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eccentricwritingbaby · 3 days

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baby finn series, the necessary reactions

series list - house divided - bedtime stories - sneaking onto stream - babysitting and date nights

lando norris x mom!wife!reader

summary - y/n is pregnant again, time to tell the world - well, their whole world.

masterlist

“then what is it?” lando cups your chin in his hands with his question, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“it’s just that,” you sigh, searching lando’s eyes, “we don’t need to keep trying, if there’s already a baby on the way,”

“you’re joking,” lando whispers, his eyes beginning to well with tears, “love, are you serious?” you nod wordlessly, your smiling catching from ear to ear as lando’s begins to grow, “oh my GOD!” he exclaims, not caring anymore about the young boy sleeping down the hall. he’s currently too busy grabbing your waist in his hands and spinning you around in giggling circles.

“lan, please,” you choke out between your laughs, “you’ll turn our baby into a milkshake,” you continue to giggle as lando sets you down with quiet apologies in between a multitude of kisses. the room falls silent for a moment as lando pulls away and his hands migrate to your stomach, both of you staring into each others eyes as if they were the stars in the sky.

“we’re having another baby,” lando’s smile has not faltered since your admission, and neither has yours.

“ya, lan. we’re having another baby,” you smile wider as happy tears start their race down your cheeks. lando joins in shortly with happy sobs as he pulls you into his arms, calmly rocking you both back and forth in place. you hear the quiet words mumbled into your neck of ‘i can’t believe this is happening’ and ‘i’m so fucking happy right now’ as you just hold onto your husband in joy.

finally pulling apart, lando drops down to a knee, staring at your bare stomach in awe, “hi baby norris,” he chokes down another sob as he kisses the baby’s home, “it’s your daddy,” you hold his head in your hands while trying to control your own tears, enjoying the interaction at its fullest.

your husband looks up at you and all you read in his eyes is pure admiration and love. he catches your eyes staring down at him, seeing only love and admiration as well. you both share the soft moment in quiet comfort, proceeding to not leave each other's sides as you ready yourselves for bed.

getting yourself under the blankets in bed, you scoot over into lando’s awaiting arms, him immediately wrapping you into his hold. his free hand falls to your stomach like a magnet - just as it always did with finn. you roll the slightest in order to have a better view of your husband, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek, both of you not breaking the adoring eye contact. he leans down a pinch, kissing your nose, then cheeks, then forehead, and finally landing on your lips. you hum in approval before he separates, proceeding to lean down to your stomach and repeat the kisses.

his head lays on the top of your stomach, your hands raking through his curls, as he continues to speak sweet nothings to the growing baby inside your tummy. you then soon fall into a conversation about when and how you found out - your bad takeout was not actually bad, and the doctor's appointment was yesterday, how far along you were - seven weeks, only - and when your next appointment was - two weeks from today, your first ultrasound.

you were lulled to sleep by lando’s continuing conversation to your unborn child and his soft stroking over your belly.

you wake up the next morning to an empty bed and distant baby giggles echoing through your home. stretching for a moment, you take a deep breath - debating needing a morning sickness session or not - before you reluctantly climb out from your warm haven of blankets. reaching quickly for one of lando’s hoodies tossed around, you pull it over your head to substitute for the lost heat.

“momma!” you hear the happy squeaks of your son as you open the door from your bedroom, light padding of his feet making their way over to you. entering into the living room, you’re immediately met with a bouncy three year old at your feet, arms up and ready for his morning cuddles. swinging him onto your hip with whispered ‘good morning, my love’ and a kiss to his sweet head, you waltz over to your husband seated on the couch.

“i made breakfast, you hungry, love?” lando asks as you take a seat next to him.

“not right now, but probably soon,” you respond, leaning over to greet your husband with a kiss.

“alright, but you need to eat,” his over-protective nature residing again, something you had your ups and downs with while pregnant with finn.

“i know, love. i will,” you assure your husband with another light peck to his lips. he smiles back down at you, on too much of a high to even pester you as of this moment.

“we have the quadrant video today, too,”

“oh, right,” you shake your head, “what time is that again?”

“around three, so we have a lot of time,” lando proceeds to direct his attention to his son, “are you so excited to come with us, finn? uncle max will be there!”

“uncle max!” your son claps happily from your lap, excited at the mention of his other favorite uncle.

“yes, buddy! uncle max wants to see you!” lando claps with his son, “why don’t you go pick out what you want to wear today, bubs?” your husband picks your son off your lap to help him down, giving him the availability to run to his room.

“otay, daddy!” with that, finn takes his little legs at full speed to his bedroom, amusing giggles radiating through the home. your husband turns his attention back to you after his son was out of sight, pulling you closer into his body.

“i was hoping we could tell the team today, if that’s alright with you?” lando asks you quietly, hinting at the reveal of your pregnancy. last night when you had told lando, both of your parents had been rung immediately. doing it over the phone wasn’t ideal but the parents staying in england as you and lando were in monaco wasn’t ideal either. and you both wanted to tell them right away.

“well i know we agreed to tell our parents first, but i feel like we should tell finn second, no?”

“should we tell him today before the group? or do you want to wait?”

“i don’t know, lan. i truly haven’t given it much thought and i want to. telling your only baby that another one is coming can disrupt a lot, i don’t want to rush it,” you hang your head a bit at your worries and lando understands immediately.

“it’s alright, we can tell the lads later,” he’s quick to respond in order to ease your mind.

“how about just max?” you offer as a compromise. even though finn was beyond fond of carlos, max fewtrell had been the rock for him as he was growing in your tummy up to now and for sure in the future. he was almost his second father. and he was lando’s best friend. and finn adored max just as you know your second baby will as well, “i can tell my best friend today and you can tell yours, then we’ll talk a bit more about how we tell finn,”

“i like the sound of that, love,” your husband kisses your forehead, “we’ll tell max and y/b/f/n today, and then everyone else will find out after finn,”

“yes, lovely. i like the sound of that, lan,”

pulling up to the track where lando’s quadrant video would be filmed, you let out a nervous sigh, hand involuntarily reaching for your stomach. your husband reaches across the console in the car, removing your hand and instead intertwining your fingers. a kiss to the back of your hand was all the reassurance you needed in that moment.

parked in the lot, lando steps out of the vehicle, racing around the front of the car and opening the door for you, holding onto your hand as you step out as well. leading you both towards your giggly son in the backseat, your husband unstraps his seat belts, lifts him out of the car and pulls on his hand due to finn’s persistence to walk - like a big boy. the little family makes their way through a few gates and security checks before finally arriving near the rest of the quadrant group.

“there’s the best godson in the world!” max lets out a squeal, bending down as finn sprints into his arms.

“uncle maxxxx!” finn yells in his arms, laughing along to max proceeding to pick him up and spin him around.

“hey!” your best friend comes out from behind you and lando to join the group, “does your godmother get any love?” she laughs heading over to max and finn.

“aunty y/b/f/n!” finn screams from max’s hold, wiggling to make his way towards your friend, “i dind’t know you come!” he squeaks out.

“your mommy called me! said you missed me, baby,” she laughs scooping your son up from max.

“i did! i miss you all!” finn’s arms wrap around her tightly as the entire quadrant group ‘awe’s’ at his words.

“actually, finn, why don’t you go join niran and ria,” lando starts, reaching for your hand to hint at his intentions, “momma and daddy have to talk to max and y/b/f/n really fast, okay?”

“otay, daddy! but i see them later?”

“oh ya, bubs,” your husband nods as he helps his son down towards the group, “we have the rest of the day to hang out, this will just take a second, okay?”

“otay, daddy!” finn replies to lando’s direction, running off towards niran and ria, leaving the four of you alone in a distant part of the track.

“uh oh,” max lets out, “are we in trouble?”

“not at all,” you laugh in response, “quite the opposite really, we have some exciting news to share with the both of you,” tightening your grip on lando’s hand, you give him an approval nod to let go of the information.

“y/n’s pregnant!”

“WHAT!”

“OH MY GOSH!” your best friend takes a step towards you, holding you in her arms as she jumps a bit in excitement. max and lando are hugging, congratulations are shared as the pairs switch to the other respective partner. both max and y/b/f/n are tearing up, as you and your husband are trying hard not to do the same.

“i think we’re going to tell finn tonight, so just keep it quiet,” your husband shares, max mocks his reprimand by zipping his lips shut as your best friend just continues to nod in excitement.

“and even after we tell finn, i think we’re just going to keep it quiet until i start to show, so let’s not tell anyone, alright?” you offer your worries next.

“you’ve got it guys,” max nods, “we’ll keep it a secret,”

“i mean, we did pretty good with the last one,” your best friend laughs off in her agreement.

after the long and exhausting day on the track, lando is hauling your son’s body up the stairs in his arms, the deadweight not budging once arriving inside your home. your husband carefully places him on the couch in the living room as you make your way into the kitchen in order to find something, anything to eat. a loud sigh behind you causes you to turn your head in it’s direction, coming face to face with your husband.

“i don’t think it’s happening today,”

“you mean telling finn, lan?”

“ya, he’s wiped out,”

“why are you so eager to tell him?” lando thinks for a moment at your question, reaching around you to the counter, popping a grape into his mouth.

“i’m just excited, y/n,” he finally lets slip, “i want to buy things for the nursery, i want to buy baby clothes, i want to talk to little baby norris, i want to hear finn talk about how exciting this will be, i want to-”

“okay, lan,” you cut him off, moving to steal a kiss from his lips, “bright and early tomorrow, finn will know about little baby norris,”

“good,” he sighs in relief, kissing you again.

the blinding light of the sun proceeds to have you blinking open your eyes, facing your husband who was leaning against the headboard, scrolling on his phone.

“you’re finally awake, love,” he whispers towards you, a hand coming across your cheek to swipe the sleep from your eyes. they close for a brief moment to bask in the softness before shooting open as you scramble out of bed to race to the bathroom. several knocks at the door, your persistence to keep lando away from you, and then finally a flushed toilet and mouthwash rinsed out lead you to leaving the bathroom, eyes widening at the scene.

lando is still leaning against the headboard, this time with his little mini me leaning against him as well. the tv is turned on to lando’s favorite show with a soft volume as your son is still fighting sleep on his fathers lap and a bottle of milk slowly slipping from his grasp.

“y’alright, love?” your husband speaks softly as to not alarm the baby on his lap, you nodding in return, climbing back into the bed to be with your family.

“why sick, mommy?” your son asks, sleepy gaze holding a bit of concern.

“well, finn,” you sigh, reaching for your husband’s hand as you both look down at your son on his lap, “there is a baby growing in my tummy, and sometimes it’ll make me sick,”

“baby?” finn questions, looking up at his parents with curiosity.

“ya, bubs,” lando laughs a bit, “you’re going to be a big brother! isn’t that exciting?”

“bwother…” finn sighs quietly, almost as if he’s testing the word to see if it feels correct rolling off his tongue.

“aren’t you happy, baby?” you urge softly, eyeing your son, attempting to read his reaction.

“will baby like me?” finn asks, his attention turning from you to lando.

“oh, bubs,” lando sigh, holding his son tightly as he responds, “the baby is going to love you,” he finishes off with a kiss to his head. finn finally smiles and giggles, climbing from lando’s lap over to yours, bending down to kiss your stomach.

“i wuv you, baby,” he giggles after the kiss, “i meet you soon!”

yours and your husband’s eyes meet as your son keeps kissing your belly, the non-verbal understanding that everything would be okay.

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starillusion13 · 1 day

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Keep Talking to me

Pairing: bf! (Mark and Jeno) x gf! reader

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Smut

Warning: friend ditching you, insecurity of weight, comforting talking, use of sex toys, dom and sub dynamic, manhandling, oral(f. and m. rec.), face sitting, fingering, spanking, hair pulling, chocking, edging, orgasm denial, nipple and breast play, hickeys, marking, gentle and rough, double penetration, sex w/o protection(don't do it sillies), lots of kissing, pregnancy talk, aftercare. Full of love💕

W.C: 7.1k Network: @k-vanity

[ THIS FIC IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE. It's only here because this @renjunnnaaa (my best friend) made my brain go crazy with this imagination after TDS3 pics clips n videos, and I am going insane over this. And well, these two are my biases. I would love if you all don't look at my husbands.]

MINORS DONT INTERACT UNDER THE POST🔞

🎀🫦🎀🚬🎀

This is not how your night was supposed to be. Come on, your friend can't ditch you for her new friends, Right? But she did. She really faked an excuse to make you feel dumb in front of everyone and went to have her fun with the new shitheads.

"I should have stayed back home." You mumbled to yourself before getting inside the cab. You were furious and broken at the same time. No No, you can't just let her make you feel this way. She is no one to break you down. You were reminding yourself with this thought and staring blankly at the passing street and street lights which seems a bit dazed like your brain. Oh, no you are crying. Bringing your leather jacket sleeves to your cheeks, it harshly wiped off the stream of tears on your soft skin. The leather surely did make your skin turn red and you didn't care about the eyeliner to get smudged in the corner.

You cared less about everything else because you just wanted to go back home and stay in your room.

Your boyfriends might be having a boys night together at Haechan's house and it would be so rude to call them and let them know about this. Surely, they would come running back home to comfort you. No, you should let them have their own share of fun. Closing your eyes and resting your head back against the seat, you waited for your place to arrive.

Thanking the driver and entering the gate, you noticed the lights turned on and someone's laugh coming from inside the house. Wait, that's Mark. With quick steps, you ran towards the door and pressed the bell. Surprisingly, Mark was quick enough to open the door and he pulled you towards him, wrapping one arm around you and kissed the side of your head, "Hi, baby."

He didn't look at your face for long enough to notice your distress but you kept a smiling face to get his warmth and he was still laughing at something. Weren't they supposed to leave for their night out? Following him towards the living room, you found Jeno standing there, his back towards you and he was fixing something, maybe his shirt or else. Looking at your side, you then noticed Mark and him, both were wearing shining leather jackets. Are they supposed to leave now?

"Dude, our baby is here. Turn around." Mark kept a hand around you, pulling you close enough and when he finally noticed your face, Jeno also noticed your fake smile at the same time.

But you were not looking at either of them because your gaze was fixed on Jeno. his bare body underneath the thick jacket and the way his skin was peeking from under it, with every long step he took towards you. He smirked when he followed your gaze. You noticed a tight black material under the jacket, only hiding his chest but his abs making you drool over it even when you were supposed to be sad because of the earlier incident.

Even if he was enjoying your gaze on him, feeling satisfied with the way you were not even trying to hide your attraction towards him yet he had a concern etching his face. Why are you looking so down? Your eyeliner smudged in the corner of your face and how you were biting your lips, he was not sure if it was because of your usual nervousness or you were losing control over him. Even if he had some plans in his mind, first he had to know about your concerns. Everything else can come later, first it's all about you.

Mark beside you, still holding you close to himself, was confused with your look. It was not the same when you went out. You were so excited and smiling brightly and to be honest, he was so jealous of what made you smile so much other than him. Oh well, at least you are happy. That's all he wants for you.

Jeno patted your head before his palms resting on your cheek, "you are back early, love." you nodded and looked to your other side to avoid their eyes. They surely can read you easily. "Why?" his gaze was boring on your side profile, Mark tugged your hair back behind your ears.

"Well, she had other plans after our meeting." he nodded, but not fully convinced by your explanation. Your usual demeanor after returning home usually seems something else and the way your voice sounds like betraying you was not setting in place. "Aren't you supposed to go to Haechan's place?" you asked him and glanced at Mark. Both of them nodded.

Mark placed a kiss on your cheek, "suddenly his girlfriend surprised him today and now he has some other plan for the night. Boy will have his own fun." he laughed afterwards.

Jeno slid his hand down from your cheek to your jaw and gently grabbed it, bringing his face closer to yours and placing a soft kiss on your lips, staying there a bit for too long to feel your breath changing the rhythm. Mark's hand rubbing your side and other hand playing with your fingers. You closed your eyes when you felt Jeno whispering on your lips, "tell me what happened, sweetheart."

That's exactly the only push you need to confess to them. Their touch, their voice, their warmth and their eyes on you. Yes. you would do anything, say anything and comply with them on anything.

"I waited at the park for one hour." he hummed against your lips, hearing your soothing voice was relaxing to him. He asked again, "and?" a tear slipped from your eyes, Mark wiped it off. "She never did. And then I saw an IG live from one of her friends. They are partying somewhere else."

"Is my baby hurt?" Mark softly asked you and you nodded, looking at him innocently. Jeno stood back straight and shared a knowing glance with the other boy. "So what will you do now?"

"I don't know. Maybe sleep." Mark took off his hand from around you and brushed back his hair. You took a full look of his outfit. Same tight jeans as Jeno, hugging their legs deliciously perfectly but he had a black t-shirt hiding his skin unlike Jeno. "What about you two?" you love it when they almost dress up like twins.

You stared at them and Jeno suddenly smirked, resting his hands on his hip, "we have a plan tonight."

"oh...good." You looked at Mark who smirked as well, you knitted your brows together and a confused look visible on your face, earning chuckles, "what happened? Why are you both laughing? With whom do you have plans?"

"So many questions we have. Right?" Jeno darkly chuckled and brushed his fingers over your cheeks, tracing the outline of your face, "we have plans with you."

"with me?" you don't remember anything about it.

He nodded and you felt Mark hugging you from back, resting his chin on your shoulder and his nose brushing your neck and ear, his breath rising goosebumps on your skin. Jeno pulled your face up by your chin and your soft gaze met his dark ones. His eyes scanned your face for any hesitation but there was none, so he leaned forward, "lift your leg up."

"what?" you were confused not until Mark whispered into your ears, "do it right, baby." he took off your jacket in the way.

You complied, bending your knees and lifting your leg, Jeno quickly held it and wrapped it around him, "Jump." You did. Mark pressing himself behind you and your legs now wrapped around Jeno's waist. Mark's mouth not leaving a single inch of your skin, licking your earlobe down to your neck, inhaling the perfume, "you smell so sweet, baby." Kissing and nibbling on your skin. your body shook in their hold when Jeno squeezed your chest above your top.

"Tell me how you are feeling." Jeno was not asking you nor telling you to say it, he was ordering you. His tone was quite demanding that he was not playing with any emotions rather totally concentrating on every thought going across your mind. Your breathing heaved with their every little touch and the skin was burning under their touch. The way soft sounds escaping your throat, vibrating against Mark's mouth, he hummed in response.

You couldn't think of anything at the moment, only focusing on their touch and finding a comfortable position to grind against one of them. "if you don't start speaking. We are going to stop here." Jeno said and attached his lips with your throat, sucking a deep red mark, earning a moan out from you. Both groaned when you grind your hip in the weird position, but to release the tension building up in you was to be eased.

Mark grabbed your hip and warned, "stay still. Keep talking and let us do everything."

You still didn't say anything when Jeno grabbed your chin rather harshly and brought your face near to his, "don't let me lose my patience, love. Use all your words to start speaking."

You nodded, "I..mhm..am just upset." Jeno's hand brushed your thighs before his hands disappeared under your skirt. He folded a bit of your high rise socks and again his hands sliding up and down your back of the thigh, "why?"

"s-she didn't even tell me about it." Your head fell back on Mark's shoulder and you clutched Jeno's jacket when he again sucked a hickey near your collarbone. He had undone only three buttons from your shirt, rest keeping as it is. "And, do you want to feel good?"

"yes." Honestly, you want to forget about everything from the evening and just want to spend time with them. And, of course they would always be too happy to fulfill your requests as why not. If they could, they would have kept you between them forever. Oh, you are a treasured one for them.

Jeno tapped Mark's shoulder whose mouth quickly left your skin and he nodded when the younger boy motioned towards the shared bedroom. Mark led the way while Jeno placed your head on his shoulder and rubbed your back, " you just have to tell us everything, okay? You trust us, right?"

"hm..." your arms and legs wrapped around him and his strong cologne hitting your nose, pulling you towards him more. You were quite surprised with his strength. He was holding you up for quite a while now and still, he didn't get tired. It's not like you are those skinny girls who can have those barbie moments from fictions but at least he should put you down now, his hands might get strain.

He followed behind Mark, kissing your earlobe and kissing the exposed shoulder, your shirt sliding down your shoulder. He placed you on the edge of the bed, kissing your lips before standing straight to look behind you. You turned your neck, noticing Mark pulling off his jacket, revealing his black undershirt and you gulped, knowing what's coming.

A hand caressing your head made you look up at Jeno, "you just have to trust us. Okay?"

You nodded as he grabbed your hairs and yanked your head back, you groaned at the pull, "words, love. What we said earlier? You will keep talking and we will do everything."

"Yes, Jeno." You blurted and he smiled, even if the smile was so cute but he pushed you back and left you balancing yourself on your elbows.

Mark's voice echoed inside the room, "come here." And you know better, you shouldn't waste your time and wait for them to lose their patience, you crawled towards him, Jeno's eyes fixed at your wiggling ass and Mark was looking at your chest peeking from the end of the shirt. They both groaned at the sight.

Mark patted his thigh and you quickly placed yourself, your legs on either side of his and your covered core in contact with the harsh material of the jeans. He took a hold of your hands and brought to his lips, kissing them softly and smiling at you. "Always pretty. So, how should we start?"

"Please fuck me, Mark." He chuckled hearing your response and Jeno shook his head before going towards a particular drawer. When you tried to look that way, Mark held your chin and faced him, "I'm here talking with you. Your pussy is almost touching me and still you are looking somewhere else."

You shook your head, "No no I am your girl. I'm yours, please fuck me."

"Aren't we already going to the end?" He curled the locks between his fingers and smirked, "we have so much for the night."

With that he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in for a kiss, pressing his lips onto you a bit too long and then moving it in a different rhythm to yours. His other hand unbuttoning your shirt and your hands placed on his chest curled up. You love the way he takes his whole time to kiss you, to make you feel every passing second when his lips are on you.

Soon, his lips moved with your flow, hands massaging your chest and your hands snaked around him to pull him more close when you felt him pulling apart. Teeth clashing with each other and tongues exploring each other inside but soon he felt your hips grinding against his thigh, he held your hips tightly to restrict your movements but not fully, still letting you to move a bit.

"Please..." you whimpered, trying to get more friction and chuckled, pulling his mouth away from yours, pressing a little kiss on your nose. Guiding your hips to move to his liking but it was not enough for you.

"You look so pretty when you beg like this. So desperate for me. My baby." He pecked your lips, and lifted you up when he felt your body was shaking. He chuckled, "You are trying your best to get yourself off with that little movement? So pathetic you are, baby."

"She is and that's why her friend took her advantage." Jeno spoke from the end of the bed but you quickly protested, still annoyed that Mark didn't let you come before on his thigh. "I will talk to her about this tomorrow."

Mark grabbed your cheek and simply stated with a stern voice, "NO. You are not speaking to her anymore."

" but-"

"I don't want to hear it. Now turn around for me." You did and he placed you between his legs, pulling you closer and your back against his chest. He patted your thigh and gently pushed them to either side, pulling them under his legs to cage you there.

Jeno climbed up the bed and rested between your legs, placing his hand over your thighs, "who loves you the most?" He stared at your eyes.

"You. Both of you."

He hummed again, "who cares for you?"

"You both."

He cupped your face, placing a soft kiss on your lips. He was doing it on purpose to make you crave for kisses more. The drools from the shared kiss with Mak earlier were still around your lips but he could care less about it. "And did we ever make you cry like her?"

You shook your head, "no."

"So we win this. Now it's clear that you should only listen to us. She is clearly jealous of you, love. You are perfect and nobody should dare to make you cry." He kissed your temple before retreating himself.

Your eyes were still looking at the black leather material with belt design inside his jacket and your curiosity did get noticed by him when he chuckled, "if you want to see it. Come, remove my jacket."

From somewhere you got the enthusiasm, you quickly pulled yourself up from Mark's chest and leaned forward to tug his jacket and he helped you to get it off from his body. "This is so cool. I like it so much."

He threw the jacket to the side of the bed and nodded, "I like this kinda vest too but earlier when you came, Mark was laughing at this."

Mark protested from behind, "woah dude. The way you were fixing it, I was just telling you that it looked like you were fixing your bra."

Jeno glared at him but both of them heard your giggle and it's the first time you smiled today's night, "I see you are enjoying this, y/n...that means we are your best boyfriends."

You nodded and Mark kissed your neck, shoulder blade and left deep red marks over your shoulder, pulling down the shirt more to expose you. "Yes but I'm feeling offended as you both might laugh at me when I fix my bra. Right?"

"No, love. It's about your comfort and also, I don't understand why you have to wear that around us as we could then see your tits and them bouncing perfectly." Jeno stated and laughed when you slapped his biceps. His muscles were more prominent and tight than the last two months, probably hitting the gym more.

When you were about to slap him again, Mark held your hands back. You were already spread in front of the man kneeling before you. "Now stay like this for Jeno, baby." He whispered with his deep voice.

Jeno took something from beside him and when he turned it on and turned towards your side, your body shivered with excitement. It was his favorite rose vibrator and you knew better than what was in for the night.

Mark pulled your skirt and rubbed his hand above your clothed core, groaning in your ear when he felt the wet patch, "ah baby. So wet for us. Just with our touch you might come. So filthy."

When you didn't reply and closed your eyes, leaning your head back to enjoy the sensation, he whispered seductively, "keep talking, baby. Or you are not getting anything."

"Yes yes. I'm so wet for you. So filthy just for you both. Only for both of you." Hearing you, he pressed his palms over your core and stayed there with the pressure. Both of their hungry eyes watching your every twist of expression and your legs shaking. "Please, do something."

After rubbing a few circles over your core, Mark pulled your panties aside and the cold air of the conditioner hit the bare core, making your body shiver. Jeno spreaded your arousal across your folds and groaned with the sight. You suddenly gasped when he brought the vibrator to your core, the setting was low and his satisfaction was high. Mark squeezed your chest, "do you like it?"

"Yes." a moan followed your reply. Even when the setting turned to a set high, you were not getting what you wanted. Your legs shaking under his tight hold, when you managed to free a hand and tried to bring the vibrator close, Jeno grabbed it quickly and glared, "take what I'm giving you and use your words, not your hands." He squeezed your hand above Mark's thigh.

The toy felt like him teasing your core with kitten licks. A frustrated groan and whine leaving your mouth when he pulled away the vibrator, denying your orgasm. That was not for once, he was repeating the action every time he felt you clenching around the toy. Both of them were reading your expressions like a straight A student as if they could just draw your every expression a second later. "Yes, baby. You are doing so good for us." Mark whispered and again, Jeno pulled away the vibrator.

"Please.." tears falling down your eyes, "Please...more...I can't." your pleadings only earned chuckles from Jeno and a laugh from Mark into your ears. Mark wrapped a hand around your throat to put pressure on the sides.

He mocked your expression, "you can't? But baby..." Jeno completely pulled it away and turned it off and when you tried to lift your hip, Mark slapped your pussy making you cry out, "don't be a bad girl now."

Jeno laid down beside you two and you looked at him confused. Mark relieved you from his hold and you turned to your side to take a better look at them. They noticed your tear stained face, flushed cheeks and beautiful red marks on your exposed skin. Your pussy was barely hiding under the skirt because of your disheveled condition. The way Jeno was laying down and his bare upper body with those tight belt material across his chest, resting perfectly against his chest was pulling you towards him. You would jump on him anytime but you knew that you didn't have any choice to do anything today without their permission. Anyways, they would really love to see your wild side though.

"Come here." The laying man called out for you but you rested yourself on your palm and confusedly stared at him. He rolled his eyes and extended his hand towards you and you grabbed it, still unsure of exactly what he wanted. "Sit on my face." he said and your eyes went wide.

"W-what? No. I can't."

Mark brushed your hair before taking a fist at it and yanked back, "did he ask you?" he pecked your lips, "go for it, baby."

When Jeno pulled you towards him, stumbling just beside his chest, tapping your thigh to sit on his chest, you shook your head again, "no. Jeno, please."

"Y/n, what are you requesting?" His tone was harsh and the way he was staring at you darkly was a dangerous look but still he waited to listen to your hesitation. If you were uncomfortable then he would appreciate you and wouldn't force you to do it. This was a new thing he wanted to try and when he, both of them noticed the fear in your eyes, they shared a look.

"I can't." he squeezed your hand and Mark stroked your back, "why you can't?"

You looked down at your lap, "I am heavy..." you whispered and only if you did notice the disbelief look on the face of the man laying down. He scoffed, "and do you think I care?"

"Do you think your weight matters to us?" he kissed the back of your palm, "you are perfect, y/n. No one compares to you."

"Yes, baby. You are our perfect girl." pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "go, listen to him."

Jeno guided you slowly to sit on his chest and the moment you did, your fingers started admiring the material on his chest, the silver parts brushing against your hot skin. His hands moving up and down your thighs, rolling down your high rise socks. "Do you like it that much?"

You nodded, "this is looking so good on you." you met his eyes and smiled, "looking like mine."

"Is my y/n flirting with me?" he raised a brow and you giggled. Mark patted your thigh, "let's take this off, sweety." he indicated under your skirt. You nodded and Jeno guided you on your knees and Mark helped you to take your panties off, still keeping your skirt on and your shirt almost falling off your body. As soon as your bare heat came in contact with his belted chest, you let out a moan and clutched his shoulder, your body leaning forwards.

"Come on, I'm starving." he pulled you towards his face but he felt you grinding on his chest and chuckled, "y/n, stay still." he spanked your bare ass and you yelped in sudden hit. Jolting forwards, he easily guided you to sit on his face and you sank down. His nose on your clit and his lips mounding over your core.

"Oh my god." you clutched the headboard tightly and on the other hand grabbing Mark's hand. "Ah..this feels so good." your breath labored and even if you wanted to grind your hip, Jeno gripped it tightly, surely leaving red marks over your skin. He sucked on your clit and you threw your head back with a loud moan. His groans vibrated against your heat, making your coils tighten inside your stomach, he lifted you up a bit and you whined for the loss of contact, "you taste so sweet." he kissed and bit your inner thighs, your body shaking under their hold.

Mark was smirking at the view in front of him. How your body was shaking and squirming and your tears falling down, he moved towards your face and kissed your cheeks. Your innocent eyes met his dark gaze and he crushed his lips with yours, directly moving his tongue inside when you cried out again as Jeno's tongue started torturing your clit. Sucking and lapping onto your heat like a starved animal. "Stay still." his muffled order with a groan from beneath you made your head shake against Mark, "listen to him, baby."

"I can't please. Make me cum. Please."

"You will, baby." he kissed your shoulder and slid down your shirt completely from your body, leaving you in your bra and skirt. He bit his lips at the sight and left your hand to get off the bed. You pleaded towards the other boy, "please Jeno."

As he felt you clutching and your arousal dripping on his tongue. He stopped eating you out and made you stay still. You whimpered and sobbed, "why why?"

"What? You thought I would let you come so easily? Not yet, love." he smirked. He spanked your ass again when he felt your attempt to move your hips against him. You both heard shuffling sound from your side and noticed Mark taking off his shirt and your eyes instantly trailed over his body and he amusedly watched you checking him out. "I know what you want, baby"

Jeno spanked you again and you quickly turned towards him, "did I say to watch him?" you shook your head and quickly added a faint, "no." he smiled and guided you to sit on his face again, latching his mouth to your heat, devouring and groaning and your moan echoing inside the room. Standing beside you both, Mark grabbed a fistful of your hair and turned your face towards him, "won't you help me, baby?"

"yes...angh...I will."

"Good girl." he held your shoulder to hold you straight and your hands busily and messily tugged at his button to open it and pulled his pants down. Your hands and legs started shaking and Jeno's big nose bumping on your clit made you go insane when he suddenly stopped and you whined. Mark pulled his pants and boxer down to free his member and took it in his hand and rubbed it with his own arousal, groaning while his head fell backwards.

"why? " You whined and pouted while looking down at Jeno. you didn't know for how many more times he was going to deny your orgasm but before you could complain anymore, Mark grabbed your neck and guided you towards his length, "Now stop complaining. Be a good girl and suck on it like the way Jeno is making you feel good."

Shoving his length inside your warm mouth, he let out a guttural groan and tears brimmed in your eyes. He pulled out a bit when you licked the tip and swallowed the length, hollowing your cheek and resting it on your tongue, teeth grazing over his red girth. He put a pressure on your neck, pushing himself more into your mouth and soon you felt Jeno's mouth abusing your leaking clit, squeezing your shut and you felt your body shaking. Your one hand supporting your body and the other one taking a hold of Mark's member while he was abusing your mouth.

You choked on his length when he shoved himself more inside of you and started thrusting his hip with a tight grip on your neck. Tears streaming down and body jolted when he yanks your head back, letting you breathe. You gasped for air and panting, "please...please...I'm near."

He scanned your face, biting his lip and groaning at your messed up face, "what you say, Jeno?"

Jeno muttered while his tongue fucking into you fast, "what?"

"Should we let her cum?"

You pleaded, "please."

Jeno groaned and sucked hard, making your stomach do turn and twist, "I don't know. Should we?"

"Yes...please." you mentally prayed because earlier you have already been denied so many orgasms and you don't know how to hold it anymore. Jeno again said, "First make him cum in your mouth and then only you can cum. Okay?"

Your teary eyes begged again, "please, mark. Please, cum for me."

Mark clicked his tongue, "be a good girl for me."

He again shoved himself into your mouth and started fucking you relentlessly like Jeno fucking your cunt. Your moans getting lost on his length and the way he gripped tighter on your neck, you were sure he was near and so was you but you knew you couldn't come until he did. Soon, he moaned out your name and hot liquid shooting down your throat and some spilling down your chin. He held your head back, "swallow it." you did and even licked your lips to taste the bitter taste on the lips.

He bent forward, his breath hitting your earlobes and he whispered, "now come for us, baby."

Your whole body shook, letting out a loud moan calling out their names and he kissed your shoulder, "good girl."

Jeno gripped your hips gently to ride out your high and planted you to his side. You were panting and resting on your palms and knees. "Don't think we are done with you."

Jeno's voice made you look at them and he got off the bed to stand straight, "come here." you crawled to the end of the bed and stayed on your knees. His lips shining with your juices and some falling down over his vest and he licked his lips and wiped his chin.

"You like my vest so much. then, Take it off on your own." you nodded and searched for the way to open it. Both of them admired your movements. Your flushed face, red eyes, marked skin and messy hair was not letting their eyes off from you. As soon as you got rid of the material, your fingers tugged at his jeans button.

He held your hand glared, "did I say anything else?" you stared at him and he pulled you up in a kiss. His kisses are always different from Mark in every aspect and this is why you realize every little kiss from them. Who is the one kissing you even when you're asleep. He sucked your lips, biting it down and sucking your tongue. He tries to be gentle but as soon as he gets a taste of you, he will lose control.

Gripping your jaw to suck hickeys on your throat and shoulder, he messily makes out with you. His grips were way more strong than Mark's because the older one becomes gentle now and often, but the younger one's grip doesn't falter ever. His other hand guided yours to his abs, finger tracing each bump and the muscle lining down to his jeans button. He tapped your hand to signal you to open it and you did it quickly, surprising the one standing beside you.

"So eager for him. Aren't you?"

Jeno pulled your head back by your jaw, "answer him."

"Yes. yes. I want you, Jeno."

He chuckled, pecking your lips and pulling down his jeans along with the boxer, "have patience. You will be getting me." his fingers entangled with your hairs, massaging your scalp. Your eyes closed and leaned to his touch, when he suddenly made you hiss with the sudden pull, "suck me. Come on, you can't be greedy now."

You nodded and attempted to lean forward, his grip became tighter to meet your face, "behave, y/n."

"Yes. I am not greedy."

"Good girl." Before you could have adjusted him inside your mouth, he thrusted forward, choking you in the process, he was slightly bigger than Mark and you had to use your palm to match both the rhythms, hollowing your cheek and teeth grazing while his tip hitting the back of your throat. Tears spilling from your eyes and your drools by the corner of your mouth, trailing down to the chin.

You felt a presence behind you, his hands exploring your body, roaming around, giving you feather touch with some occasional squeeze here and there. Your whole body jolted when he pinched a nipple above your bra. His chuckle was faint due to the loud groan and moans of the man in front of you. With a quick snap, your bra was undone and he was quick to fondle your chest and kiss all your bare back. His hands were playing with your stomach, tracing patterns when he took both of the nipples between his fingers. Pinching them and pulling them before releasing them when you were squirming. Repeating the same action all over again.

Jeno pulled you away and you gasped for air, drools sticking to your chin and trailing down the throat. Mark left one nipple to insert a finger into your hole and you moaned. You were adjusting to the new feelings of a finger inside you, when he shoved inside another one and started pumping in a full speed. You gripped the bedsheet tightly and Jeno slapped your cheek with his member, "don't think of coming before you make me cum."

And again, he shoved himself inside your warm mouth, feeling the satisfaction and pleasure again. He guided your head to his own liking, grabbing your hair and moving it in a rhythm and Mark was showing no mercy to your abused cunt and maintained his own pace, your body squirming and eyes shut close. "Look at me." Jeno's harsh tone made your eyes flutter open and you quickly looked up, meeting his eyes. "Keep looking at me." Mark pinched your nipple and the other hand was busy making you nearing your climax.

Jeno moaned loudly, not caring the neighbors would think someone growling inside your house and pulled himself out. "Swallow it." you tried to swallow the hot thick sticky liquid but some still spilled from your corner of the lips and trailing down your chin to your chest. "Do you want to come?" He noticed your struggle to keep eye contact and as soon as you nodded, he pinched your left out nipple, making you cry out. "Mark, stop there." he ordered and kissed your nose with a smile.

Mark was quick to stop and retreated his hand from your cunt. You whined and sobbed because of another denied orgasm. Jeno shoved off his pants aside before climbing on the bed and then when you noticed Mark had no clothing on himself. Jeno pulled your back flushed to his front. His member poking your lower back and Mark resting between your legs when he kissed your inner thighs and his member hanging limp in front of you. You gulped at it and met his gaze. You loved this. They knew about it. You loved edging and getting denied orgasms and they were well aware of your limits and if it was too much, you better knew how to use the certain word.

"Do you trust us?"

"Yes, Mark. I do. Please."He kissed your temple before smoothly sliding himself inside you from front and wrapped his arms around your shoulder, kissing down your collarbone and biting some sensitive areas. Groaning in your ear and licking it afterwards when you felt a cold sensation in your ass. Jeno was spreading the lube to prep you with a finger and then two when he suddenly inserted himself. Groaning in your other ear, both of them using you like a fuck toy and it was a whimpering and groaning mess inside the room. Jeno's lips and teeths were not leaving a single area to suck and his fingers kept rolling and pinching your nipples, sometimes turning your head around to kiss you.

Mark brought your face to kiss you again and other hand circling over the clit.

"So full, Mark. so full, Jeno." you were mumbling so many things. Jeno hummed in your ear, "I know. Take it like a good girl." you grabbed Mark's wrist which was busy down there, "please, Mark. Too much." he kissed your closed eyes, "shh...you are doing so well. Taking us so well."

The double stretch was burning you out and you were sobbing between them but their hot touch was building your coils inside you again. Their rhythm soon matched with each other and Jeno kissed the sensitive spot in the back of your ear, whispering, "come for us, baby."

Your head fell back on his shoulder and soon after both of them bottomed out inside of you, filling your two holes with their hot spilled seeds painting your walls. Jeno bit down on your shoulder and Mark bit your throat slightly when they hit the climax. Three of you were panting in the position. Neither of them pulled out from you, Jeno kissed your shoulder softly and Mark kissed your cheek, "look at me, y/n."

Your hooded eyes looked at him and he smiled sweetly, "let's clean you up. Come on."

You shook your head, not having a bit of energy to talk. Now it's Jeno who spoke up and held you still when you whined as Mark slipped himself out, "y/n, just stay awake for a while. Then we will sleep together. Promise." he kissed your head and he slipped himself out, you were nodding your head and tried to fall to your side but he swept you off the bed and stood up with you in his arms.

Mark entered the bathroom first to prepare for the bath and soon after Jeno followed him with you. Jeno took the shower by himself and Mark cleaned you up with him. In the meantime, you cleared your fogged mind and stared at both of them while dressing up into fresh and comfy clothes.

As the three of you reached near the bed, you climbed on it quickly and fell down on your back, staring at the ceiling in comfortable silence. Both of them followed you on either side and chuckled at your cute reactions. You hugged Mark and snuggled your face into his chest when he stroked your hairs and rubbed your back. Jeno turned you around and pecked your lips, "are you okay? Were we rough with you?"

You shook your head, "no. you both were perfect. If you were hurting me then you would have listened to me and stopped there."

He nodded and patted his bare chest. Neither of them were wearing any shirts, only in boxers but you were in a camisole and a satin shorts. You happily rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes against his heart beat, "can I ask you both something?"

Mark hummed and urged you to speak, placing a kiss on your shoulder and pressing himself to your back. You felt both of their body heat against your skin and it was the best feeling ever you could get in your life. Both of them together with you and no other tension surrounding you.

"Both of you cummed inside me. What if I get pregnant?" you rubbed patterns on Jeno's stomach. He stroked your hair and massaged your scalp. "So?"

"Are you both okay with it?"

Mark turned you around and smiled, "we will be more than okay. It will be so nice with your swollen belly and after a few months, a crying baby in the household."

"And then there will be two babies for us to handle, Mark." you hit Jeno's arm when he teased you. Both of their laughs match the pitch and you made annoyed faces at them. "Don't worry, y/n. We are okay with everything which you love. If you are fine with having a baby, we are happy too." Jeno smiled down at you.

Mark added, " we won't pressure you for anything. If you don't want one, then also it's fine. Just take it easy. No rush. I know you got this."

"I love you. I really love both of you."

Mark smiled, "I love you too."

"I love you too, y/n." Jeno caressed your cheek.

Yes, the love between you three is incomparable. You don't think if anyone else in this universe can ever make you feel loved like them. You just want to stay between them like this forever. If only you could sleep in their arms and forget all other worries from life, just you and them and your sweet dreams.

"Keep talking, y/n. I will have a nice sleep." Mark laughed at Jeno's statement and you glared at them before pressing your face further into Mark's chest when he pulled you towards him, blocking your attempt to hit Jeno who was smiling at your cute act. He finally hugged you from behind, with you three drifting off to sleep.

Atleast, the night was not as bad as you thought it would be.

Note: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated. Spread love not hate.

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @hwanring @hyuukah @kazscara @aceofspadesbiofalltrades @nvdhrzn @meowmeeps @vtyb23 @haechansbbg

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wantonlywindswept · 3 days

Text

another trope inversion of GAR/Guard interactions:

the GAR is entirely aware that Coruscant is a shit posting.

they're not blind; they can see all the anti-clone sentiment when they're on leave. even when they're deployed, it's not like they're cut off from all news - they know how many times bills for clone rights have gone to the Senate floor and been ruthlessly voted down. they can see how even their Jedi are restrained by the Senate dragging its feet and making bad choices and handling the war like it's a game of dejarik since it will never affect them personally.

very few politicians have the respect of the clones.

but the Guard still have to work with the spoiled, self-centered bastards, and the GAR knows that they're not being treated well. but what can they do? they have no rights, the Jedi are as trapped under the Senate's thumb as they are, and it's not like they can get regular citizens to do anything.

so they offer their support as much as they can. any Guard, any Corrie who needs help, all they have to do is find one of their brothers and it will be offered without any questions.

you'd think that crime rate would go up when battle-traumatized soldiers are given leave on a city-planet like Coruscant, but it actually goes down.

way down.

the thing criminals come to realize is that if you are being chased by one of the Guard, if ANY other clone catches sight of you, it is ON SIGHT. clones in casual clothes carrying food and drinks have dropped everything to immediately join a Guard's hunt, throwing themselves into the pursuit with glee and an energy that the usually-exhausted Guards often lack. (some of them howl. those, the criminal underground agrees, are the worst.)

and with hundreds or thousands of clones wandering around during battalions' leave, it's possible to run into one of them anywhere. and they usually travel in packs.

best just to lay low for a while.

when it leaks that the Guard regularly run low on supplies, all sorts of things start to go missing on the venators. just a box or a crate here or there, ration packs or bacta patches or cold-weather gear. there are millions of clones and thousands of ships; it's not like every little thing can be tracked by the quartermasters.

(rex realizes that, for whatever reason, his battalion is always prioritized for resupply, and rarely any questions are asked about their requisitions. rex takes immediate and shameless advantage of this. rex manages, somehow, to lose two entire bacta tanks, along with the bacta to fill them.)

and ofc the idea that started this whole ramble - when a shiny Corrie stumbles somewhere where some of the 501st are shooting the shit, causing everything to immediately come to a halt. the kid is clutching his helmet and one of his pauldrons to his chest; his hair is mussed up and there are tears on his cheeks and bruises on his face and unadulterated panic in his eyes.

there's an angry call in the corridor.

the shiny flinches.

fives grabs him, hears him squeak, snaps out orders. echo yanks off his bucket and his upper armor; jesse lunges for a blanket. they hustle the kid into a chair, drape the blanket over his lower body, hastily swap his upper armor and helmet for echo's. fives shoves the armor somewhere, doesn't matter, it's out of sight with the telltale red, and they all barely have enough time to drop themselves back into the chairs arranged around the table and pick up their cards before some natborn stomps into the room.

anything we can do for you, sir? sorry, no, the Guard didn't stop in here. we saw him head back down toward the rotunda, though. yes, sir. have a nice day, sir.

they close and lock the door. fives goes back to the shiny. fives was instantly prepared to help a fellow clone in need.

fives was not prepared for tears.

the kid gets snot all over the inside of echo's helmet. they take him back to Guard HQ. fox is painfully, desperately relieved to see him. fox looks too-thin and too-tired but there is a fresh GAR-issued bacta patch covering a slash across the side of his cheek. he thanks them for saving the shiny, like that's something that ever needs gratitude, but is swept away before any of them can say that.

fives doesn't think that misplaced bacta and pilfered rations are enough support for the Guard anymore.

thankfully, rex and the rest of the GAR agree.

#tcw #tcw fanfiction #of a sort #coruscant guard #captain rex #clone trooper fives #commander fox

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comfortless · 1 day

Note

Offering you a prompt because I know you could make it perfect! ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)✨ You know about Minoan Bull Leaping? What about that with a hybrid Köni?

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. König is a man here!!: ears and a tail and a set of horns but that’s it!, fem (afab) reader, nondescript animal death, codependency and a little possessive behavior, reader gets injured, potential historical inaccuracies, one-sided worship, mentions of violence, reader is a virgin for three seconds, cunnilingus, smut.

word count: 11.5k.

You’ve practiced this, and still the tension and nervousness bleeds through you, courses like a steady river under skin and curves around bone. The bulls are so much larger than the fallen trees and heavy stones you’ve danced around and over for practice, and the nights spent tempting them with treats had never been enough to prepare. Twigs and jagged edges are nothing in comparison to the horns of very alive and breathing beasts; petting their heads is far simpler than prancing over their horns.

The bulls wait in the field, grazing, sturdy monoliths amidst a sea of green below the warm light of the sun. It kisses every inch of skin, highlights the determination and giddiness on the faces of others and lines your frown in shadow. Three feral bulls for two men and a woman far more practiced than you; a rugged, adolescent thing with his horns barely poking through waits just for you, misplaced from the herd and huffing indignantly some distance from the rest.

You watch the others go, one by one, as they skip and somersault toward their gruffer partners. Your hand rises up the expanse of your robe to brush over the jewels layered along your throat. Their movements are rushing water, fluid and perfect, so elaborate and pretty that you fear even blinking will cause you to miss the most important details.

And then they reach their bulls.

Some huff, one tilts his head in curiosity. An attempt to gore, perhaps, except… these things are not vicious, only happy creatures. They know the importance of the dance just as you do. When the curious one does accept the grasp of a man’s hands over his horns, you feel yourself beginning to walk, possessed by the need to claim your own bull and perform just as they do.

The show that you put on is less graceful, but does not lack heart. A trip on your first somersault that sends you into the grass, righted immediately when you hear your bull huff only paces away. You laugh, coo, and chirp as you approach with more balance. The sparkling jewels dance over your skin just as the others dance over their bulls, leap after leap, and the animals remain calm.

Yours is no different. He allows you to graze your fingertips over the soft fur of his back, does not so much as flinch when your press your palms flat over the sides of his face. The horns poking out of his skull are rounded at their tips, not yet properly grown in. You kiss the dip between his eyes and tell him how special this performance must be. To tame a wild animal is something divine in itself, but to tame a bull takes someone truly virtuous.

The grass tickles along your calves, the sun feels so warm and lovely against your face. You sigh in contentment as your steps lead you back, arms raised in preparation to jump. The others cheer you on, guide you with their voices as they wait next to their animals. The scent of nectar and pine lulls you to comfort, allows you the courage that you lacked initially; knees bend and arms raise, your eyes locked on the sprouting horns.

With your posture immaculate, you take your first leap.

The sun catches on something tar black and glimmering waiting in the trees just out past the pasture. Two tall horns springing from either side of a head, the stature of a man, just as your fingers curl over the calf before you’s much smaller horns.

The heart in your chest ceases its pounding for a moment, and your eyes must have widened the very same as a child’s would when encountering something sweet or shiny to treasure.

There’s a man attached to those horns in the tree line. Though you could not make out his face beneath all of the shade and foliage, you were so certain that it must have been a man.

A man larger than any man in Crete. Impossible and imposing.

The tumble that follows this reverie is what breaks away any hope of this being a lovely day.

Your concentration was broken the very second that the creature showed itself, and it was far too late to stop even when you were no longer a part of what was occurring between you and your sable-furred calf. The animal senses the not-right about the situation, takes it as a cue to move just as you were lifted over him and sends you sprawled out into the blooming wildflowers. The earth at your back, the sky to your front, and the pain takes its time to trickle in like winter chill and crawl up from your soles to the base of your neck.

The thin gold of your necklace must have snapped, because one of the jewels lies over your middle now, and several others have been left for dirt and birds to claim in the grass.

It’s your bull that comes to worry over you first, his wet nose nudges at your cheek when the scent of blood from broken skin taints the air with iron. It’s just a scrape along your palm, sullied by the peak of a jagged rock lying buried just below the soft soil of the pasture. The blood runs in small streams when you marvel at the wound, held up keeping sun from your eyes.

His coarse tongue finds its way to your hair, retrieves the flowers from it as if his stomachs could not wait for the consoling to be done to be fed. In your stupor, you almost want to call the poor thing stupid, but you only tell him that he’s done as well as you hoped.

You’ll dance with him again, you promise.

The injury takes time to recover from, even with the most patient of healers seated at your bedside. He reminds you that a woman of your standing is something special in herself. Proud, noble, and meant to be wed in the coming months each time he layers salve over the scrapes and the expanse of bruising along your back. Your linens are changed by the slaves of your household, new jewels provided in abundance and placed around your neck as though you even need to look presentable now, bruised and stuck in your bed.

No one knows what you saw, not really. You aren’t even certain what that vision was. They whisper of madness when you bring it up. The Minotaur remains in the labyrinth, far away from here and bedded down in the dark. Men don’t possess the horns of bulls, and you must have damaged your head too, because no one believes a word you speak about it, about him.

Your mistake, you learned, was probably what spurred your poor calf to be chosen for sacrifice. A bad omen forfeit, maybe. So young and gentle, and now gone. The soft fur off his ears and the quivering of his nose wouldn’t be felt again, and worse still…What if you were not meant to leap with them at all?

There is fruit and barley served up onto a plate made of bone as you’re ordered to eat by your healer. People can be crueler than bulls, you think to yourself; you haven’t even got the desire to eat after hearing such a thing. You’re bleeding from the heart when the first bite is forced into your mouth, gut twisting and fingernails digging into soft linen.

“I promised…” Your voice is muffled by a particularly fat portion of plum. It goes ignored by the withering old healer that tilts your head back and strokes your jaw with a soft palm to encourage you to swallow.

“Eat.”

And when you don’t, when you spit it back onto the plate, you’re rewarded with another bite and further encouragement as your sobs fill the room. It should be expected, not as hard as bone or as tough as the skin of the fruit when you’re finally offered sweet wine to swallow it down. You shouldn’t be a mess over an animal who served his purpose well and would be heralded as some savior for giving some clumsy woman trust and a chance.

It’s just that there’s so much more to it, for you. Patches of purple and swelling are much easier to spot than guilt and other turmoils.

Your first should have been beautiful, should have left those watching with stars dancing in their irises. You couldn’t even handle a calf, and you feel more pitiful and helpless the longer that you harp on those thoughts.

You rest and have dreamless bouts of slumber. You walk alongside the healer, leaning against the old man for support when you find the pain is still very much there, stinging and vile. The people about the city always smile to you, offer you flowers and sweet fruit and ask when you’ll be well enough to dance again.

Often, it even soothes the ache that they can’t see well enough. Provides some hope that, yes, you can return to what you’ve always hoped to do, display your grace and strength and find some place in a flowery pasture before the day of your wedding. You’ve heard of women tearing a place that makes them bleed on horseback, how getting the pain over and done with then has made consummation far easier when that day comes for them. Maybe that could happen for you too.

You ask to hear the story of the Minotaur more times than should be appropriate from the slaves of your household. Some of them are foreign, not entirely sure of just how it should be told. You find yourself especially fond of one of them who twists her words to make everything seem honey.

“…I like to think that he wasn’t alone down there,” she finishes on her second retelling of the night. The first had ended with a separate possibility altogether, one that saddened you to the core.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she laughs, taking the comb of carved bone to your hair, gently running it through each tangle provided by your pillow from lying in bed for the entire day. “Maybe he had friends or…”

“A wife?,” you question in amusement. Bulls didn’t take wives, even if they were part manâ€¦

“He is a man. Surely he had a woman,” she laughs again, bright and giddy, and follows it with a shrug. “You said that you saw him. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“I didn’t say it was him,” you almost wail in embarrassment. It was true that you had endlessly questioned and pondered for the past few weeks, speculated on what may or may not have been there, beneath the trees when you took your fall. For some odd reason, your fascination with that creature had ignited a flame someplace in your chest, growing ever brighter with each day that passed. “He didn’t have a bull’s head. Only the horns.”

She plucks at your hair with the comb a little longer in silence before setting it aside and casting you an almost fretful glance. “That sounds scary…”

“Oh,” you sigh. She’s right, of course. There were plenty of terrible things described with those attributes. But… if bulls didn’t scare you, then surely bullmen could not be any worse. “He didn’t hurt anyone though.”

“But you did get hurt,” the girl reminds you sympathetically.

You swallow dryly, and at last decide to put these fantasies aside. Your injuries were almost healed in full, and the last thing that you needed was for everyone to think that you were not simply wounded, but crazy too. A mad woman wouldn’t find a husband, and you were not a cow meant to be fantasizing over bullmen. The place you were given since birth was that of noble standing, a woman worth her weight in pearls and gold, not meant for fields and horns.

When morning rises and the yellow-red glow of the sun pokes its way through your window, you find you’re able to stand properly without the old man’s help to keep you upright.

You wash your face with the water from the clay pot in the corner, smile to yourself when you dab carmine onto your cheeks and smear it with the palm of your hand to look the part of some blushing dove.

Your robe is clean and soft when its pulled over you and fastened, delightfully comfortable when there’s no more bruising to irritate. Incense is lit, and you immerse yourself in what is before you rather than in shadow.

There’s a clamoring in the street below your window as you finish preparing for the day, both cheers and shouts of fear that stir both confusion and trepidation in your belly. It takes some time before you can coax yourself into taking a peek, find the strength in your trembling legs to look upon what may very well be the final march for a man deemed worthy of execution or perhaps some other misfortune.

Everything is painted honey and gold over the chalked clay of the buildings and the smooth stones layered over the streets.

There are women fleeing, a few cowardly men accompanying them. Children walk backwards or affix themselves to high walls to stare back at what’s being led by soldiers clutching thick lines of woven rope.

The thing that follows behind them leaves your heart in your throat, because it… he, is no prisoner or omen.

The bullman from your endless daydreaming walks with his arms fastened behind him, thick tail flicking in irritation at his backside, soft auburn ears fold back against his head.

The face, closer now, intrigues you the most, because as you’ve claimed endlessly: he only looks the part of a man. Some rugged barbarian, for certain, but still he does not bare any resemblance to the Minotaur or any other beast from the tales and songs. Though his nose is crooked, and pale scarring layers in abundance over tanned flesh, he looks almost sweet. There’s a gentleness about him that betrays the strangeness of his silhouette from before.

And he bleeds crimson like any other man, from a wound dug out in his shoulder where a spear must have pierced him. The blood along his chest has not even had the time to dry.

The poor man is bleeding and naked, not a scrap of cloth to conceal him any place, not even where his hair curls above his loins.

You imagine what the healer and slave girl must think now, when the subject of your endless ramblings is out on display for the entire city. Whether monster or forgotten god, the bullman is here, and in your haze of thought you will yourself to storm out into the street. There are hisses of confusion and fear all filtered and feathering on the air, many voices, but what is worse are the screams.

He doesn’t even possess it within him to look afraid, only terribly annoyed or maybe even somber. It was difficult to tell by the lack of expression on his face. His eyes are sad, but his lips are pressed into the barest line. The only indication that he feels anything at all is the swishing of his tail, a tell of anger in bulls. Maybe in men baring their resemblance, too.

“Where are you taking him?,” you demand, a shrill cry from your doorstep.

No answer comes your way from the soldiers at his side.

“Please…”

The words fail you as you find yourself stepping in front of this march. Ten soldiers to keep one man in a hold, it was ridiculous. Though he towered over them and possessed horns sharp enough to gore, to see him like this… It all stirred so much emotion within you that you almost think you must have really injured something in your skull, because the city spins around you and your eyes sting fiercely.

Every step halts when you begin to sob right there in the street like a bereaved wife finding out her husband has been tortured or killed in some distant land. Even the bullman seems intrigued by your tears. The quiet blue of his eyes flits from what stands beyond you to your face, puffed and slick with tears. Why cry for a man you do not know?, he seems to ask wordlessly. Why throw yourself out in the midst of danger?

“… my bull is dead, so I would like to…” To dance with this one. To see past the abomination of what he was and maybe cherish him in the way he deserved without deserving.

His ears prick forward, and he huffs something whispering and foreign in his tongue. Just one word that you’re uncertain of the meaning of, probably demeaning considering that you had called him an animal, not man. But he speaks. He speaks and that is enough for the soldiers to exchange cautious glances from the titan they lead to the curious display of the crying woman in front of them.

“You want to dance with this bull?,” one asks, both amusement and disbelief painting each syllable.

You nod your head, weak but fiercely resolute in your wish.

Not “this bull”, but perhaps “this god”.

You’re both stripped bare of any defenses, fates left in the hands of men who only know to kill and fuck. Somehow luck shimmers through, because you’re presented with one of the ropes a soldier carries. It’s offered to you with a stiff, callused hand, dropped unceremoniously into the palm that rises up to wait.

You walk beside your bull, not where you would rather lead him but where the other men urge for you to go. People watch on with curious stares, and you know most assuredly that when your healer hears of this new derangement, you will suffer another fortnight in bed with herbs and prayers over your head.

The bull watches you the entire time with a stare that lacks any emotion. The beast could be grateful, humiliated, or considering ripping you apart the moment his binds were undone and you wouldn’t have the slightest idea of it until he was upon you. What’s stranger still is that you don’t fear him. He looks to you the entire time and your hand clutching the rope does not tremble. Your pulse races, but only with something beyond fear, something an ordinary man has never gifted to you.

The gated pasture is bears a cool breeze when you enter, you watch as one of the men ties your new bull to a post and tells you that he is wicked, but the only crime he’s being accused of is being what he is.

“You’re hurt,” you assess a little dumbly when everyone has paraded away. The grass stains the white linen you wear as you sink to your knees at the titan’s side.

You’ve nothing to tend to his wound with. Dirt is smudged into the divide in his flesh with gentle swipes of your thumb, a strip ripped from your robe when you try to stop the bleeding further. He hisses when you fasten it tight, shoots you a glare that both makes stars fall in your eyes and sets a stampede to rush in your heart. Your heart, you think, but really it’s something else. You feel hot all over and it’s the stupidest thing.

“I know, I know..,” you mumble as you tie the cloth, straighten yourself out and cover the expanse of your thigh that’s been revealed as you settle back into place. “Can you move it?”

“Yes.”

It hardly registers that he’s freed himself somewhat until a massive hand curls tightly around your wrist. The touch is not at all gentle, it’s probing, the tip of each digit leaving small curved indentations in your flesh, intent on keeping you thoroughly in place.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” His voice comes as an odd grumbling, seemingly unused for some time. It isn’t deep, either, which comes as the most jarring thing about all of this. It’s so pleasant, that even with his iron hold you find yourself smiling as a flurry of affection stirs between your breasts.

Because I was right, you yearn to say, but hold your tongue for fear of seeming too brazen and less subservient than you should be, catering to a god you’ve never even heard of. Both man and bull, something divine and strikingly handsome even with his soft features.

“Should I be? Will you curse me..?,” you ask, softening your grin to glance up at him through your lashes. Demure and flirtatious before you even think to catch yourself. A maiden should be more cautious dealing with ordinary men or things not yet known, but even when your expression reverts to one of mere curiosity, it seems too late.

His nostrils flare as he regards you; then, his hand shifts upward to stroke at your bare shoulder, fingertips move to dance over your clavicle. The hand comes to rest beneath your jaw, a thumb carefully brushing over your chin. Then, he withdraws all at once, turns his head with a huff of breath. He doesn’t bellow as the other males in the pasture, does little to seem more cow than man in your presence. Perhaps it’s a practiced courtesy: to appear more human than the additions crowning his head suggest.

“Dummes mädchen.” He doesn’t tell you what that means, and his voice canters off to silence when you push and prod to ask.

He doesn’t budge when you ask where he’s come from, some distant land across the sea you even speculate. You ask him what he is in name, and in turn his ears seem to lower, flatten further, as though he were trying to hide them altogether. There wasn’t much he could do about the horns, though.

The bull barely even returns your shy glances, the only indication that he knows and rather likes that you’re still seated at his side is the flare of pink that rises from his throat to settle upon his cheeks, the way his jaw tightens and loosens when you speak.

“What is your name?,” you ask him when the silence grows too much. You’re starting to feel beads of sweat prick at your skin from the glow of the summer sun above, and more than anything you want some closeness, some proof that maybe your listless life is not a total loss. Earning a god’s favor would only be too lovely, the perfect cure for the unnamed thing that ails you. “So that I might worship you properly?”

That prompts a response.

He turns to you with a forced stoicism, one that does little to subdue the way his eyes widen and his face burns. Being jabbed at and held captive like an animal would make any man more than a little unhappy or wary, but your words dissolve that into smoke in an instant. He tells you his name in a keening sort of voice, one reserved for wolves or agitated horses.

“König.”

You repeat it, once, twice.

It sounds funny and foreign, too simple for what he appears to be. You tell him your own when he doesn’t ask, repeat it just the same so he remembers his only acolyte. Someone so cute for a god of beasts or maybe even good harvests.

You wanted to pry further, have every secret expelled from his tongue, unite in words and quell that horrid, demanding passion. It’s why men run way to brothels, you supposed. Excitement and the allure of something pretty to stake a claim into… but you’re a maiden rather than some feather-headed soldier.

“When you’re better, we will dance,” you declare with a hope that he might understand. “My first offering to you.”

König stirs, rumbles someplace in the expanse of chest. His hair curls there in the widest patch, you note, trails down right to thighs that make brick resemble only soft clay. You’ve never openly ogled a man like this, and it doesn’t feel shameful, not when you’re convinced you already have an understanding here.

You couldn’t imagine he would crawl on his knees for you to prance over him like a yearling deer, bellow like a proper animal when you took his horns in hand. The ugly, ivory prongs about his head looked too dangerous anyhow. One slip… you didn’t want to imagine what would happen then.

“… Richtig.” Then, “What do I give to you?”

His question confuses you fully, because the way he speaks it does not seem curious at all. As if there’s already a resolution in the words. No clothing, no weapons, not even a coin. The only thing present and available is what sits between his thighs, a daunting pillar. He asks only for a consent to what he does not bring out in words, only hinted at from the way his gaze drags up from your throat to your eyes.

The strangest mating rite from the strangest man of all…

You don’t ask him about that.

You let the words hang in the air for a stretch of time. Then, you fetch him some water from the creek just past the field. You untie the binds still shackling him to the fence post as he drinks from the shallow bowl. He laps at it like a dog, furrows his brow a little when you’re caught staring again.

There’s too much to look at to entirely separate yourself from him. And he speaks so oddly it’s difficult to distract him with conversation. So you settle to admire, and he does so in turn. When you find yourself watching the way his chest puffs with each intake of breath, his stare only maps you the same, mimicking or appraising.

He grunts, too; flicks an ear when he stares down at your lap and embarrassment immediately floods you when you realize that his senses are not entirely human, either.

You fold your hands into your lap and part your lips to speak again, to maybe ask him why he came here at all to serve as some distraction from the way he appraised your hips with that dreadful stare.

“When?,” he interrupts immediately, casting his dish aside and straightening up to look down upon you. Exacting some misplaced wrath, you assume. Let a woman leap over him and maybe have his freedom after. He just wants it over with, and you can’t blame him at all.

“I told you… when you’re better.”

That must not have been the right thing to say, because his injured arm is the one he gathers you with, brings you up and over him to press your chest to his and glare down at you. The glow of the setting sun seems dull by comparison to the ember in his eyes.

“I am fine.”

The calendars have been a blur since you fell. You huff and pout in thought, trying to think in spite of the way the closeness has you feeling dumb and dizzy.

“A few days..,” comes your answer, quiet and apologetic. “I’m nearly certain.”

König sighs and you feel it flutter your hair, the warmth on your neck. His arm drifts from around you, as if to signal that you could depart at any moment. Whatever had possessed you now leaves you in place, flustered and miserably infatuated. It pains you that he only seems exasperated by this entire ordeal rather than enthused, but he seems to soften somewhat when you don’t bolt away immediately. The tension leaves his shoulders slowly, and the summer sky of his eyes is placid instead of burning.

He could strike you down at any moment, leave you gored out here in the grass with common bulls, destroy the fence and maybe all of the people in the city too… but he seems intent on just keeping this silly oath and having you seated here.

“They caught me when I came to find you,” he says, blunt and careless, as if seeking out a woman he saw once from across a field is just a common thing to do. The very same as worshiping some creature driven out from the forest. “I saw you. Then you fell.”

“You were looking for me?” Your words are expressed with shaky intakes of breath, nerves alight with both love and caution. Led toward you by want, a thing you both seemed to feel.

He goes utterly stiff at that, but grits his teeth softly as his gaze casts down to where you’re seated in his lap.

A chance meeting… or maybe it was something as wonderful as fate after all.

You looked the part of lovers already, and perhaps that’s made him shy… but bulls don’t get shy, and König is no exception here, because his hand immediately rises to lift the robe covering you, drifts the linen up to reveal the soft fabric of your loincloth.

“Yes,” he grunts, staring down at the prize between your legs. A reward he’s already promised to himself, one you freely give when you don’t give him a smack or shove his hands away.

He smells of the forest: of wispy pine nettles, water from a spring, juniper. Of a man, whose closeness you had yet to have entirely. No bristling comes; you don’t close yourself off. He’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen— sad cow eyes and the bulk that only comes from a life rich with work and fighting, survival and instinct.

Had he ever even had a woman?, you wonder. Did he find you lovely, too?

König huffs appreciatively, lowers his head to your chest to bump his nose against your breasts. You release the breath that was caged unbeknownst to yourself, and your arms come around him naturally, cradle him there. Maybe he had never even been held… So, you pet him, trail your hand along the nape of his neck, up and through the messy strands of hair atop his head.

“You are injured too,” he hums into plushness, breath washing over thin fabric and causing your nipples to rise in answer. He must have felt the scab on your palm, healing, but still coarse and stiff. Even in what you perceive must be some sort of courtesy, worrying over your scrape, he doesn’t peel himself away from what entices him most here. His hands descend to stroke at your sides, trail down lower until both palms are fitted against your backside.

He squeezes, slow and intentional, weighs your flesh in hand. Explorative and further appreciative when another hiss leaves his lips to filter out along your clothed sternum. If he were not seated on his tail, you imagine it would have swayed fiercely, excited by the earlier fight and now the prospect of breeding some silly woman. You don’t have that indicator to read his thoughts, but the throb of the mighty weapon between his legs is enough to know. It’s warm and hard beneath you, gives a slight jump when your fingers dance over the base of his horns.

“I got hurt because of you.”

“Little maiden… I would never hurt you. Only please you,” he declares, sounding prideful. Just as a bull should, even in such a predicament. Like a god, proper and true. Surely this city would be cursed for what they’ve done to him. He will fuck their virgins and leave everything else scorched and ruined. And a part of you is almost giddy to know the very first would be you.

You’ve yet to touch men, but you knew well enough what the wetness down there meant, what his erection meant. Why men grope and fondle just as he does to you now, when a hand rises to tug down the top of your thin dress, when his head lifts just enough to lick at the side of your tit.

The air around you both thrums, pulses as though there are thunder strikes surrounding. And the sky is still clear when your head lolls back to face it in full as a nipple is enveloped by a hungry maw. He suckles at you, pushes his hips upward and strokes at your ass when you whine and pant. The cover of nightfall grants you some mercy, because no one is around to hear those cries or the way he grunts into your flesh, greed pouring from the both of you. No gods or stable hands, only a glassy moon and a blanket of star shine amidst murky sable like sea water.

When he lies you back, viciously lapping at your breasts, sucking your skin to grind between his blunt teeth, you take the horns into your hands again to tug him close. He groans, bellows like a man starved into your chest, drool and bruises layered over your skin. You should be in bed, waiting for some droning dullard to wed you first… not allowing a beast of a man to lower you into grass and dine upon you like this.

The gods would probably find this humorous… even if he might very well be one of them. How easily mortals could be swayed, even virtuous women, at the appeal of some miserable thing to save with an ugly, big cock.

But one or two bullmen was more than enough for this world, surely. No spawn of yours would be sent to a labyrinth deep below the earth, dark and desolate, and you’ve already bled this moon…

It pains you to push back against the face that sends pure fire through your belly with each swipe of his tongue, but you do. König seems both dumbfounded and frustrated when he separates from your flesh, the moon in his eyes eclipsed in full.

“I can’t..,” you try to explain, to tell without telling that you don’t want to push some horned infant from your cunt just because you like him a little. You wet your lips and stare up at him, hopeless and lost here.

“Why?” Your bull doesn’t understand, because of course he doesn’t. He’s trying to give you the only thing that he has to offer. Maybe he’s fucked other women before, women who took him gleefully and sang pretty beneath him, coated that raging thing between his muscular thighs in their essence and left lovely pictures in his memory. You don’t know why that thought alone is enough to make your head feel cloudy with wrath.

He asks again when you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. Bulls may be sacred, but no one’s ever said that they were not stupid.

König only pulls away enough to hover over your sex instead, panting gruffly like something starved and prepared to plunder an unsuspecting hen. Still, he waits for an answer, and you don’t think to spare yourself enough to close your parted thighs.

“I thought we would… after we danced,” you try, and maybe that would have worked if you didn’t have your softness and every treasure laid bare to him like a submissive vixen.

The beast only shakes his head and raises your legs to rest over each of his bare shoulders, corded in muscle and heat. He doesn’t nick you with his horns, careful even as he pushes his face right to your womanhood. The loincloth remains in place, but it’s the most fragile barrier. His breath makes your toes curl as it hits your sex, sends a wave of pure want swooping from your chest right to your cunt.

“You smell..,” he muses quietly, trails off as though drunk on just a whiff of you. When a thick finger tugs the cloth aside, you squirm from panting breath arcing over sensitive flesh. It’s the wettest you’ve ever been: little fantasies did nothing by comparison to the real thing, presented right before you and inspecting you down there.

He flattens his tongue over your entrance and relishes in the way that makes you squeal, draws back just to repeat the motion and watch you with pupils blown when your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly.

“You have not been touched.” His ears flick as he speaks, gaze dragging down, back to the pussy that calls for him.

“No… that’s why- ah-“

The ideas of children and expectations are long forgotten when his tongue presses to a spot that sends you shivering. It circles over it, too warm and heavy to bear. Your back arches, breasts heave, and he laughs into your cunt knowing he’s found the very spot that would make you forsake all but him.

The torture grows delicious and lovely, what he had done to your breasts is exactly what he does there. He suckles at the bud, scrawls his name over it with a wet, lapping tongue. You feel as though you truly have gone mad, fingers curling into the earth to keep you in place, because not even the gods could tear you away from this moment, not now…

It’s when your trembling thighs begin to tense and your voice grows further pitched that König decides to probe at you with a finger, too. It slips in with resistance, and the intrusion is strange… both horrible and ethereal at once. The titan finds a space inside of you, one to curl his finger against. It’s clumsy, uncertain until he finds that that is what makes you cry the loudest.

There’s a blinding white as though the sun has seared its way into your skull, sent the rays of its warmth into your very veins. It brings about a haze, leaves you quivering and panting as bliss rolls over you in steady waves. He gives you another lick, from your slit down to your ass before sitting up. Not an ounce of hesitation is weighed in his stare or his actions when he brushes the thick cockhead through your labia.

“I am going to fuck you,” he declares in a groan, already feeding you a fat inch of him. There’s still lingering resistance, but the honey that drips there now is in abundance, coats him with each shallow thrust.

You choke on the pain of such a sudden stretch, but find yourself only leaking more at the sight of him: a god laying claim to some mortal girl, you, above you, in you. The sounds he makes only ripen the elation. There’s desperation in each grunt, and his eyelids flutter as though he’s found something truly holy.

He drops over you, an arm to either side of your head when he sinks in fully. As if to dull the ache of your womanhood, at the loss of your title of maiden, he licks your cheek, the corner of your mouth, any place to soothe. When you capture him in a real kiss, your taste still lingers there upon his lips.

He seems even more delighted that you would show him affection than what’s occurring between you. The press of his hips comes to a halt, because he savors that display of what is or isn’t love. It’s almost shy, the way his mouth molds over yours, the way a hand drifts to your hair to pet at you. The other lowers to take your thigh and draw it up and keep you pinned in place.

You think to hold him now, too, when he breaks away from the kiss to gaze down at you with a shimmering stare, one that speaks more substance than anything he’s given you in your entire conversation. Your nails stay bedded down with the dirt, though, knowing with a fierce certainty that you once he moved again it would be the only tether to dull the ache of a vicious fucking.

Except, he’s only gentle.

The cock inside of you takes a slow drag out, teasing and tentative as though trying to memorize every ridge inside.

It’s agony, because it feels like lovemaking.

Beasts don’t make love, they only have violent ruts and part ways entirely. König fucks like a man devoted. His eyes never stray from your face when he pushes back inside, all too careful. It must feel better than the being amongst his kind in the mountain he descended from, because the sounds he makes are fragile, barely contained whines that seem foreign from a man of his stature.

“I have been… watching you for so long, little..,” he huffs, burying his hand into your hair and dropping his head to press his forehead to your own. The words barely register, hardly make sense when the thick tip of him pushes right into the softest part of you again. It’s better than a finger… better than anything you’ve ever felt, and with everything so doughy and hot what you want to say only comes in a keening whine.

“Gods,” he continues when your sounds are smothered and blanketed by the filthy, sloppy sounds of your own wetness. You must be soaking the very earth you lie upon, dewy and warm. “Better than I dreamed.”

The slowness paves way for a heady, brutal thrust when he realizes that he isn’t hurting you. It only feels better the more that he moves, with each thick vein along his cock felt, with how he repeatedly spears against that spot that brings tears of rapture to the corners of your eyes. That new pace does not relent. You squeeze him the most like this, savoring in how he carves his way inside, molds you to take shape for him in what looks like pure violence but feels like love.

The sounds of impact and the scent of sweat and arousal surround you, the moon above and everything beneath it seem of so little importance now.

König does not silence himself even though you wished that he would. He pants against your face in his mother tongue, babbling endlessly as pleasure spikes for him. It wouldn’t be long until he filled you to the brim with thick spurts of seed, you could feel it in the way he throbbed against your walls, how each thrust was more prolonged and deep. Your mind swims, pleasure so intense its as if you’re drowning in the sea itself.

“I came from the valley..,” he tells you in a feverish whisper, only now recalling that you didn’t know a thing about him before offering your cunt, maybe even your heart…

“Not a god… not anyone…”

It’s too much when his hips press in faster, when his cock reaches the end of you, over and over in frenzied repetition. Overwhelmed and stuffed to capacity, you sob and quiver, taking him into your arms and clawing at his broad back. The pain only seems to make him more feral, because his hands leave your thigh and your hair to grasp at your face instead, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he bares his teeth and spears into you relentlessly.

“Little one… I want this for the rest of my life,” he growls. “Promise me…”

The words sit on your tongue, fully prepared to surrender yourself to some beast of a faraway valley, chased and poked with spears or fire… Any hope of a cozy life would be forfeit here, already has been the moment you allowed him between your legs. It’s a horrible secret, one surely only Pasiphaë must have known of… how wonderful it felt to be bedded by a man like this. Not old enough to have fathered the Minotaur, but surely bred to be something akin to him.

“…I promise,” you whisper, perhaps desperate for this torturous copulation to end… or continue. Feeling so whole, full, right. Your offering is beating warm and overflowing in your chest, and König only looks as though he’s about to break at your words. The blue of his eyes grows glassy, translucent waves painting over each iris, but those tears don’t shed. They’re only dismissed with more needy rasps.

He growls, hooks his teeth into the sensitive flesh of your throat when hs strokes begin to stutter. Your bull comes with a muffled howl, pumps pearly ropes of seed as deeply into you as he can manage. Your hiss of surprise is stifled with a blazing kiss where he moans into your open mouth, delves his tongue as deeply as his cock. He pumps several more times, intent on spilling every last drop inside, none wasted.

It seeps to earth when he parts from you, when he inspects the milk and honey of successful union between your legs. He looks surprised, confused almost when that stare is guided back up towards you as his chest continues to rise and fall swift with exertion.

You raise yourself up on your elbows, draw your legs shut. Not in shame, but… apparent embarrassment, your former courage is diminished when he looks at you as though you’re the most peculiar thing beneath the stars, when you’ve revealed yourself almost entirely and had him fuck and take apart all of it.

Maybe it’s the same for this beast, because his surprise and unshed tears are so evident here. He no longer looks the part of a god, but a lost man.

Not anyone, he had said. Is that what he felt? Or only what he had been told..?

“You’re not a monster,” you whisper. The chill of night settles over your skin, but there’s still warmth here, blooming like a flower in volcanic soil; the sun itself was incomparable to this peculiar thing that had taken root here.

He snorts at that and shakes his head. The ears there are cute and pluming with fluff, a reddish brown that suits him so remarkably. He’s kissed by the sun, even bathed in moonlight here. The prettiest of monsters, if he’s fooled himself into believing he is one.

“You should not have given yourself to me,” he tells you as his eyes narrow. The threat holds no weight, if it were one at all, because he grasps at you and pulls you in close; brings your cheek to his chest, right over his pounding heart. “I will not leave you alone.”

“Good.”

Maybe he’s speaking through the haze of a good fuck after being the cause for screams or raised weapons for so long, but you pray it comes from a truth. You’ve offered him a full meal of you, a treasure that none other has had, left yourself weak and aching all for one. His grip only tightens around you, refusing to let go as if to confirm your belief.

You’re brought back to the earth with your bull curled at your back, two powerful arms snaked around your middle with his nose pressed into your hair.

“After your dance, you will come with me.” There’s no longer a request, only an order. You’ve accepted him as both your man and mate, and it seems to please him greatly. His chest puffs against you, pride and contentment harbored there.

“To where?,” you ask him dreamily. The sea is what you’ve seen the most of, and the foothills and mountains seem a distant place. You imagine that maybe where he’s arrived from must have had others like him, maybe the women there were what he had had before… And maybe that makes you more precious somehow, different and coveted because you hadn’t run, only charmed him with questionable nursing and a request to prance over his back.

“Everywhere,” he answers immediately, stroking at the dip between your breasts. “I will never let you go.”

— — —

You’re separated from your bull come morning. It’s heart wrenching and terrible after a night of such passion, but you couldn’t allow for anyone to see you out there with your clothes in disarray and sperm slick and running down your legs. You had waited for him to sleep, for his dreaming to give way to raucous snoring before you slipped away, casting him a woeful glance. The giggling on the way from the pasture would have been terribly humiliating had anyone been awake to hear, but you were fortunate last night.

Come morning, there’s a pain between your legs and traces of blood in your loincloth. You hastily cast that from your body, hide it beneath your mattress before crawling back into bed with your thoughts a whirl. Candied fruit and precious stone, everything sap sticky and sad all the same… because as much as you would like to venture there, to see him, it was most rational to keep away.

If you were caught, you could only imagine the trial or lack thereof. The spears that would have come then wouldn’t miss their target. He would be deemed something far worse than a monster for daring to touch a lady such as yourself.

You bide your time tending to your duties and praying that your loss of virginity isn’t as apparent as it feels to you; when the thoughts drift back, the warmth upon your face only grows and your thighs immediately press together.

And you ponder his offer of leaving the temples and people behind to haunt someplace else with him, away from all else.

It's mad.

You barely knew him, of even what he was. He didn’t even have the sense to keep secret that he had been stalking you for some time, before you ever even noticed, with his fat cock buried inside of you. His ways of courtship lacked any shame, and maybe that’s why the passing thought of a normal man being in your future seems only lackluster. König could hunt, build, provide far better, you assumed, given his stature… And the gods gave him the knowledge of the most tempting tricks with his tongue.

The days leading up to what would call you back to him pass in a tortuous crawl. Even distracting yourself with thoughts of him in lonely silence with a hand between your thighs seems too little. You’ve even asked every slave woman here just how she gets the thoughts of men out of their heads. The advice is merely that sex does not always lead to marriage and children; they part ways like the animals in the forest and leave little room for love in their dens.

You hoped that he was thinking of you, too.

It would be ridiculous to say you’ve missed him, but seeing him in that field bound by rope again once you return is exactly what you want to shout. The birds call from the trees, singing beautifully and everything seems to glow, all except for König.

There are shadows beneath his eyes, cast long and dark from a lack of sleep. He does not even look your way when you take your place next to the others.

He’s forlorn. Maybe even pissed at having been gifted a warm meal only to have his face tugged away and a rope secured to hold him back from tasting or touching again. You should have warned him, about customs and etiquette, reassured him with your words that a little distance was fine because you’ve already made up your mind… but it seems too little and too late to peep your objections now.

The beast is led toward the other bulls by a man half his size, looking as though he’s on the brink of soiling himself from fear. The screams from before are not present now from onlookers, but König seems far less comfortable here than he did in the streets of your city.

Flowers are brought and tossed to both the hooves of bulls and the feet of dancers, yet none are presented to your partner at all. Even with green springing up below his feet, the area he waits in seems barren by comparison. It’s miserable and sad, all of it, and you once more long for being so winded against him that you two seemed to be the only things alive beneath a night sky.

You call to him when the man holding his lead gives it a sharp tug, and it’s dropped instantly as if you really hold some power over what becomes of him… You only hoped that whatever fate lay in wait for him would be coupled with your own. A passive life in a cave or something like that, where you could call him your husband, even… watch the sweat drip down the muscles of his back as he coaxed a fire to life.

Your bull tilts his head towards you, and though he tries to force the very same indifference from before his inner thoughts betray him. His brow remains furrowed, his expression grim, but his ears perk up and he immediately marches toward you. His gait is more of a charge, and had those horns been pointed to you, peril would await.

Punishment only comes in the form of a large man staring at you as though you’ve just wounded him terribly. You remind him there are no blades here with the gentlest touch of your hand along his bicep, swept down to curl at his wrist. It’s the most you could do here, and you could only pray to Aphrodite that your love would be understood regardless.

“You left,” he gruffs, raises a hand to tilt your chin up just enough to face him, though his gaze averts the second that you lock eyes. Shy, definitely not, but with so many watching, he seems entirely out of his element. The hand that graces beneath your chin even trembles, but it’s not fear you find when you search his eyes again.

Hurt.

It’s unmistakably hurt.

“I’m surprised that you did not,” your answer is a whispered one. He should have freed himself, whisked you away like an unsuspecting bride. You recall the other women’s ramblings from before, of men and how little what you experienced together may have meant.

“I do not wish to be apart from you.” He speaks as though it’s the most common knowledge of all, as though you’re a silly thing for ever believing that your want and his are one in the same. “Come with me.”

He doesn’t belong here, amidst people that cast their judgment yet herald the animals that he bears a small resemblance to.

Neither do you belong, you realize. You haven’t belonged since the day you spotted him amongst the trees.

The odd looks that follow König are cast upon you now, too. They see this peculiar beast with one of their women and think of her as sullied down to the marrow in her bones. You must smell of him, marked without a proper mark at all. He hasn’t branded you with any more than soft bruises from kissing your breasts and fitting the length of himself inside of you.

You take your risks and call them offerings, and he greedily accepts each and every one you bestow. You allow it when the hand cupping your jaw drifts lower, graces your breast with the softest touch before taking your fingers between his own.

“You have to be patient.”

He snorts at that.

Bulls are not patient creatures.

The ceremony has already begun. There are real animals here: beasts even larger than König that chew at the grass below them, flick their tails and ignore all that happens around them. There’s prancing and singing, elaborate acrobatics and leaps that must have taken years of practice.

And when you dance with your bull there is none of it.

He stands in place as you twirl around him, weaving around behind and before him as you bend to collect fallen blooms from the ground. Yellows, blues, flowers with no name or place, scavenged from fields further than the pasture. Your laughter pulls even a smile from his hardened face, a face you’ve found handsome since seeing, but must provoke terror in most men…

He’s so horribly endearing in his own ways. It’s the fastest you’ve ever fallen, or anyone in the whole world has, even… The legends and stories speak of love that shoots straight and strikes true like feathered arrows, singing on the wind until they prick their targets. You honor them just as he seems to, and you would tell them to him if only he asked.

Your head and heart are muddled and sick with love, melted down like precious metal within your body. He twists and brings you back together and whole when you’re taken up in his arms and lifted.

“I could touch the sky,” you laugh, clinging to an ivory horn. Pressing a kiss to the pointed tip of it, you swear you detect the heat from his face on your belly.

“Little one… I will take the sun for you, if you ask.”

“You would burn,” you warn.

He drops you then, cradles your body close to his chest instead and carries you as though you’re nothing more than a small dove with broken wings, something to be cared for.

“You make me burn already.”

“König…”

“No, not…” He shakes his head, smushes your cheeks between a thumb and the rest of his fingers as you’re forced to lock eyes again. The giant’s hand is careful with you, more gentle than his teeth or his…

“Call me something else. Something better.” There’s a keening to his voice, a fervent desperation there. A need to be not simply wanted. Wherever your titan has come from with his constellations of scars, the wound still there on his shoulder and all the pain he masks in behind a forced grimace… it has all led him here.

To the woman he watched practice taming bulls for weeks or months, to the only person he believed could accept what he is.

He only wanted to hear it, to have the most shattered wish answered with a tender chime. To bed you wasn’t enough: it could never be so simple. Your heart has been what he’s after all along; he reassures you in self just in voicing this.

“You’re lovely… my love,” you breathe. “You’re mine.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, and the pools gathered in his eyes do seem to shed. Your face is released as he rubs away anything that may shed. The dark circles are coupled with red rings now, but still no part of him seems weak or broken. He hides that away with everything else, bottles perceived weakness and sets it out to sea and gives you the grin of a proper brute instead.

“Ja… you are mine too.”

You’re set down only as the bull leaping comes to a close, when the people retreat and König seems content in knowing that no one is left to whisk you away. It’s all that he’s waited for, to have you alone after this tradition he did not quite get. He played his part well enough, even if you hadn’t had the chance to climb onto his back as the others had with their bulls.

Only then does he begin to tell you of a life bought and sold without end, of the fighting pits you’ve only heard of and never seen. His tongue does not spare you details of chains and spears, what they do to men like him. There are hundreds of scars, each with a misery attached, some still carrying pain that never heals. Promises were always in abundance to keep him contained, weapons were smithed and placed into his hands since before he could remember…

The life you had imagined for him has never existed. There’s never been love there: he spares you the nature of the women he may have been fortunate enough to touch before, but he whispers that you’re the only one who has ever kissed him.

Your heart breaks for the wounded boy he’s buried inside, and you weep when he tells you he’s only ever prayed for a woman like you. Someone soft and cute, who didn’t run or wail… Who craved him just as terribly if not more, gashes and teeth, horns and all the rest.

And he comforts you when you cry, pulls you in so tightly that your breath catches and the tears do sob. You whisper apologies into the hair on his chest, for all the awful things you would never imagine doing to him, and he scoffs at the pity in your voice.

“Do not cry for me,” he whispers into your hair, leaves a trail of kisses along the crown of your head before dropping to his knees before you and pacifying the best he can by stroking along your back. “I have you now, hm? My little maiden, richtig?”

“Yes. Yes, always,” you promise. Another gift.

You’re led away from the pasture under the veil of nightfall, your arms curled around one of his own. There are men about carrying sharpened steel, thieves and drunkards hiding out in the dark as well, but not an ounce of fear trickles through you to diminish what’s already felt. The stars above are in abundance, brighter somehow on the night you forfeit all.

König speaks unguarded now, each question is met by a response. It’s the first time he’s ever been asked about himself, he tells you this when you express your satisfaction at finally hearing more than a few words at a time. He’s terribly cute when all of the praise and attention cause his face to ripen like summer fruit, red and shimmery with sweat rather than dew.

You’ve brought nothing for a journey, but he swears to you that there is pilfered honey, wine, fruit and furs in his den, some dark place he describes as special. It’s the only place he’s ever called home, so surely it must be.

König doesn’t warn you that the trek takes weeks, nor that the mountains are even more beautiful up close. The foliage is wild, the air fresher and free of the smell of cattle and people, and each climb seems steeper than the last. He doesn’t tell you of the wolves or bears, but you hear them at night when he pulls you even closer to him. The wild things won’t hurt you; the wildest of them all considers himself to be the king here, a ruler that they respect or dread rather than dare to cross.

It isn’t a cave that greets you when you come to rest after days and nights of exertion, but a hut built of cut wood and clay. Built as well and thoroughly as any builder from the city would have done. He tells you of where he learned such things, watching men work after sparring with animals and their own kin in pits; how they would promise to rear families in structures like this, how he hoped in crafting all of this that one day he might have the same.

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, crossing the threshold to find just what he has already told you was waiting here, so far off from common roads that none of it has been pillaged.

The gifts come aplenty, too: a new comb make of bone for your neglected hair, jarred honey and trinkets from his travels or pulled away from a former captor’s corpse. There’s even a weapon for you here, a blade sleek and shimmering, some foreign sword that astonishingly reminds you of a part of him.

“I will find a prettier one for you,” he says as you examine the blade, heavy even when held in both of your hands. It’s only a mercy that you are not the provider here, because there would be no deer or even rabbits slain when even holding it makes your movements sluggish.

“… I like it. All of it.”

He plucks the blade from your hands with ease and casts it aside. The sound of it tapping, then clattering against the wooden boards rings out loudly before he’s upon you. The trek to the mattress seems an eternity, longer than even the venture here. Cloth and jewelry, the only lasting remnant of your former life follow suit, piling over the sharpened steel.

There’s a bear’s pelt beneath you to soften the stuff straw, less wild and ferocious and smothered by the lingering scent of him. The lonely nights spent here must have been terrible and tragic. Did he allow the shield to fall and weep then? In the comfort of bear skin and the calling of night birds outside, tears and wasted seed.

The urgency is a looming beast on the air, prevalent and fierce when you’re pulled into König’s lap. Your bull lacks the patience to prepare you with his mouth or a curled finger now, only pivots your hips to take him with a prod as his head lowers for his mouth to latch onto your breast.

“I am in love with you,” he whispers against your flesh. You’re left at his mercy as he guides you with one large hand placed upon your thigh and an arm curled around you back. It’s slow, always slow when he begins, when he’s drunk on the feel of you surrounding him and every new feeling that floods his head.

The ears prick forward when you sing for him, whimpering as he buries himself further. As though it’s the most pleasant sound he’s ever heard in the span of his life. The only thing more beautiful is the acceptance and surrender you offer. There’s never been a shield in place, no guards to watch over you… he’s the only thing.

He knows, too, when your panting mouth repeats his own words.

He bucks into you with more haste, slips his tongue into your mouth and groans when you take it between your teeth. Skyward and earthly with each motion, the sea and the mountain tethered as one. And maybe you’ve never leapt with the cattle from your city, but you dance with this bull so naturally that it vanquishes any doubt of where you’re meant to be. What you’ve yearned for was not the taming of animals, but maybe a man…

Your orgasm comes sudden, a wave of wet heat that drools from your core, aids in the glide of the feverish pace he guides your hips into. König’s head tilts back, bliss painted upon his expression from how you close in around him.

You take your chances and press your face to the column of his throat, biting down on him just as he had you. The salty sweat on his skin leaves its taste on your tongue as you lick over the freshly painted mark. The sounds of his own pleasure are cast away; he goes silent and still, and you almost fear you’ve made some terrible mistake here… But König comes undone at that, desperately gathers you in his hold as he pulses within you, writhes beneath you.

He refuses to release his grip even when his cock grows soft, just rolls you onto your back and covers you like the thickest blanket.

“You didn’t fall this time,” he huffs into your hair.

Though your lips part to try and order him to be quiet, he grinds his hips against your own as if to make the obscenity of his comment even more apparent. It only heightens the warmth you feel sweep up into your cheeks.

“Little dancer…”

And finally he rises above you, another wild grin slowly gracing his scarred face. A thumb brushes against the pulse in your neck until his hand rests right over the heart tucked beneath your breast. It’s better than any promise of a lofty field or a mountaintop, even covered in sweat and come, to see the way that his eyes light up with pure mirth when he feels it’s beating.

“You feel it… you didn’t lie,” he mutters, and you try your best not to allow that comment to claw amongst the others he’s made that left wounds in your heart, gashes that bleed for him.

“Why would I?,” you ask, voice so thin and soft you would think it unheard if not for the flick of his ear.

“I did not think anyone would ever…” He rubs at his face as he falls to your side, only to pull you in close again. The defenses raise in those words, but lower as they do time and time again when you nestle into his chest, pet at the curls of hair there.

“They said no one could ever love me.”

The tears in his eyes finally are laid bare. They roll down his cheeks, and he does nothing to hide them this time. You accept his silent crying without comment, the only indication you share that you know, see, is in the way you press a kiss to his jaw where they gather and spill.

“Fools, they were..,” you whisper to him, just as quietly as before. The sanctity blooms further as his chest rumbles, a contented hum coupled with a squish to bring you even closer to him.

“Ja… just fools,” he answers you in a voice not broken, only softer than it has ever been. “Like you. For this… giving so much.”

“And you are greedy.”

He nods once before reaching for your hand; his own curls over it, still splayed out over his chest. He’s no cocky, rough brute now. He pets at it with a trembling thumb.

“I will never let you go.” He speaks it as though it is a curse, rather than the blessing you’re certain that it is. Most women would fear a lustful beast raised up to kill even gladiators, yet there’s only the sweetest consoling to be found with him for you. “You will suffer me until we both die.”

“I could not imagine a better fate.”

#könig x reader #konig x reader #i did not proofread this if you spot an error do not look at me #steadily going through my inbox i pray this was worth your century long wait lil wisp..!

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auteurdelabre · 1 day

Text

A LITTLE SUN - SERIES FINALE

rating: 18+

tags: None. No spoilers in my finales!

summary: It's go time.

a/n: Y'ALL. Who knew this ATTEMPTED ONE-SHOT would end up being this fuckin' long and make me fall even deeper in love with the amazing trash panda/rat king Dieter Bravo? It was a labor of love, that's for sure (see what I did there? heh heh). I should note, your girl's never had a baby and I'm pretty sure a bunch of the shit here is inaccurate and borderline unsafe. OH WELL. This is a Hollywood romance type story so suspend your disbelief, k?

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS MEAN YOU LIKE ME AND THAT MAKES ME WANNA KEEP WRITING.

[ ppppsssssstttttt if you wanna be nice and send a broke writer some cash because you like her writing and her stories and they made you happy, the paypal addy is [email protected] because ko-fi is givin me a headache. ]

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

"This can't be happening," you say in the passenger seat as Dieter speeds you both towards the hospital. "He's not due for another week."

"He's a Bravo," Dieter tells you in a tight voice. "Bravo's never fucking do what they're supposed to. It's part of our charm."

You let out an agonized wail as he speeds around the corner, holding your belly as you lurch back. He spins down the highway, honking at passersby. When half the vehicle ends up on the highway you shout at him to drive normally.

When you settle, Dieter presses a button in his dash and your mom's number comes up. You hear a phone ringing in the car and then your mother's voice soft on the other end. There are hospital noises in the background, she’s at work.

"Hello Didi-"

"Hey Mimi," he says breathlessly interrupting her. "It's go time. Our girl's water broke."

"Oh my goodness," you can hear your mother flapping around in excitement. "I'll be there! I just have to get someone to cover my shift! Oh he’s early! I’ll see you soon, loves!"

"See you soon."

The call ends and you're left staring at the man intently focused on driving.

"Did you just call my mother Mimi?"

"Yeah," Dieter says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It's my nickname for her."

Didi and Mimi? What the fuck? How did he get Mimi?

Before you can question their weird interaction further your hands grip around your middle, the strange stabbing sensation increasing with every mile that passes between the house and the hospital.

Thankfully Dieter gets you there quickly, pulling into the hospital's ambulance lane helping you out of the car.

"You can't park there," a man shouts after the two of you. Dieter gives him the finger before helping you onto the sidewalk. You can barely move and you double over, hissing before you can reach the doors. When you are able to right yourself again Dieter is there with a wheelchair he urges you back into.

"Dieter where did you get this?"

"Some old guy smoking on a bench."

"Dieter!"

"Relax," Dieter insists as he rolls you to the front desk. "He won't miss it."

Dieter feels like he's vibrating. After that emotional decree to you he was certain you'd been striding towards him before you doubled over in pain. But now he's not certain. As he follows the nurse now wheeling you to the private suite he's wondering if it was just wishful thinking.

But he doesn't have time to worry about that right now. You're whimpering in pain, one hand over your belly, the other groping the air next to you.

"Are you Dieter Bravo?"

A voice sounds out beside him but he ignores it.

"Can I get your picture?"

"Why are you here?"

He ignores them all, rushing to the side and grabbing your hand as they wheel you into the large private suite.

The space is beautiful if not sterile. Nurses file in, helping you into a pale pink robe before urging you back into the hospital bed.

Dieter steps back to give the medical staff room but it hurts him to be even this far from you. Your feet go in the stirrups and Dieter feels his heart crack. You look so tired, so scared there in the hospital bed.

"You gotta be gowned up, Dad," a nurse says helping Dieter into a blue gown. A hairnet is forced over his unruly locks and a mask over his face. He feels like he's getting ready for another part in a movie, dressing in costume.

Nurses crowd around you, taking your temperature, urging a device onto your finger. There's chattering, movement like some strange ballet.

"She's already nine centimetres."

"Call Doctor March in."

"Dieter!"

Your voice cuts through the overlapping chatter. He moves through the throng, going to your side, ignoring the huffs of irritated medical staff. You gaze up at him through watery eyes and Dieter feels a swell of indignation rise as he watches you squirm in pain.

“Where’s the fucking drugs?”

“It’s too late for an epidural,” the nurse tells you both cringing. “She’s too far along. I’m sorry-“

“What the fuck? I can’t do it without drugs! I can’t do this!” Your eyes are wide and terrified. You glance up at Dieter. “It’s going to hurt! Don’t make me do this!”

“You can do this,” Dieter insists, his thumb rubbing your palm soothingly. “You’re the strongest woman I know. You could do this in your sleep.”

"I can't do this," you whimper, terrified of what's about to happen.

What if something goes wrong? You've read about losing blood about emergency C-sections.

"You can," Dieter says, eyes big and beautiful. He cups your face in his large palms. "You've got this."

"No, I can't," you insist, eyes watery. "I... I'm not strong enough."

"Baby, that's not true. Who got me on SNL after my DUI even after they turned me down twice?”

“Me.”

“And who got me out of my contract for Hot Ones when I found out the chicken wasn’t organic?”

“M-me,” you cringe as a stab of pain goes through you. You can feel the nurse probing to see how far along you are, but all you can focus on is Dieter’s face in front of yours.

“And who wrangled me out of Russia with only a fake passport and a bad accent?”

“Me!”

“That’s right,” Dieter insists, his voice proud. “You don’t take shit from anybody, baby.”

The doctor swans in, a serious looking woman who spares a brief smile for you and Dieter as she reads your chart.

"Hi Mom and Dad, I'm Doctor March and I'll be delivering your son today."

You both give her a weak greeting before she sits on the rolling stool between your parted legs. Dieter isn't looking there though. His eyes are fixed firmly on your face. Your head is tossed back, your forehead damp with sweat.

"Alright Mom, you're ten centimetres so I'm gonna need you to start pushing."

Dieter watches your face blanch and feels a chill go through him at the terror in your face. You look up at him, tears clinging to your lashes.

Dieter doesn't even think. He toes off his shoes and crawls onto the hospital bed next to you. The nearest nurse shouts at him from behind her mask, hand reaching for him.

"Sir, you are not allowed in the bed-"

"I'm staying," Dieter snarls settling in behind you. His long legs go to either side of you, bracketing your body. You lean back against him, relief flooding you at his nearness.

"Sir, I'll call security-"

"Just let him stay!" You cry out. "Please!"

All of a sudden a pain rips through you, causing you to jerk back against Dieter's chest and give out a sharp shriek.

"Baby's coming," the doctor says irritably. "Nurse, I need you here."

The woman scowls at Dieter from behind her mask. The staff begins talking to one another and everything feels like it's happening too quickly.

"Alright Mom, gonna need you to push."

Your fingers dig into Dieters thigh. You feel like the lights are too bright and the room is too cold and the entire thing is just too… scary. You're brows pinch together in anxiety.

"C'mon baby mama," Dieter urges at your temple. "This is all you. You can do it."

You try your hardest, gritting your teeth and trying to push with all your might. But you can't do it. There's too much noise and chaos and the only thing that's keeping you grounded is the warmth of Dieter behind you.

Dieter feels your trembling body and wishes more than anything that he could calm you with his touch alone. Dr. March is calling things out to you but all Dieter can focus on is the way your eyes are darting around the room, the way your body feels trembling against him.

"S'too much," you groan. "Can't do it."

"You are," Dieter insists, his hand over yours braced on his thigh. "C'mon, I know you can keep going. You're so fucking strong."

"I can't," you weep, your body aching and breathing shallow. "I can't-"

"Who chased me down to the Chateau Marmont and snuck into a celebrity party just so she could return a watch to Cartier?"

"M-me," you groan as another ripple of pain goes through you. Dieter sees the doctor leaning forward, disappearing under your gown.

"And who threw me into a shower to get sober for an interview on her first day?"

"Me."

"That’s right,” Dieter smiles, recalling your first introduction to one another. “Know why? Because you don't take shit from anyone and you're not starting now. You show that baby who’s in charge.”

Something in his voice gives you resolve. You nod, hands going to his knees and bracing. You tilt back as you push, head falling on Dieter's shoulder.

"Push," the doctor commands again calmly.

This goes on for what feels like forever. You straining, pushing and crying out in pain as Dieter cradles you between his legs, ensuring how good you’re doing.

"Good job, good job," doctor March encourages.

“That's my girl," Dieter murmurs proudly in your ear. It makes you want to sob.

"One more big push," doctor March says.

You're exhausted and shaky and you don't want to do this. It wasn't supposed to be today. You had a week. You planned it out. This is all too soon.

"No more," you groan, sweat beading along your forehead. You don't want to let go of your son. Not yet.

It feels unnatural to have carried him so long just to be removed from your body this way. He feels like a part of you, like was always meant to nestle under your ribs. It's like removing your own heart.

Dieter lowers his mask and pushes back the sweaty hair from your face, replacing it with a sweet kiss.

"C'mon baby," Dieter insists, his voice a rasp in your ear. "He's almost here. Our son's almost here."

Our son. Yours and Dieter's.

Despite the frenzy of the moment your eyes drift from the doctors head between your legs up to Dieter.

"Our son," you echo weakly.

He's staring down at you, dark eyes so full of adoration. He's nodding, smiling gently at you.

"Our little boy," Dieter says, kissing your damp cheek. "And we're so close to meeting him baby; you just gotta push one more time. Can you do it for me? For him?"

Yes. You can.

You give out an animalistic growl that turns into a shriek. Dieter continues to hold your arms, murmuring that you're so brave, so beautiful.

"Holy shit I can see hair," Dieter whispers against your cheek, peering over your belly to see as the doctor encourages your son forward.

You give one last guttural scream, arching in Dieter’s arms before you feel that stinging between your legs settle. And then the most beautiful sound in the world - the tremoring wail of your sons first breath.

"It's him. He's here."

There is awe there in Dieter’s voice, his eyes wide as he watches the moment his son is pulled from you. Feels his heart constrict as this tiny boy gives out a shuddering cry for the very first time.

Dieter laughs through tears as he watches his son, gold and puffy emerge, his smile dropping as he views patches of white creamy something over his body.

"Wait, what the fuck is that?" Dieter all but shouts. For a horrible moment he's terrified that it's from him fucking you so deeply last night.

"Vernix caseosa," the nurse says with laughter in her voice despite everything. "Protects him from the amniotic fluid in the womb."

Dieter sighs in relief as the squirming baby is pressed to your bare chest for skin-to-skin contact. Your chest is exposed but for once Dieter isn’t horny. He’s just struck dumb at the sight of this small creature nestling there against your body.

"Hi little boy."

Your son lifts his head shakily, eyes blinking slowly, blurrily trying to take you in. He knows your voice, his face instinctually tilting in your direction. Dieter gazes down at you, tears spilling over his cheeks as he sees the love so clear in your gaze.

"It's you," you whisper down at the cherub-like face of your son.

I'd know you anywhere.

Because you would. You don't know how but the second you see his chubby cheeks and long lashes you just know exactly who he is. You would have known him anywhere. He's a part of you. He's been a part of you so long it's surreal to see him outside, here against your skin on this side.

"Look at all his hair," Dieter marvels. "You were right."

He's tiny with long legs and a thick head of dark curls. His skin is a golden color and his fingers long like his dad’s. He’s got your ears and your toes though, and the sight makes you feel strangely giddy. That’s you in this little body, a small piece of you.

The doctor and nurses murmur at your feet, and you feel relief when one says "all good". No emergency blood loss, no anything. The sound of a pager goes off and doctor March stands.

"Got another delivery down the hall. Must be a full moon or something. Congrats mom and dad!"

"Thank you, Doctor March."

The doctor and most of the nurses file out of the room; leaving only two nurses standing beside the bed making notes on a clipboard before one gently removes your son from your chest. You give a little whimper of protest, eyes going wide.

"Just gonna weigh him and we'll bring him right back, Mom."

You watch them leave, already feeling incomplete without him there against you. You feel tears welling at your lash line.

"He's perfect," you say through hiccups.

You feel as Dieter shifts behind you, gingerly removing himself from the bed. He makes sure to do so slowly, ensuring you're propped up comfortably for when they bring your squirming newborn back.

"You did such a good job, baby," Dieter says, kissing your temple before his attention is drawn back to his son being weighed and measured. "Can't believe he's finally here."

You both watch as your son squirms and grunts during his examination, smiling gently when they lift him up and the tall one announces: "Seven pounds, three ounces and twenty one inches."

Dieter holds back his desire to make a dick joke.

The nurse holds your son clad in a tiny diaper. He looks so tiny in her hands. She prepares to hand him back to you but Dieter looks strangely animated, reaching into your go-bag bag next to the bed.

"Oh shit, I almost forgot. Petra made him this."

It's a tiny blue knitted hat. Both the nurses give girlish awwwww's at the sight of it. One gingerly puts it on your sons head before smiling at you.

"Okay Mom, let's do some more skin to skin and see if he'll eat in a little bit."

Mom. Mom. Mom. You’re a mom.

You're already nodding, arms outstretched. It feels wrong not to have him against you right now. The nurses help to wrap the robe you're wearing around him, almost like a swaddle.

You breathe slowly, taking in every second of this moment. He's so fucking small and his eyebrows are so tiny. Everything is just so little.

His mouth smacks together, grunting as his pink lips strain towards your nipple when they place him on your chest.

"Like father like son," you murmur to Dieter, so quiet only he can hear. He gives a loud chuckle and his son makes a small hiccupping sound in surprise. Dieter’s long fingers trace down his son’s back, marveling at the softness of his skin.

"I'm a Dad," Dieter murmurs, as if it's just hitting him now. His eyes slowly travel over to you, your gaze locked on the squirming infant on your chest. "And you're a mom."

"I'm a mom," you whisper and it feels right when you say it.

You were always his mom, from the moment he began to grow in your womb. You were mom. He'd known it long before you had. The kicks and the flutters. He knew you were his and tried to remind you at every turn.

"Thank you," Dieter whispers, eyes damp. "Thank you for bringing him to me."

"Thank you for helping me make him," you whisper back, the hot tears staining your cheeks. "Fuck, I feel like all I've done lately is cry."

Dieter and you share a laugh while the nurses call out that they'll be back to check on you three in a little while, pointing out the call button beside your bed if there's an issue.

They close the door to the suite behind them and suddenly the room is quiet, save for the sound of your son grunting against your chest as he gets comfortable.

"I want to be his mom."

"You are," Dieter says with a smile as he grabs the chair next to the hospital bed, his large palm resting on his son's back lightly when he settles back.

"No I mean... I want to be in his life. I want to see him every day. I want to help raise him."

You see the way Dieter’s body jerks as if he's been slapped. He stares over at you, eyes wide.

"You do?"

"Yeah," you sniffle. "Is that okay?"

"Are you kidding me?" Dieter is leaning over you gently, kissing you so soundly you whimper.

He pulls back, but not before giving a gentle kiss to the top of his sons head.

His eyes search yours, the sweet chestnut color softening the longer he looks at you. He brushes the hair from your face, thumb lingering on your jaw.

"That's all I've ever wanted."

The sincerity is there in both his expression and his husky voice. He means it. And suddenly guilt is the emotion that overtakes you, almost surging through your veins.

"I feel so guilty," you say, overcome with emotion. Your son makes a little squeaking noise before settling.

“Why, baby?”

“Because I closed myself off to everyone. Even him.”

How could you have ever thought of giving your son away? How could you have imagined he was nothing but cargo to be bartered? You kiss the top of his head, hoping that a lifetime of love will make up for months of apathy.

"I think losing my dad just made me so scared of loving someone else," you sniffle, kissing your son's downy head. "I mean my dad was a part of me. And now-"

You look down at your newborn son. The scrunch of his face as he yawns and you think that you've never seen anything quite as beautiful before.

"He's a part of me," you say softly. The tears fall down your cheeks without effort. "And he's the most perfect thing I've ever seen."

Dieter gazes down at his son. "He really is."

"I thought if I could just separate my feelings I could do it, you know? I could walk away unhurt. But then..."

You break off, but Dieter is riveted. "Then what?"

Your eyes blink furiously.

"That day I saw him for the first time I knew I couldn't walk away. I knew it. But I told myself I had to. That I couldn't stay attached."

This hurts Dieter. Knowing that it was months of this personal torture hurts him in a way that makes him breathless.

"Why, baby?"

"Because losing something you love breaks you. It takes a piece from you that never comes back." You rock your son gently. "And I've never loved anything as much as him. Even before he was here."

You’re trying in vain to hold the sobs back now. Your son makes a frowning face, lips smacking together once more before you falls back into his drowsy slumber.

"And I'm scared," you whisper. "Terrified, actually."

Dieter suddenly understands it all. The loss of you father, your inability to cope, your need for control and order. He sees how this challenged all of it and his heart shatters. Dieter runs his hands through your hair, pressing kisses to your cheek as he gently soothes you. You're crying, eyes squeezed shut.

"It's okay to be scared," Dieter murmurs against your ear. "I'm scared too."

You're exhausted and sore and emotionally wrung out. But that doesn't stop you from smiling gently up at him, hand going to brush the tears clinging to his lashes.

Soon the emotional and physical exhaustion comes in, lulling you into a slow slumber. Dieter watches the two loves of his life sleeping, both making the same little nose scrunches in their sleep. He sees so much of you in his son, the curve of his ears, the full of his upper lip. It makes him feel warm and contented.

You haven't confessed any long standing love for Dieter, but now that his son is here and you want to be a part of his life it doesn't matter. You'll be near him and that's enough for Dieter, even if that's all he can have. You'll be the most amazing mother and he'll support you any way he can. Of course it's been a draining day and he feels his emotions spinning off in all directions, but with a rosy hue of compassion.

Of course it hurts that you likely don't feel the same for him.

Images of Dieter and a toddler son dressed in suits dance across his exhausted mind. You under an arch in a wedding dress, leaning down with a smile and arms open as you son toddles down the aisle towards you. You marrying someone else, but with Dieter's support. Dieter doesn't look forward to the day you find your future husband, but he'll support it.

Love always felt selfish for Dieter. A way of staking claim: mine. But this love feels different. He just wants you happy. That's good enough for him.

One of the nurses comes back a short while later and you're still dozing with your son sleeping on your chest. One of the nurses pushes in a bassinet on wheels.

"Gonna put him in this so Mom can get some real rest," one of the nurses tells Dieter in a hush. "Do we have a name yet, Dad?"

"No, not yet," Dieter whispers back. "Can I put him in it?"

"Of course," the nurse says happily. "You know the correct hold?"

She shows him how to correctly hold the newborn supporting his neck and his spine. Then she leaves giving him a quiet congratulations.

Dieter looks down into his arms, rocking the small child - his son - gingerly as he begins to blubber. The tears slide down his nose and one lands on his son's bare belly. He twitches in his sleep before yawning and blinking up at Dieter.

And he feels it pass between them, this ancient sensation of home, of lineage, of love. Dieter thinks of his own father and his ambivalence. He can't understand how he could have ever walked away from his own creation. He stops crying long enough to see his son give a flash of a smile and then fall promptly back to sleep.

"You have your whole life ahead of you," Dieter tells his son, going to stand at the window, looking out into the sunshine filled day. "This world is just yours to conquer. Me and your Mama are gonna be there every step of the way."

You stir in the bed when you hear Dieter’s gentle rasp from the other side of the room. Your eyes flutter open to see him holding your son by the window, rocking him.

"Gonna give you everything I didn't have, gonna spend time with you and play catch and all that good dad shit."

You giggle gently at this, drawing Dieters attention your way.

"Did I wake you?"

You shake your head, watching with adoration as the man you love comes walking back with your son. You think Dieter has never been as perfect or as beautiful to you as when he’s holding your son safely in his broad arms.

"He needs a name," you murmur, watching your dozing child. "Where's your list?"

"Up here," Dieter says tapping his temple with his free hand before looking down at the slumbering infant in his arms. "But... Now that I see him, none of ‘em fit."

"Hmmmm," you purse your lips in thought, watching as Dieter carefully places him in the bassinet. The two of you lean over, watching your son in mild awe. A thought occurs to you.

"My mom doesn't know what room we're in."

"Oh I already texted her," Dieter says. "She's stuck in fucking LA traffic of course. She should be here soon. Lemme check.”

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out and dropping his keys in the process. He picks them up and the keychain makes a soft clinking noise. Jameson stirs in the bassinet, kicking out his tiny legs and tilting his head in the direction of the keys.

Dieter grins, holding them above his son. You see the green Jameson bottle from Ireland hanging off of it. You both look on as your tiny son’s fists tap against the enamel item, sending it spinning.

“He’s got good taste,” Dieter grins. “I’ll have to take him when he’s older.”

“Much older,” you say with mock warning.

The keychain spins again as the baby attempts to grip it with his tiny fingers. But he can’t, it’s much too early for that kind of coordination. The name of the brewery glints in the light and then like a flash you both meet eyes over the bassinet.

"Jameson." Dieter breathes with a crooked grin. "James."

"James Bravo.”

The two of you smile so widely your faces might break.

“I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It’s perfect. Hello James.”

Dieter and you gaze down at your son who’s now grown still, sleeping deeply.

“Now we just need a middle name," you say quietly as the two of you sit staring at him.

"What was your dad's name again?" Dieter asks quietly after a beat. "Michael, right?"

You slowly gaze up the length of Dieter, seeing the soft way he's looking at the baby and then over at you. Something swells behind your sternum.

"Yeah, Michael."

"That's a nice name," Dieter nods before smiling down at the squirming infant. "A good middle name for our son."

Our son.

Affection hits you like a ton of bricks in that moment. The fact that he remembered your dad's name. The way he calls Jameson your son as much as he is his own. The way he loves you so fucking ardently, the way he wanted to take care of you even if you didn’t feel the same as he did.

You think of this past year with Dieter, all the ways he showed her loved you, the way he protected you. You think of nights in his arms, laughing with him and the way you don't want to be without him anymore. You stare up at him from the bed, taking in the sleepy edge of his eyes, the tussled hair, the full mouth. He's fucking beautiful. How did you miss it this long?

You don't want anyone else. You just want him.

"Will you marry me?" you whisper without thought.

Dieter blinks over at you, eyes rounding and for a moment you tense. He's made it clear that he cares for you but maybe this is too much too fast. You haven’t exactly been forward with how you feel about him until now.

"You wanna marry me?"

"Yeah," you say smiling dopily up at him. "I do."

Dieter lets out a little sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and before you can say anything more his broad palms are on either side of your face, holding you there so that he can kiss you soundly before pulling back, looking concerned.

"Might be the drugs," he worries.

"No drugs remember?"

"Might be post birth delirium."

"I don't think that's it," you assure him, thumb stroking the patch in his beard that doesn't grow. "Might be because I've never had someone care for me like you do. Might be because I don't want to be apart from you or our son. Might be because I'm madly in love with you and have been for a while now. Might be because I’ve never loved someone the way I love you."

Dieter feels like his heart is expanding so rapidly it might crack his ribcage. Seeing you there in the bed with your hair disheveled, your face flushed and your eyes starry and soft as you gaze up at him, Dieter feels an almost incapacitating sensation of adoration for you.

You're so rarely soft with anyone. Because of this he knows what you've admitted is monumental for so many reasons. Tears spring to his eyes, and his smile is watery.

You picked him. You want him.

He clamors into the bed next to you again, pulling you into his arms gingerly. His mouth is pressing against yours again, wet eyes squeezed shut. He holds you with the kind of care and affection he has always shown you.

"Fuck yes I'll marry you," he whispers against your lips.

You giggle against his mouth when he kisses you again and the sound hits him everywhere.

"I want you to come home with our son as my wife and I want to make you two the happiest people alive."

He melts against you as your arms wrap around his neck, fingers trailing in the curls at the base of his skull.

"I love you, Dieter."

He whispers his love for you against your neck, rocking you. You let him kiss you slowly, mouths moving languidly. You sigh as he dabs his tongue against yours before he abruptly pulls back.

He pushes back from the bed, gaze suddenly distracted. It startles you.

"Diet-"

Before you can even finish his name he's taken off, his crocs slapping against the hospital floor. Then it’s just you and James in the suite, shaking your head with a laugh.

"What is your dad up to?" You ask the sleepy baby in the bassinet. You turn back to face the doorway, heart leaping when you recognize a woman in scrubs strolling by.

"Mom!"

Your Mom is already sobbing when she runs into the room and you expect her to make a run directly for the baby. But instead she’s going to you, holding your face in her hands and kissing your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, the fucking traffic-“

“It’s okay,” you assure her. “Dieter was and he was wonderful.”

“He’s early,” she comments, eyes flitting to the bassinet before going back to you.

"Just like his dad, he has a flair for the dramatic," you grin. "Couldn't wait until his due date."

“How are you feeling?”

“Good Mom, I promise,” you say, smirking at her frazzled expression. Your mother takes a deep breath, nodding. She shrugs off her jacket before going to scrub her hands in the sink. She comes back over to you, her eyes wet.

“I’m so proud of you. Your dad would be too.”

You let the tears fall again, accepting that this is just what you do now, you cry all the fucking time. Your mother stands next to the bed, holding you around the shoulders and rocking you like she did when you were little. You cry into her shoulder, overwhelmed and hormonal.

“So do you want to meet my son?” you ask sniffling.

Your mother’s eyes alight to the bassinet before drawing back to you.

“Your son?”

“My son,” you confirm, chin wobbling. “Your grandson. Jameson Michael Bravo. James for short.”

And now your Mom bursts into tears, thick fat ones that pour down her cheeks. And you know she’s not crying for James, or for the beauty of this birth. She sniffles heavily before going over to the bassinet. She sees Jameson's shock of dark hair and you watch her melt.

"Oh he's beautiful."

“You might be a bit biased.”

"I am," she laughs.

The two of you are still laughing when Dieter returns to the room slightly out of breath, a young man in tow. When he sees your mother he waves and pulls her into a tight hug. You watch the two of them embrace, still shocked at their closeness.

"Mimi! Perfect, we need a witness."

You realize now that the young man Dieter urges over to your bed is wearing a collar and holding a bible.

"Dieter, why have you brought a priest here?"

"He just gave last rites to some guy on the other floor," Dieter explains with a wide beaming grin. "I told him about you and me and he said he'd be happy to perform the ceremony right now."

Dieter is absolutely lack of impulse control personified.

You're about to answer when you hear the sound of your mother's voice.

"No, no, no," your mother tuts, shaking her head. "You are not getting married in a hospital ten minutes after giving birth."

Dieter gives her imploring eyes. "But Mimi-"

"Didi, you and my daughter got pregnant, hid it, gave birth and are now engaged." Your mother lists these off with sharp clarity. "I beg of you, let me have my way with this. I only get to be mother of the bride once."

“Okay,” Dieter relents, understanding that perhaps this is a fair compromise.

He debates something for a moment before taking your right hand. The claddagh ring he bought you is tight thanks to the pregnancy, but it finally slips off. He slips it onto your left finger, heart facing out.

And so the wedding is postponed for six months.

(If you’re honest, you’re pretty relieved. Getting married wearing a sweaty hospital robe while your vagina healed wasn’t exactly your idea of a dream scenario.) It takes about that long to move all your things into Dieter’s place and to get life sort of under control.

Being together as a family of three is better than you could have ever imagined it. You’re both fucking exhausted and unwashed for the first few weeks, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it together.

Watching Dieter as a father makes you fall in love with him in a completely different way. Watching as he carries your son in his arms, gently swaying him after being fed.

"He smells so good," he murmurs.

Dieter is as much a parent as you are, insisting that you did the heavy lifting for the last nine months and that he should do his part. The first time he tells you this after changing and putting James back down at 2 am you suck Dieter’s cock so well he almost cries.

Your mother all but moved in the first three weeks insisting that you’d need her help. As much as you wanted to deny this, Dieter had been excitedly setting up the guest house for her before the offer was out of her mouth. Roach free.

You definitely get on each other’s nerves for the following months, tired and grouchy at times. Petra and Magda are there and like to give advice. Sometimes you take it; sometimes you and Dieter roll your eyes at one another.

But mostly you grin stupidly at each other and kiss like you’re in high school. You love kissing. He’s so sweet and gentle until he’s licking into your mouth and grinding against you on the couch. Dieter doesn’t want to rush you into bed after the birth so it’s you two months post partum who tackles him during James’ nap time and rides him, telling him he’s “such a good Daddy.”

Dieter is in heaven. That’s the only way to describe it.

“I love you,” you murmur in the mornings when he brings you over a smoothie. He always kisses you slow and sweet before replying.

“I love you too, baby.”

This love, this free flowing mutual adoration incapacitates him at times. It brings him to his knees knowing that his love is returned in equal measure. His phone is full of covert photos he’s taken of you with James. His favorite is the one of you passed out on the couch. You’re wearing only your panties and socks. Your hair is unkempt and James snuggles against you, both back lit by the early morning sun.

He wants to show everyone the photo, wants to tell everyone proudly that this is his son and soon-to-be-wife. But you’ve made it very clear that while Dieter is fine with the spotlight, your son will not be until he’s old enough to choose it.

He shares only one photo on his social media announcing the birth. One of Jameson’s left foot with the caption: He’s finally here.

Diane approved it.

You’re relaxing in the tufted chair in the nursery, feeding James when an alert comes through on your phone.

Bravo spotted looking at engagement rings.

Oh right. You still have his name flagged for alerts.

You smile a little to yourself as you read the article about Dieter travelling all over California in search of the perfect ring. Your heart races even though you know very well that you're getting married shortly.

There's another alert ding on your phone and you see it's a text from Mia.

[3:21pm] MIA: Congrats lovebirds. I knew he'd get his shit together eventually. So happy for you both.

You grin widely.

You didn't expect to find such deep affection for Mia, but you can't help but love her. After all, without her you may never have truly faced how you felt about Dieter. And from the stories Dieter has told you over the last few months, Mia may have been instrumental in the two of you getting together in the first place. It’s what prompts you to reply with a photo of you and James snuggling.

[3:22pm] Any chance you feel like taking on the role of godmother?

You and Dieter had talked about it; he’d been worried you’d think it strange. But it hadn’t felt strange at all. It had felt somehow right that she be a part of James’ life.

[3:22pm] MIA: Thought you’d never ask.

The wedding is an intimate one of less than fifty people. Your dress is over the top and exactly the kind of thing that Dieter imagined you in. Your son is done up in the tiniest and most elaborate baby tuxedo you’ve ever seen. You both cry all the way through your vows as your mother sits with James in the front row, a picture of your father beside her.

The wedding takes place in a sweet little village in Chile where Dieter grew up. It’s where his parents met and where his mother is buried. He has a few relatives there who insist on helping with everything.

Dieter isn’t expecting the emotions that come flooding back. Ones that take his breath away when he sees the photos of his mom still hung in his Aunt’s house. The ones of him missing teeth, arms around her and a look of absolute contentment in his youthful features.

“She would have loved you both so much,” he whispers as the two of you stare at them.

“I know, baby.”

And just like when he took your hand and led you through that sea of paparazzi, you take his hand and do the same. You guide him through the first few days where he feels emotionally raw and strangely quiet. You lead him through the days of family reunion and wedding planning. And finally you take his hand and walk with him to the graveyard where his mother is buried.

He takes his son from you, kissing his tiny nose before kneeling in front of the tombstone. He places a hand on its marble surface and he lets the tears fall.

“Mama this is your grandson, James.”

Not long after you return home Dieter is called to do online press for a franchise he’s been signed on for. One that will keep him filming locally for the next couple of years. The interview is being streamed on Tiktok Live, much to your amusement as you watch from home, reclined with a sleeping James on your chest.

Dieter sits in one of the chairs, looking remarkably handsome as the interviewer asks him questions from those that pop up in the comment section. The viewers at home would never have known he’d been covered in baby puke only hours before.

“Mr. Bravo thank you so much for coming out.”

“My pleasure,” Dieter smiles. You sigh at how handsome he is just existing. Your eyes draw down to the comment section that pops up, many of them causing you to giggle to yourself as you read them.

He’s so fucking hotttt Hit my line, Daddy, plz SPIT IN MY MOUTH Is he wearing a wedding ring??? I love his hair SHUT UP HE’S SO HOT. I’M EATING DRYWALL I have thots

“There’s a lot of frenzy from the comment section,” the interviewer says, shaking her blonde hair from her face and reading some of them out loud.

“User3766 wants to know: will you be wearing the cape that others have donned in the past for the same character?”

“Nah, I’m not a cape guy,” Dieter says shaking his head. “They seem a bit overdone.”

“That seems to be the consensus online,” the woman says with a nod and warm smile.

“GlitterPonyz asks: Why did you choose to be in this franchise after famously telling the world that after Cliff Beasts you were done with franchises altogether?”

“Because the filming takes place mostly around California which means I get to be home to my wife and son most nights,” Dieter says with a crooked grin.

"So the rumors are true?" The interviewer asks.

"Yep," Dieter smiles with a slight blush to his cheeks. "She'd have been Mrs. Bravo a long time ago if she wasn't so damn stubborn."

At this he winks playfully at the camera before the interviewer dives into more questions. You can almost feel Diane rolling her eyes in frustration off-screen.

"Dieter!" You groan with a pained laugh at your phone.

So much for waiting to share the good news! At least your mother knew about this one before the rest of the world.

Jameson stirs slightly in your arms, still sleepy and warm after swimming with auntie Madga and Petra all morning in the pool. He smells like the coconut lotion you rubbed into his pudgy arms and face and you inhale, sighing.

You compose a text to Dieter.

[11:02am]:You said we were gonna keep it quiet! [11:02am]D: Couldn't help it. Wanted everyone to know you're all mine.

You send a photo of Jameson that you took earlier.

[11:03am]: He says he's worried he'll be fatherless once Diane gets through with you. [11:03am]D: Nah. She told me she understood. [11:03am]: Really? [11:04am]D:Yeah. Said that a child and a wife could only help my image.

You laugh to yourself. You take another photo, this one of you and the baby in frame, you smiling up at him.

[11:05am]: We miss you. Xo [11:05am]D: Can't wait till I get home to you both. Shouldn't be too much longer. Love you baby mama!!!!! [11:05am]: We'll be waiting for you, baby. Love you more Xo

Your mother comes in smiling and carrying a cup of lemonade for you.

"So he couldn't keep it a secret," your mom says with an affectionate shake of her head as you tell her about the video.

"Silly boy."

She says it with a mother's fondness.

She takes Jameson from you, citing that she needs some time with her grandson as if she doesn’t already see him three times a week when she visits. You don’t mind at all.

Most of your days are taken up with James. Baby classes, hiking, swimming and more. Your education isn't going anywhere, but time with your son at this age is fleeting. You like that there's not that pressure to perform anymore.

When you do return to your studies after Jameson’s’ first birthday it’s for your love of learning, not because of some pressure you’ve put on yourself. You do a course once a semester online, just to keep yourself sharp for when you decide you'll return full time.

On days when you really have to study Dieter takes Jameson out to the park or for ice cream and you can hear him whispering "Shhh we have to be quiet so Mama can study and get even smarter!"

When you’re not doing that, you’re on the board for Dieter’s charity funding medical procedures in developing worlds. Something you find yourself so passionate about and as Dieter commented you spend his money well.

Award shows still have you on edge. The screaming and the flashbulbs always have you gripping Dieter, but he is always there with a hand at the small of your back, never letting you go. Sometimes if Dieter has to film overseas and you miss him even after hanging up with him, you watch old interviews or old movies with him in it. You can’t help but giggle every time you see him. When you watch The Rogue Heiress you giggle and send him off a photo of you pointing at the screen and winking. His response is immediate.

[9:07am]D: Missing your favorite sausage?

“Bravo!” you say with a light chuckle.

“Bwavoh!" A tiny voice echoes behind you.

Your son comes toddling towards you, his large eyes full of mischief just like his dad. His hair is your color, but it’s got those wild waves like his father. No matter how much you brush it, it’s still impossible to keep looking tidy.

"No, no baby," you say gathering your son into your arms and giggling. "That's Papa. See him?"

Jameson nods and claps at the screen where a serious looking Dieter frowns at his colleague.

"Papa!"

Jameson is three when you and Dieter decide to renovate the main bedroom. Now that your Masters is done and your attention not as fixated on it you want something a little more ‘you’ in the space and Dieter is more than happy to oblige. He’d tear down the whole thing if you wanted to.

You’re both midway through pulling out things from the big closet when he hears your muffled shout from the back.

“What the fuck?"

Dieter looks up to see you laughing.

“Why do you have an old camcorder in here?"

"I used to use it for.... Adult sleepovers," Dieter tells you with a sly grin. "When we wanted to...immortalize the moment if you will."

"Oooo," you give him a flirty wink. "And when was the last memorable performance captured?"

Dieter squints his eyes as he folds a blanket, trying to recall. "Uh, some blonde guy I was seeing for a bit. Ryan something."

You're immediately taken back to the time you walked in on Dieter with the hot guy blonde man with his head between Dieter's legs.

"Was he blonde with facial hair by any chance?"

"Uh, yeah," Dieter looks at you curiously.

You feel your thighs clenching tightly together. Dieter doesn't miss this and a mischievous smile crosses his features.

"You wanna watch it, baby?"

"I mean, Jameson is at Grandma's all night" you say with a cheeky grin. "Why don't you go get this hooked up to the television while I pop some wine?"

"Sounds perfect."

“Oh my gosh we look so young!”

“It was only four years ago, Dieter.”

“Yeah, but look at my hair.”

“Ugh, look at mine.”

“I love it.”

Dieter pulls you tighter to him, practically onto his lap as you watch the two of you drunkenly move onscreen.

"My name is Dieter Bravo and this is my assistant," he slurs as he motions to your wobbling frame attempting to stand beside him. "And we're making this video because we're gonna make a baby together."

You tilt towards the camera, your eyes half closed.

"And I want it on-on-on record," you stutter. "That I'm getting three hundred thousand dollars for this baby he's putting inside me right now."

You point to your stomach as Dieter nods blearily.

"We're so fucking drunk," you say with a laugh as you and Dieter sip your wine. "It's a miracle we didn't pass out before we got to the bed."

"I'm half convinced you picked it up from the toilet seat at this point, Christ. Did I just fall?"

You look back just in time to see Dieter tripping over himself onto the ground before jumping back up as if nothing happened.

"Okay, let's make the baby now," Dieter says, taking your hand in his.

"Okay!" You nod, walking with him towards the bed a few steps away.

"Left the fucking camera on," you say with a roll of your eyes. "So dumb."

"Too excited to get to the good stuff to remember things like turning off cameras," Dieter grins, fingers trailing down your spine in the soothing way he knows you like.

When you see Dieter sit on the edge of the bed and pull you into his lap you can't help but flush.

When he grabs your face and drags your mouth to his you're shocked to see how easily your arms wrap around his neck. This is further compounded by the obvious sight of your tongue slipping into his mouth, causing you both to groan onscreen.

You and Dieter hold your breath as you watch the screen. Despite it being yourselves only a year ago it feels strangely voyeuristic to watch these two morons kiss sloppily on the bed.

Suddenly you pull back, cheeks flushed and panting.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yeah," Dieter nods, looking excited. "I love secrets. And I'm good at keeping them. No one knows that Hugh and Taron fucked the whole time on-"

Dieter pauses, looking concerned.

"Oops, wasn't supposed to say."

You're only half paying attention because apparently undoing your strappy shoes is a struggle at this point. Dieter sees this and flops to the ground, tugging at them. You glance down at him with a smile when he finally unravels both.

"Tada!"

You give an exaggerated clap at if what he's done is truly remarkable. Dieter shifts into the center of the bed.

"So what's the secret?"

"My secret is I have a crush on my boss," you say with a drunken giggle as you kick off your heels and crawl towards him.

"Really?"

"Yeah." You draw your face to his. "But don't tell him."

You situate yourself on his lap, hips rolling against his.

"Okay I won't," Dieter agrees, his mouth chasing yours before he suddenly stops, eyes wide. "Wait, I'm your boss!"

"Oh right," you say, pulling at your shirt and giggling.

"Well well well," Dieter says from beside you on the couch his mouth on your ear. "Looks like someone had a crush on their boss the whole time."

Your cheeks burn as your drunken self makes this proclamation. You can’t stop watching as the two of your younger selves continue on.

You struggle with your bra for several moments as Dieter tugs off his clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

"Fuck you have nice tits," Dieter slurs as he leans back into the pillows.

"Yeah? I like em," you say proudly cupping them, running your fingertips over them until they're hard little buds. "Wanna touch em?"

"With my mouth."

"Okay."

“Still got nice tits,” Dieter says, hand slipping up your t-shirt. You sigh, leaning back against him and feeling as his palm cups your breast.

You keen onscreen, head tilted back as Dieter licks and sucks at your nipples before Dieter pulls his mouth from you.

"I like you," Dieter says almost shyly as you sit in his lap. He's holding you there, naked and waiting and instead of fucking you, he's looking into your face, utterly entranced. "I've liked you for a long time."

Your drunken self obviously isn't one for heartfelt remarks because as Dieter admits this, you have a mischievous look in your face.

" Do you touch yourself when you think of me?" You ask in a slur. It's not visible due to your positioning and the angle of the camera, but you can see that your hand goes to grip his cock and begin to stroke.

"Yeah," Dieter whimpers, eyes on your hand and then back to your face. "All the time."

You grin, your hand pumping him quickly. Dieter's face goes slack, eyes half closed as he leans back on his hands.

"Y-you gotta stop," Dieter grunts. "Or I'm gonna f-fuck, gonna come."

Your drunk self shrugs at this before you raise yourself up only to slide down his twitching length all the way until your cunt is nestled in the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. Immediately his arms are around you, holding you as your hips move against his.

You sigh, head lolling forward as Dieter whimpers.

"Wanted to fuck you for so long, Dieter."

Even in his drunken state, Dieter looks shocked at your murmured admission.

"Yeah?”

"Yeah," you nod, wrists on his shoulders. "Ever since I saw you with the blonde man... I just .. oh fuck, right there... Fuck... Ever since I saw you with him I couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel to ride your cock."

"Fuck," Dieter groans, mouth kissing down your sternum. "You're riding it so well, baby."

"Wanted to bounce on it," you say breathlessly.

Dieter makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"Fuck, bounce on it," Dieter all but begs, gazing up at you face. "Bounce on it for me now."

You do, sliding your feet to either side of his hips. You arch back, sliding up his glossy length before sinking down onto it. You do this several times and with each pass Dieters moans get louder. You tits jolt with every bounce.

You are not immune to Dieter's cock lengthening in his sweatpants under you.

"You're so fucking big," you groan, hips rutting against his.

"Keep talking," Dieter all but begs as he starts to fuck up into you. "Keep going, baby, I'm so fucking hard right now."

"Wanna do this all the time," you groan, arms behind your neck, stretching lazily above you, showcasing your body, your tits, your sensuality.

"Fuck, you do?" Dieter pants, his hand going to caress your ass as you roll your hips.

"Uh huh," you nod, your rhythm increasing as your arms go around his neck. "Wanna do this every night and then go out for pancakes."

"I love pancakes," Dieter enthuses. Your head moves towards his, eyes half open.

"So we'll get pancakes?"

"Yes, baby," Dieter promises, mouth finding yours.

You give a satisfied hum as his arms go around you and he gently maneuvers you onto your back. He holds your hands on either side of your head, fingers laced as he gently sinks into you.

He groans when he watches your head tilt back into the pillow, exposing your throat and your tits.

"Dieter, it’s so fucking good," you groan as your head tilts back, eyes closed. "How do you feel so fucking good?"

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmurs, eyes transfixed on your rolling breasts.

His hips drive into you now, but it's slow and tender. Your thighs flex slowly around his middle. You're soaked, practically dripping onto his sheets. Your eyes are open, glossy and gazing up into his face.

"Never knew it could feel this good," you murmur up at him.

"It doesn't usually," Dieter grins down at you. "You must have a magic pussy or something."

"Christ," Dieter mutters, holding a hand over his eyes in embarrassment.

You've been hiding your face in your hands, humiliated at everything showing up on the screen. But at Dieter’s admission you can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Magic pussy, Dieter? Really?”

“I swear I’ve never used that term before.”

The two of you continue writhing slowly against one another on the screen for what feels like forever. The sounds of your kissing and your moans flooding the room.

"You close?" Dieter groans, tongue coming to lick your neck.

"Uh huh," you nod, your hips starting to rut against his in earnest. Dieter still holds your hands pinned to the mattress as he drives himself up into you, his movements still slow and measured.

"C'mon baby," he encourages. "I wanna feel it."

"Yes," you breathe, hips rolling against his. "Fuck yes, I-"

You've never watched yourself orgasm before. The sight isn't anything like porn. You don't make cute little faces or noises.

You arch almost violently, brows knitting together as you make a stuttering cry in the back of your throat. Dieter fucks you through it, eyes transfixed.

"Fuck baby, yes, just like that. Oh fuck, come for me."

You shudder around him, your voice cracked as you cry out his name. Dieter kisses his name from your lips before he begins to piston in and out of you, grunting your name before he too follows. His body shivers as he finally empties himself into you.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, panting heavily and gazing into one another’s eyes. Then he dips his face to yours, capturing your mouth in a soft kiss. He pulls slowly away from you, averting his eyes as you pull on your dress.

You roll onto your side, facing Dieter. Your arm goes around his neck, and to Dieter's obvious delight, you kiss him gently. Then you spin around, facing the camera once more with your eyes closed and a little smile on your face.

"Goodnight," Dieter says, pulling your back against him.

"Night," you reply back with a yawn, snuggling back into his embrace.

The two of you lay like this for a moment and Dieter raises the remote, about to turn the video off when you hear his voice on the recording.

"I hope we made a baby," Dieter murmurs, eyes closed.

You smile, hand going to cover Dieters at your waist.

"Me too."

The tape continues on with the two of you sleeping. After a minute Dieter turns it off and the two of you lapse into a thoughtful silence. You’re still in his lap and you tilt your head to face him, seeing his eyes damp.

Your heart hiccups at the realization that you both wanted each other long before you could even understand it. Your mouth finds his, and it’s not long before the moment is heated, his hand crawling up your shirt again.

"Fuck baby, I need you," Dieter groans, tugging your panties off. He stops for a moment, hand groping in his sweatpants pockets for a condom.

“Don’t,” you say, hand coming to rest over his. “Let’s do it without.”

You’ve been thinking about it for a few months now, surprising even yourself. You thought you’d never want to be pregnant again, but thoughts of a dark-eyed girl with a dimple in her cheek have been there in your dreams as of late.

“Really?”

“Thought we could do it properly this time,” you tell him with a soft kiss, arms around his broad shoulders. “Baby showers, Lamaze classes, being in love at the same time and all that.”

You wait for his decision, nibbling at your lower lip. Dieter beams, holding you tightly to him and marveling that you’re here, still as in love with him as he is with you. He kisses you sweetly, mouth curled into a smile.

“I mean it’s unconventional but I’d love to give it a shot.”

-------------------------------------

a/n: Thanks to everyone who loved Bubble as much as me.

One thing I do wanna address is that I wanna make it clear that women do not have to have children to be a family. You can be a family with just your partner. I also don't believe in shaming those who chose to remain childless (I'm the president of that club) or women that choose to have them (thank you! I love being an auntie!)

Okay, that's a wrap folks - onto my next tale!

-------------------------------------

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miradorafterdark · 1 day

Text

𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖏𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖞

Jake Kiszka X reader, Josh Kiszka X reader

word count; 3,186

warnings; 18+-minors do not interact. Oral sex; male receiving, degradation, begging, pleading, cockiness, unadulterated smut, domination, sub, dom/sub, controlling

“I dont wanna hear it, Lewis!” Josh growled into the phone. “All I wanna see tonight are signs with my name on them. Got it?!” You could faintly hear the line go dead, followed by Josh tossing his phone onto the vanity top. The older of the Kiszka twins, brown curly locks bouncing as he ambled into the room, flexed his hands into fists as he caught sight of where you stood near the crafts services table they’d conveniently placed in the green room whose door was right outside of the dressing rooms.

“How much did you hear, little bird?” He requested in a saccharine tone, honey dripping from his every word as he footed closer and closer.

“Enough to know you may be jealous of your little brother,” you said simply, a mandarin segment held between two fingers as you brought it to your lips. The juice dripped down your fingers as you pushed it into your mouth, smiling ruefully around it and perking your brows as the juices filled your mouth. Josh’s eyes widened, darkening as his pupils blew out, at your admission. Him? Jealous? He’d never admit to it.

“Jea-jealous?” He chuckled, his signature smile turning into almost a pout as his face went stoic. “Say it again and I’ll show exactly why I’m not jealous. I can have anyone I want in this venue, including you.” He pointed a slender finger at you, stepping closer still yet and tapping it against the center of your chest before dragging it up to your chin. “And you’d so willingly oblige, wouldn’t you birdie baby?” He captured your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his gaze softening as he bestowed you with a gentle half smile. You knew the look painted on his face all too well, always pulling it out when he was prepared to get what he wanted without care to the consequence. You could faintly hear Jake’s boots clambering down the hall. Tap, tap, tapping with every step closer he got and you knew the simple fact he were wearing them already meant that he’d already put himself into the black on black ensemble he wore for Miradors performance. Your eyes cut toward the door, expectantly waiting for him to appear when Josh sighed through his nose. A great huff of a noise, his patience already thin and thinning further as you contemplated pressing your luck.

“Looking for him to save you won’t help the cause, dove.”

“Jealous ass,” you muttered softly, encouraging him though you knew you ought not to. This was a road you’d walked with Josh many a time, Jake included. Whenever one found themselves jealous of the attention the other had been bathed in, they’d seek you out in silent revery. Competition between the pair had been at an all time high, the air thick with tension as Jake prepped his side band to open for his main band. Josh simply could not accept the fact the younger of the two had stolen his spotlight.

“I’m not jealous,” he again insisted, pressing himself to you as he titled his head. With his dark eyes hooded, his teeth baring down into his plush bottom lip, he let you revel in silence for a moment as the sound of Jake’s boots drug him closer yet.

“Seem it,” you finally sighed, half scared but incredibly excited at what may happen. You could only push Josh so far before he’d seek out the company of another. In those times you had found solace in his stark opposite, Jacob lavishing you with the gentle attention of a lover who knew your body with their eyes closed. It had been widely known amongst band and crew alike, though you were merely assistant to the tour manager you’d somehow become assistant to the twins as well. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately depending on how sour their moods turned, they’d found many a reason for you to assist them beyond real job duties. It had been like that for two tours now, either one seeking you out when they needed the reassurance that they were the star. They were just as important as the other. And when one seemed to steal all of the attention, it became a game between them to see which one had yours. This leg of tour had been no different, with Jake debuting his new band and walking on stage nightly to belt out a five song set. Josh had, at first, been only mildly annoyed at the amount of Mirador signs he was welcomed with upon the opening show. But by the time night two and three rolled around, his jealousy had grown a head of its own and he’d been on the hunt since for any way he could to steal back his spotlight. Like solar flares in the night, he stood shining on stage lavishing fans with the attention of a seasoned frontman. Because that’s what he was. But you’d noticed the change in him, you’d seen the amount of ‘I love you, too, darling’ he had spoken. Had fallen prey to his neediness every night when he would call you to his hotel room, pinning you face down against the mattress as he fucked you into oblivion and demanded you tell him how much you adored him. How beautiful he was. How very lovely his fans thought he to be, because he was. Josh’s attention was like basking in the sunlight, warm and delicious and so very welcome. But it came with a cost, always, and you’d inevitably crawl into Jacob’s bed after Josh had had his fill of you, the younger twin wrapping you in his arms and nestling back into his slumber without a single question asked.

Josh had caught on too quickly to that, jealous even then that Jake finished the night with you regardless of in what way. Demanding you sleep in his bed, be his own personal alarm clock with a little head start to his day.

“You know, dove, we call you little bird because the only time we hear you sing is when you’re alone with one of us. Quiet as a mouse otherwise, barely a peep heard. And here you are, running your mouth to me throwing accusatory words like jealous around.” Josh smirked as his hand dropped from your chin, finding new real estate grasping tightly to your hip. “Why would I ever be jealous of Jacob?”

“Because, I’m fucking in charge now,” you heard Jake rasp from the door, his lean form stepping into the room. “Because you can’t handle that I didn’t need you to hold my hand out onto that stage,” he continued, a single booted foot pushing the door shut before he tossed his black blazer to the couch. You’d worried over this, knowing sooner or later the tension between them would come to a head and they’d not be able to avoid one another. Words would need to be spoken, and whether they were forced past their teeth or dripping with honey would inherently dictate the way the rest of tour might go. “Maybe because the spotlights on me more now.”

“Jacob,” Josh’s eyes never left your face though yours had already focused in on the guitarist. He stood a few feet away, unbuttoning the wrists of his dress shirt and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows slowly.

“Joshua, I’d like to speak with her alone if you don’t mind. Think your jealousy could take a break and find something better to do while I speak with our assistant?”

“I was here first,” Josh bit out, his cold stare eating through your calm demeanor. “And. I’m not. Jealous.”

“Right. Well you’ve held her hostage since last night and I need to speak with her alone.” Oh. You knew the tone to his voice. Josh may be jealous of the attention Jake had been receiving, but Jake was jealous of the attention you’d been giving Josh. Your eyes cut between Josh and Jake, your throat jumping as you swallowed nervous spit and let your mouth drop open to speak.

“Josh,” you began, feeling his fingers dig into the flesh stretched over your hip bone. “Why-.”

“Don’t even think about suggesting I give you two a few minutes.” His voice dropping low as he spoke, a flash of anger blazing through his piercing stare.

“Come the hell on, Josh,” Jake groaned. “You’re being such a bitch about this.”

Fuck.

Okay, so the words they had weren’t going to be nice, and you’d be stuck in the crossfire of it all.

“Me?” Josh mused, an incredulous tone to his voice as he released his grip on you and spun toward his brother. They regarded one another for a beat before you heard Josh snort. “Maybe I am. The bitch is back, baby! And the bitch gets what he wants.” His words had a sense of finality to them as he stepped closer to his twin and further from you.

“Really, Josh?” Jake shook his head, one side of his mouth curling into a smirk as he glanced beyond his brother to you. “What, you afraid if you let her spend any time with me she won’t come back the doting little dove you so needily demand time with?”

“You afraid if you don’t intervene now she won’t come back to you at all?” Josh countered, one hand ghosting down over his own hip as he smoothed the front of his velveteen jumpsuit. Black and fitted, a v neck that zipped down the front, he had taken on a new persona when he’d slipped into it. Becoming dark as midnight when he did, if his hair were any longer you’d mistake him possibly for his very twin with the broody way he walked around in it. Jake snorted loudly in response, gesturing for you with a two fingered gesture. You moved near involuntarily, your feet carrying you to him as you stepped around Joshua.

“Good morning and good afternoon dove,” he purred, his hand snaking up and cupping around your neck as he pulled you into him. “You were missed sorely last night.” His last words were spoken against your lips before he kissed you deeply, licking into your mouth as his lips moved against yours. From behind, you could feel Josh’s hands come to rest against your sides as his chest pressed to your back.

“Don’t you dare think about kicking me out of this room for him.” He demanded into your ear, voice so low the vibration reverberated through you down to your toes. Breaking the kiss, Jake used his thumb to push your chin up as he pulled back some to look at you, tipping your head back onto Josh’s shoulder as he did.

“Show him how badly you’ve missed me, little bird,” Jake cooed, his eyes dancing between making eye contact and staring at your lips. “Show Joshua he isn’t the only one worthy of your attention.”

Again, Josh huffed a sigh through his nose, his patience wearing thin as his finger tips kneaded into your side.

“C’mon dove, show me,” he taunted from behind, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear as his eyes stared unwaveringly at his twin. “But don’t forget to tell Jacob how you called me a god last night.”

You watched Jake’s face redden, deep crimson spreading over his chest and neck as he glared past you to Josh.

“Jake,” you whimpered, his grip on your neck tightening as he pulled you flush against him. Josh followed, unwilling to keep any space between the two of you.

“Show him, dove.”

“She won’t,” the older of the twins rasped. “Sweet bird is too enamored by me to go against that. Aren’t you little precious?”

You pressed your eyes shut as Jake reached his free hand around you, pushing Josh away gently.

“Enough,” he demanded. “She can give us both equal attention, Josh.” Finally, a damn voice of reason, you thought. Until he continued. His attention returned to you as he released your neck, his hands deftly working his belt open. “Forget showing him, show me how much you’ve missed me.” His belt clinked as it fell open and his nimble fingers worked the button apart before rolling the zipper of his slacks down slowly. “Show me I’m just as special as him.” His words were begging, his deep brown eyes matching the way Josh had previously looked at you-hooded and pleading. You couldn’t deny the younger twin, they both knew you had a soft spot for him. Common knowledge between the three of you, something more resided between you and Jake where as for Josh you were at times merely a play thing. Jake’s lower lip pouted out just the tiniest bit, enough that Josh himself wouldn’t even notice but you’d caught it. He was too good at this game. Acting on instinct alone, you dropped to your knees as Jake splayed the sides of his slacks out. The short tuft of hair he’d trimmed down recently peeked out, letting you know for the fourth show in a row that he’d planned to walk on stage without boxer briefs on under his suit pants.

“I like the way it feels,” he had insisted once when you’d scolded him for it, siting that he would ensue panic if he went around slanging dick the way he was. Jacob had only giggled, but somewhere in your mind you knew it was because Joshua had done the same.

“Jacob, no boxers?”

“It’s sir when you’re on your knees, dove. Don’t disappoint me already.” He needn’t say more, his lower lip pouting out even further as he looked down at you. Obediently, you reached up and ran your hand along his inner thigh, squeezing his length as it hardened beneath your touch. “Atta girl,” he encouraged, watching with rapt attention as you dipped your fingers beneath the material of his pants and fisted his cock. Expertly, you removed his length from the confines of his pants and stroked from base to tip slow and firm.

“You’re gonna make me watch you give him the attention I deserve?” Josh questioned from behind you, impatient already as he watched you lean in and pull your tongue along the expanse of Jacob’s length.

“Why are you talking still,” Jake groaned, refusing to take his eyes off of you. For your part, you watched him through your lashes as you worked your mouth back down to his tip-a trail of wet kisses being bestowed upon his beautiful cock. Josh huffed quietly, and without looking you could tell he was already pouting as he padded toward the couch and dropped to the plush surface of it.

“Fucking front man treatment,” he grumbled as Jake’s hand came around and cupped the back of your head, nudging you forward. Instinctively, you wrapped your lips around the pillowy head of his cock and swirled the tip of your tongue around it. Jacob’s stomach muscles danced and flexed, the breath beginning to pant out of him as you fed his length into your mouth. You took great care to work your tongue along his shaft as you did, reveling in the feel and taste of his smooth skin. You had missed him. And Josh could tell based on the way you eagerly gave his twin the attention he so desperately wanted.

“Fuck, dove,” Jake moaned, his head dropping back as the tip of his cock nudged against the back of your throat. From the couch, you could hear Josh roll the zipper on his jumpsuit down before clearing his throat loudly.

“If a shows going to be performed tonight, you’ll show me the same attention.”

Jakes fingers tangled into your hair, grasping tightly at the root as you tried to pull your head back.

“Jus’ jus’a’sec,” he mumbled, mouth dropping open as his hips thrusted forward causing you to gag around his thick length. When he released his grip on the back of your head, you popped off of him as a thin string of saliva kept you connected to him.

“Dove,” Josh beckoned for you as he stood and approached the two of you, seeing you turn on your knees just as he reached you. “Be a good girl,” he ordered, fisting his length and removing it from his jumpsuit as his free hand tapped against your cheek. And so you obliged, your mouth falling open in the same manner as it had for Jake. Joshua, however, didn’t believe in gentle. Not when it came to making the point that he was the better of the two twins, the bigger, the hotter, the more talented. And true to form, it didn’t take long before he was falling apart beneath your touch, his moans and whines growing desperate as he fucked into your throat with quick, sharp thrusts of his hips.

“My sweet sparrow,” Jake cooed, watching you perk up as you were reminded of his presence. “Don’t make me wait.” He stepped closer, leaving only room for you to turn to him on your knees once you’d released Josh’s length from your mouth. You’d known this game before, the twins so demanding of your attention and time that they’d see you between the two of them rather than alone with one. Never touching one another, barely touching you, and both of them eager to be your first taste between them. Thrice they pulled you between the two of them, fucking your throat and twirling their fingers into your hair until you were nothing but a mess. Your hair fucked and your face tear stained from being gagged repeatedly in an effort to prove who could make you the messiest until Josh unexpectedly whimpered in a tone you’d not heard from him in too long. Your face pressed to the smooth, shaved skin of his pelvis as your lips stretched around his base and his length throbbed and pulsed against your tongue.

“Fuck,” he whined loudly as he came, his hot release spurting down your throat as he held your head still and delivered harsh, quick thrusts forward.

“Son of a bitch,” Jacob growled, shoving his cock back into his pants as you pulled away from his twin.

“Jake,” you started, turning to him as he put the button on his slacks together and began working at the belt.

“Save it, I won’t come second to him any more.” His eyes refused to meet yours as you stood, Josh chuffed and chuckling behind you as he stuffed himself back beneath the velvety fabric of his jumpsuit.

“Jacob,” you offered again softly, your eyes cast toward the floor as you stood on wobbly legs. “Sir, please.”

“Later, Dove.” He silenced you with his tone, disappointed and hurt as he grabbed for his blazer and vacated the room, leaving you and Josh alone once more.

“Now who’s the jealous one,” he mused, condescending and cocky as he squeezed your shoulder tightly. “Don’t bother going after the cry baby, he’ll get his rocks off on stage when he’s out there fucking his guitar.”

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #mirador #Josh Kiszka smut #Jake Kiszka smut #Greta van fleet smut #gvf smut

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doctorbitchcrxft · 1 day

Text

Asylum | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of parental abuse (take care of yourselves my lovebugs)

Word Count: 5444

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You and the boys had bonded quite a lot since Kansas. You and Sam had always been close; bonding over random pop culture debates, philosophical musings, and your interest in the pursuit of knowledge. It was your relationship with Dean that was really starting to confuse you.

You knew you were attracted to him; that much you had never denied. But it was the way your heart seemed to tug toward him in your chest when you two made your pinky promise next to his car that confused the hell out of you. You and Dean were friends, and that was truly all you needed from him. Or, at least, that was what you told yourself.

Sam was on the phone with one of his father’s friends named Caleb. The boys were growing frustrated at their inability to find him. Every lead they followed was a dead end.

“You know, maybe we should call the Feds. File a missing person’s,” Sam suggested.

“We've talked about this. Dad'd be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail,” Dean rebutted.

Sam shook his head. “I don't care anymore.”

Dean’s cell phone rang on the bed next to you. You got up to bring it over to him.

“After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean, he should've been there, Dean. You said so yourself. You tried to call him and… nothing. You know, he could be dead for all we know.”

Dean took the phone from you. “Don't say that! He's not dead! He's – he's…”

“He's what? He's hiding? He's busy?” Sam argued.

Dean went to respond, but the message on his cell phone caught his attention. “Huh. I don't believe it.”

“What?” you asked, peering over his shoulder.

“It's, uh, it's a text message. It's coordinates.” Dean immediately opened his laptop and began clacking away.

“You think Dad was texting us?” Sam asked.

“He's given us coordinates before,” Dean said.

“The man can barely work a toaster, Dean.”

“Sam, it's good news! It means he's okay, or alive at least.”

“Well, was there a number on the caller ID?”

“Nah, it said 'unknown,’ “ Dean replied.

“Well, where do the coordinates point?”

“That's the interesting part. Rockford, Illinois.”

“Interesting how?” you asked him.

“I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this.” He handed the paper to you. “This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.”

“Okay, I'm not following. What has this have to do with us?” Sam questioned.

“Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let’s see…” Dean flipped to the page. “Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths; till last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go.”

Sam snorted. “This is a job. Dad wants us to work a job.”

“Well, maybe we'll meet up with him? Maybe he's there?”

“Maybe he's not? I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing.”

“Who cares! If he wants us there, it's good enough for me!”

“Guys—” Their bickering had gotten more frequent in days of late, and it was beginning to bug the shit out of you.

“This doesn't strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?” Sam pressed.

“Sam! Dad's tellin' us to go somewhere, we're goin'.”

Sam made a bitchface at his brother and sighed.

***

Your destination was a bar in Rockford you had stalked the cop you knew was the partner of the deceased. You found him sitting at the bar, nursing a beer. You monitored the scene from a few tables behind. Dean was to meet you there after his interaction with the cop.

“You're Daniel Gunderson. You're a cop, right?” he asked.

The cop nodded.

“Huh. I'm uh, Nigel Tufnel, The Chicago Tribune. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions, about your partner?” he asked enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I do. I'm just tryin' to have a beer here.”

“That's okay, I swear it won't take that long. I just want to get the story in your words,” Dean continued.

The cop was not amused. “A week ago, my partner was sitting in that chair. Now he's dead. You gonna ambush me here?”

“Sorry. But I need to know what happened.”

Sam came up and pushed Dean aside roughly. “Hey buddy, why don't you leave the poor guy alone! The man's an officer! Why dontcha show a little respect!”

He was calling an unnecessary amount of attention to himself that amused you slightly. Dean paused, glaring before walking over to you.

“Spinal Tap?” you questioned, laughing, referencing his fake name. “Seriously?” The two of you began walking out of the bar over to the Impala.

“What? It’s a classic!”

“I’m not arguing that,” you said. “But what are the chances he knew your reference?” You sat on the hood next to Dean.

“Oh, come on, we’re probably the only two people in Rockford who even know what Spinal Tap is,” he remarked.

A moment of silence passed between the two of you.

“How’s your neck healing?” Dean asked.

You turned your neck up to him. There was still quite a bit of bruising from the way you were strangled back in Kansas. He sucked in air through his teeth. “That’s gotta hurt, huh?”

“Meh, a bit,” you answered. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Are we ever gonna talk about Kansas?”

“Hmm… I did pinky-promise,” you jested.

“That you did.” He looked at you expectantly.

You sighed. “My dad was uh, a bit of an asshole. The man’s dead and I still can’t decide if I love or hate him. He was mean. And that’s putting it mildly. For instance, like, one time, I missed a shot on a hunt, and he beat me til I was black and blue later that night. Said it was gonna make me sharper, and he’d rather me hate him than fuck up again like that on a hunt. I was twelve.”

“Wow,” Dean responded quietly. “How young were you when he started taking you on hunts?”

“Ten.”

“Holy crap. Could you even hold a gun at that age?’

“Please, I’ve been able to hold a gun since I was four. He said I needed a dose of reality if I wanted to complain so much about being in the motel room with my brother.”

He nodded. “How much younger was your brother?”

“Two years.” You smiled at the memory of him, but your smile quickly faded. “I, uh, took beatings for him a lot.”

Dean nodded again. He paused for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged and sighed. “It’s over now.”

“Yeah, but I know it still hurts.”

You don’t know what made you do it, but you leaned your head on his shoulder. He tensed under you briefly, but let you keep your head there.

You hadn’t noticed Sam walked out of the bar and was approaching the two of you. “You two look cozy.”

You jerked away from Dean.

“Bite me,” the older Winchester answered. "Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy.”

“I had to sell it, didn't I? It's method acting,” Sam quipped.

Dean looked confused.

“Never mind.”

“What'd you find out from Gunderson?” you asked.

“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.”

“What about at home?”

“He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids.”

“Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did it to him,” Dean nodded. “What'd Gunderson tell you about the asylum?”

“A lot.” Sam filled you in on the local legends and experiences teens had in the place. Kids frequently dared each other to spend the night because it was said everyone who stayed all night went crazy.

You and the boys arrived at the asylum a little while later. The interior of the building was gray and gloomy. Metal carts were laying on their sides, vials spilled all over the ground, and you were sure you would find needles sticking out of the soles of your boots by the end of the endeavor. Dust covered every surface, flaring up your allergy, and every few minutes you were sneezing.

“So apparently the cops chased the kids here… into the south wing,” Sam described, gesturing to the sign above the door.

“South wing, huh? Wait a second…” He pulled out his dad’s journal. “1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.”

“So whatever's going on, the south wing is the heart of it,” you continued.

“But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?” Dean questioned.

You noticed a broken chain on one of the doors. “Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could've been chained up for years. Keep people out or keep something in.”

Sam slowly pushed the door open, and the three of you began heading down the hallway.

“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel,” Dean remarked at his brother. He was passing his EMF meter over various surfaces in the hallway.

“Dude, enough,” Sam groaned.

“I'm serious. You gotta be careful, all right? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on.”

“I told you, it's not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.”

“And that’s not ESP?” you quipped.

Sam made a face at you. “Okay, maybe it is, but—”

You snickered.

“Not funny, (Y/N/N).” He playfully shoved your shoulder. “You get any reading on that thing or not?”

Dean shook his head. “Nope. Of course, it doesn't mean no one's home.”

“Spirits can appear during certain hours of the day.”

“Yeah, the freaks come out at night.”

“Hey, Sam, who do you think is the hotter psychic: Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?” Dean deadpanned.

You and Dean laughed, and Sam shoved the both of you. The three of you entered another room. You looked around, a sinking feeling hitting your stomach.

“Man. Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to these people,” you shook your head.

“Kinda like my man Jack in Cuckoo's Nest.” Dean made crazy eyes and grinned at you and Sam.

Sam ignored him and his smile dropped.

“So. Whaddaya think? Ghosts possessing people?” Dean questioned.

“Maybe. Or maybe it's more like Amityville, or the Smurl hunting,” Sam suggested.

“Spirits driving them insane. Kinda like my man Jack in The Shining.” Dean grinned again.

“You are such a nerd,” you mumbled.

“Hey, don’t talk about Sam like that,” Dean gibed back, even though he knew you were talking about him.

“Dean. When are we going to talk about it?” Sam asked his brother.

“Talk about what?”

“About the fact Dad's not here.”

Dean clicked his tongue. “Oh. I see. How ’bout… never.”

“I'm being serious, man. He sent us here.”

“So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here,” said Dean gruffly. “We'll pick up the search later.”

“It doesn't matter what he wants.”

“See. That attitude? Right there? That is why I always get the extra cookie.”

You scoffed. “C’mon, guys, cut it out.”

Sam ignored you. “Dad could be in trouble; we should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean. I mean, this is our family we're talking about.”

“I understand that, Sam, but he's given us an order.”

You loved Sam, but you were on Dean’s side. Your father’s training probably programmed you that way.

“So, what, we gotta always follow Dad's orders?” Sam bit back.

“Of course we do.”

Sam huffed frustratedly. Dean stared back and then turned away, ending the conversation.

You started poking around the room a bit more. You picked up a dusty sign off the floor and sneezed again. “ 'Sanford Ellicott'... You know what we gotta do. We gotta find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here.” You put the sign back down and walked away from the boys.

***

You and Dean dropped Sam off at a therapy session with Sanford Ellicott’s son, James Ellicott. You figured it was the best way to get information from someone close to the situation. In the meantime, you and Dean spent some time hanging out in the Impala.

Conversation between the two of you never felt forced. You still enjoyed pushing each other’s buttons, but you genuinely got along very well.

“Okay, so, I told you about my fucked up family, you need to talk about yours,” you told Dean.

He scoffed and gave you a bitchface. “Says who?”

“Says me. Now, spill.”

Dean seemed uncomfortable.

You took the hint. “Okay, if you don’t wanna talk about it now, will you tell me at some point?”

He nodded and stuck out his pinky with a smirk. “Promise.”

A smile spread across your face and you linked his finger with yours. “Okay, then. Different question. What’s your favorite color?”

He scoffed lightheartedly. “What?”

“I’m serious! What’s your favorite color? Mine’s (Y/F/C).”

“Blue,” he answered.

“Like, baby blue or navy blue?”

“Definitely closer to navy,” he told you. He was eyeing you strangely again.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked him.

“You… confuse me.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow. “Why?”

He shook his head. The one thing you hated about Dean was his inability to talk about quite literally any of his feelings.

“Will you ever tell me why?” you asked.

He nodded and stuck out his pinky again. You smiled warmly and took it.

***

“He’s been in there for-fucking-ever,” you groaned, pushing yourself off the wall of the building.

As if on cue, Sam walked out at that moment.

“Dude! What the hell were you talking about?” you asked as you headed back to the car with the brothers.

“Just the hospital, you know,” Sam responded.

“And...?” Dean pushed.

“And the south wing? It's where the housed the really hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane.”

“Sounds cozy.”

“Yeah. And one night in '64, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other.”

“So the patients took over the asylum?” you questioned.

“Apparently,” Sam answered.

“Any deaths?”

“Some patients, some staff. I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott.”

“Awesome. What do you mean ‘never recovered’?”

“Cops scoured every inch of the place but I guess the patients must've...stuffed the bodies somewhere hidden.”

“That's grim,” the older brother commented.

“Yeah. So, they transferred all the remaining patients and closed the hospital down,” Sam explained.

“So, to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies.”

“And a bunch of angry spirits.”

Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Good times. Let's check out the hospital tonight.”

***

You held a shotgun full of rock salt round, Sam a video camera and flashlight, and Dean his EMF meter.

“Getting readings?” Sam asked as you walked down the labyrinth of hallways in the asylum.

“Yeah, big time,” his brother responded.

“This place is orbing like crazy.”

“All of these unrecovered bodies are probably causing it,” you added.

“We gotta find ’em and burn ’em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit... is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer.” Dean’s unwavering confidence cracked a little in a rare moment of vulnerability.

The three of you continued searching. You and Sam split off to one room and Dean took another. You looked around the debris scattered through the room to try and find some of the bodies.

Sam’s yelp caused you to wheel around “(Y/N), shotgun!” he called to you

You came up behind him. “Sam, drop!”

He obeyed and you shot the apparition in front of him square in the face.

Dean came running into the room. “What happened?”

“That was weird.” Sam was breathless when he got up from the ground.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him as the three of you made your way out of the room. “Why?”

“She didn't attack me,” the younger brother replied.

“Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing,” you retorted.

“She didn't hurt me. She didn't even try! So if she didn't wanna hurt me then what did she want?”

You shook your head and shrugged. You and the brothers jerked in the direction of a sound coming from a room you were passing. You raised your shotgun, and your eyes flicked to Sam’s. He nodded at you to go into the room first. You approached a ragged metal bed that had been turned on its side in the corner of the room. You could see something hiding behind it.

Sam tipped the bed over and you aimed the shotgun at the thing behind it. However, the girl hiding behind it screeched and jerked further back into the corner.

“It's alright,” Dean told her, “we're not going to hurt you. It's okay. What's your name?”

“Katherine. Kat.”

“Okay. I'm Dean, this is Sam and (Y/N).”

“What are you doing here!?” you asked her.

“Um, my boyfriend, Gavin,” she replied shakily.

“Is he here?” Dean questioned.

Kat nodded. “Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just… you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and…” she trailed off, tears welling in her eyes.

“Alright. Kat? Come on. Sam's gonna get you out of here and then we're gonna find your boyfriend.” Dean gestured between the two of you.

“No! No,” she protested. “I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you.”

“It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous,” Dean responded.

“That's why I gotta find him.”

You looked over at Sam, who shrugged.

“Alright, I guess we gonna split up then. Let's go,” Dean commanded your group. Kat went with Dean and you headed off with Sam. You kept your shotgun raised just behind Sam, tension gripping your chest.

“Gavin.... Gavin?” Sam called.

A few minutes of walking later, you noticed a figure on the ground unconscious. Sam crouched to wake the boy up, and you lowered your gun.

Gavin awoke and freaked out, pushing himself away from you and Sam.

You were consistently impressed by Sam’s ability to calm others down. “Hey, Gavin. It's okay, We’re here to help.”

Gavin calmed down considerably, but still sounded slightly panicked. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sam, this is (Y/N). Uh, we found your girlfriend.”

“Kat?” Gavin got up from the floor. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah. She's worried about you. Are you okay?” you asked.

“I was running. I think I fell.”

“Running from… what?” you questioned.

“There was...there was this girl. Her face. It was all messed up,” he explained.

“Okay listen, did this girl... did she try and hurt you?” Sam asked.

Gavin looked back at Sam and shook his head. “What? No, she... uh…”

“She what?”

“She kissed me.” Gavin’s cheeks flared in embarrassment.

Sam seemed to feel uncomfortable, too. “Uh, um, but- but she didn't hurt you, physically?”

His eyes widened. “Dude! She kissed me. I'm scarred for life!”

“Well, trust me, it could have been a lot worse,” you snickered. “Do you remember anything else?”

“She uh, actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear.”

“What?”

Gavin shook his head. “I don't know. I ran like hell.”

You scrubbed a hand over your eyes. “Okay, let’s go.”

The three of you went walking on, only to hear a female scream and Dean calling Kat’s name. The three of you broke off running toward the sound.

“What's going on?” you asked Dean as you approached him. He was trying to jimmy open a heavy metal door with a pipe.

“She's inside with one of them,” the older Winchester explained.

“Help me!” Kat screamed from the inside.

“Kat!” her boyfriend called back.

“Get me outta here!”

Sam pushed Gavin back to get against the door. “Kat, it's not going to hurt you. Listen to me. You've got to face it. You've got to calm down.”

You and Dean turned to Sam. “She's gotta what?!” you exclaimed in unison.

“These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate. You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it,” Sam urged.

“You face it!” Kat protested.

“No! It's the only way to get out of there.”

“No!” she cried.

“Look at it, come on. You can do it,” Sam told her.

And then, quiet. There was nothing for a few minutes.

“Kat?” Gavin called through the door.

You and the brothers backed away from it. “Man, I hope you're right about this,” Dean told his brother.

“Yeah, me too.”

At that moment, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened. Kat stood in the doorway, shock overcoming her face.

“Oh, Kat.” Gavin hugged his girlfriend.

You headed into the room Kat had been locked in. Nothing. You came back out and shook your head at the brothers.

“One thirty-seven,” Kat muttered.

Dean quirked a brow. “Sorry?”

“It whispered in my ear. One thirty-seven.”

“Room number,” you and the boys muttered in sync.

The three of you crouched along the wall and led the teenagers back to the exit. Sam was to take them out of the asylum while you and Dean went to investigate room 137.

You sneezed again for the umpteenth time. Your eyes were itching you, too.

“Are you allergic to me or something?” Dean asked you as you moved down the hall toward room 137.

You giggled. “No. Dust.”

“Aw, sweetheart—” he mocked, “—don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the dust bunnies.”

You rubbed your nose and sniffed. “I’m gonna kill you.” You pushed against the door of room 137, only to meet major resistance. You figured there was a bunch of furniture blocking it.

“Move, move,” Dean told you. Of course, he shoved the door open with ease. He looked at you smugly.

“Whatever,” you deadpanned, pushing past him into the room. You moved your flashlight around the dark room, finding tons of papers scattered over the floor. Filing cabinets were laying on their sides and a desk was completely broken in half. You sifted through folders in one of the only upright file cabinets.

Dean was behind you, and you could hear wood creaking. He grunted. You turned to see him trying to pry a wood panel off the wall.

“Need help, princess?” you asked.

“No,” he grunted once more, finally jerking the panel off. Inside was a satchel that was relatively dust free. “This is why I get paid the big bucks.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

The two of you pulled up chairs next to one another and began flipping through the journal inside the satchel. There were mad scribblings and hand-drawn pictures of the strangest medical instruments.

“Well, all work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy,” Dean remarked.

“This is insane,” you muttered, disgust overtaking you as you read the doctor’s accounts of what he had done to his patients.

“Yeah, I want this fucker nice and crispy,” Dean said. “C’mon.”

He led you back to the exit of the asylum, and Dean jerked back into you suddenly at the sound of a shotgun.

“Damn it, damn it, don't shoot! It's us!” Dean called, trying to catch his breath.

You heard Kat from around the corner next. “Sorry! Sorry.”

“Son of a…” Dean huffed out a quick breath. He led you around the corner. “What are you still doing here?! Where's Sam?”

“He went to the basement. You called him,” Gavin said, looking at Dean dumbfounded.

“We didn’t call anybody,” you returned.

“His cell phone rang. He said it was Dean.” Kat was confused, too.

You and Dean came to the realization of what happened.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “Basement, huh?”

Dean found Sam’s discarded duffel bag and grabbed an extra handgun. He handed it to you and grabbed a shotgun for himself. “Alright. Watch yourselves. And watch out for me!”

***

You and Dean had your guards up immediately upon entering the basement. The two of you called out to Sam, only to get no response. When you turned around, however, Sam was right in front of you. “Holy shit, dude!” you lowered your handgun. “I almost shot you.”

“Man, answer me when I'm calling you! You alright?” Dean said.

Sam sounded different to you. “Yeah. I'm fine.”

You eyed him strangely.

“You know it wasn't me who called your cell, right?” his older brother told him.

“Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here.”

“I think I know who. Dr. Ellicott. That's what the spirits have been trying to tell us. You haven't seen him, have you?”

Sam shook his head. “No. How do you know it was him?”

“’Cause we found his log book. Apparently he was experimenting on his patients, awful stuff. Makes lobotomies look like a couple of aspirin,” Dean retorted.

Sam’s face was set in hard lines. He was scaring you, if you were honest. “But it was the patients who rioted.”

“Yeah. They were rioting against Dr. Ellicott. Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So I'm thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, making them so angry they become homicidal,“ Dean went on. “Come on, we gotta find his bones and torch ’em.”

You continued to eye Sam, not quite sure what was going on with him.

“How? The police never found his body.” Sam’s movements were almost robotic.

“The log book said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere where he'd work on his patients. So, if I was a patient I'd drag his ass down here, do a little work on it myself.”

“I don't know, it sounds kinda…”

“Crazy?”

Sam nodded.

Dean motioned for his brother to follow him into the next room. You continued to watch Sam carefully, and the sly look he gave his brother did not escape you.

“I told you I looked everywhere. I didn't find a hidden room,” Sam said.

“Well, that's why they call it hidden.”

You shushed the boys. “You hear that?” You crouched to the ground and Dean followed suit.

Sam was still standing behind him. “What?”

“There's a door here.” Dean felt along the wall until he found it.

“Dean.” You heard a gun click behind you. “Step back from the door.”

You and Dean rose from the ground with your hands raised. Blood was trickling down Sam’s face from his nose.

“Sam, put the gun down,” Dean pleaded quietly.

Sam’s voice was hard. “Is that an order?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, it's more of a friendly request.”

Sam pointed the gun straight at Dean’s chest. “ ’Cause I'm getting pretty tired of taking your orders.”

“Sam, stop it,” you told him. “I fucking knew it. Ellicott did something to you.”

“(Y/N), for once in your life, just shut your mouth.”

You knew it wasn’t Sam talking and you tried not to take offense.

“What are you gonna do, Sam? Gun's filled with rock salt. It's not gonna kill me,” Dean bit back.

Sam shot Dean square in the chest. The shot threw him backward through the hidden door. “No. But it will hurt like hell.”

“Dean!” you cried, rushing to his aid.

“Get back, (Y/N),” Sam demanded.

“What the fuck, Sam? Cut it out!”

Dean grabbed your arm, doing his best to silence you and steady himself. “We gotta burn Ellicott's bones and all this will be over, and you'll be back to normal.”

“I am normal. I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? ’Cause you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?” the younger brother spat.

“This isn't you talking, Sam,” Dean groaned, head lolling back against the floor.

Sam tapped the gun to the side of his head. “That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic, like you.”

“So what are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna kill me? Then (Y/N)?”

Sam laughed bitterly. “You know what, I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago.”

“Well, then here. Let me make it easier for you." He held his treasured handgun out to Sam.

“Dean, no,” you pleaded, grabbing his wrist. The look he gave you told you to trust him. “Come on. Take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt.”

Sam hesitated.

“Take it!” Dean commanded.

He did, and pointed the gun straight at Dean’s face.

Dean laughed humorlessly. “You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!”

Sam pulled the trigger. The gun clicked, but no bullet left it. He tried once again. You took the opportunity to kick Sam square in the stomach, knocking him to the floor and winding him.

Dean scrambled to his feet. “Man, I'm not going to give you a loaded pistol!”

Sam stared up at him with venomous disdain, only to receive a wicked right cross from Dean. Sam was knocked out cold.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean patted his brother’s head on the ground.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He nodded. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The two of you found the rotting corpse of Dr. Ellicott behind a cupboard door. The smell nearly knocked you out. “Holy hell.”

Dean covered his nose with the back of his hand. “Oh, that's just gross.”

You pinched your nose with one hand and salted the body while Dean covered it in kerosene. “Soak it up,” he told the doctor. The two of you went to stand, only to be knocked to the floor by a gurney flying across the room.

You looked up to see the ghost of Dr. Ellicott right above you. “Don’t be afraid.” The doctor grabbed your face. “I'm going to help you. I'm going to make you all better.” His fingertips felt like they were burning holes into your skull.

You wailed in agony. And suddenly, he backed away from you. You dropped to the ground and looked up to see the doctor turning black and falling to the floor in front of you, crumbling on impact.

You turned your head toward Dean. “Thanks.” You knew he had lit the corpse on fire while the doctor was distracted with you.

“Don’t mention it.”

You turned to the sound of Sam moaning from a distance away.

“You're not going to try and kill us, are ya?” Dean asked him.

Sam flexed his jaw painfully. “No.”

“Good. Because that would be awkward.”

After the three of you bid goodbye to Gavin and Kat, you were on the road again.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam said.

His brother turned to face him.

“I'm sorry, man. I said some awful things back there.”

Dean’s tone was guarded. “You remember all that?”

“Yeah. It's like I couldn't control it. But I didn't mean it, any of it,” Sam told him.

The older brother didn’t sound convinced. “You didn't, huh?”

“Dean—” you started.

Sam cut you off. “No, of course not! Do we need to talk about this?”

Dean turned his attention back to the road. “No. I'm not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep.”

“Ditto,” you mumbled, stretching out over the backseat.

Soon enough, you and the boys arrived back in your respective motel rooms. You’d decided to get some shut-eye before heading out to your next adventure. You awoke hours later to the sound of your cell phone ringing. You picked it up, not recognizing the number at all.

You shot straight up at the sound of the man’s introduction. “John?!”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey

Quite a few tags were broken; sorry lovebugs! :(

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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quin-ns · 22 hours

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The blue II (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Series summary: JJ has a secret, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto it. He discovers his breaking point when his best friend starts to show interest in you, his step sister, who he’s already fallen hard for

Series tags: step brother!jj, dual pov, jealousy, one sided john b x reader, drinking, inappropriate relationship, public sex, oral sex (f receiving)

Series masterlist + OBX masterlist

The light chatter filling the restaurant buzzed around you. You leaned on the bar, a rag in your hand as you lazily wiped off menus, your mind yet again wandering back to a few mornings ago.

Ever since you’d woken up on the couch on the Chateau porch, your step brother in the chair across from you, John B in the doorway, and the morning sunlight warming your skin, things seemed off.

John B had been announcing breakfast. It wasn’t anything malicious, but you saw the way JJ eyed him, and John B’s uncomfortable smile in response. Tension was the best way you could think to label it.

You didn’t think anything seemed different between them that night itself, but guys were weird. Their interactions the rest of the day turned back to normal, but that moment stuck in your head for some reason. You couldn’t quite explain it, not even to yourself.

You had a harder time explaining it to Kiara.

“I think you’re just reading into stuff that’s not there,” Kie insisted, passing by you with a platter. She could see the thoughtful look on your face and had probably had enough of your worrying. “Don’t stress out.”

You had to wait until she returned from the table she was waiting on to respond. You helped her out at The Wreck sometimes, picking up a few shifts a week when it was busy. You’d done it just to be kind and give your friend some company, but the paycheck was pretty decent for the hours you worked. You kept a secret stash Luke couldn’t get his grubby hands on, and it helped. When you and JJ weren’t mooching off of your friends for the food in their fridges, you could use the money to stock yours.

JJ used to complain about you working, but not so much anymore. It had mainly been because he didn’t like you working late into the night on days when Kiara got off earlier than you. She always came back to give you a ride home so you didn’t see the big deal, but then JJ started showing up on his bike to escort you himself so she wouldn’t have to. At least it eased his concern enough to let you keep your hours.

You were working the barely populated counter right now, watching Kie zip around, trying to formulate a response in your head.

Maybe you were just overthinking, you were the first to admit you tended to do that. You and JJ practically lived in each other's pockets, if something was up he would tell you… wouldn’t he?

“So you didn't notice anything? Nothing at all?” you asked Kie, the words jumping off your tongue the moment she returned to your side.

The other girl shrugged, stealing two of the menus you had just cleaned.

“JJ just seems like JJ, but… I mean, John B has been looking at you more.”

Your brows curved down. “Looking at me more?”

“Not trying to make him sound like a creep, but yeah.” She smirked, a hand landing on her hip. “Maybe he’s into you.”

“Into me? John B?” It sounded like a joke. “You can’t be serious.”

She raised her hands in mock surrender, menus waving like a flag. “You asked what I thought,” she defended as she walked away.

Did she actually think that? If JJ was suspicious, that might explain things, but you couldn’t be sure.

Kiara stuck around and pulled a double since her parents asked her to, and it worked out well so the two of you could ride together.

That’s why when the restaurant was closed and you and Kie were heading out to her car, you were surprised to find JJ waiting in the parking lot with his bike.

He was leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest. The blonde smirked when he saw you, a quip about making him wait on the tip of his tongue

You were about to make a dumb joke about him trying to look like a bad boy stereotype to counter—the white T-shirt and boots really added to that—but Kie beat you both to the punch and spoke first.

“What are you doing here?” she asked when the two of you approached him.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” JJ said to Kie, standing up straight and tucking his hands into his pockets.

“I texted you she was gonna give me a ride.”

You were certain you had.

“I didn’t see it,” JJ said with a shrug. “You wanna ride with me to the Chateau then? Since I detoured all the way here.”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatic tone and looked to Kie.

“I’ll see you there.” You climbed on the back of the bike, waiting for him to hop on the front. “Come on, since you’re in such a rush.”

“You’re so bossy,” he taunted, but climbed on nonetheless. The bike grumbled to life and he revved the engine. “Hold on.”

You wrapped your arms around his midsection, scooting close enough to him to look over his shoulder. Not seeing where you were going gave you a bit of anxiety, even if JJ did tone down on his recklessness when you joined him for a ride.

The bike zoomed off, taking the lead, with Kie driving behind.

You thought of asking him about what had been on your mind, but the wind in your face and the roar of the bike didn’t really afford you the opportunity to make a lot of conversation.

So you clung to him tight, not bothering to try. If anyone else had been driving you would’ve wanted to get off immediately, but you knew JJ wouldn’t let you get hurt. He always looked out for you, the same way you did for him. He was the one constant you had been able to rely on this past year, but you shook your head before you could delve further into that.

You let yourself be distracted from the thought of prison cells by the security of having JJ close and the knowledge that you’d see the rest of your friends soon. It didn’t stop your heart from racing with every sharp turn you took.

“You alright back there?” he questioned over his shoulder, slowing enough for you to be able to hear him. He must’ve noticed the way you held him tighter.

“All good,” you replied, and it was about 80% the truth.

“I’ve never crashed this thing, you can trust me,” he reminded.

“I know,” you said as he started to speed up again. “I do!” you added, having to yell over the engine.

You felt JJ’s body ripple as he chuckled to himself. It was silly to think you were nervous, you’d been on the back of his bike maybe a hundred times by now.

You truly did trust JJ. You didn’t think he was going to crash or anything, it was just that natural adrenaline paired with your racing thoughts of, well, everything, that made your heart slam against your rib cage the way that it did.

You were safe with him. You always were. JJ wasn’t going to crash, and he certainly wasn’t in a fight with John B. Everything was fine.

Getting close with JJ was one of the best things that happened to you, and it came at a necessary time. Your mom going to jail was hard enough, but your friends turning on you and demonizing you was just salt in the wound. Luke, your step dad, was an asshole and a drunk, and it only got worse when he was left without her.

If it wasn’t for JJ you would’ve run away. You had a bag packed and everything, but no one ever knew about that. Nobody but JJ, and that wasn’t until later. Even if he wasn’t the kind of guy to talk about feelings, he saw you were hurting, and made himself more present. He even introduced you to his friends, who you grew close with quicker than you thought possible. It made you realize what real friends were.

You had never been a fan of Luke, but you didn’t realize how truly awful he was until one night you woke up to an argument, and not too long after JJ found you in your room with a bruise on his cheek. You begged him to leave with you, you told him about your plan and how it wasn’t too late, but he wouldn’t. Maybe he was too loyal to his friends, or at the time he didn’t believe you could make it. Either way, he wouldn’t go. So, you stayed for him.

Your bond strengthened quickly and you soon became a lifeline for one another. You’d had best friends before, but it was different with JJ. You needed him, and he never deprived you. You had a brother and a best friend and a partner in crime wrapped all up in one. Life wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t seem so bad after a while. You had JJ to thank for that. You honestly didn’t know what you’d do without him.

You recognized the yard of the Chateau as JJ turned into it, even though it was dark. You’d been here enough now to feel familiar with it—almost more familiar than your own house. To you, JJ, and your other friends, this was your second home.

With John B’s dad missing, you all tried to be there for him as much as possible. It was the least you could do.

You were especially sympathetic. Even though your mom was gone under different circumstances, you understood what it felt like to have a parent be there one day and gone the next. At least you had the comfort of knowing where your mom was, even if she was locked up hours away. John B had no idea, and that broke your heart for him. Big John was a good guy, you only knew him briefly, but you hoped he was alive somewhere, even just for John B’s sake.

The other night when you’d fallen asleep on the couch with him, the two of you had talked about it. Without the others around, the topic turned a little less lighthearted and both of you opened up about your troubles. Not that the others wouldn’t listen or that they wouldn’t be kind, it was just different with only him. Easier, somehow, in an unexpected way.

JJ stopped the bike and helped you off before letting it rest against a tree. He took you by the hand, making sure both your feet hit the ground.

“Thanks,” you muttered, eyes drawn to a glowing orange light in the distance.

“Campfire, nice,” JJ said, mostly to himself, heading for the other two boys that were waving you over.

It took you a second to notice he had yet to drop your hand, just holding it in his as he led the two of you to John B and Pope. You didn’t say anything about it. His skin was a bit calloused and his palm was warm, but you didn’t mind. You tried to recall if he’d ever held your hand before but you couldn’t seem to remember for certain.

“Where’s Kie?” Pope asked when he spotted the two of you, but not the other girl.

JJ snorted. “Nice to see you too, Pope.”

“She was right behind us,” you recalled, turning to see if she had pulled into the yard yet. In the process, you dropped JJ’s hand, not thinking much of it. You saw her headlights briefly, then they shut off. “Let's get this party started.”

Of course wasn’t actually a party, just the five of you sitting around a small fire on various chairs, lightly sipping beers, discussing whatever random thoughts came to mind.

JJ was on your left, and Kiara was on your right. John B was across from you and next to JJ, and Pope was in between John B and Kie.

You only made mental note of the seating arrangement because you still held your suspicions. You had a hard time letting things go.

At first you picked up on the way JJ was in his seat at an angle, facing more towards you with his back to the boy next to him. You also noticed that John B was smiling at you more than he usually did. Not to say he didn’t smile, and you did consider yourself to be at least mildly amusing, but even you knew you weren’t as funny as he acted like you were tonight.

As if that wasn’t enough, you caught the way Pope kept glancing at Kie, but she was oblivious.

After a sip of your beer, you let out a huff. Not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. You’d meant to keep it in your head, internally mocking your friend group for being so weird tonight, but it slipped out.

“What’s on your mind?” John B wondered, raising his brows at you. He looked amused already, like he assumed you were going to say something good without even knowing.

You shrugged, not about to admit your thoughts out loud.

“What’s on yours?” you countered, matching his curious expression.

He leaned forward a little and smirked at your deflection.

“If El Dorado is real,” John B quipped.

“It’s definitely not,” Pope added despite John B’s clear teasing tone.

“You don’t dream of gold and riches, Pope?” JJ joined in, unable to resist mocking the realist of the group.

Pope just rolled his eyes, but you smirked.

“Your turn,” John B told you.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Where I’m gonna go on vacation. What do you think—Cancun or Bali?”

John B shrugged. “Cancun is closer. What kind of room are you booking? Ocean view would be nice.”

“Why, you wanna come with?”

John B grinned a little too wide and looked away bashfully.

“I don’t know.” His eyes met yours again above the fire. “Do you want the company?”

Something akin to excitement filled you. It was just a silly conversation, but since when did John B turn the charm on with you?

You couldn’t resist playing into it.

“Maybe I do.”

“Can you two quit it?” Kiara piped up, clearly over the bit you and John B had dragged on. “All the flirting is making me nauseous.”

You knew she was just giving you a hard time, and probably couldn’t help but mess with you two about her suspicions, but it still made your teasing smirk drop. You swallowed and sat back in your seat, looking away from John B to her. Your face felt incredibly warm, and not because of the flames.

“Aw, don’t be jealous, Kie,” John B taunted lightly, able to play it off better than you. “You can come with.”

Kiara rolled her eyes so hard you were sure you heard it.

“What is with everyone today…” she muttered. You might’ve been the only one who heard, because no one reacted to her. She didn’t really want an answer anyway.

“Barring the fact that this vacation is hypothetical,” Pope started, as if you all needed to be reminded. He sat up a little, seeming interested still. “I’d also like to be invited.”

“‘Course you’re goin’, Pope!” JJ announced, clapping a hand down on John B’s shoulder. The boom of his voice was so sudden that you nearly jumped from your chair. JJ grinned at the whole group before focusing on the boy next to him. “You got room for the rest of us? Or were you just gonna steal Y/N and take off?”

Everyone heard the bite in JJ’s tone. The silence that followed was deafening, allowing it to replay in all of your minds before John B spoke. You would’ve thought John B was threatening to kidnap you at gunpoint the way JJ made it seem.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen your friend look so confused as he opened his mouth to respond to JJ, then closed it again. He took another second.

“No one’s stealing anyone,” he clarified to only JJ. The sincerity was a contrast to the ridiculous conversation that had just transpired. “You know that, right?”

JJ clearly wasn’t expecting the question, or maybe he’d planned on making it seem less serious than he was able to. From beside him, you could only see barely the side of his face, but you saw his body shift. He wasn’t sure whether he could relax or not.

You subconsciously glanced at Kiara for confirmation that she too was seeing what you witnessed, and from the pout on her lips and the way her eyes flicked to you, as if asking whether to intervene or not, you knew she did.

“It’s not like we're actually going anywhere,” Kiara pointed out, trying to set their heads on straight.

“Right,” JJ said, as if reminding himself of that. He pulled away from John B completely and slumped back in his chair. He looked embarrassed, throwing you a side glance, but then turned his attention to his beer bottle quickly. “Maybe some other time, when we find El Dorado.”

The joke fell flat

JJ’s gaze stayed on the bottle a second longer before lifting it. He tilted it all the way up, trying to ignore the silence, but with the way he pulled it back and looked annoyed it was clear it was empty.

“I’m gonna get another, you guys want anything?” he offered, already out of his chair and walking across the yard to the house.

When he was out of earshot Pope leaned in to the group. “That was really weird, right?”

You and John B exchanged a look. Then, he stood up.

“I’m gonna…” he trailed off as he pointed towards the house, feet carrying him away from you, Pope, and Kie.

The three of you took a moment, watching John B as he too disappeared into the house.

“Okay, so John B definitely likes you, and I think JJ knows and is pissed,” Kiara concluded, sounding a second away from pulling out a cork board. Except this wasn’t a tough case to crack. “There’s no other explanation.”

“Would JJ even care that much?” Pope pondered aloud.

You looked down at your feet.

“I guess so,” you mumbled, not even bothering to deny either of Kie’s observations.

“I get that he’s being “protective brother””—she did finger quotes around that phrase—“and that’s sweet and all, but he needs to chill,” Kiara said firmly, but the one who needed to hear it wasn’t present.

You wondered what was going on inside. You got antsy just thinking about it.

“Wait, do you think John B likes you?” Pope questioned you.

You felt both him and Kie staring at you, waiting for an answer. When you glanced between them, you grew anxious at the amount of concern in their faces. You especially zeroed in on Kie. The initial teasing giddiness she had at the prospect had long disappeared after seeing how JJ reacted.

You denied it before, and maybe it wasn’t even true, but JJ sure thought it was something. Whatever he thought, he hadn’t been mad at you. No, John B got the brunt of his frustrations. He was protective of you, sure, but… well, you didn’t quite know how to explain it. Your mind was jumbled as you searched for a way to voice your thoughts in an at least somewhat coherent way.

“I—”

Just as you opened your mouth to try, you were cut off by the slam of the porch door of the Chateau.

“Seriously, JJ?” John B called after the blonde, who had barged out the door and was now stomping towards his bike against the tree. “Why are you making such a big deal about this?”

This.

He meant you, didn’t he? You had a good feeling their fight wasn’t about Cancun.

JJ didn’t yell anything back. He just climbed on his bike and revved the engine. You got to your feet just in time to get a clear view as he sped away towards the street and disappeared into the night.

John B looked back towards you. You couldn’t see the face he made in the distance in the dark, but you saw how his hands dropped to his sides in defeat.

“That cannot have been good…” Pope stated uncomfortably.

John B approached you all, his silhouette becoming more illuminated the closer he got to the fire.

“I, um.” He scratched the back of his head. “I think I’m gonna call it a night if that’s cool with you guys.”

You found yourself agreeing with Pope, even though the words didn’t come out.

“Yeah, okay,” Kiara responded first, almost cautiously. She looked to you. “Do you need a ride?”

Of course you did, yours completely abandoned you. It was still nice of her to ask as if it was a polite offer and not a necessity.

“Thanks, Kie,” you told her, forcing a smile. “I’d appreciate that.”

“I need to get home anyway, I gotta work with my dad in the morning,” Pope joined in, trying to make the exit seem more natural. “See you guys later,” he said, bidding you all farewell, anxious to escape the bubble of awkwardness.

Kiara looked between you and John B. You wouldn’t really fix your eyes anywhere, but he was looking at you. You could feel it.

You weren’t sure how you wanted your friend to react, but she took John B’s hint and made an excuse to go to her car—something about getting it started so the AC would flow. It was totally fake, anyway.

You weren’t really listening, more focused on the sound of the crackling fire and nighttime creatures.

John B sighed a little and that caught your attention.

“Sorry he took off like that,” he apologized, offering a sympathetic smile.

You shook your head. “Not your fault.”

He looked down for a second and stuffed his hand into his pockets.

“It… might be,” he admitted, voice holding a guilt that matched his stance. You just watched him, waiting for him to meet your eye and continue. “I kinda have a thing for you and JJ doesn’t exactly like that, apparently.”

You should’ve been more surprised, but you weren’t naive enough to pretend it was some big plot twist reveal.

You nodded slowly instead, unsure how to respond to that.

Sure, you liked John B as a friend, but did you have a crush on him? You didn’t know—didn’t think so. Flirting with him was fun, but you never thought of it being more than that until tonight. If you did like him, or at least if you were starting to, it was now tainted by JJ’s reaction.

“Sorry he freaked out on you,” you said after a long moment.

“Not your fault,” he returned your words back to you. “I wasn’t planning on telling you like this, or telling you at all right now but um… I assumed you probably started to figure it out.”

His awkward laugh eased the tension a little, and you felt your shoulders relax.

“Sorta, maybe,” you confessed. You pointed your thumb over your shoulder to where the jeep was parked. “Kiara kinda suspected it before all this so…”

“Sounds like her,” John B replied easily. “I don’t expect you to say anything back right now, I just thought you might want some sort of explanation for all”—he gestured to the house where what you assumed was an argument between him and your step brother had taken place—“that.”

John B was telling you he had feelings for you, and somehow it had become all about JJ. You bet the blonde would’ve gotten a kick out of that.

“I’ll talk to him, he’ll be fine. He always is,” you told your friend. He nodded, seeming relieved by that. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

As you were passing by John B to leave, you did something you instantly wanted to take back.

You stopped in front of him and pressed up on your tiptoes. You gave him a light kiss on the cheek, more of an apologetic gesture than anything else, but you knew how it would look to him.

He told you he had a crush on you, and you kissed him on the cheek.

Guys didn’t usually appreciate the nuances of things like that, even an intelligent guy like John B. You could only hope he took it for what it was.

Your back was to him before he could question you, and you fought the urge to explain yourself.

“See ya,” John B called after you, sounding like he was about to stumble over his words if he continued.

You clenched your eyes shut for a long moment. It was only because you lost your sense of direction that you opened them again and sought out the jeep.

Kiara was quiet for the beginning of the drive, waiting for you to talk first. When you didn’t, she filled the silence.

“You wanna go to my house? My parents won’t mind,” she offered, sensing the unspoken stress radiating off of you.

You shook your head a little.

“I gotta talk to JJ,” you explained in a few words. It was more than enough. “John B told me he likes me,” you added, laying your head against the window, unable to keep it to yourself.

There was a sort of exhaustion to your voice that didn’t allow Kiara to smile at the revelation right away.

“Told you,” she commented instead, only letting herself chuckle when you cracked a smile at her tone. “Do you like him back?”

“I haven’t really thought about it. I don’t know,” you said. You didn’t think you did but you weren’t exactly sure now. “That’s a question for another night.”

Kie nodded. She witnessed what you had, after all.

“If you don’t know, maybe it’s a sign you don’t,” she suggested, glancing over to you briefly. “But if you do, JJ will get over it.”

Something in you suggested maybe that wouldn’t be the case, but you forced a smile when you tilted your head and met her gaze as if to agree—or thank her, at least, for the support.

When she pulled up outside your house, you had to drag yourself out of the car. A confrontation was coming up, there was no way it wasn’t.

You weren’t going to be able to just pretend nothing happened, and even if you did resist questioning JJ and ignored him instead, he’d sense your annoyance and push you until you talked to him. And talking, in this case, would lead to arguing. You hated arguing.

When you got inside the house, it was dark. The only light came from the TV. With it, you spotted Luke passed out on the couch, so you kept your footsteps quiet as you trekked through clutter back to your room.

Opening your door, you weren’t sure whether to find it surprising or not that JJ was in your bed. He often sought comfort with you in your room after hard times, but you began to wonder if he still did the same even when you weren’t present.

He was laying stomach down, flat on the mattress. His head was to the side, resting on your pillow, and his feet were hanging off the edge. At least he was nice enough to not put his dirty boots on your clean sheets, even if he had invaded your space.

Just like the rest of the house, your room was dark. You shut the door behind you when you stepped in and went for your bedside lamp.

You clicked it on and crossed your arms, looking down at the blonde. You caught him blinking and knew he was awake, although you didn’t actually think he was trying to pretend.

You subconsciously scanned his face—the part that you could see—for new injuries and found nothing.

“That really wasn’t cool,” you scolded him when you saw he was awake. “Fighting with John B then storming off like that.”

He ignored you, just flicking his eyes up to you wordlessly.

You rolled your eyes, frustration brewing. In an instant, you snatched the pillow from beneath his head and tossed it on an empty space on the bed.

JJ sat up with a reluctant frown. “Thanks, I’ll remember that next time.”

Your stomach turned when you saw a new bruise on his cheek. It was on the side of his face he’d hidden in the pillow.

You wanted to help him, to get ice, but his face almost held a warning for you not to.

“Don’t,” he murmured when he saw your expression soften. “It’s fine.”

The way he planted his feet on the ground and stared up at you made him seem like you were putting him in time-out or something. You didn’t like that feeling. Why was he so stubborn?

“There’s not gonna be a next time, you need to fix this,” you insisted, going back to the topic beforehand, feeding the narrative you were trying to resist.

JJ scoffed and even shook his head, it reminded you of how he had acted around all your friends.

“Funny how you seem to think you’re the boss of me,” he challenged, clearly in a bad mood. Whatever anger he’d been feeling at the Chateau had only been amplified by whatever transpired here in your absence. “Why does it matter anyway? Can you just stay out of it?”

“Well, if you weren’t all weird and hadn’t ditched me, maybe I wouldn’t be involved.”

A look of guilt broke through JJ’s rough exterior. His eyes turned to the floor, looking almost ashamed. The room was quiet for a moment, all you could hear was breathing.

“Sorry about that,” he said, voice lower than before. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

You let out an exhale. It was really hard to stay mad at him when all you wanted was to take him into your arms. It must’ve been hard for him to apologize, ‘sorry’ had never been his thing.

“It’s fine, I got a ride with Kie,” you uttered, letting him off the hook even though you should not have. There were more pressing matters. “Did you and John B fight about me?”

That made him look up, a sense of panic in those blue eyes of his.

“Is that what he said?” JJ asked, regaining composure as he stood, but still scanning your face.

“Not in those exact words,” you relayed. “But he told me he liked me and that you weren’t happy about it.”

JJ’s face shifted and he shook his head. He didn’t deny it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed you instead in a way that made it hard not to take offense.

You weren’t used to him treating you this way, like you didn’t deserve to be involved in whatever was going on with him. Not to mention you were directly affected, whether JJ wanted you to be or not.

“How about you don’t worry about it?” you snapped back, defiance kicking in. It was an instinct, you’d never had to talk back to him in this way. Sure, you’d argued before about little things, but this wasn’t that. “If I like him or not, it’s my choice.” You furthered his surprise by jabbing a finger at his chest. “Not yours.”

You saw JJ’s jaw tense. He was trying to find the right words.

“You can’t,” he came up with, spitting it out like he couldn’t keep it in.

You furrowed your brows, the corners of your lips tugging down.

“Can’t?” you repeated in disbelief. “Okay, JJ.”

“I’m serious,” he replied to your heavy sarcasm. “You just can’t,” he argued, with noticeably less power than before. It sounded pleading, even. Like he was begging you not to even consider it.

“Why?” you questioned, less fire igniting your temper. If anything, you were curious now.

“Can you just drop it?” he shot back, running a hand through his messy hair. He appeared more panicked than angry, realizing the corner he’d backed himself into.

“No, not when you made it a thing. Just tell me what is going on,” you pressed, wanting a straightforward answer.

What was so awful about this to him?

The fingers in his hair tightened, like he was going to rip the strands out.

“Can you not ask me that?” he nearly demanded, dropping his hand, fingers twitching at his side. The request was so ridiculous you couldn’t help but laugh. JJ’s frown deepened into something more hurt. “I don’t want to talk about this with you,” he determined, trying to walk past you.

You put a hand out, stopping him by the chest. You tilted your chin up at the close proximity, making him meet your eye.

“Can you just answer the question?” you countered, using little force to keep him in place. You stared up, watching him as he stared at you wordlessly. “You’re not a coward, JJ.” Maybe it was antagonistic, but you wanted an answer. You were at the end of your rope. “You always speak your mind—so do it.”

Then, JJ did just about the last thing you ever expected him to.

He kissed you.

#jj maybank x reader #step brother!jj maybank #step brother!!jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #stepbrother!jj maybank #jj maybank x you #step bro!jj maybank #the blue #outer banks #quin-ns writing #obx

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Twisted Love: Chapter 4

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Summary: You always expected to marry your twin brother, Daeron. However, when this does not come to be, you find comfort with your siblings. As only Targaryens could.

Minimal smut in this one, we have some angsty conversations.

WARNINGS: canon-typical incest, jealous husband, relationship insecurity, ANGST, group sex, gay (male) penetration, lesbian sex with strap-on

Weeks passed. You enjoyed spending time with Daeron and getting to know each other again. He told you stories of Oldtown and the things he had studied during his years there. You filled him in on the politics inside the Red Keep; which families were trustworthy, which ones were snakes in the grass. You had tried telling him stories about the children, but quickly noted that he did not enjoy them. It saddened you that he wasn’t interested in learning about your children – his nephew and niece – but you could understand, so you didn’t challenge him.

All five of you spent time together walking along the beaches or taking tea in the gardens. You were always so happy to have everyone reunited once more that you didn’t notice the obvious tension brewing between your husband and your twin. They wouldn’t sit together; they would barely speak, and when they did it was subtly antagonistic. You only noticed Aemond’s hand on your thigh or arm around your shoulders, and that his presence was as comforting as it ever was. You didn’t notice Daeron’s sneer at the sight of you two cuddled together, nor Aemond’s cocky smirk to your twin over your head.

But eventually you did notice the tension. You blamed the happy bubble you had been living in since Daeron came home. You had just been so happy to be reunited with him, that it didn’t occur to you that mayhaps not everyone would be as thrilled. You knew Aemond had been tense the day Daeron returned, but you had chalked that up to the change of Daeron being home; it had been the four of you for so long, that you had just assumed adding in another sibling would disturb the status quo Aemond enjoyed. You had assumed Aemond would settle, and soon be happy that his younger brother was home again.

You had been wrong.

The tension felt like it was growing by the day. Once you had started paying attention, you observed Aemond’s jaw tighten every time Daeron entered the room, and how it would stay tight until the brothers were separated again. You watched as Daeron’s shoulders would slump upon seeing you and Aemond sat close together, or whenever your children were present – despite the fact that your two little ones had taken a real shine to their Uncle Daeron and loved being around him. You perceived how Aegon and Helaena interacted somewhat stiffly with the youngest Targaryen-Hightower sibling, like he was a visiting guest rather than their brother. You weren’t sure of the precise reason why they behaved so – was it as not to anger Aemond? Were they just not interested in reconnecting with Daeron?

Everything felt different after that.

The bubble had burst.

Even when you, Aemond, Aegon, and Helaena were together at night, you could only feel the whole time that someone was missing. It now felt wrong for it to be the four of you, knowing that Daeron was by himself in his rooms. Rooms that were connected to the very same passageway that gave your brother and sister entry.

That night, you tried to focus on the pleasure Helaena was offering as she thrust her leather strap into you, but you could only feel distracted. It didn't help to watch Aemond hammer his hips into Aegon’s. You couldn't shake the feeling that Aemond’s angry thrusts were representative of how he was feeling about the whole situation. Aegon didn't care, moaning loudly as he stroked himself whilst his younger brother vigorously filled him. The four of you had been in this arrangement many times before, but it didn't feel right anymore.

Helaena recognised this above you, leaning down and kissing you deeply. “Do you want to stop, hāedar (little sister)?”

You smiled, somewhat sadly. “No, issa doña (my sweet), keep going. I want to be with you.”

“Your mind does,” she whispered in Valyrian, slowing her movements but still maintaining a rhythm, “but your heart feels something is missing, yes?” Tears filled your eyes against your will. Helaena was always so perceptive. “It's alright to feel that way. I don't judge you for it. You have a lot of feelings right now, everything is changing. But all will be well, sister. The dragon has five heads, five hearts. Five hearts become one. Now let us reach completion, and we can start afresh tomorrow.”

Your tears became happy ones at your sister’s words, and you nodded. She picked up her pace again, and you let out your first real moan of the evening, both reaching your ends only a few minutes later.

You would start afresh in the morning.

You and Aemond strolled through the gardens with your children, listening to Maenor chat about how pretty the flowers were, picking one from time to time. You smiled down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately even as he protested. Aena was fighting a nap in her father’s arms, but Aemond was unrelenting in his soft singing and rubbing her back. She was slowly losing the fight, tucking her head under his chin as she sucked her fingers, tiny blue eyes taking longer and longer blinks, grunting occasionally as she futilely fought against sleep.

Still smiling, you glanced up, pausing. You saw Daeron on a balcony a few stories above you, looking down at you as you all walked. Even though you couldn't see his face clearly, you could feel through the bond you shared that he was distressed.

You turned to your husband. “I'll be back soon.”

He looked at you, squinting somewhat suspiciously. He had spotted Daeron a few minutes earlier. “Alright. Come back soon; Maenor will want to show you everything he picks.”

You smiled and nodded, beckoning a nanny to step forward and play with Maenor, kissing Aena’s cheek as Aemond held her, before heading off into the castle. You knew your way up to the balcony, hoping Daeron would still be there.

He was.

You approached him from behind, watching his still back as he rested his hands on the stone railing around the balcony.

“Daeron?” you spoke softly, coming to stand next to him. You lightly touched his back, feeling him tense under your hand.

“Everything is so different now. Everyone.”

“Time has passed,” you concurred. “But we’re all family, still. And you’re home now.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You’re a married woman.”

You flinched that time. “Yes. I have been for a few years now.”

“Aemond is your husband,” his face twisted into what could only be described as a sneer. “I could have imagined you marrying a Lannister, maybe even a Stark or Baratheon. But Aemond... Being his wife has changed you.”

You frowned at him. “What does that mean?”

“He makes your plate for you,” he said in disgust. “Does he truly think you so incapable, or himself so superior, that he gets to choose what you eat and how much? I would never dream of treating you that way! It’s an insult, Y/N, can’t you see that?”

You scoffed and shook your head. “Then I suppose I must have changed, because I like that Aemond does that for me. Yes, he does it for me,” you insisted. “He asks me what I want, and he makes my plate for me. He has never once told me what I can and cannot have; if I want something, he gets it without question. I like it; it makes me feel like he’s taking care of me. It’s not him being controlling, or a brute; it’s a way that he shows me he’s looking after me and my body.”

“One of the many ways he brags.”

Before you could retort angrily, he continued. He watched Aemond and the children below. “You named your son Maenor,” he said, a disdainful curl to his nose.

Your hackles rose at the mention of your child. Putting your shoulders back and standing tall, you snapped, “What of it?”

“When we were growing up and thinking of names we would give our children, you always said you hated the name Rhaenor.”

“Which is still true-”

“But that you loved Maelon.”

“Again, true-”

“So why would you choose Maenor?” he demanded, his fist banging the stone railing.

You floundered. “We liked the name-”

“And then Helaena names her son Maelor! Why in the world would she choose such a similar name?”

“Because we were pregnant at the same time; our sons were born within the week.”

Daeron put his head in his hands, shaking in frustration. “But don't you see? We can never use the name Maelon now! The two names are already so similar; there can't be Maenor, Maelor, and Maelon! That would be ridiculous!”’

You calmed, suddenly understanding where Daeron was coming from. He wasn't just upset about some names sounding similar; he was grieving. “Our sons will have other names.”

He shook his head, looking at you with tears in his eyes. “I've always dreamed of having a son with you called Maelon, Y/N!” he wept. “When I was alone in Oldtown, I would picture our life together: me and you; our son Maelon; our daughter Daela... And now he's gone, Maelon’s gone. The son I've been dreaming of for years will never exist now! You've taken my children from me, don’t you understand!” he cried, tears falling down his cheeks.

Your own eyes filled with tears. “We’ll have our children, Daeron-”

“How?! You married Aemond!”

“I had to,” you protested, no idea that your husband was right around the corner, listening to every word. “I didn’t know when you would be coming home, or even if mother and grandsire would allow you to return. I challenged them why we weren’t betrothed, and they said they might need alliances with other Houses. I refused to be married off, so I asked Aemond to wed me. To keep me here. So that we could all be together again one day. So you could come home to me.”

Aemond had had enough. He stalked off down the corridor, not hearing what you said next.

“I love Aemond. I love him madly, he is a part of me. As are my children. As are you. As are Aegon and Helaena. You all have my heart. But he is my husband, Daeron. I will not – cannot – choose you over him. I want us all to stay together, I don’t want you to be the only one not with us. A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing. I can see that, plain as day. You need to be here, idaña. Will you try that? Will you try staying with us?”

He sniffled, rubbing his eyes. “He’s rubbing it in my face, Y/N. Like he won a prize, taunting me that you're his wife and that I'm alone.”

“I know,” you nodded, hugging Daeron tightly. “I’ll talk to him.”

That evening after dinner, you and Aemond returned to your rooms. He hadn’t said a word all night. He had made your plate for you, like he always did, but he didn’t speak a word to anyone. He also didn’t touch you. He didn’t hold your hand, touch your thigh, rest his hand in the small of your back... Nothing.

Your handmaids helped you out of your dress and into your sleepwear, then the nanny brought in Maenor and Aena. Maenor had had a bad dream and wanted comfort, which had woken Aena and she was then refusing to go back to sleep. Aemond picked up your son, cuddling him as the young boy pressed his tear-stained face into his father’s neck. You took Aena and sat down, nursing her in your usual armchair by the fire.

“Thank you,” you said to the nanny in a soft voice, “we’ll take them back to the nursery ourselves when they’re feeling better.”

She nodded and curtsied, leaving you all alone.

The only sounds in the room were the fire crackling, Aena nursing at your chest, and Maenor’s soft sniffles and deep breaths which were gradually calming down. You don’t know how long you wait before you speak.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong now, or after our children are asleep?”

Aemond glanced at you. “I don’t know what-”

“Don’t, Aemond. Don’t even try that. You’ve been off all night. Something is wrong. Something has happened. So you can either tell me now, or when the children are asleep. When would you prefer?”

Your husband didn’t respond. He turned and sat down in the armchair opposite you, holding Maenor against his chest, his large hand rubbing soothing circles against his back.

He continued to be silent, so you did too. Fine, he would tell you later. After a while, Aena finished nursing on one side, so you switched her to the other. Maenor had also fallen back asleep, his breathing now slow and steady in his father’s arms.

“You were talking to Daeron earlier,” Aemond stated, looking into the fireplace.

You raised your head. “I was. You were listening, weren’t you? And what did you hear?”

His jaw clenched. “That he longs for children with you, which you seemingly want too. That you only married me because you didn’t want to be sold off to another House.”

You sighed through your nose. “Then you didn’t hear the entire conversation.”

“So you deny it?”

“No. I did ask you to marry me after Mother and Grandsire told me that they hadn’t married Daeron and I because they might have wanted alliances with other Houses. That’s true. You knew that the day we married; you all came into my rooms and I was crying.”

“So you did only marry me to escape some Lord in a castle somewhere,” he accused.

You said firmly, “I chose you to be my husband because I love you. Yes, the reason for us marrying so suddenly was political, but don’t you ever question my love for you. I’ve always loved you, Aemond. I’m delightfully happy being your wife, and I believe I can say the same for you as my husband. Or are you not happy?”

“I am happy.”

“So why are you doubting this now? Because Daeron is back? Because you think I’ve just been waiting for him, and my life with you has just been an exercise in passing time?”

He sulked, his hand still stroking up and down your son’s back. “You always wanted to marry Daeron. We only wed because you were about to be married off and you needed to prevent that.”

“If I had wanted to prevent myself being married to a stranger, I could have just laid with you for one night, ruined my reputation. Or I could have married Aegon as his second wife. But I didn’t. I chose to marry you, to be your wife. To spend my life with you, until my last breath. Have you forgotten that? Has the return of my twin, your brother, given you amnesia of the vows I spoke?” you snapped.

“You and Daeron were always meant to be wed.”

“Well apparently, we weren’t! Mother and Grandsire sent Daeron away to prevent our marriage, it was never going to be allowed to happen. They sent him away when they realised that our desire to marry wasn’t some little childhood infatuation or dream. They sent him away as quickly as they could and they wouldn't let him come home. They were never going to allow us to marry,” you enforced.

“You couldn’t have been sure of that. You married me in desperation and anger. I was never going to be your first choice.”

“Like I was yours? I heard you at Laena Velaryon's funeral; you said to Aegon that you would have gladly wed Helaena had the two of you been betrothed. You infuriate me, Aemond,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I can’t take back how I felt in the past, and I won’t apologise for it. Daeron and I had always been close, we had no reason to believe that we would not be allowed to wed one day. But I’ve always loved you, Aemond. How could you doubt that? I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t love you. If Daeron and I had been allowed to marry when we were eight-and-ten, I would have taken you as a second husband the moment the ceremony between Daeron and I was complete.” That made Aemond’s head shoot up. “Does that really surprise you? You truly thought I didn’t care for you at all before our wedding?”

He said nothing.

That broke your heart a little. “You’ll note I also haven’t run off with Daeron now that he’s back, as you seem to think I’m so desperate to do.”

“But you would have him join us? The four of us become five?”

It was a test, you knew it.

“If he chose to, yes. I would have us all be together. It seems so unfair to exclude just one of us.”

“But you would choose him over us in a heartbeat,” he accused. “The moment he asks-”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Aemond,” you cursed him in Valyrian, not wanting your children to hear your words. Your strong language took him by surprise, and he did indeed stop talking. “I would not. I would never. I knew that even before we were married, when I thought there was still a possibility of marrying Daeron. I knew I would not give any of you up, and I knew that if he had asked me to, I would have refused to marry him.” That visibly shocked Aemond. “You are all my family and I love you all. I would not give up any of you; not for Daeron, not for you. Not for anybody. Do you hear me? The King himself could order me to do so, and I would refuse. I would let him disown me, bastardise my children, take my titles and privileges, take everything from me, before I gave up any of you.” Little Aena finished nursing, letting out a small sleepy sound as she released your breast. You kept your eyes on your husband, moving Aena up to your shoulder, rubbing her back in firm circles as you got to your feet. You approached him, staring down at him as he held your son. “Do you understand me now, husband? Is that clear enough for you?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded.

He had never loved you more.

@watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @aemondsdelight @thelittleswanao3 @misspascalpunk @heavenly1927 @probablybraindamage @theoneepileptic @sabii5 @baellabass @sleepymikmik @butterfliesflewaway @immyowndefender

#aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #twisted love #daeron targaryen #aemond x reader #daeron targaryen x reader #helaena targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

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