

"Yeah."

"I got a little distracted by your sexy self before I could tell you this, but I had that exact same thought earlier in the night. Like the exact same. It's almost like you read my mind."

"That's really cool," he grins, leaning forward to give you a kiss. "We've always been on the same wavelength." He gives you a playful wink before hopping up and heading for the door. "I'm gonna turn the heat up a bit and grab a couple things. Be right back."

You enjoy your caramel-flavored coffee for a few minutes before raising a hand to brush your hair out of your face, the motion causing you to catch a whiff of Joe's scent on the t-shirt you're wearing; you grab a handful of material and bring it to your nose, inhaling deeply as a throb of arousal kicks off in your core. "Absolutely not," you grumble, looking down at your sheet-covered lap as you continue. "Plenty of time for that later. Plus, you're still a little sore from last night so behave yourself. "

"Who are you talking to?" Joe asks as he breezes back in carrying a large smoothie and a plate with two huge muffins.

"My vagina."

"What?" he snort-laughs.

"I caught your scent on this shirt and it made my vag perk up, but I shut it down. We need to get to the fall fest before the rain gets here. Plenty of time to get naughty later."

"Great, now I'm getting cockblocked by fall fest," he teases, grinning as he hands you a fat muffin.

"You've got sex on the brain."

"Says the woman with the perky vag."

"Touché," you chuckle, sinking your teeth into the sweet smelling muffin. "Oh my gosh," you moan after chewing and swallowing. "What flavor is this?"

"Apple cinnamon streusel."

"It's delicious," you enthuse, taking another bite as he crawls in bed beside you and takes a bite of his muffin. "What flavor is your smoothie?" you ask, taking a sip as he offers it to you.

"Harvest bounty or something like that," he shrugs. "It has like fifteen ingredients."

"It's good," you mumble, turning your attention back to your much tastier coffee and muffin. Smoothies were def his thing more than your thing.

Y'all finish eating breakfast while exchanging small talk.

"How does your calf feel?" you ask.

"Fine. I did all of my stretches when I got up this morning and it felt good. I thought about getting in a quick work-out, but I'm still tired from the work-out you gave me last night."

"Yeah, my legs feel like jelly, and I haven't even tried to stand up yet." Y'all laugh a little before you continue. "I still can't believe you had our exact same home gym replicated here at the lakehouse."

He shrugs. "It was easy. I just ordered the equipment and sent Max a few pics of the set-up I wanted. He met the delivery guys here and showed them where to put everything."

"Is Max going to be our caretaker here?"

"Yeah. I offered him the job and he accepted. I insisted on giving him a substantial raise. He said he didn't need it, but he gave in once he realized I wasn't gonna back down."

"You're never gonna beat the stubborn allegations."

"Ain't even trying," he chuckles, giving you a cocky grin before polishing off his muffin.

"Why don't you check the weather report real quick," you urge. "See what time the rain is gonna start."

He grabs his phone and scrolls for a minute. "Looks like it won't start until early evening. We'll have plenty of time to enjoy fall fest before the storm rolls in."

"Yay!" you chirp, handing him the last bite of your muffin before easing out of bed and heading for the bathroom. "I'm gonna get a quick shower and get dressed. I'll be ready in about thirty or forty minutes."

"Babe?" he asks, just before you disappear into the en suite bathroom.

"Yeah?" you turn to look at him.

"The high temp today is 69," he purrs, giving you a filthy wink. "Pretty sure that's a good omen for tonight."

"It's good to know marriage hasn't tamed your horniness," you giggle, shaking your head as you head for the shower.

~ ~ ~

Forty-five minutes later, y'all are driving the winding road that circles the lake, finally headed to the farmers market fall fest that you've been looking forward to since it was first mentioned.

"I'm so excited!" you enthuse. "What are you looking forward to the most?" you ask.

"Pumpkin spice doughnuts and getting a couple of actual pumpkins to carve tonight." He flashes you a smile before returning his attention to the road. "What about you?"

"Both of those plus getting some apple cider to go with the spiced rum we brought."

"Are we gonna get lit while carving the pumpkins?"

"Just a little tipsy," you giggle. "We're on vacay after all." You turn your head to look at him, giving him a slow perusal as he navigates the curvy road with one big hand gripping the steering wheel. He's wearing a black backwards cap, sunglasses, a plaid flannel shirt in shades of black, gray and blue unbuttoned over a white t-shirt, plus his fav gray jeans that are stretched tight over his thick thighs. The cuffs of his shirt are rolled up to reveal his sinewy forearms, and your eyes are drawn to a prominent vein that snakes down from his elbow to his wrist.

You bite your lip and squirm in your seat when you think about another prominent vein farther south on his body that you spent quite awhile teasing with your tongue last night.

He cuts a glance at you, one eyebrow raised above the frame of his shades. "What?" he grins, reading your body language with ease.

"Just enjoying the view," you murmur.

"The view is that way," he states, pointing toward the lake in the opposite direction

"Nope, it's definitely this way," you tease, taking your sunglasses off to bat your eyelashes while ogling him.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I'm gonna turn this car around and take you right back to bed."

You give him a wink before sliding your shades back on. "I'll behave since I really wanna go to fall fest."

"Cockblocked by fall fest once again," he grumbles playfully.

"I'll make it up to you later," you promise.

~ ~ ~

Y'all pull into the parking lot about fifteen minutes later, breathing a sigh of relief that very few cars are already there. "Not too many folks here on a week-day morning," you state, grabbing your purse plus a reusable shopping bag before you exit the car. You walk beside Joe toward the entrance, smiling to yourself when he instinctively matches his much longer strides to your shorter ones.

"Ohhh, let's hit the pumpkin patch first," he urges, pointing just to the left of the main entrance where it seems there are about a thousand pumpkins sitting pretty in the late-morning sun. You quickly agree, and y'all split up to select the perfect pumpkins for carving.

After about ten minutes of serious pumpkin perusal, you hear Joe's voice coming from one row over.

"Babe?"

You can't see him due to the hay bales stacked between each row. "Yeah?" you answer, leaning down to thump your fingers against a shiny, plump candidate, making a stank face at the dull thud you get back.

"Can you come here real quick?" he continues.

"Sure." You walk to the end of the row, turn the corner and head toward him, smiling when he points at a cute display -- a jaunty scarecrow, several hay bales, and about a dozen colorful mums situated in front of a mound of pumpkins. "You're taller than the scarecrow," you tease, giggling when he sticks his tongue out at you.

"Let's take a pic real quick," he urges, waiting for you to drop your bags out of frame before joining him in front of the display. He snaps a few pics, his long arm working just as good as any selfie stick. "These are great," he states, showing you the results.

"They really are," you agree, "and we totally match," you continue. You're in another pair of black leggings with your black knee boots, a fitted white t-shirt, and a long sleeve button down shirt in a soft, medium-wash denim. You left your coat in the car because it wasn't cold enough for it.

"For real," he muses. "The Story of Us - Volume Two is gonna be awesome," he grins.

You give him a quick kiss before grabbing your bags and heading one row over to continue searching for the perfect pumpkin.

About fifteen minutes later, you round the corner again holding the ultimate carving pumpkin. You jump a bit as you immediately come face to face with Joe holding his own gorgeous gourd. Y'all eye each other's selections for a few seconds, nodding approval. His selection is tall and sturdy while yours is shorter and more voluptuous. "Perfect," he says, taking your pumpkin from you. "I'll pay for these and take them to the car while you get in line for doughnuts. I'll get the warm apple cider and come find you."

"Okay," you grin, walking toward the main entrance, your heart full of love for your bossy husband.

You're still standing in line several minutes later when Joe walks up with two cups, handing you one. "It's delicious," he says, waiting for you to take a sip of the steaming beverage, closely watching your face for your reaction. "Delicious," you echo, taking another sip before stepping forward to order your doughnuts.

Y'all eat the spicy, warm pastries washed down with cider while walking and inspecting the wares at the various booths selling fruits and vegetables, homemade goods, arts and crafts, home decor, plus lots of food and drink.

You stop in front of a display of plush blankets, quickly digging in your purse for a wet wipe from your travel pack, cleaning your hands before handing the wipe to Joe to do the same. You dry your hands on a clean napkin before reaching out to fondle one of the throws. "Sooo soft," you murmur, watching as Joe roots around in the pile of blankets before pulling out one adorned with an autumn-hued plaid with just a hint of teal.

"Perfect for the lakehouse, right?" he grins.

"Perfect," you agree.

"Let's get one for the city, too," he mutters, watching closely as you dig around for a more neutral-colored throw. "Jackpot," he states as you hold one up for inspection.

"These would make great Christmas presents," you muse, spending the next several minutes trying to decide which throws to get for everyone.

"Let's just get all of 'em, and we'll decide who to give 'em to later," Joe urges.

You agree, giving a warm smile to the vendor when he comes over to check y'all out. He raises his eyebrows as he looks at Joe. "You look kinda familiar," the vendor says. "You come here often?"

"No," Joe answers as he hands over some cash. "This is our first time here."

"We're from out of town," you add.

"I see," the vendor says, returning your smile before handing Joe his change.

"Keep the change," Joe says before y'all help the vendor stuff fourteen fluffy blankets into a couple of oversized paper shopping bags. "I'll take these to the car," Joe mutters, flashing you a conspiratorial smile. "You keep browsing."

You make it as far as the next booth before Joe catches up with you; he walks up waggling a small paper bag. "Spicy roasted nuts," he mumbles around a mouthful of said nuts. "I needed some protein to go with all the carbs."

"Good idea, babe," you state, sticking a candle under his nose. "You like this scent?"

He inhales the aroma and immediately nods his head. "Love it. What is it?"

"Honey vanilla. I like that it's not too sweet. I think I'll get a couple," you continue, placing the lid back on the candle you're holding before reaching for another one.

"Get more than a couple," Joe orders before tossing another handful of nuts in his mouth.

"They have eight of this fragrance. How many should we get?"

"Get all of 'em," he urges. "It's not like they'll go bad before we can use 'em. We can leave some here and take some back to the city."

You give him a smile and nod in agreement, secretly thrilled that he seems to be really enjoying his fall fest experience. "You keep browsing," you say. "I'll pay for these then catch up with you."

You help the vendor double wrap your candles in tissue paper to protect the glass containers before stashing them in your reusable shopping bag; as you make your way up the row of booths, you spot Joe ambling along, his head turning side-to-side to take in all of the goods. "Hey," you greet as you catch up with him.

"Hey," he echoes, holding his paper bag out to you. "Wanna taste my nuts?"

Your mouth drops open as you unleash an inelegant snort-laugh, laughing even harder when he shakes his head.

"And you accuse me of having sex on the brain," he chuckles.

"You do have sex on the brain," you state, grabbing a handful of his nuts and tossing them in your mouth.

"I mean … yeah, but can you blame me?" he asks. "I've got a smoking hot wife."

"You're getting laid tonight, Burrow," you slide your sunglasses down and give him a wink. "No flattery needed."

"It's not flattery. It's the truth."

You give him a smile and take another handful of nuts as y'all continue strolling up the row.

"Pumpkin tic-tac-toe!" Joe chirps, grabbing your hand and leading you to a display that features a square, black table with orange tape used to create the tic-tac-toe rows; there's a hay bale in front of the table holding five white and five orange mini pumpkins, each about the size of a grapefruit. "How much to play?" Joe asks the elderly man sitting in a folding chair reading a newspaper.

"You can play for free," he answers, nodding at a large glass jar with some coins and dollar bills in it. "But if you'd like to make a donation to the local food bank, we'd appreciate it."

Joe gives him a nod and stuffs several twenties in the jar before leveling a 'game face' look at you. "Which color would you like to lose with?" he teases, "white or orange?"

"I'll take white," you answer, knowing he'll def want the orange.

"You go first," he urges, raising one eyebrow when you place a white pumpkin in the upper right corner; after a few more moves, the game ends in a draw. "Okay, my turn to go first," he mutters, plopping his orange pumpkin in the center square. After a few more moves, the game ends in another draw and Joe gives you an evil grin. "You'll slip up in a minute," he states. "It's only a matter of time.

Y'all play several more games with each ending in a draw.

"Looks like we're pretty evenly matched," you eventually muse, giggling when he makes a stank face. "One more game," you continue, knowing you have to end this or y'all will still be playing when the storm rolls in; you set a white pumpkin down top center, smiling at Joe when he tilts his head and gives you a look before setting his own pumpkin down. He wins the game fairly quickly after.

"Congrats," you smile, picking up your purse and shopping bag while Joe cuts a look at the vendor who's been mostly ignoring y'all while reading his paper.

"She let me win, didn't she?" Joe asks.

"She sure did," the vendor grins. "Good woman you got there."

"The best," Joe agrees, swatting your butt playfully as y'all head toward the next booth.

You stop in front of the booth, intrigued by several colorful fondue pots holding glossy tan liquid. Joe stops beside you and reads the card in front of each fondue pot. "Salted caramel, cinnamon caramel, chocolate caramel, peanut butter caramel, dairy-free caramel." He gives you a beaming smile when he reads the last card. "Dairy-free," he purrs, turning the full wattage of his smile on the vendor as he steps closer to the booth.

"Would you like to sample the dairy-free?" she asks, somehow managing to tear her eyes away from Joe for a second to include you in her offer.

"Yes," he states, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips in anticipation. The vendor, who looks to be in her late teens, seems mesmerized by him for a few seconds before clearing her throat and forging ahead.

"I have homemade marshmallows and apple slices you can dip in the caramel. Do any of those sound good?"

"Yes and yes," Joe enthuses, snatching an apple slice off of the plate she holds toward him before dunking it in the caramel and offering it to you; you hold eye contact with him as you bite into the juicy delicacy, chewing slowly as he watches you closely. "Is it good?" he asks, popping the rest of the apple slice in his mouth before grabbing a marshmallow.

"It's delicious," you answer, a little surprised at how good it actually is.

He dips the marshmallow in the caramel -- careful not to touch his fingers in the glossy goo -- and tosses it in his mouth, his eyes going wide as he chews. "Really good," he mumbles, grabbing another marshmallow and ripping it in half before dunking half and offering it to you.

"We have these little forks you can use," the vendor offers, waving her hand at several long, narrow forks before gracing Joe with a smile.

"I'd rather feed her with my fingers," Joe states. "I promise not to touch the caramel or double dip."

You chew the caramel-coated marshmallow and throw a grin at the vendor who tears her gaze away from Joe to return your smile. "This is the best dairy-free caramel I've ever tasted," you state. "Do you sell the marshmallows, too?"

"Yes," she mutters, stepping back as an older woman walks up with a big smile on her face. "You like the dairy-free caramel, huh?" she asks, looking back and forth between you and Joe.

"Love it," you answer.

"I have four jars left …"

"We'll take all four," you and Joe say in unison, laughing at the synchronicity.

"Can we get a couple bags of marshmallows, too?" Joe asks, grinning when she gives him a nod and reaches down to grab a couple bags of the fat, fluffy confections.

"Anything else?" she asks, bagging up your purchases as you eye a few boxes on a side table. "You sell the fondue pots, too?" you inquire, grinning at Joe as he walks over and looks at the dozen or so boxes.

"Sure do," she answers, "only have a few left though. What color do you want?"

"Teal," you and Joe answer together, pointing at one of her sample pots and, once again, laughing at the synchronicity.

"You kids seem to be on the same wavelength," she chuckles, grabbing a box and adding it to your bag.

"It's kind of our thing," Joe brags, paying for the purchases while you wait.

You turn your head and spot the younger girl who'd helped you earlier snapping a pic of Joe, her eyes going wide when she realizes she's been caught. You walk toward her, smiling when she mumbles an apology. "You recognize him?" you ask.

"Yeah," she whispers. "He's Joe Burrow and you're his fiancée."

"Want a pic with him?"

"Really?" she asks, her face lighting up.

"Sure," you answer, waving Joe over. You take her phone and instruct Joe to pose, laughing internally at his obvious hover hand as you snap the pic.

"Thanks!" she enthuses as you hand her phone back to her.

"You're welcome," you grin, taking Joe's hand as y'all walk to the next booth.

"Can we do the fondue thing tonight?" Joe asks, plowing ahead before you answer. "We have marshmallows to dip, and maybe we can get a few more pumpkin spice doughnuts and some apples."

"Sounds like a sugar rush, but I'm down," you say, "but we still need to stop at the grocery store and get some actual food to cook for dinner. I don't want to force a delivery driver to venture out in a thunderstorm later."

"Okay," he agrees, his beaming smile coaxing an answering smile to your lips.

~ ~ ~

A few hours later y'all arrive back at the lakehouse, making several trips to bring in your haul.

You pop a jug of apple cider in the fridge -- along with some salmon and a chopped salad y'all got at the grocery store for dinner-- before heading back out to help Joe bring in more stuff.

"I've got this, babe," he says, lugging several bags in while giving you a wink. "Why don't you heat up some cider with a little spiced rum, and we can sit on the deck and enjoy the sunset?"

"Do we have time before the storm gets here?"

"Yeah," he says, dropping the bags before heading back out. "I checked the radar, and we have about an hour before the storm gets here."

You do his bidding, heating up some cider and rum in oversized mugs, taking a swig and making a face as he strolls back in and plops the pumpkins on the kitchen island.

"Wow, that's potent," you giggle, taking another gulp as you push his mug toward him.

"It's delicious," he moans, taking his cap off and tossing it on the island before grabbing your new plush throw -- autumn-hued with a hint of teal -- and nodding toward the back deck. "Let's go enjoy the sunset."

Joe lights the fire pit before joining you on the loveseat, wrapping the blanket around you both as you hold the mugs of boozy cider; you hand him his mug and snuggle up against him, throwing your legs over one of his thick thighs and resting your head on his shoulder.

"I'm so glad the adjacent lots came with the house," you muse.

"Yeah," Joe agrees. "I was already in love with the house, but when I found out it was sitting directly in the center of three oversized lots, I was totally sold."

"Lots of privacy," you grin, snuggling tighter against his warm body as the wind picks up, blowing some of the jewel-colored leaves off the trees. "The temp is dropping pretty quick, and the clouds are rolling in," you say. "Rain's gonna be here sooner than expected."

"We probably have another twenty minutes or so to enjoy the sunset before it gets here."

"That's good," you murmur. "Thanks for taking me to fall fest," you continue, kissing his neck before taking another swig of your cider.

"You're welcome. I had fun, especially since very few folks recognized me."

"I think several people may have recognized you but just didn't say anything. It's hard to say if they were staring at you because you looked familiar or because you're sex on legs."

"You're getting laid tonight, Mrs. Burrow," he repeats your earlier words. "No need for flattery."

"It's the absolute truth and you know it," you state, heaving a happy sigh as he curls an arm around your waist under the soft blanket, his long fingers rubbing lazy circles on your hip through your leggings.

Y'all sip your drinks and admire the view for a few minutes before you speak up again.

"I've been thinking," you mutter, tilting your head to look at him. "What will we say if folks find out we got secretly married?"

"I'll take all of the blame, of course," he states, "since it was my idea."

"But what will we tell folks if they ask why we did it?"

"The truth," he shrugs. "I wanted to do it to give me one less thing to stress over."

"And what if someone says 'You were already getting married in the off-season. You couldn't wait?'"

"I'll say no, I couldn't wait to make you mine." His gaze drops to your lips just before he presses his mouth to yours, licking along the seam of your lips to coax them open, deepening the kiss as he pulls you closer. You lean into the kiss for a few minutes before pulling back slightly. "I've been yours since the night we shared our first kiss," you whisper against his slick lips. He lifts his head to meet your eyes. "And now it's official," he grins. "You're stuck with me for life."

You continue grinning at each other like lovesick fools until he flinches and reaches a hand up to the top of his head. "Please don't let that be bird shit," he grumbles, sighing in relief when a light patter of rain starts falling. "It's just rain," he chuckles, taking your mug of cider and setting it down beside his on the coffee table. "Hurry inside before our kickass blanket gets wet," he orders. "I'll put the cover on the fire pit."

You rush inside and watch through a window as he grabs the fire pit cover and secures it in place before grabbing both mugs and heading your way; you hold the door open for him as he hurries inside just before the rain intensifies.

"Well, we got to see most of the sunset," he smiles, handing you a mug before running his fingers through his slightly-damp hair. 'Wanna carve the pumpkins now?"

"Sure," you answer. "Where are we gonna do it?"

"Let me get a fire going, and we can move the table in front of the fireplace."

"Sounds good." You drape the blanket over the back of the sofa before heading toward the kitchen. "Let's light a few of our new candles, too." You pull four of the eight candles out of your shopping bag and set them on either side of the large stone hearth, waiting for Joe to get the fire going before taking the stick lighter from him to light the candles. "Super cozy," you sigh, setting the lighter down before helping Joe move a card table and two chairs in front of the fireplace. He'd purchased the table and chairs to use until you could pick out an actual dining table.

"I'll get the pumpkins," he says.

"I'll get everything else." You grab a beach towel, two knives, two large spoons, two pens, and an oversized mixing bowl for the guts.

Joe waits for you to place the towel on top of the table before setting the pumpkins down; he grabs your mugs of cider and sets them down while you place a knife, a spoon, and a pen beside each pumpkin, positioning the large bowl in the center of the table.

"I don't need a pen," Joe states, stripping his flannel shirt off and tossing it on the sofa before dropping into his chair directly across from you.

You take your denim shirt off and hang it on the back of your chair before sitting down. "You don't wanna draw the face before you start carving?"

"I'm just gonna wing it," he grins, taking a hearty swig of cider before tipping his pumpkin onto its side, picking up a knife and plunging it into the bottom, quickly making a circular cut and removing the chunk. "Want me to handle your bottom for you?" he asks, grinning at your loaded expression. "The bottom of your pumpkin, horndog," he chuckles, pulling your pumpkin toward him when you give him a wink and a nod.

Once he opens your pumpkin up and pushes it back in front of you, y'all both grab big metal spoons and start scooping, eventually filling the bowl almost to the brim with gourd goop.

"I'm gonna wash my hands before I start carving the face," Joe mutters once his pumpkin is hollowed out. "Me too." You follow him to the kitchen sink, each giving your hands a quick wash before heading back to the table.

"Time to get down to business," he states, grabbing his knife and tilting his head left and right before starting to cut, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrates.

You take a few minutes to draw your jack-o-lantern face before cutting. "I'm gonna give mine a happy face," you state.

"I'm gonna give mine a mean game face," Joe snarls, flashing you a smile when you giggle at him.

Y'all work for the next several minutes without speaking, the sound of the pouring rain and crackling fire the only noises.

You finish the eyes and nose and are just about to start on the mouth when you give Joe a quick glance, your pulse reacting when you find him staring at you. "Are you finished?" you murmur.

"Not yet. Just enjoying the view."

You bite your lip and stare back at him for several heartbeats, a thought flashing in your mind that you'll never get enough of the way he looks at you … or the way he makes you feel.

Eventually a loud clap of thunder makes you gasp and jump, breaking the spell for a second.

"The storm's right on top of us," he murmurs.

"I can feel the electricity in the air," you whisper, taking a few gulps of cider, a sizzle of heat rushing through you at the look on his face.

"I think the electricity is coming from us," he purrs, standing up and holding a hand out to you.

"I need to get a quick shower," you say, placing your hand in his as you stand up.

"No, you don't," he argues, pulling you close, his hands immediately dropping to your butt as he buries his face in your neck, his soft scruff causing a shiver of desire as he kisses his way up to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

"I was gonna wear the naughty lingerie tonight … after I have a shower," you protest weakly, gripping his shoulders as you lean into him, lightheaded from the mixture of spiced rum and arousal.

"Later," he murmurs, dropping to his knees to remove your boots and socks before standing back up.

"But …"

"Are you wet for me?" he interrupts, cupping one big hand over your crotch and teasing you through your leggings.

"Maybe," you whisper, your breath catching in your throat when he slides a hand inside your leggings, his agile fingers quickly slipping into your panties, a sound of satisfaction rumbling low in his throat at how wet you are for him.

"I need you naked. Now," he states, picking you up and setting you on the leather sofa before peeling your t-shirt and leggings off. You take your bra off as he slides your panties down your legs, the look on his face setting off a steady throb deep inside you.

He strips his own t-shirt off and drops to his knees before spreading your thighs; he pulls your ass to the edge of the sofa cushion, his hot tongue immediately teasing your slick folds with long, slow licks. "You taste so good," he groans, his deep voice, thick with lust, caressing you like a physical touch.

You bury a hand in his hair and watch closely as he devours you, his tongue inside you and his scruff tickling your most sensitive flesh causing a delicious tension to build in your core. "Please," you beg, biting your lip hard enough to sting as he captures your gaze while gently circling your clit with his tongue; he continues to tease you with his mouth while sliding his hands up your body to play with your nipples, groaning when you pull his hair and grind against him.

"Harder!" you urge, gasping when he latches onto your clit and gives it a thorough suck. "Just like that," you breathe, "don't stop!" You keep your gaze locked on his as the tension inside you reaches the breaking point, giving his hair another tug as your intense climax hits, your cries of pleasure mingling with the rolling thunder as he continues to pleasure you through the orgasm.

You're still trying to catch your breath when he shoves his jeans and undies down to mid-thigh and nestles his erection against your entrance. "You ready?" he asks, dipping just inside while waiting for the go ahead. "Yeah," you pant, whimpering when he buries his cock inside your still spasming core, the thick intrusion causing you to clamp down hard. "Jesus, you feel too good," he groans, his hips immediately rolling forward in smooth, steady strokes as you wrap your trembling legs around him.

He leans down and captures your lips, gracing you with a primal growl when you suck his tongue into your mouth. "You taste amazing, don't you?" he asks, riding you even harder when you give him a breathless, "yes, sir," before continuing to savor the taste of your arousal on his tongue.

He cups a hand behind your right knee and lifts your leg over his shoulder, the new angle tilting your hips in a way that has him hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. You moan his name as he completely fills you up -- over and over -- the exquisite stretch of his thick cock inside you straddling the fine line between pleasure and pain.

"Can you come for me again?" he rasps, dropping a hand down to tease your super sensitive clit while pounding into you. "Y … yes," you whine, feeling another climax building as his soft grunts accompany his hard thrusts, his icy-hot gaze locked on yours as he expertly pushes you toward meltdown.

You dig your fingers into his muscular arms and make a sound that's part whimper/part scream as your orgasm rips through you, your gaze still holding his as he manages a few more thrusts before following you over the edge. His beautiful eyes lose focus before sliding closed in ecstasy, his head tilting back as he empties himself into you as your clenching walls milk him dry.

He eventually falls forward and buries his face in your neck; for the next few minutes, the only sounds you hear are the snap and crackle of the fire, the distant thunder, and you and Joe panting hard to catch your breath.

After a little while longer, you flutter your eyes open, your gaze coming to rest on your partially-carved pumpkin staring at you. "My jack-o-lantern is hardcore judging us right now," you giggle.

Joe drops a kiss against your neck before throwing a look over his shoulder. "Yep," he agrees. "She looks totally scandalized." He gives you a wink before slowly pulling out of you, both of you hissing at the delicious friction.

"You wanna finish carving the pumpkins now or you wanna rest?" you ask, stretching out on the oversized sofa as he stands up and strips off the rest of his clothes.

"Let's rest for a bit," he answers, heading to the kitchen to get a damp cloth to clean you up before stretching his tall frame out beside you; he tugs the plush blanket down on top of y'all, pulling you close and making sure you're fully covered before dropping a kiss on your forehead.

A few minutes pass before he speaks up again. "Would it be cheesy to say there's no place I'd rather be than right here with you?"

You snuggle closer to him, a smile gracing your lips as you answer. "Would it be cheesy to admit I was thinking the exact same thing?"

"We're on the same wavelength, as usual," he chuckles.

"It's kind of our thing," you repeat his words from earlier, his familiar scent and the sound of his strong heartbeat lulling you to sleep as your eyes flutter closed.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine

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sapphire-writes · 11 months

Text

Thin Ice (modern!HOTD)

pairing: Aegon x Reader & Cregan Stark x Reader

summary: You travel home with Aegon for the funeral of his father.

rating: Mature (detailed warning below the cut)

series masterlist

previous chapter ~ Ch. 9: Mirrors ~ next chapter

warnings: language, descriptions of death/funerals, descriptions of cuticle picking, oral (m & f receiving, 69), p in v, fingering, spanking, general violence (sibling v. sibling)

word count: 4.9k

note: hope you enjoy this chapter! thanks for all the love so far!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Aemond is freakishly punctual. You discover this when you make it through security and realize you’re two hours early for your flight. Aegon groans dramatically, pulling you towards a store to stock up on snacks while you wait.

Criston and Aemond seem unbothered, heading to camp out at the gate for the next couple of hours. After spending way too much money on snacks, and way too much time in the airport, your flight boards and you’re headed to the Targaryen home. Dragonstone.

You’d been there briefly once when you went home with Helaena last winter break. But that was short-lived as you left with the family to head north to their winter home. Aegon slept for most of the flight, his fingers laced through yours the entire time.

The drive back to the Targaryen home doesn’t take much time at all; Criston had left his car at the airport and sped out of the parking garage with surprising speed. Dragonstone was a pretty town, covered in a layer of powdery snow that had mostly melted to a gray slush on the streets.

The air was cold as you exited the warmth of the car when pulling up to the house. The last time you’d been here, it had been during the evening. But now, in the afternoon sun, the Targaryen family home stood in all its glory. A tall, brick mansion really, more so than a home. As you walk up the steps you keep your hand in Aegon’s until the front door opens and you pull your hand away.

Helaena runs out the front door to greet you, her hair like a silver cloud trailing behind her.

“You came with Egg,” Helaena says, crushing you in a hug.

You wonder for a moment if she knows if she senses it somehow, this thing between you and her brother, but then she continues speaking.

“Thank you for getting him here,” she murmurs against your shoulder, “It means a lot. To my mom.”

Your heart sinks and you nod.

“Of course, Hel,” you tell her.

She hugs each of her brothers, following Aemond into the house. You and Aegon trail behind a few feet. His eyes fall on your empty hand, his expression like that of a dog that’s been kicked. You reach for him once more.

“After,” you tell Aegon, squeezing his hand. He nods, understanding.

You'd spent the afternoon catching up with Helaena, trying not to wonder how Aegon is doing. He’d made himself scarce this evening, trying to give you as much space as possible to be with Helaena. But you missed him. Even under the same roof, you feel so far from him.

You’re getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth with Helaena in the rather large hallway bathroom. Double marble sinks, a full shower. Sometimes you forget just how loaded the Targareyns are.

Helaena finishes brushing her teeth, retreating to her room. As she leaves, Aegon pushes by her, joining you in the bathroom. His violet eyes meet yours in the mirror, a mischievous smile on his face.

“What are you doing?” you hissed.

“Brushing my teeth,” he answers, placing the toothbrush in his mouth.

You roll your eyes and continue brushing. Aegon reaches out his free hand, pinching the fabric of your pajama top between his thumb and forefinger. You raise an eyebrow at him, before spitting into the sink.

He tugs gently at your shirt, beckoning you closer.

“Come cuddle with me,” he murmurs, around his toothbrush, poking you in the side, “I miss you.”

You twist away from him, a giggle leaving your lips. Your chest warms with the knowledge that he’s missed you as much as you’ve been missing him.

“I can’t,” you tell him, as he rolls your eyes.

You wipe your mouth as he finishes brushing his teeth. After he spits he stands in front of you, smiling widely to show his handy work. You release a breathy laugh at his silly behavior, to which his eyes narrow playfully.

“Kiss goodnight?” Aegon asks, jutting out his lower lip. You decide to indulge him, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

He hums, hands reaching for your hips, pulling him back against you to kiss you once more.

“Goodnight,” you giggle against his lips. Aegon kisses you again.

And again.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs against your lips, hand reaching to cup the back of your neck, still continuing to kiss you.

You somehow find the strength to pull yourself away from his intoxicating touch, even as he whines disapprovingly as you do so. You head back to Helaena’s room, a stupid grin plastered on your face as you enter. She’s laying in bed already, gaze locked on her ceiling.

You join her, laying beside her and mirroring her position. There are several glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling, glowing faintly a greenish-yellow color. You start to count them, listening to the rise and fall of Helaena’s breath.

“I’m not sad,” she says suddenly, and you stop counting at thirteen.

“What do you mean?” you ask, rolling on your side to face her.

Helaena sighs and closes her eyes before she continues speaking.

“My dad and I weren’t that close. Not really. And…” she wets her lips, “He really only had one daughter.” Helaena’s eyes remain closed as she says it. You bring your hand to hold hers, squeezing it softly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she tells you, a tear escaping her eye and rolling off her cheek, onto the pillow, “I just…I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

“Fuck how you’re supposed to feel,” you tell her, “Whatever you feel, however you feel about this Hel is okay. There’s no wrong way.”

Helaena’s eyes flutter open and she turns her head to look at you. Her lavender eyes watch you a moment before she purses her lips and nods.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she says softly.

“Me too,” you agree, returning her smile with one of your own. You squeeze her hand once more before letting go.

Helaena’s breathing grows heavy as you lie on your back once more, starting over with your counting of the stars on her ceiling.

You make it to 72 before you decide you really can’t sleep. Helaena snores beside you as you fiddle with your fingers before checking the time on your phone. Even with the brightness on the lowest setting it still feels too harsh on your eyes as you glance at the time.

1:37 am

Fuck.

You can hear muffled noises from around the house, down the hall. You doubt Alicent is getting any sleep. Apparently, a lot happens right after someone dies. It seems people have been in and out of the house all day speaking with Viserys’ widow.

It’s going to be a long night if you can’t sleep.

You rise from Helaena’s bed, letting the sheets fall as you quietly tip-toe out of her room. You close the door gently behind you as you head down the hall. You’ll just grab a glass of water, and then-

His voice. You clearly hear Aegon’s voice behind the fourth door you pass. It’s closed and you lean closer. It’s Aegon for sure. He’s cursing someone out, probably playing a video game or something. You knock gently on the door and his voice stops. You hear him shuffle around for a moment before the door opens, revealing a shirtless Aegon with gray sweats hanging low on his hips.

Aegon’s lips curl into a smile as he sees you, and he steps to the side, motioning for you to enter.

“This is your room?” you ask, stepping inside as he closes the door behind you.

Aegon nods, holding his arms open. It’s a nice room, decent sized with a large king-sized bed in the middle. It looks like Alicent took control of decorating- apart from several hockey posters the room is very not Aegon.

“It’s nice,” you tell him, smiling.

“You come to cuddle?” Aegon asks, walking toward you.

“Just for a little bit,” you warn him as he stands in front of you, “I can’t sleep.”

“I know the perfect thing for that,” he says like he’s discovered the cure for greyscale.

You laugh softly.

“I’m sure you do,” you tease as Aegon smiles pulling you in for a kiss.

He kisses you slowly and softly, building with intensity as he tilts his head. With a sigh, he slips his tongue into your mouth, the familiar cold of his tongue ring making you shiver. Aegon backs up, taking you with him as his knees hit the edge of the bed and he tumbles onto it.

Your hands tangle in his silver hair, nails scraping against the back of his neck. Aegon groans as you do that.

“You wanna play another game?” Aegon asks, kissing the tip of your nose.

“You know you sound like Jigsaw when you say that, right?” you tease, kissing him again. Aegon moves to kiss your collarbone, lips climbing up your neck.

“Wanna play a game?” Aegon says, imitating the Saw character. You burst into laughter, and Aegon places his hand over your mouth, shushing you.

“Shhh,” he says softly, though he’s in stitches as well.

You take a moment more before you’re okay enough to continue.

“What game?” you ask, anticipation curling in your belly.

“I want to see who can cum first,” Aegon says, keeping his voice low, “And whoever does, loses.”

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. He always says these things so casually, like he has no idea it sends your pulse racing. Or maybe he does, maybe that’s why he likes doing it. His fingers are tracing a path down your side on the exposed flesh from your pajama top that has ridden up.

“Aegon,” you tell him sternly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Your family is here.”

“Makes it even more fun,” he tells you with a shrug as his fingers trace lazy patterns on your lower stomach, “Just stay quiet, baby.”

“That’s kinda difficult when you’re oooh,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut as his fingers drift below your waistband, stroking the front of your panties.

“Fuck you’re wet already,” Aegon muses, “I get you all excited, bunny?” His teeth find purchase on your earlobe as he says it and you buck your hips against his fingers. “I think you want to play.”

“Aegon,” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulder, dragging him closer to you.

“Say it,” Aegon encourages, fingers slipping underneath your panties and dragging slow circles over your clit.

Your lashes flutter and you meet his eyes, warmth flooding through you.

“I want to play,” you whine, as he sinks a finger into your tight heat, “Oh fuck.”

Aegon hums appreciatively, kissing the side of your neck as he steadily fingers you, curling his finger to stroke against your sweet spot.

“Give me one, and then we’ll play,” he says, adding a second finger inside you. Your jaw slacks and you spread your legs wider, bending your knees against the mattress allowing him more room to continue.

Your orgasm quickly builds, winding tighter in your belly until your pussy constricts his fingers, spasming into your release. Your legs tremble and Aegon removes his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean.

“Fucking perfect,” he moans as you watch with wide eyes. Aegon grins before laying on his back. “Now get up here.”

Your face floods with warmth.

“What?” you ask.

“You’re gonna ride my face,” Aegon clarifies.

“Are-are you sure?” you manage to squeak. You’d done it a couple of times- guys loved 69’ing for some reason- but you were never the biggest fan when doing it with male partners. But for some reason, the thought of doing it with Aegon, and the temptation of his game, had your heart racing.

“Mhmm,” Aegon says, “Very sure. Desperate actually.” That makes you giggle. He always knows how to make you feel comfortable.

“Come up here, bunny, I’m getting impatient,” he teases and you remove your shorts and shirt. Aegon takes the time to remove his sweatpants and you get a glimpse of his full tattoo that runs down his ribs to his thigh.

You’ve only seen the top half before, so you find yourself staring for a moment, admiring the full body of the dragon, before Aegon whistles at you.

“Goddamn, bunny,” he says, eyes roaming your naked form.

You don’t make him wait any longer. You move to straddle his face, thighs on either side of his head as you lower your dripping pussy onto him. Just as his tongue spreads your folds, you wrap your hand around his hardened length, earning a moan from him.

Aegon truly has a beautiful cock. You’d never taken the time to appreciate it as much as you do right now. Long, thick, and pale except for the red tip that weeps with precum. There are several veins running down the shaft that you run your fingers along gently, causing Aegon to shiver. He’s girthier than anyone you’d been with previously.

Anticipation coils in your gut at the thought of sucking Aegon’s cock. You hadn’t done that yet. A moan leaves your lips as he drags his tongue to circle your clit before diving lower to tease at your entrance. You wet your lips, pumping him in your hand a few more times before lowering your lips to the tip.

You wrap your lips around his tip, letting your tongue flick out against his slit, cleaning off the precum that gathered there. The warm and salty taste coats your tongue and you hum appreciatively. Aegon hisses below you, you can feel his breath against your center. You hollow your cheeks, still just suckling at his tip. This awards you a deep groan from him and he lets his hand smack harshly against your right asscheek.

You yelp in surprise, popping your mouth off of his cock for a moment.

“You tease,” Aegon murmurs, before starting to fuck you with the warm, wet muscle of his tongue. You giggle, bringing your mouth to him once more.

You bob your head around him, taking more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, and trying to remember to breathe through your nose. Jesus, he’s big. You take what you can’t fit into your mouth into your hand as you move up and down along his shaft. Drool seeps down from your mouth, and you lube up your hand to join in your ministries.

“Fuck,” Aegon curses below you and you can’t help but smile. He digs his hands into your asscheeks, pressing you as close as he can to his eager mouth as he laps away, “Jesus bunny.”

Pride courses through you, and you move your hand to play with his balls. His hips jerk upwards at your touch as you fondly them carefully in tandem with the movement of your mouth.

“Okay shiiiit,” Aegon says breathily, “You’re trying to win, fuuuck.” You hum against him as he curses, hoping the vibrations drive him crazy. They seem to, as he releases another string of curses and brings his hand to help his mouth.

You moan as you feel his finger enter you, curling upwards against your sweet spot, stroking it with intense purpose. The bastard knows how to get what he wants. You try to keep up your rhythm, you have him right in the palm of your hand, but then he adds another finger, wraps his lips around your bud, and sucks and you tremble against him, grinding your pussy against his face as you fall apart.

“Fuck!” you quietly yell as your orgasm crashes over you and Aegon chuckles from below.

You pull yourself off of him, and he grabs your hips, pushing you onto your back and climbing on top of you. His smile is smug, and his chin is glistening with your slickness as he kisses you. You hold him close, kissing him desperately as he grinds against you, his cock wet and heavy against your thigh.

“You win,” you breathe, “What’s your prize?”

Aegon hums against your lips, reaching down to sling your leg over his shoulder, before guiding his cock to your entrance. Your lips part as he sinks in, stretching you out in the best way before bottoming out in your tight heat. Aegon presses his forehead against you, resting for a moment, not moving.

“You’re my prize,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Emotion swells in your chest at his words, and he rolls his hips against you. Sparks of pleasure dance through your abdomen, trickling down your legs and up your spine.

It’s slow and sweet, every roll of his hips carefully calculated like he’s trying to feel every inch of you. The pressure in your gut builds with every thrust and Aegon brushes some sweat from your forehead. You tremble, from pleasure and the emotions of lovemaking.

Lovemaking.

That’s what it feels like, as he looks into your eyes, as you hold his neck in one hand and claw at his lower back with the other. This feels like love. This feels like love. Your breathing turns to gasps as Aegon brings his hand between you, rubbing your clit.

“Aegon,” you whimper. I love you.

“I know baby,” he answers, but you don’t say anything except his name.

“Aegon,” you whimper again, fighting tears as he buries his face in your shoulder.

You slide your leg off of his shoulder, wrapping it around his waist, keeping him deep inside of you as you cum for the third time. Aegon’s hips stutter as he finds his release as well, staying inside you a moment more, kissing your lips again.

He lays on top of you, nearly crushing you not that you mind. You want him to never move, just stay on top of you like your own personal weighted blanket.

“Stay,” he murmurs, kissing your lips softly as he wraps his arms around you, holding your tightly against his chest, “Stay, just for a little bit.”

You should head back to Helaena’s room. It’s already too risky, hooking up with Aegon right down the hall from her. You’d pushed your luck already. You sigh contentedly, nuzzling against his chest.

“Just for a little bit,” you agree, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Egg, you need to get up and-”

Your eyes fly open and you sit up, coming face to face with Helaena who has just walked into Aegon’s room. Aegon sits up, getting tangled in the sheets, falling to the floor with a loud thump. You’d fallen asleep. Shit. Shitshitshit.

She’s already dressed for the funeral, wearing a black dress with buttons down the front and on the short sleeves. They shimmer in the light like the eyes of a spider. Her hair is pulled back, out of her face in a low ponytail at the base of her skull. Helaena’s eyes are wide, but there’s something behind them. A confirmation. Like she had a feeling but couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

“Wait,” you call, getting out of bed, leaving Aegon groaning from the floor. You chase after Helaena, “Hel-”

She turns to face you, lips firmly pressed together.

“No,” she says firmly, “No, not your fault.”

You shake your head.

“But it is-”

“No it's his,” she spits the words like venom, “This is what he does, Y/N.”

Tears fill your eyes.

“I know,” you tell her, “And I’m so sorry- but Hel, he’s chang-”

“Don’t,” she says, “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.”

“Hel please,” you beg, reaching for her arm. She pulls away, not meeting your eyes. “Get dressed. The family is going first but Harwin will be around to drive you. He’ll be waiting out front.” She hurries away after that, walking down the hall and out of sight.

“Y/N?” Aegon calls from the doorway of his room. He’d thrown on sweats to make himself somewhat decent.

“Oh god,” you breathe, “Oh fuck what do I do?”

“It’s okay,” Aegon says, coming up and placing his arms around you, pulling you into a hug, “I’ll talk to her, it’ll be alright.”

Tears fall, beginning to drip onto his shoulder as he strokes the back of your head as you continue to cry. You can’t ruin your friendship with Helaena. But you can’t ruin your relationship with Aegon either. Is it even a relationship? Your mind drifts to the previous night but you shove away the thoughts as you push away from him.

“We have to get dressed,” you tell him, wiping your face, “I’ll see you there, okay?”

Aegon watches you carefully but nods. You press a kiss to his cheek before heading back to Helaena’s room, and shutting the door.

After getting ready, you watch out the window as the family gets into their cars, and a gentle rain begins.

The family rides in two black Cadillacs. Rhaenyra rides with Alicent, while Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron ride separately with each other.

Helaena punches Aegon in the nose when the doors close.

“Ouch!” Aegon yells as Helaena continues raining fists upon her elder brother.

“You stupid, man-whore!” she yells, as Aemond grabs her forearms dragging her into the back seats of the car, “Couldn’t keep your sad dick away from her, could you?”

Aegon pinches the bridge of his nose, mouth open in a mixture of pain and shock. Aemond still holds a squirming Helaena as the door opens once more and Daeron slides in. His eyes are wide, a confused expression on his face.

“What happened?”

“Hel’s mental!” Aegon says, his voice coming out strained from his nose being blocked.

“She’s my best friend!” Helaena yells as the car begins to move. Cole is used to their antics and barely glances up to check on them in the rearview mirror. “My best friend Aegon. And I told you, I told you to leave her alone!”

“I know!” Aegon says, patting his nose. There’s no blood, luckily. “Fuck you could’ve broken my nose!”

“You asshole!” she yells, eyes wide, her voice shrill, “Why? Why did you sleep with her?”

“She knows?” Aemond asks, glancing at Aegon. Helaena’s head snaps toward him.

“You knew?” she asks, breathing heavily, eyebrows knitting together, “Wait, how do you know?”

Aemond, sensing he’s made a mistake, shuts his mouth.

“How do you know, Aemond?” Helaena repeats.

“I don’t know,” Aemond says quickly.

“Nice job genius,” Aegon says, shaking his head.

“Last night….wasn’t the first time?” Helaena asks. Aegon and Aemond share a look but say nothing.

Helaena punches Aemond on the shoulder, hard. He winces, letting out a yelp, and putting up his hands to defend himself.

“It wasn’t one time?? You didn’t tell me!?” Helaena accuses, as Daeron reaches back to stop her. Helaena glares at him, “Did you know too?”

“I don’t know what’s going on!” Daeron yells, “Stop hitting!”

“Assholes! All of you!” Helaena shouts, deciding to focus her anger on Aegon again.

She reaches for him, clawing at his arm as he pushes himself away, pressing against the window of the car. He swats at her hands, slapping them away from him, and begins to laugh, kicking his feet at her.

“I’m going to kill you!”

“Hel stop!”

The car comes to a harsh stop and Criston throws the car in park, leaning to look back at them.

“Alright enough!” he says, and the siblings stop quarreling, “Look….I know this is a hard day for you….but you can’t kill each other right now! Can you keep it together? For one afternoon?”

Four pairs of lilac eyes watch him. Criston sighs dramatically, knowing he’s asking for too much.

“He start-” Helaena begins.

“I don’t care,” Criston says, “Put it on pause. Please.”

Helaena lets out an annoyed huff, fixing her hair. Aegon sucks his teeth loudly before clicking his tongue, earning a glare from Aemond. Daeron still wears a confused expression on his face. Criston exits the car and opens the door for the siblings. Daeron pops out first, followed by Aemond.

As Aegon moves to exit next, Helaena grabs his shoulder stopping him. Aegon meets her eyes. They’ve often been referred to as twins, born almost exactly a year apart. Aegon never understood beyond that how they were alike- he always thought it was Aemond who Helaena shared that sibling connection with. But Alicent always insisted that it was Aegon and Helaena who were more alike than either cared to admit.

Helaena wears her fury unmasked, written all over her face. Perhaps that’s part of it. Aegon and Helaena cannot hide their emotions as Aemond or Daeron can. They feel and show everything deeply.

“You end things, and you end them today,” Helaena says solemnly.

“I can’t Hel,” Aegon says, his nose still aching. He hopes she doesn’t decide to punch him again, if she does she’ll definitely draw blood this time.

Helaena grimaces.

“Yes you can,” she tells him, “You can have any girl you want. Not her.”

“I only want her,” Aegon insists, “Hel I lo…I really care about her.”

“You’re going to hurt her. You are. It’s what you do,” she tells him.

People have said that to him before, but it never cuts as deep when they say it. But Alicent, or Helaena…their words have meaning. Aegon feels the cut of every word she speaks, slicing through him like he’s made of butter. It's physically painful and cracks his jaw to disguise the trembling of his lower lip.

“I’m not like that anymore,” Aegon says softly, “You know that.”

“I don’t trust you,” she hisses, “Not with her.”

“Tough shit,” he snaps and Helaena tilts her head, a warning look in her eye, “Look, I’m sorry Hel. I didn’t think this would happen, but it did. And she cares about me too.”

“Fuck off,” Helaena says loudly, “I know you. I know you.” She holds his gaze until Aegon forces himself to look away.

“Hel I’m sorry,” Aegon says softly, still not looking at her. He exits the car, turning to face her. “I really care about her. I’m not going to hurt her. And I know you don’t trust me, and I get it. You have every reason to but….” he trails off.

Helaena exits the car, and Criston holds an umbrella over the siblings as the rain picks up. She watches Aegon, watches as he struggles to find the words.

“Let’s go,” Helaena says softly. This is a conversation that needs to be saved for later.

She swallows her anger, takes her brother’s hand, and leads him into Sept.

Harwin drove you to the sept, where you stayed in the back with others attending the funeral. You kept your eyes on Helaena and Aegon but gave them their space. Thankfully, the rain had let up for the graveside service and the lowering of Viserys’ casket.

The air was cold as you stood to the side, pressing your hands deeper into the pockets of your coat. The family stands silently together, the tension palpable between Rhaenyra and her half-siblings.

Aegon sniffles, silent tears running down his cheeks. Helaena looks at him, eyes falling on his shaky hands. He’s picked his cuticles again, they’re red and raw like Alicent’s. Mother and son are mirrors of each other.

Aegon is Alicent’s twin in many ways. They share the same large eyes and soft jawline not afforded to her other children. Even their lips are the same, the cupid’s bow waiting to be kissed.

Alicent stands beside him, hands clasped in front of her inside a pair of silk black gloves. Aegon doesn’t hide his pain, he wears it like a badge of armor.

Helaena’s eyes flicker to where you stand, meeting yours for the first time this afternoon before she breaks from her family line to approach you. Alicent’s eyes follow her. You raise your gaze from the ground as she stands in front of you, her lavender eyes watery. She holds out her hand.

Your lower lip trembles, but you take it as she guides you to where her family stands. Brings you next to Aegon.

Replaces her hand with his.

You meet her eyes again, understanding. Helaena presses her lips in a tight smile, before shifting her gaze to her elder brother. Aegon is watching her, his lower lip quivering and fresh tears painting his cherubic cheeks. Helaena reaches up, brushing her thumb against his cheek and wiping away the tear. Aegon’s shoulders slack at her touch and she hugs him, pressing her face against his shoulder.

Aegon holds her tightly with one arm, still holding your hand with the other. Helaena whispers something to him you can’t make out, but you watch a smile twitch on the corner of his mouth as he nods at whatever she says.

You stand sandwiched between them for the rest of the service, and at some point, Helaena grabs your hand to hold as well.

note: screaming, crying, throwing up MY BABIES!!!

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