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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year

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No Pain, No Gain | Part 4, Final | PersonalTrainer!Aemond x fem!reader

A:N: Thank you all soooo much for joining me on this one, it was a blast to write. This chapter kinda made me feral writing it ngl. Cheers to my hype mama @ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 And I know I mentioned it in the first part but really it’s Ange as well as @valeskafics @oneeyedvisenya and @sapphire-writes that inspired me to write this from their AMAZING modern fics, so please give them all the love as well.

Series Masterlist | Warnings under the cut!

warnings: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, pussy slapping, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, Aemond being mean during sex lowkey love it tho

Lucky for you, the flight wasn’t too long.

Even though you had Baela on your shoulder snoozing, nothing could tear your mind off the sheer idiocy of the previous week.

You’d fucking kissed him.

Or he’d kissed you? At this point the whole memory was foggy.

All you know is that you were mere seconds away from tearing his fucking clothes off in his home gym and letting him have you on any flat surface there was.

You thought how wrong it was. You were paying this guy!

And yet there was a lingering feeling in the back of your mind, a heat clawing its way up your neck, like a constant ache almost at the thought of what would have happened if you hadn’t bolted. The endless possibilities were…vividly playing on your brain the entire plane journey.

‘Fucking perfect’

Even his voice had made a permanent home in your mind, his hot breath against your ear as he pinned you against the wall, allowing you to feel just how turned on he had been.

You obeyed Baela’s wishes and only told Maris about the kiss.

It turned out that Baela’s Dad, Daemon, had really gone all out for this retreat. In a place called Lys (which you’d scarcely heard of) on the other side of the island from where the airport was, it was quiet, with only the odd resident along the streets, but for the most part it was completely remote. You’d have to thank him for the personal taxi later.

Baela had slept through the plane journey entirely so now she just looked out the windows tiredly.

“Is your Dad and Rhaenyra already there?” you ask, seemingly breaking her from a tired trance.

She stretches, “Yeah they’ve been here ages already, the rest of the fam are here as well, we’re the last”

“Why’s that?” you ask.

Baela smirks mischievously, “There’s some tension at the moment, flights were staggered for the sake of people’s sanity”

“Oh right”

You can still hear his voice, the breathy tone he’d used.

‘Fuck…’

Bad girl. Stop it.

At least it’d be nice to have the better part of a week abroad, miles and miles away from the man in question who was making every thought sinful. You could finally relax.

“Is it a big resort?” you asked.

“Oh it’s not one big place, we’ve all got separate little villas. You and I are with Rhaena and her boyfriend, Cregan. Alicent and her fam are in the one next to us. Dad’s done us the courtesy of being the furthest away so we can’t hear him and Rhaenyra going at it”

“Ew Baela” you scrunch your nose, “Is Alicent nice?”

“Nice enough to us. Look out for Aegon though”

“The manwhore one, right. The one we ran into?”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell him you were coming for a reason. The slut will be all over you”

“Yeah no thanks, I might get syphilis” you joke, smoothing your hands over your legs.

You’d changed on the plane to a pair of black shorts and a tank top, and it was a good job you did. It was hot in Lys. Bloody roasting. And if that wasn’t bad enough. It was humid as well, which meant the forgoing of a bra. But c'est la vie, you supposed, you were on holiday, you looked great, felt great and couldn’t wait to get in the sun and just soak it all up.

You and Baela spent the last 30 minutes of the journey installing Tinder on your phone to check out the selection of men (and women, just out of curiosity) in Lys. But being a small island, you were picking up on people who lived hours away, in places you’ve never heard of either.

To your dismay, not many people on Tinder in Lys, shockingly. So you stuffed your phone away as you pulled up to the resort. The resort, or at least the one which you’d share with Rhaena and Cregan, was a single floored villa with what you assumed was two bedrooms on each side. It was nice and quaint.

“Cute” you comment.

Next to that little villa was another bigger one, two floors, slightly more bedrooms you’d wager. That must be where Alicent would be staying.

“She still came even though Viserys died?” you ask Baela, but she only raises her eyebrows.

“It’s not like they were in love”

Fair.

Between the two villas there was a large shared pool that was separated into two sections and a tiny kiosk in the corner where a bartender was packing away stock. Rounding the taxi, you pull your luggage out with a huff.

“Bartender is not too shabby” Baela wiggles her eyebrows and you shove her playfully.

She’s right. He ain’t bad looking at all. Suitably tanned, perhaps even a native to the island, his white shirt only serves to emphasise the way his arms are so toned. It’s a nice distraction for sure, even if nothing ends up happening.

It’s still early afternoon so plenty of time to get dressed and soak up the sun. But as you’re pulling your suitcase out of the taxi, you’re ogling the bartender so hard that it falls out the boot of the car.

“Christ” you whisper.

A woman from the bigger villa rounds the corner with long, curled auburn hair. You assume she must be Alicent, but she looks far too young to have four kids all grown up. She gives Baela a polite wave and turns, “Boys, help them with their bags, would you?”

“Oh no, we’re fine!” you say back, giving her a wave and kneeling to the floor to pick up all your bags.

“Thanks Aeg” Baela says as her bag is plucked from her grasp easily. You pull one bag over your shoulder and attempt to pull your suitcase to its side.

“Struggling?”

You froze.

Oh fuck.

You knew that voice. But you dare not look up.

You stand with your hand on the handle of your suitable, eyes fixed solely on anywhere but where you know he is stood, smirking.

An involuntary breath manages to escape when his large hand, the one you remembered pressing against your waist last time, brushed against yours to wrap around the handle of the suitcase. He takes it effortlessly, making you finally look up at him.

He makes no secret of eyeing every bit of you, savouring the parts he’s never seen before, like the expanse of your legs, having previously always been covered by gym leggings. Smooth and leading to the spot where his eye pauses for a moment. To the tops of your thighs sneaking out of your shorts, he eyes them as well with a dark, determined look. The corner of his lip curled up somewhat once he saw the tank top and your lack of anything underneath.

He looks disgustingly good, at least since the last time you saw him. Hair once again, in that slutty fucking bun.

He’s only wearing shorts, perhaps he’d been sunbathing as well, but clearly not had much of a tan yet. His chest, which you’d never seen bare before, was glistening under the sun, toned and well defined with lines running all over. You caught yourself from looking at the dip of his hips, at the lines leading down to where you knew you wouldn’t be able to not look if you did. So you painfully refrained and looked back into his mismatched eyes, at the glowing pride sitting there at your obvious ogling of his form.

He chuckles quietly and takes your suitcase to take into your room, as if he just needed an excuse to see the inside of it. You stood stock still in your position, watching the muscles of his back move as he walks, as if he just knows you’re watching him.

Which of course, you are.

You bite the inside of your cheek, both ragingly horny and annoyed at the same time.

And when you look over at Baela, she bites her lip, mouthing I didn’t know.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you” you whispered and she laughed nervously, as if really believing you’d do it.

Once the two Targaryen brothers had evacuated your rooms, you pushed Baela inside your shared room and slammed the door.

“Woah woah chill, what’s the big deal?” she asked, searching your eyes.

“Baela, why the fuck is he here?” you whisper, clearly stressed.

“The fuck is up with you?”

“Fuck’s sake, Baela, we kissed!”

She’s quiet for a moment and you expect her to freak out, but she just raises an eyebrow, “Is that it?”

“Baela!”

“You didn’t bang?”

“Fuck’s sake, no! I mean… we might have if I hadn’t run off…but it felt too weird-I was paying him-”

“You ran off?” Baela snorts.

“Shut the fuck up”

“What are you afraid of dick now?”

“Baela, I just-I couldn’t, it felt too weird-it’s not like I didn’t want to but-fuck”

Baela puts her arms on your shoulders, “Babe, calm down. Listen, he's not your personal trainer anymore, mm’kay? He’s just ‘creepy Aemond’, now get your ass in that bikini so we can see the fruits of your labours alright? Get in that fucking sun”

“He’s not creepy, Bae” you reply, exasperated by the situation you’ve been put in.

“Regardless, get out there. Show him what he’s missing” Baela winks, zipping open her bag to get her swimming stuff, “You’re hot, y/n. Show him”

With an annoyed sigh, you shed your clothes, not caring about whether you’re naked in front of Baela or not. A few years in a house-share with her meant you’d walked in on each other nude more than once.

“Well?” she grins, you look over, bottom half of the black bikini now on, and your jaw drops.

“Oh my god” you say, looking over at her. She has a bikini of her own, pale blue in colour and one that compliments her skin tone well. Hers has ties that she’s double knotted, “You look fit”

“Thank you” she says with a smile, as if she knows it anyway.

You pull your bikini top on, making sure your boobs are well rested and adjusted inside the top. The bottoms are double knotted at the hips, the top a classic one that ties around your neck and back. Once the girls are where they’re meant to be, you look over yourself in the mirror, and you had to admit, the one month program did a number on you. Thighs and legs, slightly more toned, curves smoothed over, arms had a bit more shape to them, but nothing that screamed ‘ah yeah I work out’. And more than anything, the ass looked amazing. You knew you had an ass anyway, but now…

“What do you think?” you ask Baela, pulling your hair up messily.

She looks at you in the mirror, “I give it a day” she says as she smears lotion over her body.

“Until?”

“Til Aemond’s had you on every flat surface here”

“You’re fucking gross, you know that”

“Bet you 5 gold dragons”

“You’re on, bitch”

Once suitably sun-creamed up, skin glistening with it, you rest your sunglasses on top of your head and take a deep breath, going out to be greeted by the warm, humid air. Luckily, only Aegon seems to be sat outside on a sunbed at the moment, his hat resting over his face. Baela happily passes you a bright orange cocktail, and not quite ready to get into the pool, you sit on the side and dip your legs in, the smell of chlorine making you feel like you were finally on holiday.

Aegon lifts his hat, squinting, “Hello ladies”

Baela dips into the pool, “Manwhore”

“Well that’s not very nice”

Aegon doesn’t make any further effort to speak, plopping his hat back over his face, one airpod in his ear. Sipping the cool drink you scan the area. The villas are cute and luxurious and from here down the cobbled path you can see the beach that backs onto it all, the glaring white sand calling to you and the rush of the waves against them are somewhat calming.

The little bar in the corner plays some quiet music, not loud enough to disturb anyone from their sunbathing or other holiday-like activities. Alicent sits on the other side underneath a parasol, she’s wearing a classy one-piece and for a woman with four kids grown up, she doesn’t show it one bit, slender and youthful. She reads a book in her lap, sunglasses rested firmly on her nose, a diet-coke in one hand.

The only sound at the moment was the quiet music and the rippling of water as Baela swam leisurely in the pool, careful not to get her hair wet.

It was nice.

Down the cobbled path, you hear the grunts of what sound like two male voices. Arching an eyebrow and tipping your sunglasses up, there’s two men, suitably broad, making their way up to your villa.

“Ah, my favourite cousin has arrived!” this guy is shorter, but not short by any means, he has wild curly brown hair and wearing shorts that reach to about his knees. Not a red flag per se but…

Baela splashes him from her spot in the pool, “See you two are getting along famously”

The other guy with him you recognise as Cregan Stark, Rhaena’s current boyfriend. You’d seen him around when you were at university, but the years had been kind to him and he’d broadened significantly, with a dark beard and a smattering of chest hair covering his torso. At least he’s opted for more stylish shorts though. You give him a polite wave which he returns, he’d always been a softie, it seems that hadn’t changed. Good for Rhaena.

Jace flashes a smile your way, “Is this the infamous y/n?” he asks, rounding the pool to come and stand beside you to introduce himself, “I’m Jace”

It’s at this moment that Aemond comes out of his villa, towel in hand. You try your damndest to not look in his direction as he throws his towel at the sunbed next to Aegon, but when you break and do, he’s not even looking at you. He’s staring daggers into the back of Jace’s head, gaze dark as if he wants to take the poor guy’s head clean off. And he makes a fucking meal out of his, only briefly flitting to you before looking away.

Oh.

You bite back a smile.

“Nice to meet you” you say, shaking his hand politely, looking back to Baela and pulling an awkward look. She’s doing the same thing with her eyebrow raised.

“I’m the other cousin, my brother’s Luke and Joff are in the villa over” he says excitedly. Gods he’s like…a puppy. Even though he very well could be the same age or older, he’s vibrating with excitement. It’s kind of a turn off.

“You’re Rhaenyra’s kids right?” you ask, politely pretending to be interested.

He nods, “Yeah, you probably won’t see her. Her and Daemon are always in the cities being tourists”

This attempt at conversation is…taking it all from you. He’s cute, but not fuckable cute. And with Aemond in your peripheral pretending to be on his phone, but secretly watching every word that’s exchanged, it’s kind of exciting to see him…jealous perhaps.

You just nod and agree to whatever he says. Aemond visibly bristles, tongue poking the inside of his cheek when Jace signs off with, “You’re welcome to come to our villa whenever you want”

A bit…forward if anything. But you thank him politely and Jace eventually retreats down the cobbled path to his villa, which he’s helpfully stated is only about a 2 minute walk.

Cregan asks, “Where’s Rhaena?”

“At the beach”

Cregan gives a polite smile, going off to the white sandy beach in search of his girlfriend. Baela swims up to you, leaning on the side of the pool as you sip the last of your cocktail.

“Is he always so adept with women?” you ask with a smirk, Baela snorts, “several times I caught him looking below the chin”

“Can you blame him” Baela returns, “Nah, he’s harmless really, you coming in?” she asks, swimming on her back to the middle of the pool.

Sighing, you pull the sunglasses from your head and put them aside, padding over to the ladder.

Even though you don’t look, you feel the intensity of his gaze. Raking all over your skin, as if the more he stares, the more skin he’ll be able to see. Perhaps he’d wondered what you looked like beneath the black fabric of the bikini, what it might feel like to undo the ties of them and let the fabric peel off your moistened skin, exposing your most intimate areas to the humid air.

Your skin blossoms at the thought, even with how hot it is. The sun makes it no easier to cool off from these musings, only serving to intensify the electric bolt that radiates between the both of you, becoming stronger the closer you are to him.

He watches as your legs dip into the pool the further you descend down the ladder, the water moistening your sun-cream lotioned skin, slipping away in waves as the droplets lap against your toned thighs. Aemond thinks he might die on the spot when the water surges against your breasts, instantly making the supple skin there glisten in the sun.

And if that wasn’t enough, you reach up in a surprisingly tempting gesture and pull the clip from your hair. He’d rarely seen your hair down, but here with the ends dipping into the pool, each strand glimmering a soft halo around your head with the afternoon glow, the reins he has pulled taut inside his head are slipping recklessly.

Pretending to scroll through his phone, his brother Aegon smirks beneath his hat, shamelessly watching Aemond’s resolve slowly crumble. But you do a good job of barely looking at him for the remainder of the afternoon. The same cannot be said for him.

He realises he’s fucked when Baela, the ever playful person she is, dunks you below the water and every bit of you is wet, water cascading off every curve as you laugh and wipe your eyes. Even when you pull yourself onto the ladder out of the pool, giving him the perfect view of your ass, pulling the bikini a little bit up your hips as you do so, he manages to somehow hold it together.

Being late in the afternoon, the sun’s beginning to make its way down, so with a slight shiver you pull a towel around you, raking some fingers through your wet hair to get the chlorine-induced tangles out. You lean over the bar, waiting for the bartender to turn around,

“Baela, what do you want?”

“Whatever you’re having!”

The bartender flashes a smile once he recognises your presence, eyes flitting to your chest pressed between your arms as you lean over the bar before returning to your eyes.

“What can I get for you” he asks lowly and your head cocks at the accent. It’s kinda hot.

“Do you have gin and tonic?” you ask politely,

He braces the bar, the vein in his arm visible from this angle, “We do, but I think for a pretty woman like you I can make something better”

You raise an eyebrow, “like what?”

He twirls a glass of something behind his back, clearly showing off his bartending skills, “How about something with ouzo?”

You shrug with a smile, “Never tried it but sure”

As he mixes the drink, you peer over your shoulder at Baela and then to Aemond. He’s already watching you. It’s that look again. The one he’d given you last time in his home gym. The one where it feels like he’s looking right inside you, the darkened, determined look. You keep his gaze, thinking he will just look away like he had before. But he doesn’t.

A muscle in his jaw twitches with annoyance. Or perhaps not even annoyance. Something else.

Once you’ve polished off several cocktails, Aemond leaves with Aegon to go inside, presumably to change clothes, but not before giving you a look over his shoulder. Anyone else would have thought he was livid. To be honest, for a second you thought he very well could be. For what reason he had to be livid? You had no idea.

You spent the night slathered in mosquito repellent and sat outside with Baela, Rhaena and Cregan. You’d wanted to be comfortable so decided on a dress with spaghetti straps. It was a comfortably warm evening, with fire-lit torches illuminating the space around the villa. Rhaena had arrived back in the late afternoon, flushed in the face and hair tousled and you and both Baela had noted that Cregan’s shorts were untied. The sun was clearly getting to Rhaena. Her and Cregan was a fairly new thing and she’d been both shocked and giddy when he’d offered to be her plus one for the trip.

Sometime in the night, a figure that was clearly Aemond and another white haired girl walked towards their villa.

“Helaena!” Rhaena shouted over with a smile. Both figures stopped and your stomach fluttered with nervousness when Aemond’s eyes landed on you briefly. Then a slight pang of disappointment when he said goodbye to the woman next to him to slip inside the villa.

The ethereal looking woman comes over excitedly, sitting beside you, “Oh my gosh, when did you guys get here!”

“Cregan and I came yesterday” Rhaena smiles,

“Yeah but they were probably in bed all day sleeping, right Rhae?” Baela murmurs into her drink earning a smack from her sister.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Cregan” Helaena smiles politely before turning to you, “And you are?”

“I’m y/n, Helaena was it?” you ask, shaking her soft hand. She was really pretty, like a fairy just floating around. She had dangly earrings with ladybirds on them and was wearing a flowy cream dress.

“Oh so you’re y/n, I’ve heard so much about you!”

It catches you off guard slightly, but you nod and then turn to Baela furrowing your eyebrows confusedly. She’s heard so much about you? The hell does that mean?

The rest of the night is really pleasant and Helaena stays with you all chatting for the remainder of it. She’s really nice it turns out. It’s a wonder she’s even related to her brothers. She tells you all about the family drama, which piques your excitement and that her youngest brother Daeron, didn’t end up coming since he’s studying abroad, so she came instead. And you’re grateful she did, it’s nice to have other new female company.

In your shared bedroom, you and Baela chat well into the night, about a plethora of things. But one subject you refuse to broach is him. Nope. Can’t talk about him. He’s only a few metres away, if you let your mind wander too much it’ll all be over.

It’s a restless night’s sleep and your subconscious certainly doesn’t help. All your mind can allow you to remember is the way he touched you, how he had pressed against you, how his lips were slotting against yours almost desperately, his low moan.

The next morning, after having a continental breakfast, Baela puts on a long maxi dress.

“Everyone’s going to the city for a shop around, wanna come?” Baela meets your eyes in the mirror.

“Shopping? Nah, that’s fine I’ll just stay here, want to relax a little bit and get some more sun”

“You sure? Feel bad leaving you here on your own”

“Is everyone going with you?” you ask, pulling some shorts over your black bikini.

“Nearly, except for Dad and Rhaenyra. Sure you don’t mind?” she asks,

“Course not, have a good time”

Pulling a shawl over your shoulders you see Baela and everyone off before trudging down the cobbled path to the white, sandy beach, plopping yourself on the sand and opening a book you’d borrowed from the shelf near the bar. You let the sun beat down on your shoulders, the soft wind blowing through your hair and listening to the waves in the quiet hair while reading a book just seems so calming.

You’d already gotten quite a bit of sun yesterday and your legs had glazed with a sun-kissed colour, as well as your arms. So much so, the bikini had left a few lines where the straps were, if only very faintly. It was always easy for you to catch the sun. Pulling off your shorts, you lean back on your elbows to read some more and get some colour on your thighs.

Early afternoon came by quickly and before you knew it, you could feel the tingle of pinkness on your shoulders, where your bikini was tied at your neck.

Fuck.

You’d forgotten to put suncream there, Baela had been the one to reach the difficult spot yesterday.

Packing up your things, you carry your shorts and shawl in one hand and trudge back to the villa. It’s quiet, everyone must still be in the city. Your hair had somewhat curled up from the sea breeze so you ran your fingers through it once inside, snagging on some tangles.

Now, where was the aftersun. Baela had it…

“Not a fan of shopping?”

Your head swung around at the sudden, familiar voice. And there he was, looking annoyingly hot, leaning against the doorway to your villa, a toned arm supporting his weight. Again, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and his shorts hung on his hips, making your eyes dip to those lines that lead…

No.

He has a lazy smile on his face, happy to have got you flustered and allowing his eyes once again to look over you in just the black bikini once more.

“No, not really” is all you can muster, going back to looking for the aftersun with urgency. But really you didn’t want him to see the pink flush on your cheeks. Seeing him like this, no less being alone with him, especially looking as good as he does, was about to drive you to madness.

He hums and walks forward into the village, hands in his pockets, “Looking for something?”

“U-uh, just the aftersun” you struggle, clearing your throat and cursing yourself for the shake in your voice at being in his presence once again.

“Ah” he responds.

You gasp when one of his arms braces the counter in front of you and he bends down to the mini fridge, opening it to produce a bottle of said aftersun. You could feel his presence at your back, broad and warm, all encompassing. Swallowing thickly, you take a breath. It must be the smell of something on his skin that gives off a subtle scent, but whatever it is makes your stomach flutter and a warm bloom settles in your abdomen.

You go to reach for the bottle, but he pulls back, and you meet his gaze. His look is soft, but dark and steadfast.

“Where”

Jesus fucking christ. My heart is beating so fucking fast right now.

“Um…back of my neck” it comes out a whisper, and he doesn’t miss the way your breasts move in the bikini as you nervously breathe slightly heavier.

“Difficult to reach by yourself” he muses, his voice rumbling in his chest as he is standing right behind you. You bite your lip. Is this really fucking happening right now.

You shiver when his large hand moves your hair from your back to one side of your neck, the feeling of his fingers brushing against the skin there almost makes an involuntary sound come out your mouth. But you repress it, closing your eyes to grab hold of your reins.

One hand fiddles with the single knot of the tie at your neck, slowly, his breath steady. And he finds the one he needs and pulls slowly, unwinding the bow until the bikini top is loosened. Your hands move to hold the front of your bikini up to cover your breasts as the fabric falls. Your mind is at war with itself, stuck between thinking this is wrong and it should stop, and then the more dominant side thinks, he’s here, doing this, you might as well see where it goes.

Even though it was only one thin strap, when he sees your almost bare back right before him, you hear him exhale lowly and you only know because you feel his hot breath against it. He deposits some cold aftersun in his hand and slowly reaches out to the slightly pink skin of your nape, to spread it across. Your body prickles with anticipation at his touch, coupled with the chill of the liquid. Nobody says a thing as he massages it into your skin, not quite feathery but he applies pressure, making sure to roll his fingers into the muscles there, so that you really feel him.

He continues for a moment and then his other hand joins. You’re unsure if there is actually any aftersun left at this point and he is just finding an excuse to touch you, but you don’t stop him. Desire pools in your stomach as his hands drag south, down the expanse of your back, to the sides, nearly touching your own hands where they are covering your breasts. Your eyelashes flutter as you sigh at the feeling, his large palms working the moistened skin. It is this point your eyes open when you feel his very obvious erection, pressing firmly against your buttocks.

You feel his breath close to your nape, and it all seems to fall apart as he presses his lips there. Once, twice, three times…and then again as he drags his lips up your neck to behind your ear.

“It’s not fair…you getting to walk around like this…” he whispers next to your ear, his hands trace the contours of your breasts, “...every fucking guy ogling you…”

One of his hands smoothes down your side, resting at your hip, fiddling with the single knot of your bikini there.

“...wanting to fuck you…”

He just lets his hang rest there, neither touching you where you need him the most. Your blood is rushing around your body, humming with desire. Frustrated at not being allowed the pleasure it so desperately needs.

“...but you won’t let them, will you. You’ll just let them look, like the needy attention slut you are”

His words are unexpected but they have their effect, and you can practically feel your arousal at what he says. One of his hands sneaks beneath yours, to grab one of your breasts tightly, almost possessively, pinching the nipple between his dexterous fingers. It makes you breathe out a quiet moan, your body slowly giving in.

“Do you have any idea how much I wanted to fuck that stupid little attitude out of you?” he says, his breath hot on the shell of your ear.

He moulds your breast in his palm effortlessly, waiting for an answer.

But you moan louder in both surprise and arousal when he squeezes it harshly, “I asked you a question”

“Fuck-no, I didn’t…” you somehow manage, cracking your eyes open slightly. You see him only a little in your peripheral, expecting him to be smirking. But he’s not, he is dead serious. Which somehow serves to awaken your desire even more.

His other hand slips beneath the fabric of your bikini and he himself lets out a guttural moan feeling how turned on you already are, the pads of his fingers collect the wetness already there, moving up to circle your slit with your own slick. Your mouth falls open slightly, body trembling with anticipation. God why does it feel so good.

“I would have had you in every way imaginable…if you’d stayed…” he murmurs against you, speeding up the motions of his finger.

“Fuck…Aemond-please”

He spins you around quickly, the top of your bikini falling in a useless mess to the floor and he quite literally growls at the sight of your tits, as if he’d imagined what they might look like for a long time. His jaw tightens at the sight and he pushes the bottoms down to the floor, sinking to his knees almost instantly so he is staring hungrily at your cunt, wet and dripping for him.

His hands remain at your hips, his fingers bruising red marks into them.

“Please what”

Shit.

Your face flushes red at the sight of him so close to your intimate area, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little embarrassed, but his pupils are so dilated with pure lust, it almost makes you forget.

Your body jolts when he slaps your pussy hard, sending a jolt of pleasure through your clit and clawing up your spine, a desperate sound escapes you. He need not say anything else.

“Please, I need you” you whine pathetically and he huffs, as if annoyed, using his large hands to part your legs even further, the counter biting into your lower back.

“That’s what I fucking thought”

He dives into your pussy with his tongue, swirling the soft, wet muscle around your clit a few times deliciously before venturing down, fucking you with his tongue and lapping up your slick like a man starved. He grips your hips as if you might move away from him, keeping you right where he wants you and all the while your desperate whines and the lewd sound of his mouth are the only thing that fills the otherwise quiet villa.

You pray nobody returns, because what you’re doing right now deserves to be loud.

God, how long had it been since a man last treated you this way. Since a man had known what to do with you so confidently, to have you a moaning mewling mess.

It’s here when you look down, that you realise he’s fucking moaning while eating your pussy, almost sounding as if he’s enjoying this far more than you are. Enjoying your taste, your scent, everything. He briefly looks up at you, drinking in the indulgent look on your pinkened face, before delving deeper, his sharp nose rubbing against your clit with every move he makes with his tongue within you.

You nearly lose it entirely when he presses two fingers inside, immediately crooking them to rub against that delicious spongy spot that makes your mouth hang open.

“Ohfuck” you whimper as he doubles his efforts on your clit while pistoning his long, slender fingers within you. It feels like so much and your hand comes down to his wrist, feeling your climax curl in your gut and threatening to explode faster than ever. But he groans and uses his other hand to push it away, blissfully ignoring you and going faster in an effort to make you come apart around him.

“You gonna come on my fucking tongue” he growls into your pussy, his ministrations never stopping for a second and in fact his lips lock around your clit to suck. A desperate moan spills from your mouth, not even passing your brain.

“Yes, yes…” you pant, “Fuck-Aemond”

Your hands brace the counter as your climax is ripped from you by the force of his fingers and mouth. Pure, white hot pleasure wakes every nerve in your body, prickling up your back and into your limbs, making them go numb. You barely register the sound you even make as Aemond continues to fuck you with his fingers through it, lapping up every bit of your essence that comes out, moaning and chanting ‘good fucking girl’.

It genuinely takes you a moment to recover from it, your chest shining with sweat from the effort. But before you know which way is up, he rises, hands under your thighs to pull you up onto the counter, which is good since your legs were starting to give in from the force of your orgasm.

“Aem-”

His lips are on yours before you even have a chance to speak, allowing your legs to part so he might press flush against your weeping cunt. You feel his erection, hard and thick against you and it only makes you want it more. He takes you in with his lips as if it’s the air he breathes, a mess of lips, tongues and the taste of you, sweet like nectar.

“Fuck, want you so bad” he breathes between kisses, outright moaning when your fingers card into the hair at his nape and grip.

“Fuck me, I want to feel all of you”

His eyes peer open down at you, his chest heaving with desire.

“Please, don’t make me beg”

At this, he does smirk, pushing his shorts further down his hips and freeing his cock, “I’d like to see you beg, baby”

Christ.

He’s much bigger than you’ve had before, definitely bigger than your pathetic ex was anyway (not like it’s hard). You take him into your palm, hot, weighty and heavy and he tilts his head back at the feeling as you give his length a few languid strokes, although there really is no need since he’s been constantly hard the second he saw you come out the taxi the day before. The way his face contorts when you rub your thumb over his weeping tip makes you think he is painfully hard, aching for any kind of release.

God, if this is what he looks like now, you want to see his face when he is fucking you stupid.

You guide him to your waiting core, his head barely kissing your entrance.

“I’ve got an IUD, please-”

He doesn’t need to hear any more, his hands reach out to grip your waist, pulling you forward as he pushes, letting out a guttural moan as he sinks into you to the hilt. He moves your leg to hook around him, trying to get as close to you as possible.

“Fuck…” he moans with a shudder as his cock is squeezed by your tightness, “god you’re so fucking tight”

Everything about this has your blood on fire. His cock fills you so perfectly, his moans, his words, the way his hands are holding you apart for him to use you. One of his hands moves to your nape, grabbing the hair there in his grip tightly, and the tension against your hair makes you moan out as well.

But he doesn’t move.

“Aemond…”

“Beg for it” he orders, his stomach taut with the effort it takes to hold himself back. Frustrated and turned on beyond belief, you try and move your hips for friction. His hand flies from your hip to your jaw, fingers bruising into your cheeks, making you look directly at him and your eyes meet his, wide-eyed and heavily dilated, “Beg for it like the fucking slut I know you are”

Once again his words ignite that fire that creeps down your spine, and you feel every bit of him. Every vein on his cock, how it twitches within your heat and how it kisses your cervix with how big it is.

“Please fuck me, just move Aemond-please”

You don’t have the resolve to deny it now. You want it so bad, more than you’ve wanted anything ever.

He wets his lips, “That’s it” he coos.

He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back inside, watching the way your tits bounce when his hips snap against yours with need. He doesn't start gently, too pent up for that, nor does he build up to it. He fucks you on the counter like he’s not been able to get a moment’s rest from thinking about this for weeks. The hand in your hair tightens impossibly, holding you there while his cock drags against your walls, still sensitive from your previous climax.

Aemond watches his cock disappear over and over again into you, coated in your slick, revelling in the filthy sounds it makes when he slaps against you. And when he delivers a particularly hard thrust, brushing against that spot inside, your hand flies to your mouth to contain your moans, concerned that if anyone did come back, they’d be able to hear you.

“None of that” he growls, ripping your hand away from your mouth, his eyes glimmering with mischief, “I wanna hear how good I make you feel”

It’s impossible to hold back. He sees it all as a challenge now as he takes your hips with both hands, fucking you even faster if it were possible. He adjusts his hips and his stomach muscles, toned and hard ripple with the effort, his strong arms caging you completely in and he looks down at you as if he wants to see exactly the moment it happens.

You grip his forearm tightly, “Aemond-I’m-”

“Fuck I can feel you squeezing me…you gonna cum for me, hm? All over my cock” he breathes.

You nod desperately, “Yesyes…please…cum inside me-”

His brow arches smugly at this, a smirk etching on his features, “You want me to fill you up, huh”

“Gods - yes”

“Hm” he hums, allowing his large hand to encircle your throat, only barely squeezing, “gonna make you work for it”

It’s when he squeezes your neck that you shut your eyes, face contorted in pleasure and that coil inside snapping forcefully. You can practically feel the rhythm of your heartbeat through your clit as you let go completely, gripping onto him for dear life. You don’t know what he means by ‘work for it’ but you don’t really care right now. The pleasure comes in waves over your body and Aemond pistons in and out through it, a lazy smile on his face watching you as you orgasm.

You realise in all this that he’s not stopped. His hips continue to press into you faster and faster, now bullying the overly sensitive spots inside that have been decimated by your climax.

“Aemond?...” you manage with a breathy moan, quickly feeling overstimulated.

“Told you I’d make you work for it” he muses, moving his thumb to circle your clit.

You gasp out, back arching against him as he tries to work yet another orgasm out of you, “I-I can’t-”

“Give it to me” he orders, all while keeping that breakneck pace as he fucks you, sparking white-hot and borderline unbearable pleasure in two ways against your body. He leans forward to lick a fat stripe up the column of your neck all the way up to your ear and the change in position has his cock once again directly drag against that spot inside, one that makes your eyes shut, face contort and stars begin to appear behind them.

“Give it to me like the good girl you are” he whispers as he bites down on the skin of your neck, marking you for himself.

With a strangled cry, you give in, thighs trembling against his muscled sides and you feel another gush of arousal coat his cock by the loud sounds it's still making. He fucks you through this one, his strokes becoming sloppy, and you go limp in his arms feeling that he may also not last much longer.

“Good girl-fuck” he cums with a shattered moan after that, his head buried into your neck as you feel his hot spend paint your walls, giving a few desperate thrusts until his cock twitches from overstimulation, still seated within you. Still coming down from the two close orgasms he’d given you, you take a moment to come back to earth, eyes cracking open after a while.

Even with him still inside you, you can feel the combination of his spend and your own arousal leaking out of you, coating your thighs. He pulls his head tiredly from your neck to look at you. And he looks amazing, so blissed out, a bit pink in the face, but there’s a new softness there now where there wasn’t before.

“Gods, you’re so perfect…”

You kiss him desperately, not wanting this feeling to end as you both come down from your respective highs. And there’s a part inside of you that is self-conscious that perhaps all he wanted was sex, and that he doesn’t like you at all, so you savour this moment, concerned that after all this…there might be nothing.

“Go on a date with me…” he says suddenly and you look up at him. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks nervous, “please…”

Combined with the thoughts you were just having, his words are so overwhelming that for the time it takes you to think of an answer, you just laugh breathlessly, which makes him arch a confused brow.

“Date?” you ask, wondering if you’d heard correctly, “not to the gym I hope”

“No, not at the gym” he laughs, “I…I’d like to get to know you better” he confesses.

You huff a laugh, “You’re literally inside me right now”

He lets out his own laugh, and it’s nice to see him genuinely smile, “not like that”

His chest is still moving with his breathing, still slightly laboured, and your eyes glance over him for a moment, taking him all in. His hair has somewhat come free of his bun, so you tuck a strange behind his ear in a gesture that makes Aemond’s heart squeeze.

“I’d love to”

The smile on his face is unmistakable, and not a hint of smugness to it.

Once he’s pulled his softening cock from your core and you’ve both cleaned yourself up, it overcomes both of you that you can’t keep your hands off each other, can’t spend a moment without lips locked. Everyone’s definitely going to notice.

“I don’t want to hide it from anyone, if you don’t” you say in a whisper.

He squeezes your ass lovingly, giving it a playful swat, “I certainly don’t”

A few hours later, once the sun has started to hit the tops of all the buildings and the sky turns a hazy red with the sunset, you sit beside him, legs dipped in the pool and a shawl pulled around your shoulders from the slight chill. You let your head rest on his shoulder, utterly content as he kisses the crown of your head, in a shockingly loving gesture despite how he was railing you earlier. One strong arm wrapped around your waist.

“Fuck” you whisper.

“What” he asks amused.

“I owe Baela 5 gold dragons”

taglist (sorry if I missed anyone, I’m crap, bold means I couldn’t tag)

@jacevelaryonswife @lovelykhaleesiii@urmomsgirlfriend1@iiamthehybrid @namelesslosers @chainsawsangel @warmfieldofgrass @mynameisbaby9 @afro-hispwriter @tempo-rary-fix @toodlesxcuddles @definitelynotsatans @svtansdaddyx @tssf-imagines @darkenchantress @vrtualfairy @fan-goddess @skikikikiikhhjuuh @helaenaluvr @sarahkimtae @blackxisxmyxcolour @castellomargot @girlwith-thepearlearring @julczimozart @amazingdisneyfansblog @slutforaemond@thedamewithabook@Iiamthehybrid@sahvlren@Whoknows333@cosmoeticss

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totothewolff · 6 months

Text

Grand Prix Elite Academy (2/10)

+18 | professor!Toto x reader fem!student, sewis, carlos x reader, collegue au | romance, smut, comedy, gossip, betray

Summary: Your life turns 180 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One College, designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the faculties, and try to win this year's Elite Cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes, all while befriending your eclectic classmates, join the wild parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Race to Greatness! Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fic set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program called WomenOne and have lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold. Becoming the outcast new girl is always challenging, especially when all of you live on one campus.

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Chapter 2: Gone with the Wolff

The sun starts to ascent over Monaco's luxurious skyline in the early hours of the day, casting a golden glow over the buildings.

As you go through the security checkpoint at the campus gates, you feel an intoxicating mix of nerves and excitement brewing in you. Besides feeling like an alien, being the only one there arriving on foot as you watch the endless line of expensive sports cars and SUVs with chauffeurs drive past you and the parking gate.

Today marks the beginning of your journey at the Grand Prix Elite Academy, a heaven where speed and ambition merge.

—You got clearance, miss Y/LN —the muscular security man tells you; stepping out of the security booth, he has a cold and formal attitude and way of speaking. —They need you at the Student Affairs offices. It's on the first floor in the main building —he points towards the large facility down the entrance road. —You need to wear this at all times, no excuses, till your new ID and student badge are ready —he instructs you, handing you a metallic purple "visitor" access badge.

—Oh, thank you.

Stepping for the first time onto the campus grounds, you can't help but feel in awe by the magnificence surrounding you as you pay attention to all the details.

The buildings' architecture combines Monaco's classical style blend with modern facades full of massive glass walls facing the different gardens.

There are many lanes for pedestrians, bicycles, and electric scooters. Beautiful palm trees, flowers, and acres of perfectly maintained green grass complete the view.

The campus is full of energy and student life. People read and work on their computers and tablets in the different sitting areas, which are filled with picnic tables and expensive outdoor furniture. Others lie on the grass, chat in groups, or walk fast to somewhere. People get in and out of the buildings, and many line up in the Starbucks inside campus.

—Y/N! Carlos calls your name from a step on the main building's ample stairs, sitting beside Esteban. Judging by all the students sitting on them, the stairs look like a popular gathering spot.

You start walking on their way while Carlos rushes down to welcome you with a hug, his prince-charming hair flowing in the wind as he reaches you. You two became good friends after spending the Homecoming Gala dancing your asses off and partying with the rest of the group.

—Are you an early bird, too? —you ask him as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells sweet and floral.

—Not really! Mattia scheduled our faculty meeting in the auditorium at 7 a.m. That Italian is insane! I swear he is constantly testing our sanity, so if you pick "Motor Vehicle Engineering" as a subject, expect those kinds of tricks from him.

That explains why almost everyone on campus right now is wearing red. —How did it go? They didn't ask for my assistance, so I guess I can cross Ferrari off my list —you ask.

—The usual "Winning can't wait! Blah blah, we need to defeat Mercedes, blah blah, I'm not accepting B grades, no exceptions blah blah" sabes? Well, you don't, actually; you are new, haha —he answers, a bit bored.

You laugh at his faux Italian accent as he makes his best Mattia impression. —Very Mario Bros of you. —You joke with him while admiring his expensive-looking Ferrari uniform, a crisp red blazer perfectly tailored to accentuate his fit silhouette, with Ferrari's insignia delicately embroidered on the breast pocket.

Complementing his blazer is a classic white shirt crafted from the finest cotton. Carlos' trousers, also tailored from a deep grey fabric, are paired with Italian leather brogue shoes.

"Gosh, he is so handsome!" You think.

—Still no news, cierto? —he asks you, glancing you down. He notices you are wearing the grey faculty-less, GPEA rookie uniform, as most newbies are.

—No! —you pout. —Have you heard something? The red uniform sure looks beautiful.

—I could ask around; maybe Sebastian can give us info; he is in Student Affairs this year!

—Oh, great! I will ask him myself. I'm about to meet him there. I have to pick up my badge, sign lots of stuff, and get my dorm access.

—This is my number —Carlos bumps his phone with yours. —Text me when you learn who your roommate is! I will give you the receipts and tea.

—Oh! Thanks! Let's hope for the best!

As you make your way inside the main building to the administration floor, you admire the elegant blend of class and innovation.

The hallways hum with the chatter of fellow students, their gossip muffled by the occasional roar of a passing racing car on the nearby track, where free practices occur. That sound makes your blood rush.

Once you arrive at your destination, you knock on the glass doors, which is a bit dumb because they can see you before you step in.

The staff points you to a cubicle, where you find Sebastian Vettel sleeping in his office chair under an Aston Martin jacket. The room's air conditioning makes it feel like a freezer.

You pinch him on the ribs, teasing and waking him, making Seb jump, you little shit!

—Oh, you made it here! Hi! —his kind smile greets you.

—Hi, lazy ass! Ow, did I wake you? —you joke.

—Where is your sorority? We sisters must stand together. Seb gets on his feet and goes to find your badge inside a giant blue plastic container with tons of those. —I also need to take your biometrics, but you must read and sign these first. It's for the use of personal data, etc.

—Sure —you answer as he prints the papers and hands them to you.

—Take your time—he drops himself back on the chair and slides near you.—Did Lewis give you rookies the campus tour yet?

You deny shaking your head.

—Oh! That man! —Seb rubs his forehead, exasperated. —I love him, but he drives me crazy sometimes —Vettel picks up his radio and tries to reach him. —For sure, Carl is still at the gym instead of doing his job! I desperately need to hire him an assistant, he almost forgot his mom's birthday the other day. Thank God I bought her the present in advance! —Seb pushes the signal button once more, waiting for Lewis to pick it up, and he turns to whisper to you. —I heard the new trainer is fucking hot —Vettel raises his eyebrows up and down suggestively several times while grinning.

A couple of beeps come before he starts speaking. —You are still at the gym, aren't you?

Lewis's distorted voice comes through the radio. —Yes, I told you I'm trying this new workout for you, remember? Longer, more lifting required, less cardio. Our hardcore sessions are working wonderfully, my love. Didn't you tell me you love my muscles as much as you love my coc…

—Woa, woa, Y/N is here; she is listening! —Seb quickly interrupts him, and you start to laugh.

—Sorry about that —Seb tells you, a bit red.

—No worries! I feel a little jealous, tho. I wish I had someone; you guys seem very in love.

—You will soon! This place is full of hot and horny people and too many parties and alcohol. Oh! In my good ol' slut days, I used to hook up a lot and be given blowjobs under the benches at the racing circuit.

—I'm still here! —Lewis interrupts, quite amused.

—Lewis, please hurry! This place is enormous, and I have no idea where anything is! I need to pee! Where are the bathrooms?! —you talk to him on the radio before Seb takes your fingerprints.

Your orientation activities begin half an hour later.

Lewis shows up and gathers you rookies in the main lobby, where the collection of trophies and awards of the Academy are displayed in a fancy museum way, as he welcomes you and tells you about the campus and the glorious history of this institution.

You are not surprised to see only ten new students beside you. This place's tuition is so fucking expensive, and it's a niche business.

Soon, you discover that only some people want to become racing drivers; the rest want to be part of the motorsports world and teams. The GPEA curriculum is so vast that it covers everything from team management, aerodynamics, engineering, sports marketing, finances, and more.

Lewis takes you all on tour, on foot, where you dazzle at the display of facilities, from the incredibly modern library, full of study stations, desks, and immersive display computers, to the massive sports center, the place where future champions are getting in shape, it looks like the Olympics inside there; it's a state of the art huge physical training center with the newest and most tech pieces of equipment as well as an extensive swimming pool and a complete wellness center with an upscale spa, massages and sauna included.

Almost all classrooms have ocean views, luxurious and comfy seating, ample desks, and smart boards; everything looks pristine, trendy, and bright.

But the lab! Oh! The lab! It's a wet dream! It's full of the highest-tech simulators, which are to die for. It's the most immersive and authentic experience you've ever seen.

The cafeteria has become your second favorite place. It's the most fabulous room, full of culinary experiences and areas. It's enormous, with high-end restaurants, many to-go options, and several bars serving vegetarian food and healthy snacks.

There is even a juice therapy concept zone that looks interesting!

The nap pods, comfy puffs, slides, lounge areas, and lots of art installations make it an eclectic and chic place.

You also visit the race circuit, garages, and the Mechanics building, where you feel at home. This hallowed ground is where legends are born.

You stand amidst the sleek machines, their vibrant colors and flawless designs are testaments to the craftsmanship and skill that define the racing world.

In that moment, you sense a deep connection forming, a kinship with the machines that would become your companions on this exhilarating journey.

You wish Lewis would let you spend more time there, but he takes you to the dorm buildings, which are basically 5-star hotels.

Your "shared rooms" are bigger than your house. You would describe them as luxurious apartments for two.

The dorm buildings are next to "the social hub," a compound of several establishments (bars, restaurants, and a social club, obviously) located near the marina and harbor. Yatch culture is big there, too!

As Lewis wraps his speech once back in the main lobby, Horner reaches him, whispering something to his ear, patting his shoulder, and then walking towards you.

Your hands shake slightly as he politely lets you know Red Bull is not the faculty for you.

A bit bummed out, you take the elevator up to the last floor, where the main lecture hall is. It's the largest one, and it is reserved for subjects that students of different years and careers share.

It's your first class of the day, and you are in awe of the panoramic view that greets you as you step in. To your left is a sweeping vista of the sprawling race track at a distance, impeccably maintained and stretching toward the horizon. You observe it through the floor-to-ceiling clear crystal panel windows.

As you settle into your first lecture on "Electrical Engineering," conversations flow effortlessly, fueling your collective enthusiasm and igniting friendships as Professor Otmar delivers an exciting class.

Almost by the end of the class, your phone buzzes on your desk as you write memos on your iPad; Leandra texts you to meet them at the "Turn 17 Lounge" in the marina after classes.

Soon, you find yourself surrounded by laughter and the clinking of glasses inside the vibrant, contemporary lounge. It's packed since most students finished their schedules, and it's the first day back.

You sit in the pricey furniture beside your new friends near the chic bar area while enjoying the panoramic waterfront views.

The place's ambiance is lively and energetic. A trendy playlist sounds in the background as you are handed a menu with a range of innovative and Instagram-worthy cocktails and appetizers.

You look at them, shocked at the prices and amused at the pompous names, and resign yourself to ordering just a Coke with ice or a Coke on the rocks, according to the carte.

You find out the lounge hosts themed events, live music nights, and interactive experiences to cater to the preferences and desires of the student crowds.

—What up, babe?! —Leandra greets you. She is wearing her faculty activewear. Her gym shirt is crafted from breathable red fabric, showcasing sleek black accents, while the Scuderia Ferrari emblem is proudly displayed on her chest. Her gym shorts are designed for optimal movement and feature a mix of black and red detailing. —I don't feel my legs, not in the sense I would like!

You laugh at her comment.

—Pippa Gasly, Y/N —She introduces you two. A cute blue-eyed French girl waves her hand at you sitting across the coffee table; she is Yuki's girlfriend; you witnessed them devouring each other at the Gala. —The new coach is so fucking hot; the rumors are true, I stretched way too sluty for him during his training, and he stared me down. Should I give him a private tour of the dock area? —Leandra gossips you two.

—The dockyard has a very secluded lighthouse. It's the perfect spot to discreetly fuck or hook up with someone if you don't want the entire campus to find out —Pippa explains.

—I heard it was under the benches —you add.

—Not anymore. Security parol those now. Thank you, Lando!

—I'm proud of my legacy! —he and Max join you.

—I fucked a very loud girl in there and got caught by security —he admits to you, shrugging his shoulders. —Massi made me publicly apologize in the commencement speech that year. Can you believe it?! Far worse things have happened, and he didn't even bathe an eye then! But he made an example out of me. But, in the end, he knew he needed my parents' money and donations, so he stayed in his lane.

—Where the fuck is Charles?! —Max addresses Leandra, looking a bit concerned. —He is not answering my DMs.

—Still with his grandpa, he will arrive soon; all his things arrived at our dorm today.

—Talking about that, I have a roommate! —you notify the group, and all eyes set on you.

—WHO?! —everyone asks at the same time.

—It's a girl, thank God, her name is Naya Lauda.

Their eyebrows go to the roof. Lando's face is a poem.

You look at them, feeling now concerned. —What?! You guys, WHAT?!

—This is about to get awkward —Lando speaks while sipping his beer. —She is a persona non grata.

—Don't mention it to Lewis —Pippa advices you.

You look at Leandra with a "please explain!" face. —Naya is best friends with Nico Rosberg; he is the mean girl of this school, a total douch, and also Lewis' ex; those two were THE thing back in the day, the most popular and prodigy couple on campus, but in reality, they were highly toxic and harmful to each other —many nods come in response as she explains.

—All this before Lewis came to his senses! —Pippa adds.

—He changed a lot for the better once he started dating lovely Sebastian and split from those two —Leandra resumes explaining. —Naya took Nico's side on the divorce, annihilating his friendship with Lewis in the process.

Lando then interrupts to give you more input. —To Toto's displeasure, the whole thing fractured Mercedes' unstoppable all-star team! The three of them used to be inseparable and insufferable.

—Yeah, they only talked to each other and pushed away anyone who tried to get close or be friendly with them. Including old friends —Max joins the explanation.

—Talking of which… —Pippa adds.

—Oh yeah, I forgot about the Toto thing —Lando mentions.

—Naya is also Toto's protege; she is exceptionally talented, intelligent, and top of the class… —Max says.

—And fucking hot —Leandra admits.

—And..? —you instantly ask, sensing there is more.

The group exchanges a couple of looks.

—There was a rumor. Leandra brushes your arm. —But it's just a rumor; nothing has ever been proven.

—That Naya was the reason why the Wolffs split. Those two have a weird dynamic, to be honest —Pippa finishes. —She is a bit possessive of him, and seeing them by their side on and off campus is usual.

—They go everywhere together —Leandra bluntly corrects.

—Also, Max has been in love with Naya since childhood. He used to gift her bouquets after every karting race, always cheer for her at the benches, and even let her win while driving against each other, which in Max's language is a "Will you marry me?" —Lando declares, and Max huffs. —Don't pretend you don't!

—Fine! YES! I did, but that was in the past.

Oh boy.

After taking a relaxing bath and washing away all the nerves and stress of your first day, you get comfortable on the cozy sofa in your dorm's living room. On your way there, you grab a bag of chips and place your laptop on your legs. You are wearing the GPEA oversized T-shirt, tiny shorts, and your hair wrapped in a towel, thinking you are there alone.

—Filling up your schedule? Choosing your core classes? —you hear a velvet voice behind you, making you jump a little.

—Yes, any suggestions or tips? —Naya gets closer to peek at your screen. She is a gazelle, a very sexy and gorgeous girl who exudes confidence and grace in her every movement.

Her magnetic gray eyes capture, and her great posture commands attention effortlessly, while her impeccable style embodies sensuality and elegance, provoking an unforgettable impression on anyone who crosses her path.

You get why she got Toto's attention; you feel like a troll beside her. Until now, Naya seems kind and polite but not very social or talkative.

—"Aerodynamics I," "Thermodynamics I," and "Materials Science" are perfect for your entry-level. "Mechanics II" is quite advanced, are you sure? —Naya tells you, and you nod. —Your optional elective classes, "Data Science" and "Strategy and Leadership," are both hard to get into, especially Torger's!

—Wish me the best, then! —you say as you hit the submit button.

—How on earth did you get accepted into Toto's class?! —Sebs looks impressed as you two finish breakfast at the cafeteria while he reads your assigned schedule, giving it the heads up!

You feel slightly cocky and proud of the accomplishment.

Then Seb glances at his smartwatch. —Better be leaving, Y/N! You don't want to be a second late for it. Toto is extremely picky; he got Lance expelled from the subject for being two minutes late once. Forget about missing class or not delivering a report!

—Oh shit! —your eyes go wide as you grab your things and rush there.

You walk inside the luxurious lecture hall on time and out of breath; for sure, your hair looks like shit now.

For obvious reasons, you tried your best to put on a decent-looking outfit and even makeup, which you aren't a fan of, lol girl, as he will notice you, let's say you aren't the most stereotypically called "girlie girl," lacking the mom's touch and being raised among mechanics, not to mention that all beauty products are damn expensive.

This hall is entirely different from the one at the top of the building. It is smaller and intimate but way fancier, with opulence and functionality blending seamlessly.

The hall boasts plush, leather-upholstered seats with individual desks, offering maximum comfort to each student.

The walls are modern and sleek, and large screens display live feeds of races and analyses with cutting-edge audiovisual equipment and an advanced sound system that provides an immersive learning experience.

The spacious layout ensures an unobstructed view of the front podium, where Professor Toto is about to impart his class. He looks crazy hot in that white fitted rolled-up sleeve shirt and tight beige pants, which he is wearing while adjusting his earset microphone.

Toto starts his class by presenting a rather complex and compelling study case, grabbing the attention of the small group in just a couple of minutes.

—You must solve the problem, minimize the impact, and land the new course of action —he explains, walking around the room. —In real life, you would only have a couple of minutes to discuss with the entire team and command the driver to follow the needed change in strategy. There's no safety net. How would you solve it? Let's start with you, Mr. Rosberg.

You all give different input until a proper answer is formed, and then Toto moves to theory.

You try your best to concentrate and absorb the knowledge he is sharing and not get lost on his attractive backside, that back, those shoulders, and veins.

While you pick up your things as the class is dismissed, you catch his gaze set on you.

—Miss, Y/N —fuck, your name sounds hot in his mouth. —You are so tempting —your mind goes to another place while he bends in front of your seat, forearms on the wood surface, his muscular arms flexed, leaning closer to you over the desk. —You had the most impressive start! You can be an exciting addition to our faculty, but I need you to answer some questions first. Could you join me at the campus bistro on Thursday?

—Oh, y-yes —you barely answer.

—Good, see you there at 7 p.m —he smiles at you and exits.

WHAT?!!

Since your arrival at the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the excitement of the first days had begun to dull into the routine of classes, homework, and training sessions.

As you step in, the bistro buzzes with chatter and laughter, and the scent of freshly prepared meals fills the air. Amidst the chaos, you spot Toto sitting alone at a table.

He is wearing a navy blue blazer that perfectly hugs his lean frame and a crisp white shirt neatly tucked into matching slacks.

He gets on his feet to greet you as you reach the table and waits for you to sit; he is a total gentleman. He orders two glasses of sparkling water as he hands you the menu.

—Let's start with some appetizers, shall we? —he suggests, smiling. —There's a delicious caprese salad, and the fish cakes are to die for.

You inspect the menu, scanning the unfamiliar dishes listed. Most of them are exotic delicacies, some requiring ingredients sourced only from the farthest reaches of the globe. But that's part of the charm of attending such an exclusive institution: the exposure to cultures and experiences vastly different from yours.

—Caprese salad sounds perfect —you decide, handing the menu back to Toto. He nods approvingly and waves down a passing waiter.

—Two caprese salads, please —he instructs. —And bring us some bread, too. Oh, and a bottle of that Pinot Grigio, would you?

You study Toto closely as you wait for your food. He is commanding, yet his mannerisms hint at a softer side. When he speaks, his timbre is soothing, and his choice of words is deliberate.

He has something magnetic, a quality that draws people in, regardless of how guarded he initially appears. You listen to him intensely as he shares anecdotes about his racing career and the highs and lows he has encountered along the way.

His contagious laugh echoes in the dimly lit restaurant. It's almost disarming, making you forget the nervous tension that had built up inside you.

He glances at you occasionally, his eyes dancing with mischief. You can sometimes sense his interest, a silent invitation to reveal more about yourself.

Yet, you remain cautious, guarding your vulnerability under layers of carefully chosen words. In return, Toto offers tantalizing tidbits about his life and motivations.

—So, Y/N, tell me about yourself —Toto asks gently as the waiter places your dishes on the table. A fragrant medley of tomatoes, basil, and fresh mozzarella floats upwards, causing your stomach to rumble audibly.

Toto smiles knowingly, motioning for you to dig in. The juicy tomatoes burst with sweetness, harmoniously mingling with the creamy cheese. Each rich mouthful sends shivers down your spine like the flavors are awakening sensations long buried beneath your consciousness.

—Where did your love for racing originate? —Toto starts between bites.

—Well, it started when I was barely four years old. My father watches Grand Prix races religiously, and eventually, I joined him. We'd sit together on the couch, our hearts pounding in sync and in awe, as the drivers navigated tight bends and straights; that's when I fell in love with the sport, the thrill of watching them push their limits, the suspense of waiting for the checkered flag to wave.

—Sweet —Toto responds. —It's incredible how the love for racing can manifest itself in someone so young —He pauses, reaching for your glasses of wine and offering you a sip. You gladly accept, relishing the crisp taste of the pinot grigio as it slides smoothly down your throat. You could feel the warmth spreading through your body, melting away the nerves.

—Do you have a favorite driver? —Toto asks, swirling the contents of his glass thoughtfully.

—My favorite driver is Senna. I admire his raw talent and aggressive driving style. His determination to win is inspiring and captivating.

Toto raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your answer. —Ah, Senna, quite a classic —he echoes, giving a knowing nod. —He's certainly an interesting character; he's got the guts and skill to make a lasting impression. His smooth driving style and natural grace make him stand out in a generation of aggressive competitors. You're a traditionalist, aren't you? You appreciate the artistry and elegance of the sport.

—Yes —you admit.

—Senna embodies the essence of racing, displaying a combination of raw talent and refined technique. He was an extraordinary driver —you add.

—A true gentleman on and off the track —Toto concludes.

Your conversation flows effortlessly, weaving in and out of topics ranging from the intricacies of car engineering to the nuances of team dynamics. Toto's insights and expertise are fascinating and provide valuable perspectives.

As you listen attentively, you notice the subtle change in Toto's demeanor; his posture becomes more relaxed. Yet, you can't shake off the feeling that Toto is deliberately testing you.

—So, Y/N, why suddendly quit? —he leans closer, truly curious. —Why stop such a promising career so suddenly?

—My mom's sickness and, after her passing, a lot of debt. I'm here on a scholarship. I'm not wealthy.

—I see. And were there no other options for you to be able to continue?

—Well, I don't know. I felt lost for a while; depressed is the word, so yeah, I stopped racing.

—I see. How has your experience at the Academy been thus far? —Toto switches topics; a twinkle in his eye suggests that he already knows the answer to his question.

—I must say, things here are pretty competitive —you admit, after a brief pause. —Everyone seems driven by ambition, constantly seeking to prove themselves. It's an environment that demands excellence.

Toto nods. —Indeed, the Academy is known for fostering a culture of competitiveness and exceptionalism.

—I feel overwhelmed by the pressure to perform and excel. It feels like everyone around me is doing everything possible to reach the top —you add, with a hint of concern creeping into your voice.

Toto leans back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. You can't help peeking at his biceps. —Well, that's precisely the nature of this place, Y/N. The environment is designed to challenge you in a way you don't think possible. After all, the ultimate goal here is to nurture champions. To achieve that, we need to create a breeding ground for fierce competition. It's crucial to foster resilience and adaptability in our students.

—I feel privileged to be here —you add honestly and smilingly.

Toto pauses to take a sip of his wine. —We all want you to succeed, but you must realize it takes a village to raise a champion.

—Yes, I agree —you reply, shifting in your seat. Despite Toto's reputation as a tough-as-nails professor, he exudes a calm demeanor.

—So, have you considered your goals for this term? —he asks you.

—I've been thinking about improving my handling of high-speed situations and refining my understanding of aerodynamics. I'd also like to enhance my ability to work effectively under pressure.

Toto's eyes widened. —Those are ambitious goals. We have some excellent resources at the Academy to help you achieve these objectives. I highly recommend you check out the advanced simulations. Not only does it teach you how to handle extreme speed, but it also gives you a safe space to experiment with your techniques.

—Thank you! Your advice means a lot to me.

—No problem, he replies. —Don't hesitate to ask if you ever need assistance. I believe in your potential, and I'm confident you'll achieve great things here at the Academy, but not with Mercedes; our faculty requires a different mindset to accept you.

—A different mindset?

—Yes, you don't have the mindset we are looking for. You gave up your dream too quickly. Quitting is not a trait at Mercedes; we believe there is always another option or way to achieve a goal. You appear to be drawn to a more traditional approach, and we are trying to innovate and push forward the sport. You struggle with pressure, and this is an environment full of it. Your starting point is behind the other rookies for the hiatus you experienced. If you don't perform well, there is also the high risk of losing your scholarship, and our investment in you goes nowhere —Toto answers, shifting his attitude from the charming "I'm your friend" facade to the version of him everyone told you about.

He was paying attention to your every word, wasn't he?

—You have a bright future ahead of you. I will be thrilled to witness your progress, Toto says, draining the last drops of wine from his glass and gently setting it down on the table. —Don't get me wrong; I wish you the best —he adds, feeling the conversation is over and preparing to leave.

Of course, this meeting was pure business; what were you expecting? Not to be judged and scrutinized? To make a friend?

—Losing a parent is not easy —you add, getting on your nerves at the lack of empathy.

—It's also not an excuse. In this career, you will face many adversities and problems. You are not the first or last driver to lose a family member. You are still spineless and lack emotional intelligence.

—You don't know me.

—You aren't that difficult to read. Just a simple and honest conversation like this is getting under your skin. I'm hardly ever wrong.

—I have proven wrong your kind before.

—My kind?

—Judgmental and entitled rich men with big opinions.

—Holy shit! You didn't call Toto THAT! —Leandra almost spits her orange juice the following morning as you two settle down on the grass beside Carlos. You lean on his shoulder while he gives you soft pats on your back, comforting you. —Bitch, you play no games, huh?

You shrug, a bit sad. That introduction with Toto went sour.

—Sharl is here! —Carlos says, looking to your left.

You see Leclerc jogging towards you.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; let me know! Merry Christmas, Wolffies!

117 notes · View notes

kckt88 · 5 months

Text

Love Me Harder.

Summary:

Daera Targaryen, wife of Aemond, is thrown into turmoil when she receives an anonymous letter detailing her husband's infidelity with a mysterious witch at Harrenhal named Alys Rivers. The letter, shrouded in secrecy, raises the doubts and suspicions in Daera's mind, and as she grapples with the shocking revelation, she then has to decide how she will address the potential betrayal that threatens to unravel her relationship with Aemond.

Warning(s): Angst, Hurt, Fear, Possible Cheating, Doubt, Kissing, Schemes, Obssession, Death, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V Sex.

Word Count: 3620.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

AEMOND x SISTER WIFE

Inspired by the song: ARIANA GRANDE & THE WEEKEND - LOVE ME HARDER.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Taglist: @immyowndefender, @iloveallmyboys, @snh96,

With trepidation, Daera unrolled the parchment, her eyes quickly scanning the words that accused her beloved husband, Aemond, of having an affair with Alys Rivers, the alleged strong bastard witch of Harrenhal.

A mixture of emotions coursed through Daera in a single moment - betrayal, anger, and a deep-seated sorrow that threatened to consume her. The flames in the hearth flickered, casting endless shadows that seemed to dance in mockery of her shattered world.

Tears welled in her violet eyes as she clutched the parchment to her chest. The once-unbreakable bond between her and Aemond now seemed like fragile glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

The weight of the unborn child within her seemed to intensify, as if sharing in their mother's anguish.

In the cold silence of the chamber, Daera found herself at a crossroads, unsure of the path that lay ahead, torn between the love she once knew and the shadows that now threatened to engulf her world.

The news of Aemond’s alleged infidelity had spread around the Red Keep like wildfire, many pointed whispers and sympathetic glances has been cast in her direction and it made Daera want to scream.

Even their own mother, she had clutched her seven pointed star necklace and wept endlessly that her favourite son was a deviant just like Aegon, and their grandsire for the briefest of moments had let his mask slip and the sour disappointment poured from him like water.

The anonymous nature of the letter had left Daera torn between confronting Aemond or seeking the truth independently, but as the whispering increased Daera was left with little choice.

Determined to unveil the truth and confront the spectre of betrayal that haunted her, Daera prepared for a journey to Harrenhal.

So, with her decision made, Daera gently cradled her swollen belly as she mounted her fierce dragon, Cannibal.

The air hummed with anticipation as the colossal creature spread his leathery black wings, casting a far reaching shadow over the Red Keep.

The rumours of Aemond's alleged infidelity with Alys Rivers, had ignited a fiery resolve within Daera—a resolve that now propelled her and her dragon towards the seat of House Strong.

Even with the war raging-Daera was determined to seek the truth, her Cannibal would protect her, and he would exact fiery vengeance upon Aemond and Alys if the rumours were proved true.

Either that or she would split Aemond from cock to throat with his own dagger, whilst Alys watched.

As Cannibal soared through the skies, Daera gripped her dragon's spikes, her long braided silver hair whipping in the wind.

The Red Keep shrinking in the distance behind her.

The chill of the high altitude was nothing compared to the ice that gripped Daera's heart at the thought of the impending confrontation with Aemond and his witch.

As Cannibal glided through the sky, Daera's mind raced with a cacophony of emotions—betrayal, anger, and a motherly instinct to protect the unborn child growing within her.

A number of hours after leaving Kings Landing behind, Harrenhal emerged in the distance, its sprawling ruined towers cutting through the horizon like rotten jagged teeth.

Cannibal circled the blackened ruins a couple of times before landing within the castle's vast courtyard, the impact reverberating through the ancient stones.

Daera carefully dismounted, her violet eyes ablaze with determination as she spotted Ser Criston slowly walking towards her, the Hand of the King weary of the Cannibal who hovered protectively behind his rider.

“Princess, you should not be here”.

“No-I should not, but I need to see my husband” replied Daera as she slowly pulled off her leather gloves.

“His Grace is-“

“-Is what? Ser Criston, sequestered away in his chambers with his bastard witch” snapped Daera.

“You know of her?”

“Everyone knows of her-closeness to my husband” said Daera.

“Perhaps in your condition Princess you should not-“

“You will direct me to my husband Ser Criston, or I will have Cannibal burn you alive-I’m not in the mood” quipped Daera.

“As you wish Princess-this way” said Criston, eyeing the Cannibal with cautious fear.

The dragon was well known for his ferocious temper and his protective nature over his rider, she was the first to ever bond with the fearsome Cannibal and he was utterly devoted to her and if he percieved anyone as a threat he would react instantly.

Daera followed Ser Criston silently, curiously watching his white cloak brushing against the dirty floor with every step he took, it was a rather odd thing to focus on given the circumstances, but it served its purpose-a distraction from what she was no doubt about to face.

“Up there Princess-first door on the right” muttered Criston lowering his head as she walked past.

With each step, Daera ascended the winding stairs, her heart pounding in sync with the rhythmic sound of her boots against the stone floor.

The air within the tower grew heavy, fraught with tension as she approached the chamber where Ser Criston said her husband would be.

After taking a deep breath, Daera reached forward and pushed open the blackened wooden door that creaked loudly on its old, rusted hinges.

Aemond, startled by her sudden entrance, quickly rose from his seat, the dark haired Alys Rivers stared at her-a smirk plastered across her face.

The room shrouded in the eerie glow emanating from the fireplace.

A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the crackling of the hearth and the distant roars of Cannibal, still looming in the courtyard below.

“ābrazȳrys, what are you doing here?” asked Aemond (Wife).

“There has been a number of rumours about you taking another woman to your bed”.

“Daera I-“

"Aemond-Is it true? Have you been bedding Alys?" asked Daera her eyes glinting with a mixture of hurt and anger.

"Daera, you mustn't believe such baseless rumours. I am your husband, and I would never betray our marriage vows."

Daera however, was not easily swayed by her husband’s words.

"The rumours have grown too loud to be dismissed as baseless," replied Daera, her hand unconsciously resting on the swell of her belly. "I received an anonymous letter detailing secret meetings and whispered confessions. Tell me the truth Aemond”.

“Issa jorrāelagon, I swear to you on our blood and the honour of House Targaryen, I have not been unfaithful. I love you, and only you” replied Aemond firmly (My love).

“Making false statements based upon the sanctity of blood is dangerous my Prince” said Alys sweetly as she rose for her chair, the black fabric of her dress sweeping behind her like a giant shadow.

“False statements? I haven’t-“ exclaimed Aemond as he turned to face Alys.

“Sweet Princess, the truth often hides behind veils woven by those who fear them. Aemond may deny our connection, but the fire between us cannot be extinguished with mere words".

“Aemond what is she talking about?” asked Daera.

“She’s talking rubbish-don’t listen to her” urged Aemond.

"Aemond and I did share more than mere words, Princess. In the depths of the night, passion ignited between us like a wildfire. He may deny it to protect his honour, but I have no reason to lie” muttered Alys her gaze unwavering.

“I swear-I have not, Daera please-” said Aemond.

"-Love is a fickle thing. Perhaps your husband sought something in me that he could not find in you. Or perhaps destiny played a hand in our union,” said Alys.

“STOP LYING. We did not have an affair, and you know it. Why are you doing this?"

"Aemond, my love, you cannot deny what transpired between us. The passion we shared; the secrets whispered in the night – they are etched in the fabric of our souls” replied Alys a provocative smirk danced across her face.

"This is madness, Alys. I am married to Daera, and our union is bound by duty and love. I would never betray her, nor our family” said Aemond angrily, his jaw clenching.

"Love, duty – noble sentiments, but they pale in comparison to the fire that burns between us. You cannot deny the truth forever, my dragon” chuckled Alys, her laugh sending shivers down Aemond’s spine.

"Enough of these lies! What do you hope to gain by tarnishing my name and sowing discord between me and my wife” snapped Aemond his patience waning.

“Aemond-“ gasped Daera.

"I will not let your lies destroy everything I hold dear. I demand the truth, Alys. Why are you doing this?" gasped Aemond his frustration boiling over as he seized Alys by her shoulders.

“You” whispered Alys, her gaze mixed with defiance and desire.

“What?” exclaimed Aemond, releasing Alys and stepping away from her.

"I want you for myself. Daera is but a hindrance, a barrier between us. Our fates are intertwined, and the rumours were the key to breaking the chains that bind you”.

“You're the one who sent the letter” said Daera, her voice sharp with accusation.

"You would tarnish my name, destroy my marriage, all for your own selfish desires?"

"Love makes warriors of us all, Aemond. I would tear down the walls that keep us apart. The whispers were my way of bringing you to me, unencumbered by the burdens of your marriage” muttered Alys now circling Aemond like a predator closing in on its prey.

“Our marriage is not a burden-“ snapped Daera, taking a step towards Alys, but Aemond shook his head, warning her away.

"I saw it in the flames. A vision of a child, a child of fire and blood, born of the union between a dragon prince and a sorceress. It is our destiny, our legacy” said Alys her green eyes glinting in the darkness.

“I already have a child on the way” said Aemond, his eye never leaving Alys.

“-It matters not, mistakes can be taken care off”.

“N-No” muttered Daera as she cradled her swollen stomach protectively.

"From the moment you arrived on the back of Vhagar, I knew. The flames spoke to me, foretelling a union that would change the course of history. I have watched you, yearned for you, and the whispers were but a means to bring us together” urged Alys.

"My duty lies with my wife and the child she carries” retorted Aemond.

"Aemond, the power we could wield, the legacy we could leave. It surpasses the bonds of marriage and duty. Our child would be a beacon, a symbol of the union between dragon and magic” said Alys rubbing her palms together.

"Your visions and desires do not absolve you of the harm you've caused. I will do what I must in order to protect my family from this madness”.

“You seemed to enjoy my madness when it brought you victory” snarked Alys.

“Not at the cost of my marriage, I have no desire to sully myself with the likes of you”.

Undeterred by his resistance, Alys approached him with an otherworldly grace.

"As I said, whispers were but a means to an end. A way to break the chains that bound you to Daera. Our union would birth a new era, a dynasty unmatched in power and glory."

"I will not let you destroy my wife and tarnish the honour of House Targaryen. Our blood is sacred, not a pawn in your twisted games” said Aemond, stepped back, his resolve unwavering.

Alys watched with wild fury, as Aemond embraced his wife, his hands cupping her face gently.

“I’m sorry, my love. I should never should have doubted you” exclaimed Daera.

“Issa prūmia, it's not your fault. Alys manipulated us all, and the rumours were a poison none of us could escape” replied Aemond pressing a kiss to his wife’s lips (My heart).

"No, Aemond. I should have trusted you, and believed in the love that has bound us. Instead, I let the shadows take hold. For that, I am truly sorry” sobbed Daera, tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

“Our love is stronger than the schemes of those who seek to tear us apart” whispered Aemond wiping away his wife’s tears.

"I was blind to the truth, but now, I see. We cannot let Alys Rivers' deceit define us. Our family and our child, deserves better” replied Daera, pressing her face into Aemonds shoulder and inhaling his familiar scent.

"We will rebuild, Daera. Stronger than before. The flame that binds us will endure”.

Alys scoffed at the declarations of love and forgiveness. This was not how it was supposed to be, Aemond belonged to her, not his silver haired bitch.

As the minutes passed Alys, grew more envious and resentful, her mind screaming at her to rid Aemond of his wife once and for all, so she drew a concealed dagger from the folds of her dark garments. The cold steel glinted ominously in the flickering torchlight as she advanced with malicious intent.

“You stole him from me. He was mine, and you took him away” hissed Alys, the venom in her words cutting through the silence.

With a feral snarl, she lunged at Daera, the dagger gleaming in the dim light.

Aemond, fuelled by a potent mixture of anger and determination, turned sharply, and withdrew his sword, clashing blades with Alys, the clang of connecting steel echoing around the chamber.

Alys rounded on Aemond her green eyes alight with fury, she let out a roar of rage and lunged forward, waving the dagger wildly in front of her.

“If I can’t have you-then no one can” screamed Alys.

In a surge of fury, he parried her frenzied attacks, his eye ablaze with a determination to end the twisted game Alys had orchestrated.

Daera watched as Aemond engaged Alys with his steel, he was skilled with the blade and could have ended her in seconds, but he seemed to be toying with her, almost deriving some sort of pleasure from allowing her to believe she had a chance.

Eventually Aemond grew bored with Alys and with a swift and precise movement, his sword found its mark, piercing through Alys's defences. The room echoed with the clang of metal, followed by a haunting silence.

Alys, her eyes widening in disbelief, crumpled to the cold stone floor, her hands pressing against the oozing wound.

"You sought to taint the honour of my house, to use my blood for your selfish desires, "I will not allow it" declared Aemond, his voice cutting through the silence.

Alys, defeated and gasping for breath, met Aemond's gaze.

“You're a manipulator, Alys, a puppeteer pulling the strings of our lives for your own whims. You've endangered my family, and the life of my child”.

"Love and power often come at a cost. But with me, you could’ve had everything” chuckled Alys, her wheezing laughter echoing through the chamber.

“I already have everything” said Aemond firmly.

Daera sat on the bed and watched the blood pooling around Alys, her crackled wheezes still emanating round the chamber.

“I-I spent nights laying in that bed, wishing to hold you were here with me”.

“I’m with you now” replied Daera.

Aemond smiled slightly as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.

His heart was pounding in his chest, it had been so long since he’d experienced any form of intimacy and the mere touch of his wife’s lips upon his was enough to reignite that spark in his blood.

He wanted her, in every way possible. He wanted to sink his cock into her and bask in the feeling of her wet heat wrapped around him once again.

“W-What about?-” asked Daera cautiously as she looked over Alys’ prone bleeding body.

“-Let her hear what she could never have” growled Aemond, his voice low and raspy.

Her first thought was to refuse, it would not be proper to fuck her husband in the company of another, but her second thought was to allow Aemond to give her every ounce of pleasure that she’d sorely missed in the weeks they’d been apart, and the vindictive part of her wanted that witch to hear how Aemond would make her beg for his cock, she wanted Alys to hear every single moan, gasp and plea before she eventually succumbed to her wounds.

So, Daera shimmed out of her riding gear and laid on the bed. Her body had of course changed over the weeks they were apart and Aemond’s eye hungrily devoured the curves and comfortable roundness.

Aemond discarded his clothes double-quick and gently laid down next to her. His mouth claimed hers and his teeth pulled at her plump bottom lip.

Moving his hand down her body, he slid two long fingers into her cunny and speared them in and out of her at a slow gentle pace.

His palm bumped against her clit with each movement of his hand.

“Oh, Aemond” moaned Daera desperately.

Aemond withdrew his hand from her wet centre and manoeuvred himself down the bed, leaving a trail of wet kisses on her skin, as he reached his desired destination he hooked his hands around her thighs, and his mouth descended on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into her core with his tongue. Daera clutched at his head with one hand, whilst her other hand fisted the sheet.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast, and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunny.

Daera ground down on Aemond, his tongue speared deeper inside her, as she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

Yet Aemond withdrew and Daera whimpered with frustration at the denial of her peak.

“So wet for me” muttered Aemond, his voice husky.

"P-Please Aemond. I-I need you” moaned Daera.

Aemond smiled as he turned her over to her side and began suckling on her exposed neck.

"I want to feel you come all over my cock" growled Aemond.

Aemond lifted her leg and slowly slid his cock into her cunny.

Daera grabbed hold of the sheet, and closed her eyes, letting out a gratifying moan.

Reaching back, she entwined her fingers into his long silver hair and whimpered, "More, Give me more".

Once Aemond was fully sheathed, he carefully grasped hold of her waist and started to slowly thrust into her.

"Daera, my sweet wife. How I’ve missed the feeling of your tight wet cunny squeezing my cock” exclaimed Aemond, his hot breath caressing her neck.

After weeks without her delectable body to satisfy his ravenous sexual appetite, Aemond felt the need for release quickly spread across his body.

Daera was so wet that he almost lost his grip and slipped out, but he managed to remain ensconced within her as he continued to thrust into her sweet tight cunt.

The sweat off her back rubbed against his chest and her moans and muffled groans were sweet music to his ears.

Aemond snaked a hand between her legs and rubbed her clit repeatedly until the rise of heat engulfed her and toppled her right off the edge.

"Aemond, don't stop, my love" gasped Daera, her cunny clenching his cock.

“Fuck, Daera. Yes, that’s it” moaned Aemond thrusting one final time as he exploded deep inside her, rope after rope of his seed painting her inner walls.

Aemond buried his face in her shorter silver hair and breathed in her familiar scent.

As he went to pull his softened cock from her, Daera stopped him.

“Let’s just stay like this a little longer. Please”

Aemond nodded and pressed closer to his wife’s warm body.

A feeling of pure love shot through him, as he nuzzled the back of her neck with his nose.

“You have no idea how many nights I dreamt of you, wishing that you were in my arms again” whispered Aemond.

“I had those same dreams my love” replied Daera, sighing with contentment.

She was back in her husband’s arms, and she never wanted to leave.

Eventually Aemond pulled his softened cock from his wife and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

Daera cupped her round stomach and slowly rolled onto her back.

Aemond placed his hand on her stomach and smiled as he felt the movement within, their little dragon, he couldn’t wait to hold his babe in his arms.

“D-Do you think she’s dead?”

“Hm” muttered Aemond as he slowly rose from the bed and pulled on his breeches.

Alys’ eyes stared unblinking at the ceiling, her chest no longer moving. Aemond gently nudged her with his foot, and she remained unmoved.

“She’s dead” said Aemond as he reached down and closed Alys’ eyelids.

“Mayhaps we should have her removed from here” suggested Daera.

“I will request-“ muttered Aemond as an urgent banging sound on the door interrupted him.

Aemond hesitated for a brief moment so Daera could properly cover herself with a sheet.

“Your Grace”

“Cole-“ said Aemond as he wrenched open the door.

“Apologise for interrupting but-is she dead?” asked Criston as he spotted Alys.

“Yes, never mind about her-what’s wrong?” questioned Aemond.

“A raven has arrived-Kings Landing has fallen“.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond x oc #aemond fic #aemond x original female character #hotd fic #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond smut #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x oc #hotd smut #hotd #alys rivers

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rohanneofcoldmoat · 10 months

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Always been kinda funny to me that Jaime reads Brienne's behavior during the last leg of their trip to kingslanding as her still loathing him and is offended by it (gods know why I bother, i should have left her for the bear after all, etc.) when it's really not that different from how we've seen her act around people she ostensibly likes.

The homely young woman had kept to herself all through their journey, spending most of her time with the horses, brushing out their coats and pulling stones from their shoes. Any task Catelyn asked her to turn her hand to, Brienne had performed deftly and without complaint, and when she was spoken to she answered politely, but she never chattered, nor wept, nor laughed. She had ridden with them every day and slept among them every night without ever truly becoming one of them. It was the same when she was with Renly, Catelyn thought. - ACOK Catelyn V

She is the least companionable creature I've ever had the misfortune to meet. The wench rode well behind and a few feet off to the side, as if to proclaim that she was no part of them. She looked more comfortable dressed as a man, but nothing would ever make her look handsome. Nor happy. Once out of Harrenhal, her usual pighead stubbornness had soon reasserted itself. That much Brienne could do, but her sullen silences soon began to fray his good humor almost as much as Qyburn's endless attempts to be ingratiating. - ASOS Jaime VI

She's also dealing with some very fresh grief on both the roadtrips in these chapters (first for Renly and then for Cat). But of course, the respect Jaime's built up for her competence and the way she embraces ideals that had long ago been corrupted for him is making it intolerable that she still seems to dislike him even after all they've been though together. Though in all fairness, Brienne is still probably a little wary of him. I think it's his giving her Oathkeeper that really cements the fact that she can feel safe trusting him. As she herself remarks, Oathkeeper is not the kind of gift you'd give to someone as a jape, it's proof of his sincerity, and independent of their oath to Catelyn, by sending her on such a quintessential chivalric quest he is affirming that he sees her as an equal, and perhaps something of a knight in her own right.

#brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #*

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arbiterlexultionis · 7 months

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Shoot for the moon, wind up amongst the Stars

So, obviously Danny loves space. Exploring it, experiencing all it has to offer, being among the first humans to step foot on other worlds, taking off in a rocket on a mission to take one small step for man has been his dream ever sense he was old enough to even know what it meant to dream. Danny is also a Fenton, and regardless of what his grades may say he’s smart, really Really smart. To an absurd degree, even for a Fenton, especially in matters of engineering. Blueprints were his picture books, college textbooks his bedtime stories and his parents old recordings of their Ivy League college engineering courses his Saturday morning cartoons. Even if he didn’t have the actual strength neccisary to do it he practically knew how to pull apart an engine before he had a good enough comprehension the the English language to give a half decent explanation of what an engine is. Each and every part known and understood on the deepest level possible, moving in his mind exactly as they should before he could even spell their names. A six year old Jazz damn near had a stroke when she found her two year old brother that she promised to protect from her parents weird Sci-Ance pulling apart the microwave and figuring out how to use the magnetron to send signals that he could detect on the family computer. By the time Danny was in “real” classes in elementary and moving onto middle school he was more than capable of helping his parents pull apart thrown away technology too piece together wonderful machines, and the only reason he didn’t was because he preferred to work on his own projects(It took Jazz nearly three hours to convince him that taking his homemade 7300 mW laser to school to make Dash stop shoving Tucker into lockers was a bad idea).

One night, Danny’s in phantom form flying through the sky’s of amity starring up into the endless inky black and blue of the night. Taking in the countless new details his enhanced physiology lets see, experience even without the aid of a telescope. Reminiscing about the dream he lost when he lost half his life. Mourning both those losses. Sure, he’s been to space but it’s not the same. He just sheds the pull of gravity and lets himself rise, it’s a magical experience in and of itself but it’s not the same as strapping himself into the spacecraft of his own design and embarking on a journey to the stars. It’s cheating. But it’s not like he’ll ever get the chance to experience the real deal, even if he could pass the physical there’s no way he could make it to NASA now that all his grades were in the toilet. And it’s not like he could achieve it in some other way, random civilians can’t just build spaceships in their basem…..

Danny stops mid air. He thinks. The specter speeder. Jack and Maddie built the specter speeder in their basement. Jack and Maddie built an honest to god spaceship in their basement. It could survive in the vacuum of space and under the weight of the ocean, operate in and out of atmosphere with or without gravity. It was a spaceship in every way that mattered, and they just Built It because they felt like it. And Danny was more than capable of producing technology of a similar level. He could do it, he could build a spaceship with his own two hands and let it carry him to the stars, to his dreams.

Danny’s rushing home before he even realizes he’s moving, a whirlwind around his room gathering up all his old designs, empty blueprints and reference materials. He spends more than an hour in a hyper focused state drawing up a slightly modernized, very Fentonized version of a Saturn V rocket. He’s barely a quarter of the way through the spitballing process of coming up with the design when he realizes he may or may not have over looked a very important part of the whole “screw it, I’ll do it myself” approach to getting to space, materials. There’s a limit to how many resources can go missing from his parents lab and how many charitable donations Vlad can generously(unknowingly) make to the cause before they all notice and start asking questions. So his designs are, unfortunately, put aside for the time being. He is disheartened for a moment, and in an attempt to cheer himself up he reaches for the nearest space themed entertainment he has, a Star Wars comic. The he stops, looks at the freighter on the cover of the comic. A lot of sci-fi ships are pretty small. Small enough to build without getting asked to many questions.

He spends the next several weeks tearing through as much sci-fi comics, movies and TV shows as he can, binge watching YouTube lore videos about Star Wars, Halo and who knows what else. After that, it’s time to get to work.

Weeks later, Lancer is standing on his porch on a nice, quite Saturday morning. It’s a habit he got into years ago, taking in the peace of his small little town in the early hours of the morning before it’s had a chance to wake up and start a ruckus, coming to appreciate and enjoy it even more now that ghost have been causing havoc and partaking in a little bit of bird watching while he’s at it. Slowly taking sips of his still far to hot cup of coffee, he stairs into the sunrise, taking in the countless colors and artfully blended shades. This is it. This is what he loves about his city. The quite beauty of it, so easy to miss and even easier to adore. What he loves about his job, the beauty of a new day, of the future, and all the possibilities it holds. Even if he does far to much work for far to little pay, it will all be worth it if even one of those students he has helped grow and learn go on to become doctors, police and engineers, saving lives and building the prosperous future they all deserve to live in. He breathes in, and then out. He is content.

A black spec appears on the horizon, undoubtably a flock of birds. Excellent. He begins to look through his binoculars, mentally trying to guess what species they’ll be when taking into account the time of year and day. He search’s through the sky for a moment, before going absolutely still. He lowers his binoculars and takes a long, long sip of his still scolding my hot coffee. It burns, he can feel pain, so he’s probably not dreaming. He looks back at the black spec in the distance, takes a long, hard look at it through his binoculars. It is still very much not a flock of birds. His is now 99% positive that it is exactly what it looks like. He breaths in, breathe out. He is no longer content.

Ten seconds later the easily identifiable UFO flys directly over his house, the iconic and extraordinarily loud screech of an imperial TIE fighter following it. His car’s alarm blares, as do the alarms of nearly every other car on the street, which is almost loud enough to mask the sound of alarms going off on the neighboring streets. He turns around, and walks back inside. Stops at the whiteboard he has hung on the wall by the door.

‘Note to self- give Mr. Fenton detention on Monday. P.S. bring a pack of disposable face masks and warn him of the dangers of flying a high tech spaceship where federal agents can look through the cockpit window and see him piloting it.’

At the very least he needs to tint the windows. Maybe make the window a one way mirror, and add some chrome detailing while painting the rest of the craft vanta black? That would surely look. (he glances at the guide to being hip for the unhip he has laying on his counter still open from last nights reading) Sick? Yes, it would surly look sick. He should also probably try and talk him into adding some cameras and such to the thing, that dome window has to have terrible visibility. At least a backup camera so he can parallel park and keep and eye out for any fighters trying to line up shots behind him.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #fic prompt #dp au #story prompt #writing prompt #danny phantom au #dp #Danny’s one smart cookie #engineere!Danny #inventor Danny #Lancer is trying his best #the next day he goes for a nice Sunday drive around the school trying to find somewhere for Mr Fenton to park his vehicle #Danny’s a menace.#Lancer’s just happy he’s finally useing his smarts #and has a creative outlet #even if that outlet is rather loud

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jakeyt · 6 months

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Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 2.3 of 2)

PART 2 OF PART 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in.

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); smut (!!); angst; unprotected sex (p in v); jealousy; negative self-talk; negative body talk concerning body changes; talks of pregnancy; contemplation of terminating pregnancy; argument (includes: manipulation, misunderstanding, lying); masturbation (f! receiving); anxiety; stress; extreme feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; substance use (alcohol) (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 19.9k+

a/n: here it issss…. here’s the big thing: you’re going to be pissed w y/n a time or two & you’re just going to have to remember she’s sooo fucking stubborn. 🫠 (poor Jake) her healing journey starts sooner than you may think, though… 🖤

hopefully after you've read this part, you'll realize why i've included the bolded dates (i think most of you already knew what was coming though... lol). as the author, i believed the big event in this chapter required a timeline for you, as the reader, to keep track of order of events... makes things wrap together in a nice bow haha

@joshym, @alwaysonthemend, + @welightthefire, you three are so special to me and this story flourishes bc of your never ending support as i write. love u so much <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

enjoy!

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 27, 2022

The golden morning light was nearly blinding. You shielded your face in the arm of the body beneath you. It was almost too much. . . The warm body underneath you was almost too much.

You remembered having sex with him, talking to him. . . but the details were fuzzy. . . your body felt so relaxed. . . There was so much you couldn’t recollect, but at that moment, it wasn’t a concern. Because Jake was with you and it wouldn’t be this way for much longer. You wanted to relish in this.

Everything that had been swirling in your mind for days was still very real. . . and you knew the list of reasons this was a bad idea were endless. You wished there wasn’t a list of reasons that haunted you– the old and the new. But there was a list and at this point, the reasons were mocking you for being where you were at this moment.

Curled up in Jake, your round ass pushing against his thick cock, already hard. The heat that radiated from him, combined with the feeling of his body pressed against yours, made you sticky with sweat. Your body was on fire. But you didn’t want to leave him. You couldn’t leave him. This feeling, him. . . so safe and cozy.

This was a feeling you wanted to sink into. You blinked a few more times into the open air of your bedroom, seeing the dust particles floating in the rays of yellow sunlight flooding your room.

As much as you didn’t want to leave Jake’s body, you knew you had to start the day at some point. You tried to sit up. But you instantly regretted it. Your head felt fuzzy. Fuck.

Things were foggy as hell. This was always how you reacted to weed. One reason why you rarely smoked it. But you’d needed to last night. Needed that time, feeling free and loose. . . with Jake. Before your time with him came to its inevitable end.

Like it had become your daily routine, you started becoming consumed by several all-encompassing, nagging emotions. You hated how fucking complete you felt in his arms, in bed with him. . . but all it had taken were a few seconds passing before you started feeling the familiar, anxious spinning in your stomach. Turmoil.

Josh’s words from outside your bedroom, bouncing around in your head. The rules that you’d set in place for a reason– to protect you both (though, they hadn’t worked on your end). The image of Maya, so beautiful and attentive . . . Dammit. The way your heart sunk in your chest, the sadness rushing through you, made a mess of emotions in the pit of your stomach.

And you knew that was your body’s way of signaling to you that it was time. Time to end things.

No matter how much your heart lurched at the thought. Your eyes filled with unshed tears, dreading it.

But your body was persistent in communicating to you that it was the right move. To let him go.

You rejected it for just a small moment to turn and give him a kiss on the lips, your bare chest meeting his, which rose and fell underneath you.

Then you remembered–. The guys. In the living room. Shit.

You pulled away to pat his chest, trying to get him to come to. And he did, with one deep breath through his nose, blinking at you with sleepy eyes. He squinted, the sun in his eyes. You loved the way the light turned his eyes to dark honey. . .

Now is not the time, y/n.

As soon as you knew he was awake, you were scrambling out of bed, finding a big t-shirt in your dresser and putting it on. Then you bent over, searching your underwear drawer for a new pair that wasn’t a fucking thong. . . you had too many thongs.

“That ass,” he said, voice gruff and low from sleep. “Damn, baby.”

You instantly felt wetness gather at your folds. Not. Now.

Last night was the last time. And it was going to stay that way.

Underwear, underwear, under– yes!

Finding a pair of black panties, you slipped them on hastily before yanking on a pair of pajama shorts that were laying on the ground. As you wrapped your hair up into a quick ponytail, at your vanity, you made the mistake of looking in the mirror. The bed perfectly placed in the mirror’s path, and a sight from the bed made your breath catch in your throat.

Jake, in your bed, his long hair, still messy from sleep and sex. . . his deeply set, tired eyes. . . tanned skin, the perfect shade of brown after hours spent in the summer sun. The sight reflecting back at you was making your heart race. You caught your breath, taking in a sharp breath. The elbow, holding him up, while the other worked under the sheets. . . his eyes lust-filled and appreciating your exposed thighs. Fuck.

So, abandoning your hair, you decided to not ignore the need that thrummed between your thighs, making your heart beat wildly in your chest. When he was laying there looking like that, you couldn’t refuse. His defined pecs and fit biceps flexed with each pump of his fist. Your building arousal was already ruining your new pair of panties. Best to not dirty another pair, right?

Your legs walked on their own over to the bed while you stripped yourself of the clothes you’d just put on. He sat up, as your eyes surely told him of what you wanted. And in no time, you were on top of him, as he deliciously stretched you, opening you up for him. He held your ass for a moment, aiding you in your movements. His lips found your nipples, hardened and begging for his attention.

As he lifted his hips to start a rhythm inside of you, the pressure was just right, and his tip was massaging you exactly where you needed him. With every hard rock of his hips, you were pushing down against his thrusts. Languid, lazy sounds sighed from your mouth. . . The friction was heavenly. Both of you, relentless with your unsteady tempo of vigorous need– back and forth, back and forth.

He sensed it coming before you did, as you were too distracted by his handsome face. His mouth, opening in the slightest any time your walls clenched around him. Brows dipped in with deep concentration, balancing his view from where your bodies connected, and then back to your eyes. He reached between you, a skilled thumb making tight circles against your sensitive, swollen clit. And, much too soon, you were coming undone, the familiar burn in your belly, your body buzzing and walls fluttering around him at a rapid speed. You threw your head back, riding it out. You never wanted it to end. He felt so fucking good inside of you– filling you all the way up.

With one hand on your breast, and another on your hip, he used that as leverage to pull out of you. And, without thinking much of it, you got on all fours, knees digging into the mattress, wanting to bare your ass to him. You heard him let out a shaky breath, before he was following, raising to his knees. As soon as he was where he needed to be, he released, warm on your back. He gripped your ass with a strong hand, the flesh putty in his hands as you pushed back against him, your ass meeting his thighs.

More, more, more, more, mor–

And, without any stimulation, save for the feeling of him still spilling onto your back and his tight hold on your ass, you were finishing again, your body shaking, pussy clenching around nothing. Your arms almost gave out where they held you up. You tried to keep your whining quiet, remembering why you had been worried about your predicament before.

“Holy fucking shit,” he moaned, his tone throaty. “Did you just–? Again?”

“Y-yeah,” you sighed, feeling completely refreshed, your body still wracking from the effects of your orgasm. And finally, you let your arms give out. But before you could reach the mattress, he was pulling you back to him, sitting you on his lap again as he gave you a full kiss on the mouth, his tongue pushing through your lips.

You reciprocated, tangling your tongue with his, the sound of wet kisses encapsulated your room. The apartment was so quiet–silent, even–save for the sounds of your sighs. The world was nearly drowned out. The only thing that existed was Jake, the taste of his sweet mouth, and the feeling of his lips melding to yours.

But you broke from the escape, the silence of the apartment getting pierced by the telling signs of someone yawning loudly in the living room. You were up without even thinking about it. You hurriedly re-dressed, and before you opened the door, you glanced back at him.

“You were never in here,” you hushed, before shutting the door to go into the living room.

Thankfully, Sammy and Danny were still asleep. But your eyes found Josh, who was rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“What time is it?” He grumbled. And as he closed his eyes with another yawn, you saw movement from the corner of your eye. You peeked from Josh to see Jake, dressed again, silently shutting your door and heading to his own bedroom.

As much as you wanted to go to him, you looked at the glowing green time on the oven. Your eyes bugged at the hour, and you rushed to check your schedule on the fridge.

Shit. While your mind was already tumbling with reasons to call it quits, you just added one more to the list. Until Jake, you’d never been so forgetful of your work schedule. But as of right now, your mind was way too preoccupied with him. You winced at the idea of becoming that forgetful with school. You had to be more responsible.

You had less than thirty minutes before you had to be walking into the Black and Gold.

“Y/n?” Josh called, still slowly coming to.

“It’s one in the afternoon,” you rushed out, practically sprinting to the bathroom, from where you finished your statement. “I’m gonna be late for fucking work.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

You’d been correct– ending up at the B&G ten minutes late. That had never happened before in the history of you working at the shop. It pissed you off to no end that you had let yourself be so irresponsible.

You spent your entire shift thinking of all the things you’d let take precedence in your life above your job and your school. . . In recent days, you’d spent a ridiculous amount of time thinking of Jake to the point of being stressed enough that he’d noticed, told his brother. . . which resulted in a night of getting high to rid yourself of the nerves. You’d let yourself partake in it even when you knew it made you so incredibly fuzzy. On a night where you worked the next day.

Then, there was the sex that had happened last night, this morning. . . making you lose track of time. There was one common denominator. He’d become too important. A distraction. And you feared being the same to him. You’d had your fun and now it was time to give it up.

You fucking hated the idea of having to do it– made tears moisten your eyes. But you would be okay. And Jake would definitely be okay. You weren’t to him what he was to you. (Why that felt wrong to think, you didn’t know. . .) He had a woman to lean back on, if he wanted one. A woman much more fit for him than you could ever be.

And, chances were, he was bound to leave what you had for her eventually, so you felt it best to end things now before he could. It would hurt you less to take the initiative now. You didn’t want to risk the pain that would come with him fully rejecting you for another. The idea of Jake leaving you high and dry like your mother had sounded horrible. And you did not want to experience it.

By the time you were turning off the lights and locking the doors to the store, you’d made up your mind. Tomorrow. You were going to rip the damn bandaid off. There were too many reasons indicating you needed to. Before it was too late.

-🌼🌼🌼-

August 28, 2022

He would be home any minute. Your leg was bouncing with pent up nerves that wouldn’t be released until you said what you needed to. Your palms were sweaty, making you need to repeatedly wipe them on the worn denim of your jeans. And anytime you’d wipe them off, you’d grab your phone off the counter, checking it unnecessarily. Because even after you’d wipe them, they’d still shake with nervous jitters, and you needed something to do with them.

The sound of the key unlocking the door made your stomach twist. Suddenly, you were questioning yourself. Questioning what you’d been planning on doing.

I’m not ready. I don’t want to do this. It can wait. It’s not time. I don’t want this.

But it was necessary.

And plenty of those thoughts had become too insistent for you to ignore. Even as you watched him set his guitar and amp down in the living room, through the opening of the kitchen. You were longing to ask him about his day. Or ask him to watch a tv show or movie with you. Tease him and make him follow you to bed. . .

But in spite of all of that, you knew what was right.

Don’t be selfish, y/n. You know what is best for him. For you. For both of you. Don’t you dare chicken out. Continuing this cycle of selfishness will end badly. You know it. Stick to the plan.

So, when he finally walked into the kitchen to cross off his day of work on his fridge calendar, humming what you assumed to be a new song. . .you decided to not waste time. It would hurt less.

Rip the bandaid clean off.

You cleared your throat before speaking, leaning even further into the kitchen counter. You wanted to sink into it. Hide. “Hey.”

He jumped, holding his chest. “You’ve gotta stop scaring me like that,” he laughed, crossing the day off his rehearsal schedule.

Then, when he looked over his shoulder at you, you almost lost your motivation.

Those eyes. . .

But you persisted. For you. For him.

“We need to talk,” you said, the words feeling thick in your throat.

And when he turned to face you fully, his brows were scrunched with confusion and concern.

“You okay?” He inquired. “I wondered why you didn’t talk to me when you got home from work last night. Is something happening at the Black and G–?”

Rip. It. Off.

“We’re done,” you stated. You suddenly felt completely frozen, time beginning to move around you much faster than you could keep up with. The words were trapped in the air with you, hanging there.

He just stared at you, eyes round and questioning. He blinked a couple times, his lips on the verge of a smirk, but ultimately staying in a straight line, as if not sure how to react. “What?”

Keep going.

“We’re done,” you repeated, the words coming out a little easier the second time. “I’m calling it quits. I can’t do this anymore.”

He took a couple steps towards you, then took them back. He turned, looking at the kitchen cabinets as a hand held his chin. He used one finger to scratch at a brow.

Still looking away, he spoke again. “Why?”

You felt the heartache begin again, not wanting to do what you knew you had to. Prior to this, you’d decided anytime you felt the sorrow creep up, you would replace it with anger. Fight the weak emotion with a stronger one. You’d bury the sad, and use anger instead. It would help you and him in the long run. It would.

“I hate when you fucking ask that,” you snapped, your head feeling heavy and the words wrong.

His brown eyes got big, shocked. “Where is this coming from?”

“I told you, Jake,” you said, clearing your throat to eliminate the tears. You want this. “I told you that night at the bowling alley. I said if one of us wanted to end this, the other one has to be okay with it, without any questions asked. That was a rule,” you reiterated, standing firm on the words you’d stupidly spoken in the past. They were your shaky wall of defense in this situation, where you felt defenseless against yourself. “And right now, I don’t want to answer questions. I just want to say it’s over and you be okay with it.”

He scoffed, scratching his cheek before running the hand through his hair. He leaned against the counter closest to him, across the kitchen from you. Come closer. Please.

But he didn’t. He just crossed his arms and pierced you with his dark eyes.

“That’s not how normal people do things, y/n,” he clarified, like he was talking to a child.

You didn’t have to fake anger in response to that. Don’t tell me things like I’m an idiot.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You fumed, your coolness fading quickly.

“Goddamn, y/n,” he swallowed hard and looked out the little window above your head, right above the lavender. “Stop acting so fuckin’ obtuse. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked,” you griped sardonically, silently begging him to look at you as your eyes followed him. “Because I speak fucking asshole I knew what you meant by that. You’re right.”

He brought a hand up to his face, covering his eyes before letting it run down to rest at his chin. He was losing his patience. This should be good. Why didn’t it feel that way? This was what you wanted. He let his eyes rest on his feet, refusing to acknowledge your stare.

“I’m still trying to figure out where this is coming from,” he said, reiterating his prior question. “Yesterday morning, everything was normal. We were fine. How were you able to just turn all of that off?”

You were at a loss. How in depth were you supposed to go with him? Should you be honest? Or should you lie? Cover up the truth with blanket statements and lies? You weren’t sure. . .

So you just started talking. And a lie came out first.

“I had a quiz this past Friday and I failed it,” you said, the untrue words feeling dirty coming out of your mouth. Trying to cover up the lie with a truth, you continued. “I keep getting distracted and it’s never been like this for me before. Since my first day of Freshman year at Pratt, I’ve never failed a quiz.” And I still haven’t, you finished silently, guiltily. “I just know that the reason I’m so distracted is because of this,” you motioned between the two of you, even though he was still looking at the ground. “Because of us. It’s not healthy.”

He finally brought his gaze up from the floor, interlocking it with yours. And if you thought the guilt from lying was bad before, it was even worse as you looked into his eyes.

“How is the relationship we have not healthy?” He asked, truly wondering.

Relationship.

You decided to be as honest as possible to keep your guilty conscience at bay.

“For one, it’s distracting me from classes. And two, it’s not a relationship. It’s been a rule since the beginning–the number one rule, actually– and I made it a rule because I knew I couldn’t handle a relationship right now.” All of that was mostly honest. Doing great. “I have other things I need to be focusing on right now. . .dedicating my time to. And from the beginning, this has only been sex,” okay, that was a lie. “And I wanted it to be that way so when the time came for me to cut it off, it would be easier. I made it that way on purpose.”

The way he was watching you with rapt attention, actually hearing you out, it made your heart jump into your throat. I don’t want to be doing this right now. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose him.

Don’t be selfish, y/n, your brutally honest inner voice combated you.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked, his voice indicating he was eager to assist you however you may need.

Keep going.

You swallowed the tears, your voice low with the tears that vanished. “Yes, you can help me by not challenging this right now.”

He breathed in deeply, his jaw clenching. “It’s not that easy for me.”

“It has to be.”

This isn’t easy for me either.

“See, it’s always been like this with you,” he started, leaning a shoulder against the fridge, his face turning harder than before. “You think you can just control everything and everyone around you. But you can't, that's not how life works. There are other people in your life with real emotions–real feelings–that you don’t get to dictate.”

You felt utterly singled out, and it made your blood turn to fire in your veins.

Who is he to say all of this?

“Why do you want to put up with me when you view me so horribly anyways?” You spit out, your eyes growing wet in spite of yourself.

He saw the tears in your eyes, and on instinct, started walking towards you, his entire face softening in response. But you put up a hand to stop him, your rigid expression and body communicating for you.

“I don’t view you horribly,” he said, tone sincere. He sighed, stopping at the island between you, resting his hands stop it. “You know that.”

You watched the way his hands held so tightly to the counter. He was like his brother in a few ways, you’d come to notice. One of which being how passionate he could become when talking about something that meant a lot to him. And at this moment, you saw how deeply he felt for what he was saying. His entire body exuded his emotions— when he let them show. . .

And, for the past couple of months, you’d been lucky enough to witness him bringing those walls down. Especially during the past month of sleeping with him, growing intimate with him. . . In this moment, you despised the fact that you were so freely giving that up. You selfishly wanted to keep all of those pieces of him.

Frames of time fluttered through your mind, showing how he would watch you, so affectionately. You heard words that had been spoken, so caring and genuine. . .How patient he’d been so many times. . .

But, just now when he’d called you out on your control issues? Had he thought that all along? Had he felt animosity towards the way you liked control? Or, on the other side of the coin, had he only been pitying you all along? Putting up with you? Had he just started caring about you because he felt like he had to? You were the one who had pushed this thing between the two of you in the first place. . . maybe he hadn’t wanted it as badly as you. Maybe he’d just given in, and ended up sticking around for it because he felt bad for you and got free sex on his end.

He’d left the comfort of Maya for the chaos of you. You were sure he’d do it again if you gave him long enough. . . Because all you’d done was add trouble to his life with the way you naturally were. The obnoxious, broken, damaged person you were. Your baggage was heavy and you knew it was due time before it weighed him completely down.

“Well I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience,” you fought back, guarded tears growing thicker in your eyes. You couldn’t will them away this time. “You’ve said what you wanted to say; it’s off your chest. So just let yourself be done with me,” you bitterly insisted. “Take a fucking breather from the ravaging storm that is me.”

“I never–,” he shook his head, looking away. A sharp breath had his lip curling as his hands went to comb through his hair. His eyes were wet when you saw them next. Fuck. Please don’t cry, baby. “That’s not what I fucking mean and you know it! Why are you always assuming the worst about me? Always.”

“I don’t!” You argued, not believing your words for a second. You knew he was right. The tears, still resting at your ducts, started trickling down your cheeks. “I just– I know I have shit wrong with me. I know I’m the most controlling fucking person. I know that. But I’ve been through too fucking much to believe that you could actually want me. You shouldn’t want me, Jake! I’m–,” you started, choking on a sob. “I don’t even–. . .” You went to meet him across the island, putting your forearms on the counter as you rested your head between them. You let the tears win, letting them flow easily. Relentless trails of mascara on your cheeks and the arms you were crying into, you were sure.

When you looked up to see him again, he was no longer standing there.

See, Jake? You don’t want to stay. Why would you? Leave while you can. But why do I feel like I need you to stay? How did it come to this?

Just as you were turning to look out the window to contemplate, he was back in the kitchen, a wet washcloth held in his hand.

Stop taking care of me. You’re better than this.

But before you could argue with him, he was coming around the island to meet you, touching the warm cloth to your dampened cheek. And, like the selfish person you were, you let him clean your cheeks of the blackened tracks.

You stopped him, midway through him tending to the left side of your face, grabbing the cloth from him. “I can take it from here,” you muttered pitifully. “Please stop doing this.”

He relented, giving the cloth and standing across from you. His eyes watched you conscientiously as you finished cleaning your face. You set the cloth down on the counter.

His brows were knitted when he spoke next. “Stop doing what?”

You choked on a dry sob. “Helping me,” you responded resolutely. And when it looked like he was about to fight you on it, you chose to bring out the knives and lies again. Don’t break, y/n. With your next words, you looked away from him. At your feet instead. Freshly painted, black toenails matching your heart.“I don’t want you to.”

You had to lie. You had to protect him and his future from you. He had to get rid of you to do what was best for himself. But when you peered up at him through your wet lashes again, you questioned your methods. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he quickly sniffed, bringing a hand to his face to get rid of the exposure of emotion.

He turned to look straight ahead, away from you. He looked up at the ceiling, putting his flexing hands in his front pockets.

When he looked at you next, his eyes were still wet, but there was a fire behind them. God, you fucking hated this. “Is that what you truly want? All of this? Gone? Over? You don’t want any of what we’ve had?”

You couldn’t stand seeing him like this. This needed to be over. Your heart couldn’t handle much more of this.

“I don’t want you,” you said, bile rising in your throat. Fucking liar. “I never wanted you as badly as I let on. I just wanted sex and you were an easy target because you live with me. Available whenever I needed you.” Your throat constricted, heart racing. You didn’t look away from him, pinning him with your eyes, trying your best to void them of any emotion. “And I don’t need you anymore,” you said, the words tight and constricting your opposing heart. “You’ve served your purpose.”

His lips curl into a shaky smile, mirroring shock and disbelief. Brown eyes, pooling with tears despite how hard set they are. “So you don’t love me?”

Love him? What?

And then it was rushing back.

Your mind, foggy and heart, completely transparent.

What you’d admitted to yourself and him in the hallway outside your room.

Had he said it back? The details were fading from your memory, blurry at best. You couldn’t remember.

Had you said it in response to him or just to expose yourself to him?

Did you love him? Truly?

You closed your eyes, needing to find a level ground as you felt completely shaky and unbalanced. How had you been so careless with your words?

What did you feel?

You know exactly how you feel, a calm, careful voice settled in your ear. You don’t have to deny it.

Yes, I do. If I do love him, I have to deny it. It’s what’s best for him.

“When did I say that?” You asked, avoiding it to start.

His eyes cleared, opening up as if he were getting somewhere with you.

You’re a coward, y/n.

“The other night,” he clarified, sniffling again. “When the guys were here.”

I know.

“I don’t remember saying it,” you stated, firm. “So, maybe I did,” you said, his eyes still hopeful. “But if I was high when I said it, there was no validity behind it. I wasn’t me. My head was in the clouds.” His jaw set, lips a hard line. Tense. “So it’s not fucking true. That’s something that someone would remember saying if they actually meant it. And I don’t.”

This was all a giant fucking mess. Why did it have to be like this?

He only stared at you, his nostrils flaring. His eyes were narrowed. His thoughts, most likely spinning. He just didn’t articulate any of the thoughts you knew to be buzzing in his head. He closed his eyes, pushing his thumb and pointer finger against his eyelids. When he opened them, the blank look on his features was worse than any anger he’d ever emitted.

The emotion was drained from him. Though, his hands were shaking as he untucked them into his front pockets.

“Okay,” he responded, his tone matching his empty expression. He took a deep breath and went to turn around to leave the kitchen, messing with his hair.

One of his nervous ticks, you thought, morosely.

But. . . You weren’t done. This couldn’t be it.

You suddenly didn’t want this conversation to be over. We aren’t done yet. There was no closure for me. No agreement on his end.

You’d made the terrible realization that once this talk was over, you two were over. Ripping the bandaid off didn’t seem so attractive anymore. It was stupid, but you were already missing him as you watched him walk away. The sight of him leaving made even more tears accumulate in your eyes. You knew he wasn’t done— and neither were you.

You snapped. “Jacob!”

Saying his name stopped him right before he could exit the kitchen.

His shoulders tensed as he turned slowly, facing you. His expressionless face now took on all of the emotion you knew he wanted to feel.

That’s it, you thought, challenging the man in front of you. Keep up with me.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” He snapped, patience completely gone.

The line was being drawn. And as invisible as it was, you could still swear you saw it being drawn in the space between you and where he stood.

“I want you to say that this is fucking over,” you fumed, your voice raising.

He laughed hotly, rolling his eyes. He rubbed his chin, contemplating his next words. “I don’t want it to be fucking over. I want you to stop whatever game you’re playing. I know you and I know this is coming from somewhere deep in the roots of your trauma.”

“Don’t you dare use my trauma against me, fucker!” You roared, your skin red hot.

He pointed a finger at you, accusing. “I am not using it against you! I’m trying to get you to snap out of this!”

“Snap out of what?!” You sneered back. You crossed your arms to hide the fact that you were shaking. “Finally being honest with you?!” You paused, a part of your heart break open of its own accord. “You were just going to fucking leave me anyway. This wasn’t meant to last. It never was.”

“Leave you?! That’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to leave you,” he begged you to understand.

Your heart pressed firmly to your chest with how hard it was pounding. “My own fucking mom did it, Jake! So what in the hell would stop you from doing it, too?” You blinked away the tears that came with the way you were hurting yourself with these words.

He brought two fisted hands to his eyes, his body stock still, but chest heaving as he let the words sit in the air around you.

The words hanging in the air were mocking you, though, and you needed to hear him speak to clear their torment.

“Ja—.”

“Do not let your trauma dictate who you choose to think I am. Don’t use it as a way to tell me who I am. I’m not your mom. I’m not the people who have left you,” he breathed deeply, finally showing you his eyes. They were red. And as he ferociously wiped at his cheeks yet again, you noticed why they were bloodshot. When had he started crying? His hands flattened next to him with his next words, spread out and making a point. “Stop acting like I’m someone I’m not when I’ve proven that wrong time and again by being there for you.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, wanting nothing more than to cross the room and kiss him. Let him know how much you needed him and how the words you’d spoken in the hallway were true.

But what’s best for him? His career? Remember how Josh said he didn’t need this right now? And neither do you.

“Well, I don’t want it,” you repeated your lie. “Accept that.”

Within seconds, his eyes shifted from sad and pleading to. . . Vacant. Right in front of your eyes, you witnessed how it felt to return back to square one with him.

And you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so fucking terrible.

“I accept it,” he relented, tone empty of any feeling. Come back to me. “We’re done.”

The way your heart fell all the way to your feet— how your knees felt as though they would buckle under the heavy weight of emotion— made you regret every single thing you’d said.

At that moment, you wanted to take it all back. But it was too late.

The man you saw in front of you wasn’t your Jake.

The man you saw was the one who’d entered your apartment on that destined day in May. Before you could even think to say anything to cut through the heaviness penetrating the room, he was gone.

And you were giving into the way your knees begged to let you fall and you did, back against the opposite side of the island so he couldn’t see you. The tears fell, silent and unrelenting, as you heard the front door open and harshly close. Signaling the end you didn’t want, whatsoever.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 2, 2022

A little over one month later. . .

You woke up slowly, not wanting to face the day.

Life was stressful and weird right now, and every time your eyes blinked open to face a new morning, you dreaded what the day might come with.

Thankfully today, you had a distraction from the sadness of life. You were meeting with Theo across town at a coffee shop to study for an upcoming exam in one of your more studious courses.

When you’d created your course schedule for this semester, you’d loaded yourself down with 12 credits in required courses, and 4 credits in electives. You’d thought it to be a good idea: make your senior year count with a giant ass course load. Next semester was outlined as well. . . With 16 credits of its own.

But, it was not the best idea.

It was causing waves upon waves of stress that you really didn’t need. You were grateful for how it helped (a little) in distracting you from your sorrow after losing what you had with Jake. . . But it made you dread going to school even more than you already did. You weren’t able to catch your breath. You’d never dreaded school until recently. You were going to school for writing when you still found yourself lacking a passion for it. The only thing that you looked forward to were the few music courses you had to take for your minor.

The giant course load, the long hours at the B&G now that Josh only worked one day a week, Jake’s presence, Jake’s lack of presence.

Your group of people had become extremely absent due to constantly working in the recording studio. Yes, recording studio. You were beyond proud and completely happy for them. . . but you’d hardly seen any of them for the past month. Even the one who lived with you. . . And the one thing you still had after you broke things off with Jake was at least having the opportunity to look at him every now and then.

And, although you wouldn’t speak it out loud, you were so very glad that neither of you had brought up the prospect of him moving out amidst that terrible conversation in the kitchen. All you had left with him was the occasional glance (you to him, of course; he never looked at you anymore).

Humiliating as it was, you hated the idea of him moving out. Even though you knew it would be coming sooner rather than later with his career picking up. But, even though he still lived with you, your schedules never aligned for you to see him much. The guys were recording artists now. They’d spent all of September, working with their manager as they accepted a record deal and started the process of recording music.

It was truly what all of their dreams were made of, and it was what you wanted Jake to have all along. . . But you selfishly missed seeing him. You were excited for him with what the future might bring, but you were also dreading his complete and utter lack of presence in your life. . . The thoughts of it all were draining you.

All of the stress over that and school, had even started causing you to have a super upset stomach— you were vomiting every day from all that weighed on your mind – the jumbled mess your life had become. So, that’s why you’d made the executive decision to create some sort of schedule of things to distract you. You cleaned every Saturday evening, you met with Theo every Sunday, you jogged every morning like you used to (especially since you’d started fucking stress eating). . .

You’d even taken time to try and healthily write thoughts in your journal, rather than keeping them all in your messy head. Although, all they did was translate as a depressing, convoluted mess on the pages.

But none of your coping strategies were truly what you wanted. What you were craving most was the person you’d pushed out of your life. The person who was now gone more than he was home. And when he was home, and you were able to catch a glimpse of him, all it did was hurt to look at him. Things were tense; you couldn’t even talk to him the way you wanted. It just hurt to be near him at all. But you wanted him. You just wanted him in ways you knew you couldn’t have him. Especially after you’d been the one to break things off.

You were upset that you’d gotten into anything with him in the first place. You knew it wasn’t meant to last, but you’d still let yourself get caught up in him. It had been impossible not to. It was all so natural with him. It was a giant joke that the universe had cast on your life: the one person you wanted was the one you could never have.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 8, 2022

Your boobs were hurting like you were about to start your period.

Anytime they felt heavy, looked bigger, or itched, you knew it was coming.

A telling sign. And for a week or two, they’d been that way.

It made you think about checking the period tracker app on your phone— see when it was coming. And when you had checked it, you realized you were late.

It’s because of all of the fucking stress, you thought, deducing it to only that to keep from worrying about anything else. There was no way it was anything else anyway.

The only person you’d had sex with in recent months was Jake and he always pulled out. There was also the added piece of how you’d been weaning off of birth control for the past several months. Late periods were known to occur while going off of that particular drug.

You were checking the toilet paper every time you went pee, waiting to see blood on it. And when you finally did see just the slightest bit of blood, you decided to check for tampons in your bathroom cabinet.

Aaand. . . You realized you were out of them.

Needing to go to Walmart for a few groceries anyway (you’d eaten all of the Cosmic Brownies you’d recently bought and needed more immediately), you decided to make a quick run for necessities.

-🌼🌼🌼-

It took you longer than you had planned trying to find a box of damn tampons. Walmart was sold out of your go-to’s, and searching Google to figure out a good environmentally-friendly dupe was harder than you’d anticipated.

But, it must have been your lucky day. Because, as you stood there, a graying woman in the tell-tale blue vest came up with totes to stock the shelves. And, as she started unloading, you saw a box of your normal brand of products in a tote.

Walking over, you started to kindly ask if you could have one of the boxes of tampons in her tote. . .but the smell of her perfume was so strong and outrageously floral– you could smell every hint of artificial rose. Your stomach churned at the obtrusion to your nose, so you backed away a bit to gain your bearings.

You went ahead and asked once you’d settled back a foot or two. When she smiled back at you, you felt bad for being so grossed out by the smell of her perfume, but damn she’d layered it on thick . . .

“Which kind, sweetheart?” Her voice wobbled with her age, the hump in her back much more prominent when she went to bend down to grab it for you.

You extended a delicate hand, touching her frail arm to stop her. “Oh, ma’am,” you said, causing her to look up at you. “You don’t have to get them out. I can do it.” She raised a brow, so you hastily added, “If you don’t mind, of course.”

It took everything in you to not help her up from her slightly bent position, as you didn’t want to break any boundaries. You also weren’t sure if you could handle being so close to her with the way she smelled like an artificial flower shop. . .your tummy was still rolling with the scent and you didn’t want to puke on the poor thing.

When she stood back up, as straight as she could, her smile was bright behind her magenta lipstick.

“Oh, sweetie,” she winked a glassy eye, placing her hand on your arm this time. You smiled as she continued, “You are one of the rare ones, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” You giggled, holding your nose a bit when her hand came up to touch you. How much of the stuff had she sprayed on herself?

“Willing to help your elders?” She questioned, thankfully letting go and stepping back again.

You took a breath and blinked, not expecting that. “Oh, of course. I wouldn’t ever think of doing anything different,” you shook your head, your grin sticking to your lips. “I don’t want you having to do that for me.”

“Well, you are just too sweet, honey. If you’re sure, I’m going to continue stocking. You go ahead and get it out, honey.”

With that, she walked back to her prior job.

And when you bent to get your tampons, your stomach lurched. Again. Just like it’d been doing for the past week or so. But, you felt like you might actually vomit, and you didn’t want to do that in the Walmart totes. So, you put a hand to your mouth when you stood back up.

The woman—Wanda, her name tag said— looked over at you. Her brow wrinkled when she asked, “You alright, honey?”

Swallowing, you nodded, knitting a brow. “Oh, yeah. Don’t you worry about me.”

She nodded back, almost turning back to her job when she stopped. “You know, it’s so funny. I remember once back in my day, when I was around your age, I was in an aisle just like this one. . . Getting my own napkins, searching high and low for them,” she chuckled. You smiled kindly, unsure of why she was telling you this. You were about to turn on your heel with a quick goodbye when her voice stopped you. “But, it’s funny, I searched so hard that day, and later that week. . . I found out I was pregnant!” She got a kick out of that one, slapping her tiny thigh. “I’d been late for weeks.”

In contrast to her humorous state, your stomach sank. . . Plummeting to your knees.

But before you could say anything back, she was being called by her supervisor to help locate an item. She waved a quick goodbye, and you barely registered it. Your thoughts were going insane.

No. There was no way. You knew you were late. . . But you weren’t that late.

School had just been stressful. Your anxiety building up to you being sick and everyth—. Fuck. Your nausea.

No. No no no no.

It wasn’t possible.

Standing stock still in that aisle, you measured your thoughts the best you could. Tried to make them all slow the fuck down. Flashbacks of Jake infiltrated your mind, him being the only one to have aided in that possibility.

The only guy you’d slept with in months. And he always, always pulled out. Without fail. Fuck. Absolutely not. Why were you even thinking of him? Of that? Entertaining that thought?

It wouldn’t have even been a blip of an idea had that lady not mentioned anything. Hurriedly, you scampered down the aisle, wanting to get out of dodge of the ladies’ aisle. But just as you’d passed the pregnancy tests, you stopped in your tracks, walking back to them.

There is no fucking way this is possible, you thought. You shook your head, almost continuing out of the aisle again.

But. That dreadful voice nagged at you, causing you to stay in your place.

Better safe than sorry, y/n, it seemed to remark smartly to you. What’s the harm in checking?

And without really thinking, you were getting out your phone to search for the most accurate tests. You weren’t about to get a false positive that might freak you out for no reason. As you navigated the best brands on a blog, bile rose in your throat, your tummy doing somersaults.

You didn’t want to think about it as you eyed the Clear Blue tests. This was stupid anyway. But you went to grab one, in spite of you knowing you literally weren’t pregnant.

You didn’t know why you were fucking embarrassed as you reached for the box of tests. It wasn’t like you weren’t a grown ass fucking woman. And it wasn’t like you were actually pregnant. There was no way in hell. This was just a precaution to prove to yourself that you were overthinking things. There was no way.

Every single time you’d been with Jake, he’d pulled out. Every. Single. Ti–.

Then, it came back. The night you’d gotten high on Josh’s fucking green.

Fuck.

It had been one of the most euphoric times you’d had sex with Jake. That much you could remember–and you hadn’t forgotten how good it had felt for a damn second. And, the more you thought about it. . . It dawned on you as your stomach rolled.

Knowing how into it you’d been. . . How good it had been. The weed hindering your decision— probably hadn’t used fucking protection then.

Dammit.

Most likely, you knew he hadn’t pulled out. You’d both been so out of it. . . too lost in the moment. (A moment that you had, admittedly, been waiting for– feeling his naked cock inside of you, throbbing as he released his hot seed inside of you. . .)

And, as you stood under the judging, bright fluorescent lights of fucking Wally World, the words were coming back to you. . . the entire moment was flooding back to you. Whether you wanted it to or not.

You felt your legs quiver, your heat clenched around him as your clit twitched with need.

So close. Fuck.

His eyes rolled, his lids shutting with the feeling. He bit his pink lip. His lips, still swollen from your kisses and shiny from your release. The butterflies in your stomach started fluttering ferociously, the familiar feeling overtaking you as your body trembled– your nerves humming.

You were about to finish. And you had to do it with him.

Completely.

“Y/n,” he gasped, warning you. “I’m going to fucking cum.”

You felt his cock pulse inside of you, confirming his words.

“I know,” you said, for the third time. “But I need to feel you. I want you to finish inside of me.”

His eyes bugged. “Y/n– fuck. No. No. You are under the influence. You don’t want–.”

You felt your chest flare with irritation at his words. “Jake, I swear to fuck,” you whined, your eyes shutting as one particular nudge of his cock against your folds pushed you nearly over the edge. “Please, Jake. Please, baby. I promise you won’t be taking advantage or some shit. I need it. Please. Let me have it. Just this one time.”

Let our last time be special, you thought. You tried to let your eyes echo your thoughts, willing him to understand.

He seemed to, because his next words were less apprehensive– an air of eagerness and an air of excitement painting his tone with his next words. “Are you sure?”

“More than sure,” you reassured, smoothing your thumb across his sharp cheekbone.

And with one last buck from his hips, your clit twitched and your legs turned to Jell-o. All composure was lost–shuddering and heart chanting his name.

Then, with a final groaned growl, his eyelids drooped, and his irises hazily watched you. His mouth relaxed to an ‘o’ shape, just the same as it did when he played his beloved instrument. You felt the glorious feeling of his release, as he spilled warm and plentiful inside of you.

You remember now that, in your hazy state, you’d banked on everything being okay. Because you were going to get a Plan B. . .

But, there’d never been a Plan B.

You felt a cold sweat develop on your forehead as your hands became clammy with fear. Your hand trembled as you held the box of Clear Blue tests tightly to your chest.

You didn’t need this. Fuck. He didn’t need this.

It was just a fluke. There was no way. It was one time.

So, that’s why, when you reached out to get a box of First Response tests, you knew it was just to back up what you knew.

Two different types of tests to confirm the truth. Double reassurance.

It was not possible at all that you were pregnant. How fucking often does it happen after just one time? An hour later, when you got home, you decided to push the tests all the way to the back of your underwear drawer.

You decided to hide them because you knew it was stupid to even begin to think of the impossible. And you were not about to entertain such an asinine idea.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 15, 2022

You put off taking the test for as long as you possibly could. Tried to ignore the fact that it was even in your drawer.

Even though you knew there was a chance that you were, you didn’t want to sit on it, in the case that it might not be true. Because it more than likely wasn’t. But when that week trickled into the next, and you still hadn’t been greeted by Aunt Flo, you started getting more and more worried.

And the puking didn’t let up for anything. . . In fact, only getting progressively worse.

Which, on the Saturday of the next week, clicked as a horrid sign to you.

No.

Surely the fuck not. It was just stress. There was no harm in taking the test to prove yourself right. So, you gave in and went to grab the test after you’d done your newly scheduled weekly cleaning of the apartment, that next Saturday night. You decided it was ideal to do it then since Jake was gone performing at another festival with the guys.

Halloween-themed festival this time. . . And as fun as it’d sounded, you knew when Josh had texted you about it that there was no way in hell you were going to go to that.

Biggest reason being that you and Jake were still not on speaking terms, and you didn’t want to test those waters. You also didn’t want to run the risk of seeing Maya. Because you already knew that seeing her might actually make you keel over and vomit.

And also, Elsie was too busy to attend, so you for goddamned sure weren’t going to attend and experience anything negative without your wingwoman. So, you’d given a half-assed, ridiculous excuse of homework. Thankfully, he was wonderfully Josh and didn’t give you any trouble over it.

But, it meant Jake was gone tonight, and you could take the test without running into him. The night was still young, and you had plenty of time to get it done and out of the way before he got back.

Grabbing the tests felt like you were taking a giant leap into a field of the unknown and that was terrifying as hell to you. But you didn’t let it stop you from reaching your shaking hand into the deepest tresses of your underwear drawer. Once in hand, you rushed to the bathroom.

Calm down, y/n. Just breathe, you coached yourself, as you read the giant Over 99% Accurate! at the top of each box. Chances are very slim. You just have to take the tests.

You read the instructions on the back of each box at least five times. Each box had three different forms of tests: two regular tests and one digital for both brands. And you were about to pee on all six.

Wait. That might not work. How do you even stall your fuckin’ pee like that? For six tests? And still be totally sure it’s accurate? You didn’t want to chance inaccuracy of any kind, so you thought of your next best option. On a whim, you squatted to look in the under-sink cabinet for Dixie cups. You could not for the life of you remember the last time you bought those, but maybe. . .

Aha!

Shoved to the back of the cabinet, forgotten, was a dispenser you now remember as Elsie’s. Her dental routine, always having been extensive, now coming in extremely handy. Once you had your hands on it, you pulled one cup sticking out of the top.

Last one. Damn. Lucky day.

Let’s just keep getting lucky, then.

So, you sat down to pee, after reviewing the instructions for the both brands of sticks once more.

And, once you’d peed in the cup, washed your hands, and built up the final bit of courage to do it, you opened the boxes. As quickly as you could, you got all six out, unwrapped them, and then dipped each tab in the little cup. Once you felt they’d all been dipped the perfect amount, you laid them out on the counter and set the timer on your phone.

All six laid there, taunting you and your stupid, careless decision. The two digitals next to one another, blinked with the time until results appeared. The four other tests’ screens, all got colored, one-by-one by your pee. Gross.

Deciding you couldn’t watch, you went ahead and fed Stevie during the waiting period. You left your phone on the counter, too, the volume turned up all the way so you’d be able to hear the alarm.

Just before you threw the boxes away in the kitchen, you read the backs of them once more. One part stuck out to you, the piece of information you were reading, both reassuring you and terrifying you all at once.

“This pregnancy test detects the “pregnancy hormone” (hCG), which starts showing up in your urine shortly after implantation. Plus, its DualSense(TM) Technology may help prevent false positives in the very small number of non-pregnant women who may have low levels of hCG in their urine.”

At least I know they’ll show me accurate results. Like the fact that I’m not pregnant, you recited, once more.

You bent over to feed your fluffy gray cat, but when you did, you felt the usual wave of sickness flood your senses. But there was no stopping it like you were sometimes able to do. Thankfully, you were able to get her food in the dish and still make it back over to the toilet, in time to empty the contents of your stomach.

And, as if on cue, just as you flushed it down, the timer on your phone went off.

You suddenly wanted Elsie there with you, holding your hand as you met your fate. But you quickly pushed that to the side, remembering that this was on you. This was your mistake to face. And your body. You had to be the one to make all of the choices that followed any possible, unwanted result. You had to face this alone. This was on you.

By The Seaside’s cheery tone did not match your sick tummy or the dread that was pooling at the bottom of it. It was as though bricks had been piled there, keeping you on the ground until the tone started getting so infuriating, you couldn’t take the sound any longer. You also didn’t want to wait so long to possibly get inaccurate results.

Your eyes were pinched shut as you stood up. Yes, to keep the dizziness subdued, but mostly out of fear for what awaited you on the countertop. When you opened your eyes, you directed your sight first to your phone, pressing the STOP button to turn off the seriously grating alarm tone.

Before you even glimpsed the counter holding your (possible) future, you knew what you were going to see.

And you were proven terribly correct.

Four tests with two pink lines on each screen. Two digitals saying two words you didn’t want to think true. . .

YES (with a stupid little plus sign) on one and Pregnant, big, fat, and bold on the other.

Fitting. Big and fat. Just like I’m about to fucking be.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You laid in bed crying for hours. You didn’t even remember getting to your bed. But by some miracle you did. And you never wanted to leave it. This was the last thing you fucking wanted. Really.

You avoided touching your stomach for a while, not wanting to make any association to the unspeakable reality of your situation.

A fucking baby wasn’t in the cards at all. It couldn’t be.

You could not have this baby. No way, no how. You and Jake weren’t ever going to work as a couple. For prior reasons and because you fucking stomped out any of that possibility with the hateful, untrue things you’d told him in August.

Then, there was the career aspect. If you were afraid of Jake compromising his career for you, you knew he would most probably (most definitely) put his career on hold for his own fucking kid. And you refused to let that happen. It was not an option for a baby to get in the way of the lifelong dream he was finally living out. He was more important than that being halted for a barely-there kid.

You still had no earthly clue what the fuck you were going to do with your life, but even you refused to quit your life for a baby you didn’t want. Before you could schedule the appointment, though, you were sobbing yourself to sleep.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You woke to the telling sound of the front door opening and closing.

Your eyes were difficult to open. But, as you pried your red and puffy lids open, you squinted at your phone screen to see a text from Els and the fact that it was 2:30 a.m.

Dear god, where has he been?, you thought, irritated at being woken at an ungodly hour on this wretched night. All you wanted to do was sleep.

But, you couldn’t stop yourself from contemplating where he’d been. . . you soon regretted the train of thought. Because, you knew exactly why he’d been out so late. It was the same reason he used to stay out late. Women. Now, it was Maya, most likely.

You blew into yet another tissue from your bedside table. The disgusting pile of dirty kleenex from your delightful evening had come to cover the pretty white painted wood.

Just like this horrid situation is going to take over my life if I don't stop it from happening.

Taking comfort in what you could control in the present, you decided to get off of your worthless ass to throw away the tissues in your bedroom’s trash basket.

Shit.

The trash.

Without giving a thought what Jake’s reaction would be to your swollen red face, you made a beeline from your bedroom to the kitchen’s waste bin.

Gratefully, he was nowhere to be seen. And when you heard the shower turn on, you knew you were safe for a bit. So you hurriedly wrapped up the bag and ran it down the concrete stairs to the complex’s dumpster. On the way back up the stairs, you rushed, too, as you didn’t want to risk seeing Jake at all. You didn’t know how long he’d be in the shower, and considering it was late, you figured he’d be in and out.

Right before you were able to grace the last step on your way up the stairs, you nearly tripped.

And, just as you gasped, catching yourself from mid-fall, you also protectively grabbed another part of your body.

Only on instinct, you defended the choice.

But as you made the rest of the way to the apartment, you didn’t move the hand from the bottom of your belly.

You couldn’t defend that.

To your relief, when you made it back up, hesitantly opening the door, you realized Jake was still in the shower. As you put a new bag in, you had to let go of your tummy. And it was fine. You didn’t miss the contact.

It was just instinct before.

But, just as you finished with your job, you were no longer alone.

You watched him leave the bathroom, towel around his waist. The waist you’d hungrily gripped so many times before. . . But, in recent times’ fashion, he didn’t look your way for even a millisecond. You knew why. You knew you’d been an asshole and said terrible things you could never take back.

You said what you did for good reason, your inner, brutally honest voice reminded you for the 80th time in the past month.

For as long as you could, you let your eyes follow his body, surely still warm from his shower. He was so completely handsome. His long, dark, wet hair, sticking to his tanned, broad shoulders, which shined with water droplets. Droplets that trickled to dip below the towel at his waist. . .just as you’d witnessed them do before.

Before. Better times.

Though, as soon as he was in your line of sight, he was gone.

Minutes later, you were back in the safety of your bed, trying to not think about your roommate, wet and possibly naked next door as you searched Google for a Planned Parenthood near you.

And, as you were scheduling your appointment, you refused to acknowledge the soft thoughts that were entering your brain.

A baby. Not so bad. . .Soft. Cuddly. Sweet. Yours. . .

Jake’s.

But before you could hit the precipice of overthought, you reminded yourself that it was unreasonable and it would be selfish to keep the baby. It would be you halting Jake in one more way.

And, just as you were tiptoeing the edge of a deep slumber, an even more devastating thought entered your mind.

You could absolutely not have this child.

Because, based on your tumultuous past of mistreating other people, how would this poor, innocent baby be any different? Be safe from you? Even with the gut-wrenching thoughts, you fell into sleep easily. Crying always took it out of you. Now you could blame part of it on the life you were growing inside of you.

Without thinking of it, your hand found your still-flat belly again as you drifted off. . .

But, when you did, your sleep was not that easy. Your dreams, ever-vivid. A mixture of wonderful, pastel-colored moments with a giggling baby, a glowy morning light tickling her pretty features. . .

Then the terrible ones where you saw yourself as the exact person who’d hurt you most. . .Your mother.

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 29, 2022

Unbeknownst to you at the time you’d scheduled your Planned Parenthood appointment, you’d planned it for the same day as Josh’s annual Halloween bash.

The one he would be hosting at your house, just as he always had. And, he’d planned it when he always did. The Saturday before Halloween. You just hadn’t thought of it when you’d scheduled.

So many people in your home, on the day of an appointment for which you’d had equal parts apprehensiveness and eagerness. . . maybe slightly more apprehensive. Either way, they were two completely different emotions. And you weren’t sure how in the hell you’d handle them once the deed was actually done. . . So the prospect of coming back to an apartment full of people to feel it all was not your favorite.

Good thing was, you’d at least been able to reschedule your appointment for earlier in the day, which would end up giving you plenty of time to cry and cope on the drive home, get back home, cope some more, and then dress up. . . And then you’d be fine. . . right?

You’d decided to put off the appointment for as long as you felt like you could. The night you’d found out had been a shitshow of emotions. But when you awoke the next day, there had been a new light that hadn’t appeared the night before when you’d read the tests.

A light that left you feeling unsure of ending it so quickly. You just hadn’t felt totally comfortable going in so soon without giving it time. You’d wanted time to process it. So, you’d scheduled it far enough out to do so.

Two weeks. You decided that giving yourself two weeks to really think it through, would help you have enough leeway to think and come to a sensible conclusion.

But. . . you still hadn’t come to one. Not really.

You’d at least had the two weeks on your own, the apartment being void of Jake. The boys’ record label had suggested going to a cabin in the middle of the woods to write music and spend that time together, just them. They’d left roughly midway through the first week after you’d found out. Much as you wanted to deny it, you had missed him. His presence. But him being gone had been what you needed to thoroughly digest it all. Theorize. Imagine all kinds of scenarios for you and the baby.

But the days and the nights were different– a total contrast of each other. And you’d bounced back and forth between the strong, all encompassing feelings for long enough that you’d made your decision. Even though it wasn’t necessarily an easy decision, you knew it was what needed to happen.

Most nights, you fell asleep, holding your belly (a little excited by it growing just the slightest bit in the past two weeks). . . You’d come to the same conclusion anytime your head hit the pillow. The euphoric, pastel dreams. The precious baby you could hold and love, safe in your arms.

You knew what you wanted at those moments and it felt heavenly, honestly. . .

But the utter trainwreck of thoughts that plagued you in the daytime were what had you getting into your car, putting the clinic in your Maps app. Tumbling between your thoughts of not harming Jake and not becoming your mother and harming the child, you’d made the final decision of what was best for all parties involved.

Especially the baby you held in your womb.

Your hand went to its natural resting place, the bottom of your faintly protruding tummy, where you imagined your baby growing steadily. You hadn’t researched how big it was or even let yourself do the math of how far along you were. No tracker apps. No research. It would keep you disconnected enough to go through with the most beneficial option for everyone.

Avoiding all of the fun things had been difficult, as you’d spent every waking minute thinking about the life inside of you. The baby motivated you. Kept you going when you started feeling sad. . . Weird as it was, the tiny little bean in your belly was inspiring you on a daily basis.

But, as you came to the first stoplight on your journey, you remembered this was best.

The appointment was at the Hempstead clinic. You’d made it at that location, forty minutes away from your home, in the hopes you wouldn’t see anyone you knew. No one knew about the life inside of you and you had decided it probably needed to stay that way.

It had become increasingly burdensome to keep it from your Elsie. There’d never been a time in your life where you didn’t tell her everything. Keeping the thing with Jake from her had already been hard enough, so adding a baby to the mix made it rise tenfold. Any time she Facetimed you, texted you, or called you, you wanted to tell her. A couple of times you almost slipped up.

But telling her that would mean admitting everything about you and Jake. The sex. The feelings you’d developed. The way you’d cut things off. . .

And you didn’t want her advice. Weren’t ready for the way she’d react to it all. She always seemed to conflict with your ideas on things like this. . . the hard decisions you’d make. She was notorious for saying you “make things too hard for yourself” and to “let go of the heaviness”, but all you normally heard was “I don’t understand what you’re feeling, but I’m going to tell you this worthless piece of advice anyway.” You knew she’d judge how you ended things. She’d question it. Quiz you.

Now was not the time for any of that. You already had your constant, terribly rude voice of reason that coached you through the tough things. So, as much as it tempted you, you didn’t dare mention any of it to your sister: your time with Jake or what it had ended up producing in your uterus.

(There was also the crippling fear that she may slip up and tell Josh. . .and he was the last person you wanted to find out. . .The fear of disappointing him two times the amount as before.)

But, at this moment, as you joined the crazy busy traffic on the highway, soul music lifting your spirits as high as they could go, you wished she was there to talk it through with you. So for the thousandth time, you tried doing it yourself. The same thoughts you’d gone over and over for the past two weeks.

The first thing you thought of every time your mind started rambling was what it could and would honestly, truthfully be like.

How could you actually make it work?

Usually, this was where you’d lose hope, telling yourself you absolutely couldn’t make it work. . . start derailing from the possibility of happiness. . . but as that certain Aretha Franklin song came on your fucking shuffle. . .

Like an eagle protects his nest, for you I'll do my best

Stand by you like a tree and dare anybody to try and move me

Darlin' in you I've found, strength where I was torn down

I don't know what's in store, but together we can open any door

The lyrics inspired your thoughts to take a surprising turn for a. . . promising, positive outlook.

There was most likely a way you could make sure to hold Jake to his dream. You could encourage him to stay on track. You’d been able to talk through things with him before. Even though things were weird now, you could do it again. . . probably. Hopefully. Do what you always did and make a list of reasons why he should, get him to understand the importance of him not giving up on it. . .

Then the darkness filtered in a bit, reminding you of how hateful you’d been to him during your last conversation. Would he listen to you? Could you blame him if he didn’t want to? And the recycled thought of how toxic you were. . . You’d cared so deeply for him and still allowed yourself to talk that way to him to protect him. What in the hell would you say to your child to protect it in the future? Why was your idea of loving someone so fucked up?

Could you fix that? Figure it out?

At the very least, you could try. For your baby. For you.

You merged lanes, the track slipping into the next. You turned the volume down to hear your thoughts. Give them your attention.

How would you raise the baby? As roommates? Weird. Friends? Sad. You couldn’t cross the territory from before again. That would make things too complicated for the baby. . .And probably for you while you figured things out. Getting lost in him again wasn’t an option. The glorious fucking– it wasn’t an option. Did he even want that? Probably the fuck not. . . But you knew he’d make something work for the baby. . . He’d make sure the baby felt safe with an arrangement between the two of you. You knew the kind heart he held in his chest.

You could do it as friends and make it okay. You could. Even if it broke your heart to only be his friend as you raised a baby together. You would do it for your baby. For him. You would do it for him–because you'd cut things off with him for a reason. A solid reason. And a baby didn’t change that.

In fact, a baby affirmed that it stayed the way you had made it. . . You’d made a mess and he didn’t need to be distracted by you. You could share the baby, yes, but you were the obvious primary caretaker. You’d take over whenever he was away or needed time to focus. . . It wouldn’t be fully on him to handle a baby.

It would barely be on him. You were the mom. This was your thing.

But, it would be fully on him to handle your bullshit. You weren’t worthy of a relationship like he could offer. And he didn’t need to be on your healing journey with you while he pursued what made him feel happy and fulfilled. Just like the rules had stated: you weren’t his responsibility.

Responsibility. . .he didn’t need to have any with the baby, honestly. He didn’t need to be involved. Only if he wanted to be. You weren’t going to force him.

But damn, you wanted him there for all of it. From birth up until the day of college graduation. . .

The sound of your phone ringing through Hands Free interrupted your train of thought, right as you got on the exit you needed to take to get you closer to the clinic. You didn’t even look at the caller ID as you pressed the answer button, focusing on the tricky road you’d made it to instead. You knew it was probably Josh or Elsie, calling to figure out something about tonight.

“Hello?” you said, loud enough for the other person to hear, starting the conversation.

“Hey.”

The voice you heard through the sound system of your car was almost enough to make you veer off of the roads, actually making you swerve the slightest bit.

Jake. Why was he calling?

“H-hey,” you stuttered, not sure where to even begin in conversation with him. You hadn’t spoken for a damned month, and now you knew you were carrying his baby. . . things were strange. Altered. Poles apart from before. You covered your wavering response with as much truth as you could tell. “Sorry, driving on some weird roads. On my way to a doctor’s appointment right now.”

“It’s fine,” he responded, voice hard and clipped. Unfamiliar. He’s not your Jake. Your heart fell as you felt that newfound (or re-found?) tension fill the conversation. “Just calling to tell you I’m leaving my key with Josh so he can get in to decorate. Thought you’d wanna know.”

Your brow wrinkled, suddenly curious and a little irritated. “Josh has a key. . .?” You took another exit that indicated how many miles you had left until your destination.

“I lost the little fuckin’ thing,” Josh’s voice now reverbrated, grainy through your speakers. You smiled at the sound of him, but turned down the volume to make it less overpowering, in case he talked again. “I’m so sorry, love!”

“It’s fine, Joshy,” you conceded with a sigh. “Hope I don’t get a burglar or some shit thanks to you,” you were joking, but also completely serious. “You’re replacing the entire apartment if that happens.”

“You’ve got it, Mama,” he responded dutifully.

But the only thing you could hear was mama. . .Mama, mama. . .fuck.

Your hands started sweating as you noticed your Map had you down to three minutes until you made it. Rather than making it obvious that you were lost in thought, you started talking. Using it as a way to distract yourself as well. (More so for yourself, if you were being honest.)

“I thought Elsie was coming to help you? She has one.”

“Her plane got delayed and she’s going to be getting here later than she planned,” Jake replied to you, short in his response. “See you la–.”

“Is she okay?” You asked, your heart rate increasing at the thought of her possibly being stuck somewhere. “Is she safe? I’ve been driving. Do you think she’s tried texting me? Josh, is she okay?”

You heard Josh chuckle, which eased your nerves. “Yes, she’s perfectly fine,” he confirmed gently. “She’s on the flight now, and if things line up, she should be here in two hours, so we’re good.”

“Okay, goo–.”

“And I’m sure she’s texted you because you both text each other non-fuckin’-stop,” he pointed out. Then you heard him laugh at himself. “No–I love it. But she’s okay.”

Jake’s voice, annoyed, broke through the flow of your conversation with his brother. “Alright, well, see you la–.”

Just as you pulled up to the clinic, you cut him off. “Jake.” Truthfully, the reason you kept him on the line was because your heart was heavily thrumming in your ears, vision tunneling. . . You just needed to hear his voice. He couldn’t hang up yet. “Why won’t you be there to let him in?”

He sighed, the sound making your heart slow down a little. You could imagine him rubbing his face or giving you a look that said “really?”. But he actually responded kindly, sounding like himself. “I have a few things to do before the party. I won’t be home.”

Even though you so badly wanted to ask what those things were, just to continue hearing his voice, you didn’t keep him. It wasn’t your place to know and you knew better than to ask anymore questions that weren’t your business.

“Okay.” You paused, thinking if it was okay to ask what you wanted to next. Just go for it. “Are you going to be at the party?”

Embarrassing to ask, but here you were.

“Yes. . .?” He replied, tone questioning.

Relief. That was what you were feeling. You were relieved that he’d be there.

He waited a few beats and then spoke again. “. . .Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering if you’d be at the party,” you rushed out, not wanting to push him further.

The next thing you heard throughout the body of your car was Josh’s voice again. He was hurling expletive after expletive. And then, “Did you see that, Jake? Did you see that?” in the background of the call.

It was enough to make you laugh. You’d been there for his loss of patience on the road. Completely oblivious drivers getting an earload from the man in the next car over. It was even funnier when you’d look over to see them grinning, or singing along to a song. . .no idea that they were getting called horrendous names.

Simply watching him lose his cool on others was entertaining because it was hardly ever seen. The best thing you could think to compare him to was an angry leprechaun when he’d start on his little road rage fits.

And without warning, the sound you needed to hear most rushed through the car and into your ears. Jake’s lovely, raspy chuckle. It’d been so long since you’d heard it. Too long. (You might’ve turned up your volume a smidge in hopes of hearing it again.)

The insane person in you wanted to ask him to do it again. But, obviously, you didn’t.

Though, he didn’t immediately try to hang up when he spoke next. When you heard him again, it was almost like you could imagine the past month hadn’t happened. The talk in the kitchen hadn’t happened. . . things were normal. You were okay. He was okay. Both of you, peaceful . . .blissful.

“Are you good?” He asked smoothly– familiarly. Jake. And, you were sure your ears were fooling you, but you swore you could hear a hint of concern in his tone.

You weren’t sure what to say. This was more than you expected from him by far. . . Shocked was an understatement. What you wanted was to open up, tell him every last thing on your mind, but you knew you couldn’t do that anymore.

You plainly weren’t. You put a hand on your tummy and aimed to match his sincerity in your tone. Settling with a, “Yeah, I’m good,” as your reply.

I miss you, though, you added, silently.

“Alright,” he said. But he didn’t hang up. Instead, the line stayed connected almost as though he was. . .waiting? Was he? Possibly waiting for you to talk more? Like he used to? Giving you time? But before you could think any further, he was wrapping it up. “See you later.”

The tone clicked off, leaving you in the silence of your car briefly before your eardrums got attacked by Marvin Gaye’s voice.

“Shit.”

You reached the knob, turning down the volume.

Had I really turned it up that loud?

You shook your head as you giggled to yourself at the fact that you’d been so obscenely desperate to hear him laugh.

But, his laugh. . . Exactly what you needed to keep calming down. . . That laugh. . . And the way his eyes would light up with it.

Oh, fuck. . .

His eyes.

His wonderful eyes. Amber-brown. The first thing you’d noticed about him. They were so kind and so open when he cared for someone he spoke to. . . Even sparkling sometimes when he’d smile. . .

And without warning, you could see it. Clear as day. A baby with Jake’s kind eyes.

A baby that was part of him. . .

You let yourself sit on that. Think about it. Just that. Not about all of the intricate, fine-tuned details. No, just thought about the simple fact that this baby was half Jake.

Half of someone who’d brought so much unadulterated joy to your life. If you were always honest with yourself, you knew he wasn’t what had caused you to become distracted, sad, and in your head. . . you’d done that to yourself. All he had done was be a listening ear. A helper. A lover. A friend. . .

He’d done nothing wrong. You knew this. And imagining a baby who could bring the same light to the world as him. . .Even if all the baby had were his eyes, that would be enough. But then there was his heart. The beautiful heart and passion his child would no doubt have. It would be inevitable. Especially being the child of you two. . . but his passion shining through a kid?

You could not get it out of your head. You didn’t want to. It was all so beautiful to imagine. . .You also didn’t want to rid the world of a gift that could be so wonderful as Jake Kiszka.

The little details could be worked out. You would work on yourself. You would try your best to be the best you could be. . .

You would. Had to do it for yourself and your baby.

Determined, you turned off your car. And when you went inside Planned Parenthood, you canceled your appointment. You tried your best to shut off your brain to any of its usual worrying for the sake of the life you now knew without a doubt you wanted to keep. Hold. Love.

And as you were driving home, the nerves were gone and replaced with relief. Your baby would be okay. You’d make damn sure of it.

When you took the final exit off the highway to reach the city streets that led to your apartment, you got logical again. Now, the logic didn’t worry you. It didn’t make you feel unsure. This logic felt safe. You were working things out– not just getting rid of something to temporarily patch up a hole. Yes, you were more than self-aware. You knew you did that shit.

It was what you’d done your whole life to feel safe. But it wasn’t what the baby did. It wasn’t what the baby needed. And now, the baby in your belly would also get what it needed.

As you rolled into your parking spot, you started searching the best apps to use and downloaded all of the most reliable trackers. The loading apps made you feel jittery with anxiety, but in a good way you’d never felt before.

Later on in your pregnancy, you knew it was possible you could end up regretting the choice to keep the kid. You’d done nothing to prepare for a child and the fear of being completely out of control was daunting. But that was what adoption was for.

You just couldn’t be the reason that the world lost such a precious piece of Jake. Because, even if you couldn’t keep the baby yourself, you needed to at least see such an inevitably beautiful person enter this world. And, you didn’t have to be out of control in all of this. You could keep your hands on it all. Stay aware and informed. . . Help the baby. . . Feel purpose. You could do something good and worthwhile.

You walked up the stairs to your building, watching your every step while you kept one firm hand on your lower tummy. The apps that had loaded were dying to be opened. But you were going to shower and start getting ready before you gave yourself that reward.

For the first time in your life, you had a shaky-ass, unsure plan. But it was oddly the first time in your life you felt like you could conquer your shit. You could take it by the horns and start working on it. For you. For your baby. The baby that motivated and inspired you so much already. . .It all felt so freeing.

You unlocked your front door, finding the place was still empty. Your shoulders relaxed as the day started draining from you. The past two weeks, honestly. . . You moved your shoulders a little to loosen the muscles from their pent-up tension, took deep breaths in and out, in and out. . .

You breathed a sigh of contentment, placing your delicate hand on where the baby grew.

And as you got into the shower, you realized something. . .

The persistent voice that always accompanied you, helping you feel less alone in your hurt. . . had been silenced. Was that okay? That it wasn’t there to guide you? Had you been able to turn it off?

You weren’t sure how to feel about it. But, as you kept glancing down at your slightly rounded tummy as you showered, you came to a clarifying thought.

You weren’t alone anymore. Didn’t have to be. Maybe the voice was no longer needed. Maybe this was the beginning of a massive change.

Giggling to yourself as you dried off, you thought to yourself.

Duh, it’s a massive change. The biggest. And one I’m ready to welcome.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When Elsie’s plane landed at the airport, Josh had already been at your place decorating for an hour or two. And as soon as she texted, he was gathering his things and giving you instructions on finishing up the place.

Then, he left to pick her up.

Finally.

You breathed a sigh of relief when he ended up leaving.

The thoughts that’d swarmed your head in such close proximity to him had been too much. It was weird being around him now, knowing who you were carrying. Josh being completely oblivious (and probably unapproving if he were to find out) caused you some incredible anxiety. While you’d come to the realization that there was no doubt you wanted to have the baby, the thought of people finding out was making your nerves short circuit.

Especially Josh. He was still the main person you didn’t want knowing of you and Jake. Same as always, you didn’t want him to feel betrayed, or like you’d let yourself be to Jake what Amelia had been to him (destroying his dreams for your gain). And now, you knew how much worse it could end up being when he found out about your child. You figured that he would feel like he’d been left totally in the dark. Which, he had been. . .but for good reason.

You just felt guilty over it.

Taking instructions from him on how to finish up some of the decorations, you hung the rest of the red and black streamers and some cute, eclectic garland between the streamers. Little fabric ghosts, attached to a string that he’d probably found at a Home Goods store. After that, per his wish, you shut all of the lights off and turned all of the twinkle lights on. Some red, some white. . . But so many of them. Dear God.

The lights were a good idea though, as they added the final touch to everything he’d done around the place. . .highlighting everything a very mystifying, spooky hue.

Once you completed those tasks, you made the red punch. Josh had already whipped up the orange punch and had it chilling in the fridge. When it looked ‘blood red’ enough (Josh’s words), you placed it in the fridge with the other bowl. Each bowl, shaped like a giant skeleton hand.

Does he just host it here because I have a massive fridge? You genuinely wondered.

On the shelf above the bowls, you saw the several hilariously made food items. He’d designed them carefully and specially to look like scary things, labeling each as its inspiration (Witch’s Fingers being the name of one item). It was something you’d see at a party for a child, but you weren’t surprised that Josh had found the idea amusing. Something you loved about Josh was the fact that he was a child at heart, while also showing the traits of an 80 year old man.

Crossing the living room to walk to your room, you admired the way he’d jazzed up the spacious apartment. It looked spooky and cute and fun. You knew people would love it. He always went all out and you enjoyed seeing what he decided to do each year.

What worried you, though, was the amount of orange solo cups that sat on your bar. It looked to be at least (probably more than) 50 cups. Maybe he’d just gotten that many for the people who wouldn’t reuse their cups. . .but the Sharpie sitting next to them begged to differ.

Why in the fuck hadn’t you put a limit on the number of people? Yeah, your apartment was roomier than some, but how were you going to fit that many goddamned people in your place?

There’d never been so many solo cups waiting. . . How many people were there going to be? And why the sudden change in numbers?

-🌼🌼🌼-

It was thirty minutes to party time when they got back.

You’d finished most of your makeup, having done it during the long time you’d waited on your sister’s arrival. When Elsie finally walked into your room, her foundation, blush, and contour were on, but nothing else.

“Bitch, we’ve gotta hurry,” she said, setting her bags down on your bed. “Do you have the costumes?”

You gave your false lashes one more swipe of mascara, pleased with how you looked.

Not half bad, you thought. You made a pout at yourself in the mirror; your red lipstick made your lips look damn good. The gloss you'd coated them with helped as well.

Kissable.

“Yes,” you answered, rising from the vanity to grab their hangers out of your closet. “We are never buying costumes on Etsy again, though. These ripped a hole in my bank account.”

“Oh, shut up, Little Miss ‘my grandparents pay for my rent’,” she sassed back, rolling her eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” you countered, annoyed with her. “They did the same damn thing for you.”

“You’re not wrong,” she agreed, a laugh in her voice. “But giving you shit is too fun. And also, you don’t have to travel all over the globe for your job, so. . . I bet your account still looks prettier than mine, even after this purchase.” She grabbed her little blue top and skirt from your waiting hand. “These are perfect though,” she turned the costume around, admiring. “Thanks, sissy.”

“Did you bring the white stockings?” You asked, taking off your sweats and changing from granny panties to a white, lacy thong to fit the mood.

“Duh,” she responded, going to retrieve them from her duffel, throwing your pair at you. They hit you on the head, as you were folding your sweats onto your bed.

“Elsie!” You yelped. “You little fuck.”

“Get over it. I’m sure you’ve done something to me recently to deserve it.”

When you looked back at her, to continue the jesting, she was in her light ensemble. She moved in front of the mirror, gawking. She twisted and turned to see every angle of the glorified lingerie. “Damn these are sexy,” she commented, impressed with the look.

Your eyes were big, noticing the same thing as her. They were hot, but. . . A lot of skin was going to be exposed. . .

“Short as hell,” you noted, observing the costume on your sister’s body. . . Her ass would be fully out if she bent the wrong way. But her boobs looked great– complimented by the cropped blouse, pushed up. She adjusted the little pink bow in her hair that’d come with the ‘fit. “And lots of skin.”

“Just like we wanted them,” she reminded you, going to get her makeup bag to finish her makeup at the vanity.

Yeah, we decided on these damned costumes when I was fucking Jake and had someone to look sexy for. . . Fuck. The thought of him seeing you tonight and not being able to react like he would have two months ago. . .it made your heart pinch sadly. It suddenly felt totally counterproductive to even dress cute.

Why would you want to do it now? The only person you wanted to impress would definitely not be looking your way. . . You had a terrible feeling that all night, you were going to feel like a clown. Ridiculous. Dressed up in a stupid, extremely revealing costume. Completely unseen by one pair of pretty brown eyes. . .

“Put your costume on!” Elsie ordered, her eyes pinned on you through the mirror as you stood there, behind her, lost in thought. “The party starts super fucking soon.”

You had to do this with her. If you backed out on your costume with Els, it would be a giant dick move. Coordinating costumes with her on Halloween had been a tradition for as long as you could remember.

It will be fun to do it with her. Just like always.

Resigning to putting on the tiny outfit, you went to take off your sweatshirt. But just as you gripped material at your hip to pull it up and off, you froze again.

Dammit. The tiny bump.

You hadn’t thought of her possibly seeing you—or it— as you changed. . . Should have done it before she got there. Would she even notice? Honestly, it just looked like you were bloated. It wasn’t super obvious what it was— not yet.

It’s okay. It’s fine. It’ll be okay.

So, you kept on with taking it off, throwing it to your bed to fold, turning around so you weren’t facing her in the process of getting changed. Just a safety precaution.

“Nice ass,” she giggled, snarky as usual before continuing her eyeliner.

But your mind went into hyperdrive. A recent event, coming to your mind at her words.

“That ass,” he’d said, his voice still low and sleepy. “Damn, baby.”

The way he’d looked. . . Stroking himself in bed as he’d watched you. . .

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Naturally, you went to hold your tummy. Though, you dropped the hand when you heard your sister huff frustratedly. “Do I have to come over there and do it for you?”

You looked over your shoulder at her, narrowing your eyes and giving her the middle finger before finally putting on every piece of the ensemble.

You had to be careful with the top, which included its built-in push up bra. Your breasts had become much more sensitive than you were used to. Sometimes hurting to the touch. To your relief, the bra added just the right amount of pressure to them that it felt like they were being held well. . .

Just wouldn’t be able to put up with the feeling all night. . . You knew that they’d start to hurt from being pressed so tightly to something as the night wore on. After situating your boobs just so, you put on the last piece: A black platform heels, closed-toe, resembling a pair of traditional Mary Janes.

Smoothing your hands over the skirt, you noticed it was a little tight. . . But not bad. Not noticeable to any unsuspecting eye. Just like your previous thought, it could really just be passed off as period bloating. However, when you eventually checked over the outfit on yourself, in the mirror. . . You did notice something. A change.

The past couple of weeks had been a time of you not acknowledging any body changes. Only your belly, which you frequently, absentmindedly touched. . . But anything else that might feel or look abnormal? You’d avoided, if you could.

The boob pain had been too incessantly uncomfortable to ignore, having to flip and flop every which way in the night time so they wouldn’t feel like aching, ton-pound weights on your chest.

But you hadn’t looked at them. They truly looked bigger. You weren’t that far along. . . Were you? You didn’t understand all of the pregnancy math yet. You still hadn’t had the chance to delve into your new apps.

Whatever the case may be, they were definitely growing. Your veins in them, darker than normal. The way they looked swollen, full. . . damn.

Do they seriously start changing this soon? I don’t know. . ., you wondered silently, moving to the side to see how they were giving you fantastic cleavage at your deep, sweetheart neckline. Mentally, you made a note to check those apps to get some answers as soon as possible.

You went about your business, trying to distract yourself from the body changes you weren’t completely sure about . . .

As you were adjusting your own pink bow in your hair, you heard her wolf whistle.

“Dear God, sis,” Elsie commented. You looked down at her in the mirror, where she still sat at the vanity stool. Her face was almost completely finished. “What in the hell have you done to make your boobs look so fantastic? Please, tell me your ways.”

If only you fucking knew, you thought, fluffing your hair, and adjusting your outfit as much as you could, once more before eyeing her.

“Just on my period,” you lied, not ready to tell her. But . . .you kind of were. You wanted to tell someone and she was your person. When would you be able to finally break the news?

You pushed the thought away as she did the same as you with her outfit and put her own shoes on.

Hearing the sounds of people arriving, and Josh’s music starting, you gave her a look.

“You ready?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

The party had been droning on for several minutes.

A lot of people had shown up. . . some you recognized from past parties, and others you’d never seen before. All you knew was there were definitely enough people for all of the cups.

You’d already taken your annual Halloween picture with Elsie, and now she was off with Josh, attached to his side and conversing with every person that he did.

Why couldn’t you have what they had? Why was everything in your life so goddamned complicated?

And where was Jake?

Your other two friends had arrived (surprisingly) on time, getting the party kicked off. They were now playing a small game of “mini beer pong” with two girls they’d probably met through an app. Maybe a festival, though? That was a possibility now. Weird.

Yawning, you made your way over to the punch and put some of the orange in a plastic cup. Before you took a sip, you smelled it, making sure it was uncontaminated with Josh’s liquor of choice. Knowing you were safe, you took a decently sized swig. And, thankfully, the taste didn’t make you want to hurl.

All of the little things that had been happening before you’d found out were all stark and apparent in their nature now. All of your “stress” symptoms had been signs of you growing a little life inside of you. From being sick, wanting to eat everything in sight, the sore boobs for the couple of weeks before you’d found out. . . and even the extreme sadness about Jake. Had that perhaps been the hormones, too?

Getting up on your tiptoes to peer over the people, punch bowls, and several types of alcohol on the counter, you once again searched for your roommate.

Where was he?

And, right as you’d pondered the question again, there he was. Opening and striding through the front door, already in his costume. . .and looking sexy as fucking hell.

Your eyes trailed his solid figure. . . From his black boots, black pants, loose white shirt (almost entirely unbuttoned, dear fuck), a few necklaces laying upon his defined chest. . .and all the way up to the dark red bandana that he’d tied around the top of his head, gold hooped earrings peeking out from his dark hair, flowing below the bandana.

A pirate.

Hot damn.

And even though it was dark, the insurmountable amount of twinkle lights Josh had perfectly hung illuminated his handsome face enough for you to see. . .

Had he started growing a mustache on their trip?

Fuck. Me.

You squirmed from where you were behind the counter, totally irritated with yourself over what you’d done in this very kitchen, two months ago. Even though it had been for his own good, you wished right now that you could take back time and hold off on doing it when you had. Because all you wanted to do in that moment was walk over to him and tell him all of the filthy thoughts that were clouding up your brain.

But. . . before they could get any dirtier, you saw the person he’d arrived with, walking in beautiful and majestic behind him.

Maya.

Also dressed as a pirate. Except her costume was one you’d probably see advertised as “Sexy Female Pirate” in a Spirit Halloween bag where Jake’s seemed to be a bunch of pieces of his own clothing that he’d pieced together to make the stunning look.

Thankfully from the waist down, you were out of sight behind the bar counter. So you were able to lay a gentle hand on your belly, a little more round after eating some of Josh’s finger foods. You realized that, apparently, holding your belly was a new go-to to gain peace in a situation.

Because, sad as you were over the woman he’d arrived with, you were able to ground yourself with the hand on your stomach.

This was going to happen anyway. . . Surely. You two weren’t meant for each other, and you were bound to see him with another woman again after you ended things with him. And you were not shocked at all that it was Maya with him tonight. Just as Elsie and Josh had been doing, they started strolling the room, talking to the other party-goers. His smile, so bright to lighten up that dark room. . . The occasional laugh he’d give in response to someone that you wished so badly to hear, but just watch instead . . .

You could do this. You could watch him from where you were. Even if she was with him every step of the way, you could admire him. Wistfully. Wantingly. Longingly. . .

But what you saw next was the worst thing you’d seen between them so far.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. When he wrapped an arm behind her. . . But what made your heart lull was seeing him give her ass a squeeze through the material of her (cheap nylon, off-the-costume-rack) pirate dress.

God, no. Unshed tears pricked your eyes. Your chest felt heavy.

Before you could watch any longer, you made your way over to the cabinet next to the oven. You’d hid your phone so as not to get it mixed up with any others. You’d assumed it was a risk when the multiple people filed in at the beginning of the party.

You averted your gaze from anywhere near where you’d last seen Jake. Then, found a place on the countertop to perch yourself, getting comfortable (and carefully situating your legs to not reveal anything).

Now was the perfect time to start perusing those apps. . .

-🌼🌼🌼-

Elsie had migrated to be next to you for the latter portion of the evening, both of you feeling the hyperactivity of the crowd grating on your anxious nerves.

You’d sat, secluded for hours. Talked about nothing and everything. Shared TikToks. Laughed at ridiculous things that no one else would get. . .But time with her made you that much more ready to tell her of your predicament. Even if her advice pissed you off, you still felt like you needed it. If only to round out the massive, intricate equation your life had become. You could use her input as a multiple fucking choice answer choice.

When it had gotten long enough that she hadn’t seen Josh, she had to get her fix and he walked off to find him.

And you decided you were done sitting on the couch, crammed against the wall. You just wanted to go to sleep. You’d kept your phone on hand when you’d come to sit with her, and the time on your screen was reinforcing your want for your comfy bed. You’d been yawning for the past couple of hours off and on, and finally reached the point of your eyes closing where you sat at the back of the party.

For the past couple of weeks, you’d been going to sleep much, much earlier than 11 p.m.

After you’d spent a lot of time reading about the first trimester on those (extremely helpful) apps, you now knew the newfound tiredness was most likely due to a baby growing healthily inside of you, using your energy to thrive. Providing life for yourself and another was exhausting work.

You couldn’t find Elsie and Josh in the mass of people, so you just decided to excuse yourself quietly to bed. Sammy and Danny, the only ones to get a goodbye and goodnight from you as you quickly passed by them. You were not about to look for Jake.

Stevie meowed when you entered your room, as if greeting you. She’d stayed in your bedroom with her necessities so she wouldn’t get overly anxious with the crowds, since that was the last thing you wanted for her. You’d greeted her back as you shut the door behind you, almost falling asleep against the back of the door.

But your costume had become way too uncomfortable and constricting for that to be an option.

You started stripping yourself of it, sighing as your chest hit the cool air of your room. Then, you slipped back into your heavenly sweats. No bra of any kind constricting your chest. Praises fucking be. You felt soft and cozy in your baggy sweats and you could fall asleep right there. Standing up. In the middle of your room.

Though, your face was still heavy with makeup, and you weren’t going to sleep with that on your skin to possibly clog your pores. Another thing you’d learnt from your apps was that pregnant women easily broke out with hormonal acne, and you weren’t about to test any of the waters to give yourself more acne. You were already lacking enough self confidence, and you didn’t need to add a broken out face to the mix.

When you went to grab your makeup wipes from your vanity (no time for the whole face routine tonight– you were too tired), you noticed the package was empty. And right next to all of her makeup, still splayed out, was the used cloth.

Of course Elsie had used the last one. She owed you for that one. Especially for the timing. Right now was not the time. You were going to have to go back out into the crowd to get to the bathroom for your new package. Thus, getting overstimulated all over again when all you wanted was to crash hard in your bed.

But when you got to your bathroom, your search for makeup wipes came up dry. And then you remembered that your last trip to the store had been weeks ago. The same day where you left with two packages of tests triple bagged. And that day, by the time you got to the toiletries section, your brain had been infiltrated by the memory that got you where you were now. You hadn’t remembered to get a new pack of remover wipes.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, angry that you now had to use Micellar water and dirty a washcloth and . . .ugh.

By the time you’d spent forever doing that, you figured you might as well do your full nighttime routine on your face.

Twenty minutes later, you were leaving the bathroom, face feeling incredibly fresh. But the way the final step cooled your face, made you feel more awake than before. So, after tossing your hair into a messy bun, you slipped past the people who were still taking up space in your home, avoiding any and all eye contact, to get a cup of water, a Cosmic Brownie, and a bowl of pickles.

Just as you thought you’d figured out a way to carry it all to your room, you ended up dropping the box of brownies, each package falling out of the box, all over the floor (one didn’t sound like enough once you’d made it to the kitchen). The clatter of plastic made you want to cry, honestly. And a few tears hit your hand as you sat the pickles and water on the counter.

I just want to eat and go to sleep, you thought, getting on your hands and knees to pick up the brownies.

But before you could, a hand was stopping you, bending down to do it himself. Confused, you stood back up, not questioning the help in your state. And when you looked to see who the helper was, you bit your lip to try and keep the new tears at bay. Stupid hormones.

Your heart leapt at Jake. Pirate costume and all, on the floor, putting the last couple of packages back in the box.

When he stood up, his eyes were glassy like he’d been drinking. You gave them one glance and then looked at the box, not letting your eyes meet his.

He’d probably forget about this, you thought, a little sad by that. He probably doesn’t even want to be doing this right now and his drunkenness is making him move without thinking.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, going to grab the box from him. But he pulled it back so you couldn’t. You tried again, but he pressed it to his chest, out of your reach. “Give me the box?” You requested, in question. Your brow wrinkled, unsure why he was doing this.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice wavy, softly demanding.

. . .and slightly British? You would have laughed if circumstances were different.

Yeah, his voice definitely indicated he wasn’t sober.

But, you did as he asked, your craving made you follow his instructions without hesitation.

Mistake, mistake, mistake. Abort mission.

You hadn’t been given the opportunity to look into his eyes for so long. And doing it now made your airways constrict. The eyes that convinced you to turn around today. The same beautiful brown eyes you wanted your baby to have.

Wanting to ignore the way your heartbeat was literally washing through your ears, you tried to speak.

“Why?” You asked, your question weak, but voice clear of emotion. Thank God.

His gaze was open, eyes a little lost thanks to his inebriation. “You looked fucking beautiful tonight,” he lazed, tone serious. He glanced down at your body, just briefly. “Still do. Always do.”

Your breath went shallow at his words. He didn’t mean this. He was drunk. You could’ve sworn he hadn’t been looking at you. He wouldn’t; Maya had been with him all night. Right?

“Thanks,” you choked out. You averted your gaze from his again, your heart couldn’t take this. “Can I have my brownies now?”

You saw them move in your direction, and grasped the box as soon as it was in front of you. Gathering up the water, bowl, and box with much more ease this time. Strategy.

“D’you want my help?” he offered, voice still iffy, but tone sweet and sincere.

Shaking your head, you flashed your eyes at him once more. Just one more look.

“No, I can make it,” you affirmed, wanting to say the opposite. Yes, please. Stay with me. “But thank you.”

He mimicked your actions, shook his head as he furrowed his brow. “Yeah, yeah,” his eyes held yours. You couldn’t look away. He smiled shakily, as if telling a joke. “I’m drunk.”

You giggled in spite of it all. “I know.”

And then he was letting you move past him, his cologne coming off of him in the most delicious waves. . . fuck.

Before you could totally get away, though, he lightly grabbed your arm. You were stuck in a trance. His touch, burning, even through your sweatshirt. The way he smelled, exactly what your senses needed.

You peered up at him through your lashes, wondering. “What?”

He seemed to get lost in your stare for a second, forgetting what he wanted to say. Alcohol could do that to a person.

But then he was moving towards you. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. What was he. . .? You couldn’t move. Then, he was dipping his lips to be right above your ear. Holy fuck. More. His voice was low and raspy when he whispered. “Your tits looked fucking incredible tonight.” Heat flushed in your cheeks, all the way down to the pit of your stomach and to your throbbing heat. God. “That fuckin’ tiny excuse for a shirt barely held them in.”

God-fucking-damn.

You could feel your nipples hardening, to match the rest of your body. You could feel them tight and hard, begging for his touch. But he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. He didn’t want that.

He. Was. Drunk.

Gaining what bearings you could, still blushing, you gave him a small grin, eyes innocent and at his mercy. “Thanks, Jake.”

And then you were booking it out of that kitchen. Quickly as you could, to the safety of your room and the vibrator you kept in your nightstand.

In an embarrassing amount of time, you were reaching the peak you so desperately needed. . . Every quiver from the tiny instrument, his wet tongue. Your toes curled as you found release, moaning his name loudly, but against your pillow to muffle the sound.

Then you tucked it back in your nightstand, the food forgotten as you let yourself fall into a deep sleep, holding the soft bump of your belly.

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i think "You're All I Need To Get By" is their song..... hm? do you think this baby might be the magic key? or do you think things are only going to get worse? 🤔🤔

also, who can guess what the girls were for Halloween? 🪓

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts!

Fill this form out if you'd like to join my taglist! <3

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake fic #jake kiszka #covet #my fics

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psychobind · 4 months

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THINGS DONE WHILE SPARRING/FIGHTING

@asheanon sent: 🤔 Mmm… Sal's tricky. She avoids combat like the plague, but it'd be pretty cool to find her in a situation where she might Fite. Maybe. Gotta get her to protecc because she protecc. Protecc most likely. So, maybe...

[ COVER ]: sender lunges forward to throw their body over the receiver and shield them from harm during a fight.

and/or [ DRAG ]: sender physically drags or carries the receiver away from a fight.

(She would carry. Princess carry. Confession: I actually love this one. Hahaha! This is something she actually does with everyone. No discretion. Everyone is princess carried, if a situation calls for carrying the person away. And it's always a treat to see her do this with someone larger/stronger-looking than her.)

:: :: The final vision that graced his sight before the engulfing waters blurred his perception was indistinct-- a flash of brilliance? A woman's silhouette? Some ethereal being?

Wagnas surrendered his eyes to closure. There would be ample time for contemplation, after all, once his consciousness reassembled itself. Presently, he concentrated on the act of exhaling, his final breath ascending in a string of bubbles, a tranquil ascent as he descended into the depths. This was not his inaugural meeting with drowning. And certainly, it was unlikely to be his final encounter with the watery abyss...

...

...His thoughts dissolved into nothingness.

And then, as though within the span of a second, his consciousness rekindled.

Wagnas awoke, not amidst the warm, humid embrace of their corporeal core, but in a state of complete formation. Chilled. Still damp. As his awareness crept back, he became aware of the silk fabric of his robe adhering to his flesh, and that he was being transported. His lungs ached, yearning for air, his attempt at inhaling fractured by a cough filled with river water. His eyes, heavy and bleary, fluttered open to a hazy visage hovering over him, only to close once more under the strain. It appeared he had either been cast ashore, or plucked directly from the river's embrace.

This salvation was undeserved. His folly lay in shunning sleep for fleeting pleasures, allowing his mortal vessel to succumb to weariness. To be vanquished into the river's grasp amidst combat was far from... Heroic.

#:: v :: endless journey.#so I remember a meme I posted a while back and never answered #about falling into water #wagnas is not a swimmer... he sinks like a dhampir #And I thought that was a simple way to have her princess carry him away~#also he is like 6'1 idk how tall she is but his robes are probably dragging on the floor haha...#hes not going to be happy about being rescued but whatever he can get over it #asheanon

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eupheme · 1 year

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IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE | part v: epilogue

[masterlist]

joel miller x f!reader

Rated E - 5k

Tags: brief canon-divergence, reader is mid/late 30s+, canon-typical violence / mention of guns, mentions of anxiety, very vague mentions of early TLOU2 content, mild manipulation, protected piv

A/N - I had a couple ao3 comments asking about an epilogue/sequel, so I thought it would be fun to write out an (optional) epilogue of how I see their story ending 💕

And perhaps… it’s time to take a journey of your own.

EPILOGUE

Your fingers spread wide, as you hold them up near your shoulders. The exhaustion setting in, a tremble in your limbs as your eyes fix on the group some yards away in front of you.

Two on horseback - catching up from the scouts that had surprised you, when you had stepped into the wooded clearing. Four others on foot, two with their guns raised. A snarling dog with raised hackles barely held back on a leash.

Too tired to notice, to be careful. Now, you regret it, feeling the press of your own rifle as it nudges against the small of your back.

Forcibly ripped from you by a stocky, young man - sneaking up to disarm you as the other had approached from the front.

Your eyes stay fixed on the group now - darting between each of them as the silence lingers.

Five hundred fucking miles.

Give or take another dozen or so - lost trails and endless diversions. Avoiding the large cities and the QZs, as you took your time in the woods instead.

So close to where you were headed.

It has you wondering if you had left a little sooner - moved a little faster - if you could have made it.

You had spent a long time thinking about it. The offer, spoken on that walk. Written on the bit of paper, tucked so carefully into the book.

Telling yourself you'd be a fool to follow after him, when you saw the distance. Plotting it out on that worn map, now tucked into your back pocket.

Nothing more than wishful thinking. A dream.

There isn't such a thing as second chances any more.

But they had been one, hadn't they?

A reminder of how good things could be. That there were still things worth pursuing.

Only for your thoughts to turn on a time, telling yourself that staying there - in that small, remote cabin - was safe.

Another turn.

Wondering - was that safety worth it, now that you know what was out there?

You resist. Telling yourself that you'll stay. But you find yourself unable to help your own slow packing.

Categorizing wants and needs as the days pass in your home. Figuring out what you could bring with you. What could be left behind, to help someone else.

It was deep into spring, when something shifted. The cold winter melted into something new and promising - a warm breeze on your face as you stood on the porch.

You'd played it safe too long. Clung onto the remnants of before, spent enough time dwelling on ghosts. Knowing now that it was regret that ate at you, though it had taken until then to realize it.

Realizing it was never the journey that was holding you back, not really. Even with your idleness you had still survived before the cabin. Was brave enough to wander out - always coming back home.

It was opening yourself up again, that scared you. Leaving the familiar to follow in the footsteps of another, like you had before.

Trusting that this time, they won’t leave you.

The heavy bag hoisted on your shoulder, as you gave the cabin a final look. Everything tidy, anything personal taken with you or disposed of. Unable to bear the thought of those memories in the attic being looted, taken by someone undeserving.

The cabin is left though - waiting to welcome the next. You think there will be another. That the warmth and generosity that's been gifted here has become part of the foundation - seeping in.

A final touch to the horseshoe above the door. Saying goodbye.

Setting out, following the little marks you had scratched onto the map.

The days started to pass. You thought you had been set, from your patrols. But the full days on the road had left you exhausted.

Grateful that your indecision had drawn out into warmer days - not being able to imagine hiking through the cold.

That had you thinking of them often. Hoping, wishing, that they were okay. Daydreaming about finding them at the end of this long road - wherever it was leading you.

It takes you over a month of walking. Longer than you anticipated, even as carefully as you had planned.

Twice, you almost went back. Actually turning around and backtracking, before stopping - forcing yourself forward again.

Once, after a rainstorm that soaked you through, leaving you huddling beneath an outcropping of rock. Shivering as the night had drawn close around you, wishing you were back home - tucked beneath the quilts.

Another when you were hit with the vastness of it all. A fear that lanced through you, enough to buckle your legs. Miles of open road. So much could go wrong. The dead and raiders and a million other scenarios passing through your mind.

Both times, the thought of Joel and Ellie persisting brought courage back into your limbs. Remembering how far they had come.

Thousands of miles, not just hundreds.

If they could do it, so could you.

He wouldn’t have offered, if it hadn’t been worth it.

And, you trust him.

You trust Joel.

———

A sharp voice brings you back.

The bark of a question that you miss, blinking as you look down the barrel of the rifle pointed at you.

The man frowns, the barrel dipping and shifting in his arms as your eyes fix on him.

"State your business." He repeats firmly, leaving no room for anything else.

They haven't fired yet, which is more than you could say about some of the travelers you've met. Cautious, even with their numbers. Moving as a unit, almost as if they were part of a community.

And, maybe they were. Maybe you weren't as far off as you had thought.

"Jackson." You answer - voice coming out cracked and rough, from lack of use, "I am heading there. To meet someone."

Looks are exchanged, at your answer. Further confirmation, in a way.

A jolt going up your spine at the way the frown increases, the way the rifle adjusts in his grip again. The shifting of the others, an eerie, tight stillness in their posture - offset by the barking of the dog, the standing hooves of the horses.

"Give me a name."

The hand of another twitches towards their belt, the movement towards the holster subtle. You don't want to reach for your own hidden at your hip, not with these numbers. But if you have to, you will.

“Tommy.” You manage, through the pounding of your heart, “I’m looking for Tommy. I have a letter-"

The words die off, as the fingers close around the handle. A true silence lingering then, at the name.

Eyes flicking unconsciously towards one of the mounted riders - their face shadowed by the wide brim of an copper-colored Steton.

After a long moment, his head tilts back. A streak of sunlight passing over his face as he nudges his horse towards - breaking the rank to move in front of you. The thudding of his boots as he unmounts, bringing himself closer to eye-level.

A tightness in your chest, as you finally get a good look at him. You can see Joel in his face. It's in the set of his jaw, that same way they both frown.

A hand extended with a gruff command, "Show me."

Your own move slowly, to the breast pocket of your coat - the one next to your heart. The letter has been read a hundred times. The paper now worn and creased at the edges, the folded lines pressed deep.

Flimsy, as you offer it out for him to take.

His eyes scan the page, passing over the familiar handwriting. Lingering on the end, like you thought that they might.

They dart up to yours. Less suspicion and more curiosity now - the sharp frown exchanged for eyebrows that lift.

The smallest pull beneath his dark mustache, as his eyes flick over you for a second, assessing. Hands bracing on his hips in a way that feels so familiar that it aches.

"I'm Tommy." He tells you after a moment - as that hand is offered out again.

"I know." You offer a small smile as you take it this time - his hand strong in yours as he shakes it. As you tell him your own name.

A shallow jerk of his head, back towards the path that you'd been following.

“Think you better come with us. Sounds like we got ourselves a bit of acquainting to do.”

-----

Holy shit.

It's all you can think about - that word bouncing around in your mind. Repeating.

It had taken an hour to get to Jackson, you could feel the eyes boring into your back as you were crowded up to the front of the pack. Offered Tommy's horse, but you said you'd walk. Not wanting that extra attention.

But you could tell they were listening, when Tommy had asked you how you knew Joel.

"He, uh, stayed with me. For some time, over the winter." You had told him, cautious of your words.

You had felt protective of Ellie. Certain that Tommy might know about her, but neither one had never mentioned Joel’s brother before the letter.

It had also made you wonder if they had made it back. If they’d believe you, even with the note.

He nodded then, just a tiny thing. His next words had surprised you, "You're the girl from Colorado."

Your eyed flick to his, "Uh, yeah. I am."

Tommy smiled then. It seemed to come so much easier for him than it did for his brother. Brightening his face, making him look years younger, "Reckon he'll be pleased to hear you arrived."

Relief flooded through you. That they had made it back. That they were okay.

And god, you had hoped so. Old thoughts came back - hoping it wasn't just an idle offer. All those affections waning over time. Worrying he might not have wanted anything to do with you, anymore.

You were unable to help taking the bait, "Did he give you that impression?"

"He hasn't mentioned you much." Tommy had shrugged, "Lot of what I've heard was from Ellie.

A silence had come, a little pit forming in your stomach. But then, a kindness had come.

"But he's my brother, and well... I know him."

It had flowed into you. Wrapping around your heart and tying your stomach in knots. Making your steps feel lighter, on that last leg of your journey.

Now - the city looms up in front of you. The gates opening, beckoning you in.

In all your imaginings, you hadn't expected there to be a whole fucking town waiting for you.

A real one.

A running wooden wall, wrapping around a tucked-away town. Fields of farmland and the glint of a greenhouse. People filling the streets, actually looking happy.

When you hear there's hot, running water - you feel like you could weep.

Joel hadn't been lying, when he said there was more out there.

You hadn't known something like this had existed, anymore.

It’s hard to pay attention, as you’re led through the streets. Wanting to take everything in - each stall, every house. Not just horses, but farm animals. An expanse of grass peppered with cows, in shades of white and black and brown.

Almost tripping over your feet, as you follow Tommy inside the large house - tucked one road off the main street.

There’s a woman standing inside at the top of the wooden stairs. Seeming waiting for you, a beckoning of her arm that extends to you, once you reach the top.

“Maria Miller,” She tells you, with a smile. One you return as you make the connection, as Tommy sidles past her to grab the first door at the top of the hallway.

Beating her to the table, pulling the chair out for her to sit. A heavy sigh as she drops into it - passing over the bedroll tucked under her arm.

You can already see the way he looks at her. The worry that melts into a kind smile. The love in his eyes - fingers that brush her shoulder before he excused himself to head join the patrol again.

A silence, though not an uncomfortable one, settles in his absence.

"It's amazing what you have here." You offer.

Catching the way her hand rests on the curve of her belly, the unconscious circle it makes. Unable to help the way your eyes linger for just a moment, before darting back up and away.

Of course children had been born, in the years after. Ellie had been proof of that. But the thought of someone growing up here - in the family - brings a small smile to your face.

Another thing that you hadn’t thought was possible.

"Thank you. It's been a lot of hard work." Her answer is quiet, humble.

"You've been here a long time?" You press, taking quick stock of the room.

Forgetting how big houses can be. Used to the small cabin with its handful of rooms. Hearing the creaking of the floor from the others that lived here.

It's nice. An aged bedspread - a wooden dresser and dusty mirror. A shared bathroom down the hall. More than generous, for someone they do not know.

"From the beginning. Been about seven years now."

That pulls you back. Impressed - thinking about how difficult that must have been. The responsibility that must sit on her shoulders.

But unable to help the yawn that wracks through your body, "I'd love to hear about that, sometime."

"Sometime." She agrees. Pushing herself up slowly, with a smile, "Dinner is at six. We'll come and get you?"

The thought of sleeping that long in a real bed after those weeks on the road is a blessing. Still jittery beneath the exhaustion, unable to help your wondering as she turns to leave.

"Maria?"

You swallow, as she stands in the doorway. Looking expectant, as if she knows what you're going to ask.

"Will they be at dinner?"

Ellie, and Joel. You want to see them, even though the thought has your nerves and stomach flipping and tumbling.

Her smile is small, "I expect so."

A pause, as she considers. A seriousness clouding her face, the words spoken so carefully.

"Do you know Joel well?” Maria asks, as her eyes narrow slightly, “Did he tell you much about himself?"

The way she says it sends up an alarm. Catching on to the way she looks at you. Not quite concerned, but knowing. A fingertip scratching at paint, to see how thick the layer is.

You wonder if it's a warning. A caution.

But the world had turned grey a long time ago. Leaving no one untouched, not even yourself. You were in no place to condemn him.

"He stayed with me for a while." You meet her gaze as you sit on the bed, pulling a leg up. Resting an arm across your knee, "He never showed me anything but kindness."

For a second, it feels like she examines you. But it's a truthful answer - that despite the rocky meeting and his gruff demeanor, he had been good to you.

Tommy had bragged about her on the way back. You know a little bit and pieces about her past, and it gives you the feeling that once - she was very good at her job.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that."

The smile comes back, as her hand closes around the doorknob, "I'll let you rest.”

You’re asleep in moments.

———

It feels unreal.

Not that you faced discomfort in your cabin - but the eating hall is something else. Surrounding you with warm wood walls, strings of soft yellow lights strung across the ceiling.

Real electricity. You had marveled at it - flicking the lights in your bathroom back and forth, before you stepped under the spray of a scalding-hot shower. Your first in years.

Scrubbed clean, as you sit. Tables covered with checkered tablecloth. The murmurs of conversations - people and families filling the space.

A community.

You hadn't realized how much you missed it. Thought you had been content with that tucked away cabin. And you had - you just hadn't realized that empty feeling in your chest, as the time slowly passed.

Not until now.

That thought has you unable to keep your eyes flicking to the other tables, as you eat. Watching and waiting.

They'd brought you over early - laden your plate with fresh vegetables and baked bread. It had taken all your self-control to slow down, to not shovel everything into your mouth with bare hands.

Tommy's lips twitch when you finally sink back in your chair - your fork clattering on the ceramic. Plate all but licked clean, after your days on the road.

He smiles so much easier than Joel. You don't mean to look at him so much but it's so fascinating to see the same expressions flicker across his face. To imagine Joel younger, because Tommy certainly has to be. Wondering if he had ever grown his hair so long, laughed as often.

The thought feels.. not quite right.

That’s not the person you followed here.

Maria leaves the two of you alone for a moment, when she sees someone she's been meaning to talk to. It's in that moment that he leans towards you, an elbow pressing into the tabletop.

"Hey." He begins, in the same tone of voice Maria had used earlier. That skittish feeling flickers again, as your fingers press into the sticky, plastic tablecloth.

"I told my brother you were here. You're, uh, not gonna tell him, are you? Mike shouldn't have been so rough when we found you.”

There's still a throb in your shoulder and fingers from the way the man had twisted the rifle away from you, tearing it from your grip.

Definitely Joel's younger brother. Reminding you of your own family so much that it aches for a moment.

"Nah," Your smile is small, "I get it. Your smile is small. Gotta protect the ones you love, right?"

There's an unconscious way that his eyes flit to his wife that has you softening. His smile is genuine when he turns back, a flicker of relief across his face.

"Exactly. Thank you."

You're half-standing soon after to turn your plate in, an excuse to take a full glance around the room, when something - someone - crashes into you.

An expletive as the world tilts, as your hip jams against the table. Your hands grasping at the edge, barely keeping yourself upright.

"Holy fucking shit!" They cry, as arms crush around your ribs.

Your arm wraps around her, the tightness in your chest and throat having only a little to do with your inability to breathe.

She pulls away quickly when she remembers where she is, almost embarrassed. Still so much a teenager, fingers twisting as she talks a mile a minute.

"I knew something was up when Joel told me to meet him here. But I had no idea it was you! When did you get here?"

His name has your eyes lifting, glancing back the way she came. Where he lingers at the far end of the table - silent, as his fingers wrap tightly around the top rail of the chair. Two plates abandoned, kernels of corn spilling across the surface when Ellie had spotted you.

Joel looks at you like he's not quite sure you're real.

Like if he was anywhere else, he'd be closing that gap - hands cupping your jaw, tilting your mouth up to meet his.

The look of someone holding himself back.

"Just got in." You tell her, breathlessly. Smiling, as you sink back into your chair - Ellie pulling up the one right next to you.

Reaching for the plate that Joel passes your way, as he sinks into the chair next to Tommy - whose eyes are eagerly darting between the two of you.

“I didn’t think we’d ever see you again.” Ellie’s tone is accusing, as she loads up her fork, "You didn't tell us goodbye when we left."

"Ellie." Joel admonishes - knowing that it was a decision he had pushed for. Purposely getting up early, vetoing her when she has realized his intent.

There's another twinge of regret. But you don't have to feel that way again. Your answer comes slowly, with a smile.

"Well that's because it wasn't, right? I knew I'd see you again."

She gives a small, rolled-eye smile - one you remember well. Now that the initial excitement has ebbed, you get the feeling that she seems older. Wiser, maybe - some of her expressive energy subdued.

Maybe you're looking too hard.

It makes you wonder what happened, after they had left. If it was successful. A question heavy on your tongue - but you swallow it, saving it for later.

The space is filled with stories of your journey there. How you have a new appreciation of how far they walked, exaggerating the woes of your journey. How you couldn't wait to sleep in a real bed - a real house - tonight.

"Yeah, we’ve got the best place. You’re gonna stay with us, right?" They way she says it doesn't sound like a question, even though it is.

Oh. You hadn't really thought about it.

Well, you had - little fantasies during those long days on the road. Not knowing what to expect at the end, projecting memories of all three of you, curling up on the couch in front of the fire.

Unable to help glancing towards Joel, who is still giving you that look, his food still untouched. Seeming to not hear her question, leaving you to fend for yourself.

"Well, Maria and Tommy have a room set up for me already," You hedge, before you pull your eyes away to turn towards Ellie, "Think I'll probably be staying there."

She looks disappointed, nose wrinkling with confusion. Tommy is no help at all, leaning back in his chair, an arm slung across the back of his brothers.

"Well," Ellie picks at her food, nudging a piece of roll across her plate, "You gotta at least come and see it."

You smile.

"I'd really like that."

———

Ellie ditches you in the short space between the detached garage and the beige, two story house.

A sense of pride at showing you the plans for her own space - the first time she’d had one to call her own. Joel’s hand jammed in his jeans pocket as she explains it’s a still while off, still collecting the pieces.

But there was already a worn couch out there - a table scattered with graphite drawings. The old canvas bookbag that you recognize from the cabin, resting on its side as it’s contents spill out.

Drawn away by a girl and a boy her age when you get back outside - calling out to her as they pass by. Reminding her of a movie night that been planned.

A movie night.

The normalcy of it strikes you, as she looks to Joel before he’s nodding, and she’s running off.

His cupped-hand call after her that “he’ll come pick her up” as she waves a hand - still worrying, even in a place as safe as this.

The thought makes you smile, as he walks you to the door. A hand resting against the small of your back, like a gentleman, as the wooden porch creaks under your steps.

It feels like the way a date could have felt, a lifetime ago. Walking you home, that moment of nervous hovering just outside the front door, beneath the golden light.

You can’t help but feel nervous, now. A thrill at the touch of his hand, but Joel still hasn’t said much to you.

Not knowing where you stand, in this new world.

Suddenly desperate, to drag this moment out.

Once you step inside, there’s only so many rooms you can see before you’ll be back in the apartment down the street.

His hand jams in his pocket, searching for his keys.

“Joel,” You ask - his name feeling sweet on your tongue. Pulling a question to the surface that you’ve had for ages, saving it until you were alone, “Did they find a cure?”

He doesn’t look at you for a long second. Staring somewhere above your shoulder, before his gaze slowly drags to your face.

Where it tips up towards him, bathed in the bare bulb of porch light. His hand finds you then, like you had imagined. Like he had wanted to do, the second he had seen you from across the room.

Not wanting to believe that you really had come, until he had seen it himself.

You fold so easily. It feels like acceptance, as his head lowers. His eyes fix on yours - watching for any hint that things have changed in the time that has passed.

Seeing how your eyes flutter shut, the way your lips part for him. Waiting.

Distracting you terribly when his mouth finally presses to yours. A little hitch in your breath at the familiar warmth, the way it skitters down your spine to pool low in your belly.

Making you forget all about the question that he’s been dreading. That he hoped you had forgotten about.

That he hopes he’ll never have to answer.

The kiss awakens something in you - his body pressing against yours as your arms wrap around his neck. Fingers fumbling with the keys, managing to fit it into the lock just as his tongue sweeps into your mouth.

An arm loops around your waist as the door gives way behind you - legs moving with yours as he walks you backwards over the threshold.

Your fingers tugging eagerly at his shirt, his thumbing at the button of your jeans.

Never making it past the living room. The coffee scraping against the floor as his foot bumps it, as he spins you in front of him.

Dropping onto worn the sofa first, with its faded pale pattern. Eyes blown dark and burning as you stand breathless between his thighs. Kicking off your boots, shoving your jeans down your legs.

Strong hands that tug you onto his lap, soon after.

Finding each other again as his hips rock up into yours, letting you grind against the stiff denim. You’ve been apart longer than you’ve know him, but your body still remembers.

It feels novel to be somewhere so open like this - not tucked away behind a closed door, in a small room.

The flicker of pleasure in your belly igniting into a flame, as he peels off your sweatshirt. Leaving it to pool on the floor, as your fingers fist in the fabric of his flannel shirt.

“Joel.” You moan, against his neck, “I need-“

He groans, hips lifting when you reach for his belt. Knowing - feeling it too. Letting you drawn him out, flushed and heavy in your palm as your fingers wrap around his length.

Your clothed cunt rocking against his cock, where it curves up towards his belly. His own fingers wandering, slipping beneath the elastic of your underwear, sliding against slick, wet skin.

“Fuck, darlin’.” He grits out, finding your clit easily. Like he’s never forgotten, as his fingers circle like they used to.

It takes no time at all before you’re dripping. Aching with anticipation, with the time that has passed. Pleasure was never a priority after he left, and it feels like the weeks of denial have built to a breaking point.

So close to the cusp when you nudge his fingers aside to tug down your underwear. Wanting him inside you when you come, begging him for his cock as your words echo throughout the empty house.

A bitten back groan as he paws through a bag half-lying beneath the couch. His own from the cabin, finding a pocket and tugging out the foil packet inside. Rolling the latex over his length before his hands grip at your hips. Lifting you over his cock.

Letting you drop down.

Your groan is loud - his name a sharp, broken warble as he fills you. Aware enough through the haze of pleasure to slap a hand over your mouth, stifling the sound out of habit.

“None of that, now.” He husks, a hand wrapping around your wrist.

Tugging it down as his hips jerk up, pressing himself deeper into you. Dragging against your walls as another whimper comes.

“Just us, sweetheart.” Joel coaxes. Helping you set a rhythm as you begin to bounce on his cock, “Been waiting to hear how you sound.”

How you moan his name, when he fucks you. Not having to hold back as he tugs you down when you rise. The filthy slap of skin meeting skin, a hissed groan when your mouth meets his again.

Every single sound.

Feeling how you clench around him, the erratic flex of your hips beneath his hand. Fingers that drift down to pet at your clit, pulling back to run his nose along your throat.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.

Voice slow as smooth, just like you remember. Louder than he usually is, his encouragement no longer a muted whisper.

“Wanna hear you when you come for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” You pant - your movements turning into a messy grind now. “Oh my god, Joel. I’m so close-”

The old couch squeaks as he takes over, thrusting up into you, in time with his fingers. Again and again as the pressure builds and builds, the words falling from your lips soon twisting into a drawn-out cry.

“Christ, that’s my girl.”

You’re barely able to hear him over the pitch of your voice, sounding muted to your own ears as the pleasure crashes into you. Fingers pinching onto his shoulders so tightly that he grunts, grinding his cock deep so he can feel the tight pulse of your orgasm.

But the words echo, with each sharp exhale of your breath. Clinging to them and him, as he follows so soon after you - his head tipping back as he groans.

Just as desperate as you were, underneath it all. So much hope forged in the script of that letter. Days spent wondering if you’d even see it.

Burying it all down, like he always did.

Strong arms wrap tightly around you, as you come back down. As the words still repeat in your mind.

My girl. My girl. My girl.

———

The couch is a little narrow, even with your leg thrown over his hip. Eyes closed as you listen to the muted bustle outside, as you inhale the familiar scent you’re come to know so well.

Head tilting so you can hear his heart instead, thrumming loudly against your ear. A hand stroking down your back, slipping beneath the sweatshirt you tugged back on.

Unable to help the urge of touching bare skin.

His heart kicks up a beat. The briefest moment before there’s the low rumble of his voice.

“Ellie’s idea. It ain’t a bad one.”

It has you blinking - sleepy from pleasure. From the warm comfort that being wrapped in him brings.

“Wouldn’t be all that different than before. More room, even.”

A sudden jolt, as you realize what he’s asking. An alertness rushing through you as you push yourself up to peer down at him.

Eyes scanning his, to see if he’s serious. A tick in his jaw as his teeth clench, waiting for your answer. Hoping he doesn’t have to explain further - still not good with words.

Hoping that this is enough.

If he had still been buried in you when he had asked, you wouldn’t have thought he was serious. Drunk on pleasure, words flowing and distorted by fantasy.

But he wasn’t, now.

And this isn’t the first time he’s asked you to come with them. He has asked, and you had - traveling all these miles. Bringing yourself right here.

After all that - surely you could take one more step.

“Okay,” You tell him.

A smile curving your lips that you think just might match his, barely visible in the dim light of the room.

In your new home.

“I’ll stay.”

Okay, the end for real this time! 💖 thank you so much for reading this fic, I had so much fun writing and sharing it. Honestly feeling so honored that there was wondering if there was more, so really hope you liked this!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐀 — 𝐄𝐙𝐑𝐀 (𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓)

↳ summary: Abandoned by your prospecting crew, you team up with a fellow castaway to survive the hostile environment of Bakhroma.

↳ pairing: ezra (prospect) x f!reader

↳ [6.7k words] content: 18+ MDNI. Violence, injury, use of the name 'Little Bird' (canon), medical scenes. Fingering, riding, p in v sex, unprotected sex (ain't no condoms on a moon, girlie, but you better wrap up!), oral (f receiving). This is a @beskarbabs remaster — original post date 2021.

Ezra masterlist I| main masterlist |I join the taglist here

On your journey to Bakhroma, you'd heard an old wives' tale. Somewhat of a ghost story passed around the three-member crew during drunk nights while the long-haul space freighter floated in endless space. The unit said that other Prospectors that had survived the trip to the moon claimed that anyone who stepped foot in The Green was consumed with greed. How they were overcome with voracity upon the sight of the first Aurelac gem obtained, how Prospectors would literally kill for more of the obscure crystals, for the money that came from selling them, even just to be able to possess them for themselves. You had laughed.

How you wish you had taken them seriously.

Clutching your right arm in distress, you stumble through the foliage surrounding you on shaky legs. There's no denying the agony crawling up your arm in tendrils. You also lack oxygen, food, water and a weapon to protect yourself. Yet, you aren't as afraid of this as you are of the likelihood of other Prospectors wandering the forests. Given the traumatic event you managed to survive only hours ago, you could happily live the rest of your life without seeing another Prospector again, even if that shortened your life by force of circumstance.

Your crew, many of which you had grown up with, had stranded you on a hostile moon, of which its air was unbreathable, with little to no chance of survival. Despite the ache in the soles of your feet and the searing pain that shot through your arm with each step, this irrevocable fact left you numb: there was no accident. They'd abandoned you.

You didn't even observe when the atmosphere amongst the crew changed; it had all happened so fast. Having landed in the Drop Pod without incident and safely navigating The Green without needing to fire a single shot from the two Frontiersman guns you shared between the three of you, it had all gone so smoothly. Even the first Aurelac extraction had been successful.

If you were to pinpoint a moment you could pin the blame on for your fellow prospectors' change in attitude, it was when they first set their eyes on the crystal that they extracted from the hideous organism's membrane.

There was no way around it; everyone had become greedy. Their ridiculous ghost tale had manifested itself. They had harvested as many as was needed and then some more, and some more. The storage cases were overflowing and impossible to close without bursting at the seams. Some Aurelac gems were too big to fit into the case and had to be carried by hand.

When the time for harvesting was up, the group wandered back to the Pod. Maybe if you had been more observant and taken heed of the muted conversation, you could have avoided this mess entirely.

Upon returning to the Pod, the atmosphere had curdled. Stasya and Devi had control of the weapons since the very start of the mission, and you now found the barrels aimed at you. Stasya, the self-appointed leader of this expedition and all-around pretentious air-head, had decided upon leaving you on Bakhroma, initially claiming there wasn't enough weight capacity to take all three of you back home on the Pod.

"That is nonsensical, and you know it!" You'd insisted, wondering whether or not Stasya had secured her helmet correctly. She had to be going insane. Surely the toxic air had seeped into a crack in her armour-

"We have at least 140 pounds in Aurelac gems," she'd replied abruptly, her stance aggressive, "We need to leave you." You were in shock, bewildered by her statement. No matter how hard you tried to interpret her logic, it wasn't making sense...

"But we were cautious that we didn't pack too much equipment to ensure we had capacity for the harvest- I don't see how we could have breached the volume that we can't all make our way back safely," you contend, incredulous at her insinuation. When she didn't respond and instead aimed her Frontiersman Gun up between your eyebrows, your attention flitted to her overly-protective grip of the handle to the storage case in her free hand. Finally putting two and two together, you scoff, looking between Stasya and her power-grabbing number two, Devi.

"You are being ridiculous! We have an even split of the money we'll make from the gems-" You'd tried to plead for your life, well aware that abandonment on The Green was a definite death sentence. Devi interrupted.

"We get a much bigger cut if you're not involved," he pointed out rather callously. These two crew members, your friends, had been tainted by the very same greed they had forewarned in their ghost stories, passed on by other Prospectors, and were willing to sacrifice you for a shot at blood money.

Maybe it was the pressure of the situation, the rising panic in your stomach, but time seemed to slow down as the gravity of their plan for you began to set in. That same alarm sent you into fight mode.

It had all happened in what felt like a microsecond. Charging at Devi, you grabbed the gun in his hand with both of your own in a reckless attempt to foil their plan and turn the tables. You grit your teeth, straining at the exertion it took to try to pry his fingers from the weapon. Devi panicked, the gun slipping from his grip, and he began screaming at Stasya to do something.

She did.

She shot you in the arm, causing you to drop to your knees with a cry as you pawed at your wound with your palm. It burned white-hot, and you almost doubled over at how the pain pulsed from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Your vision had begun to blacken around the edges through the blurriness of the pained tears that welled in your eyes. Yet, despite your obvious distress, your agonising cries fell on deaf ears. Aiming his now secured gun at your head, Devi breathed heavily as he attempted to ease the shudder that wracked his body.

Adrenaline had coursed through you in your body's subconscious effort to numb the pain, and you rocked your torso backwards and forwards, battling the onset of unconsciousness. Through your astounding agony and the way your jaw throbbed from the strain of gritting your teeth as an anchor to ground you to reality, you'd managed to make sense of Stasya's final address to you.

"You should be grateful. We're allowing you to live. It's up to you whether or not you make an effort." She muses before turning on her heel and leaving you on the muddied floor of The Green, Devi following quickly behind her.

✰

You can't recall how long you've been staggering through the forests by yourself in your endeavour to find water. It's already hot in The Green, and your adrenaline spikes have caused you to sweat even more and edge you further towards dehydration, to the point your throat feels like sandpaper whenever you swallow. Whatever liquids you had drunk before leaving the Pod have now seeped through your pores, making your undersuit stick uncomfortably to your hot skin and your wound burns from the salt of your sweat.

Having lost all sense of direction some time ago, whether that was due to the ever-changing forest line or the pit of emptiness that sat in your stomach that growled in protest at the lack of nutrition in return for your bodies labour to trek across this forsaken moon, you are entirely disoriented.

You can't go on much longer like this. Not only are your vitals appearing utterly grim, but breathing has become much more challenging. You're running out of oxygen, and your lungs are beginning to ache. It begins crossing the threshold of uncomfortable, morphing into something akin to pain. You clutch at the fabric at the chest of your environment suit, struggling to maintain a calm disposition while also supporting the drive of a survival instinct.

You're so tired.

Despite your best efforts, anxiety and dread rip through your body and inundate your logical brain. You can feel your chest heave, the onset of a panic attack. You lurch forward in your hysteria, rushing in your despair to find something that could help. You aren't even sure what you are looking for, only that you're looking for something that would enable you to survive.

You see the fallen tree log at your feet, but the blind panic is so overwhelming that you don't have time to react. Pain racks up your ankle and calf as you trip over the damned thing, falling forward and rolling down a muddy hill. You're falling so fast that the trees and grass look like a green and brown smudge through the glass visor of your helmet, like some arcane painting. You hold your hands out to brace yourself, to stop yourself, but the mud is slippery, and there's nothing to grab onto until you reach the very bottom and come to a stop, groaning weakly at your arm's complaints.

You sit up slowly, hands braced on either side of your hips to keep balanced as you move in the soaking, sticky mud. Checking your oxygen supply, you have enough to last at least another 5 minutes. Then you'd have to rely on the air in The Green's atmosphere. A few hours of that would kill you. By your estimations, you had an hour to find shelter and breathable ai...

The view when you look up and take in your surroundings is breathtaking. Having landed in some kind of wide open valley, you have an uninterrupted view of the horizon the forest had once concealed. You're enclosed from behind with bright yellow wildflowers, the remnants of the flora in the woods you had quite literally tumbled out of, but what lays before you now is a beige-coloured wasteland surrounded by mountains. With no camouflage to hide behind, the skyline is perfectly clear. Suspended in the sky, much to your astonishment, is a colossal moon, similarly toned neutrals to the floor beneath you, but with brilliant splashes of rusty oranges and reds.

You're not sure whether it was the inevitable feeling of your life slipping away with each passing second or whether the sight before you is washing away all of your fear, but when you finally hear the hiss of your oxygen tank running out, you don't feel frightened. Pulling the latch on your helmet, you slowly remove it, noting the sting of the spores in your throat, the tickling in your lungs that reminded you the air on this globe was toxic. If this was how you were to die, at least you had a beautiful view.

So you sit back in the grass and mud, taking in the stunning view, and let time slip away. The absence of hope wasn't as petrifying as you had imagined; it was calming. So serene. In your moment of peace, you can't feel the pain in your arm despite it worsening over the hours of wandering aimlessly. It's a simple resignation, one that doesn't take much thought at all. You would return to the stars here and become a part of this ecosystem. While hostile, it's certainly gorgeous.

You tilt your head back, observing how the celestial bodies twinkle and frame the gargantuan moon in the sky. The breeze picks up slowly, tickling the skin of your exposed face and neck while the sun soothes and warms it.

When you cast your eyes behind you, taking in the expanse of your surroundings over your shoulder, you're jolted from the tranquillity and suddenly reminded of your dire situation. Not only is there an Aurelac cluster nestled in the grass to the left of you that you had narrowly avoided hitting during your fall, but there's also a person beside it dressed in an environment suit. They're staring, Boscelot Frontiersman gun aimed straight at you. Terror rips through your veins as you attempt to scramble to your feet.

"Wait, wait!" You gasp out, eyes wide as you put your hands out to show you aren't a threat. The sun reflects from the glass visor covering their head, preventing you from seeing the person's face. The suit is old. Keeping the gun aimed at you, they point to their radio, asking you to turn it on. You crouch slowly, pointing to your helmet to alert him that you must reach for it. He seems to understand, as he has no quarrel with you picking it up and slipping it onto your head. The rustling of the trees and gentle blow of the breeze cuts out when you're sealed in, and as you connect the radio, their voice echoes in the plastic chasm.

"You won't endure much longer if you persist without oxygen." It's a man. The voice is unexpected. It's low and laced with an attractively smoky tone. So smooth, it almost flows and ebbs with each word. You've never quite heard an accent like his, the twang new to your ears.

"I won't endure if you decide to shoot me either," you point out bitterly, mocking his extravagant phraseology. You've had enough of this planet having it out for you. Your lack of luck today was becoming almost humorous, but your limited patience certainly wasn't. Did it have to torment you like this? Why couldn't it finish you off quickly and not at the hands of another Prospector, considering you had already had enough of them too?

You hear a throaty chuckle at your mocking comment, though there's no humour to that either. The stranger keeps aiming his gun at you, taking a few steps forward. The sun, still reflecting from his visor, causes you to squint when it targets your eyes, hoping to see his face before he kills you.

"It appears that your words hold venom," he begins. You sneer slightly, already past the point of no return as far as you are concerned. He lowers the barrel of his weapon ever so slightly then, and you assume he's studying you.

"It has been quite some time since I heard the sound of a fellow human's voice," he laments, taking another step forward, "How nice it is to exchange utterances with someone who understands me." Had he not stepped out of the sun and revealed his face, you would have made some snotty remark about how you can't understand him anyway, his flamboyant verbiage creating a difficulty of comprehension. However, the sun's rays don't extend this far, and the moment his face is revealed, you find yourself stunned into a shocked silence.

Given the age and weathering his environment suit shows, he's younger than you would have expected. A beige-green colour with notes of black, he had been completely hidden among the leafage. His jaw is square, covered with dark brown stubble and a moustache on his upper lip that he's miraculously maintained well, given his situation. After all, you could safely assume there wasn't an endless supply of razors on the moon.

From what you can gather from his face, his skin tone is honeyed, and his aquiline nose is subtle though the bridge does arch enough to be noticeable from this distance. He's rather handsome.

You're so focused on his face that you almost wholly overlook that his right sleeve is knotted just below his shoulder, indicating he has lost his right arm. So many questions cross your mind, but the predominant query is... How had he survived even a second in this environment with only one arm?

"Though," he continues, disrupting your evident surprise, "It would also appear you have been impaired. What happened, Little Bird?"

Discounting his name for you, you consider your answer carefully. How would he react to knowing that you had come to harvest Aurelac? Is that what he's here for too? The likelihood of him seeing you as a threat to his harvest and killing you was more feasible than letting you go. But you're running out of time, and your lungs are screaming from the intake of a toxic atmosphere. So you decide upon the truth.

"My crew-mates shot me," you admit stiffly, coughing from the strain the spores are putting your body through, "We came to harvest Aurelac, but they left me behind. Wanted to split the harvest between the two of them."

The man standing before you considers your words, his expression unreadable. You're sure he's about to shoot you. A second bout of coughs breaks the tense air, making him relax a little.

"So the other Little Birds flew the nest and left you behind," he muses, watching you struggle with a quirk of his lips. He seems to take a moment to think about something before asking you another question.

"Are you..." A pause. "Are you out of oxygen?" He asks, nodding his head to your helmet. Despite what you think is a pretty obvious answer, you nod weakly. He lowers his gun.

"Will you be able to walk? You took quite the tumble." He fucking saw that?! Just how long had he been watching you?

Again, you nod, wondering where he plans to take you, given his miniature inquisition. He slings his gun over his shoulder and holds his only palm out to you.

"Hand me your oxygen tube," He orders, curling his fingers in and out for emphasis. You stumble awkwardly on your injured ankle, grabbing the tubing and making your way over to him. Despite your better judgement, you are willing to trust him. Your urgency for aid outweighs any wariness you have for him. The man takes the tube from your palm, feeding it into his oxygen tank with ease. The surge of fresh air into your lungs and the instant relief from the burning brings you solace.

"We need to revert to my Pod. Can you make the journey?" He asks of you, commanding the situation flawlessly. You nod again, at a loss for words at this man's generosity. Finally, he turns his back to you, leading the way back up the hill you fell from. It's a struggle, especially given the slickness of the mud, but the stranger manages to help you up with little effort despite his handicap.

"You can't keep the lesion exposed to the air like that. The spores contaminate it," he continues to make conversation. You're not sure if you're thankful for the silence being broken or want him to remain quiet, but you listen to him regardless. "It will make you feel bilious, and then it poisons the tissue in the arm... Resulting in necrosis." He's far too knowledgeable in the effect of Bakhroma's spores on the limbs for you not to think that is what caused the lack of his own. It spills from your lips before you even have the chance to stop it.

"Is that what happened to yours?" You blab. He doesn't stop walking. In fact, he doesn't answer your question at all.

"I'm Ezra," is all he states, his way of an answer, you suppose. The silence following is arduous and highly discomforting, considering Ezra just told you there was a likelihood of your arm turning black and dying due to the exposure to spores. It's now that you make the decision that you wish he hadn't spoken at all.

Without a response, Ezra answers instead, amusement in his tone ringing throughout the tense atmosphere.

"You're innominate? I guess I'll stick to calling you Little Bird then," he muses, once again leaving you stunned by his use of vocabulary. He's like a walking thesaurus, spouting words you've never heard before and blindsiding you with his knowledge of language. You are so blinded that you miss his asking for your name.

At this point, the blissful feeling of reassurance hits you like a tonne of bricks. The Pod is just ahead of you now, and you have to chew on the inside of your cheeks to prevent the sting of tears of consolation from devolving into full-fledged sobs. Not five minutes ago, you had truly convinced yourself that you would die. Now safety is just within your reach.

Ezra moves forward and opens the hatch for you, helping you inside. It's not large, but it's just spacious enough for you not to feel claustrophobic. The first thing you notice is that it has been kept very neat, almost to the detriment of a homely feel, as the steel-grey walls, floor and ceiling give off an almost hospital feel. There are few of his things on display, and you just assume he keeps most of his possessions in storage.

There is one thing that catches your eye, though. Despite the almost solitary cleanliness of the Pod, there are two cot beds. One is neatly made, pillows put into place, and covers smoothed out so there are little to no wrinkles. The other is messy, with pillows askew and covers pushed into a crumpled mess in the left-hand corner of the mattress. You glance back at Ezra, who's entering the Pod from behind you.

"We need to execute the procedure to preclude infection, Little Bird. Sit down. You may remove your helmet in here too." He orders, pointing to the neatly made bed as your seat. You do as he says without question, sitting down cautiously and taking off the crash helmet as he makes his way over to storage, riffling through whatever was in the containers. You need to fight the urge to cry again with the relief of the strain of your body weight on your feet, having been wandering for hours amongst harsh terrain.

Ezra returns to you, med kit in hand. He lays it down next to you on the bed, removing his helmet now that his hand is free. Of course, you had seen his brown hair back in the valley, but you hadn't noticed the little blonde tuft at the front of his hairline. It's cute and gives him somewhat of a boyish charm. He takes this moment to give a weak smile.

"I need you to disrobe from the environment suit. Do you require my assistance?" He asks you, tilting his chin to your arm. You're so taken aback, probably overwhelmed and exhausted from the extremity of the events that had unfolded so quickly that you find yourself at a loss for words. Once again, you merely nod, accepting his offer of help gratefully.

You use the hand of your healthy left arm to pull down the zipper on the front of your environment suit, while Ezra works to pull down the shoulder from your right. He's vigilant in ensuring the collar doesn't catch on your wound on its way down. Then, working together, you unpeel the suit from your torso until it hangs around your hips, your sleeveless body glove exposing the blast to the outside of your bicep.

You decide not to look at it.

"Will it hurt?" You finally speak to him, and Ezra's eyes move to your face momentarily. He seems to consider his answer carefully while he raises his wrist to his mouth, ripping the velcro of his gloves and pulling them off with his teeth. He takes the item of clothing, laying it neatly on the bed beside the med kit.

"I'll do my utmost to keep your discomfort to a minimum," is his reply. While it does nothing to quell your initial fears, you appreciate his honesty and consideration. You look around the room, trying to find something to focus on as Ezra works through the med kit, taking out whatever he needs to start the procedure.

"Remember to breathe," he murmurs, his voice suddenly very soft. It causes chills to break out across your skin, even though the fear of pain is causing you to sweat. Inhaling slowly, you feel your lungs expand in your ribcage to the point it grows tight before exhaling again, fixating on the sensation to distract yourself from the pain.

"Hey," he whispers softly, pulling your focus back. You glance up at him through your lashes and find him gazing back at you. His expression is tense and cautious. He doesn't want to hurt you, yet the inevitability traps a sense of trepidation between you. Deep-rooted panic settles in the pit of your stomach, making your blood rush through your veins quicker.

"Look me in the eyes," he takes your chin now, holding it a little tighter with his fingertips to ground you. Your eyes probably gave away your internal panic.

You nod weakly, looking to catch his eyes and-

And time just stops.

It's humiliating; you know you would be blushing if you said it aloud. His irises are a deep and warm earthy-brown, as though Ezra had spent so much time amidst the rich soils and thick mud here that it had almost become a part of him. Looking into those eyes, you felt like you were orbiting around him. Maybe the spores had left you with irreversible brain damage from the very little time that you had your helmet off in the valley, or perhaps he was quite possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen.

Once he notes that you're holding his gaze and breathing steadily, he sets to work. You hear him pick up something from the kit, a top popping from it. He hesitates for a moment but holds your gaze still.

"This will sting," he admits. There's a splash of a lukewarm liquid before the burning starts. You grit your teeth, straining against the scorching sensation. It prickles, an intense itching following that is so bad you feel your toes curl in your leather boots. Yet, you maintain eye contact. You cling to the empathy that's there and appreciate his understanding.

He lays down the tube, eyes flicking down for just a moment to pick up an item. A Patch Gun. Ezra stares back at you, pulling the stopper with his teeth and lining up the nosel with the wound.

"Breathe in," he commands, and you do. You breathe so hard and fast that your sternum aches with the strain. The sound of medicated foam being released from the Patch Gun reaches your ears before the pain does. When it hits you, you release the air in your lungs with a strained whine, squeezing your eyes shut as the agony rips through you. Like the initial wound, it seers white hot, spiralling down your arm to your fingertips and up your neck muscles. Your jaw is tight, tears springing to your eyes.

"Good girl," Ezra soothes you, pulling the patch gun away from your arm. Leaning back into the searing torment, you moan as he helps you to lay back against the mattress to ride out the peak. It's not long until the intensity slowly ebbs away until you're blinking your eyes open to find he's putting the stuff back into the kit box to lay back into the storage containers. You can see the peripherals of your vision pulsing rapidly, skin buzzing all over as you come down from the tense and excruciating high.

Time seems to both slow and accelerate in this mid-conscious state. What feels like hours passing by is probably only a few seconds, but you're exhausted. That fatigue catches up with you so fast that you barely have the chance to catch it before your eyelids droop. Sheets pull up to your shoulders, and their comfort is enough to finally push you to slumber.

✰.

There's a suspended moment when you ease back into consciousness. You are aware that you're awake, but keep your eyes closed in an attempt to fall back into unconsciousness. A dim thrumming in your bicep pulses with each beat of your heart inside your chest. It's not painful, just unpleasant. You pull your eyebrows together slightly, your other senses finally beginning to awaken with you.

You can hear Ezra moving around in the Pod, searching for something in the storage containers. You blink your eyes open slowly, still curled up on your side. He's just ahead of you. Having shucked his environment suit, he's dressed in a deep camo-green, long-sleeved shirt tied just beneath his amputation and a pair of grey sweatpants. You can't help but feel like you're imposing on his privacy, seeing him dressed so casually and watching him walk around his own space.

"Ezra?" You croak his name. He glances up quickly from what he's doing, eyes settling on you. He looks relieved, eyes crinkling around the edges as he smiles at you.

"You awoke! Do you need liquids?" He asks, pacing his way over to you. He leans over the bed, placing the back of his palm on your forehead to feel your temperature— though you're certain he gets a reasonably inaccurate reading. The moment his honeyed skin touches yours, your cheeks heat up as your heart hammers in your chest. You're not sure why his presence is suddenly so debilitating for you, but when he looks expectantly into your eyes for an answer to his question, you swear your brain short-circuits.

"Yes, please," your voice is raspy from the lack of use, and your throat aches as the words pass your lips. He smiles that same smile again, rendering your heart almost completely useless before he turns on his heel to grab you a glass of water.

You know exactly where this is coming from. Your very sudden attraction to him comes from months of loneliness. While your abandonment by your crew had come as a shock, it certainly wasn't a surprise. They had always been much closer and would go days without acknowledging your existence if you didn't make an effort to talk to them. Maybe this had been the plan all along?

Regardless, despite being in the presence of other people, your isolation had made you utterly starved of touch, needy for attention. Along came Ezra, coming to your aid and focusing all his consideration on you.

Stars above, you were desperate. Shockingly so.

You look up, seeing him stroll over with a cup of water in tow. He settles himself down on the bed, laying the cup on the bedside table to hold your waist as he helps you to sit up in bed. You're almost sure he doesn't mean to, but his fingertips brush the slither of skin exposed between your undershirt and your bottoms. It sends a tremor up your spine. It's so intense you swear you can feel it on the crown of your head.

"You had me concerned, Little Bird," He smiles, passing the water over to you, "But you're out of the woods now." Ezra sounds almost as relieved as you feel. He keeps his gaze on your bicep for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he plans his following few sentences. Nothing acceptable seems to come to mind, so he remains silent, the unspoken words hanging in the air and causing a thick tension between you as you sip at the water.

You cast your own gaze upon his arm, or lack thereof. The questions in the valley swarm your mind again, much louder in the silence than they had been at that moment.

"Did you amputate it yourself?" You work up the courage to break the stillness with a whisper, and once again, he casts his eyes upon your face. You'd known him less than thirty waking minutes, yet you had already reconciled multiple things you admired in him. His smile, his hair, his use of vocabulary.

However, it was how he looked at you when he spoke to you; how he gave his full attention and hung on every word was your favoured attribute. It may be that those spores *had* caused some form of irreversible damage to your brain chemistry...

"No," he chuckles, fingertips moving to brush at the stump of his arm underneath the fabric, "No, it was my companion who dismembered it." You sense almost a fragility hidden deep beneath his extravagant persona. It doesn't take a genius, a person with Ezra's knowledge of dialect, to see that the unspoken words indicated the partner he spoke of was no longer with him.

You try to steer away from what appears to be an emotional subject for him, deciding upon another question to ask.

"What made you decide to help me?" The query falls from your lips so easily. Ezra's own quirk up slightly.

"Your candid account of what you had experienced touched me deeply. Had you told me a differing narrative, I wouldn't have been so lenient," he admits to you, those earthy orbs finding flitting between your own once more. You swear he's doing it on purpose now.

"But I empathise with you. Many moons ago, I found myself in your state of affairs, my own crew deserting me. Words and metal were exchanged, and I found myself alone on this very same celestial body with no help." His hand takes your own, brushing his thumb along your knuckles as he speaks.

"I was hoping I could be of service to you, help you in your moment of need... You might help me in mine." You pause, taking in those words with surprise. Help him? What could a man who had survived an extended time in such a hostile environment, alone and with only one arm, possibly need your help with?

Ezra turns his hand slowly, his knuckles brushing up your forearm absentmindedly as he talks. Yet, for a man so equipped to be savage and cruel, he also managed to maintain a very soft, gentle side.

"I lost my partner," he confirms. There's a tender, mournful look in his gaze. "I met her not unlike I met you in the valley. She was heedful but intrepid. An astonishing companion..." He trails off slowly, that pain finally reaching his expression as he gathers himself.

"I miss having a partner. I'm half the man I once was and can no longer defend myself adequately. I require a confidante and associate." He looks expectantly at you.

"You're asking me to stay?" You question, your surprise reaching your voice. Was he always this trusting? Or was it simply because you were both stuck here regardless?

"Yes. Truth be told, I miss the company. Besides, how could I turn down your companionship when you are as bewitching as you appear?" He muses, a smirk spreading across his lips as you let out a bemused laugh.

"Are you saying I'm pretty?" you grin, unable to hold your overwhelming attraction to his charms. He just nods slowly, tracing his palm up your bicep and over your neck until he's teasing at the skin stretching across your jaw's bone with his thumb. He's methodical in his strokes, almost contemplative.

"After all, it's not as though you could leave without oxygen," he points out teasingly, but the smile slides from his face almost as quickly as it pulls up. The air is charged around you, a pull so strong you're convinced that Ezra can feel it too.

You begin to wonder if Ezra was as desperate, as touch starved and deprived of affection and care as you are.

"How long have you been alone?" You manage to force through the quiet between you. His thumb trails beneath your jaw again, the pad tenderly outlining the column of your throat. You swear your heart is beating hard enough for him to feel it beneath your skin, but you do your best not to draw attention to it.

"Some six to eight months. I lost track after the fourth," he admits his voice a murmur. Those deep globes flick back up to yours, considering the expression they hold, reading your sympathetic gaze. His lips curve into a small, meek smile, very unlike the personality he'd displayed to you. But Ezra was such an open book; you felt you knew everything you needed to know about him already.

In a universe, so advanced and technological, science had been able to explain away every form of mystery and coincidence that humanity had ever thought up. But there was something about Ezra, the way he had stumbled into your life and saved your own, that made you feel like this was some sort of fate. Destiny. He was meant to find you.

You're bold with your next move, moving your unhindered arm up to place your palm over Ezra's wrist, forcing him to take you by the throat. He looks surprised at first, looking between where he held you and your expression. You can see the number of questions running through his mind slip away as you lean forward.

There's this moment of suspense between the two of you, your chest so tight as you find your breath escaping your lungs a little heavier than a moment ago. Your lips are so close, millimetres away. You can taste him on your tongue, can smell a citrusy scent. It's oddly like oranges, sweet and tangy. Those lips you're so needy for tilt upwards, smirking at the drawn-out wait of you psyching yourself up to make a move.

"I wouldn't leave even if I had oxygen," you sound hushedly. It wipes that grin off of Ezra's face, the implication of your words not having time to sink in before you're pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss, so full of tender and agonising need that wholly consumes the both of you.

He squeezes his palm around your throat, not enough to choke you but enough to apply light pressure, and uses the leverage to pull you into a deeper kiss. His lips are soft, barely exposed to fresh air due to the ventilation in the Pod and the constant covering of his helmet. It's intoxicating, and you find yourself slipping so fast into this heated embrace that you forget to breathe entirely.

Ezra leans you against the mattress slowly, trailing his palm down your side ever so gently despite the heated frenzy of your lips. He's highly aware of the bruising you sustained during your fall in the valley, and in any other moment, you would have been overwhelmed by his consideration, but he tastes so sweet on your tongue that you cannot help but lose yourself to him. You're certain Ezra can feel you melt into his touch as his tongue traces the plush of your lips, groaning softly as he allows his hands to explore the heat of your skin.

He begins with feather-light touches on your hip, squeezing gently to test for sore spots before he adds pressure to his grip. You hum in appreciation into his mouth, your fingers trailing through the dishevelled brunette curls at the side of Ezra's temple before working their way to the nape of his neck and taking root there.

Brushing his palm up your abdomen slowly, Ezra's fingerprints map the ridges and bumps of your muscles and the bones of your ribs. He moulds his lips against yours in a softer kiss before pulling away, smirking as he feels your ribcage expand with a sudden gulp of air.

"You need to respire in order to survive, Little Bird." he mutters, the pad of his thumb brushing the underside of your breast, "Don't say I've restricted your ability to perform a basic human function." You giggle breathlessly, appreciating him trying to break down the intensity of the situation as he presses a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose, between your brows while he waits for you to catch your breath again.

"May I touch?" He asks you, ensuring that it's what you want. You nod feebly, finding yourself at a loss for all words apart from those that sounded like you were pathetically begging. Your skin buzzes as his palm cups your breast, squeezing gently.

"You are just heavenly," he murmurs into your ear as you tilt your head back with a soft moan. It's been so long since you were last touched by someone else that every skim of his skin against yours sparks embers of heat beneath it. He groans softly as he feels your nipples harden under the fabric of your undershirt. Only then do you notice the strain his body is under, having only his elbow to balance.

"I can-" you pause to consider how you want to put this, "I could get on top." There's a break in his purposeful movements, almost as though his brain has buffered at your words. Swallowing a moan that he manages to catch in his throat, Ezra nods quickly and turns to lie on his back.

The dynamic changes almost instantly as you straddle his hips. You can feel the atmosphere change around you, as though the ambience shifts and clicks into place. When Ezra's hand finds your hip, you feel empowered. So you lean over, kissing him with a hunger that allows him to experience your breathlessness.

A soft whine escapes you as you feel his hips shift, the stiff bulge in his sweats brushing against your clit through the pants of your environment suit that he had left on you when you fell asleep. The friction, mixed with the tension in the air, seems to unlock a primal side to Ezra. He leans up suddenly, pressing open and sloppy kisses to your throat. He's nipping and sucking on your skin as you fumble with the waistband of your environment suit to push it over your hips.

Quickly pulling your legs out of your clothes, you're left in only your undershirt and underwear. Ezra pulls you back over his hips, grinding up against you and letting out a groan that almost reverberates in his chest. You're both grabbing at each other in your desperation, months of pent-up frustration and lack of intimacy fuelling the both of you with little thought.

As he continues his ministrations to your neck, you pull down his sweats, easing them over his hips. You can't help but pause as you reveal his cock, Ezra having decided not to wear underwear beneath his sweatpants. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, teeth brushing your skin with the smug smirk that spreads across his face.

"What's the hold u- oh fuck-" he chokes out as you brush your clothed cunt over his exposed crotch. He grips your hip hard, pupils expanding until the earthy brown of his iris' are almost entirely swallowed by them at the feeling of your slick leaking through your cotton underwear and streaking across the length of his dick.

"My sweet... Let me..." He trails off, his thumb hooking underneath your underwear and pushing them to the side. You can feel him brush against your pussy lips, your thighs shaking at the heat that settled between them. Then, before you even have the chance to beg for his touch, he's brushing his fingers through your folds and spreading your slick up to your clit.

You jolt at the sudden pleasure that arcs up your spine, head lolling back as the feeling practically liquifies you. Ezra is rubbing your clit with his print in small, tight circles, and you swear you could cum right there. But, almost as quickly as he starts, you must stop him, grabbing his hand and pinning it to his side.

"Little Bird, why can't I touch y-?" He cuts off as you lift yourself, sinking down onto his cock slowly. He squeezes his eyes shut, throwing his head back against the pillows and practically tearing up as he feels your cunt flutter around him at the stretch.

"E-Ezra," you splutter his name, bracing your hand on his chest and digging your nails into the sun-kissed skin to the point pink blooms underneath. He's stretching you so wide it's almost like he's splitting you in half, enough for you to need to spread your legs wider in order for you to feel like you can take him all.

"Good Girl— so good. Just a little more," he coos, kneading the tips of his fingers against your hip to ease you. Sucking in a deep breath, you sink yourself down to the hilt, whimpering at the intense stretch and the delightful sparks of pleasure that come with it. His cockhead is spearing up against something that makes your thighs tremble.

"Hah, ah..." You try to steady yourself against his hips, only rocking them slightly as you adjust to his size. He's gazing up at you like you're the most dazzling gem he'd ever seen, pupils tinged with enough awe and reverence to make you feel like you are some kind of goddess.

You begin to grind into him, a chorus of moans and gasps falling from your mouths as bliss spreads through you. You can already hear your blood rushing in your ears, your heart pounding in your chest so hard you swear you can feel your ribs crack. He's filling you up so well, hitting that spot in you with each bounce of your hips.

"Brighter than the stars, Little Bird- Fuck, you're so beautiful," Ezra growls, using his grip on your hip to rock them harder against his. Meanwhile, you're speechless. Your mouth is agape, panting out with a squeak every time he fills you up to the hilt repeatedly. It's all happening so fast and building so much that you could scream.

That's when Ezra switches his position, hoisting you up slightly as he plants the heels of his feet into the mattress. You sob loudly, tears of excruciating ecstasy slipping down your face. They drip from your chin as he grabs your ass, kneading it and using its leverage to bounce you on his cock. He's pounding into you, his dick hitting your cervix with each thrust.

"Ezra- Ezra, that's hah- that's-!" You wail, eyelids slipping shut as you focus on chasing your pleasure with each sway of your hips, making sure the head of his cock hits that mind-numbing spot inside you that just makes your toes curl.

Your focus is broken when Ezra grabs your chin, dragging your face forward so your noses bump together. Your eyes fly open in surprise.

"You're going to look at me when you cum," he orders, voice indicating this wasn't up for negotiation. You couldn't find it in you to argue anyway, completely cockdumb from the way he fucks you. When he sees that you're pliant, he resumes absolutely destroying you, relying on the relaxation of your body to allow him to thrust his hips into you without using his hand on your hips. He keeps his fingers under your chin but slips his thumb past your kiss-swollen lips and into your mouth, ordering you to suck.

You hollow your cheeks around his digit, running your tongue over the ridges of his thumb print as you keep eye contact with him. He growls out, losing himself in the fervency.

Abandoning that thought, he rushes to remove his hand from your face and press it to your abdomen. He moans out, delighting in feeling his cock slip in and out of your cunt. He can feel the rippling of your muscles and skin with the force he's using to pound into you. Every ridge of his cock adds to the overwhelming feeling as he moves in and out of you, the pressure he's applying to your pubic bone enough to launch you to your orgasm, but then he begins ruinous thrusts that knock your cervix and that sweet spot inside that have your legs turning to jelly with a scream.

You cum so hard that white blooms across your eyes, splitting you down the middle and pulsing devastatingly between your thighs. It sends heat from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head in gentle waves. Tilting your head back, you sob as he continues to thrust in and out, to ruin you completely.

He's babbling, voicing gorgeous and heartwarming compliments, but you're unable to discern them, still in the peak of your orgasm as it just builds and almost reaches a point of rapture that has you in pain. It's when you slam your fist against Ezra's sternum in an attempt to pull yourself from the earth-shattering orgasm that you hear him yell out, painting your fluttering walls with his cum. His thighs tremble, and you fall against his chest, fighting to drag air into your lungs to rid your eyes of the black spotting in your vision.

You lay there for a while, feeling like you're spinning despite your head securely resting on Ezra's shoulder. Your muscles were so tense from your orgasm that it now feels like they're melting into the mattress, seeping through and dripping out of the bottom and onto the floor of the Pod. You feel entirely liquified.

Then he's turning you both over gently, using his hand to brace the back of your head before it hits the mattress and gently laying it down with your body. You whine from the loss of contact, assuming he's getting out of bed or going to redress.

So when he dips his head between your thighs, brushing his tongue through your folds to taste the mix of your cum together, you can't help the moan of shock, overstimulation seeping down your thighs and pools in the base of your spine. He focuses his assault there, swirling the tip of his tongue around your clit until you're sobbing once more.

On your journey to Bakhroma, you'd heard an old wives' tale. Somewhat of a ghost story passed around the three-member crew during drunk nights while the long-haul space freighter floated in endless space. The team said it had been passed down from other Prospectors who had survived the moon trip. They claimed that anyone who stepped foot in The Green was subjugated by greed. While Aurelac gems definitely pleased Ezra, it appeared he found the treasure between your legs much more valuable...

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