𔓘 kate bush. lana del rey. tori amos. cocteau twins. literature. watercolor art. crystals. witchcraft. journaling. tea. flowers. rocky horror picture show. glee. addicted to psychological thriller movies and novels. most of times is hard to beat the weird girl allegations 𔓘
masterlist | latest work | AO3
⤷ probably daydreaming about rafe cameron, art donaldson, patrick zweig, aerion and rhaenyra targaryen, gwayne hightower, trinity santos, yolanda garcia, jack abbot.
warnings: dr. robby, ANGST (tons of it actually), hurt/comfort (not caused by jack nor reader), implied age gap, mention of suicide, mention of death, anxiety attack, overdose, medical inaccurances (I tried my best).
pairing: jack abbot x indigo!reader
word count: 10.1k
a/n: based on this idea. hi everyone! this is my first jack abbot fic, hope you guys will like it!! I'm not gonna lie..i cried a bit while writing this, indigo reader has a special place in my heart, also I thought that it wouldn't take me so long to write but the medical part, combinded with uni exams, really kicked my ass. while reading this i reccomend listening to these songs cico buff - cocteau twins, should have known better - sufjan stevens, all of me wants all of you - sufjan stevens, teardrop - massive attack, chihiro - billie eilish, when i close my eyes - tom odell and john wayne - cigarettes after sex.
remember that english is not my first language so sorry in advance for any possible mistakes that you may encounter. likes, comments and reblogs are very much appriciated. 🤍🩵
DO NOT COPY, REWRITE OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.
MDNI.
٠࣪⭑ masterlist | latest work | AO3٠࣪⭑
"Hey doc." Your attending approached you, fingers tapping on the counter slightly above you. Doc, he only used this nickname when he needed a favor, the other times he called you simply by your surname or he added the title doctor right before it. You weren’t complaining though. You didn’t want him to give you a permanent nickname like the one he’d picked up for himself; it would have made you uncomfortable and at the same time it would have pointed out even more his lack of professionalism at the workplace.
“Since things here seem to have calmed down a bit I need you to be for a little while in triage, yeah?”
Your gaze didn’t leave the screen, you kept charting. “Do I have a choice Dr. Robinavitch?” The tone was flat.
“Actually no.” He exhaled. “Make sure to say that to Dr. Mohan too okay? I can’t find her anywhere and -”
You finished his sentence before he could continue. “Yeah I’ll tell Kwon or Ogilvie to join us too, since this is a teaching hospital.”
“Perfect, you learn rapidly. See you later. Heads up Doc,” and with that he left.
You finished your chart before leaving the nurse station in search of Dr. Mohan that was nowhere to be found so, you stopped the only person who knew everyone’s business. “Princess, hi, have you seen Dr. Mohan by chance?”
“Oh you heard the rumor too? You know, I didn’t think of you as the noisy type of girl.” She gave you a playful smile and a wink. “Apparently they have been in that room for nearly an hour now.”
Your face clearly showed signs of confusion and irritation but she didn’t seem to notice at all. “What are you talking about exactly?” You tried to hide your frustration, you were wasting too much time and in a ER you couldn’t afford to.
“Well, Dr. Abbot and Dr. Mohan. I thought you knew,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I didn’t and respectfully, I don’t care. I asked you about her cause Robby needs us in triage but I couldn’t find her.” Those words slipped out before you could even think.
Princess noticed the shift in your tone from a seemingly calm one to an harsher one. She pointed out the room in which the two of them were. “Right there Doc, see you later.” You gave her a half of a smile before heading to it.
Fucking Robby.
As soon as you stepped in you saw them. Abbot was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless while Mohan was behind him, carefully taking care of what it seemed to be a wound. The two of them were too immersed in the moment and in the conversation they had to notice you. A sudden and sickening hollowness found its way into your stomach, accompanied by an unexpected strangling sensation. You couldn’t believe how much people loved wasting time as if they weren’t working in a damn hospital and patients struggling between life and death didn’t come in at any moment. You swallowed and shoved those unpleasant sensations away. You needed to get a grip, there were lives to be saved. So, you knocked at the glass door.
“I’m not sorry to interrupt whatever is going on,” you said firmly.
They startled. Samira immediately got his hands off Jack’s shoulders, as if you had caught her red-handed.
You continued. “Dr. Mohan, Dr. Robinavitch need us in triage together with a med student. It doesn’t matter if it is Kwon or Ogilvie.”
She nodded and then placed once again her hand over Abbot’s shoulder.
“Now.” You emphasized.
“Okay, yeah. Are you sure that you can take care of this? Earlier you seemed to be struggling.” She asked him.
“Jesus I’m not geriatric yet, I think that I can still take care of a silly wound like that.”
She chuckled and you were about to too but you bit your lips, instantly.
“Okay well, let’s go then. I’ll search for Kwon.” Dr. Mohan informed you while approaching the exit. You followed her but as you reached the door jamb and as your colleague already headed toward triage, you turned your head in Jack’s direction. “Oh and Dr. Abbot, please put a shirt on after you finish. Patients need you.” The words that left your mouth were intended to be more stinging than they actually sounded.
A subtle smile appeared onto his face. “Yes ma’am.”
This time you were able to let out a chuckle, comforted by the fact that nobody was around. Then you went to join your colleagues in Triage.
“And all done Mrs. Fernandez.” You smiled at the patient while removing your gloves. “For the next few days you need to rest and if anything happens please, don’t hesitate to come here and ask of me.”
“I will do doctor, thank you for everything.”
“I’m just doing my job. Now carefully grab your belongings and try to get up slowly.” You instructed her, making sure that she wouldn’t hurt herself in the process. As she stood up you were ready to escort her to exit, where one of her relatives was waiting for her, but your attention got caught by Donnie calling your name.
“Yo, we need you back there.”
You nodded. “Sure. I will accompany Mrs. Fernandez outside and then I’ll be there.”
“No, I’ll do it.” He uttered with an oddly firm tone. You frowned, this was your patient not his, but before you could reply anything he began to speak. “There’s an emergency. Go, please. I’ll take care of the patient.”
“Okay, thank you.” That was all you could say before offering a smile to the old lady and rushing to the hub. The first sound that you heard once you passed the door was that of Robby’s voice.
“All right, everybody, circle up.”
Your body moved without hesitation, finding its way towards the most familiar face of the pitt.
“What happened?” You asked the night shift attending, who was standing by your side.
“System was preemptively shut down to avoid a cyberattack” Abbot casually explained.
A loud sigh escaped your mouth. “Great.”
He chuckled. “You know you’re allowed curse right? I promise you that it won’t jeopardize your career.” You rolled your eyes.
His eyes scanned you from head to toe, noticing how chest rise and fall rapidly, still not having recovered from the small run. His gaze then returned to your face and his brow arched. “Where were you?”
“Got stuck with a patience in triage. Old lady, swollen ankle, nothing too serious but she was worried. I just wanted to make sure she was doing fine of before her nephew arrived to come pick her up.”
Jack leaned over you, until his bristly chin brushed your shoulder and whispered, “You’re too good for triage, you know that?” as if he didn’t want to make you feel embarrassed. You stared at the wall in front of you, unable to say anything, too focused on his close proximity, and all of the implications involved. Had somebody noticed you? If the answer was yes, would you become the protagonist of a new bet? Or worse, would they start a rumor about the two of you that would send you directly to the HR office? But most importantly, why that small and almost imperceptible contact had brought with it a sense of warmth that you hadn’t felt in a while.
In the end, Jack resumed the distance between you two. You decided to ignore the comment, filling the silence with a “You have to tell that to Dr. Robinavitch, not me,” while meeting Jack’s eyes. But deep down you appreciated both the small compliment and the way his tone shifted when pronouncing those words, and even though your colleagues knew nothing about your life nor your personality, he seemed to comprehend you somehow. That was the part that made you uncomfortable. He saw you when you didn’t want to be seen.
He winked at you, still maintaining the eye contact. “Will do, don’t worry about that.”
After that brief exchange the three attendings instructed the staff how to work without the benefits of technology.
Jack Abbot was a man of his word. As soon as all of the instructions were given, he talked to Robby and suddenly you were no longer needed in triage.
Now that all of your patients were set up, you had a moment to dedicate to charting. But right after you logged into the computer you heard the paramedics shout an “Incoming.”
You turned your head, only to see a woman in her fifties tied to the gurney, convulsing and desperately trying to free herself from the stretcher straps that held her with such a brutal force reminiscent of a lioness trying to escape her enclosure. Without any further do, you headed to the patient, followed by Dr. McKay.
“What do we have here? ” you said in unison.
“Anne Davis. Fifty three. Overdose. Her neighbor, Halimah, found her in a deep state of confusion and also mentioned that she was hallucinating once she arrived." The paramedic explained while the lady nodded. In the meantime, you noticed that the neighbor, standing on the left side of the gurney, was holding an empty yellow plastic container. You moved towards her.
“After we got her out of the ambulance she started convulsing.” The other paramedic added.
“And she overdosed on?” McKay asked.
Halimah, visibly exhausted and shaken by the situation, handed you the container.
Once you read the label your heart skipped a beat and for a moment every sound felt distant and muffled, until you swallowed all of your sensations away and uttered, “Antidepressant. To be more specific SSRI fluoxetine, Prozac. The typical dosage is between 20 and 80 mg per day. She obviously must have been taken more than that but there has been record of someone taking 8 grams of it and still being able to recover. In comparison to other types of antidepressants they are one of the least toxic in overdose. Nevertheless, we need to act now and expel all of the medication out of her body. Get her into trauma.”
Dr. McKay gave you a satisfied look accompanied by an equally satisfied smirk, and then she clapped her hands to catch the attention of the paramedics.
“All right, you heard the doctor, get her into trauma now.” She said before the four of you rushed into trauma, leaving the neighbor outside with a nurse.
With all of your attention focused on the patient, you didn’t noticed that there was also someone else who was watching you amidst – and despite – the chaos of the ER. Jack Abbot was about to dismiss a patient and place the paper chart on the desk when he saw the paramedics reporting both McKay and you the state in which they found the woman tied to the gurney. Right after that he heard your voice, serious and professional, delivering those information in such a firm, rapid and precise way that was uncommon for a R1, and to be frank it was a quality that was rare to be found even among the most experienced residents nowadays and yet, you never failed to surprise him. Even if you had worked together for a couple of months, you had proven to the night shift attending your expertise and willingness to learn and to improve your skills. That was apparently enough to gain Jack’s trust and admiration that occasionally became known to you during those rare moments where the two of you were alone and you could discreetly accept his compliments. But his trust and admiration could be also silently seen through the way he looked at you, if only you had the courage to let yourself losing in his hazel eyes. Today it was no exception, he was watching you with the same pride and affection that his face wore countless time, before you disappeared into trauma with a more stabilized patient that didn’t require an attending supervision, and he finally put the chart on the desk.
By the time you entered the room, the woman had stopped convulsing and before the paramedics, together with the help of McKay and Jesse could transfer the patient to the hospital trauma bed, you quickly did an airway check.
“She’s breathing, let’s move her to the bed.” You instructed.
Once the patient was settled, Cassie and you put on a new pair of gloves before she called you and said.
“Listen. I know that we didn’t quite have the chance to work together in a while, but at the same time I also know that you handled different cases of overdose in the past few weeks and from what I’ve seen so far you seem perfectly capable of taking the lead. The convulsion has stopped now so…”
The way that McKay phrased everything was odd. Too formal and unnatural for a woman like her, always sarcastic and loose. But unfortunately you did have this effect on people. You kept yourself at distance, disturbed by the fact that eventually someone could get even a slightly glimpse of your personal history and get blinded by it, instead of focusing on your skills. It was a deliberate choice, that’s true, but it still hurt when you noticed how differently your colleagues acted when interacting with you, especially those of the day shift. All of them acted as if they were a family, and while you agreed with that statement, you couldn’t help it but to think that you weren’t part of it. You felt like the moody neighbor that had just moved across the street, the one who said hi only when forced by the circumstances. But it was okay, you were there to work, to save lives, not for socializing or worse, for finding the love of your life.
You nodded and moved towards the hospital bed. “It would be a pleasure Dr. McKay, thank you. ”
“Good.” She exhaled. “Now illustrate me the next steps.”
“First we need to asses her vital signs, then her LOC, before performing a -” your explanation was interrupted by the patient, who now started convulsing again, even more violently than the first time.
Your body reacted without thinking. “We need to move her to her side now, come help me.”
Jesse, McKay and Perla came in your help and helped you moving the convulsing patient onto her left side, meanwhile some painful, yet necessary, words escaped your mouth, Facing Cassie, who was at your left. “Even though I would be perfectly able to handle this case, I’m an R1 Dr. McKay, and this is not a low-risk overdose scenario anymore. Protocol is protocol.” You then turned your head to your right, towards Perla. “Go search for Dr. Abbot.. or Robby or Al-Hashimi, an attending.” Perla looked over McKay who gave her a nod.
You were being selfish. You wanted Jack to be there because he would have let you handled the case anyways, in contrast to Robby, who somehow always seemed to underestimate your skills and knowledge.
“We need to sedate her, as soon as possible, we were lucky with the first seizure but this one could possibly be deadly.” You said while maintaining your gaze to the woman, in order to avoid McKay.
A few seconds later Perla entered into the room and said. “Dr. Abbot and Robby are in trauma 2. Dr. Al-Hashimi is nowhere to be found.”
A smirk appeared onto Cassie’s face. “I’m the boss now, so that means that you are going to handle the case. I trust you and I’ll be observing you.” You gave her an appreciative smile.
“Okay. Jesse fill a syringe with 2 mg of lorazepam diluted in an equal part of normal saline and give it to me.”
In no time the nurse handed you the syringe and you injected the medication into her right arm, the one who wasn’t getting flattened by her body-weight. In less than two minutes, the patient had stopped convulsing, and you were able to move her onto her back. Your colleagues helped you asses her vitals, and everything seemed fine since she was able to breath normally and eventually started regain consciousness.
You looked at face and at her fragile state and began to talk to her. “Hi Anne, you did something dangerous but we are here to save you. Now I have to insert a tube in your nose, it will be a bit annoying but it won’t cause you any pain, is this okay?”
The only thing that she could do was to nod.
With the approval of your senior resident you changed your gloves for the third time, to avoid potential infections, and then once Jesse and Perla passed you the supplies and placed a linen-saver pad onto the woman’s chest, you began the procedure. Gastric suction.
You first checked which nostril was the more patent for tube insertion which turned out to be the left one then, you measured the length of the nasogastric tube and once you reached the end of the xiphoid process Perla handed you a piece of tape to note the length. After that, you generously lubricated the insertion end of the tube with lignocaine and gently began to insert the Nasogastric tube into her left nostril and started rotating it when you were met with a slight resistance, once you reached the nasopharynx. Afterwards you continued gently pushing the tube down to the esophagus until the predetermined mark was reached, only to fix it to the bridge of her nose with an adhesive plaster. During the whole procedure the patient surprisingly remained quiet, but conscious.
In the meantime, Jesse had placed the other supplies on the Mayo table near you while McKay gave approval for your actions and attentively observed you.
You removed the syringe form the insulation bottle and inserted the it into the end of the tube, only to instill small air bolus and auscultate the patient’s stomach with your stethoscope. Once you heard the stomach gurgling, you checked the gastric residual and let the gastric content drain onto the container placed on the table. After all of the return had stopped from the tube, you began irrigating with sixty cc of saline and let the liquid drain into the belly. Then you moved the syringe towards the container and let all of the content drain back into it. You repeated this procedure several times, until the gastric contents run clear back out of the tube and removed the syringe from it, not before filling the stomach with some air.
“Okay Anne, can you take a deep breath for me now?” you asked gently.
“Yes” she said with a weary voice and you proceeded to remove the nasogastric tube while Perla disposed the linen-saver pad away.
Eventually the woman was transported into another room and immediately feel asleep.
You had saved her.
Before exiting trauma McKay gave you a pat on your shoulder and uttered. “Good job Doc. Now go check your other patients.” Those were the only words that seemed the most authentic and real. Not in terms of content but in form. Smoother than your previous interactions, more Cassie like.
You thanked her and then exited the room.
Outside trauma you were surprised to notice not only that the neighbour of Anne, Halimah, had left but also that Dana came back after finishing assisting the SA victim. She waved at you from her desk.
“Hey Doc welcome back” She greeted you while chewing a gum. You smiled politely.
Suddenly a young boy entered the bay and rushed towards the charge nurse. He put his hands on the desk and tried to catch a breath.
You moved towards him, afraid that he might be sick and needed assistance, and in fact he needed assistance, just not the medical one.
“I’m Jayce Moore.” He painted, worn out by the run he had to make to be there. “I’m umh the son of Anne Davis. My neighbour, Halimah told me that an emergency happened and she had to call an ambulance.” Slowly his breath returned normal and the painting was replaced by a tone of desperation mixed with a glimpse of hope. “Where is she? Please, tell me that nothing bad has happened to her.”
Dana was about to speak when you stepped in. “Hi Jayce, I’m the doctor who treated your mom.” You said as calmly and as sweetly as possible, in order to instill in his body some sort of calm.
He tiled his head to you and locked his glistening eyes with yours. “Is she alive?” he asked you with a trembling voice.
“Yes. She’s asleep now. Why don’t we continue this conversation elsewhere? Somewhere quieter perhaps.”
The boy nodded and moved away from the desk. Your first instinct was that of placing a hand onto his shoulders, a simple sign that wanted to communicate to him that he wasn’t alone, even though you could only a little to ease his pain. Eventually he melted into the touch that in such a difficult and stressing moment was very much appreciated.
While heading towards the family room you turned your head towards Dana and told her, “Once Kiara is available can you send her to me?”
“Sure thing Kid.” She responded while looking at some documents.
The family room was small and cold, not in terms of temperature but in terms of atmosphere. The walls were white and there were two grey sofas placed in the middle of it, facing each other, and a small wooden coffee table. That’s it.
Jayce and you seated on the same sofa, with you deciding to keep a distance that was both appropriate for a doctor and a family member’s patient, but that at the same time communicated that you were there for him, to help him.
“So what happened to my mom?” he asked you while rubbing his hands on his thighs.
“Your mom had an overdose. Prozac. Your neighbor Halimah found her in your living room in a deep state of confusion and was also hallucinating. She called the ambulance and once she arrived here, she was convulsing. The first convulsion stopped after a minute but then she was hit with another one and we had to sedate her. Fortunately she was conscious and we were able to perform a gastric suction, without intubating her.” You explained.
He remained silent for a moment and then he dragged his hands across his face and he doubled over in tears.
“It’s my fault.” The sound of his voice was muffled by her hands.
The sight of him made your heart shrink.
While patting the space between his shoulder blades you whispered , “No it’s not Jayce.”
His hands were now holding his head. His gaze locked to the ground beneath him.
“Yes.” He sobbed. “It is. My mom is dealing with depression and instead of staying at home with her I went to a stupid fourth of July barbecue with my friends. I’ve already lost my dad a few years ago and I can’t afford to loose her too. I should’ve stayed at home…”
Chills went down to your spine. You swallowed.
“How old are you Jayce?”
“Nineteen.” He responded.
“Well it is perfectly normal for a boy of your age to have some fun. No matter how hard your situation at home is. I mean it, it was not your fault. She is safe now. That’s what matters.” You hoped that your words were comforting enough but unfortunately, that was not the case.
The boy’s sadness and tears turned into anger and guilt which weren’t directed at you, but at himself.
“No, Damn! It is it.” His fingers gripped his hair tightly. “That’s what I get for hanging out with my friends instead of looking out for her. She overdosed because of me man. Because she thought I didn’t love her or care about her.”
You removed your hand from his back, giving him space to grieve, to be angry, to feel those sensations and feelings that you knew too well, before you began speaking.
“You know…” You exhaled and continued looking at him. “When people unalive themselves or attempt, they don’t do it to punish you. Their brain chemistry is altered in a way that distorts their perception of life. It’s not necessarily that they don’t notice how people around them care for them, but it’s more of that they can’t do it anymore.” You paused. His gaze was still focused to the ground.
You continued. “They don’t think it’s worth living life anymore. Most of the time they do it because they don’t want to be a burden to their family. In psychological terms it’s called perceived burdensomeness.”
He tilted his head to look at you. You half smiled.
“What I want you to understand is that it’s not your fault.”
His eyes started glistening again.
“You’re just nineteen Jayce. While it’s a good thing to want to care of your mom, you have the right to have fun. Your life has just begun.”
He nodded. “I know but it’s hard.” His voice broke.
“I know, but you don’t have to do everything alone. There are some grassroots organizations like NAMI which help you navigate this situation. By offering counseling and lessons meant to teach how to interact and handle people who suffer from mental illness.”
He hummed.
“Once Kiara will be here, she’s a social worker you know, she will explain to you in detail everything.”
As if to speak of the devil, Kiara knocked and entered the door.
“There she is.” You said.
Kiara sat on the sofa besides the boy and started introducing herself while you got up from it and headed towards the door and opened it. Before you could exit it though, you called him and softly said, “If you need, me go to the nurse desk and ask of me. Okay?”
His eyes met yours once again and nodded. “Will do that Doc. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” You replied before uttering.
“It is not your fault.”
Only that this time, you were saying that mostly to yourself, not to him.
Eventually he gave you a weak smile. You waved at both of them and exited the room.
To your surprise, technology was finally back in the pitt, and before you could think and replay the events that both occurred in trauma and in the small room, you took a deep breath and focused on work.
Busy with handover and charting you hadn’t noticed that it was late. Your shift nearly ended one hour and an half ago, so you decided that maybe, just maybe, it was time for a little break before clocking out. Break that Dr. Al-Hashimi was more than willing to give you, since the waters seemed to have calmed down a bit in the ER.
You headed to the bathroom near the elevator. The nearest and the quietest you could find, since only the staff could have access to it. The exact moment you stepped in, all of the noise from the ER became muffled and obviously distant. You let out a sigh, finally a moment of peace.
Everything seemed normal. You did whatever you needed to do and then you went over the sink to wash your hands, where a mirror hung over. You placed your hands to the sides of the sink and started looking at your reflection for what it seemed an eternity. You noticed your messy hair, your worn out eyes. Nothing new, it happened at the end of every shift. Not a single thought crossed your mind. It was oddly empty like a ghost town .
The water continued running from the faucet, making you realize that you starred at the mirror for too long. You turned it off immediately. Then, you lightly smiled at your own blank reflection and burst into tears.
Your mind was racing now, replaying once again the events of today. Anne convulsing onto the stretcher and then onto the hospital bed, the exhausted expression that Halimah wore, the half-empty yellow plastic container, the guilt of Jayce, the cracked and desperate tone of his voice, him putting is hands in his hair, in a sign of desperation, and the big breath that you took once you exited the room. It was all too much. To much too bear, too handle, to remember. Because all of this was deeply connected to the reason why you had left Maine, and your beautiful home near the ocean in the first place.
Tears run over your face in the same way the water was running from the faucet a few moments before. Scalding and gushing, wetting the collar of your scrub and the shirt underneath.
You were a sobbing mess, finding it difficult to breath normally.
There was only one thing that helped you set yourself free from the intricate bramble of your thoughts. You were still in the ER, at work. This sort of thing couldn’t be possibly happen in here, where your colleagues could enter at any moment and see you.
Slowly you began to breathe with your diaphragm and started focusing on the little things around you. The muffled noise, the greenish tiles, the soft fragrance of the soap and the shocking sensation of cold water on your wrists. You repeated this little game several times, until your breath returned to a normal pace and your eyes stopped producing tears.
You splashed fresh water to your face, grabbed some paper towels to dry it, tossed them in the bin and then turned off the faucet one last time.
As if nothing had happened, you went outside, and the noise, went from being muffled to vivid.
The first person you met was Robby. Your back was facing the bathroom door. He on the other hand, was standing right in front you. Arms crossed and an expression you couldn’t quite decode. Was he annoyed? Angry? Or simply exhausted? In that position you could see all his wrinkles branch off his face and his thin chapped lips trapped by his unkept beard. He looked like a rag, even worse than you.
“Where were you?” He said with an altered tone which displayed all his annoyance.
You didn’t know whether he was tired, hallucinating, or if your level of tolerance was starting to lower to zero, as your shift was coming to its end.
“In the bathroom.” Your index finger accompanied the words that escaped your mouth, pointing out the sign RESTROOM right behind you. Your eyebrows frowned. “What happened?”
Before he could answer, a nurse needed to use the bathroom, forcing you to walk away from it and changing spot, to continue your conversation. You both went towards a slightly less busy area. Robby’s back now faced the elevator. Yours instead, was facing the corridor that lead towards central, and utility cart filled with different medical supplies was standing at your left.
“Has an emergency happened?” You resumed the conversation.
“Jesus. This is an ER, what do you think?” He let out a breathless laugh while running a hand into his hair.
You decided to not give in, keeping your composure. You found his manners rather childish and snappy. Definitely not appropriate neither for a man of his age, nor for an attending. But maybe, he just had a rough shift, like the rest of you, and definitely the fact that he was about to leave for three months didn’t help him at all.
You smiled politely, before saying. “What do you need me for, Dr. Robinavitch?”
“You know what? This is not even the point!” He shouted, causing some of the staff to look in your direction, before lowering his voice and continue. “Your shift isn’t over yet; you can’t simply disappear.” He adverted your gaze and shook his head.
“I didn’t disappear. I asked Dr. Al-Hashimi if I could take a break since my shift finished nearly two hours ago and my patients are all set up” You simply explained.
“You asked her uh?”
“Yes. She’s an attending. I don’t see what’s the problem actually.” Your tone was forcedly calm, but your body told a different story. It was tense, with your arms resting at your sides and fists clenched.
“The problem is that I’m your attending. Not her.” He emphasized his words by indicating himself. “She knows nothing about this place. Hell!” He interlaced both of his hands behind his head. “She keeps disappearing too. And you can’t hide yourself in the bathroom for fucking twenty minutes while the ER is a fucking shit show.” And then, abruptly released them.
His face was getting redder each time he uttered a word. Something had definitely happened to him today, but whatever it was he didn’t have the right to let it out on you.
He was getting on your nerves now. If only he knew why you did take a break. It was better to die and let him scream at you instead of speaking. Instead of confessing him why it took you so long in there, because you knew that eventually, he would have used it all against you.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were trying immensely to keep your cool and find the right words to diffuse the situation. He, on the other hand, was studying you with a predator’s unwavering attention. His gaze focused first on your scrub top, still a bit damp from the tears and then, on your eyes, puffy and slightly irritated.
Instantly you crossed your arms and your expression hardened. A defense mechanism, to shield yourself from his actions.
He laughed. “You’ve been crying too?”
He hit the jackpot with that one. In in response, you bit your cheek, not wanting to give in to his provocations. It simply wasn’t worth your energy.
There wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his laugh, more like irritation and awareness. “I can’t fucking believe that this ER has turned into a fucking kindergarten full of whiny babies. What have you been crying on uh? You got mommy issues like Dr. Mohan too?” He snickered.
If until that moment you had decided to be the bigger person, now it was over. He crossed a line, a very important one, and you couldn’t simply stand there, doing nothing and withstanding his words. It simply wasn’t your style. Not when someone, it didn’t matter whether he was your boss or your patient, was displaying the reason of your meltdown, was making you vulnerable in front of everyone. Making you a person, not a doctor.
In a heartbeat you slammed your left hand onto the utility cart, with such a brutal force that not only made some of the supplies tip over it, but also caught the attention of those around you. Then, with your hand still vibrating from the brutal slam you pointed your index finger at him and bawled.
“Fuck you!”
For a second the ER remained silent, until you turned around with such an intimidating look that made all of your colleagues resume their work.
Robby couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. There were rumors about you, concerning your personality and temper. People called you cold, distant and aggressive. And while he certainly he agreed with the first two adjectives, he was having an hard time picturing you for the aggressive type, at least until now.
At this new sight of you he flinched, before biting back. “There she is. The others told me you were aggressive jeez.” He paused for a second and touched his beard while nodding. “You see, I know exactly why you left the hospital in Maine now. For your behavior.”
“You know nothing about me and nor do the others. Nothing about my behavior or my problems. So cut it.” You hissed.
He wasn’t intimidated by words. “Well I know a thing or two since you were crying in the bathroom.”
You thought that it was over, that him mentioning you mental breakdown, meant that you reached the peak of your argument. But it wasn’t like that. He didn’t give in, and with a patronizing tone he snarled. “I’ll give you a piece of advice. Keep your problems out of the fucking ER. When you clock in here your life is GONE, you need to think about your patients not about your pathetic issues.”
You didn’t back down. Your resentment for him grew even more.
“Respectfully Dr. Robinavitch, you’re the last person from who I would take personal advice from.”
“Watch it kid” He warned you by pointing his finger at you.
You couldn’t care less about his warnings.
“Or what? You gonna sign me up? Fire me? Move me back to the night shift? Seems fine to me. Really.” You mockingly reassured him.
He was the one who provoked you in the first place, openly humiliating you, hinting at your weak spots in front of everyone.
“But let’s go back to what I was saying. Why would I take a piece of advice from a man who can’t separate his work life from his personal one? Come one I mean..” You paused and sneered. “You you flirt with Noelle and everybody see that. Oh and don’t even get me started on your sabbatical. It’s been days since you’ve been talking about it and making it a everyone’s problem. You’re supposed to be happy to have the chance to rest and instead you’re nervous, irritable and moody.” You spat those words like a snake envenomating its prey.
Part of you wanted to go further. Telling him how much of a cunt he was, treating others, especially female workers like shit. But maybe it was enough because what you uttered afterwards was far worse.
“So maybe, just maybe you should be the one taking advice from me, since I haven’t caused a single problem since I’ve started working here. Here’s the piece of advice Dr. Robinavitch. Why don’t you take your fucking motorbike and go fucking…”
“Hey what’s happening here?” A third, raspy voice that came from the back, asked.
…kill yourself.
Those words died in your mouth the exact moment Jack interrupted you.
He now was standing at your right, between you and Robby, with his arms crossed and an eyebrow arched. His eyes were darting back and forth between the both of you, waiting for a valid explanation.
“Nothing Dr. Abbot.” You said in a rush, eyes locked to the ground while a wave of shame, that forced your voice to lower, rushed over you. “I was asking Dr. Robinavitch if I could take a break and he agreed. Isn’t that right?” You glanced at the day shift attending, silently asking him to forge a brief alliance to which he agreed.
“Yes.” He answered in such a fragile way that didn’t go unnoticed to you.
Your eyes scanned him. He wrapped his right arm tightly around his left hip, while he was torturing the cuticle of his left thumb, to divert his attention somewhere else because a sudden glassy, reflective sheen coated his pupils. He was about to cry.
The realization left you shocked. A part of you wanted to sink deeper into the guilt that was finding space in the back of your throat, the other part though, was proud to have made him that miserable. He didn’t have the right to publicly expose and humiliate you like that.
That corridor became rapidly an uncomfortable place to be in, you felt trapped. You needed to go away.
An half smile appeared on your face. “Now, If you excuse me.” You said, before reaching the elevator unbothered to wait for the two men’s reactions or to notice their surprised expressions.
The exact moment the doors closed, you began furiously pressing the top floor button, convinced that if you pressed it repeatedly, the elevator would have taken you to the rooftop faster. The ride on the elevator was unbearable, one of the longest of your life. His cruel words poisoned your mind, and consequently, your whole body started trembling out of rage. Angry tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You tried to stop them by violently biting your lips and cheeks that in just a few seconds were already marked by your blood.
Once the elevator opened you hastened towards the rooftop door, opened it and took a step out. There, you were met with a warm and humid wind. You first checked if someone was there, you knew that sometimes your coworkers liked to come here, but fortunately, there was no one. Your only company were the stars that decorated the dark sky, the buildings around you and a few noises coming form the street.
Comforted by this loneliness, you furiously slammed the door and let out a violent “Fuck!”. Then, you moved a few steps to the right while running both of your hands across your face, before collapsing to the floor with the wall supporting your back. Your brought you knees to your chest, without removing the hands from your face. Pitch black and hospital soap that’s what you saw and smelled in those moments where you remained in that position, thinking that all of your rage will disappear alone, but it didn’t. You needed to released it.
Quickly your hands found the lower part of your scrub top, rolled it into something that resembled the form of a ball, and proceed to shove it into your mouth. With your mouth stuffed and your eyes squeezed shut, you began to scream. A piercing, muffled, garbled sound of pure frustration and anger that filled your body with heath. You screamed with all of your force, until your gums and teeth started hurting, until drool pooled over the part of the scrub that you couldn’t hold in your mouth, until your knuckles turned white and pleaded you to let go of that piece of fabric.
Eventually you released all of the rage that poisoned your body. You won.
After that, your arms rested open to your sides, palms looking at the sky, mirroring your face. You counted the few starts that shone despite the light pollution, melting in the night stillness that you despised so much, but that now, was more than necessary.
But that sensation of relief didn’t last very long. Your brain replayed the conversation that you had with Robby and guilt washed over you. For a moment you starred at the skyscrapers in front of you, hoping to find some distraction, but you could feel remorse and shame in every bone of your body. Emotions that were slowly consuming you because ultimately, you almost said to your attending, a human being who was definitely struggling, to end his life.
You felt sick. You couldn’t feel a drop of pity for yourself. What you almost did was wicked and unforgivable. Especially because everything, starting from Anne and Jayce and finishing with that, led back to the reason why you left your home.
Instantly your hands reached the pockets of your scrub pants, pulling out three objects. Your phone, your headphones and your most beloved and important possession, a silver heart-shaped locket necklace. You left the first two on the floor, while opening the locket on your lap. You traced its rim with your fingers and exhaled, looking first at the small piece of paper that said “We love you, M. & D.”; and then, at the photo within. A younger, happier version of you at the centre, hugged by the light of your life, your parents, that now were dead and gone. You eyes lingered on the smiling face of your mother, and there, you broke.
You brought the open locket to your lips like you were reciting the rosary, and then, you whispered with a strained voice. “I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought that.” Heavy and uncontrollable tears flooded your face and your breath began hitching. You repeated those words like a mantra, a mantra that accompanied your despairing wail.
Desperate for a second of calm in the midst of sorrow, you reached for your headphones and put them on. Calm music began soothing your ears while you hugged your knees and your hands still held the necklace. You stared at an indefinite point in front of your, unconcerned about the tears that were dripping from your chin.
Memories came in waves, and soon, you let yourself drown in them.
You were standing in the hallway of your childhood home. It was October. The clock on the wall read 1.23 AM. You had been awake for more than thirteen hours. Your shift had been a nightmare that day, a mass casualty had occurred and you had to remain there until those of the nightshift could handle the patients alone. Tired, you dropped your backpack near the staircase, not bothering to switch on the lights, as the moonlight coming from the window lighted your way. You called your mom, informing her that you were finally home. She didn’t respond which was odd, because she usually stayed up until 2AM. You didn’t worry too much about it though, sometimes the antidepressants made her fall asleep earlier. She was diagnosed with depression three years prior, after the death of your dad. On your first year of medical school. He died from heart attack on his way to work, the doctors in the ER tried to save him, but it was impossible. In the end, your mom and you grieved him differently, you like a daughter and she as a wife, married to the love of her life.
You called her another time, still no response. But again, you weren’t particularly worried, as the last few weeks proved that she was getting better. “She is just asleep”, you thought. You were the one in the first place that told her that, when you had informed her of your extra stay at the ER. “It’s okay darling. I love you so much and I’m proud of you.” She answered softly.
Still, you went to her bedroom, illuminated by the same moonlight that led you there. You leaned on the jam, arms crossed. You saw her, peacefully sleeping on her left side, with one arm that dangled over the bed, no duvet on. You moved towards her, as silently as you could and sat right next to her, in the small space that her body made. Her hair was all over her face, you chuckled and whispered a sweet “Goodnight” while stroking her head. It was only in that moment that you realized she wasn’t moving, nor breathing. You swallowed, you eyes began to sting. Slowly you tilted your head to the nightstand, where the empty bottle of Zoloft stand with the lid open. You had picked up the prescription the day before. You starred at it for too long, unable to do anything. The realization hit you like a truck. She ended her life, and you weren’t able to save her, to prevent that. You bursted out crying and pulled her cold body in your arms, with your tears wetting her soft hair, unable to say a word. You remained like that until you had the strength to call your neighbour.
Three days later, after the funeral you asked for a leave of absence that eventually led you to sell your house and continue your first year of residence at the PTMC.
Your memories were interrupted by a pair of cargo pants materializing in front of you. One hand found immediately your heart, not expecting anyone to come after you. In a second, you took your headphones off and wiped out your tears, while still holding the locket in one of your palms.
You looked up and met Jack with a paper cup in his hand.
“Jesus Christ! You scared me Dr. Abbot.” You said still recovering from the little fright.
He chuckled. “I didn’t think that I was that ugly. And please, it’s just Jack now okay?”
No, he wasn’t. Even at your lowest you couldn’t help but to notice his old-fashioned beauty. It was definitely the weariness that spoke for you, because you never truly admitted that to yourself before, scared that that simple recognition led to something more dangerous and unpredictable.
“Okay Jack.” You remarked, too tired to keep your professionalism intact. After all here, there was no one besides the two of you.
That was the first time you called him by his first name. There was something in the way your voice pronounced his name that made Jack’s heart fumble.
“May I?” He asked while pointing at the empty space near you.
You nodded. Before checking in, still looking at him. “Sure your leg won’t hurt?”
“It will or maybe it won’t. Who knows.” He playfully answered while seating at your right. Cup still in his left hand. Unlike you, he sat with his legs stretched out to the floor. The wall though, kept supporting both of your backs.
Unsure of his response, you turned your head to him and with a serious voice you ordered. “Take it off. You’ve been standing all day.”
He mirrored you. In that close position you could smell the sting odor of the hospital sanitizer as well as see an unexpected sparkle in his eyes. Your shoulders were brushing against one another, mimicking the closeness you experienced earlier that day.
He smirked. “At your orders Dr. Sweetheart.” He momentarily put the cup onto the ground, taking off his leg and placing it besides him.
Dr. Sweetheart. A nickname that you hadn’t heard in months. A nickname that Jack gave you after seeing you how you treated patients, with consideration and empathy. A nickname that he used only when no one was around, because he didn’t want the others to start stupid rumors about the two of you.
You shook your head and let out a breathless laugh. “I’m not a sweetheart Jack you know it, especially after today.” Bitterness and melancholy could be found in the tone of your voice. There was a time in which you were one, at least within the walls of your house. Outside though, you had always been a bit distant to people, even though you had formed occasional friendships throughout the years. But after the death of both your parents the distance you kept with people only got bigger and bigger, and the sweetness you once were familiar with was replaced with pain.
This didn’t go unnoticed by the night-shift attending who tried, as best as he could, to diffuse the situation.
“Nah. You are one. Especially with patients, and sometimes with me.” The last words were whispered, as if he didn’t want you to hear them which in that position was impossible. He was the one who felt too exposed for once.
He lowered his gaze, lifted it again. “At least when I have a shirt on. You know.”
His witty comment earned a laugh from you, a honest and hearty laugh that you didn’t have in a while. It was the first time he truly ever saw you like this and he felt mesmerized by it, by you letting him see more of you. You were different around him, unconsciously more at ease. Funny thing was that neither of you were able to fully catch that.
Before He could forget, he grabbed the paper cup and handed it to you. “I made this for you.”
Your smile faded and your brows frowned, and took the cup.
“Shift is already over. You never leave without drinking tea.” He continued.
You swallowed, and the warming sensation you felt earlier, when Jack leaned over you in central, found its way in your belly.
You took a sip. You murmured. “It’s Jasmine. My..”
“Favourite.” You both said in unison.
You bit your cheek because suddenly your eyes were becoming a bit watery. It had been a while since someone had shown you some kindness, and care perhaps.
You adverted his gaze, as he changed the topic of the conversation.
He rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs before gently asking, “What happened down there with Robby?”
You froze. Placed the cup on the floor and then started fidgeting with the chain of the necklace. Gaze focus on it. “We had a conversation that led into an argument.” You coldly said.
He cleared is throat, “Yeah, he informed me about it.”
“Then why asking?” You retorted, meeting his eyes again.
Jack waited a moment before answering, trying to find the right words. He knew how difficult that question was for you. How difficult it was for you to conversate about something that wasn’t work related, to reveal something of you. He only had glimpses of you, but just because it was a good observer. But right now, that question was more than necessary and in the end, instead of finding complicate ways to address the conversation and his concern for you, he opted for the truth.
“He also told me that you were crying in the bathroom. And seeing you like that, it felt weird. I-umh never saw you yelling like that. I got worried.”
You froze for the second time in a row. You felt as getting caught red handed, like you found Dr. Mohan and him this morning.
Both of the attendings knew you were crying in there. But there was something else that unsettled you even more. He was worried about you.
With your fingertip you wiped one small tear that was threating to escape from the outer corner of your eye. You then sighed. “I almost told him to kill himself Jack.” You met his attentive gaze which never stopped leaving you really.
A quiet, breathless “Oh” escaped his lips.
You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, not wanting to cry in front of him. But mostly, you feared you had disappointed him with that confession.
“If you hadn’t interrupted us, I would have told him that.” Your voice cracked, and the guilt returned stronger than ever.
You tried, so so hard not to cry, thinking that your body had expelled all of the tears possible, but it wasn’t like that. You quickly covered your face with your hands, a shield that masked your sobs and weep.
Jack at first didn’t utter a word. Both surprised and concerned, he circled your shoulders with his arm, pulling you closer to him, before placing a tender kiss between your hair; as if he had done it a million times. “It’s okay sweetheart. Even if you thought it, you didn’t say it. You were angry. You didn’t mean any of that.” He murmured, still holding you. “You’re a good person, and he’s not gonna fire you, if that’s what you’re worrying about.” He planted another kiss.
You cried even harder, not because of what almost happened with Robby, but because of that delicate touch, paired with those soft words contained in his raspy voice, that you accepted. You were crying because you was accepting was he was willing to give you: affection and care. Because you didn’t avoid his touch, you melted into it. You were crying, because you realized that you had feelings for him. Because Jack was able to find its way beneath your armor and towards your heart.
But the man didn’t know what happened inside your mind. He only saw and heard you wail and suddenly, he thought that he overstepped. He tried to fix the situation as best as he could.
“Do you want me to call you someone? Maybe a friend or your parents in Maine. Sometimes it helps hearing a familiar voice during hard times.”
But little did he know…
You knew he had good intentions, really, but your body reacted anyways, stiffening and he noticed it. You removed your hands from your face and quietly let go of his touch.
You handed him your opened locket. He grabbed it and a light smile appeared on his face at the sight of the younger you.
“The only people that I ever truly had and could call are trapped in there.” You confessed with a touch melancholy.
His smile instantly faded. He didn’t need to ask you for further explanation. He understood and gasped “I’m sorry. I didn’t-”
“Don’t be.” You placed you hand on his palm, the one that held the locket. “Nobody knows.” You half smiled.
At those words he closed his fingers around your hand in a gentle motion that made your heart flutter.
Eventually you gave in, and revealed him the true reason why you left Maine. You told him everything, not because you felt obliged to, but because you wanted to.
He was the first person to know about the death of your parents and the tragedy behind it, after your therapist.
His brows frowned and he shook his head. He was visibly moved by your story. “You’re so strong sweetheart.” And his thumb softly stroked yours.
You chuckled. “Says the veteran.”
He didn’t even register your joke, because his mind was already somewhere else.
“Come back to the night shift. So far the day shift hasn’t done you any good.” He said off the cuff.
“Jack…” You rebuked, “You know I’m having troubles working at night, after my mom committed suicide it’s..”
He cut you off. “I know but, if something happens to you I can help you. Because now I finally know why out of the blue you decided to move to the day shift. You couldn’t bare it anymore.”
His hand gripped yours tighter.
You were about to speak, but he didn’t let you.
“The night crawlers miss you.”
You shook your head, adverting his gaze, but he didn’t give up.
“Ellis misses giving you unwanted gossip and gaining no reaction back. Shen misses not being the only one having a drink addiction of some type.”
You lightly laughed.
“Jeez!” He exclaimed. “Even Walsh misses you. She misses working with a clever R1 while she’s operating.”
“Really?” You were frankly and oddly surprised by that.
He nodded. Then his voice, as well as his gaze, lowered, concentrated on the small circles that he was drawing on your knuckles with his thumb. It seemed that what he was about to say was only meant for himself.
“And I miss you. I miss having you around all the time.”
Your heart skipped a beat. Not ready for that confession that came unnoticed. But once again, you didn’t escape from it. Instead you observed him. His grey curls, the freckles that covered his arm and his eyes that were still fixated on your interlaced hands.
You acted on impulse, ignoring the anxiety that tried to find space in your head, telling you to stop.
With your free hand, you lifted his chin and closed the space between the two you. You pulled him into a soft and tender kiss. After the initial shock, he cupped your face with his other hand and shifted slightly his position to have a better taste of you; and for the same reason, you adjusted yourself too. You felt the scrape of his beard on your chin, his work-worn hand against your cheek, and his slightly chapped lips melting against your equally chapped ones. It was a kiss that tasted of tears shed and jasmine tea. It was a kiss that spoke of mutual respect, trust, admiration and that silent devotion that both of you started feeling right after you arrived in the pitt, on February.
When you parted, you rested your foreheads against one another. Both smiling shyly.
“Was it unprofessional?” You asked a bit embarrassed.
“No, it wasn’t.” He whispered out of breath.
He then let go of that position, and of your interlaced hands, carefully placing the locket on the ground, and after that, he opened his arms. “Come here.”
You didn’t hesitate to welcome his comforting hug. With your chin rested on his shoulder and his fingers gently running through your hair he murmured, “I hate to say it but in a bit we must go. You haven’t clocked out yet. Can’t let you waste your fourth of July.” He paused for a moment. “Lemme accompany you at home, you’re exhausted. The others won’t find out I promise.”
You hummed, trusting Jack’s promise and accepting his offer, while feeling his smile against the top of your head.
In that moment there was no space for fear and preoccupation. There was just Jack and you, and a proud feeling that settled in you, for letting yourself admit your feelings and ultimately, for letting yourself set free from your own self-imposed chains, even for a slightly bit.
the way some of these fics are written? yall gotta take a long look in the mirror. infantalisation of capable women, nurses and residents, while they work at the hospital. it’s not only not funny, but also degrading. they don’t need to be babied, they’re more than capable of handling themselves. about time we start treating adults like adults in adult spaces. thank you.
𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 :: after being captured by the blacks, you find comfort in your rogue uncle.
𝑐𝑤 :: daemon targaryen x targtower!niece!reader ノ targcest ノ sexual vulnerability ノ questionable age gap (mid 40s/early 20s) ノ fingering ノ talks you through it ノ caring!daemon ノ p in v ノ belly bulge ノ infidelity (from both parties) ノ delicate!reader
𝑤𝑐 :: 2.7k
𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥
Shame. Survival. Pleasure.
Fickle, that is what the hope that nestled deep in your heart has become.
Since the overthrow of the Greens, your family scattered — Aegon, now proclaimed Usurper, ran to whichever godforsaken corner a rat such as he could, your husband Aemond had ridden out Vhagar the same morn you were captured and failed to return. And your mother, in a frantic attempt to save Helaena, fled with the innocent queen.
The shame that now shackles you is strong, stronger than the actual shackles that bound you when you were taken prisoner. Remnants of the day of and after your capture pass through your mind:
How you were dragged through the keep like a stray hound, your royal dress tearing and catching each imperfection on once-perfect castle floors. When a guard took your prayer beads, they tore, the marbles chattering like water droplets. It reminded you of the heaving of tides, the severing of families, and the breakage of promises.
What awaits you now is survival. You pleaded with the guards that stood by your small chambers, "Have I ever wronged you?" "Was I ever unkind to you?" but it was as if speaking to ghosts. When maids brought supper, your knees gave way and scraped against harsh ground as you crawled to each one who brought the meal. Your weak hands grasped at the maid's skirt like a thirsty man grasping at the well bucket.
More often than not, the uncomfortable soul's breath would hitch as she pushed your hands off of herself and fled, leaving you alone once more.
You were more in your thoughts now, given they were the only thing you had left between these four pitiful walls, which often led you back to your days spent in the Great Sept of Baelor. Growing up, you visited it daily, usually early on, garnering courage from the skies to face whatever new misery the day had brought.
You would always pass by your twin brother, Aemond, who would wake with dawn to spar or ride his great dragon, Vhagar. You'd greet one another, perhaps even ride your dragons together if time allowed. But then, your mother announced that you two were to wed, and all the fragile peace you two had built was shattered.
You knew Aemond wouldn't complain; he'd never betrayed duty, but his withdrawal was enough of a complaint. Gone were the affable greetings and pleasant takes to the sky, and the brother you once knew and trusted most became a stranger because of one vow forced by obligation.
So even before you were taken captive, the Sept lost its allure, knowing you'd have to cross paths with your uncaring brother-husband to reach it.
Now, morn has become your only source of comfort — it reminds you of the warmth that spilled through the great windows of the holy space each new day when you knelt for prayer, minus Aemond's unacknowledgement. There was hope, after all; the sun rose and shone for all, reaching wherever and whomever it could, if only you'd known so before following duty so blindly.
Another day has passed—the fifth of your captivity, the last of the sun's rays setting behind the scenery. The door cracked open. Without another thought, you knelt, a recurrence now, your hands reaching for worn skirt fabric of a maid's dress, only to grasp hard, cold leather.
“So passionate about a simple meal? Did the maids forget to feed the little dove?”
Despite every instinct warning you, your eyes shot up, light violet meeting dark violet that belonged to none other than a man you least expected to see: Prince Daemon Targaryen. Your hands retracted as if burned, the jumpy reaction making Daemon's smirk more prominent as he knelt in front of you, setting the silver tray aside with a defeating clank.
"Did I surprise you, princess?"
Your throat works to answer, but all that comes out is a broken breath of a word Daemon doesn't catch. Your silver hair sways along as you muster a meek nod. His hand moves from his thigh, its back nearing your bleak face.
A small flinch happens when the coldness of his knuckles and rings grazes your cheek. Your eyes flicker as they take in the man in front of them. It was unmistakably your uncle, in all his Targaryen glory, stroking your cheek as if he wasn't one of the reasons your whole life collapsed around you.
"Uncle..."
Daemon tsked softly, pale lips pressing into a thin line as you addressed him as uncle, trying to find your voice and ask for answers or plead for mercy, whichever came first. "I prefer my name on your lips...amongst other things."
Before you could ask what he meant by the latter, not that you believed he'd elaborate—he showed you. His lips enclosed around your smaller ones passionately.
A breath tore from your mouth, traveling into his rough, eager one.
What should've felt wrong, what should've felt like a great dragon piercing its claws into the skin of a bystander sheep — didn't feel so cruel at all.
In all the loneliness, the abandonment, and feelings of being too unworthy to save, Daemon's lips felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds, destroying doubt and replacing it with something much more unstable and complicated.
Your hands tremble as they clench around his half-buttoned tunic, grasping the thin material tightly as Daemon's strong hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck, reeling you closer.
He angled your face, molding your lips together more efficiently as a quiet hum left his throat. His free hand wrapped around your lower back, pulling your body to rest against his.
"We shouldn't—" You push, but all the beast in him feels is false resistance, abandonment wrapped in property — carried by a soul deserving of better.
"Let me be here for you. For a night, a fortnight, as long as you need me."
The steadiness of his voice made you falter. This was wrong in many ways. You were married, and a woman of faith — he was married as well. Whatever was happening shouldn't. But his words...they were like honey.
So even if it was all poison — as long as it was hidden in honey, you'd take it.
You let him pick you up without another word, your back nestling against the hard mattress of the bed. Daemon's lips find the column of your neck, making you gasp and arch into him. A flame of desire lit in the pit of your stomach.
Pleasure was nothing but a fairytale to you. Your mother explained to you what sex was before you were wedded to Aemond. But she made one thing clear: this was duty. Duty you had to fulfill, just as she had hers, and the rest of the world theirs.
But now, as your body was burning for a man it shouldn't — like a match lighting against rough surface — you realized how little duty truly mattered.
You dutifully married Aemond. Dutifully read your scrolls and clasped hands to the seven-pointed star — but none of it saved you. You were betrayed and captured; regardless of it all. And you were now being touched by the one man you never imagined touching you.
Daemon's hand uncurled from your waist, moving to your bare legs as your shift gave way to the prince's exploration. You eagerly wiggle your hips as he pulls the white linen down your legs. Your heart lurches in your chest as he spreads you shamelessly, deep eyes taking in every inch of you, like worshipping you with them alone.
"Does my little dove wish to continue, or shall we—"
"Please! Please continue...Take me. I'm yours to take."
The desperation in your voice makes Daemon pause. He looks up at your panicked expression.
"Don't panic. I meant to say, shall we take it slower..."
His free hand moves to cup one of your flushed cheeks, thumb gently moving along warm skin; a man of his stature is comforting his niece as if it were second nature.
"As for the other, you may give me your body,"— he begins calmly. "whenever and however much you please. But you are far from mine. You stay your own person; free to order me to stop at any moment — and I will." His words should've reassured you, made the guilt less — that this was comfort you desperately needed and would later be forgiven for with enough prayer — but no.
You didn't want to pray, not now, not anytime soon — and certainly not for this. Not against this man who seemed to care for you in his own way — in ways no one else had before. You want this, you want him, and for every sinful touch of his to be engraved into your soft skin like a brand.
You shake your head, knuckles whitening as your grasp firms. "I need to be yours, Daemon. Make me yours. I do not care if it'll only be for ten minutes and if I'll burn for it eternally."
Daemon's carefulness evaporates like smoke.
Your head falls back as his long index and middle finger enter your cunt with an ease you've never felt with Aemond. A soft squelch followed his entry, making him close his eyes and take a sharp breath. Your eyes opened slightly, a small whimper leaving your lips as he completely retrieved his fingers, only to bring them to his mouth and wrap his tongue around them — watching you watch him enjoy your essence.
The queen dowager's words ring through your mind like stone dropping in a hollow well: duty, life is but a duty to fulfill. All you ever did was think of duty, and it never thought back of you — perhaps that is why abandoning it never felt sweeter.
Your thighs shut in a quiet ache as your violet gaze went over the older man lapping at his own fingers to taste you. Of all the women he chose to taste, of all the women he could've comforted — it had been you. Feeling chosen was better tenfold than damned duty. A soft sigh of relief left your lips as he parted your thighs once more, fingers re-entered you, gently pleasuring you through the softening resistance. His lips found yours again, and his fingers curled as they reached you furthest, pulling another soft sound from you.
Your hips began to chase his hand, lifting off the rumpled sheets and meeting his deep thrusts. The fire in your gut started to expand, your brows furrowing as he scissored his fingers through your velvet walls.
"Beautiful. You are devastatingly beautiful, princess."
Your hips still at his word. Praise. You've never received it. Not sexual praise, not like this; when all you were doing was selfishly taking everything he gave you — and that alone was enough to earn praise, in Daemon Targaryen's book?
Your breath hitches as the fire in your stomach threatens to escape, ready to light the whole bed aflame. A jolt runs through your body as his thumb brushes along the hard pearl that Aemond never bothered with.
"That is it...let go, little dove. Don't think, just feel. Don't be afraid, I am here. Fall. I will catch you. Nyke tepagon ao ñuha udra."
The world narrows to this moment — you, Daemon and this chamber barely contain two dragons as their desires spill over. The fire finally spills out of your gut and onto his hand. Your back arches off the mattress, a loud, foreign sound of pleasure leaving your trembling lips.
(I give you my word.)
You collapse with a soft thud, chest having as his fingers leave your overstimulated cunt. Your eyelids feel heavy; the ceiling blurs at every slow blink. With great exertion, you lift yourself on your forearms. A small smile paints your lips, looking every bit undone as Daemon's mouth curves to mirror.
"Ñuha udra? What word? What kind of word does an uncle have to uphold towards his woeful niece?"
Daemon's hand finds your head, thick fingers slothing into silver strands as he guides your head forward, planting a deliberate, reverent kiss to your temple.
"A word far greater than you seem to be aware of."
For a second, your heart stops, eyes widening as his words register in your brain. They pierce your soul like a sword armor. You knew your uncle well; a man of calculated actions and measured words, meaning whatever came from Daemon Targaryen's mouth, he meant.
Before you can swim further into your thoughts, the sound of discarding leather brings you back to reality. Daemon had moved away from you and was now amidst pulling his doublet and smallclothes down simultaneously.
Your throat bobbed, tracking Daemon's form as he shamelessly threw his garments near the door. His cock swung between his muscular thighs as he settled onto the bed. You instinctively move away, making room for his towering frame.
He gently catches your wrist, bringing it to his mouth and planting a small kiss on your palm. He inhales softly, eyes opening to look at you through your fingers before quietly breaking the kiss.
"May I show you the length to which I'm ready to serve you?"
Like he already hadn't shown great length when his clothes were discarded.
"Show me, Daemon. Nyke jorepan ao."
Your hands move to his shoulders as he hovers over you, his long silver hair tickling your cheek. You nervously dig your nails into his shoulders as he guides his cock into your glistening hole.
(I beg you.)
He groans in your ear as he sheets himself inside you fully, a shudder running through your body as you feel the full length of his eagerness. He pulls out agonizingly slow, leaving only his reddened tip inside, before re-sheating — like a sword finding the perfect sheath.
The room soon fills with your sounds of pleasure and the wet sound of Daemon claiming you wholly. Your arms wrap around his neck, and his lips find yours for the third time this night. You can taste the remnants of wine on him; your hands curl into his soft locks as you pull him impossibly closer.
The flame of desire ignites in you once more, burning hotter than the first time. His piercing eyes dissect your figure: the flush on the apples of your cheeks, the sheen of sweat covering your trembling body, your breathing turning uneven— Daemon notices it all, and he's determined to make you feel ecstasy once more.
His hand moves to your stomach, making you look down. You notice the way your lower belly sloshes as he continues to penetrate you. When his palm gently presses to the movement, your whole body goes taut, before your second orgasm hits you like an angry dragon reaching fire, burning everything in its sight.
You bite his shoulder, hard, as your cunt flutters and spasms around his not-stopping cock. After a second, when your body begins to go pliant in his strong arms, Daemon lowers you onto the dampened sheets. Your tired orbs look on as he withdraws from you, a small crease appears between your brows,
"You may—"
"Not today, little dove."
"But I insist—"
Daemon's gaze hardens for a fraction, rough palm moving under your chin. He lifts your head with his thumb and index finger.
"Do you insist, or does your loneliness insist?"
His hand leaves your chin, moving along the side of your breast and stopping on your hip. Before a seed of doubt can form in your mind, he begins to move his hard cock against the outside of your stomach. You watch quietly; not even a minute later, his semen sprouts along your abdomen and ribs.
Your body subconsciously relaxes, and Daemon lies beside you, pulling you into his solid chest. He kisses your hair carefully, before murmuring into it,
"One day you will take my seed, and it will be because you begged for it, not insisted like it was a demand on my behalf."
All you can do is give one weak, final nod against his chest before sleep takes you. He leans forward, whispering into the silence,
"Rest, princess...I know how much you like waking with the sun."
𔓘 kate bush. lana del rey. tori amos. cocteau twins. literature. watercolor art. crystals. witchcraft. journaling. tea. flowers. rocky horror picture show. glee. addicted to psychological thriller movies and novels. most of times is hard to beat the weird girl allegations 𔓘
masterlist | latest work
⤷ probably daydreaming about rafe cameron, art donaldson, patrick zweig, aerion and rhaenyra targaryen, gwayne hightower, trinity santos, yolanda garcia, jack abbot.
synopsis: when freshly divorced frank takes his kids to soccer for the first time, he immediately makes friends with one of the mothers, you. when you come and pick your daughter up from a playdate later, it stretches into something much greater than both of you could've imagined.
pairing: divorced!frank langdon x single mother!reader
cw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst. discussions of divorce, mentions of frank's drug addiction and guilt, discussions of abandonment, infidelity and single parenthood. unprotected p in v, fingers in mouth.
wordcount: 4.5k
taglist: @pittsick @inside--her--fantasy @voidsuites @lvve-talks @iloverodentmen @carpenfaist @nyxmoretti @kill3ill @meetmeatyourworst @coochiemama3000 @scariffs @thryn-the-destroyer @multi-fandom-bi-bitch (to be added)
the car was new. well, not new but unfamiliar. it was a station wagon, reminiscent of what your dad had driven around in the ‘80s, you didn’t even know they still made those. the puppy’s new too, sprinting out of the open car door before the engine had even turned off, all floppy ears and wagging tail. so was the man chasing her, with muttered curse words and failed grabs with veiny arms. the stubble, you noted, was definitely new and you swallowed, hard.
the only familiar part of the chaotic scene was the two kids, penny and tanner, dashing out of the car and onto the soccer pitch, joining nora, your daughter in a flurry of giggles.
the weary man had wrangled the overexcited puppy onto the leash and although the animal was still nipping at his ankles, he was too busy scanning the crowd of parents. following his eyeline, you recognised the judgemental looks and whispers behind hands, you knew what it felt like to be the social pariah. however, when his gaze falls on you, you make a point to look neutral, no indication of welcoming. shamefully, you’d worked hard to climb the ranks to a somewhat average position, break away from the single mother stereotype.
for better or worse, the man chooses to stand next to you, puppy jumping up wildly.
‘just ignore him.’ he says with a quick shake of his head, ‘apparently it’s just a phase.’
the puppy tilts it’s head as if to say this will definitely not be a phase.
you nod politely but he merely takes it as signal to continue.
‘it was supposed to be a surprise, you see?’ he clicks his tongue, ‘tanner was so insistent he’d take care of the poor animal.’
with a shake of your head, you reply wryly. ‘kids always say stuff like that, trick is not to give in.’
‘i’ll… remember that for next time.’ he laughs with a smirk, looking down at the puppy, who was now pushing it’s fluffy head against his shoes, begging for cuddles.
you look down too, and your jaded heart melts at the adorable sight and with a nod from the man, you’re crouching down to pet him and the puppy immediately bumps his face into your hand, licking your fingers excitedly.
it’s only when you stand back up, feeling weirdly warmed by the whole interaction that he introduces himself.
‘i’m frank, by the way.’ he presses his hand to his chest, ‘frank langdon.’
you’re at a loss for words, trying to keep your expression polite whilst your brain fires at a million miles per minute. abby had talked at length about her husband, his time as a doctor, his time in rehab, his lack of time for his kids. by the end, you’d envisioned some sort of monster who was jacked up on pills and only appeared in the depths of nighttime.
that is nothing like the fairly normal man stood beside you. he’s dressed a plain shirt that hugs his upper body, showing faint muscles and regular jeans that aren’t too baggy and aren’t too tight. his dark brown hair is flopping in his face slightly, obscuring his piercing blue eyes. his jawline is set but you’re drawn to the stubble covering it once again and the way his sturdy fingers stroke it as if it still needed some getting used to.
your eyes betrayed you, widening impossibly as you made the connection. he’d never brought the kids to soccer practice before, he was no longer clean shaven and he had a demented puppy with him. abby had finally divorced him.
thankfully, frank hadn’t seemed to take notice of your blatant shock so when you finally answered him, it was as casual as you could muster.
‘oh! well it’s good to finally meet you.’ your smile is strained, not quite meeting your eyes as you try to quell your surprise. ‘i’ve heard so much about you!’
he seemed a little embarrassed by this, looking away slightly. ‘yeah… um… can’t’ve been good.’
you wave your hands rapidly, ‘no, no. trust me, all the moms here complain about their husbands, it’s standard.’
it’s a lie of course, and a bad one at that. there’s complaining about your husband not doing the dishes and there’s complaining about your husband almost losing his job for stealing painkillers.
despite this, it seems to appease frank and he looks back at you with a soft expression. it’s real, almost too real and as you hold his warm gaze, you feel your heart rate slowly increase and the sound of a plastic ball being bounced across the grass and screaming children start to fade into the background.
the moment is interrupted by three children running up to you.
‘mom! mom! mommy! mom!’ came the repeated cry, you’d barely had time to swivel your head to look at nora.
you take a deep regulating breath, ‘yes, sweetheart?’
‘can i stay at tanner and penny’s new house? pleaseeee?’ she whined, making her eyes wide with a grin stretching across half her little face.
‘well…’ you glance at frank’s kids, who were riling their new puppy up to no end and then to frank who was doing his best to keep it all under control.
at your non reply, your daughter doubled down. ‘please, please, please, please, please, please.’
‘okay, okay!’ you hold your hands up in defeat, ‘i just have to ask their dad first.’
nora erupted into cheers and immediately dove into the throng of child and puppy at your feet.
turning to frank with an apologetic face, you ask the question. ‘in case you hadn’t heard, nora wants to have a playdate at your house today.’
you’re half expecting him to say no, come up with some excuse about how there’s no space or he’s hardly unpacked but instead he brightens.
‘oh sure! they’d love that. here…’ he fumbles around in his jean pocket to pull out his phone and you notice the friendship bracelets adorning his wrist, a children’s creation that makes your heart swell. ‘i’ll give you my number in case anything happens.’
you smile slightly, it’s the most considerate a dad has ever been around here. ‘great, thanks.’ you say as you type his digits into your phone. ‘does 6 sound good? i’ll give her dinner at home.’
‘6 is perfect.’ frank replies with a warm smile, and once again his gaze is lingering just a beat too long.
you blink and look away first, ‘okay, nora. come say bye to your mom!’ you call.
‘bye!’ she squeals into your legs, little arms wrapped around them in a hug.
‘bye, honey. have fun.’ you whisper into her hair, pressing a kiss to her scalp before handing her her backpack.
‘be good!’ comes your final cry as she tears off with penny and tanner towards frank’s car.
as you trudged back to your own beat up sedan, you couldn’t help but stare at his contact open on your phone. even as you drove home, blasting music, you found yourself wishing that he’d call or even text. not that you wanted anything bad to happen to nora, far from it, you just wanted to hear his smooth voice again, read his words.
this was wrong, you thought as the key turned in the lock and you came home to an empty house. you weren’t exactly abby’s friend but you were friendly, she was friendly and everyone knew what went down over the last couple of years between her and frank.
and yet, you hadn’t been with someone since you’d given birth to nora, no time to balance a job, a kid and a man. nor did you have time for hookups either, lost track of how long it had been since you’d even had sex.
you were just pent up, you concluded, you saw an attractive man out in the wild and didn’t know how to act. there was no way you could possibly be interested in your friend’s freshly ex husband.
sitting down to watch tv to pass the endless hours, every channel was showing some sort of romance. whether it was cheesy romantic comedies or cringe reality dating shows, it didn’t matter. you were being haunted by your own conflicting feelings.
5:30 couldn’t come fast enough and you practically jumped in the car, surprised you didn’t get a speeding ticket as you pulled up outside frank’s address, your heart had skipped a beat when he’d texted it to you hours earlier.
although you’d convinced yourself you couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, you did reapply your lipstick and check your mascara before getting out of the car. the house was modest, small in a series of ramshackle houses on a street just outside pittsburgh. he clearly wasn’t short of money, so the divorce must not have come as a surprise.
even as you stood on his creaky wooden porch, you could hear the cacophony of chaos from behind the door. as you knocked, you heard shrill barking and the door opened just as golden fur dove at you only to be grabbed by the scruff of it’s neck and yanked back.
‘sorry, sorry.’ frank mutters quickly as he shooed the poor creature away, ‘like i said, still a lot of training to go.’
you blink, bewildered. ‘no it’s fine, really.’ you smile politely, suddenly at a loss for words just from the sight of him.
‘it’s um- nora!’ he shouts upstairs, ‘your mom’s here!’
there’s the sound of giggles and definitely no footsteps on the stairs.
frank pulls a face and runs his fingers through his hair, ‘they might be a while, do you want to come in?’ he gestures behind him.
before you can even think, you’re stepping past the threshold.
‘sure, thanks.’ you smile.
the interior is a mess, the furniture is simple, recent store items but it’s all draped in piles of laundry and children’s toys. everything has puppy height bites in it and you can barely see the living room rug, filled with torn up teddies.
‘i apologise for the mess, my job doesn’t give me a whole lot of time for housekeeping.’ he shrugs, it’s an excuse but a genuine one. even so, nora didn’t make half as much mess as this.
‘i understand, you’re a doctor right?’ comes your warm reply.
he brightens, corner of his lips quirking up. ‘yeah. emergency medicine.’
‘brave.’ you say wryly.
‘you said it not me.’ he joked as he opened the fridge door. ‘drink?’
you slide onto the dining table bench, flicking a transformers toy aside and adjust your outfit, which you admit was not your typical picking up your daughter get up but you couldn’t help yourself.
‘well if you’re-’ you regret the words as soon as they came out of your mouth.
his expressions hardens slightly, but it’s not directed at you, rather the portrayal of a million guilty memories.
his response is blunt, ‘i don’t.’
‘right- of course-’ you say quickly, swallowing down your embarrassment. ‘me neither.’
frank doesn’t say any more and you don’t want to push so you’re now stuck in this agonising silence, sipping respective glasses of water.
‘so-’ you both start at the same time, before he laughs and shakes his head.
‘you go.’ he nods, earnest.
you press your lips together, ‘it’s a nice house.’ you sidestep, not wanting to say what was actually on your mind when he was being so hospitable.
frank looked around, as if seeing it himself for the first time. ‘yeah… my parents helped me out a bit.’
‘that’s good.’ you reply, awkward and a little too fast and he eyes you slightly.
with a sly smirk, he puts you on the spot. ‘why? what’s your house like then?’
almost choking on your water, ‘it’s not that much different if you must know. just a lot…’ your eyes twinkle with mischief as you add the last word, ‘cleaner.’
the laugh erupts from frank, a broad smile stretching across his face as he watches you with mock surprise.
‘oh yeah? well i suppose you’ve got half the kids and…’ he tilts his head to the side, ‘what do you do? for work i mean.’
‘right. i’m a consultant, it’s boring, trust me.’ you shrug.
‘so half the kids and half the hours then.’ frank jokes and you feel your cheeks grow hot.
‘alright, alright.’ you shake your head, staring down into your glass.
‘hey.’ he murmured quietly, ‘i was joking.’
‘i know.’ you retort but as you look up, you can see the way his piercing eyes had softened.
his gaze was lingering again, that beat too long that made your breath quicken. you didn’t want to look away until your phone screen lit up and it jolted you out of the moment.
‘shit is that the time already? it’s almost…’
frank was already standing, opening the fridge. ‘dinnertime?’
you move to follow immediately, ‘you don’t have to. i can take her home and feed her, honestly.’
he didn’t miss a beat, ‘stay. i want you to.’
his tone was gentle but authoritative, the words simple but they struck a chord anyway, your heart swelling as you leaned against the kitchen counter.
‘god i can’t see why abby divorced you.’ you mutter under your breath, your tone is joking but his head snaps up regardless, he heard you.
frank freezes, and you can see his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he processes what you just said. you can’t apologise, it’s too late, the words hanging in the air
‘i messed up, bad.’ comes his stoic reply, though his voice was wavering. ‘i worked really hard to atone for what i did, but it wasn’t enough for her.’
‘i know i-’ you cut in, swallowing.
he shakes his head, ‘and that’s okay. i’m just grateful she lets me see my kids.’
you sigh, following his sorrowful gaze upstairs, ‘frank i-’
he turns to look at you then, eyes hard but again, he’s not mad at you but rather himself. ‘i let a lot of people down, abby included and i’m not asking for forgiveness from anyone, i just want to prove that i can get better, be better.’
it was the most honest thing you’d heard about the whole situation and it made your heart ache. you couldn’t hate abby for how she felt, far from it but there was something in frank’s expression that meant you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him too, whether he wanted it or not.
‘do you want a hug?’ comes your quiet sympathy.
he doesn’t say anything so you step closer, arms enveloping him warmly. frank is broad, not outwardly muscular with bulging arms but his chest is rock solid, sinewy arms working their way around your waist. the hug stretches from seconds into minutes, neither of you want to pull away and his chin starts to rest atop your head.
eventually, you step apart but his arms move to slide on top of yours, each of your hands gripping the others elbows. frank licks his lips and you think it’s going to happen, that he’ll lean in and-
‘can you get the plates out of the cupboard, please? on the left above the microwave.’ he whispers, tone almost too casual and you nod, pulling away.
you don’t notice how he watches you, ass bending over slightly to reach up and grab a stack of porcelain.
as you start to lay the table, frank calls. ‘don’t worry about that, the kids can eat outside, it’s nice out. penny and tanner are always begging me to let them.’
your brow furrows, ‘you sure?’
he’s already piling fries on each plate, ‘yeah, i’m sure.’
doing your best to suppress your smile, you nod in agreement.
‘kids!’ frank bellows, ‘dinner!’
they all come barrelling down the stairs, crowding the kitchen like feral creatures, the puppy attempting to climb the counters to get to the chicken nuggets.
‘come on, go eat outside please.’ he shooed them away.
penny and tanner’s faces lit up before scrambling to open the backdoor and tumble into the fenced in grass, puppy running laps. nora hung back, holding her plate but looking at you expectantly.
‘go on, honey. it’s okay, frank and i are having dinner too.’ comes your gentle confirmation and she brightens once more.
‘sweet!’ she cheers before dashing out after them and plopping herself down with her plate.
‘now…’ frank slides the door shut and the kitchen falls quiet again, a soft domestic quiet that you could certainly get used to. ‘where were we?’
you don’t miss the flirty undertones in his words, so your reply is equally salacious, ‘i believe we were about to have dinner… together.’
he smirks and sits down opposite you, fork stabbing a forlorn fry. ‘so, what’s your story?’
you tilt your head to the side, ‘oh i don’t have one.’ comes your quick, polite response.
‘sure you don’t.’ frank retorts, staring at you so intently that you can’t avert your gaze.
shrugging, you exhale. ‘i picked the wrong guy to be the father of my child.’
frank doesn’t push, but he doesn’t say anything either, just continuing to study you.
‘he didn’t- he wasn’t… abusive like that.’ you shake your head quickly, focusing on cutting a chicken nugget into tinier and tinier bites. ‘he wasn’t ready, even though he told me it was what he wanted.’
‘so he ran? took off?’ frank prompted, though his words were barely audible.
your neck snapped up then, ‘oh yeah, he was long gone before she was even born. ran off with the girl he’d been cheating on me with for the last nine months.’ your tone is wry, joking even but there’s an undercurrent of hurt that still lingers.
he deflated slightly but his hand enclosed your own across the table.
‘i’m sorry.’ was all frank said but something inside you split open.
‘it’s fine, he doesn’t deserve to know her anyway.’ you suck your teeth, gazing out the window at nora laughing with penny and tanner, that laugh where she snorts so loud it only makes her laugh harder and your eyes fill with tears all of a sudden. ‘although… sometimes i wonder if she knows what she doesn’t have, whether she misses having a father despite everything. i do my best to provide for her but- it’ll never be the same.’
he falls quiet, watching you watching her for what feels like an eternity. the tears are flowing now, irregular and small but there, so when frank finally does speak, the first thing he does is wipe a wobbling tear from your cheek with a calloused thumb.
‘the fact that you think that tells me you’re better than two parents combined.’ he whispers sincerely, brow furrowing as he looks you over gently.
‘you mean that?’ you whimper, it’s almost childish how your bottom lip starts to wobble.
he seemed amused by that, ‘wouldn’t say it if i didn’t.’
swallowing down your tears, your answer is soft, broken. ‘thank you.’
maybe it was your heightened emotional state, or the childhood food in front of you both, but you found yourself leaning in. frank didn’t pull away and when your lips finally met, all your heartfelt confessions faded into the background. it was hard to get closer with the table in the way, but it didn’t matter, the kisses were rapid, barely time to breathe between lips crashing into each other.
when you do break away, you giggle in embarrassment as frank’s whole face reddens, right to the tips of his ears.
‘i’m sorry.’ frank grins as he repeats those two words, meaning so different from just a few moments ago.
‘no you’re not.’ you retort with narrowed eyes and a chuckle.
‘no i’m not.’ he concedes, grin only widening.
his hand is still in yours, and now he turns it, so your palm is facing upwards. your fingers interlock with his own and you both just watch it, the connection forming between you.
‘it’s been so long since i-’ you start, wide eyes finding his sure ones.
‘i don’t care.’ frank shrugs, tone breathy and light.
you press your lips together and slide out of your chair. ‘fuck it.’
frank follows you as you open the backdoor, curiosity written all over his expression.
‘nora!’ you shout across the yard and her head swivels, ‘do you want to sleep over?’
she jumps up immediately, ‘yes please!’
none of the kids notice frank’s muscular arm snaking around your waist but you do. the unfamiliar warmth of his chest pressed against your back and his chin fitting perfectly into the crook of your shoulder.
so?’ you whisper in his ear with raised eyebrows.
frank shut the backdoor with ease, one handed so he didn’t have to be separated from you.
sprinting up the stairs like children, you didn’t even make it to his bed before he was all over you. pressed up against the door, frank’s kisses were passionate and fast, hands roaming all over you. your hands slid down to his ass, resting there and your tongue prodded his bottom lip, encouraging him to go slow and savour this as his tongue slid over yours.
as the kisses grow longer, stretching into minutes since you’d come up for air, your hands snake round from his ass to the zipper on his jeans, tugging it down and feeling the bulge hiding behind, spring forward.
frank groans into your mouth, before pulling away to break for breathless panting.
‘fuck.’ his face screws up as he tries to calm his body that’s thrumming with desire.
without warning, he grips your hips and turns you around so your stomach is pressed against the door, back arched and he laughs deliciously.
‘please… oh god.’ you whimper, grateful you wore your shortest and tightest skirt for the occasion.
frank wastes no time in pulling it down over your ass till it falls to your ankles. you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling and denim kicked across the floor. he plants his hands on either side of your head against the door frame and torturously starts to rub his clothed bulge against your clothed pussy.
‘frank…’ you plead shakily, already aching with need.
‘yeah? you want this?’ he growls, right in your ear and your whole body shivers.
‘so bad. so- so bad.’ you reply with a sharp moan as he presses right against you.
his fingers dip into your panty line, and the skin there comes up in goosebumps instantaneously, just from the briefest of touches. he slowly pulls them down to reveal your hungry pussy.
‘holy…’ he breathes, running his finger along one of your folds teasingly, making you clench.
‘frank!’ you gasp, as cold breeze hits your hole.
‘okay… okay…’ he mutters, pulling down his own underwear.
you feel his throbbing erection brush up against your cunt, but he doesn’t enter, not yet. the teasing is killing you and it’s hardly been that long.
a large hand taps your inner thigh, ‘further apart, come on.’
you comply immediately, shuffling your legs out as far as they can go without you toppling over and that’s when his sensitive tip breaches you.
it’s slow at first, barely inside before he’s pulling it out again, only to re-enter with an extra inch. your breath catches in your throat as he continues this game of in, out, in, out.
‘for fuck’s sake!’ you groan, forehead slamming against the word.
‘easy, i don’t want to hurt you.’ he mutters, kissing at your neck.
‘i’ve pushed a whole child out of there, just fuck me already.’ you whine and frank’s startled by your forwardness.
happy to oblige, he starts slamming into you like a mad man, balls slapping against your ass. frank’s hands are digging into your hips like he’s kneading dough, and you relish the thought of the bruises there in the morning.
‘oh yes- yes- god-’ you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head.
‘we gotta be- ngh.. quiet.’ frank grunts as his dick slides in and out of your soaked hole.
you can barely hear him over the sloppy sounds your pussy is making, it’s obscene the way the spongy walls grip every vein of his girth, even when the tip brushes that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars.
‘fuck- please- please!’ you gasp and cry, trying to grind into his dick but you're sandwiched between him and the door so it’s near impossible to move, apart from your shaking legs.
‘i said-’ frank panted, ‘quiet.’
as he speaks, his fingers slide into your open mouth and you almost finish on the spot. the combination of his digits inside your drooling mouth, pressing against your teeth and tongue and his cock plunging in and out of your pussy is too much, too overwhelming in the best way.
‘ugh- close-’ you garble and frank doesn’t even pause, increasing his pace.
your orgasm comes just seconds later, crashing over you like a tidal wave. everything is blurry, except his hand in your face and his length buried somewhere deep in your cunt. you’re certain your juices are soaking the carpeted floor, spraying out and lining his dick like a sheath. garbled moans and sordid cries, it’s just as you’re coming down from your high that frank reaches his pinnacle.
perhaps it was the sight of you, shaking and writhing that made his load squirt directly into your pussy, or perhaps it was the feeling of you drooling over his fingers and coating his dick in your cum. regardless, frank was now shuddering just as intensely as you, forced to lean his whole body weight on you just so he could stay upright. his moans are filthy, whispered directly into your ear along with broken variations of your name.
eventually, frank removes his cock from inside you and it falls flaccid between his legs. swallowing, you right yourself and dust yourself off, licking your lips.
‘go pee.’ he urges, pushing his floppy brown hair out of his face in a way that is utterly endearing. ‘i’ll give you one of my shirts to sleep in.
he stayed true to his word. even though you contemplated what on earth you were doing as you sat on the toilet, the moment you slipped on his shirt, everything felt right. sliding into the warmed sheets beside him, frank’s arm fell over yours and you dozed off almost immediately, feeling a sense of safety you hadn’t realised you’d missed with all those years alone in bed.
the next morning, nora’s too sleep deprived to realise you stayed over too, and penny and tanner are also too exhausted to notice their dad looks a lot more chipper this morning, not scolding the puppy as much, rather sneaking a lot more glances at you as you sip coffee in his shirt.
you could bathe in the domesticity of it all, the kids amicably chatting mixed with puppy chowing down on food as background noise to you and frank washing up together, talking about everything and nothing and kissing between each dried dish.
nora falls asleep on the drive home almost immediately, so she doesn’t clock you’re in the same clothes as last night. your phone pings with a text message from frank and for the first time in an age, you feel more than satisfied, you feel complete.
Description: Your uncle had arrived from Oldtown, hell ensues as an old spark yearns to become a flame.
WC: 6.6k
CW: SMUT AND FILTH AND A LOT OF YEARNING. No physical descriptions of sweetling. Lots of inaccuracies in the details. A little self-degradation for plot. Aegon is already a warning himself. TargTowercest. Porn with plot. Gwayne loves to go down on you, he will stay there forever if he could! PinV. Breeding if you squint a little.
Note: I am so rusty guys, I’m so sorry, based this on SO many songs, I’d loveeeeee to make an entire mood board for sweetling hehehe
It had only been a few days since your uncle had arrived from Oldtown for your brother’s nameday, a gathering that had gained traction from all of the Realm, smallfolk, and brothels—but it was not of importance to keep him away from his knightly duties, which worried you.
You soon learned of his arrival through word-of-mouth from the servants through the familiar halls, the same ones that felt like closing in on you the second you see him.
Moons had turned since you last had seen him, it was a spectacle to see you survive mere seconds under his observant gaze and righteous gait, if it were possible you would have melted like steel under fire—softened and malleable. Almost as if you had forgotten your prayers and promises to the Gods to apostate yourself and build a religion in his body and his ribs your sanctum.
Everything had burst at the seams and everything burned in your limbs, the ever righteous princess finally became a slave to the very root of her house’s customs and the blood of the dragon was meant to withstand the fire. The fertile soil of an illicit kind encourages the growth of something verboten in your loins, it is only futile to abandon such scorching notions—especially for a princess brought up with dignity and … morals.
But your mother knew to keep at least one child away from it … right?
You had kept to yourself the entire day, the preparation of the nameday feast on the morrow was the least of your worries. Your only worry was to make a fool of yourself and expose yourself to everyone else. A simpering fool who lets her heart desire beyond the tangible. A point of inflection, a bend, a weakness.
The dress you had been wearing had felt increasingly tight, the bodice squeezing the conscience out of you and convincing you to snap out of it. Exasperated, you unknowingly reach for the window overlooking the training yard for some fresh air, only to see Gwayne engaging with other knights and visiting lords down below.
Your heart leapt out of its place. You could not breathe, the sheer intensity of it all was right at your fingertips, so close yet so far away, Gods help you live.
Before doing anything else, you hear a knock on your door. It was a timid Helaena seeking comfort in your chambers, which was not an unfamiliar occurrence due to the increasing amount of stress the Keep has caused, a beetle in her hand and rigid little Jaehaera holding her other one.
“Sister,” you clumsily stammered, forcing a smile on your face, cursing under your breath for being too taut, improper. You made your way to seek Jaehaera’s embrace and carried her. Helaena sat down on the settle, mumbling words as she blankly stared at you both and then the bug, you cooed at the child in your arms to lessen her fussiness, rocking her gently, calming her down.
“He … he wants to see you,” Helaena murmured, her soft gaze now on the green beetle that is crawling on her fingers.
“And who would that miserable lordling be?”
“ … he wept for you in the dark. Now the prayer has skin. It breathes.” She repeated it once more in a softer whisper, unintelligible at that.
Your brows furrowed, a deep-seated hum in your heart began to perpetuate itself, “you must be mistaken, sister. If it were to be that Lannister lord that has had a stick up his arse then I refuse to believe he has the ability to weep so you say,” you mused, recalling an earlier memory of you humiliating numerous lords who prided themselves on their ego and their riches during a tourney. That night you had much to drink and may have superseded your sense of propriety and lashed out to your heart’s desire. Rejecting betrothals left and right, further causing rust between your house and the others, the look of disappointment on Alicent’s face was forever etched into your memory.
Your sister shakes her head and takes your free arm to caress it.
“He wept in the dark for you. Now the prayer has skin. It breathes life … a wish that was wrapped in your bones before your birth standing right there. Do you not feel the skin of it?”
Laughs erupted from below had kept you from clarifying what Helaena had meant, like divine synchronicity, you only heard Gwayne’s voice before Jaehaera stirred from her lulled sleep and had begun to reach for Helaena. She took her daughter from your arms and quickly walked out of your chambers, it was like you had only dreamt of what happened, a hazy vision that erases itself when you finally gain sentience.
It breathes life … a wish that was wrapped in your bones before your birth standing right there. What could she possibly have meant by that?
You mulled it over, along with the gravitas and baritone of Gwayne’s voice that could be heard from your window. If only you had the ability to ignore everything, then you would have visited the Gods and asked for it yourself.
A knock on your door startled you, expecting your sister once more, it was your lady-in-waiting, Marei, who had bought you your silks for this evening’s supper.
“Princess, the Dowager Queen had ordered you to wear these silks for tonight,” she explained to you, it had not occurred to you about this evening’s sumptuous repast, it completely slipped away from your mind. Marei placed the dark green dress on your bed as she scurried to find your coveted jewels, seeing to it that she presents you exceptional options.
Taking notice of that, you corrected her, “I … the necklace with the emerald pendant will be my only choice, Marei.”
She nodded as she stopped scouring your drawers for your jewels and trinkets as she already had found the necklace you were referring to, its fine chain was in gold and the beautiful pendant had completed it, a gift Gwayne gave you for your nameday, the last nameday you saw him physically, before he faded into letters and hopeless wishes. Marei assisted you in your state of undress, changing into the new dress and wearing the necklace which complimented your complexion. You looked in the mirror, you looked more a Hightower than a Targaryen.
“Should we keep your hair down, princess?” she asked, brushing your hair.
“If it were possible, yes, I would like that.”
You answered without thinking, you were too deep in thought, you could not bear to go through supper. Marei noticed your discomfort, her handiwork transitioned into a gentler one as she untangled the knots in your hair, she stopped as she felt content with your looks.
“We are finished,” she whispered, a small encouraging smile on her face as she looked at you, tucking away loose strands of your hair. You peeked at the mirror, a small smile crept on your lips, “thank you, Marei, this is enough.”
Marei tidied up with a watchful eye as she urged you to leave before you did anything, like skip the dinner and walk through the gardens instead. You quietly scoffed as you took your leave and made your way outside your quarters.
The Keep was buzzing around you, it was until only now that it felt … full, complete. You slowly walked to the small hall, your hands were shaking, a few attempts to miss the dinner were definitely made but a headstrong Marei would have stopped you before you threatened to melt into your bed and sleep until sun up. Along with a few servants, you entered the room, it was well lit up with more torches and the atmosphere more welcoming than before. Your mother was at the head of the table, Aegon and Helaena, along with their children followed along with Aemond and then … Gwayne, the seat facing him was unoccupied, unfortunately, you sat there and instead, took solace beside Helaena’s children who were squabbling about which toy was which.
Everyone at the table were engrossed in different conversations, it only left both you and Gwayne alone with your thoughts, you on the other hand, snuck a few grapes to sweet little Jaehaera’s plate as Helaena was too busy feeding Jaehaerys his meal.
You could feel Gwayne’s stare burn into your press, but you were mulish enough to dedicate your attention somewhere else. The food was served, you attempted to savour the food but you didn’t have the stomach to eat as the nervousness enveloped you the more time you spent in the same place as him.
Aegon, ever the drunkard, had already too much to drink before the food was served, nitpicking at every little thing possible and slurred his words which was not an uncommon happening in this household—he is either drunk or passed out drunk, you preferred the latter, less of the talking the better.
But Aegon had other plans.
“Sister, sister, … did you know that the Lannister’s cock was hard as a rock when he fawned over you, it was a repulsive sight but I think he would be a perfect match for you sister … in bed! Both cowards too!” Aegon laughed nearly maniacally as he played with his food and ordered a servant nearby him to pour some more wine.
“Aegon, enough,” Alicent warned, her gaze placed on you as the entire room fell silent, except for Aegon, making a spectacle of your misery.
“No! No! Mother, I was only jesting, however the only jest is that my sister would rather wed a tree than an actual man,” he bellowed, spewing out nonsense between laughs. You looked around the table, Gwayne had grown tense, an apologetic expression had shadowed his face. You immediately tore your gaze from him and expected nothing less, there was no one else to protect you but yourself and it had pained you that none of them had the spine to speak against him, the lesser heir, the mindless man, the useless husband to your sister.
There was a weight on your chest before standing up, your chair scraping the floor, “you are right, brother, a tree would have more morals than a ‘man’ such as yourself,” you sneered, turning away to leave the room before you heard any of Alicent’s protests.
You briskly walked through the corridors of the Keep, tears had threatened to spill from your eyes, a coward, a cowardly princess, you scorned to yourself. Sobs wracked at your chest and lungs, the cries were already at your throat. Composure was one thing you prided yourself for, but unraveling discomposure was something you were ashamed of.
You barely noticed the sound of another set of steps following behind you as you entered your chambers.
“Sweetling.”
You froze in place. No one else had called you that in years. Only by your name, princess, sister, never sweetling. You’ve long for this for what felt like ages.
“Aegon has been escorted by the guards to his chambers, please, let us come back now,” he gently said.
“The night is ruined, do not let this ruin yours as well.”
“Nonsense, we have much to discuss, you and I, is your heart open to it, sweetling?”
Your eyes met his, weighing his intent, you gave a single, decisive nod and swept the chamber door open.
“I see you have not changed a thing here,” Gwayne commented, closing the door behind him.
“Nothing worth changing if no one notices,” you replied coolly.
“I notice the little things.”
“It does not count if you are leagues away from me.”
A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, an arrogant one, “but you forget that I know the fire in your blood than you know yourself.”
“I believe you.”
“Of course you do.”
You mused at that, attempting to look unimpressed at the back and forth, the dancing around, the hesitancy of asking what this really is. This … tension? Strain? You quickly shut those thoughts down as you looked at him, really looked him in the eyes.
“ … I missed you, uncle,” your sugary tone was sickly sweet to the ears, but most of all, an invitation, an opening.
“As have I,” he tersely replied, somewhat close to a rejection but you had to take your chances.
“The ride here must have been tiring,” you commented, “you cleaned up well, I suppose?”
“I have, the journey was long and dreadful but I am here now.”
You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, taking his presence all in, savouring it with fervour and longing.
“I wasn’t well acquainted earlier but … how … have things been in the Keep while I was away?” Gwayne asked suddenly.
“Aegon is always at the Fleabottom, Aemond as well, no matter how discreet he thinks he is, word gets around fast in the Keep. And Helaena … she is busy with her kids, Aegon barely pays any mind at all, to his family and the Realm it seems.”
Gwayne should have known Alicent would not be able to control him, at least Aemond had the decency to attempt at being discreet, however, as soon as you mentioned Helaena, his demeanor softened.
“How … how is she? The kids?”
You smiled, it softened up the nervousness that settled down your stomach, “they are well, noisy and playful at times, Helaena says I am quite good at taking care of children, I think the latter.”
Gwayne’s mind started to wander, he could imagine children that had inherited your beautiful looks and strong personality. Though the thought of you, his sweetling having children of her own … it made his heart clench, your uncle kept his eyes ahead somewhere else but tried to ask as casually as possible: “is that something you really want? Children of your own?”
“I do, someday, why?” You replied cautiously, you had refused to give everything away just yet, yet. If you only knew his heart behaving exactly the same as yours then you wouldn’t have been blind simpering fools right now.
If you had looked up, you would have caught the flash of sorrow and … almost despair in his eyes as he had to face the fact that one day you will have children of your own, with someone from another house, further away from you, Oldtown and King’s Landing were already far enough, what more if that lord takes you some place else? He swallowed thickly once more, a nervous habit of his, trying to mask his emotions behind his suave and casual tone.
“Just out of sheer curiosity. Nothing of importance.” He lied through the grit of his teeth, by that point he’s having a hard time maintaining his composure.
Your eyes zeroed into his soul, nearly, and scoffed, “I know you like the back of my hand, Gwayne, do you seriously think I do not know when you are lying?”
‘Gwayne.’ Sounded so absurd coming from you, it’s like you owned him, he tenses up from even a whisper of his name from you but it was different this time around.
“I have a looming fear of losing you, sweetling,” his voice was hoarse and quiet. “I will miss you, truly. Once that you are wed and happy, having children of your own,” he added, hesitantly.
You heard the reluctance in his raspy whisper, right then and there you could not control the words that came out of you next:
“And you think I would choose another, when my heart demands it be you?”
Gwayne’s heart sank.
“Sweetling, you know it is not practised in our house, it is forbidden by law, by the eyes of many,” your uncle warned, he was serious and that tone was not one you could challenge without a fight.
“And what of my half-sister Rhaenyra and Daemon?” You asked, using them as an example, the words leaving out of your mouth like it was the easiest thing to bear, the easiest thing for the realm—it had affected Gwayne, the casualness of your voice, the ease, he particularly envied that.
“That is different and you know it,” Gwayne scolded hastily, perhaps too hastily than he’d liked.
“Mother and Father made Helaena and Aegon wed, are they not Hightowers by blood?”
“That was for the sake of keeping your bloodlines pure,” he said, not daring to look at you, Gwayne knew that if he did, he would lose what remains were left of his will-power. A Hightower could only bend so far before they break.
“Almost everyone in my life sees to it that I have no prospects to my name, no use in any of the politics … and I … I willingly want you,” you, his sweetling, challenged him, and it was no fair fight.
“Gods.”
He nearly choked on his own breath at the words you had just spoken, you were already fueled by the adrenaline and spite from the events earlier and he must make sure you were not acting on your emotions and clouded judgement. His mind raced with what you had just said, Gwayne was trying his damndest to hold himself back, to pretend that he did not want, need, what you were giving him so willingly.
“We are no use for each other, sweetling, love is a privilege and a scarcity, especially for people of our standing.”
“I have not mentioned the word love,” you cornered, backing his courage up against a wall.
He was stronger than that, your uncle squeezed his eyes shut to force away the temptation, to slightly erase you from him, “do not speak to me like that, niece.”
It is like your world crumbled at that word, that scathing tone of his, the spark and incessant hope died along with you, trampled by his foot, that was how easily pliable you are to him. For so long you were starved of his attention, love, and acceptance, the one person who knew who you are, what you liked and disliked, what you needed even without speaking your mind—a settled feeling in your bones that you wanted to keep all to yourself.
“Then let us both forget this conversation ever took place, uncle.”
You retaliated, the cowardly princess, as other nobles say, reining in the blood of the dragon that flows through her veins.
Gwayne could not stop the snort of disbelief from coming out of him. Forget? He repeated inside his mind incredulously. He could never forget this. He could never forget you, and how could he when you had just offered yourself to him? Your uncle shook his head, still refusing to look at you, like you were forbidden, yet he couldn’t resist because of the small fear that you may disappear from his life, for good.
“As if I could,” he replied back, his voice still low, his gaze now on you.
“You turned me down.”
“I have to.”
He replied immediately, his mind going into panic, he was starting to be unable to think straight. You were offering him the one thing he wanted most and yet he had to reject you. He feared that if you openly spoke of your feelings then he would lose you forever but losing you now would hurt just the same. The feeling was closer to denial than of shame.
“Gods grant me mercy, sweetling—do not weigh this burden heavier than it already stands,” Gwayne pleaded once more, in hopes that you give up but he knows that his attempts were futile, you were stubborn like him.
“You are young. You will find someone else, I am sure of it,” Gwayne reasoned with you, but also himself as well.
“You cannot even speak those words and intend them true, have at least the grace to dull the blade before you strike.”
Gwayne gritted his teeth, knowing that he could not deny the facts to you without lying to you and himself. His fingers ran into his disheveled hair, at this rate he was practically pulling at his hair at the overwhelming mixture of his emotions—it complicated everything in him. Gwayne was not built for situations like these, he always knew that his life would end in serving his house until his very last breath, that was it … or so he thought.
“Please, sweetling. Have mercy on me. You do not know what you are doing to me.”
“It deals me a mortal blow nonetheless, I pray that you are aware of that. You are the tyrant of my heart.”
That broke his heart, he took a deep shuddering breath as his entire body went rigid at your words, he refused to become yet another villain in your life, he knew what it felt to be like that, unwanted.
“You don’t—“ his voice cracked so he stopped himself, trying to regain his voice.
“You do not know what you are asking of me.”
“I understand, you cannot grant what my soul truly desires,” you spat back, the tears seemingly making the words stuck in your throat as if they betrayed you, “ … it is fine, it seems that no one does.”
Gwayne could very well provide whatever you wanted with all his heart, riches were a second, material things were not of much use, and love held multitudes yet the irresponsibility weighed down on him, betraying what he had known his entire life. It was not a matter of what he was able to do but what he could not do for you. He wanted to protect you from the horrors, the stigma, the suffering—even if it meant twisting the dagger on him.
“Gods damnit!”
He hissed, suddenly losing his patience, it was new, it felt new.
“Stop this nonsense, sweetling! You’ve no idea what you are doing to me,” Gwayne pleaded, he barely knew how to but for you he would try.
“I do not want a life without you!”
“You cannot have me, it is improper!” He roared back, there were two voices in his head, one that refuses and one that insists, his body was completely trembling from the overwhelming emotion that he felt.
Gods, he needed you. He craved you. But that just made this whole situation even worse. He wept many nights for you, shamelessly begging the Gods to hear his pleas just for you. His face was hot and his chest hurt, his body ached for you, Gods the ache, his soul ached immensely for you.
You were not helping this situation by being here, your pout, your stubbornness, your tears. You were his prayer, so alive and so beautiful. Oh, how he wanted your pain to vanish, to make you whole once more, but that door lets in more horrors and he fears nothing but the possibility of you suffering because of giving into selfishness and greed.
All the while you thought to yourself, he was pushing you away, he didn’t want you.
Something within you reared its ugly head.
Your chest heaved, tears glossed your eyes as you looked at him, betrayed, anguished, who do you run to now? The sound of you trying to bite back your tears struck something within him, it nearly deafened him, he was at a loss for words, and for the first time, Gwayne Hightower did not know what he should do.
His ‘anger’ melted away instantly, but it was replaced with guilt, sadness, and something so close to longing, you were so close yet so far away, Gwayne thought to himself.
His shoulder sagged, his walls crumbling down around him, your chambers felt colder than the night.
“Sweetling … do not cry, please.”
Gwayne’s voice was soft, hoarse once more, the Gwayne you had known and loved fell through the cracks of his imperfect disguise, desperation lacing his tone.
You shook your head.
“I understand, I apologise for acting so … so childish for not getting what I … for not considering what you feel—” you sighed as you sat down on the edge of your bed, feeling defeated, you distanced yourself from him.
You were so understanding, so perfect, his sweetling but Gods, you had no idea, did you? Rightfully so, he hid them very well.
Unfortunately for Gwayne: it was torture, to hear those words come out of your mouth, like you were undeserving of it, it sounded so wrong, especially coming from you.
“You are not being childish …”
Gwayne tried to speak to you reassuringly, but failed considering how his own voice quivered, but in the Faith, he must be strong, for you.
“I just … Gods, sweetling … ”
Gwayne could not focus and could only see you, in front of him, upset and crying. Everything in him retaliated as he refrained from giving it his all, Gods, he was aching all over. His blood was boiling beneath his skin, his prayer was alive, and it was breathing. He needed to touch you, to hold you, to never let go—his life was chaos without you grounding him.
Gwayne’s eyes darted to your face, taking in your tear stricken cheek, slowly, he sank down to his knees before you, his legs giving in beneath him—like he was praying in the Sept and you were his god, and him your only devotee.
Over your skirts, his hands found their way to your thighs, his hot fingers splaying over your skin. His breathing was uneven as his hands trembled against you, he lost his composure, his vulnerability laid bare for the taking. He wept. He prayed for forgiveness. He had asked for mercy, if you could at least lessen the torment beyond the flesh and the Seven. To seek repentance in between your legs while your wanton whispers and sighs were the first scriptures of his religion.
He wept in the dark.
His eyes met yours, wet, staring up to you from where he was slumped, all that could be seen in his eyes was desperation, luckily, it matched yours. It surprised you, to see that expression on his face, the hope that, thankfully, lingered, is fully back.
Gwayne’s fingers dug into your skin as if he was trying to keep himself from passing out, his thumbs rubbed along the soft skin of your skirts as his hands moved up and down, almost shakily.
His grip on you was tight and nearly bruising, he closed his eyes, his head tilting up towards the ceiling as if he were praying to the Seven above.
His hands were sliding up your legs again, and his face followed your movements. He moved closer to you, inch by painstakingly inch.
You gathered the courage to speak your mind, this was your chance before he does anything else to sever the connection, to rub more salt into your wounds, to excommunicate you from letting you worship him any further.
“I can’t—I do not want to live the rest of my life wedded to another and … lie to myself, I cannot do it, I cannot do it Gwayne, not to you,” you confessed, your voice, raw and genuine. You wiped your tears as they fell, your gaze down on your lap as you waited for the final blow.
Your heart in your throat as you waited for his response. Anything. Anything.
Gwayne was so desperately trying to keep himself from falling forward, to have him completely in your arms. His head hung forward, forehead now resting in your lap. He leaned his entire upper body against you, his hands still clutching at your legs. His entire form was shaking, every inch of him was trembling.
“The mere thought of losing you kills me, it angers me that I could not have you sweetling,” Gwayne admitted immediately.
His face then pressed itself against your stomach, hands clenching the fabric so tightly his fingers were turning white, almost as if it was getting in the way.
His shoulders heaved as he whispered low against you, almost prayer-like and full of adoration. Gwayne wanted more. His greed was bred by desire, its jaws stay clenched to his throat, waiting for the warm blood to trickle down—to mull over his want and reassure him that his faith in the Seven will salvage him.
“You have me, Gwayne,” you took his face in your hands, your touch soft and welcoming.
Now the prayer has skin.
And finally, he gave in, the thin thread of self-control he had left eventually snapped.
His grip on your dress, the other hand quickly unlacing the bodice that you hadn’t noticed your dress loosening from your body, Gwayne had to see you.
You went pliant under his touch, your body ran hot to the touch, your hands reached for his doublet and helped him take it off. Once your dress had eventually left your body, you were left in your smallclothes, Gwayne groaned at the beautiful sight presented to him, he couldn’t help himself but kiss your stomach to your thighs, worshipping you the way he wanted to during the cold nights he spent alone thinking about you.
His mouth is wet against your clothed slit, pressing open-mouthed kisses right to above your clit. He was oh so careful not to lick, not without your permission, not yet. His hands pull at your thighs, lifting you a little off the bed with his battle-worn hands, pulling you closer to him.
“Sweetling, please,” he pleaded, a pathetic pout on his lips, a rare sight that invigorated something in you as you nodded, an eager and breathless ‘yes’ was the one that did it for him.
A breathless moan escaped Gwayne at that, feeling the fabric between his fingers. His nose was still pressed to the insides of your thighs as he slid your smallclothes down your legs, with slight difficulty due to your position, but he managed, tossing them somewhere in your chambers. His hands found your legs again, holding them open as his mouth met your exposed core, finally letting himself lick a slow stripe up your clit.
Victory has never tasted so sweet to Gwayne before.
He groaned against you at the feeling of warmth between your legs against his face. His hands gripped your legs, fingers digging into your skin. He couldn’t think straight, it was pure instinct, it felt so right, that it had him grinding his face against your wetness, pressing his mouth against your slit. Something so feral took over him and the animalistic urge to have more of you consumed every thought and action he had.
Gwayne groaned again, the noise muffled against your skin. This time, he pushed his tongue in you and let himself taste you, this action earned him a wanton whine from you, your hand gripping his hair as he licked and licked.
His hands moved up to gripped your ass roughly and pushed you more against his face. His tongue pressed against your clit and then to your weeping hole, in alternate strokes to not neglect you, he made sure that your pleasure mattered more above all else.
“Gwayne!”
It sounded melodic, it was music to his ears as he moaned at the sound of his name coming out of your lips, and his grip on your legs tightened.
There was this distant feeling coiled in your belly, you could not help but close your thighs, squeezing them around Gwayne’s head as the feeling became unbearable to control. He was careful and careless, nothing in between, as he pleasured you with reverence.
Your moans nearly made him lose his patience and mind, his hands kept your legs spread wide enough and your back arched a bit with the way he held you. Gwayne hummed, sending vibrations to your core as he continued to lick at your clit, tongue swirling in a way that made your hips twitch as moaned and panted out his name. A muffled sweetling could be heard from him, his tongue relentless at the taste of you, he wanted to be here forever.
“G-Gods—” you stammered, you could feel it, it was so close.
Gwayne doubled his efforts, his eyes were on you as you whimpered unintelligibly before tensing up, crying out to him once more.
You could not control the salacious whine that had escaped your lips as you reached your peak, you ground your hips against his face, earning a small whimper from him as he doubled his efforts.
It had felt degrading, humiliating, debasing, Gods, you could not help yourself but offer more of yourself to Gwayne—you’ve given so much that there is almost none left for the Seven. Instead of offering prayers on your knees, you look up and see his debauched face staring back at you, and you have never seen something so sacred before.
The sounds that were emitted from Gwayne’s hunger mixed with your arousal were both lewd and sloppy as he helped you come down from your high, carefully placing kisses on your inner thighs, devoting himself to you.
“I need you,” you choked out, feeling slightly overstimulated from what had occurred prior, in bated breaths you attempt to ground yourself to this moment, to the present, to him—he was yours, finally.
“Are you … you are certain, sweetling?”
“I choose you, wholly, no one else.”
Your words ignited a flame within him, lighting the way towards ecstasy and bliss. Gwayne guided you to the pile of pillows that sat perfectly on your bed as he stripped the rest of the clothes that clung onto his skin until he was left with his smallclothes, he then drops them, cock springing free, which was thick and flushed with heavy balls.
There was a certain energy to him that completely changed, he was unashamed and fully yours.
He climbed onto the bed, his body slotting between your legs, your body was trembling, still sensitive.
Gwayne’s hands are everywhere again, palming your thighs, sliding up your hips, gripping your waist to pull you down toward him. You let out a soft gasp, hands scrambling to hold onto him. Gwayne is careful as he lines himself up with your slick core, letting the head of his cock drag through your folds before just barely nudging your clit, deliberately teasing you. You whined at that, nails scratching his arms as he chuckles right before aligning himself to you.
With one deep, slow thrust that feels like splitting you open, Gwayne sinks into you, he was home, complete, fulfilled. Gwayne bottoms out, his hips press flush against yours and he feels your cunt fluttering around him. He pressed himself even closer to you, he needs to be closer, to feel you more, his groans and pants went straight to your ears as he praised you for taking him so well, “you are doing so well, sweetling, so good for me.”
As soon as he felt you go lax, he started to rut into you with long and deeper strokes, to let you feel him inch by inch, helping you adjust to his size and let your body get acquainted with his own. Gwayne is precise as he rolls his hips, his eyes locked on yours in every thrust, his pelvis rolling against your clit.
Your moans were wanton and genuine, deliciously mixing with his own, your hands gripped Gwayne, holding him closer to you, your vision spotty from the sparks of pleasure coming from between your bodies. You were in a daze as he fucked you with fevour, your cunt devouring his cock, your arousal welcoming him further into your womb as he moved methodically against you.
Gwayne was in bliss, his groans mixing well with your own, he was unable to help himself as he placed kisses on your neck and parts of your face. You could not stop the whines that spilled from your soft lips as he shoves himself deep inside you, stroked harder and rough enough to make your tits bounce in each movement. Gwayne panted as he thrust into you, eyes closed shut at the way your walls clamp down on his cock.
You could not stop the pleas that left you, whole was an understatement, you needed more of Gwayne, needed him like you’ve never done before, needed him like you did all your life. He does something again with his movements, you keen, pussy creaming around him even more as your nails dig into his biceps to try and keep yourself upright on your bed, undoubtedly struggling to keep your gaze focused on Gwayne’s eager ones.
Gwayne keeps you interlocked with himself, he could tell you were a whisper away from your peak, he is so deep inside of you, and his balls slapping against your swollen clit is starting to make your head swirl even more, his movements gaining more purpose, surprising you with a cacophony of sensations.
“Gwayne!” You cry out, your sheets shift beneath you both as he drives forward, Gwayne throbs inside you, watching the way your cunt sucks him back in every time he tries to pull back. Your walls are closing in on him, like he was made for you to complete, the mere thought makes him feel elated at the notion of having more with you, his sweetling, his only sweetling.
Gwayne kept fucking his cock against that soft spot inside you that certainly had felt like seeing the Gods almost immediately, he was so attentive, so afraid of seeing you in discomfort. But when his rhythm changed and angled his thrusts at a certain angle, he saw you livid, within seconds you came around him, your reflexes pulled him closer to you, a loud whine leaving your lips as your arousal coat his thighs and cock.
Gwayne loses it as he thrusts a little more to reach his own, his breathing faint as he moves methodically against you, he reaches for that spot once more, wishing to gain yet another peak from his sweet sweetling.
“One more sweetling, please sweetling, just one more.”
He notices your reflexes once more, he pounds into you, encouraging your peak again, and it does. Your walls clamped down on him and that triggered his own, Gwayne’s cock filling your pussy, hitting the barrier of your womb with every other thrust, the overstimulation was affecting you in more ways than one. You cry out and peaked again, and he groans and finishes inside of you, filling you up to the brim. He fucks both of your mixed essences into you after stuffing you full, breeding you, slowly.
Gwayne leans down to press open mouthed kisses against your cheek, then kisses you on the lips with a subtle smile, a pompous one you could feel it. He pulls away to admire your wanton state, adores it wholly and fully.
“I love you, sweetling, you are so good to me,” he whispers.
You smiled softly at that, pressing a sweet and soft kiss on his lips, “I love you too, Gwayne.”
His prayers and cries in the dark were finally heard. The prayer has skin.
tags: heavy yearning, angst, forbidden love, slow burn, internal conflict, religious guilt
summary: Jud's greatest confession is the one he'll never speak aloud.
word count: ~560
˙⋆✮ archiveofourown
Jud had died a thousand tiny deaths since he met you.
None of them had been painful. But each one reminded him that the collar did not make him immune to longing. That beneath the practiced righteousness he wore so faithfully was still a man.
A man who longed for your effortless warmth you carried into every room without ever trying.
Who longed for your touch. For your hands tracing the ink that disappeared beneath his collar, lingering over the stories written across his skin, on the parts of him the world could see and the ones only he knew existed.
His mind wandered to places no righteous man should ever allow it to go. It painted impossible futures and stolen moments, conjuring versions of you that arrived at the most inconvenient hours, when prayer should have occupied his thoughts instead.
His body always answered before his conscience could. Heat unfurled through him like molten fire, settling low beneath his ribs, impossible to ignore and even harder to outrun. He learned to shift where he stood, to steady his breathing, to wait for the wanting to pass.
It never truly did.
So he prayed.
And every one of them sounded more desperate than the last. Not because God had gone silent. But because Jud already knew the answer.
He was asking to be emptied of something that felt suspiciously like grace.
He caught himself searching for you without meaning to. A familiar laugh somewhere down the street. The shape of someone wearing your favorite coat. A voice that carried your cadence for half a heartbeat before revealing itself to belong to a stranger.
You had become the measure against which the ordinary world failed.
The hardest part wasn't the wanting.
It was how natural it felt.
You had never tempted him with wicked intentions or honeyed promises. You simply existed with your impossible kindness, looking at him as though the man beneath the collar deserved to be known just as much as the priest who wore it.
That was the dangerous thing.
You never asked him to choose. You only made him wonder whether he'd mistaken loneliness for devotion all these years.
Sometimes, after evening Mass, he'd remain alone in the sanctuary long after the candles had burned low. The silence should have settled him. Instead, it filled with memories.
The brush of your shoulder against his. The absentminded way your fingers lingered at the edge of his sleeve before pulling away, as though you had remembered, too late, who he was supposed to be.
The way you'd say his name.
Not Father.
Just Jud.
As if it had always belonged to both of you. As if the man had existed long before the priest. As if there was something holy in the way you spoke his name—powerful enough to bind his heart to yours without either of you meaning to.
He would close his eyes then, pressing thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, breathing until the ache dulled into something bearable.
It never disappeared. It merely learned better manners.
And perhaps that was the cruelest miracle of all.
Love, he was discovering, did not always arrive like a storm. Sometimes it came in silence, filling the emptiest corners of his life with your presence until the careful composure of a holy man could no longer hold.
Thanks for reading 🩶
Want more? main masterlist
tags (tell me if you wanna out or in!) @rhapsodyofdarkness @judasjud @rosetintmworld @likedovesinthewnd @ch3rrybl0ssomtree @poetrypoesblehhh @sidelit @knives-out-boy @soealt @explorerof-theunknown @post-apocalyptic-rebel-leader @strawberrymochi07 @peelfreshapple @sea-eyed-dream @roryheartz @prxncess-gestirn @doomprincesswrld @dumb-blondeee @gojodaddy1029 @deadgir1rotting @rosefiammotta
summary: You spent months trying to catch the person breaking into your apartment. The last thing you expected was waking up face to face with him.
pairings: benjamin “dex” poindexter x afab!reader
warnings: 17k words. mature themes. dubcon. voyeurism. unprotected p in v. stalking. home invasion. invasion of privacy. hidden cameras. fingering. panty stealing. masturbation mention. power imbalance. unhealthy relationship dynamics. firearm. praise kink. degradation. dirty talk. clothed grinding. hair pulling. clitoral stimulation. nipple play. breast play. multiple sex positions. internal ejaculation. creampie. breeding implications. read responsibly.
note: this fic took me a while to write it and also stressed me out. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!
Dex looks back at the months before he ever knew you existed, and he can’t believe how everything changed. He used to maintain his schedule, but now his entire life revolves around what you do. He didn’t plan to follow your path home or learn your daily habits when he first saw you. It started out as a random coincidence on a Tuesday night, yet it turned into a fixation he couldn’t stop. Now he spends his evenings watching your windows from the shadows across the street, and he remembers every single detail of the moment his small little world got disrupted. It happened late at night at the local supermarket while you stood in the brightly lit produce section. You were inspecting the fruit display when you already had two large pineapples resting in your basket.
Dex stepped up right beside you to check the pile for himself because he needed something to do with his hands. He watched your face as you turned another pineapple around to check the surface, and he wanted to speak up before he could hold himself back. He wanted to see how you would react to being interrupted. You moved your hair out of your way, but you didn’t look up until he initiated the conversation. He picked up a fruit of his own and turned it in his hand before he spoke. “That’s plenty of pineapples for a girl like you,” Dex said as he rolled the rough texture under his palm. You stopped what you’re doing while heat flooded your face because you knew what people thought about that specific fruit.
Your shoulders tensed up while you clutched the handle of your basket tightly to hide your sudden discomfort. Dex sensed the immediate change in your posture, and he realized what his words implied. “Oh, god. No, no,” Dex muttered while he held his hands up to show he wasn’t trying to be crude. “That’s not what I mean at all,” he added before you could walk away from the display. “I have a big family,” you lied as you tossed the third pineapple into your basket and tried to look confident. He could see right through the deception because your nervous blinking gave everything away. “Sure, pineapple girl,” Dex replied with a chuckle before he turned on his heel and left you alone with the fruits.
You thought the strange encounter was over, but he waited outside the glass doors until you finished paying for your groceries. He kept his distance on the dark sidewalk as you walked towards your apartment building, which was only a short distance from the store. He trailed behind you on the dark streets, and he carefully watched how you walked. You reached the front entrance and unlocked the door before you stepped inside without checking behind you. He watched from across the road until a single light flipped on in a third-floor window, and he confirmed his initial suspicion. There was no big family waiting inside that apartment because you lived by yourself. Living alone without checking your surroundings isn’t safe at all.
What if a different person found you instead of him? Someone else might easily have bad intentions if they followed you to your door. Dex wouldn’t do anything actually to hurt you, though. He constantly tells himself he only wants to watch over you. He believes he’s doing you a massive favor by making sure nobody else can get close. You’re unaware of how vulnerable you are every single night. Dex cared about you enough to learn every detail of your life. He knows you have an old laptop you only ever use for writing. He didn’t know who you were writing about at first, but he looked it up later. He learned that you write stories about characters in movies or on television.
The internet showed him that whatever you do in your free time is called fanfiction. Dex only found out about your hobby because he cared enough to pick the lock of your apartment while you were out. He found the same key for your door online, so he could come back whenever he wanted. He also cared enough to install multiple cameras from different angles inside your apartment. You won’t ever find them because they’re well hidden in places you barely ever look at or touch. The only place lacking a camera right now is your bathroom. He knows he’s a huge hypocrite for putting a camera in your bedroom without putting one in the shower too. He prefers to draw a weird line right there so he doesn’t feel like a creep.
He wants to watch you sleep or type on your bed rather than cross that one boundary. It makes him feel like a protector instead of a bad guy. Dex rarely follows you around the streets when you actually leave your home. He does it sometimes, but doing it in person is a lot more tiring. Trailing behind you in public has way too much risk compared to breaking in. He much prefers watching over the camera screens when he relaxes comfortably at his own place. He finally started reading some of the stories you wrote by opening your laptop while he stood right inside your bedroom. Dex already figured out the fanfiction part earlier, yet he didn’t realize you were writing pure smut until he actually clicked on the specific documents.
He never expected a girl like you to write something so dirty and he couldn’t even imagine doing half the things he read, but you somehow brought them into reality. What only drove him to jerk off in the first place was when he found out your hidden drafts on that old laptop. Finding those files made him start digging your dirty panties out of your laundry basket whenever he visits your empty apartment. He uses the unwashed fabric to jerk off to the scenes you wrote while he takes a spot on the edge of your bed. He imagined it was you and him doing it while he read a draft where the characters were fucking over a table.
He easily pictured bending you over your own table to make you read your own words out loud while his cock thrusts inside your cunt. Dex swears he always brings the garments right back to their spot in the hamper so you never notice they went missing. He was never sloppy when he did those kinds of things in your apartment. He never actually took your clothes home because he made sure they were strictly for one-time use. He would find a pair of dirty panties, and he always put them right back in the same spot after he finished. He never left any evidence behind that could prove he was inside your bedroom while you were gone. He knew your schedule well, so he knew how much time he had to finish his business before you came back.
He never let himself get distracted enough to make a careless mistake. Dex likes to think he’s a good guy at the end of the day. He might admit he’s a little perverted, but he’s just a normal guy. What else was he supposed to do when he read those things on your screen? His cock got hard as soon as he pictured you doing those acts so that he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t just take care of it right then and there. He convinced himself it was natural for a man to react that way to such graphic writing. He didn’t feel guilty because he believed anyone else in his position would do the same thing. He even went into your bathroom to clean himself up whenever he had extra time. He memorized how everything originally looked before he ever touched your things, so he remembered where every item belonged.
Dex’s condition actually helped his case during these visits because he couldn’t physically rest until everything in the room looked the way he’d left it. He would adjust the laundry basket or wipe down the sink until the apartment was spotless again. He made sure the entire place looked untouched so you would never suspect a single thing. He left your home as he found it every time. What he doesn’t know is that you aren’t stupid or clueless at all. You felt it for weeks, and maybe even months. You get a strange feeling that someone has been inside your apartment while you were gone. You always feel like someone is watching you, but proving it is hard. Trying to confirm your suspicions never works out because every single item is where you left it.
Sometimes the whole apartment smells different when you walk through the front door. There are times you smell a trace of an unknown laundry detergent on your bedsheets, or you notice a different cologne in the bedroom. The place smells like a man when you come back home. You start taking photos of your rooms before you leave. Your camera roll fills up with pictures of your bookshelf, desk, and kitchen counter. Then you compare them on your phone once you get back home, but every object matches the photos, so it only makes you feel crazier. You didn’t tell your friends about the situation since nobody would ever take you seriously. They would blame it on your stress or point out how burnt out you are.
Your obsession with horror movies and documentaries would become their excuse for your fear if you ever told them, so you prefer to hide the truth. It bothers you too much that you wonder if you are mentally unwell, especially those nights when you wake up from interrupted sleep because you feel somebody is standing right beside your bed, yet the room is always empty when you look around. Your paranoia led you to change little things on purpose to test your sanity. Leaving your laptop directly on the bed instead of your desk is your first attempt at setting a trap, but nothing happened. You try turning a random book upside down on the shelf. Sometimes you even leave a cabinet door slightly open in the kitchen before walking out of the place.
Everything is the way you usually leave it every time you return home. It scares you more than you’ll ever admit. A normal person breaking in would never bother cleaning up after themselves, or at least they would get sloppy enough. You decide to do something about the situation to cope with it. That’s why you start writing a new story about your experience. It’s obvious a stalker must check their victim’s gadgets too. The plot revolves around a stalker character and a woman who knows somebody is watching her but can’t prove a single thing, which is basically just your situation. Typing it out helps you manage your anxiety at first. You use the story as a test to see if anyone is actually looking through your laptop.
What you don’t realize is that Dex is actually reading those drafts. He sees every single word you type about him, but simply writing about the situation doesn’t rattle him. It pushes you to try something more direct, where you type out a new scene in which the victim leaves a sticky note beside her laptop. The note contains three simple words asking who the stalker is. You write that draft late at night, and you have absolutely no idea he knows what you are doing because he watches you type through the hidden cameras inside your bedroom. You tell yourself to wait for the morning to actually write it on the paper, and you stand by your word when you grab a sticky note from your desk the second you wake up.
You write the same question and leave a simple ‘Who are you?’ right beside your closed laptop so your room matches the draft before you leave for the day. You expect to feel a sense of control over the situation, yet your stomach drops the moment you lock your front door. The anxiety follows you everywhere you go and makes it difficult to focus on anything else because you only want to get back home to check your desk. You expect to find a clear answer waiting for you, but everything looks the same when you step inside. There is nothing different, and not even a single item is out of place. It leaves you feeling disappointed after seeing the paper resting there without anything written on it besides your own handwriting.
The scene ends where you left it, without a single letter edited in your document, too. You desperately want him to react, and the lack of proof frustrates you more than you would ever admit. It makes you wonder if you are losing your mind over nothing. That frustration only pushes you to try harder, so you write another scene showing how the victim feels like she is going crazy from the silence. You write that the character leaves a new message claiming ‘I know you’re here.’ before you put a second real note right beside your laptop. You refuse to move the paper or write anything new since you put that on your desk, and you force yourself to wait for him to make a move. You spend three days checking that same spot every single morning and night without getting a single reaction.
The agonizing wait only makes you more bothered by every little sound in your apartment until you decide to escalate the situation after waiting two more exhausting days. You write about the victim leaving a cup on the kitchen counter to catch her stalker, and you put a sticky note underneath a mug in your actual kitchen right after you finish typing. What you do in real life becomes a reflection of what you write on your laptop. You ask a simple question on the paper and put, ‘Are you reading this?’ to test if he actually reads your screen. You spend your entire time outside your home distracted, as you constantly wonder if this attempt will finally work. Maybe it’s fate that your instincts are telling you something because there are finally changes when you push your front door open later that night.
The mug is positioned where you left it, so nothing seems obvious at first glance. The sticky note waits hidden at the bottom, and you almost throw the paper away in defeat until you notice the mug is facing the wrong direction. You realize that the small detail has to be an intentional answer. The handle originally pointing toward the refrigerator now points directly at the sink. Nobody else would ever spot such a small difference, but you only notice it because you took a photo to compare against the counter. Your hands shake while you hold your phone up close to the cup. You don’t call the police or tell your friends about the update regardless of how you feel. You immediately run to your room to finish the draft you’re working on instead.
You type out how the stalker visited the apartment and moved the mug so the victim finally gets her proof. A sick thrill takes over you after finally confirming a real person was actually inside your personal space. That adrenaline makes you write another update where the victim becomes much bolder about the whole situation. She stops asking whether somebody is there because she already knows the undeniable truth. You refuse to let that rush of adrenaline die down, so you quickly plan your next move. The chapter ends with her wanting to know what the stalker wants from her. You stick a new note directly onto the center of your laptop screen asking, ‘What do you want from me?’ right before you leave your apartment the following morning.
It brings a personal risk, but you crave the closure it might bring. The note is where you left it when you finally returned hours later. You pull it off the screen, and your heart races while you flip the paper over. You trace your trembling fingers over the letters because his only response is a handwritten ‘Keep writing, sweetheart.’ on the back. The reality of the situation slaps you in the face while you stare down at his handwriting. Who actually does something like this? What kind of sick freak thinks this is a game? You are so pissed that your fingers dig into the edge of the desk. You grab a marker to write a message telling the stalker to fuck off. You leave the paper on your desk and threaten to call the police if he ever comes back.
“Just leave me alone,” you mutter to the empty room. That was your boiling point to stop writing more drafts to entertain a sicko. You shut your laptop hard enough that it makes a loud sound against your desk, and you almost throw the machine across the room. Dex watches you through the live feed on his monitor with a small smirk on his face. He leans back in his chair because he loves seeing you get all fired up, yet he avoids your apartment for the next few days to give you space rather than backing away out of fear. He wants you to deal with your own anger. The silence he gives you almost makes you believe your threat scared him away. Are you safe? Did he actually listen to you? It feels like you can breathe again, but you should have known a guy this obsessed would never easily give up.
You should have known he would pull some tricks on you, like leaving a rose right on your kitchen counter. How the fuck did he even get inside again? You grab the flower and then throw it into the trash without a second thought. Dex watches you destroy his gift through the screen before he rubs a hand over his face in frustration. He can’t understand why you would do that, but he also loves pushing your buttons. Did you not like the flower he picked? Who wouldn’t like roses? It was the first flower he bought to test the waters since it was always a classic choice. He is a persistent guy, so he leaves more bouquets despite your refusal to acknowledge them. He knows it pisses you off, and he thrives on it even when every single one ends up in the garbage the second you find them.
He switches to tulips the next time he visits your place, but you don’t even try to smell them. Flowers are not cheap in this economy, yet he is willing to buy different kinds of flowers as gifts for you, only to see how mad you can get. His next choice is peonies because he hopes to figure out what will make you smile, or maybe he wants to see you snap again. What does he expect you to do? Thank him for stalking you? Write him a love letter? Those gifts might feel less threatening, but they invade your personal space. The way you ignore every delivery starts working, though, because it drives him crazy. He might be getting frustrated by you, but your fear starts to turn into pure annoyance. You hate yourself for starting to expect flowers waiting for you after a few weeks, and that makes you angry because he acts like a boyfriend instead of a stalker with crazy tendencies.
Why is he playing house with you? It makes your stomach churn that you have to check around out of habit to see what kind of flower he brought inside. You know what he’s doing, and he’s fucked to think he can train you to act like a pet waiting for a treat from its owner, but this time you refuse to let it happen. You are not dumb enough to ignore the break-ins, and you are tired of his shit. He’s wearing down your patience to the point where you’re considering hiring someone to replace the locks. You pay good money so that you can feel safe again, but replacing them does absolutely nothing. Dex picks the door in seconds, like he always does, before he leaves another bouquet on your kitchen table the next afternoon.
How is he doing this? Is your privacy a joke to him? Him picking the new lock pisses you off way more than the flowers do. He has no boundaries at all, and he wants you to know it. “You have got to be kidding me,” you groan out loud while tossing the fresh flowers into the trash. You start leaving hostile written messages scattered around the apartment knowing he will read them. You want him to know how much you despise his actions. You put notes on the fridge or the bathroom mirror out of spite to tell him how much you hate his presence. Dex collects every piece of paper you leave behind like he enjoys making you angry. He never leaves a written response to any of your notes because he wants to see how far your frustration will push you.
His responses come through actions instead, like leaving a basket of groceries on your counter or dropping off a new book you wanted. Does he think he is taking care of you? Is he treating you like a pet? You reach your breaking point when you open the fridge to find a new carton of milk he bought for you. The audacity makes you want to move away and live somewhere else. “Stop hiding like a coward!” you shout at the ceiling before grabbing a marker from the counter. You write a message telling him to show his face if he plans to continue entering your home because you are done playing his stupid game. Dex watches you slap the paper onto the fridge, and he smiles knowing you finally gave him the invitation he wanted.
His only response to your angry message is a short note left right on your bathroom mirror. It says ‘See you soon’ without any other explanation. You spend the next few weeks waiting for him to make a move. The first week is hell because every noise outside your apartment makes you think tonight is finally the night. You spend hours staring at the ceiling while wondering if he’s standing right outside your door. Your mind goes right back to how easily he got inside before every time you try to find some comfort, everything might be over. You even start looking inside your closet or pulling back the shower curtain every time you come home. How long can someone continue living like this before they finally lose it?
Nothing happens yet, but somehow that makes everything worse because it feels like you’re just waiting for him to show up. The lack of effort from him makes the anticipation worse. The paranoia drains your energy until you can barely hold your eyes open during the second week. You stop checking the door every few minutes because you’re too tired to continue doing it. All you could do was get through the day, then come home to an apartment that’s constantly messing with your head. That exhaustion lets your guard down when the third week passes without any new flowers or rearranged groceries. You convince yourself the note was just another way to scare you. Maybe he got bored and found someone else to mess with.
You actually think he gave up after you didn’t find any sign that someone got inside again. You slowly start to believe you’re alone again, so you don’t bother checking every corner of your bedroom before climbing into bed. You don’t even remember falling asleep because the next thing you know you’re staring up at your ceiling again when something wakes you up in the middle of the night. You don’t think anything of it at first because you’ve been waking up like this almost every night. Nothing bad ever happens when you wake up like this, so why would tonight be any different? You only wait there for a few seconds before pushing yourself up against the headboard to rub your eyes because all you want is to look around the room before going back to sleep.
Everything seems normal at first glance until you notice somebody sitting right at the edge of your bed. This can’t actually be happening right now. You instinctively yank the blanket up closer around yourself while staring at the intruder who somehow got past your door again. How the fuck did he get inside? It takes a few seconds for your brain to process who it is. The guy isn’t some random stranger because you recognize him from the supermarket. You shouldn’t even remember that awkward conversation about pineapples, yet everything suddenly makes sense. Everything leads back to him, and you try to process how long he has been waiting there watching you sleep. Dex doesn’t move closer to you or try to touch you.
He looks comfortable, as if being in your bedroom in the middle of the night were the most normal thing in the world. He doesn’t move from where he is to let you process the situation before he speaks. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says calmly while he looks right at you. He notices the fear on your face before he tells you that he genuinely believes those words should reassure you. Those promises mean nothing coming from a man like him. You don’t find his reassurance comforting in the slightest bit because he already crossed every possible boundary long before he appeared in your bedroom. There isn’t a single part of this that is okay. What kind of logic makes him think those words are enough, after everything he’s already been through?
The audacity of his calmness sparks anger right beneath your fear. He already broke into your home to watch you sleep, so there is no excuse for this. “Get the fuck out of my apartment,” you demand while trying to steady your shaking voice as you point toward the bedroom door. You expect him to apologize for sneaking in, but he acts like this entire situation is normal. Dex ignores your order from the edge of the bed. “I’m one of the good guys,” he says calmly while watching your reaction. You let out a breath because you can’t believe a single word coming from a man who spent months stalking you. “Good guys don’t break into houses to watch people sleep,” you snap back at him while gripping the blanket.
The lack of guilt on his face makes you want to punch him since he honestly thinks he did nothing wrong. “Your intentions don’t matter after everything you already did, so prove it instead of expecting blind trust,” you say while maintaining your distance from him. Dex nods before reaching toward the waistband of his pants. You tense up because you genuinely think he’s finally about to attack you. He slowly pulls out the gun he brought with him instead. You expect him to aim it, but he places the firearm on the mattress right between the two of you. He gently nudges the pistol toward you so it sits closer to your hands. You stare at the object while trying to figure out his actual plan.
“Take it,” he says while he checks your face for a reaction. “If you really think I’m here to hurt you, then you should have something to stop me,” he explains while leaving his hands visible. He rests his palms against his thighs, so you know he isn’t grabbing anything else. This action is meant to reassure you, but it only reminds you that you have no idea what he is thinking. You hesitate to grab the pistol because every instinct tells you this is a bad idea. What if he just wants an excuse to hurt you? You eventually reach out to snatch the gun off the sheets before you can change your mind. You grip the handle tightly and point the barrel directly at his forehead without even thinking about it.
You expect him to dodge or hold his hands up in defense. Dex doesn’t flinch or argue with you at all. He doesn’t try to take the gun back either. You can feel the sweat forming on your palms while you hold the weapon up. He sits on the bed while you aim the firearm in his direction with shaking hands. You wait for him to do something while resting your finger right next to the trigger. The room is silent while Dex slowly scoots closer across the mattress instead of backing away from the gun. “Stop moving,” you warn him while tightening your grip on the pistol. He ignores your warning without acting aggressively at all. He moves forward until the barrel is only a few inches from his face. You push yourself harder against the headboard to get away from him.
He leans forward until his forehead touches the metal. He looks you straight in the eye without blinking. This gesture isn’t a bluff or some kind of challenge to him. Dex genuinely believes he’s proving he never intended to hurt you. You are dealing with someone whose mind works nothing like everyone else’s. “Shut the fuck up,” you warn him while pushing the barrel against his forehead. Dex doesn’t flinch away from the metal. “You’re not going to shoot me,” he says, and watches your expression. He talks like you hold a toy instead of a loaded gun. “You spent months leaving notes to make me show up,” he explains before pointing at the weapon. He believes those papers were an open invitation. “You wanted this as badly as I did,” he adds without a hint of fear.
You shake your head to shut down his twisted logic. “I wanted to know if I was going fucking crazy,” you snap back at him and push the gun harder against his skin. You insist you only left those messages to prove someone was breaking in. “I never wanted some creep inside my apartment,” you tell him while your chest heaves with every breath. Dex doesn’t look convinced by your anger. “We’ve been communicating for months already,” he argues like you two were exchanging friendly letters. He views the situation as a normal relationship instead of an invasion of your privacy. He ignores the weapon to bring up private details nobody else should know. “You’re a good writer,” he says, and looks into your eyes.
“Don’t bring that shit up,” you warn him while your finger twitches over the trigger. “I opened every document on that laptop because I wanted to know you,” he confesses while watching your face. You think he lies to get inside your head. “Even the drafts you never posted,” he adds before quoting a line from a scene where a character begs to be fucked on a desk. You never posted any of those drafts online, yet he knew the exact lines, so you realized he had really gone through your computer. Dex doesn’t stop there because he wants you to know what he does in your bedroom. “I read those stories way before you started leaving me notes,” he reveals while a smirk forms on his lips. He casually mentions how much he enjoyed reading your dirty drafts whenever he broke into your place.
You stare at him as you try to process the invasion of your privacy. “I didn’t expect you to write things like that,” he says before chuckling at your reaction. The way he talks about your personal files makes you feel exposed. “You have such a dirty mind,” he says without any shame. Dex finally lifts his hand from his thigh and reaches forward to touch your face. He brings his hand up to the back of your head while his thumb gently rubs your cheek. He slowly runs his fingers through your hair like he is trying to calm you down. You let the gun fall onto the mattress so you can place both hands against his chest to push him away. His body doesn’t move an inch when you shove him backward.
You try to push him a second time, but he ignores your effort. Your frustration boils over so you punch his chest before your hands grab handfuls of his shirt. “Get off me right now,” you demand while glaring up at him. Dex caresses your hair without acting bothered by your anger. “You can punch me all you want,” he says before he looks down at your hands. He tilts his head because he feels the anger radiating off your body. “I really don’t want to hurt you,” Dex promises while looking right into your eyes. You don’t believe a single word coming out of his mouth. He notices your doubt, so he tries to explain himself again. “I have no intention of harming you,” he insists while his voice sounds calm.
You want to scream because stalking is already a crime. “I never left any threats around the apartment,” he points out before defending his actions. He acts like unlocking your door is no big deal. He even reminds you of the times he fixed things around the apartment without asking for a thank-you. “I only ever left you flowers or groceries instead of anything dangerous,” he reminds you while his fingers massage your scalp. You know he is right about the gifts, but having a stranger inside your home is terrifying enough. You refuse to let him play the good guy. “You broke into my house,” you remind him while tightening your grip on his shirt. He nods slowly because he understands why you are so angry.
He knows you never asked for this situation, but he genuinely believes he is doing the right thing. You want to wipe that understanding look off his face so you insult him. “You’re just a lonely fucking loser,” you spit at him while hoping to finally piss him off. You try to find the cruelest thing to say. “You have no life so you have to stalk mine,” you add while watching for a reaction. Dex doesn’t look angry or offended by your words at all. He expects you to hate him so he accepts the insults without arguing back. He doesn’t think you should be grateful for his presence. “I know you hate me right now,” he replies while his hand continues stroking the back of your head. His voice sounds way too sincere for a home invader.
“But I just want to protect you from everyone else,” he explains like that justifies all his actions. His twisted reasoning baffles you. “What if some other guy found those stories on your laptop?” Dex asks before he scoffs at the thought. He shakes his head while imagining a different scenario. “Another guy would just force himself on you after reading all that,” he tells you while his fingers move softly against your scalp. He expects you to thank him for reading your computer. “You’re sick in the head,” you tell him because his reasoning is insane. Dex chuckles again while he stares down at your hands holding his shirt. He tilts his chin down to look at the space between your bodies.
“If I’m so sick, then why am I stopping you from calling the cops?” he asks without raising his voice at all. You look at your arms and realize he isn’t restraining you at all. “I’m not even holding you here by force,” he points out while his hands rest gently against your face and head. You hate to admit his trick actually works on you. He acts like you have full control over the situation, only to mess with your head. You know he could easily hurt you right now if he actually wanted to do it. “You think I believe that bullshit?” you ask him while your hands grip his shirt tighter. What kind of idiot would trust a man who breaks into homes because they think they’re protecting you? He’s playing a twisted game to see what you’ll do.
His claim that you can call the cops is obviously a lie. You know damn well he would run away, or you would end up dead long before the police ever arrived. He wants you to believe you hold all the power, but you know how dangerous he really is. “I promise you’re safe with me,” he whispers while his fingers move softly through your hair. The way he repeats he won’t hurt you messes with your head. He holds his other hand on your face as his thumb rubs your lower lip. You hate how your body reacts to him because you instinctively part your mouth without even meaning to. You end up breathing through your mouth the second your lips open under his thumb. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he tells you again like it’s the absolute truth.
The way he touches you makes your brain forget how messed up this whole thing is. It feels disturbing to experience something like this in reality. There are times you read books or watch movies about obsessed guys, but you never expected a stalker to actually show up in your bedroom. You always thought you would fight back or scream if this ever happened, yet here you are just letting him touch your face without doing a single thing to stop him, and it makes you feel pathetic. Dex watches your face carefully before he speaks again. “You call me lonely, but you’re exactly the same,” he points out while looking right into your eyes. He knows you spend all your time alone so you don’t have anyone else to take care of you.
He thinks you need him just because you don’t go out with friends every weekend. The pure arrogance in his voice makes you want to slap him. “I can take care of myself just fine,” you argue back before trying to turn your face away. He moves his hand with you to maintain his grip on your jaw. “You shouldn’t have to do it all by yourself,” he replies before he finally tests the waters. He slips his thumb past your parted lips to rest it directly against your tongue. You let out a muffled sound against his finger because you didn’t expect him to actually do that. His thumb tastes a little salty right on your tongue. You try to back away, but his fingers tighten in your hair to stop you from escaping, and you glare at him.
“I want to take care of you,” he adds while watching your chest rise with another deep breath. Dex uses his thumb inside your mouth and pushes it down on your tongue. The pad of his finger scrapes against your teeth before resting deep inside. You try to use your hands on his shirt to shove him away again. You want to scream at him to get out, but you can’t even form a word. He simply leans over you and uses his body weight to press you against the headboard. His chest pushes against your arms while his thumb stops you from speaking. “I really want to take care of you,” he whispers right to your face. He acts like having his fingers deep in your mouth is an ordinary part of the conversation. “You never let anyone else do it,” he adds as he watches your chest rise.
He looks you straight in the eye while you struggle to breathe around his hand. You try to swallow around his thumb, but the action makes your throat tighten uncomfortably. A muffled sound slips out before you can bite it back. You glare up at him with hatred right in your eye and want to look disgusted, but your body betrays your anger. The warmth of his hand on your face feels entirely too good, so your eyelids flutter shut for a second while a breath hitches in your chest. The involuntary reaction happens before you can even stop it. You open your eyes again to find him staring down at you. He watches your pupils dilate with a satisfied smirk on his face. You want to punch him for making you feel like this, and you hate that you just gave him what he wants.
He notices every reaction you try to hide from him, and he sees the exact moment your anger turns into something else. “Fuck,” Dex mutters under his breath as he takes in your expression. He sounds genuinely amazed by the way you react to him. “Look at you,” he whispers before a smirk forms on his face. He knows what he is doing to you, yet he points out how fast you gave up fighting him despite how much you claim to hate his guts. His arrogant tone makes you want to wipe that smirk away. You try to bite his thumb to erase that look off his face. Dex easily slides his finger deeper before your teeth can actually catch him. He pushes his thumb down harder on your tongue to force your mouth open again while his other hand grips your hair more firmly to tilt your head back.
The way he effortlessly pins you down against the headboard makes your stomach drop, and you feel fear with an unwanted thrill. You start to question whether you actually enjoy what he is doing to you right now. You wonder if you are really dumb enough to fold for a guy who broke into your apartment. A part of you wants to know if his gentle actions prove he won’t actually hurt you. Your brain struggles to process all these confusing thoughts at once. You should be fighting for your life, but your body wants more of his attention, and that’s when you realize you are leaning into his touch instead of pulling away. You look down and see how your hands are tangled in his shirt, and you’re no longer pushing him away from your body at all.
You clutch the fabric of his shirt while his hand rests firmly in your hair. Dex leans down until his lips almost brush against your ear. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers directly against your neck. He promises he will walk away forever if you just say the word. You know he would never actually let you go, and he wants you to admit you want this just as much as he does. He turns his head until his mouth grazes along your jawline. He slowly pulls his thumb out of your mouth to leave a wet string of saliva behind, and you let out a whine when he does that. He wipes his damp thumb on your top before his hand drops down to grab your waist tightly. “Tell me to quit leaving things and watching you,” he begs, like he actually needs your permission to leave.
He waits for your answer while his chest is inches away from yours. You don’t say a single word while your hand moves up from his shirt. You slide your fingers to the back of his head to gently caress his hair. You look at him and realize you don’t want him to leave even though you know he is crazy for doing all of those things in the first place, but having him right here feels better than being alone. Your hand moves from his hair down to his shoulder instead of bringing him into a kiss against the headboard. You push against his chest just enough to create some space between your bodies. You don’t tell him to stop or leave the apartment, but you finally make him back off. “Go get my laptop from the desk,” you tell him while pointing across the room.
Dex looks confused for a second because he clearly didn’t expect you to say that. He stands up anyway before walking over to grab the laptop. You crawl forward to sit right in the middle of the mattress while he has his back turned. You want him to realize you are not just going to roll over for him like he expects you to. He walks back over to the bed and hands the device over to you. You flip the screen open and log in before pushing it right back into his chest. “Open your favorite one,” you instruct him while watching his face. You know he has a preference after spending so much time snooping through your files. You want to see what kind of things he enjoys reading the most. “Read it out loud to me,” you tell him while pointing at the screen.
You challenge him directly to see if he can actually handle the words he claims to enjoy. You want to hear his voice saying those sentences. “Read the part you liked the most,” you add, so he has to make the choice himself. Dex actually hesitates for a second and gets flustered by your words. He just had you pinned against the headboard, but now he suddenly looks caught off guard. He tries to look at the screen instead of looking at your face. His fingers hesitate over the keyboard while he stares blankly at the folders. He just sits there in silence without clicking on a single file. You watch him struggle to type the title into the search bar. “Are you actually shy right now?” you ask him while leaning slightly closer to his face. You cannot believe the guy who broke into your house is suddenly struggling to speak.
You let out a short laugh because the role reversal is almost funny. “You had absolutely no problem sneaking into my apartment and watching me,” you point out while he refuses to look up. You remind him that he crossed every single boundary long before today. You make sure he realizes how stupid his hesitation looks. “You already read all of them behind my back,” you remind him while waiting for a reaction. You know he spent hours staring at your laptop while you were gone. “It’s pathetic you’re suddenly embarrassed to read them out loud,” you add while watching him swallow. He scoffs at your insult, but he finally starts typing the title of the story. He clicks the document open before scrolling down the page to find the specific paragraph.
He reads the words on the screen silently to himself for a few seconds. “Why do I even need to read this out loud?” Dex asks while focusing his eyes on the text. He tries to act unaffected while sitting right across from you. “It’s not like you’re actually going to let me fuck you like this,” he adds while pointing at the screen. He is obviously trying to provoke you so he can take control again. You might fall a little right into his game without even thinking about it. “I didn’t tell you we wouldn’t,” you answer back while looking right into his eyes. You don’t give him a clear yes-or-no, but the vague reply works perfectly. Dex smirks a little bit before he clicks the cursor at the top of the paragraph. He clears his throat and prepares to read your filthy words back to you.
Dex clears his throat before he glances up at you. He places the laptop onto the sheets right beside him so he can view the screen. He looks back down at the document as he prepares to read your words out loud. “He pushes her legs open to get a good look at her cunt,” Dex starts reading directly from your laptop. He sounds casual while saying filthy sentences. You stare at him because you can’t believe he actually said that without any shame. Hearing your own words spoken out loud makes your stomach drop. He reaches his free hand forward to grab your knee right after he finishes the line. You watch him push your legs apart while his eyes scan the next paragraph. Dex drops his eyes back to the screen while his hand grips your thigh.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he says while quoting the dialogue from the character. He uses a deeper voice so it sounds like he’s genuinely saying it to you. His hand sneaks up your leg before he rests his palm right between your thighs. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but his arm blocks you from moving. You part your lips when his knuckles brush against your sleep shorts. “His eyes can’t look away from between her legs,” Dex reads next while he looks right at your crotch. He looks where his hand cups right over your cunt. “Open wider for me,” Dex demands while pushing your knee further to the side. He doesn’t look at the laptop to say that part because he wants you to obey him right now.
You hate how easily your body listens, so you let your legs fall further apart. Dex smirks while watching you expose yourself to him. He drags his thumb right over the seam of your shorts to tease you. He looks satisfied before he glances back at the screen. “She begs him to touch her while her hips buck up against him,” he reads aloud as he moves closer to you. You try to close your legs, but he forces your knee back down. “Mm- stop it,” you complain while trying to grab his wrist. He easily dodges your hand before he pushes his palm firmly against your crotch. You try to squirm away on the mattress, but his grip on your thigh holds you where he wants you. He knows you want this even if you try to fight him off.
“I haven’t even read the best part yet,” he replies while his eyes look over the next few lines. He uses the heel of his hand to grind right against your cunt through the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. “Nngh-” you gasp out as he finds the right spot. He applies more pressure while rotating his hand around your cunt. You realize he plans to use your own story to turn you on while he touches you just like this. “You’ll take it so well for me,” Dex reads aloud while his palm rubs against your sleep shorts. He looks back at the screen before he continues reading the next paragraph. “He guides his thick cock right against her cunt and drags the head through all her wetness,” he quotes as he pushes his hand harder against your crotch.
You hate how good it feels against your body. “He teases her by sliding it up and down her folds without putting it inside, yet,” he finishes the sentence while staring right at your face. Your legs part then close involuntarily because he grinds the heel of his hand over your clit. “You’re dripping for me,” he adds while his hand rests right between your thighs. You know what you wrote on that laptop. You know you never typed that specific line he just said. “You just made that part up,” you accuse him while trying to control your breathing. You glare at him because he just twisted your own words. “Maybe I did,” he answers back with a smug look on his face. He clearly enjoys seeing you get so defensive about it.
“It fits the situation,” he argues back before he pushes his palm firmer against your crotch. The unexpected pressure makes you grab a handful of his shirt. “I can already feel the dampness soaking right through your clothes,” he tells you with a smirk. You honestly have no idea if he’s bluffing or telling the truth. He continues reading the filthy scene to tease you. “He pulls her hips backward so he gets a clear view of her wet cunt before he lines his cock up,” he reads aloud while watching your reaction. You try to look away, but his eyes follow your every movement. “He pushes the tip right against her cunt and slowly slides his entire length inside,” he recites while grinding the heel of his hand against your shorts.
You feel worked up by his touch, and making him read the story out loud was supposed to give you the upper hand. You wanted to make him embarrassed, but the plan backfired since he’s the one touching you. He clearly enjoys having control over you right now. He scrolls down the document to skip to the part he loved the most in what you wrote. “He forces her onto all fours so he can finally take her from behind,” Dex recites while his thumb finds your clit through the fabric. You gasp out loud when he circles the sensitive spot. “His hands grab her hips tightly to hold her in place on the mattress,” he continues reading as he grinds his palm right over your center. “He pulls his cock almost all the way out before slamming it back deep into her cunt,” he quotes aloud before pushing down harder against your shorts.
He watches your hips buck slightly upward to meet his palm. “He fucks her from behind without giving her a single second to recover,” he reads next while he moves his palm faster against your shorts. You try to squeeze your thighs shut, but his arm blocks your legs from closing. “He shoves his cock inside her cunt repeatedly until she screams for him to fuck her harder,” he finishes the paragraph while his thumb circles your clit. You hate that he knows how to get you so worked up. “Nn- your reading voice fucking sucks,” you insult him to hide how good he makes you feel. You try to sound annoyed, but your body betrays your words. He just chuckles at your pathetic attempt to insult him while he continues to torture you with his hand.
“Then why are you grinding right against my hand?” he asks as you involuntarily push your hips up into his palm. You realize he’s right since your body reacts to every single movement he makes. “Hah- shut up,” you gasp out when his thumb pushes down harder. He loves watching you lose your mind over his fingers. “Mm-” you complain instead of giving him a real answer. Your hands grip the bedsheets instead of actually shoving him off. “Do you want me to stop reading now?” he questions while his hand continues working between your legs. He knows you won’t tell him to stop because you want him to touch you. “Did you finally prove your point?” he asks to remind you that your little plan failed.
You reach forward to push the laptop screen down so he finally stops reading your writing. “Shut up, and do something,” you demand while glaring up at him from the mattress. Dex looks at the closed laptop before he grabs it off the sheets. He leaves his spot on the bed to place the device safely on the floor. “You want me to take your clothes off?” he asks as he turns back around to face you. He sounds almost surprised by your unexpected change in attitude. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” you challenge him before you scoot right to the edge of the mattress. You lift both of your arms in the air and wait for him to make a move. He lets out a short chuckle while looking down at your raised arms.
“Are you really going to make me work for it?” he questions before he takes a step closer to your legs. You know he wants you, so you make him prove it. He clearly enjoys the new challenge. “Is it too hard for you to just do it?” you ask sarcastically while holding your arms up high. Dex scoffs at your attitude before his hands grip the bottom hem of your top. He pulls the fabric over your head and then tosses it somewhere across the dark room. It feels absurd to ask the guy who stalks you to undress you, yet you don’t even try to cover up. You aren’t wearing a bra since you just woke up from catching him staring at you earlier, so your breasts are exposed to him. He looks at your chest before he instinctively reaches a hand out to touch you.
You lean away from him so his fingers grasp nothing but air. You drop your hands down to his belt, but you stop trying to undo the buckle when he tries to touch you again. “Fuck- sorry,” Dex mutters while he pulls his hand back fast. He clearly didn’t expect you to avoid his touch so fast. “I just wanted a feel,” he tries to explain himself while looking down at your exposed body. He sounds a little desperate as he looks you over. You can see how much your body distracts him right now. “They look really good,” he adds while his attention refuses to leave your chest. You roll your eyes at his pathetic excuse before you grab the front of his pants. You pull him closer by the waistband so he stands right between your parted knees.
“I know I look good,” you reply with a scoff as your fingers struggle with his belt. You enjoy watching him lose his composure. He usually takes whatever he wants, but right now he just stands there with his hands at his sides. “That’s why you stalked my apartment,” you point out before you go back to working on his zipper. Dex watches you fumble with his pants before he grabs the bottom of his own shirt to pull it over his head. “Yeah, maybe you’re just a stupid good-looking girl who is about to get into bed with her stalker,” he argues back as he throws his shirt onto the floor. He watches you take way too much time trying to unbutton his pants. He eventually slaps your hands away so he can do it himself.
“Let me do it,” he mutters before he quickly undoes the belt and shoves his jeans down his legs. He steps heavily out of the denim without bothering to take off his boots and kicks the fabric aside while he leaves his boxers in place. You just sit there on the edge of the bed and stare up at his body. He actually looks incredibly good standing there in front of you. You wonder why a guy like him would ever choose to be a stalker. He could easily find a normal girl to fuck him instead of breaking into apartments at night. It’s a very stupid idea to sit here half-undressed, but your gut tells you he isn’t going to hurt you. You never planned to let things go this far tonight, but your thoughts scatter when his hands grab the waistband of your sleep shorts along with your panties.
“You’re staring at me,” Dex points out as his thumbs slip under the elastic band. You look up at his face to find him watching you. The corners of his mouth turn upward into a smirk. “No- I’m not,” you lie while shaking your head to make up a random excuse. Your face heats up because he caught you checking him out. “I was just thinking about something else,” you add while trying to look away from his stomach. Dex makes a sound of agreement before he nods like he believes your lie. “I want to take these off,” he tells you while his thumbs hook under the elastic. You give him a small nod, and he starts sliding the fabric down. You lift your hips off the bed to help him push the clothes past your waist. Dex takes a step backward between your knees as he drags the shorts and panties down to your ankles.
He grabs the garments before tossing them somewhere across the bedroom. He holds your knees and pushes your thighs apart to get a better look at you. He takes a breath while his eyes stare directly between your legs. He licks his lips like he is hungry for what he sees. “I honestly don’t know what to do first,” Dex admits while his hands rest firmly on your knees. He traces his thumbs over your kneecaps. “I don’t know if I want to use my mouth or just-” He cuts himself off while looking back up at your face. His eyes trail downward when you try to close your legs, but he firmly prevents you from moving. “You’d better figure it out fast before I change my mind,” you scoff at him while shifting slightly on the mattress.
You feel vulnerable, but you refuse to let him know it bothers you. “I might just kick you out then file a restraining order,” you warn him with a small chuckle. Dex shakes his head right away while his hands slide up your thighs. “There’s no need to do that,” he replies as he steps closer to your open legs. You cross your arms over your chest when another thought crosses your mind. “Do you even have a condom?” you ask him since you expect some basic protection. Dex stops moving entirely as a confused look takes over his face. “What?” he questions before leaning forward until his mouth hovers right next to your ear. He wants to make sure you hear him clearly. You feel his chest brush against your crossed arms.
“I’m not using a condom with you,” he whispers right next to your ear. He sounds offended that you even asked. “I want to feel every part of you,” he adds while you feel his warm breath brush over your neck. You lean your head back to give him an annoyed look. “What if you aren’t clean?” you ask him while dropping your arms to rest your hands on the mattress. You take something to prevent pregnancy, but you worry about everything else. “I don’t want to catch anything,” you tell him directly as you glare up at his face. Dex looks offended by your assumption. He lets go of your thighs and places his hands firmly on your hips instead. “Do you seriously think I have time to sleep around with anyone else?” he asks with an insulted tone.
He glares back at you to show how much the question bothers him. He wants you to realize how devoted he is. “I don’t even look in another woman’s direction,” he defends himself while his fingers dig into your waist. He hates the idea of you picturing him with another girl. “You’re the only person I want,” he reminds you as he uses his hands to drag your hips against his thighs. You roll your eyes at his words before you look him up and down. You notice he is wearing his shoes even though he is standing there in nothing but his underwear. You let out a small chuckle while looking back up at his face. “You want to do all these things to me, but you have your shoes on?” you ask him with a teasing tone. You point out how funny he looks standing in your bedroom with his shoes on.
“Are you really going to fuck me in just your boxers and your shoes?” you add to mock him a little more. Dex looks down at his feet before he lets out a short scoff. “I didn’t even realize,” he admits as he steps back from your knees. He bends down to remove his boots before he kicks them across the floor. He stands back up to face you again. You reach forward to grab the elastic waistband of his boxers. You use the fabric to pull him right back between your parted knees. You drag the material down just enough so you can see the base of his cock. You want to see if he understands the clear hint you are giving him. Dex watches your hands for a second before his own fingers take over the job. He shoves your hands away so he can strip the underwear off.
He kicks the fabric aside until he stands naked in front of you. You stare at his hard cock while he steps even closer to the mattress. He doesn’t give you any time to speak before his hands grab your shoulders. Dex pushes you backward so you lie down on the mattress. You were sitting right on the edge, so your legs ended up dangling off the bed. He steps into the open space between your thighs. Your legs naturally fall to rest against his sides while he stands over you. He takes up all the space right between your parted knees as he looks down at your exposed body. “You look so fucking good like this,” he tells you while checking your reaction. He watches your chest rise and fall before his eyes drop lower to get a perfect view of your cunt.
Dex brings one hand up to gently touch your thigh. His fingers trail slowly up your leg before moving across your stomach. He continues the path upward to drag his hand over your breast. You wonder if he can feel your racing heartbeat under his palm. His hand feels incredibly hot against your body. You take a deep breath when his fingers travel up your shoulder to caress your neck. You watch his eyes track every single movement of his hand over your chest. It makes your stomach drop because he looks captivated by you. You want to ask him to hurry up, but your throat feels dry. He finally cups your cheek while his thumb rubs right over your cheekbone. His other hand reaches down to wrap firmly around his cock.
He guides the head right against your wet folds to coat himself in your slick. He rubs his length back and forth across your wet cunt. “Fuck- feels nice,” Dex mutters out as he feels the dampness between your legs. He pushes the broad tip right against your cunt to tease you a little more. You lift your hips upward because you desperately want him inside. “Nngh- j-just- put it in,” you whine back while your hands grab the bedsheets tightly. Dex pushes the head of his cock inside you while his hand caresses your cheek. His thumb brushes your face as he slowly slides deeper. He thrusts into your cunt very carefully, like he fears he might hurt you. You lie directly against the mattress without any pillows beneath your head.
He finally pushes all the way in before he closes his eyes. “Shit,” he grunts as he buries himself deep inside your body. Your toes curl when his thick cock fills you out. You bend your knees to wrap your legs securely around his waist. He drops his free hand down to hold your hip firmly. Dex slowly slides out and then pushes right back into your cunt. He watches your chest bounce every time he moves inside you. “You look so good taking me,” he tells you while staring down at your body. “Ah- hah- just go deeper,” you whine, but he refuses to thrust faster. He wants to watch your body react so he doesn’t speed up at all. He takes his time sliding in and out of your wet folds. You reach up with one hand to hold the wrist he has near your face.
Your other hand drops down to rest directly over your stomach. You grind your hips upward right when he pushes deep inside you. “Nngh- such a loser,” you insult him while pushing back against his cock. You clench your cunt tightly around him. “Mmph- yeah?” Dex questions as his jaw clenches. You can tell your degrading words affect him more than he wants to admit. You squeeze your cunt around him again just to mess with his head. His nails dig right into your hip. Dex moves his hand away from your cheek so he can reach the back of your head. He tangles his fingers into your hair to hold your head down on the mattress. “But you love having this loser inside you,” he reminds you while his hand tightens on your hair.
The look in his eyes proves he dropped the gentle act. “Hngh- god-” you gasp out when he thrusts much harder into your cunt. He stops worrying about hurting you and just starts fucking you how he wants to. You scratch your nails across his wrist to stop him from going so deep. “Nn- don’t do it so hard,” you complain while your heels plant firmly against his back. Dex hums in agreement to trick you, but he immediately does the exact opposite. He pulls his cock out until only the tip rests inside your cunt before he thrusts his entire length back inside you. He knows he acts like an asshole right now, yet he refuses to stop. His fingers tangle more firmly through your hair because he just needs something to hold onto while he fucks you.
“Mm- s-stop being so rough,” you gasp out as your eyes roll back. Dex ignores your demand since he likes feeling your cunt clench around him. He moves his hand away from your hip so he can reach up to grope your breast. He thinks about how long he waited to finally touch you. Having you right here feels better than he ever imagined. He pinches your nipple right between his fingers to make you squirm under him. Dex feels satisfied as he finally touches the person he stalked for months. He knows he crossed every boundary to get here, but he honestly doesn’t regret a single thing. He used only to watch you walk around this bedroom through the hidden cameras he planted behind your furniture.
Now he gets to see everything right in front of his own eyes while he pushes his cock in and out of your cunt. Having you respond to him is what he wanted. “Fucking creep- ahhn- you’re so messed up,” you degrade him while your other hand rests directly over your stomach. Dex knows you only say those insults because you feel stupid for sleeping with your stalker. “You think I care what you call me when you wrap your legs around me like this?” Dex asks while he feels your toes curl against his lower back. He knows you are conflicted about this situation, but your body tells him what you actually want. You part your mouth to gasp when he hits that specific spot deep inside you. He knows what kind of pace gets you going.
The degrading names you use only make him want to go harder. Your nails naturally dig harder into his arm the deeper he goes. “Hah- shut up- mmph!” you whine back while scratching your fingers over your stomach. He chuckles at your pathetic attempt to insult him because your moans give you away. The way you react to him actually mesmerizes him enough to make him slow his pace down. Slowing his pace gives him time to take in every detail of your face, as he wants to memorize how you look when he takes you. Seeing you take him so well satisfies him even while he thinks it is funny how you try to act tough. You notice his head tilting downward to watch his cock slide in and out of your entrance.
He wonders if you enjoy looking at the sight of your bodies moving together just as much as he does. You see his eyes move from your stomach right back up to your chest. He thinks you look perfect like this and wants to burn this exact image into his memory. Staring openly at the breast he gropes makes him consider using his mouth on you instead before he watches your other breast bounce with every single movement he makes. Knowing he has your full attention pleases him because he genuinely enjoys making you feel so flustered. You notice him looking right at your face next, yet you fail to figure out what goes on inside his head. “Nngh- what are you looking at?” you ask because his constant staring bothers you.
You hate how he always studies you without explaining himself. You want him to speak up instead of being so quiet. Dex ignores your question and stops moving his cock inside you. He keeps staring right into your eyes while he slides his hands from the back of your head to your shoulders. He pulls you up from the mattress until you sit upright on the edge of the bed. Your legs are already wrapped around his waist while you naturally reach out to grab his shoulders for balance. “Hold onto me,” Dex commands before he slides his hands down your sides. He places his hands on your waist to hold you in place. He starts pushing his cock in and out of your cunt again. You hold his shoulders tightly so you don’t fall backward while he fucks you.
“Nngh- why can’t we just do it in one position?” you complain about him moving you around too much. Dex ignores your whining before he leans forward to bury his face into your neck. He lets his mouth touch your collarbone while his hands hold your waist firmly. He pushes his cock deep into your cunt as he brings his lips right next to your ear. “I just want to create every position you wrote,” Dex whispers directly into your ear while he shoves his cock inside you. Your cunt squeezes tight around his cock right after he says those words. Hearing his plan brings a rush of pleasure to your body. You think about what position comes next to fucking you while sitting like this. You wonder if he plans to flip you over the bed to fuck you on your stomach.
Dex bites down on your shoulder before he grunts against your neck to hide a whimper. He pulls his cock almost all the way out before shoving it back in. He likes the way your body responds to his twisted ideas. “Do you like that?” Dex asks as he feels your cunt clench around him. He wants to know if you enjoy the idea of having him in all those different positions. “Hah- s-shut- fuck-” you gasp out while your back arches. You hate how his crazy obsession actually turns you on. He chuckles softly at your denial because your actions contradict your words. He lets you dig your nails into his shoulder while his hands squeeze your waist tighter. Dex kisses your collarbone while he shoves his cock inside you.
He gets too caught up in the pleasure to filter his thoughts. He loves having you right here instead of just watching you through a monitor. “Mhm... You look so much better than the scre-” Dex stutters against your neck before he forces his mouth shut. He almost exposed the hidden cameras he planted around your home. He bites his bottom lip to stop himself from ruining the moment with a stupid mistake. You place both hands on his chest to shove him away from your neck so you can look at his face. “Ahhn- what were you going to say?” you ask while narrowing your eyes at him. You know he hides things from you. Dex slows his movements down so he can think of a lie while his hands caress your waist.
“Come on- it’s nothing,” Dex replies as he gives you a sloppy excuse to brush off your question. “I just meant you look better than I imagined,” he adds to cover his tracks. You want to question him more, but he refuses to give you the chance to speak. Dex leans forward again to bury his face against your chest this time. He takes your nipple into his mouth to suck on it hard. “Hah- wait-” you gasp out as his teeth bite down. He takes one hand off your ribs to slide it down between your bodies. He finds your clit before he starts rubbing it with his thumb. He uses it to his advantage to make you forget what he just said to you. Your hands move up from his chest to grab his hair while he works your clit.
He rubs his thumb over the sensitive spot as he continues moving in and out of your cunt. “Oh god- nngh- right there,” you whine out while your hips buck upward against his hand. Dex swirls his tongue over your nipple before he grazes his teeth over the tip. He moves his mouth away about an inch to kiss your breast before he goes right back to sucking hard on the peak. He thinks about how long he craved this exact taste while the soft whimpers you make only encourage him to bite down harder. He wants to leave a mark you will feel for days. Dex moves his face over to give the other side the same attention. You grip his hair firmly before you lean your head down to nuzzle your face right into his sweaty hair. “Mm- you really like it there,” you whisper while your hips buck up against his hand.
He feels right at home against your body, and having your hands all over him feels better than anything else. He knows he would never change a single thing if he could go back to the moment he first saw you at the supermarket. His therapist used to tell him his moral compass was never broken, but he just needed someone to guide him. He realizes now you are that person, but he never expected things to get this far. He was only supposed to watch you from a distance without making contact, and he never wanted you to find out he was stalking you. You were just too smart for him to hide from you. You played a clever game to expose him, and he fell right into it. His thumb slows down over your clit because he gets distracted by your breast.
He wonders if you notice how easily you affect everything he does, even with the way you arch into his touch. You can feel his cock twitching deep inside your cunt, and the feeling makes your breath hitch. The bed creaks loudly underneath you every time he shoves his cock in and out of you. “Ahhn- right there- fuck-” you moan out as the heat builds up between your bodies, and sweat drips down your chest. Everything he does pushes you closer to your limit, especially with how he moves fast before he goes slow. Dex grunts from the sensation while he continues to use his thumb to circle and rub your clit. It makes your toes curl while you struggle to catch your breath. “Hah- god- right there-” you whine while your cunt squeezes around his cock. Your nails dig into his scalp as the pleasure builds up because you want him to push you over the edge instead of just teasing you.
He sucks harder on your nipple, and you tilt your head back when his cock finds your g-spot. “Hah- god- I’m getting so close,” you pant out while your hips buck upward. Dex finally moves his mouth away from your breast so he can watch your reaction. You bury your face right into his chest because you refuse to let him look at you. You turn into a moaning mess against him as the pleasure brings you right to the edge. He hates it whenever you try to hide from him when he wants to see every single expression you make. “Nn- please,” you whine directly against his collarbone. He loves hearing you beg for him. He removes his hand from your clit before he uses that same hand to push your body away from his chest.
He pushes you back just enough to see your face properly. “Stop hiding from me,” Dex commands as he forces you to look at him. His hand moves up to the back of your head to tilt it backward while his other hand slides from your waist down to your hip. He enjoys the feeling of holding you in place while he fucks you when you look exactly how he always pictured you. You can’t help but part your mouth when you moan before you close your eyes, and you can feel your clit pulsing without his touch. Your cunt clenches around his cock while he watches your expression carefully before a smirk forms on his lips. He knows how to push you over the edge, and he loves knowing he causes this kind of reaction in you.
He leans down a little closer to your face to spit right into your open mouth. “Mm- hah-” you gasp out in surprise as the spit lands on your tongue. You open your eyes in surprise since you never expected him to do something like that. Your face heats up with embarrassment even though you actually enjoy what he did. His spit inside your mouth makes your cunt clench hard around his cock to the point he slows his pace down before he stops moving his hips entirely when you start cumming. His cock throbs inside you, and you tremble against him. He holds your hair and your hip firmly to brace himself. Dex closes his eyes while his mouth parts, but he quickly bites down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from being too loud. “Ahhhnn- fuck- Dex-” you whine out as you finish around his cock.
“I know,” Dex whispers while his hand moves to caress your back. He takes his hands off your hip and head before he unwraps your legs from his waist. He steps back to slide his cock out of your body. He wonders if you have any idea how much he loves the mess he makes out of you. He watches how puffy your cunt looks right after you finish, and he stares at how your clit pulses while your cum trails down your skin. You feel glad he backed away because your chest heaves as you catch your breath. You suddenly remember he hasn’t cum yet, but he grabs your arms before you can bring it up to force you to stand up. He turns you around to face the bed before he pushes you down onto your stomach. You react quickly by crawling forward until you get on all fours so your legs finally make it onto the mattress.
“Hah- what are you doing?” you complain while he climbs onto the bed right behind you. You hate how he always catches you off guard. His unpredictable behavior frustrates you to no end. “Shh- I told you we’d do another position from what you wrote,” Dex replies as he places a pillow under your stomach. He grabs a second pillow to put it directly beneath your face. You look over your shoulder with a pissed expression, but you look forward to what he plans to do next. “I haven’t cum, yet,” Dex states while his hand finds its way to your hip. His other hand reaches down to guide his cock right against your cunt. He easily slides inside you because you are so slippery from your own cum. “You don’t want to give me blue balls, right?” he asks while looking down at your back. His tone sounds more like a warning than a genuine question. He knows how much you crave his attention.
“Nngh- wait- I’m too s-sensi-” you try to say before his actions cut your words off. He shoves all the way in without any warning while his guiding hand moves up to hold your waist. “Ahhn- I just came- Dex,” you whine out while trying to adjust to his size. Your words tick him off enough to make him drag his cock out to the tip before he slams back in whole. “Well, I didn’t,” Dex grunts while he hits you deep inside. You stop looking over your shoulder to let your face hover inches above the pillow. You don’t care if your eyes close or if your mouth hangs open while he fucks you relentlessly. “I know I could finish in your mouth,” Dex says as he continues thrusting behind you.
Your hands grip the bedsheets while your toes curl against the mattress. “Mmph- then why didn’t you?” you ask him between breaths.
Dex shoves his cock deeper into your cunt before he leans his chest over your back. He uses his body weight to push your torso down against the stomach pillow. “There is nothing comparable to this,” he answers while he fucks you harder. You know he plans to take a lot more from you until you tire out. You aren’t against the idea because you actually look forward to it. Experiencing this kind of thing usually only happens when you read other people’s writing or your own stories. You never expected you’d end up getting fucked in so many different ways tonight. It feels like a win since it all happens right here in your bed. Your body manages to take every inch of him while the deep friction makes you gasp into the sheets.
His weight presses heavily against your back. The firm pressure holds you down and securely pins you to the mattress. Your face rests against the top pillow while your stomach pushes into the second one as his cock goes in and out of you. “Mmmff- hah- oh god-” your moans get muffled into the sheets from the way his body pins you down. Dex places one hand on your hip while his other hand reaches around to grab your side. You hear the loud sound of flesh slapping together whenever he thrusts his hips forward. You can also feel his balls hitting against your ass with every single movement he makes. It feels degrading to take him like this, but the sensation of his cock sliding over your cunt only turns you on more.
You find it embarrassing to admit how much you enjoy every dirty thing he does to you. “God, you feel amazing,” Dex grunts while he buries himself as deep as he can go. He knows how to use his heavy pressure to get the hardest reactions out of you. He leans his head down so his lips brush right against your shoulder blade. Dex eventually gets careless, and he realizes that the moment he opens his mouth to brag about what he saw on his monitors. “That guy from last month couldn’t even hit your spot like I do when he f-fucked you-” Dex stutters before he forces himself to shut up. He realizes he almost exposed his hidden cameras again, so he punishes himself for his sloppy mistake by biting down hard on your back.
“Ahhn- god- right there,” you whine out as the feeling of his teeth makes your cunt squeeze around his cock. Dex loves the way your cunt takes him, so he just lets himself continue fucking you into the mattress while he leaves bite marks all over your shoulder. You don’t even care about his confession because you are too exhausted to process what he says. He gives you back a few more bites before he stops leaning his weight over you. He raises himself to kneel right behind you. He grabs your hips to pull them higher so your lower back arches while your ass sticks up in the air. He raises his hand up before he slaps your ass roughly. The loud smack of flesh echoes through the room right before his fingers dig firmly back into your hip.
“Mm! Y-yes,” you gasp out while your nails scratch at the bedsheets. Dex groans loud enough for you to hear as he matches his fast pace with your needy sounds. He knows he can last for hours since he waited so long for this exact moment. Dex moves his free hand to your ass to squeeze it. Your chest rests against the bed while the side of your face lies on the pillow. You try to push your upper body off the mattress to get on all fours again. Your arms shake instantly when you try to lift your weight up. You feel too weak to hold yourself up, so you fall right back down to where you started. Dex chuckles loudly at your pathetic attempt to move. “Aww, poor girl can’t even support her own weight,” he mocks you while rubbing his hand over your ass cheek.
You let out a frustrated huff into the pillow since you hate it when he makes fun of you. He slides his hand under your stomach to help you out. “Bring yourself up,” Dex commands as he lifts your torso away from the bed. You try again with his help until you manage to get on your knees. He moves you all the way back so your back rests directly against his chest. He wraps his arm securely around your waist to hold you upright. You reach your hands out to hold onto his forearm for balance. “Good girl,” Dex praises you awkwardly because he never usually says things like that. He pushes his cock into your cunt to test how this new position feels. “Does this feel okay for you?” Dex asks while he thrusts his hips slowly behind you.
You want to adjust a little bit so you look towards the top of the bed. “Mm- let’s move closer to the headboard,” you suggest while leaning back against him. He nods before he takes his cock out of your cunt. He uses his free hand to remove your fingers from his arm. He guides you forward, so you both scoot across the mattress on your knees. It only takes a few short movements until your hands find their way to the headboard. You lean forward to rest your chest against the pillows stacked against the wood. Dex whistles at the sight of you bent over the headboard. He loves how you arch your back for him to fuck.
He raises his hand to slap your ass hard enough to leave a loud smack in the room. “Ah!- Dex,” you yelp out while your fingers curl around it. He grabs your hips firmly before he slides his cock right back inside your cunt. He starts thrusting deep into you again while you adjust to his size. “Too many interruptions tonight,” Dex whispers right near your ear as if he wants to taunt you. He knows he causes all the delays, but he loves acting like an asshole to annoy you. You clench your cunt tight around his cock on purpose to stop him from thrusting. You hate his arrogant attitude right now. “Ahhn- so are you telling me I’m an interruption?” you ask while looking over your shoulder to glare at him. The way your cunt squeezes makes it hard for him to move his hips.
“Fuck- wait- ngh,” Dex groans behind you as the tight squeeze makes his cock throb deep inside you. He easily folds because he knows he needs to play nice with you. You are literally offering him what he wants tonight. Anyone else would have pulled the trigger of that gun you held against his forehead earlier. He knows he is lucky you decided to fuck him instead of shooting him. He struggles to catch his breath while his cock pulses inside you. He hates losing control, but he hates the idea of you stopping even more. He doesn’t know how to process his emotions properly, so he struggles to find the right words to say. “I’m sorry- just stop doing that,” Dex whispers awkwardly while his fingers squeeze your hips.
He never apologizes to anyone, but he acts desperate to continue fucking you. “Nngh- please let me move,” he begs you while resting his forehead against your back. He tries to convince you to stop squeezing so he can reach his orgasm. He knows he sounds pathetic, but he only wishes that you would let him have it his way. You listen to his clumsy apology for a moment before you stop clenching his cock purposely. You grind your ass back against him to let him know he earned your mercy. You push your body directly into his crotch to make him take the hint. “Mm- you better behave then,” you warn him as you let him slide all the way in. Dex takes a deep breath before he starts moving his hips slowly behind you.
His hands squeeze your hips to balance you against the headboard. “Fuck- you feel so good,” Dex grunts out while he pushes deep into your cunt. The slow pace feels amazing as he hits every sensitive spot inside you. You let your eyes close while your fingers wrap securely around the wood. He eventually speeds up his thrusts once he realizes you aren’t going to stop him again. He slides his cock almost out before he shoves it back inside your cunt. “Ahhhnn- right there,” you moan loudly into the pillows while your back arches for him. Dex watches the way your spine curves while he fucks you from behind. He loves the way your body responds to everything he does. “God- you take it so well,” he groans out while his thumbs rub over your hip.
He makes sure to hit your g-spot with every single thrust so you forget about his cocky words. You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from being too loud in the room. He just continues fucking you until your legs start trembling against the mattress. Dex closes his eyes while his hips move in a careless manner behind you. He pushes his cock deep into your cunt before he grinds his hips against your ass. He pulls out to the tip to take a few seconds to breathe. He shoves back inside you when you expect it the least. “Fuck- you take me so perfectly,” Dex whispers out while he forces himself inside you. He doesn’t know the exact right words to say, but he wants to give you a genuine compliment. “You are so good to me,” he grunts as he slides against your g-spot with every thrust.
He stops moving for a few seconds every time he buries his cock deep inside your body. You grind your ass back against him to help him out because you want him to continue. “Hah- don’t stop- nn,” you whine out to urge him forward. Dex feels the way you push back against him while his cock pulses inside your cunt. He connects your needy movements to how close you are to another orgasm. He loves seeing you get so desperate for his cock when you’re right on the edge. You look over your shoulder to see what he does behind you. You find his head tilted back as he shuts his eyes tightly. You actually think he looks gorgeous like this even though you hate admitting it. You let go of the headboard with your right hand so you can reach backward.
You try to find his arm while he starts thrusting his hips again. Your fingers brush against his forearm to get his attention. “Mm- Dex,” you gasp out while your hand slides down his wrist. Dex opens his eyes the moment he feels your fingers touch his arm. He leans closer to your back so he can place his hand right beside yours. He easily intertwines his fingers with yours before he brings your hand forward to secure it against the headboard. “Shit- wait,” Dex curses loudly because that simple touch pushes him right over the edge. He thrusts his hips much faster while he fucks you without any mercy. “Fuck- I’m going to-” he whispers directly against your ear as his pace gets rougher. You feel his cock burying deep inside you every time he thrusts his hips forward.
You realize you can’t hold back your own orgasm when he moves this fast. “Ah!- y-yes- fuck,” you stutter out while you brace yourself against the wood. Dex shoves into you a few more times before he finishes deep inside your cunt. “God-” he grunts out as he unloads his cum right into you. Your body reacts to his climax like a switch flips in your brain to make your walls squeeze tight around his cock. You feel sensitive from the overstimulation, while the warm feeling of being filled makes you melt into the mattress. It feels stupid to let him finish inside you, but you refuse to stop him since it feels too good. He moves his chest away from your back to stand up straight on his knees before he lets go of your hand to hold your hip.
Both of his hands grab your hips to hold you in place while he slowly thrusts back inside you. He watches the way both of your cum coats his cock with every slow movement to see the mess he made. He never misses anyway, so seeing his load deep inside your cunt makes him feel proud. He loves watching how messy he left you tonight. Dex looks down at your body to check on you while his hips push forward. You are slumped against the stacked pillows with your arms hugging them tightly. Your ass arches up in the air for him, but your face buries into the fabric. “How do you feel?” Dex asks you while he rubs his thumbs over your hip bones. You feel too exhausted to form a proper sentence, so you shake your head at his question.
He raises his eyebrow at your silent response before he decides to ask you again. “Are you going to answer me?” he asks as he slowly drags his cock out of your body. You let out a long breath when you feel him leave your cunt empty. “Tired,” you mumble into the pillows. He chuckles at your honest answer because he knows he wore you out tonight. Dex looks over at the clock on your nightstand before he moves away from your back. He crawls up the mattress to sit right beside your head so he can lean back against the headboard. “Lie down flat,” Dex tells you while he helps guide your body onto your stomach. You follow his instructions so you can rest your body while hugging the pillow under your face.
He puts his hand right on your lower back to caress you slowly. He feels the sweat under his palm from how hard you worked tonight. You have your arms wrapped tight around the soft fabric because you feel exhausted. “Mm- it feels so late,” you whine into the pillow even though you never checked the time. Dex agrees with you before he moves his hand up from your back to reach your head. He gently caresses your head to comfort you. “It’s 4:23 in the morning,” he casually tells you while he continues petting you. You have no idea how long you actually had sex with him tonight. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he first pinned you to the mattress. You don’t even know what time you originally woke up to find him watching you sleep.
He probably stood in the dark corner for hours before he made his presence known. The terrifying thought should bother you, but his gentle touches make you feel stupidly safe instead. You realize you have no clue how long he has actually been inside your house. You adjust your head so you can turn your face towards his direction. Your cheek rests against the pillow now so you aren’t hiding your face from him anymore. You look up at him while he sits there looking comfortable in your bed. “You look like you plan to stick around,” you point out sarcastically as you narrow your eyes at him. He acts like he owns the place right after he finishes fucking you. He looks way too relaxed for a guy who broke in just a few hours ago.
You hate how easy he makes this look. Dex scoffs at your comment before he takes his hand away from your head. He reaches down to slap your ass hard to punish your attitude. “Ah!- hey,” you gasp out while he squeezes your ass cheek right after he slaps you. You glare at him because he acts so smug about having you right where he wants you. He clearly enjoys seeing how irritated you get when he treats you like his property. “Yeah, well, maybe I will just move in here,” Dex jokes back, but he actually means every single word. You probably assume he will leave when the sun comes up, but here he is, thinking about how easy it would be to watch you up close if he lived with you. He knows it will be so simple to insert himself into your life now that you have just had sex with him. He smirks down at your tired body and has no idea that he thinks about never letting you go.
Summary: Tensions arise during a Targaryen family vacation, which prompts Daemon to step up as a husband and agree to relocating. Warnings: family drama, humor, angst, fluff, smut.
a/n: In honor of Daemon's comeback in ep2. He's so maniacal but he made me laugh so many times.
The first time you mentioned divorce, Daemon had laughed. Not a cruel laugh, more like the sound someone makes when a child insists they’re running away to join the circus. Dismissive. Almost fond. He’d kissed your forehead and told you to spend the weekend at the spa, his treat, and the next day a black card arrived by courier with a note in his sharp, slashing handwriting: For whatever you need. —D
That had been four months ago. The card was still in your wallet. You’d used it exactly once, to pay the retainer for a divorce attorney.
Now you stood on the balcony of the hotel suite in Pentos, watching the Narrow Sea churn itself into a gray-green froth as a storm rolled in from the west. Behind you, through the open doors, you could hear the muffled sounds of your sons arguing over a video game and the lower, smoother cadence of Daemon’s voice as he settled whatever dispute had arisen. Aegon, at six, was already developing his father’s talent for theatrical indignation. Viserys, barely four, just wanted to be included.
The Targaryen family vacation. Two weeks in a luxury resort that Daemon’s brother Viserys, the elder Viserys, had booked for the entire clan. A chance to “reconnect,” Viserys had said in that ponderous way of his, as if family bonds were something you could schedule into a Google Calendar and tick off like a board meeting.
You’d tried to get out of it. You’d tried to tell Daemon that going on a family holiday while you were actively meeting with lawyers was absurd, farcical, the kind of thing that would make you the villain in a made-for-TV movie. He’d listened with that infuriating half-smile of his, the one that said you’re adorable when you’re worked up, and then he’d informed you that the flights were booked, the boys were excited, and he’d already told Viserys you’d be there.
“I’m not discussing this with you,” you’d said, standing in the kitchen of your King's Landing townhouse, hands braced against the marble island. “I’m telling you. I’m filing for divorce.”
“You’re not.”
“Daemon...”
“You’re not filing for anything.” He’d crossed the kitchen with that predatory grace he’d never lost, even in a cashmere sweater and trousers. His hands had settled on your hips, his thumbs pressing into the small of your back in a way that made your body betray you with a shiver. “You’re tired. You’re stressed. You’ve been dealing with my brother’s wife and her...” He’d paused, searching for a word that wouldn’t quite cross the line into outright insult. “Her ambitions. Let me handle it.”
“You can’t handle this, Daemon. You can’t throw money at me until I forget I’m unhappy.”
Something had flickered in his eyes then, a flash of genuine confusion, perhaps even hurt, before it was swallowed by that practiced Targaryen hauteur. “Unhappy,” he’d repeated, as if tasting a foreign word. “I’ve given you everything.”
“You’ve given me things. There’s a difference.”
He hadn’t answered. Instead, he’d done what he always did when a conversation veered into territory he didn’t want to explore: he’d withdrawn, not physically but emotionally, the drawbridge coming up behind his eyes. “We’ll talk about this later. The boys need to be put to bed.”
And that had been that. The next morning, suitcases had appeared in the foyer, and Daemon had been all brisk efficiency and paternal warmth, directing the children, consulting with the nanny, and you’d found yourself swept along in the current of his will, as you always did, as you had been since the day you met him at an event ten years ago.
The storm was moving faster now. Lightning split the sky to the west, a jagged white scar that illuminated the darkening sea. You started counting automatically, a habit from childhood: one, two, three, four, five, and the thunder rolled across the water, a deep, bone-rattling growl. Five seconds. About a mile away.
“Storm’s getting closer.”
You didn’t turn. You’d felt him before you’d heard him, that particular awareness you’d never been able to shake, the way your body seemed to know when Daemon Targaryen was in a room. He stepped onto the balcony beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours, and you saw that he was holding two glasses of wine.
“Red,” he said, offering one. “The Pentosi varietal the sommelier recommended. Viserys ordered twenty cases for the cellars.”
“Of course he did.”
Daemon’s mouth twitched. “He’s planning a gala for the autumn. Apparently, Alicent has been nagging him about entertaining more. Networking.” He pronounced the word with a particular disdain, the way another man might say vermin.
You took the wine, mostly because you needed something to do with your hands. “Alicent’s networking is called ‘securing her position.’ She’s smart.”
“She’s a social climber with a spreadsheet and a prayer book.”
“Daemon.”
“What? It’s true. You know it’s true. Even Rhaenyra knows it’s true, and Rhaenyra is pathologically incapable of thinking ill of anyone her father deigns to marry.” He took a long drink of his wine, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “I still don’t know what Viserys was thinking. Otto Hightower’s daughter. It’s like bringing a fox into the henhouse and handing it a napkin.”
You wanted to argue, mostly on principle, but you were too tired. Three days of enforced proximity to Alicent’s brittle smiles and Viserys’ oblivious paternalism and Rhaenyra’s increasingly desperate attempts to play peacemaker had worn you down to a nub.
Rhaenyra was the only one of Daemon’s family you genuinely liked, she was fierce and funny and surprisingly self-aware for a woman who’d been raised to believe she was the center of the universe, but even she had been grating on you today. She’d cornered you at breakfast to ask if everything was “okay” between you and Daemon, her violet eyes too knowing, too sympathetic. You’d deflected, but barely.
It was Daemon’s fault. All of it. If he hadn’t insisted on moving the family back into the Targaryen ancestral pile, if he hadn’t dragged you into his obsessive crusade against Alicent’s influence, if he hadn’t treated your unhappiness like a software glitch that could be patched with shopping and sex and those devastating smiles he deployed like weapons...
“You’re thinking very loudly,” Daemon observed.
“I’m thinking about divorce.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “The storm’s getting worse. We should go inside.”
“Daemon.”
“The boys are waiting for dinner. Viserys wants to eat at eight, which means Alicent wants to eat at seven-thirty, which means if we’re not in the dining room by...oh, the look on her face.” He grinned, sharp and wicked. “It might almost be worth being late.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Her face goes all pinched, like she’s sucked a lemon. Rhaenyra and I used to have a drinking game around it.”
“Daemon, I want a divorce.”
This time, he did react. A tightening around his jaw, barely perceptible. The way his fingers flexed against his wine glass. But his voice, when he spoke, was perfectly even. “We’re not having this conversation on a balcony in Pentos while our children are inside.”
“We’re not having this conversation anywhere. That’s the problem. You refuse to engage with it. You act like if you ignore it long enough, I’ll forget.”
“Will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Forget.” He turned to face you, and there it was again, that flicker of something raw beneath the arrogance, gone so fast you might have imagined it. “Will you forget that you love me? That we have a life together? That we have two sons who adore you and a home and a history and...” He stopped himself, jaw working. “No. You’re right. We’re not doing this here.”
He drained his wine and walked back inside, leaving you alone with the storm.
Dinner was excruciating.
The dining room was all white tablecloths and soft candlelight and sweeping views of the coastline, the storm pressing against the windows. Viserys sat at the head of the table, beaming benevolently at his assembled family as if he’d personally arranged the weather for their entertainment. Alicent was at his right hand, her auburn hair pulled back in an elegant twist, her expression one of careful serenity that you knew from experience masked a constant, low-grade anxiety.
Rhaenyra and her husband Laenor were visiting from their place in Spain, their three boys seated between them in various states of restlessness. And then there was your family: you, Daemon, and the two small boys who were currently attempting to build a fort out of bread rolls.
“Aegon, stop that,” you said quietly, removing the roll from his hand before it could be added to the precarious structure. “We don’t play with food.”
“Uncle Laenor said the Pentosi build forts to keep the sea monsters away,” Aegon protested.
“Did he.”
“It’s true,” Laenor said, his expression perfectly solemn. “Ancient maritime tradition. Very sacred.”
Aegon turned to you with the triumphant expression of a child who had just been validated by an adult, and you made a mental note to have a word with Laenor later. Probably with a heavy object.
“How are you finding the resort?” Alicent asked, her gaze fixed on you with an intensity that suggested she was already composing a report for some internal database. “The spa here is supposed to be excellent. I booked a hot stone massage for tomorrow morning, if you’d care to join.”
“That’s kind of you,” you said, “but I think I’ll pass.”
“Oh, you should go,” Rhaenyra said, leaning forward. “I went yesterday. There’s a sauna and everything. Very relaxing.” She caught your eye and added, with just a hint of emphasis, “Good for stress.”
You smiled tightly. “I’m sure it is.”
Daemon, seated beside you, had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal. He’d exchanged a few barbed pleasantries with Alicent, agreed with Viserys about the superiority of Westerosi wine, and otherwise devoted his attention to his plate with the air of a man who was planning something. You knew that look. You’d seen it before board meetings, before confrontations with business rivals, before the night he’d decided to move your family into Dragonstone Manor without consulting you. It was the look of Daemon Targaryen marshaling his forces.
It made you nervous.
“I heard the most interesting thing today,” Alicent said, and something in her tone made the entire table go quiet. “About the Ashford deal.”
Viserys looked up from his lamb. “My dear, perhaps business at the dinner table...”
“It’s just that I understood we weren’t pursuing Ashford anymore. The board voted on it, I thought. And yet I received a rather curious email from our legal team this afternoon suggesting that Daemon had reopened negotiations.” Her smile didn’t waver. “On his own authority.”
Daemon set down his fork very carefully. “The board voted to table the discussion, not to abandon the acquisition entirely. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“There is to anyone who actually understands corporate governance.”
“Daemon,” Viserys said, a warning note in his voice.
But Daemon was already leaning forward, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. “The Ashford portfolio is worth forty million pounds. Their logistics network alone would give us a foothold in three new markets. I wasn’t about to let it slip away because the board is too risk-averse to see past next quarter’s earnings report.”
“The board is risk-averse because we’re still recovering from the Dornish expansion,” Alicent said, her voice cool. “Which you also championed. And which went significantly over budget.”
“It went over budget because we were sabotaged by incompetents you personally recommended for the project.”
“I recommended no one. I suggested a shortlist of candidates, which Viserys approved.”
“After you’d spent three months whispering in his ear about how essential they were.”
“That’s enough,” Viserys said, and for a moment he sounded like the patriarch he was supposed to be, his voice carrying the weight of decades of authority. “We’re not discussing this here. We’re on holiday. There are children present.”
Everyone looked at the children. Aegon had abandoned his bread fort and was now trying to teach Viserys the younger how to balance a spoon on his nose. Neither of them had appeared to notice the adult tension crackling around them.
“I’m just saying,” Alicent said, her tone now one of wounded reasonableness, “that it might be wise to keep the family informed of major business decisions. For the sake of transparency.”
“Transparency,” Daemon repeated. “Rich, coming from someone whose father just happened to acquire a significant stake in the shipping company we use for all our Narrow routes. Purely coincidental, I’m sure.”
Alicent’s face went stone cold. “My father’s investments are his own business.”
“Are they? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks an awful lot like a conflict of interest. Or would, if anyone were looking.”
“Daemon.” This time it was Viserys, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We talked about this. Otto’s investment was vetted by our ethics committee. There’s no conflict.”
“The ethics committee that reports to you. And that you appointed. After Alicent suggested the members.”
The silence that followed was the kind that made you want to crawl under the table. Rhaenyra was studying her wine glass with intense fascination. Laenor had developed a sudden interest in the storm outside. Even the children seemed to sense something was wrong; little Viserys had stopped his spoon-balancing attempts and was looking at his father with wide, uncertain eyes.
You reached for your wine and took a very long drink.
“I think,” you said, into the silence, “that we should perhaps change the subject.”
Alicent’s gaze snapped to you, and for a moment you saw something ugly there: resentment, perhaps, or suspicion. It was no secret that she considered you an extension of Daemon, his ally in whatever Valyrian power struggle was currently consuming the Targaryen family. The fact that you’d spent the last several months trying to extricate yourself from precisely that role was not something you could exactly explain over lamb and roasted vegetables.
“You’re right, of course,” Alicent said, her smile returning like a curtain falling back into place. “I apologize. This was entirely inappropriate dinner conversation.” She touched Viserys’s arm with practiced tenderness. “I’m sorry, darling. I let my concerns get the better of me.”
Viserys patted her hand. “No harm done. Daemon, we’ll discuss the Ashford matter tomorrow. Privately.”
“Can’t wait,” Daemon said, in a tone that suggested he would rather have oral surgery.
The rest of dinner passed in a haze of forced small talk and barely concealed hostility. By the time dessert arrived, some elaborate chocolate confection that you ate without savoring the taste, you had a headache building behind your eyes and a desperate longing to be anywhere else. Alone. Away from Targaryens and their endless, exhausting drama.
You caught Rhaenyra’s eye across the table, and she gave you a small, sympathetic smile. She, at least, understood. She’d grown up in this family. She knew what it was like to be caught in the crossfire.
But even Rhaenyra’s sympathy couldn’t pierce the cold knot of resentment that had settled in your chest. Because this, this dinner, this family, this entire suffocating situation, was exactly why you wanted out. Not because Daemon was a bad man. Not because he didn’t love you, in his way. But because being married to Daemon Targaryen meant being constantly, endlessly embroiled in Targaryen affairs.
The feuds, the power plays, the ancient grudges dressed up as business disagreements. Alicent’s machinations. Viserys’s willful blindness. The way the entire family seemed to orbit around some invisible sun of their own making, pulling everyone else into their gravitational field.
And Daemon, for all his talk of protecting you from it, was the worst of them all. He didn’t just participate in the drama, he was the drama. He generated it, cultivated it, fed on it like some kind of chaos vampire. And now he’d dragged you back to the family estate, back into the heart of the storm, and expected you to just…endure it.
You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.
After dinner, you put the boys to bed in the adjoining room of the suite. Aegon went down with minimal protest, exhausted from a day of swimming and running and terrorizing his cousins with a water pistol. Viserys was fussier, clinging to you with sticky fingers and demanding a third bedtime story, but eventually even he succumbed to sleep, his small face slackening into that angelic expression that always made your heart clench.
You stood in the doorway between the children’s room and the master bedroom, watching them sleep. Aegon had kicked off his blankets already, sprawling across his bed like a starfish. Viserys was curled around the stuffed dragon he refused to sleep without, the one Daemon had bought him when he was born, its silver wings worn soft from years of clutching.
They were the reason you’d stayed this long. The reason you’d tried so hard. Every time you’d been ready to walk out the door, you’d looked at their faces and thought: I can endure a little longer. For them.
But you were starting to wonder if enduring was actually doing them any favors. If growing up in a house with parents who were slowly, silently falling apart was any better than growing up in two houses with parents who were, at least, honest about what they were.
Behind you, the door to the suite opened and closed. You didn’t turn.
“They’re asleep,” you said.
“Good.” Daemon’s voice was quiet, stripped of its usual sardonic edge. “I’m sorry about dinner. Alicent has a talent for getting under my skin.”
You turned then, leaning against the doorframe. He was standing in the middle of the room, his jacket discarded, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos that snaked up his forearms, dragons, of course, and something in High Valyrian that he’d gotten in his twenties. His silver-gold hair was disheveled from running his hands through it, a nervous habit he’d never been able to break.
“She gets under your skin because you let her,” you said. “You seek her out. You look for fights.”
“Someone has to. Viserys won’t.”
“It’s not your job to protect your brother from his own wife.”
“It’s not about protecting Viserys. It’s about protecting the family. The company. Everything our forefathers built.” He moved closer, and you caught the scent of his cologne, woody and dark and infuriatingly familiar. “Alicent and her father are parasites. They’ve been trying to sink their hooks into Targaryen holdings for years, and Viserys is too besotted to see it.”
“And what does that have to do with us? With our marriage?”
He stopped. “Everything. You’re part of this family. What affects us affects you.”
“I don’t want to be part of this family.” The words came out harder than you intended, but you didn’t take them back. “That’s the point, Daemon. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life watching you wage war against your sister-in-law over business deals. I don’t want to raise our sons in the middle of a battlefield. I want a normal life.”
“Normal.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What does that even mean? A house in the suburbs? A nine-to-five job? Bake sales and PTA meetings? That’s not who we are. It’s never been who we are.”
“Maybe it’s who I want to be.”
“No.” He was close now, close enough to touch, his eyes burning into yours with that intensity that had first drawn you to him all those years ago. “You think you want that, but you’d be bored within a month. You’d miss this. You’d miss me.”
“You arrogant...”
“I’m not being arrogant. I’m being honest. You married me knowing exactly who I was. You knew what my family was like. You knew what you were getting into.” His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “You’re just tired. It’s been a long year. Let me take care of you.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me. I need you to listen to me.”
“I am listening.”
“No, you’re not. You’re waiting for me to stop talking so you can tell me why I’m wrong.” You pulled away from his touch, stepping back into the children’s room and pulling the door partially closed behind you. “I’ve been trying to tell you for months. I’m done, Daemon. I want a divorce.”
His expression shifted. The mask slipped, just for a moment, and you saw what lay beneath. Fear. Then it was gone, and he was the Daemon Targaryen everyone saw, the charming rogue, the untouchable prince.
“We’re not discussing this tonight,” he said. “The boys are right there.”
“They’re asleep.”
“I said, we’re not discussing this.” And then, softer, almost a plea: “Not tonight. Please.”
You had never heard Daemon Targaryen say please before. Not like that. Not as if the word had been dragged out of him against his will.
The storm was directly overhead now. Lightning flashed outside the window, bright enough to cast the room in stark white relief, and you started counting instinctively, one, two, and the thunder cracked so loud and so close that the windows rattled in their frames. Two seconds. Right on top of you.
In the children’s room, Viserys whimpered in his sleep. You slipped back inside to soothe him, stroking his silver-blond hair until he settled, your heart pounding from more than just the thunder.
When you returned to the master bedroom, Daemon was standing by the window, watching the storm with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t turn when you approached.
“Do you remember our honeymoon?” he asked quietly. “The villa in Myr. There was a storm like this on the third night. You said you’d never seen lightning so beautiful.”
You remembered. You remembered everything, the way the rain had hammered against the shutters, the way the candles had flickered every time the thunder rolled, the way Daemon had pulled you onto the bed and made love to you until the storm passed and the sky cleared and the stars came out like scattered diamonds. You’d thought, lying in his arms afterward, that you’d never be happier than you were in that moment.
You’d been right.
“That was a long time ago,” you said.
“It was eight years. That’s not so long.”
“It feels like a lifetime.”
He turned then, and the look on his face made your breath catch. He looked older, suddenly. Tired. The weight of all those years pressing down on him, on both of you.
“I know I’m difficult,” he said. “I know I’m not…easy. To be married to. I know I drive you up the wall.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
“Daemon...”
“Let me finish. Please.” He took a breath. “I know I’ve been…distracted. The situation with Alicent, with the company, it’s consumed more of my attention than it should have. More than you deserved. I can see that now.”
“It’s not just the company. It’s everything. The way you handle things. The way you handle me.”
“I know.”
“You throw money at problems and expect them to go away. You treat my concerns like they’re inconveniences to be managed. You make decisions that affect our entire family without consulting me.” The words were pouring out now, a dam finally breaking. “You moved us to Dragonstone Manor without even asking me. You just...announced it. Like it was a done deal. Like my opinion didn’t matter.”
“I was trying to protect you. All of you. Viserys was already changing, Alicent was already getting her hooks in, and I needed to be closer. I needed to be able to watch what was happening.”
“And what about what I needed? What about what our children needed? Aegon had just started at his school. He had friends. I had a life in London. And you ripped it all away because of your paranoia about your brother’s wife.”
“It wasn’t paranoia. Everything I suspected has turned out to be true.”
“That’s not the point!” You were almost shouting now, and you forced yourself to lower your voice, acutely aware of the children sleeping in the next room. “The point is that you didn’t talk to me. You never talk to me. You just…act. You decide what’s best and you do it, and I’m supposed to just fall in line.”
Daemon was silent for a long moment. The storm was moving past, the thunder growing more distant, the lightning flickering further away. Rain drummed steadily against the windows.
“You’re right,” he said finally.
You blinked. “What?”
“You’re right. I should have talked to you. About Dragonstone. About everything.” He ran his hand through his hair again, and this time the gesture seemed less nervous than helpless.
“I’m not asking you to stop being who you are. I’m asking you to include me in it. To treat me like an equal instead of an accessory.”
“I know.” He moved toward you, slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. “I know. And I’ll try. I swear to you, I’ll try.” He stopped in front of you, close enough to touch but not reaching out. “You want to leave Dragonstone? Fine. We’ll leave. We’ll move back to London, or anywhere else you want to go. You want me to step back from the family business? I’ll step back. Viserys can handle his own mess. You want me to stop antagonizing Alicent at every family dinner?” A wry smile. “That one might take some practice. But I’ll try.”
You wanted to believe him. You wanted it so badly it was a physical ache in your chest.
“I’ve already spoken to a lawyer,” you whispered.
Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t look away. “I know.”
“You...how?”
“The retainer on the new black card. I’m not an idiot. You think I don’t check the statements?” He shook his head. “I’ve known for months. I’ve just been…hoping you’d change your mind.”
“Daemon…”
“I’m not going to make this easy for you.” His voice was steady but hollow. “I’m not going to sign papers and smile and pretend this is what I want. It’s not. I want you. I want our family. I want to grow old with you and watch our sons become men. I want all of it. Every messy, frustrating, complicated part of it.”
“Then why didn’t you say that? Instead of just...ignoring me and hoping I’d give up?”
“Because I’m a coward.” He laughed shortly. “I was terrified. Terrified that if I actually talked about it, if I actually acknowledged what was happening, it would become real. And I couldn’t bear that.”
Another flash of lightning, further away now. This time you didn’t count the seconds.
“I’m not saying I’ll withdraw the petition,” you said. “I’m not saying everything is fixed. There’s too much damage for one conversation to repair.”
“I know.”
“But I’ll…think about it. About whether there’s something left worth saving.”
His eyes lit up. “That’s all I’m asking.”
The storm was dying now, the thunder reduced to a distant grumble, the rain softening to a gentle patter against the glass. The room felt different than it had an hour ago. As if the lightning had cleared something in the air.
Daemon reached for you, and this time you let him. His arms came around you, pulling you against his chest, and you felt the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear. He was warm and solid and so familiar it made your eyes sting.
“Come to bed,” he murmured against your hair. “We don’t have to sort out everything tonight. Just…come to bed.”
You should have said no. You should have slept in the children’s room, or on the sofa, or anywhere that wasn’t wrapped in Daemon’s arms. But you were tired, and you were sad, and despite everything, you still loved him. You had never stopped loving him. That was the problem.
“Fine,” you said. “But I’m still angry with you.”
“I know. You should be.”
“And I’m still thinking about divorce.”
“I know that too.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Let me try to change your mind.”
The hotel bed was vast and soft, dressed in linen that smelled faintly of lavender. Daemon undressed with his usual careless grace, tossing his clothes onto a chair in a way that would have annoyed you if you hadn’t been so tired. You changed into your nightgown in the bathroom, taking longer than necessary, staring at your reflection in the mirror and trying to decide if you were making a terrible mistake.
Your reflection stared back, offering no answers.
When you emerged, the room was lit only by the intermittent flashes of lightning and a single lamp on Daemon’s side of the bed. He was already under the covers, propped against the pillows, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.
“Get in,” he said. “You’re letting the cold in.”
You climbed into bed beside him, keeping a careful distance between you. The sheets were cool against your skin. Outside, the storm was circling back, the thunder growing louder again, the lightning more frequent.
“Remember how we used to count?” Daemon asked quietly. “Between the lightning and the thunder. When we were first married.”
“I still do it,” you admitted. “I can’t help it. It’s automatic.”
“Me too.” He turned onto his side, facing you. “What do you think? How far away is this one?”
As if on cue, lightning split the sky, illuminating the room in stark white. You counted, one, two, three, and the thunder rolled, a low, grumbling bass note that vibrated through the windows.
“Three seconds,” you said. “About more than half a mile.”
“I think it’s closer. Two seconds at most.”
“You’re wrong.”
“We’ll see.” Another flash, brighter this time. One, two, and the crack was immediate, sharp and loud. Daemon smiled. “Two seconds.”
“That one doesn’t count. It was a different bolt.”
“Lightning moves. It’s getting closer.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You love me anyway.”
You didn’t answer that. You couldn’t. Because he was right, and you both knew it.
The next flash came almost immediately, and this time the thunder followed so fast it was nearly simultaneous, a tremendous crash that made you jump despite yourself. Daemon’s arm came around you, pulling you closer, and you didn’t resist.
“Right on top of us,” he murmured. “The hotel probably has lightning rods.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”
His hand was moving on your back now, slow circles that were probably meant to be soothing but were doing something else entirely. You could feel the heat of him through your nightgown, the familiar geography of his body, the way you fit against him.
“Daemon.”
“Hmm?”
“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”
“I know.” His lips brushed your forehead. “This doesn’t mean anything. We’re just two people in a bed, waiting out a storm.”
“Is that what we’re doing?”
“For now.”
His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your spine, and you shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. You knew what he was doing. You’d always known. Daemon Targaryen had many weapons in his arsenal, and seduction was one of his favorites.
You should have stopped him. You should have pulled away and reinforced your boundaries and reminded him that nothing was resolved, that you were still furious, that sex wasn’t going to paper over the cracks in your marriage.
But his hand was on your hip now, his thumb pressing into the hollow there with expert precision, and you were tired of fighting. Tired of being angry. Tired of the endless, exhausting distance between what you wanted and what you had.
“Come here,” he said, and it wasn’t a command but a plea, raw and honest in a way Daemon rarely allowed himself to be.
You went.
His mouth found yours in the darkness, and it was like coming home after a long, lonely journey. Familiar and strange all at once, the taste of him, the way his hand cradled the back of your head. You’d kissed him thousands of times, millions, maybe, but this kiss felt different. Desperate. As if he was trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips.
“I love you,” he breathed against your mouth.
“Daemon...”
“Let me finish. Please.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes dark in the dim light. “I know I’ve failed you. I know I’ve been selfish and arrogant and dismissive. I know you have every right to walk out that door and never look back. But I’m asking you, begging you, to give me a chance. Not because of the children. Not because of the family. Because of us. Because what we have is worth fighting for.”
Thunder crashed outside, shaking the windows, but neither of you flinched.
“I’m so tired of fighting,” you whispered.
“Then stop. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting this.” His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized you’d shed. “Let me take care of you. Let me love you. Let me prove to you that we can be better than we’ve been.”
“And if we can’t? If we try and it’s still not enough?”
“Then I’ll let you go.” The words seemed to cost him a lot. “If we try, really try, and you’re still unhappy, I won’t fight the divorce. I’ll sign whatever you put in front of me. Just please, let's strike a truce for now.”
Part 2: coming soon...
a/n: Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Also, I lowkey hate the title of this fic, so if anyone has a better idea, let me know.
a/n: Voluntary donations are accepted on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3
warnings: infidelity, probably spelling errors bc this isn’t proofread loll, female reader, afab, unprotected p in v, angst, incorrect medical terms, I think that’s it if not, let me know please, enjoy! <3
summary: when jack spots the new shiny ring on your finger after a year of letting you go, he freaks out and realizes he made the biggest mistake of his life.
He knew you were seeing someone, of course he knew. As much as he didn’t seem like it he’d been watching you closer than he let on. But what Jack didn’t expect was to see you walking in the ER tonight, smiling and glowing with a fucking rock decorating your left ring finger.
Of course you’re always stunningly beautiful but tonight you just have a different type of glow to you. He thinks it may be the God he stopped talking to a while ago mocking him for leaving you. You’re prancing around ER, smiling and laughing with your patients sweetly and most importantly, avoiding him. Every time he walks to the nurses desk when you’re thanking them for helping out, you shoot them a smile and turn on your heel.
He doesn’t blame you, he never has. He knows he fucked up last year through your tears and his raised voice. You weren’t together officially and it was a stupid argument over when things were going to move forward, you’d felt like with being a fourth year resident, and in a almost seventh month long situationship with your superior that you’re life was on standstill.
Maybe that’s why you’d been so accepting of your proposal that happened in just ten months of dating, maybe you’d felt like you’re life was finally catching up to you from the past months it’s been still. But you knew seeing Jack tonight would’ve been hard, you knew it because when your now fiancée got down on one knee, a picture of Jack flashed in your eyes. You'd shook it out with closed eyes and a nod of your head, extending your hand down to him.
Jacks standing at the nurses counter, leaning on his elbows as his gaze is locked on you across the room, talking to a patient with a soft rubbing hand on her back, ring catching the light, making Jack clench his jaw when Robby approaches him. He leans next to him, following his gaze straight over to you before Robbys ducking his head and sighing, looking back to Jack. "Listen man-" he starts, putting a hand on Jacks back but as soon as its there its gone, Jacks shrugging him off and walking into a trauma room.
It's been a pretty slow shift, well, considering what's normal anyways. You actually get a chance to slip into the break room and grab a granola bar to eat. Sitting in the chair you sigh and lean back, letting your eyes rest for just a second before you hear the door click open, along with your eyes. You're met with the sight of a deer in headlights Jack frozen in the door, you can feel your breath catch in your throat.
"Sorry I wasn't aware you were in here.." he nods awkwardly, moving to leave. "No-" you speak up, "I mean, it's fine, come in" you nod softly, unwrapping the granola bar and taking a bite, eyes trained on your fingers that work it. He's nodding slowly and almost cautiously walking in, heading to the coffee machine with a clearing of his throat. With his back to you, you finally have the chance to take him in. He's in his usual black scrubs, hair curled and a little damp, probably from the shower he took before work.
When he moves to sit down across from you at the round table you can smell his familiar cologne, making your eyes flutter shut as you take a bite. He sighs a little as he sits, looking over to you. Your eyes finally meet across the table as you swallow. It's silent for a minute before you see his eyes flicker down to your hand and you subconsciously pull it back to your lap, under the table. "So...proposal huh?" he asks, nervous eyes meeting yours. You nod quickly, smiling politely "Yeah, yeah he um- asked me yesterday actually." you say fidgeting with the ring on your finger that rests in your lap.
Jack nods, pushing his tongue to the inside of his cheek before taking a gulp of his coffee and raising an eyebrow. You cock your head a little at it "What was that?" you speak, examining his face. "Hm?" he says through his cup before setting it down. "You did a look." you cross your arms softly. "I didn't do a look." he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. "Jack," the name sounds foreign coming from your mouth in so long and it makes his tense up. "you did a look." you swallow. He sighs and shifts in his seat. "I just..think it was a little quick, that's all" he shrugs looking at you.
Your face scrunches up, a rough scoff coming from your mouth. "You don't know anything about us." you say starting to stand up and Jack sighs, "Okay, okay I'm sorry, listen I'm sorry-" he raises his hands in mock surrender as you turn to him, leaning down to eye level with a sitting him. "Do not talk to me about how to pace my relationship, you've done that enough in the past." you say before turning and storming out of the break room. Jack can smell your shampoo and perfume in the air as you turn and storm off. He lets himself close his eyes and inhale through his nose deeply as the door shuts, leaving him alone in the room.
His gaze falls across the table to your half eaten granola bar and before he knows it his hand snakes across and grabs it, his thumb running where your lips just were before he bites into it. He finishes the bar before tossing it in the trash and leaving the break room. The shift drags on, the sun eventually rising outside the hospital as he trails to the desk to finish his charting and clock out. You're behind him in the chair doing the same when Santos approaches you, "Wifey" she sings teasingly as she leans on the counter looking at you. You chuckle and roll your eyes, typing quickly. Jacks ears perk up, but his body stays facing forward, not typing.
"Let me see that thing again," Santos demands, reaching over to gently grab your left hand. You let her, a small, polite smile playing on your lips, but your ears stay open and you swear you can almost hear Jacks breath hitch. She whistles as she stares at it, chuckling to herself and shaking her head. "Well, if things go south" she drops your hand "you know I'm always devoted to you" she dramatically grabs at her heart and blows you a kiss, making you giggle softly and wave her off.
Finishing your charting you log out, stand and walk to your locker. While you’re gathering your things you feel him behind you. You know it’s him, he’s always had a way of announcing his presence without words. You hear him inhale deeply from behind you. If you were to turn around right now you’d see him with his eyes closed, inhaling the scent of you completely. When you do finally close your locker and turn he’s backed up, sorry eyes staring at you.
“I’m sorry. I was out of place earlier-“ he starts but you hold your hand up, cutting him off. “We don’t have to do this, Jack.” You say, shaking your head and closing your eyes momentarily. “We’re adults, I can be civil with you in my place of work but I don’t have to speak to you after.” You look up at him, eyes meeting his. He stops talking, his mouth shutting and a sad expression falling over his face. Clearing his throat he shakes his head. “Yeah, of course.” He nods firmly before he’s gone, walking away.
The next couple weeks aren’t anything special, a couple lingering glances here and there from both of you but no non patient related conversations.
But this night, this one specific shift nearly did in your entire medical career. It really didn’t start as anything more than a rash on the kid. You’d taken the case nearing the end of your shift, just thinking it’d be an easy one to end the night. Maybe you’d just have to prescribe a cream and some anti inflammatory meds and send her on her way. You sit in her room, tonight was one of those rare ones where all your other patients had gotten discharged and she was all you had left. You talked about everything, her school, your wedding, the newly warm spring weather.
Things went south quickly. You had stepped out for a moment to tell Ellis about her for handoff when suddenly everyone was rushing to her room. Through the sounds of beeping monitors and clinking metal medical tools you couldn’t hear yourself think. Your body moved on instinct, instantly starting compressions while everyone rushed around you, doing everything they can. Between then and now, everyone had taken a step back and were giving you pitiful looks as sweat beads rolled down your face, body moving as you continued your compressions.
You feel a gentle, weary hand on your waist pulling you back into them, your ears are ringing and you can’t hear anything but the flatline of the monitor and Robby mumbling the time of death. You’re frozen in place, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“I was just, ta-I was just talking to her?” You whisper into the silence, not at anyone but yourself, and maybe God. You feel yourself being pulled away but your eyes stay glued confusedly on the girl. When you’re finally pulled out of the room the bright lights and sounds hit you at once. You look down to the heavy hand that’s still wrapped around your waist and thumbing it softly. You recognize it immediately but don’t have any fight in you to pry it off.
You let Jack lead you to your locker, He punches in your code and you make a mental note to get it changed since he still remembers it. He gathers your things as you stand behind him in shock and confusion. Throwing your backpack over his shoulders he takes your hand lightly and leads you to the parking garage. When you notice you’re outside, that fresh morning spring air hitting your face you freeze. The action makes your hand slip out of Jacks, he turns instantly at the loss of you, eyes falling all over your face.
Your eyes are straight ahead and empty. “I, I should’ve caught it.” You whisper. The only sounds that can be heard is the soft sirens of the city, the wind in the trees, and your whisper. “It was simple, it’s a simple routine check. A full body exams for new patients.” Your eyes are still forward, not looking at anything in particular. You talk like you’re confused at yourself. Jack steps closer to you, making your eyes finally snap up to meet his. When they do you can’t hold back anymore. You feel yourself break. Hot tears spilling from your eyes, a sob escaping your lips as you step forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face in his neck and sobbing.
Jack stills for a minute, hands hovering over your back, not sure of what exactly to do before falling over it softly. Rubbing up and down he cups the back of your head, shushing you gently. His own eyes flickering shut for a second. He knows it’s selfish to let himself miss how you use to feel in his arms right now, especially given the circumstances. But he closes his eyes and feels the warmth of your body against his and feels one of his own warm tears fall down his cheek.
You pull back once you’ve come too. Wiping your face with shaky hands and shaking your head. “I’m sorry” you whisper, swallowing thickly. Jack shakes his head, ducking it to follow your gaze. He lifts his hand to brush some hair out of your face gently.
“Don’t apologize,” Jack said, his voice dropping into a rough, quiet register you hadn’t heard from him in over a year. His hand hovered by your face for a second longer, his thumb brushing a final stray tear from your cheekbone before he slowly let it drop. You stepped back, your sneakers scraping against the concrete as you deliberately put distance between you. Jack’s eyes followed the movement. His jaw clenched, a small muscle pulsing in his cheek as he forced his gaze up, looking past you at the city skyline rather than look at the ring. He shifted your backpack on his shoulder, his knuckles turning white around the strap.
“You couldn’t have caught it,” he said, his voice soft, gentle, almost like talking to a scared cat. "whatever the medical examiner finds, it wasn’t a failure of a routine exam. You did everything right. It just moved faster than anyone could've kept up with.” You shook your head, a hollow, breathless laugh escaping your lips. “I was talking to her about her middle school graduation, Jack. She was laughing. Ten minutes later, I'm cracking her ribs. Don't tell me I did everything right.” you start, voice angry and unsteady.
“Hey.” Jack stepped right back into your space, ignoring the distance you’d just tried to create. He didn't touch you, but he was close enough that you could smell the sharp, familiar scent of his cologne cutting through the sterile hospital air. “Look at me.” Slowly, you raised your eyes. “It hurts because you’re a good doctor,” he whispered, his eyes searching yours with a softness. “Don’t let a freak anomaly make you doubt that. You’re the smartest resident this department has. And I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.”
The weight of his validation threatened to break you all over again. You swallowed the lump in your throat, shaking your head weakly as you reached out to take your backpack from his shoulder. Your fingers brushed against his collarbone as you grabbed the strap. “Thank you,” you breathed, pulling the bag over your shoulder, suddenly desperate to break the gravitational pull he still had over you. “For pulling me out of there. For...this.” you sigh softly, feeling that deep exhaustion that creeps in and settles deep in your bones.
Jack cleared his throat, shoving his hands deep into his black scrub pockets as he took a step back, finally giving you room to breathe. “Yeah. Of course. Go home. Get out of these scrubs.” He paused, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek in that frustrating, familiar habit before he added, “Let... let him take care of you today. Don't carry it by yourself.” The mention of your fiancé, even without using his name, hung like lead in the air. You look down instantly and bite your bottom lip, trying not to cry again in front of him. He sighed defeatedly, eyes dropping to his shoes.
You gave a tight, mute nod, turning around and walking toward your car. As you unlocked the door and climbed inside, you looked in the rearview mirror. Jack was still standing under the flickering garage light, hands in his pockets, watching your car back out of the space. He didn't move an inch until you cleared the exit ramp. When you finally unlocked your apartment door, the quiet space felt like a completely different universe. Your fiancé was still asleep, the soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing drifting from the bedroom.
You dropped your bag by the door, completely drained, and sat on the edge of the living room couch. You stared down at the ring on your finger. It was beautiful. It was a promise of a stable, happy future with a man who loved you. But as you leaned your head back against the cushions and closed your heavy eyes, the image that flashed behind your eyelids wasn't the man in the next room. It was Jack, standing in the parking garage, his eyes filled with a desperate, crushing regret that had come exactly one year too late.
A couple days later, sometime around seven you find Jack on the rooftop, looking out at the city. This time, it had been him who'd had a shift from hell. You'd gotten word of what happened to one of his regular patients and knew where to find him, nodding and heading for the staircase. Now, you were standing at the doorway, his back to you about twenty feet away. He knew you were there, because Jack has a weird way of always knowing when your near.
"I was scared." he speaks gently, not turning his head to look at you, eyes trained on the skyline. You tilt your head in confusion, wind blowing softly in your hair. "I was scared because, you're young. You deserve someone who can give you a lifetime together, someone with no baggage." You start towards him, whispering his name. When you come side by side to him he finally turns to you. Eyes and nose red as he takes you in. "But with Cole, tonight-" he sighs, rubbing his temples roughly and looking back out to the city.
“He told me about his wife.” He said plainly. “Told me how she was married before him. They were best friends since childhood.” He bite his lip to hold back tears. “And when she got here, and he was in the viewing room..” he looks over, meeting your concerned eyes. “You wanna know what she said?, ‘we wasted so much time’” he swallows thickly. “And then she let me wheel him out.” He shakes his head, dropping it to his hands.
“Jack-“ you whisper, he cuts you off. “I thought of us.” He says sternly. “I thought about if something happens to me, I wouldn’t be able to call you, to call you my wife, and tell my doctor about how much I love you.” Your breath catches in your throat, eyes starting to sting. “Don’t waste our time.” He whispers.
“Don’t marry him.”
Your breathing stops, a tear slips from your eye as you shake your head. “You can’t ask me that” you whisper, voice breaking. He nods, taking a step towards you. “I know” his voice breaks now too. “But I can beg you, and I can show you how much I love you.” He shakes his head, “and I can pray to a god I don’t believe in for you.” He whispers.
You swallow thickly, pushing your tongue into your cheek to try to stop the tears. “I’m sorry about Cole.” You whisper back, the sound of soft sirens filling the area. “But I have to go.” You shake your head, Jack try’s to reach for your hand, whimpering your name gently but you’re halfway across the roof already.
You know you were both off for the next three days so when you’re fiancée tells you he has a family emergency and has to fly into New York tonight and will be there for the next week you nod softly, kissing him goodbye and shutting the door with a click the silence settles heavy. Alone with your thoughts for two days doesn’t seem like a lot, but with your situation, it was practically two years time for you.
The first day you spent alone you cleaned. You cleaned every fucking inch of your shared apartment in order to keep your mind busy, then you showered and slept. The second day was harder. All your thoughts were Jack. You felt like your head was splitting as you thought of his words. As you thought about Cole and his wife. About how he was there for you when you lost that girl, and your fiancé just frowned and cuddled against you.
By nine you couldn’t take it anymore. Before you can think about what you’re doing you’re grabbing your keys and rushing to your car. The route is familiar, something you could drive with your eyes closed by the amount of times you had in the past. You’re running up the stairs, down the apartment hall and finally pounding on the door.
When Jack answers he’s met by the sight of you, out of breath, hair wind blown, chest heaving and you shaking your head. “I’m here.” You breathe out with a shrug. “I’m here Jack.” Your eyes brim with tears.
On the other side, Jack looks confused, rightfully so. He’s taking you in fully, looking at your body that was obviously rushed out of the house. He’s whispering your name, but is quickly cut off and stumbling back by the feeling of your lips smashing against his. Your hands are cradling his face as you feel him closely desperately.
He’s sighing into it, kissing you back just as desperately. His hands fly to your waist, cradling it softly and he holds you. “I love you” you whisper into his mouth making him groan softly into yours and smile. He’s pulling back first and you’re chasing his lips but he’s holding his hands out, stopping you. “Where, why? Where is he?” He’s whispering, both of you panting and catching your breath. “New York” you whisper back, pushing your lips into his again. He’s pushing you off again. “Why are you here?” You pull back confused. “I don’t want to waste time.” You whisper.
Jack swears he can feel his heart stop right there in his chest. “I’m not marrying him.” You say sternly. Shaking your head and looking at him. Jacks eyes flicker down to the ring on your finger and you’re instantly moving to pull it off, letting it drop on his floor somewhere. His eyes move to yours again and he lunges for you. He’s lifting you up by the back of your thighs, your legs are wrapping around his waist as he kisses you deeply.
The impact of your weight against him sends the apartment door swinging shut, clicking locked behind you as Jack carries you blindly down the short hallway. He doesn’t take his lips off yours for a single second, his mouth moving over yours with a starved desperation that tells you everything about the year he spent empty handed.
Your back hits the wall of his bedroom with a blunt, solid thud, but the impact is cushioned by his hands instantly sliding up from your thighs to cradle the back of your head. He’s pressing into you, chest to chest, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he shifts his kisses from your mouth down to the sensitive line of your jaw, then lower, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You let out a breathless, broken gasp, your fingers tangling tightly into his damp, curled hair, pulling him closer until there is absolutely no space left between you.
"Tell me this is real," Jack groans against your skin, his voice deep and completely wrecked. His hands move down to your waist, his thumbs digging into your hips through your shirt, gripping you so tightly it's almost bruising. "Tell me I'm not dreaming this. Please." "It's real," you whisper, your voice shaking as you press your forehead against his. You look down at him, your hands framing his face, feeling the familiar prickle of his jaw and the heat radiating from his skin. "I’m here, Jack. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."
He lets out a long, shuddering exhale that trembles against your lips before he hooks his arms under your knees again, tossing you gently onto the mattress. The bed is exactly how you remembered it the same charcoal sheets, the same faint, comforting scent of his laundry detergent mixed with that sharp cologne that had haunted your drive over. Before you can even settle into the pillows, Jack is over you, his knees framing your hips, his eyes dark and wide as he looks down at you.
For a second, he just stares. His gaze traces the pink on your cheeks, the frantic pulse beating against your throat, and the bare, empty space on your left ring finger. A muscle in his jaw twitches, a sudden wave of possessiveness washing over his features. "You're mine," he roughly whispers, "You're always going to be mine." "I am," you breathe, reaching up to tug at the hem of his t-shirt.
He sheds his clothes with a frantic, clumsy urgency that is so unlike the cool, collected Dr. Abbot you see in the trauma bays. When he slides back down against you, skin to skin, the sheer warmth of him makes your eyes flutter shut. Every touch feels magnified, every press of his fingers against your bare skin a slow rewriting of the past twelve months. He moves over you with an agonizing slowness now, as if he's trying to memorize the texture of your skin all over again, making up for every day he had to watch you from across the nurses station.
He starts to kiss down your body but you whine in objection, pulling his face back up to yours, "Please, just need my Jackie, please" you whimper. When he finally pushes into you, it’s a deep, breathless fullness that makes you arch your back, a soft sob escaping your lips straight into his mouth. Jack catches the sound, drinking it in, his movements steady and heavy, driving you both into a rhythm. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire time.
You can hear the sound of his skin slapping with yours as he pumps into you. He's groaning into your neck as your gummy walls spasm around his cock. He feels you clench around him after a while and nods, "Yeah? Gonna come for me?" you're nodding while he whispers repeatedly how much he loves you, clenching and coming around him. Jack collapses down into your neck, his chest heaving, his heart hammering violently against your ribs as he holds you so tightly you can barely breathe.
The room gradually cools, the silence of the night settling back over the apartment. Jack shifts, rolling onto his side but keeping you securely anchored against his chest, one heavy leg draped over yours. His hand rests flat against your stomach, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles into your skin.
You lie there in the dark, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, the adrenaline finally beginning to drain from your system. The crushing weight of exhaustion from the last few days settles deep into your bones, but for the first time in a year, your chest doesn't feel tight.
Jack shifts beside you, lifting himself up on one elbow to look down at your face. He reaches out, his fingers gently pushing a few stray, damp strands of hair away from your forehead. His eyes are incredibly soft, the fierce desperation from earlier replaced by a quiet, protective stillness. "You're exhausted," he murmurs, his rough voice vibrating in the quiet room. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, his hand moving up to cup your jaw. "Sleep. I've got you."
You swallow thickly, nodding against his hand as your eyelids grow too heavy to keep open. As you drift off, sinking into the familiar warmth of his embrace, there are no images flashing behind your eyes to scare you. You're exactly where you belong.
