#liv's fic

[barbieaemond]

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting  to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos." 

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror. 

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

#likiri #liv(in la vida loca) #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x wife reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #hotd fic

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

title card by my sweet love @inklore 🤍

before // during // after

a story about second chances.

summary: you meet joel miller long before the world implodes. a summer fling that ends before it really has a chance to begin. (the before) the world ends and your lives are ripped apart at the seams. joel finds his way to boston almost five years later, and finds a new version of you he isn’t expecting. (the during) refusing to leave joel again, you leave boston with him and tess to bring ellie where she needs to go. (the after)

warnings: canon-typical violence/injuries, swearing, angst, trauma, allusions/description of PTSD, grief, death, unprotected p-in-v, oral (f and m receiving), spit play, ass play, super light dominance, badass reader, non-canon joel miller (like, still canon but not EXACTLY canon, ya feel me?)

title from the noah kahan song of the same name - you can find it here and the strawberry wine playlist here.

part 10 onwards, reader is a named OC, still written in reader format, as little description as possible! read more about Liv here.

read on ao3

before

part one

part two

part three

part four

during

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

part eleven

part twelve

part thirteen

part fourteen

part fifteen

part sixteen

part seventeen

part eighteen

part nineteen

part twenty

after

part twenty-one

part twenty-two

part twenty-three

part twenty-four

part twenty-five

part twenty-six

part twenty-seven

part twenty-eight

part twenty-nine

part thirty

part thirty-one

part thirty-two

part thirty-three

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Reap What You Sow ~Post-S21!Daddy!Olivia Benson xFem Sub!Reader

Summary— Set in post season 21, where Liv is Captain. Reader decides to tease Olivia throughout the day and smutty punishment ensues later that night when Liv can finally do something about it…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, fingering, semi-public smut, spanking, daddy kink, degradation, praise, implied orgasm denial, degradation kink, praise kink, impact play, teasing, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

Your head hung low, over your shoulders and over the woman’s knees. It was after hours and you were bent over Olivia’s lap in her office. With another sharp crack to your barren ass, you jolted up slightly and let out a desperate mewl.

“Six—teen Daddy!!” You cried out.

You expect to feel another sharp smack to your ass, but instead you felt the woman’s hand gently rubbing your pink flesh.

“That’s it, such a good girl for Daddy.” Olivia cooed.

Pretty soon, her fingers trailed in between your legs and past your panties. She found your slick core, drenched in arousal, so wet it made you dizzy.

“Ooh Baby you’re soaked…” Liv purred, “Did Daddy make you this way…?”

You nodded vigorously, as one of her digits swiped through your folds.

“Yes yes all for Daddy, so wet for Daddy…!” You mewled.

After bringing her arousal coated digit up to her mouth and licking your juices clean off, the brunette gently caressed and squeezed your supple skin. Your body was left burning for more.

“Have you learned your lesson, sweetie…?” Liv condescendingly cooed.

You nodded vigorously.

“Yes Daddy yes yes please…!” You pled, “I’m sorry mm sorry—!”

“Sorry for what, baby…?”

“Mmm sorry for dressing up…! Sorry for distracting you!”

“You mean, you’re sorry for dressing like a slut, right…?? Daddy’s girl can’t just show up to work dressed to whore herself out… no matter whether Daddy will see her or not…” Liv spat.

You bit your lip and tensed up, as her digits dug into your left ass check possessively as she spoke. You let out a desperate mewl and nodded swiftly.

“Yes Daddy, I’m sorry please…!! I’m sorry I’m such a slut, can’t help it Daddy!” You babbled.

Your ass was smacked with a swift Crack!! again. This one went all to your core, as you felt your juices start to leak down your thighs.

“Oooooh Seventeen D-daddy!!” You cowled.

“Beg Daddy to give you mercy.” Liv demanded.

“P-please please Daddy— I… I need you Daddy!! I need your cock or your fingers or your mouth or anything Daddy please… I’ll be good I promise, Mmm so sorry Daddy pleaseee…!!” You begged.

In one fluid motion, two of Olivia’s fingers snaked back in between your legs and slid inside your gushing cunt. They pumped and curled inside you, making your toes curl and your mouth foam. You wanted to scream in pleasure, but you bit your tongue.

“Such a good girl for Daddy…” Liv cooed lustfully.

~~~

Olivia Benson Masterlist

#daddy!olivia benson #daddy Olivia benson #daddy!olivia #daddy!benson #olivia benson x reader #olivia benson #liv benson #Olivia benson smut #Olivia benson x reader smut #Olivia benson fanfiction #Olivia benson fic #mariska hargitay #mariska hartigay #law and order svu #svu #svu25 #l&o svu #svu fic #svu smut #svu fanfiction #svu x reader #law and order #law and order special victims unit #law and order fanfiction #law and order fic #law and order x reader #law & order #law & order svu #law & order special victims unit #semi public sex

[cosmicflw3rr]

things we’ve never said.

dominik mysterio x fem!reader

summary: you and dom have been friends for as long as you can remember, but when he begins to distance himself from you, everything falls apart. will you crumble under the weight of it all and confess your true feelings to him?

A/N: I could not come up with a good title for thiss.. 😭 also this is my first time ever writing on here so lmk how you guys feel about itt.

you and dom have been close friends since you were young. growing up with parents in the WWE, you and him would hang out whenever your parents brought you to work.

throughout the years the two of you remained close, the both of you following in your parents footsteps and becoming wwe wrestlers. you and him becoming inseparable, since you got drafted to raw.

even though he was in the judgment day, and you were making a name for yourself, you always found a way to support and be there for each other.

as time passed, it hit you that dom was gradually drifting from you. the post-show hangouts you both used to have were replaced by solo nights in your hotel room, binging your favorite show.

and you traded in your late-night waffle house trips for early morning trips to the hotel gym, trying to clear your mind.

while the friendship you shared with dom started to fade, his connection with rhea only grew stronger, leaving you to deal with your thoughts.

you could feel yourself fading into the background, witnessing all the moments that once belonged to you and dom now being shared with her instead.

avoiding both of them had become your new routine, yet there was only so much you could do when your job meant crossing paths every week, making escape almost impossible.

but you held your own. there were times you’d run into dominik but you’d just ignore him and pretend you didn’t hear him.

you were doing your best to try and move on from the situation, but your attempts at ignoring reality only caused you pain.

when your paths would cross it was like your entire body was consumed in pain as you watched them be happy together even if it was just for a second.

you could try and hold yourself together all you want, but it felt like your heart was ripping apart every time you saw them.

you had been sitting backstage waiting for your time to go out to the ring, you had a match against becky lynch. you were just waiting for rhea to get done with her call out promo.

the air in the ring was tense from their ongoing feud, full of sharp words and taunts. you felt a twinge of nerves, not just for the match but because dom was always rhea's shadow, and tonight was no exception.

glancing at the screen, you saw rhea laying down her final words, with dom looming behind her like a puppy.

your leg instinctively started bouncing up and down, dreading the inevitable awkwardness that came with being anywhere near dom. It was just one of those things that made you wish you were anywhere else.

rhea's theme hit, and she strutted out of the ring, her and dom making their way backstage slowly, nibbling on your lip to find some calm. someone sat down in the seat next to you, but you were too wrapped up in your own head to notice.

a moment passed, then a familiar voice cut through, "hey, you okay?" you glanced over to find liv, a good friend of yours, looking at you with concern. you pulled yourself together and offered a small, convincing-enough smile.

“oh- yeah, I'm good," you responded, as much as you liked to think you had a good poker face you didn’t. and liv saw right through you.

"if its about the match don’t worry, you’ll kill it." she said slowly, a touch of uncertainty in her tone. "but something tells me that's not it."

releasing a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, you asked with a hint of humor, "Is it that obvious?" liv was clued in on everything; you two had become closer ever since you and dom stopped talking. she had become your ride-or-die.

she just shrugged and said, "no, I just know things." as you rolled your eyes with a smile. right then, a crew member gave the five-minute warning. you rose to get moving, but liv called out to you. "y/n/n."

turning to face her, "everything's gonna be okay." you gave her a soft smile and sent a playful kiss her way before heading to the curtains.

as you approached, rhea slipped through them holding her title over her shoulder without a glance your way. but when dom passed by, his gaze found yours.

In that quick moment, your heart skipped a beat, time seemed to stop, stretching the seconds out endlessly. a series of unspoken questions and unresolved issues hovered in the space between you two. that look between you two spoke more than words ever could.

it was the first direct eye contact you'd made with him in weeks. and just like that, it was over, the moment ending as quickly as it had arrived.

he passed by, his gaze leaving you and locking on rhea, and that strange, churning sensation in your belly returned. It was puzzling, a feeling you couldn't quite name.

suddenly, your theme rung out. you took a breath placing yourself in your confident persona, you’d walked out to the ramp beaming that confident grin with your arms wide, you soaked up the the cheers of the crowd washing over you like a wave.

you found yourself forgetting about everything, right now it wasn’t about you. it was about your fans. and one thing you weren’t going to do was let your personal life interfere with your job.

strutting down the ramp, you exchanged grins and nods with the fans, their excitement mirroring your own. slipping between the ropes, you blew the audience a kiss before sauntering to your designated corner.

crouching, anticipation tingling through you, you waited for the signal.

ding! ding! ding!

The bell's ringing sent your heart racing—it was go time. you and becky lunged at each other, each fighting for control, neither of you letting up.

becky dashed toward the ropes, bouncing off with momentum, but you were ready and landed a superkick right to her face. she stumbled backward, and you quickly went for the your finisher, a ripcord flatliner. as soon as becky’s body hit the mat you pushed her shoulders down and went for the cover.

1! 2! 3!

your music echoed throughout the arena, signaling the end of the match. shifting off becky, you settled onto your knees, a cocky grin spreading across your face as you swept your hair back, basking in the applause. a quick swipe of your tongue over your teeth, and you rose to your feet, ready to soak it all in.

the referee walked up next to you, lifting your right hand high, the crowd's cheers roaring louder. when your hand eventually lowered, you took a moment to look around at the cheering fans before making your exit backstage.

as the curtain fell behind you, liv was there, her voice lilting with enthusiasm. "you did amazing!" she chirped, the melody of her praise ringing in your ears.

you grin was wide, a mix of relief lighting up your face. "thanks," you replied with a shrug. "how about grabbing drinks later?" you asked.

liv's expression was priceless, her mouth agape before she shot you a look that screamed, 'Is that even a question?'

"hell yea we should. want me to invite sam and nat?" she bounced back, her enthusiasm infectious.

you gave a nod, the exhaustion of the night seeping into your voice. "I don’t mind.” you admitted, feeling exhausted. “I just really need a drink." you admitted.

liv wrapped you in a comforting hug, her hand soothing your back. "you've earned it," she whispered, pulling away only to hold your gaze. "i have to shoot a backstage promo now, so I'll catch you tonight, okay?"

with a nod, you exchanged goodbyes, each heading your separate ways. as you walked through the arena backstage to get to the locker room, the post-match adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

turning a corner you suddenly bumped into someone. you looked up to see dom, your heart picked up its pace. the two of you looking at each other, after a moment of no words and eye contact you had to get out of there.

you managed a strained smile, thoughts whirling as you sought an escape. "sorry," you mumbled, already sidestepping away.

but dom's hand clasped your forearm, halting you. you glanced from his eyes to where he touched you. his hold was gentle, yet insistent, something you hadn’t felt in a while. It almost felt foreign to you. "wait, we need to talk," he said firmly, his gaze digging deep for an answer you weren't prepared to give.

the air thickened with his words, an unspoken acknowledgment that whatever was going on between the two of you couldn’t be ignored forever

your expression hardened, as you withdrew your arm from his grasp. "not now dominik," you told him, abandoning the nickname you usually used when talking to him.

dom's face was a picture of tension, his jaw clenched tight. "then when?" he pressed, his words hitting you hard. "when's the right time gonna be? why have you been avoiding me?" you could hear the sincerity in his voice, the raw need for an answer lingering in the air.

the words hit you like a hurricane, leaving you momentarily frozen, brows knitted together. "don't pretend you care now," you spat out, the words sharper than intended, as you finally faced your tangled emotions head-on.

dom looked taken aback. "what are you talking about?" he retorted, his guard up.

"you've been distant for weeks, but obviously, you didn't notice because you're too wrapped up with rhea, right?"

"that's not true, I—"

your heart pounding as you locked eyes with dom. "no—I've been there for you through everything, and now you just push me away for them, for her," you said, the hurt in your voice unmistakable.

dom looked taken aback, his own anger subsiding as he realized the depth of your pain. "push you away? that's not what I'm trying to do," he protested, but you cut him off.

"but it’s exactly what you did! god I-" you looked away from him as your eyes filled with tears. you bit your lip hoping to stop. you didn’t feel like crying in front of him.

the tears overwhelmed you, there were far to much that you couldn’t hide it. as you blinked the tears escaped, you hastily wiped them. you looked at him. “you pushed me away and it hurt-“ you told him your voice breaking.

“y/n/n-” dom’s features softened, you looked around trying to avoid looking at his eyes.

"and I hate feeling this way, and I wish I didn’t care but I do. because I'm in love with you, dom. I have been for so long." your words hung heavy in the air, and your eyes welled up, the tears you'd fought to keep at bay now tracing hot paths down your cheeks. "this sort of thing was never meant to happen," you said your voice breaking, a sob catching in your throat.

dom's anger dissolved and his arms were around you in an instant. "hey, hey, don't cry, I hate it when you cry." your arms instinctively wrapped around him, as your tears fell silently.

the hug was a deep, tight one, like he was holding you as if you were the only thing keeping him standing. no words were spoken, but the tension in your body melted away as you leaned into him, his mere presence calming your racing heart.

the hug seemed to stretch on forever, dom's hand gently threading through your hair as you rested your head against his chest, tears falling silently.

eventually, he drew back, cupping your cheeks as he met your gaze with tenderness, brushing away your tears and moving your hair out of your face gently. he missed you. so god damn much.

"I—y/n/n..." dom's voice wavered as he looked into your eyes, his emotions laid bare for you to see.

after a moment of silence, he spoke softly. "i've been wanting to tell you... but was so afraid of losing you and messing things up. i just..."

"i..." he spoke up again but stopped himself mid-sentence. "i've been avoiding you... because of the way i feel. and i thought if i tried to hide it and put some distance between us, it would go away."

his eyes bore into yours, making sure you were taking in everything he was saying. "i was wrong." your heart seemed to stop, leaving you momentarily speechless as you struggled to find the right words.

"i'm in love with you," he said.

his words hung in the air, lingering in the space between the two of you. he continued, “i was an idiot, and i thought if i kept us away, i could just make these feelings go away. but when i finally had some time to actually think... i realized i've loved you all along, and I'm done pretending like we can just be friends."

"i've never looked at anyone else the way I look at you, y/n/n." he murmured, his touch gentle against your cheek. "being with you just feels so natural. i can't hide how i feel anymore. please," his voice quivered, the words barely making their way out, "let me make things right."

dom's hand gently cradled your jaw, tilting his head as he gazed into your eyes. "can I..." he started, his voice trailing off.

you nodded, your eyes flickering between his and his eyes and his lips. "yes."

his lips met yours in a tender kiss, the embrace deepening as you both became lost in the moment.

it was a moment you had yearned for, and as your hearts raced and time seemed to stand still, it felt like a dream come true.

dom pulled back after a moment, his lips trailing away from yours. you could tell he was still processing the moment, his breaths coming in quick and shallow spurts as he tried to regain his composure.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” his eyes studying you as he took in every detail.

you smiled softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "me too." you admitted,

dom's eyes lit up at your confession, a grin spreading across his face. Without another word, he leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss, this one more confident and eager than the last. you melted into his embrace, feeling happiness wash over you.

dom rested his forehead against yours. "i don't want to wait any longer," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "I want to be with you, in every way possible."

your smile widened, every moment, every obstacle, had led you to this point, and in that moment, it all felt worth it. "that's all I've ever wanted too," you replied, your voice filled with emotion.

dom smiled and engulfed you in a warm hug, lifting you off the ground and twirling you around. your joyful squeal filled the air as he gently set you down, peppering kisses on your lips that made you smile. "let's grab some food, I'm starving," he suggested.

"of course you are," you teased, playfully rolling your eyes at his mock-offended expression. he shook his head, then wrapped his arm around your shoulder as the two of you started walking.

the two of you reached catering, you noticed liv and natalya at a table and subtly intertwined your hands with dom's. "um, i'll catch up with you in a sec?" you said, releasing his hand to approach the table.

taking a seat, liv and natalya exchanged knowing glances as they looked at you with anticipation. "hey, girlie," natalya greeted with a playful smirk. "i'm ready for those drinks tonight!" she added, with a little shimmy that made liv burst into laughter.

as the excitement filled the air, you hesitated before breaking the news. "about that..." the two women turned their heads to look at you, their expressions shifting to curiosity. "sooo, how about we rain check on the drinks tonight?" you suggested, catching liv's curious gaze as you awaited their response.

"why?" she inquired, prompting you to glance back at dom, who was already heading towards the table. bracing yourself, you sat back as he casually draped his arm over your chair.

turning your attention from him to liv and natalya, who looked utterly shocked, you nervously chuckled. "yeah," you admitted.

"i told you!" liv exclaimed loudly, laughing and sharing a glance with natalya. confusion lingered as you and dom exchanged looks before refocusing on the two women in front of you. natalya shook her head, putting her head in her hands. "I told you," she muttered.

liv sprang up, doing a little dance with a bright smile on her face. "did you guys bet on us?" you asked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

liv stopped her dance, still beaming. "nope, just might've challenged natalya on when you two would make up," she revealed.

you rolled your eyes, laughing. "of course you did." you guys began talking about the upcoming pay-per-view event. focused in the conversation, you felt a sudden warmth as dom's hand found yours under the table.

glancing down at your intertwined hands resting on his lap, you couldn't help but smile at the sweet gesture. despite the subtle display of affection, you decided to refocus on listening to liv and natalya.

this is exactly where you wanted to be.

#wwe x reader #nxt x reader #aew x reader #rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #the judgement day #the judgment day x reader #dominik mysterio x reader #dominik mysterio #wwe fanfiction #wwe #nxt #raw #aew #finn balor x reader #fanfic #finn balor #liv morgan x reader #liv morgan #wwe x you #wwe fic #natalya #natalya x reader #wwe imagine #wwe imagines #wwe fanfic #dominik mysterio imagine #dom dom

[444rockstargf]

My mom passed away yesterday and I am in desperate need of a comfort fic with Spencer Reid </3

my most heartfelt condolences, anon. :(( i pray that everything turns around for the better for you.

₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ "𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬." | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: reader x spencer

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 430

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: fluffy drabble, spencer comforts reader

silence draped over you and spencer like a warm blanket.

tears rolled down your cheeks as you choked out pained yet quiet sobs, your body rocking slightly. his arms were locked around you, pulling you into a long hug and letting your tears saturate his t-shirt. he didn’t mind it at all.

you curled up into a ball, the pillow underneath your head completely soaked. spencer rubbed slow, gentle circles onto your back and pressed a kiss to your forehead before making you lift up your head so that he could exchange your wet pillow with his dry one.

you felt a pang of pain in your chest as he did this, the simple action representing how he always put your burdens upon himself. you felt as if you didn’t deserve his kindness, and another wave of heavy sobs hit you. a pounding sensation flooded your head, making the room spin.

spencer sighed deeply, sitting up from the bed and leaning back against the headboard. he pulled your head onto his lap, looking down at you as he stroked your tear-strained cheek gently. “hey, look at me…” you swallow hard, managing to wipe away a few of the tears that clouded your vision. 

he held your chin with the same tenderness that would be used for an infant. “i’ve never seen you this sad before…” your heart broke at the shakiness of his voice. seeing you in this state was killing him on the inside. he took a deep shaky breath before pulling you up, setting your body onto his lap and giving you a soft kiss on the nose.

“i know this hurts, my love. but you will never be alone as long as i live.” he took your hands into his to still their shaking. “i promise that i will be with you until you get through this.” his voice broke as tears began to swell in his eyes. “it gets better, baby. i promise…“ he held you close to his, the tenderness of his massages helping your heartrate to still.

he looked up at you, his eyes glistening ever so slightly. “remember, it’ll always be you and i. and nothing will ever change that.” he smiled a little, making you do the same as you sniffled. he laid back down with your body on top of his, rubbing the same patterns onto your back as you closed your eyes. silence falls over you once again as he does the same. as you two drift off to sleep, he manages to mutter one last thing:

“i love you…”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #bau team #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler #whoisspence #mgg pics #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanart #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #video games #born to die #lana del rey #444rockstargf #comfort #liv drabbles. ⋆⭒˚.⋆⚝

[heich0e]

No because thank you for putting sukuna as best friends big bro into my head. You’re the one who started it for me and I love you for it

I can’t get him out of my head. Being bullied by him as a kid and becoming besties with yuuji, growing up together until sukuna goes to college and you don’t see him for a good few years because you end up going to a different college too. Finally you come back home to visit. It’s been way too long and damn he looks fine. Shoulders have widened, his thighs are twice the size and his hands?????? Dear god, he could probably grab both your hands in one hand.

Imagine the holiday you decide to visit during is Christmas??? I wanna see him in an ugly Xmas jumper so bad

I WANT TO POUNCE ON HIM SO BAD

heheheh you r very welcome little guy!!

he bullies you looooong after you can rly be considered a kid, it's like.. the only way he knows how to communicate with you.

in my particular AU, sukuna goes away for college but when he and yuuji's grandpa dies, he drops out and moves home to take care of his little brother. you and yuuji are still only in high school at that point, but you remember seeing sukuna again for the first time at the funeral, dressed in a black suit that doesn't fit him quite right. his eyes were strangely vacant the whole time, like he was mourning the loss of more than just his only surviving parental figure, and you couldn't help but watch as he accepted the condolences offered from the attending guests with a nod or few words. that day you stuck close to yuuji, coping worse with their grandfather's passing than his older brother, but sukuna would come to check on him often throughout the wake and each time you had a hard time meeting his eyes.

you visit them frequently in the days following (it's only a few doors away after all, since you've always been neighbours.) you bring food your mother sends to them. help clean up their apartment when you can. over time normalcy returns to the itadori home—or at least a new normal. new routines replacing old ones, like a silvery scar settling into skin once a wound knits itself closed. you're happy to be a part of their life. grateful to be of help where you can. glad that their new normal includes you, too.

#liv got mail #ALSO I HAD A BIG BRO SUKUNA CHRISTMAS FIC IDEA AND I THINK THIS ASK ENABLED ME BUT I WONT SAY ANYTHING ABT IT YET #big brother!sukuna #jjk hcs

[bluishfrog]

Inspired by "brandy" by justcallme_m (@livingproofoftbd)

Fic Art Friday - event tag - event description

#i can never decide if I love or hate drawing hair like on one hand it's fun but on the other hand it drives me nuts #fic art friday #bluishfrog art #dnf fanart #dream fanart #georgenotfound fanart #not tagging this with 'liv' is extremely weird to me cause you are liv to me so -> #liv tag

[barbieaemond]

And I dream of a grave

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: angst (!), smut, too many references to graves/burying, mentions of Blood & Cheese, miscommunication, Aemond's coping mechanism is violence and sex, in this order (good for him)

Word count: 3.8k

Author's note: the gif is self explanatory. This is a prequel to A Curse for a Curse, but can be read as a standalone. Big thank you to @irenadel for giving me the idea and being one of the most supportive souls <3

Taglist: @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @multyfangirl

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language

This is more than tempting the Gods. This is forsaking and impudently turning their backs on them.

As she sits down at the banquet, her mother’s words echo through her mind like the vexing sound of the wind on a storm’s night. It sets an unpleasant weight on her lungs, the close and yet shapeless feel of something dreadful. She’s almost grateful, looking around, to ascertain she’s not the only fool dreading this whole act.

The Dowager Queen sits at the table, barely able to contain a grimace. Queen Helaena, she is certain, has never looked so pale, her eyes so vacuous and yet so full of something unknown, elusive, smoke clouding and clearing her unnatural stare. The Hand has conveniently made himself absent. She can’t blame him. Actually, she envies him. If only she too could have been spared such a farce. But as the wife of the King’s brother, the very one they’re all supposed to celebrate tonight, she cannot do that, can she?

To cheers and the blaring of trumpets, the King enters shoulder to shoulder with his brother, tall and proud in his stride, wearing dark green velvet for such a special occasion, and such a special title.

“Do you know how they’re going to call you from now on?” the Queen Mother had asked when he came back from Storm’s end, dripping rain and mud and war.

“I do, Mother.” Aegon had answered, twisting a knife from his seat at the head of the table; she had never caught that glint of satisfaction in his eyes, not like that; it wasn’t dimmed by wine or flesh, but sharp as the blade in his hand. “A title he should be proud of.”

Pride was ever the easiest thing to wear for Aemond, the softest glove gliding on his skin, born out of a pit so deep and full of insecurities and negligence that that same endless depth had grown out of proportion in order to fill itself. To even try scratching his pride was like trying to climb the highest mountain with bare hands. She had cut her palms open to do so.

“What happened, Aemond?” she had asked once alone in their chambers.

“You know what happened.”

“What really happened?”

His good eye had pierced her as if she were made of crystal, but his jaw was too set, on the verge of breaking his own teeth if he carried on keeping the guilt, and truth, trapped inside.

“I didn’t want to.” He whispered, coming down from the peak, “I didn’t want to kill him. I only wanted—”

“Revenge? Well, you had it. Did it make you feel good? Did you bring that boy peace at last?”

It took him a lifetime to say no; a whispered sound, choked even, as if he had bitten off his tongue to get it out of that pit where he had never looked again.

He was biting his tongue in the council, the faintest clench in his jaw but here, here in the council, here in the world, he had to keep that pit buried and stand straight on the highest peak, looking up and up, never down, never back. How could he, how could he admit he had lost control. It was easier, safer, to let them think of him a monster, rather than just human.

“I salute you, brother.” The King had said, raising his cup “True blood of the dragon! We shall have a feast in your honor!" Otto had merely lowered his head in defiance, going unnoticed in the eyes of his King and grandson, drunk with power and finally free of his mother's leash, unaware that a golden noose now held him in check.

He had summoned jesters, musicians, even some dancers to coddle his brother, and raise him higher and higher. She imagined she just had to wait for the fall. Or perhaps pray to the Seven to overlook the insult, to keep a mortal up there with them for a little more. But then again, they shouldn’t ask the Gods for mercy. Someone more unforgiving, more bloodthirsty. Someone who, just as her husband and his brother and each one of their cursed dynasty, did not listen to either Gods or men.

“A toast!” the King says at one point, turning to his left. “To my brother Aemond and a long overdue justice, is it not?”

Out of courtesy and duty, she grabs her cup and raises it, but as everyone at the table sips their wine, all she tastes is contempt, and the cup hits the surface untouched. But not unseen.

“Brother, wine may cloud my judgment, but it seems to me that your beloved wife does not share the sentiment of this fine evening. I wonder why.”

She holds the King’s demanding stare with a firm one, aware of Aemond looking at her even if his eye is fixed on the table. He has ignored her for the whole night, not sparing her a single glance. Because she owns the truth, doesn’t she, and it’s a knife pointed at his back.  

“May I speak my mind, your Grace?”

There’s the slightest shift in Alicent’s posture, as if she were desperately waiting for her, or anyone, to cease all of this, to say this isn’t right.

Aegon pulls a thin, lazy smile and tilts his silver head, swirling his cup. “Why, of course, Princess. My brother tells me you have a habit of doing so.”

“Did he, now?” she resists the urge to scoff; such a despicable habit for a woman in this world.

“Fret not, good sister, I’m certain he holds no grudges against you for your silver tongue.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain too, your Grace. I know for a fact that he likes it.”

A few lords can do very little to hold their snickering, Aegon himself does not hide his malicious smirk, petty at the edges. It must run in the blood.

“Careful though, you don’t want to spend too much time talking, lest you leave my poor brother without any heir! It’s been a while since you two lovebirds tied the knot, isn’t that right?”

She glances beside her, surely Aemond won’t let that slight insult pass, but he stays still and silent like a statue. She can’t quite believe what she’s witnessing. This is the same man who would call the crowned head at the table wastrel, depraved, disgrace.

So much for a disgrace, now that he fosters your pride and lies.

“I can assure you, good brother, that the talking is well outweighed by other activities that involve very few words.”

Aegon plasters a big grin on his face, yet she’s not finished. “But perhaps the Gods are sparing me the burden of bringing a child in such troubled times. A realm at war is not the best place to live in, is it not?”

“It depends on which side you’re on, Princess.”

There’s suspicion in his tone, but she just blinks at him. “My apologies, I was not aware that my loyalty to your House, and my husband’s, was to be questioned.”

“Come now. We are bound by what if not words?”

“I was under the impression that the Crown should fear his own kin more than a simple foreign girl from the West.”

At that, Helaena lets out a strange noise, something close to a wince, and silence falls all over. It is only now that Aemond undoes the stone he walled himself in and acts as he always does when he feels belittled, or worse, threatened. He shuts her out.

“I’m afraid my wife is growing tired, brother. ’Tis best for her to retire.”

She bites her tongue and turns her head. There’s no mistake in his tone, that is an order. She stares at him and he stares back, blankly, and then, just as it is expected of her, she obeys.

She goes without saying a word, aware of Aemond’s eye on her, of Aegon’s little victorious giggle. He snaps his fingers and two dancing girls flock to his brother. She knows this because she can’t resist but turning before disappearing. The girls are said to come from Lys, no less. But he’s not sparing them a single glance. His eye follows her out of the hall, and even after.

Candles almost extinguished, casting a soft glow in the bedchamber, dim but enough to make the shape of her body visible under the covers.

“I know you’re pretending to be asleep.” He says, placing his dagger and eyepatch on the nightstand.

She doesn’t bother to wait a single moment to fly her eyes open. “Was I not supposed to pretend I was tired?”

When she gets no answer, she turns to face him, finding him on his feet near the bed, undoing the buttons of his doublet. His eye is on her, though, wide, as someone ready to hunt but seeing traps everywhere.

“Did you enjoy your feast?” she asks with piqued interest. “Such a shame that I missed most of it. I was eager to watch the girls from Lys dance. How were they?”

“Enough. You should thank me for dismissing you. You were bordering on high treason.”

“Since when telling the truth is considered high treason?”

“Is that what you were going to say? The truth? To make me look like a fool in front of the whole court?”

“I was only going to say that the feast was an insult and a challenge to the Gods or any common sense. And I know that beneath all the pats on the shoulder and the endorsement on your brother’s part, you are of the same mind.” she hopes to see the barest glimpse of validation on his face, at least here, where he can leave behind his pride and admit he made a mistake. Is that what you call starting a war?

But his expression is as closed as ever, wary.

She wishes it would hurt less than it does. “Of all the people ready to betray you, how quick you are to assume I’d be the first.”

“We’re bound by words, are we not?”

“Take your brother off your mouth.” She says absentmindedly; she tries to not let it sting, but it does anyway. It is a low blow, and she knows he does not believe it. He has raised the walls, coiling like a snake, and there’s no point trying to climb and risk cracking her skull open on the ground. She will have to wait for him to come down. “Then perhaps I should consider my father’s proposal.”

She leaves the bed and grabs a letter lying open on the desk. “He wrote me this letter. That is why my mother came all the way here, apparently to see how her daughter was faring.”

Aemond eyes it with the barest twitch in his lips, then looks up into her eyes and, with a sigh, she clears her throat.

“My dearest daughter,

It is with great concern and sadness that I write you this letter.

Words have reached me about the recent events involving Storm’s End and young Prince Lucerys’ demise. My spirits are low when thinking of the fate you’re enduring. But I want you to think carefully of this: annulments are rare but possible. Even more so since you bore no heirs yet. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins. I only need a word from you, daughter, and I shall hastily consult with a High Septon.”

She can barely register his arm moving, only sees his hand snatching the letter out of her grip, crumpling the paper between his fingers. Nostrils flaring, eye widening, she reads insult all over his face. About time.

“Is that it, Aemond? Is that the reason you’d think I would betray you? Because I didn’t bleed on a birthing bed yet? Is that how you measure my loyalty? What of all the times I drew your bath, washed your hair, pulled the boots off your feet? What about that curtain—“ she adds, pointing to the windows “and the fact that I told the maid to keep that side always closed so the sun will not bother your eye? Do you think I did all of this because of some empty words?”

He looks as if she has just slapped him. Mistrust and bewilderment run together all over his sharp features, trying to win one another, and she waits and waits, and she begs as all the purest things must be pleaded, wordlessly.

Come down. Come down. Lay down with me. In our bed, a grave, it matters not. I'll take the shovel and do the burying.

But he stands still on his high and cursed perch, the grip on the letter loosens, his shoulders slump a little, because this, this comes so easily. Violence. It’s the other glove he wears like second skin.

“You will write to your father and tell him if I hear another word about annulments, I will have his head for treason. And as for you… you tell a living soul what you know, and you shall join the Silent Sisters. You won’t even have to vow your silence, for I shall take your sharp tongue first.”

She watches him go, standing in the middle of the room like a fool; her hands bleeding still and a plea, unheard, choking to death in her chest.

Her hands heal, stay whole for so long. She feels she cannot reach him this time, no matter how hard she tries to climb. She finds no footholds, no inlets, until she stops looking for any.

She finds she has no strength to do it anymore. They’re all dead anyway, each of them in their own way, their own burial.

The king drinks and rages and drinks and rages. Helaena rocks on herself all day long, chasing the highs and lows of her laments. Jaehaera stares at her mother with her small lips sewn, her eyes wide and the Queen Mother weeps and weeps, wondering if the little girl is watching her mother go mad with grief or yet again her twin brother’s head rolling on the ground like one of her toys.

And Aemond…she does not know where Aemond chose to bury himself. He spends the day out, trying to escape the smothering grip of the Stranger’s claws, his curse…or is it only retribution?

Sometimes he’s in the training yard, sometimes that same yard becomes theater for revenge. He kills whoever helped Blood and Cheese enter the Keep, man or woman, he doesn’t care. He tortures them, and she wants to beg him to stop, to tell him that torturing one, two, or one hundred men won’t stop guilt from torturing him.

So, he wanders restlessly, basks in small and big cruelties, until the sun sets and she’s aware, as the bed dips under his weight, that she is his own burial. He takes her at any time, in any place, be it the bed, the desk, or bent over the vanity, she cannot do anything to stop him. She doesn’t want to and yet she aches to do it. Because it’s always sudden, and harsh and hurtful when he pulls her hair, when he spares no time to stoke her desire, when he keeps her bent with her back turned and a firm hand on her neck like some kind of punishment.

It never used to be like this. It had been playful, teasing, painfully slow as if he were separating salt from water, and then fast, urgent, unraveling for two inexperienced newlyweds.

But it had never been like that. There was no joy in it. Only a duty to be fulfilled. Some twisted way to gain control, while anyone else kept slipping from his hands. Just as Vhagar slipped out of his control on that fateful night of storm.

He remembered that dark thrill pounding in his veins, the laughter gushing out of his throat like poison. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t know whether Vhagar was fueling his fire or the other way around, perhaps both. Just a little more, he’d thought, as Arrax batted his wings frantically, desperate, mirroring his young rider, to escape the gaping jaws of the Queen of All Dragons.

That’s what he wanted. He wanted to relish in his nephew’s dread, he wanted to drink it. He wanted him alone, desperate, hopeless, just as he had been.

And then he felt it, the shift in the ancient fire pit he was riding, like a boat tipping over and there was no helm to grab onto and bring it back to land. He had sunk his own family into the bleak abyss of Daemon Targaryen’s soul.

He had come to collect, thoroughly. A son for a son, yes, but he had taken much more than Jaehaerys. He’d taken Helaena as well. Even Jaehaera.

Will she ever be able to speak again?

Will my Mother ever forgive me?

Words never spoken, stuck on his tongue and then gagged and swallowed. He cannot look down, cannot look back. He must look up and forward, like soldiers do. To the next battle, to war.

But there’s this woman. And the sight of her in his bed that makes his breath hitch and for two reasons entirely opposite to one another. The first is the most ancient one. But she’s also a thorn in his side, for she knows. She knows everything. She knows all his peaks and depths, every brick in his walls and how to dismantle them; she knows he’s strong and weak, that he’s scared and guilty and worthy of his mother’s contempt, but he cannot bear any of this in front of her.

He flees her presence during the day, only to impose himself on her for the whole night. She cannot refuse him. And he cannot have her prying and dismantling his well-crafted walls and lies, so he takes her and takes her and takes her until he works themselves up to exhaustion and she’s a rag doll in his hands. It serves the purpose, though. As long as she has his cock in her mouth, as long as he harshly pounds into her, cutting her breath from the inside, she cannot ask questions. As long as he keeps chasing his pleasure, and his rugged breaths muffle his own ears, he cannot think straight.  

He's close now and it’s the second time already. The sheets are damp beneath their bodies, his back glints with sweat, damps his forehead as he thrusts inside her one more time. They’re lying on their side, but he keeps her caged against him, his arm has slipped on the mattress and under her neck to keep her still, with her back to him. With his cheek glued to hers, he croons praises in her ear, falling mindlessly from his lips but like drops in the ocean. Once, she would redden, smile blissfully, or challenge him, to go deeper, or harder, or both, but she’s a limp thing now. A mere body panting upon being fucked by another, that’s all.

This is possession. Or a desperate attempt to. Each night, he holds her as if it’s the last time and she could slip away from him at any moment, turning her back on him. She can feel it now, in the way he’s gripping her shoulder, the way his nails dig in her skin, carving into her bones: stay with me. Please. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.

But it’s him keeping her away, turning her own back on him.

Don’t you know, she wishes to tell him, that I won’t, ever. I won’t. No matter how cursed you are. I won’t. I won’t.

He grabs her thigh, resting it on his hip, spreading his long fingers on her skin, spreading her legs so he can find the perfect angle and picks up the pace. She shudders with every thrust, gasping with her throat dry, feeling the long bridge of his nose sinking in her cheek, his grunts growing rougher and deeper; some strange choked sound at the back of his throat.

He comes quietly, panting shallowly against the damp fabric of her nightgown. And he stays there, claw gripping her shoulder, head sunk between her neck and collarbone, and deep to the hilt buried in her.

A tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t know where it comes from, who she is mourning, she can’t tell these days. Perhaps she’s mourning him, who he was, who he is now and who he is forcing himself to be. She doesn’t know where the deception lies anymore. She wishes she could push it back in, prays that it goes unnoticed, swallowed along with all the others, but she should know by now, the Gods are not in her favor anymore, if they ever had been.

“Why are you crying?”

She turns her head, and her breath hitches. The gemstone glints, yes, but she’s too struck by his eye to even notice the sapphire. There’s something raw there, bare, more than his very skin now. It’s the first time she sees that look on him, torn, heavy lidded and not by pleasure.

This is the burden of grief.

She wonders if that’s the reason he’s so keen on fucking her with her back turned, so she can’t see him. Perhaps she didn’t look hard enough. She thought he had risen too high, out of her reach, of anyone’s. She thought he would never fall, not in every sense of the word.

Hence, she’s at a loss for words, slightly pulling herself up, when he slowly comes down; he curls into himself, into her lap, resting his head there like a child. No Kinslayer, no Dragon Prince, no son, no brother. No husband. Just a human, bare in the skin and soul.

Aemond wraps his hand around her knee, gently, and then tighter and tighter, shutting his eye. He’s on land now, but the room is spinning, the whole world is spinning and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He feels he started it all, he threw a spinning top and got sucked into it. And she’s the only firm thing he can hold onto.

“Do you think I’m cursed?” he whispers, the barest flutter of his long eyelashes against his cheekbone.

But she has no answer. All she has are her hands, sliding on his naked skin, through his loose hair, gently, as if touching the thinnest glass, sealing the cracks. Her palms slice open again.  

“Aren’t we all?”

And I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more."

- The Castle, Franz Kafka.

#liv (in la vida loca) #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x wife reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond smut #hotd fic #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond x y/n #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x female reader #and i dream of a grave

[kiekiecarrera]

#jiaraweek2023

day 6: fic to gif → 18 jiara fics I love + 2 shameless plugs

featured authors:

@yellowlaboratory

@jojameswinter

@alphinias (alphinia)

@brizzlovesyou (pennedbylynn)

@hmspogue (theystayalive)

@plutotwenty (pluto20)

@mayreras (falseungodlyhours)

@eye-of-the-storm (eyeofthestorm)

@rae-of-fricking-sunshine (raeoffrickingsunshine)

@smileymikey

@somewhere2start

@ghostiewriter (ghostiewriter101)

@dayas (capulets)

@whitetrashjj (roseofwinterfell)

@sun-undone (sofwithanf)

@bobsfic (bobs)

@cowboylikebrii

@yoyokoolaid (lavenderblooms)

@kiekiecarrera (noos)

#obx #obxedit #obxhub #outerbanksedit #outer banks #jiara #jiaraedit #usermagda #jackpearcsn #tuserbea #userrobin #userbbelcher #usergif #dailynetflix #userserin #reina makes stuff #obx* #jiaraweek2023 #jiara fic appreciation series #i missed a few people but we move also liv hope this reminds you to repost your fics bc im sufferin

[livvidaloca]

been working on a royalty au that im planning on making a big fic for so heres my most recent art of it :3 i have lots more for it in my pinned on my twitter (same @)

#liv art #tbhk #mitsuba sousuke #jshk #kou minamoto #mitsukou #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #royalty au #liv fic

[kyleoreillylover]

Chapter 7- Part 2- The Battle Before the War

Series Summary/Masterlist

warnings: wrestling related violence, manipulation, drinking.

Summary: You are close to cracking under the pressure, so your girls treat you to a night out. They learn just how much you were affected by the Bloodline... and they leave you conflicted about your place in the Bloodline. We also learn a little bit more about your relationship with Sami while you are trying to heal your own one with Jey. Kevin tries to stir things up, and leaves Sami also conflicted about his place in the Bloodline.

word count: 8,479

tagged: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more @selena-tyler-564 @saintaquarius @whatdoeseverybodywant @raya-hunter01 @empressdede @judgementdaysunshine @beeposts

a/n: guess who finally decied to update this!! I promise I haven't discontinued this lol. I just had writers block. hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!!

Over the next few days, the tension between the Bloodline was palpable. Roman's mistrust had cast a shadow over the group, creating an atmosphere thick with unease. The fallout from the incident on live television had repercussions that extended beyond personal relationships. The dynamics within the Bloodline were shifting, and everyone could feel it.

You and Jey didn't get into arguments, because you simply didn't talk to each other unless absolutely necessary. You wanted a man, not someone who would question your loyalty at every turn.

And Jey seemed to be keeping his distance as well, perhaps feeling guilty for his actions or simply trying to avoid further conflict, but also because when he did try to apologize, you would cut him off, unwilling to entertain excuses.

He lost to Sheamus due to interference tonight, and Roman and him had an argument that did not end well, and that made him even more unwilling to talk to you. The wounds were still fresh, and you needed time to heal.

Sami had lost against Kevin after Jey aired out your relaitonship issued on TV due to Jimmy, Jey, and Solo interfering right before he was about to win, courtesy of Roman's orders. He wanted to test the loyalty of the members, and unfortunately, Sami became a victim of that power play. The loss left a bitter taste, not just for Sami, but for the entire group.

Sami was rightfully angry, but he understood the complex dynamics at play within the Bloodline. Loyalty, power struggles, and the constant need to prove oneself were all part of the game. The internal strife within the Bloodline was becoming more evident with each passing day.

Trinity- one of your closest friends- visited to check on her husband Jimmy, but when she found the state you were in, she forced you to get out of your room to have a girls night with the rest of your friends.

As much as you wanted to wallow in the emotional turmoil, Trinity's insistence broke through the walls you had built around yourself. She brought you shopping with Liv and Mercedes, trying to distract you from the tension and drama. The four of you had mani-pedis, did your hair, makeup, and were now currently at a bar in the city, attempting to have a moment of reprieve from the chaos that had consumed the Bloodline.

"Girl, you look so fucking gorgeous tonight!" Liv gushed over your new look, giving you a playful nudge. You were wearing a stunning outfit that Trinity helped you pick out, your makeup impeccably done, and your hair styled to perfection. The girls had succeeded in creating a diversion from the heavy atmosphere that surrounded the Bloodline.

You gave Liv a smile, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. She noticed this and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "You guys didn't have to go through all this trouble for me," you said, your voice filled with gratitude.

Liv squeezed your shoulder gently, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. "Don't you dare apologize for  needing a distraction, Y/N," Liv interrupted, her tone firm but gentle. "We're here because we love you, and we want to see you smile again."

"We miss seeing you happy," Mercedes chimed in, her voice soft but earnest. "You've been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders for too long, Y/N. Tonight, let us carry it for you."

Your heart swelled with gratitude for your friends' unwavering support, even in the midst of your emotional turmoil. Despite your initial resistance, their persistence began to chip away at the walls you had erected around yourself. Trinity, sensing the heaviness lingering within you, leaned in closer, her expression filled with empathy.

"You are not allowed to be sad no more." Trinity declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Tonight, we're going to dance, laugh, and the only worry you'll have is what drink your'e gonna get next. Capiche?"

You couldn't help but chuckle at Trinity's determined attitude, feeling a flicker of amusement amidst the heaviness in your heart. "Yes, ma'am," you replied, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

And not worry you guys did. You didn't remember how many drinks you all had, but what you did know was that you were throwing back on Liv as the two of you danced on the crowded dance floor. The music thumped loudly, drowning out the worries and tensions that had gripped the Bloodline. In that moment, surrounded by the pulsating beats and colorful lights, you allowed yourself to let loose, to forget the troubles waiting outside the confines of the bar.

Liv twirled you around, both of you laughing as you moved in sync with the rhythm. You left your phone with Trinity and Mercedes, who were watching with amused grins from a nearby table as Liv threw her ass back on you, the two of you lost in the music.

What you didn't know was that your phone was innecstantly ringing with multiple missed calls from Jey. He had been trying to reach out to you, perhaps with the intention of apologizing or sorting things out. However, in the midst of the lively atmosphere and the distraction provided by your friends, you remained blissfully unaware of the attempts to contact you.

Actually, you had missed calls from all of the guys. You… might have snuck away from the hotel without telling anywone where you and Trinity had gone, with the exception of Solo (because Solo was Solo and responsible and reliable when it came to keeping secrets).

Mercedes, feeling a bit too drunk and empowered to get revenge for Jey embarrassing you on TV, grabbed your phone, scrolling through the notifications and messages. Trinity noticed the smirk on her face and leaned over to see what she was up to.

"Girl, you real messy." Trinity cackled at Mercedes' mischievous expression. "What are you planning?"

Mercedes chuckled, holding up your phone. "Just a little payback for our girl here." She showed her the messages from Jey that read

"Y/N, where are you? We need to talk. Please pick up." "I messed up, babe. Just let me explain. Where are you?" "Seriously, answer your damn phone. I need to fix this." "Y/N, come on. Don't do this. Let's talk. I miss you."

Trinity raised an eyebrow, looking at Mercedes with a smirk. "What you gon' do?"

Mercedes smirked back, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, just gonna a little something to keep him on his toes." She quickly typed a response:

"Sorry, wrong number. I'm having a great time without you. Maybe you should learn to trust me for once."

Before posting some pics on Instagram of the four of you having the time of your life, making sure to send the one with your friends looking stunning and happy, emphasizing the fact that you were not alone and clearly enjoying yourself, and making sure to 'accidentally' tag Jey.

Mercedes showed Trinity the response, and they both burst into laughter. "Damn, girl! That's cold, but he kinda deserves it.

Mercedes winked, enjoying the mischief. "He'll survive. Maybe this will teach him a lesson." The two of them clinked glasses, before drinking the night away, reveling in the freedom of the moment.

liked by themercedesvarnado, TrinityWWE, SoloSikoaWWE, uceyjucey and 500,000 others

tagged: yaonlylivonce, TheMercedesVarnado, TrinityWWE, samizaynwwe & uceyjucey

Y/N: your biggest flex <3 never forget that 😘

view all comments:

bloodlinelover: mother is mothering

y/nstan: ooh she mad mad 😭 she tagged his ass

↳user1: I would be too tf 😭 he prolly wishes he kept that mouth shut 😭

comment liked by y/n

Solosikoawwe: appliyng the pressure 🔥

↳y/n: learned from the best <3

↳user1: lmaoo I love her ignoring jey but talking to solo 😭

uceyjucey: my girl <3

↳y/n: not for long if you keep this up <3

↳y/nstan: OMG!?? lmaooo she not playin with you

↳user1: LMAOOO WHO TOOK Y/N'S PHONE THIS IS NOT HER LOL

comment liked by y/n

samizaynwwe: the princess for a reason 🖤

You came back with you and Liv wrapped in each other's arms, buzzed and full of laughter. The night had been a much-needed escape, and you felt a sense of relief and lightness that had been absent for days. As you approached the table where Trinity and Mercedes sat, you noticed their mischievous grins and exchanged curious glances.

"What are you two up to?" you asked, still swaying slightly to the rhythm of the music.

Trinity and Mercedes shared a glance before bursting into laughter. Mercedes handed you back your phone, and you saw the exchanged messages with Jey, along with the pictures showcasing the fun you were having.

"Oh my god, you guys!" you exclaimed, a mix of surprise and amusement on your face. "That's… that's something."

Trinity leaned in with a sly grin. "Consider it payback for the drama he put you through on TV. He needs to learn a lesson in trust."

You couldn't help but join in their laughter. It was a playful revenge, and for the moment, it felt satisfying to turn the tables, even if just a little. the tables, even if just a little. The night continued with more dancing, laughter, and the occasional cheeky glance at your phone to see if there were any more messages from Jey or the others.

As the hours passed, the drinks kept flowing, and the atmosphere became more carefree. You felt a little bit more than buzzed, which opened the conversation to more personal topics. Trinity, being the perceptive friend she was, looked at you with a knowing smile.

"Okay princess, only took a few drinks to finally get the old you." Trinity teased, nudging you playfully.

"What do you mean?" You asked, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension at Trinity's knowing smile.

Trinity chuckled, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, come on, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean. When's the last time we even talked without you being wrapped up in your own head or stressing over Bloodline drama?"

You couldn't help but chuckle at Trinity's blunt assessment. She had a way of cutting through the facade and getting straight to the point. "Fair point," you admitted, taking a sip of your drink. "I guess I've been a little… preoccupied lately."

Mercedes raised a brow, her expression thoughtful. "Preoccupied is an understatement, honey. You've been practically living and breathing the Bloodline drama. You barely even remembered how to relax and have fun until tonight."

Liv leaned against your shoulder, her voice gentle but firm. "Babe, she's right. We missed you, and you are just starting to come back to yourself again. We've all noticed how much you've been carrying on your shoulders lately. It's like you forgot how to be yourself outside of the Bloodline."

You sighed, feeling a pang of guilt wash over you. They were right, of course. The weight of the Bloodline had consumed your thoughts and emotions, leaving little room for anything else. "I know," you admitted, your voice tinged with regret. "I guess I just… I don't know how to balance it all anymore."

Trinity felt a pang of sympathy seeing you struggle with the weight of your responsibilities. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. She knew how Roman could be, how he had a way of consuming the lives of those around him with his ambitions and demands.

You saw all 3 of your friends exchange a look with each other, and you furrowed your brow, curious about the silent communication passing between them.

Mercedes took a deep breath, her gaze steady as she met your eyes. "Y/N, we love you, and we've always supported your career and your dreams. But… maybe it's time to start thinking about what you want for yourself, outside of the Bloodline."

Your eyes widened in surprise at Mercedes' words. It was a sentiment you had heard before, but coming from your closest friends, it held a different weight. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Trinity nodded, her expression serious yet gentle. "Look, tonight was the first time in almost 2 years that you allowed yourself to let go and have fun without worrying about the Bloodline. And look at how happy you were," she pointed out, gesturing to your beaming smile. "You deserve to have more moments like this, Y/N. Moments where you can just be yourself, free from the weight of expectations and obligations."

Your eyes were slightly glassy as Trinity's words sank in, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within you. For so long, you had been conditioned to prioritize the Bloodline above all else, to suppress your own desires and aspirations in service to Roman's ambitions. You didnt realize how you were acting: this depressed, closed-off version of yourself wasn't the real you. And it took the perspective of your friends to make you see it.

"I… I don't know how to do that," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The idea of breaking away from the Bloodline, of pursuing your own happiness and fulfillment, felt simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.

Liv wrapped an arm around your shoulder, offering you a reassuring squeeze. "It's just that, seeing you with this little spark in your eyes again, Y/N," she said, her voice soft and encouraging. "It's like… you've been hiding behind this facade for so long, and tonight, it feels like you're finally starting to break free from it." Ever since you started hanging out with Sami while you and Jey were on tough terms, is what Liv wanted to say, but she refrained from bringing up Sami's name, sensing that it might complicate the conversation.

Trinity nodded in agreement, her expression filled with determination. "We're not saying you have to leave the Bloodline, Y/N. We just want you to remember who you are outside of it. You deserve to pursue your own happiness, whatever that may look like."

Mercedes slid you a fruity drink that she knew would help you relax, offering you a comforting smile. "And it starts with this. Drink up, babe. Tonight, we celebrate you. Tomorrow, we start figuring out what comes next."

You took the drink from Mercedes, feeling a mix of gratitude and apprehension swirling within you. It was a daunting prospect, to consider carving out a life for yourself outside of the Bloodline. But as you looked around at your friends, their unwavering support shining in their eyes, you felt a flicker of hope stirring within you.

"Okay," you said, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Okay, let's do this."

And with that, you raised your glass in a silent toast to the future, to the possibility of rediscovering yourself and finding happiness beyond the confines of the Bloodline. As the music pulsed around you and laughter filled the air, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a brighter path waiting for you on the other side.

Could you really see a path without Roman, or better yet, without Jey? (Or Sami, for that matter?)

"So, spill the tea, Y/N. What's going on between you and Jey? And don't give me the 'it's complicated' nonsense. I want details." Trinity asked after the four of you were considerably drunk, and lounging in the celebrity area of the bar, gossiping about your lives.

Liv had started a farm with her boyfriend, Mercedes was going to Stardom and walking fashion shows, and Trinity was killing it in Impact and telling hot stories from Impact's locker room. Unbeknownst to you, your phone kept going off with calls and messages, but Mercedes made sure to turn it off and make you promise to keep it locked in your pocked for the rest of the night.

You sighed, feeling a mix of emotions. The alcohol had certainly loosened your inhibitions, and you decided to share a bit of the turmoil you'd been experiencing.

"It's just… he's been jealous of Sami ever since he's tried to join the Bloodline. And I honestly don't even know why he's jealous. It's not like there's anything between Sami and me. Jey's just letting Roman's expectations mess with his head, and it's affecting us. I can't deal with the constant questioning and doubt." You poured another round of drinks for the table, needing the liquid courage to open up further.

Mercedes sipped her drinking, deciding whether or not to ask you her question. You saw the look on her face and raised an eyebrow, prompting her to go ahead.

"You and Sami do have some history, though, right?" Mercedes asked, her tone careful. "I mean, there's gotta be a reason Jey's so worked up about it."

You nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, we do have history. We were close friends before he even joined WWE. But it's just that – history. Sami and I have always been just friends. And yeah sure, Sami did kiss me-"

"Huh?"

"Girl!?"

"What?!"

You sighed as all three women reacted to your revelation, their expressions a mix of shock and curiosity. The music continued to pulse in the background, creating a surreal backdrop to the unfolding conversation.

Liv was the first to respond, her eyes wide. "Wait, Sami kissed you? And you're wondering why Jey is so worked up?"

You nodded, feeling a bit exposed but also relieved to finally share this part of your past with your friends. "I know, I know! But hear me out…"

"This better be good," Trinity chimed in, her eyes focused on you as she took a sip of her drink.

You took another deep breath before continuing. "It happened a while ago. Sami was going through a tough time, and in a moment of vulnerability, he kissed me. I immediately made it clear that we were just friends, and nothing more ever happened between us. Jey knows about it, and he knows it wasn't something I reciprocated. But for some reason, he can't seem to let it go."

Mercedes leaned back, processing the information. "And did Sami ever apologize for that? Or clarify things with Jey?"

You sighed, a mix of frustration and understanding in your voice. "Yeah, he did. Sami apologized to both of us, and he made it clear that it was a mistake on his part. But Jey… I don't know. It's like he's holding onto it as this big betrayal, and it's driving a wedge between us."

Trinity shook her head, a disapproving look on her face. "That's on Jey, then. If Sami owned up to his mistake and you've made it clear where you stand, Jey needs to get over it. It's not fair to keep bringing it up and using it against you."

Liv, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up. "I get where Jey is coming from, but if he's still bitching about something that happened in the past, especially when both you and Sami have clarified it, then it's a problem. He needs to move past it and open up about it and stop holding onto resentment or you need to boot his ass to the curb. You don't deserve to be constantly questioned and doubted, especially if you've been honest and upfront about everything."

You appreciated the support from your friends. The alcohol, the dancing, and the candid conversation were all contributing to a sense of liberation. You felt a weight lifting off your shoulders, and for the first time in days, you could see a way forward.

"You guys are right," you admitted, a determined glint in your eyes.

"We are always right." Mercedes added with a playful smirk, and the four of you burst into laughter again.

"But… do you have feelings for Sami?" Trinity asked, her expression serious as she looked into your eyes.

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating your feelings. The atmosphere in the bar, the support from your friends, and the alcohol-induced courage encouraged you to be honest.

"I… no." You couldn't lie to yourself, and the honesty spilled out. "We used to be close. But we realized we're better off as friends. I care about him a lot, but I don't have romantic feelings for him anymore. Jey knows this, or at least he should." Even through the alcohol induced haze, you knew better than to reveal such personal details without some level of caution. There were things about your relationship with Sami that no one would know, and you weren't ready to share those intricacies.

Trinity nodded, seeming satisfied with your response. "Well, as long as you're clear about your feelings, and you've communicated that to Jey, he needs to respect it. If he can't trust you and let go of the past, then it's his loss."

Mercedes squeezed your hand, her touch conveying solidarity. "Exactly. You deserve someone who trusts and respects you. If Jey can't provide that, then maybe Sami is right, and he doesn't fully understand what he has."

You took a swing of is right, and your drink, appreciating the wisdom and support from your friends. The night had turned into more than just a distraction; it became a catalyst for clarity and self-realization.

"Thanks, guys," you said, your voice sincere. "I needed this. I needed to step back and see things more clearly. And you're right. If Jey can't trust me and keeps holding onto the past, then maybe it's time for a serious conversation or a decision."

Liv grinned, giving you a playful nudge. "That's the spirit! You're a badass, and you deserve someone who sees that and appreciates it."

Trinity raised her glass, a smile on her lips. "To badass women who know their worth and aren't afraid to demand the respect they deserve."

The four of you clinked your glasses together, the sound echoing in the bustling bar. In that moment, surrounded by the support and love of your friends, you felt empowered and ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Unbenwonst to you you accidentally dialed Sami's umber while fumbling with your phone. The loud music and the lively atmosphere of the bar made it difficult to notice the call connecting. As your friends continued to share laughs and words of encouragement, your phone rested on the table, unknowingly broadcasting the sounds of the bar to Sami.

On the other end of the line, Sami's phone rested on a table in his hotel room. He had been going through a mental replay of the match against Kevin and the events leading up to it. The tension within the Bloodline was palpable, and Sami couldn't shake the frustration of being used as a pawn in Roman's power play.

Suddenly, he heard the familiar sounds of a bustling bar, laughter, and clinking glasses. Confused, he picked up his phone, noticing the ongoing call with you. He brought the device closer, listening intently.

At first, he wasn't sure what he was hearing, but as the background noise became clearer, he realized he was unintentionally eavesdropping on your conversation with your friends. Sami's curiosity got the better of him, and he hesitated for a moment before deciding to continue listening.

"You and Sami are real close… huh?" Liv's teasing voice echoed through the phone, and Sami's eyebrows furrowed as he focused on the conversation.

You let out an airy giggle, taking another shot and letting the alcohol fuel your candidness. "Yeah, we were." Sami heard something shift before he heard Liv's voice again. "No offense but the two of ya'll seemed perfect for each other. What happened?"

Sami's heart skipped a beat, his mind racing as he continued to eavesdrop unintentionally. The revelation about your history with him was unexpected, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions.

You sighed, the alcohol loosening your tongue. "You promise not to tell anyone? Not even Trin or Cedes?" It seemed like Trinity and Mercedes weren't aware of the details you were about to share, and Sami's curiosity intensified.

"Cross my heart," Liv assured, her tone serious.

You took a deep breath, the honesty pouring out. "We dated. It was way before I even met Jey. Everyone kept telling us we had chemistry and that we should give it a shot. He confessed after I won the ROH title, I gave him a shot, and one thing led to another."

"And then what happened, girl?!?"

A pause. And then you continued.

"Then in the morning, we started dating. We took it slow, and everything was fine. But then Kevin got in his head when they were feuding. Told him that he needed to focus on his career and that being with me was a distraction. Sami started questioning what we had, and got insecure about it. I tried to assure him, but he started pulling away. Eventually, we both realized it wasn't working, and I broke it off with him." It seemed like there was more you wanted to say, but you bit your lip and refrained from spilling even more.

You took a sip of your drink, and there was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Sami's mind was racing, processing the unexpected revelation. The raw honesty in your voice sent a wave of emotions through him, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for the way things had unfolded between you two, but grateful that you hadn't revealed the full truth.

"But then we kept having the same chemistry, and he would look at me like he couldn't resist me, and I couldn't resist him either. It became this on-again, off-again thing for a while, and it was messing with my head. I cared about him a lot, but it was so damn complicated. But we stayed best friends, and then I left him behind for the Bloodline… and now Jey has this insecurity about Sami because of Roman's expectations," you continued, your voice carrying the weight of the past.

On the other end of the line, Sami's mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt, regret, and a tinge of sadness gripped him as he listened to your candid confession. The history you shared with him suddenly unfolded in a way he hadn't fully understood before.

"And now, Jey can't seem to let go of the fact that Sami kissed me once. Even though we've moved past that, he keeps bringing it up!" Your voice broke out into a cry, and he imagined that Liv was giving you comforting words, trying to soothe the emotional turmoil you were experiencing.

"Shh, it's okay," Liv's voice came through the phone, offering comfort.

"I… I loved him, Liv." He heard Liv whispering words of support and understanding. "But he left me!"

"And now you need to focus on you, on what makes you happy, and on what you deserve," Liv replied, her voice filled with conviction. "You're a strong, independent woman, Y/N, and you don't need anyone who doesn't see your worth."

He heard your sniffles and the distant sounds of the bar, realizing that he was intruding on an intimate and vulnerable moment." Let's get back to the table, enjoy the night, and deal with all of this tomorrow when we're not drowning in alcohol and emotions, okay babe?"

As Liv led you back to the table, the background noise shifted, and Sami could hear the muffled voices of Trinity and Mercedes. The conversation continued, but he made a conscious decision to end the unintentional eavesdropping. Sami hesitated for a moment, then pressed the button to end the call, setting his phone down on the table.

Did you really love Sami once upon a time? A part of Sami felt a mix of emotions—surprise, regret, and a sense of longing. The raw honesty in your voice had stirred something within him, and he found himself grappling with the realization that your history ran deeper than he had initially understood.

He looked at his phone, where Jey was messaging him.

"Sami, I know yo dumbass knows where she is. Tell me."

Sami's eyes narrowed as he read Jey's messages. The tension within the Bloodline seemed to be reaching new heights, and he found himself caught in the middle of it all. Sami debated how to respond, considering the newfound insights he unintentionally gained into your past with him.

He hesitated before sending the message, aware that his words might not sit well with Jey. Sami couldn't shake the sense of responsibility he felt toward you, knowing that you deserved better than the constant questioning and doubts. Yet, he also understood the complex dynamics within the Bloodline and the potential repercussions of taking sides.

What did he want to do? He wanted to be the guy for you. The guy that understood you, supported you, and cherished you. He wanted to hold your hand through the turmoil, be the one you turned to in moments of vulnerability, and prove that he could be the pillar of support you needed. But he fucked up, and he needed to face the consequences. He wasn't glad you didn't tell Liv the full extent of your history with him.

Taking a deep breath, Sami typed a response to Jey.

"I don't know where she is, Jey. Maybe you should give her some space. It's not my place to meddle in your relationship.You're the one who said I need to stay out of your business, so that's what I am gonna do.Good luck finding her."

The tension within the Bloodline had reached a boiling point, and Sami couldn't ignore the weight of the decisions and revelations that had unfolded.  His mind was a swirl of conflicting emotions – regret, guilt, longing, and a sense of responsibility for how this all went down.

Then he  shut off his phone, and prayed that he could get over you. Sami needed to talk to you, to clarify his own feelings and perhaps offer support if you were ready to accept it, but it wouldn't be tonight. 

Then he went to sleep, and hoped that he made the right decision. 

You were wobbling on your heels of your shoes as you walked back into the hotel lobby.  The four of you had gotten an uber, and they said bye to you with hugs, kisses and smiles, heading their separate ways for the night. The vibrant energy of the bar and the support of your friends had provided a temporary escape, but now reality was seeping back in.

As you entered the hotel elevator, and went up to your floor, you couldn't shake off the mix of emotions swirling within you. The alcohol-induced courage that allowed you to open up to your friends about your relationship struggles was now replaced with a sense of vulnerability.

The elevator doors opened, and you stumbled slightly as you made your way down the hallway to your room. The weight of the revelations and the emotional rollercoaster of the night began to take its toll.

You fumbled with the key card, but it beeped, indicating that it wans't working. You huffed as you tried again and again, but it wouldn't budge.

It wasn't until the 5th time you tried that the door swung open, and you almost fell had it not been for the arms that caught you just in time. A familiar voice spoke, filled with concern.

"Y/N, what are you doing? Easy there," Sami's voice was a steady presence, and his arms wrapped around you to steady you. The scent of his cologne and the warmth of his embrace felt both comforting and disorienting.

You looked up, your eyes meeting Sami's. The dim light in the hallway highlighted the worry etched on his face. His arms steadied you as you regained your balance.

"S-Sami?" you stammered, surprised by his sudden appearance. Your vision was a bit blurry, and the alcohol had made you more unsteady on your feet than you realized.

"Yeah, it's me," he replied, guiding you into the room and closing the door behind you. The dim lighting in the hotel room revealed the aftermath of your earlier emotional journey – makeup smuged, and your hair was slightly tousled from the night's activities. Sami led you to the bed, helping you sit down.

"Are you okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.

"Is this not my room?" you mumbled, still a bit disoriented.

Sami chuckled softly, his fingers gently brushing strands of hair away from your face. "No, it's not. The constant beeping in my room woke me up, and when I opened the door, I found you struggling with your key card."

You let out a small giggle, the alcohol still affecting your senses. "Oops. My bad."

Sami shook his head at your antics, a fond smile playing on his lips. You looked at him and could see the tiredness on his face, and your expression changed from giggly to serious in less than a second. "I-Im sorry that I woke you up!" Tears formed in your eyes as you felt a rush of emotions. The events of the night, the revelations, and the emotional rollercoaster had left you feeling vulnerable and raw.

Sami's heart dropped as he watched you cry, his concern deepening. He knelt down in front of you, his hand gently cupping your cheek.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Don't cry." He said softly, his voice filled with reassurance. He wiped away a tear with his thumb, his touch gentle against your skin. The vulnerability in your eyes tugged at something within him, a mix of regret and the desire to offer comfort.

"I'm not mad that you woke me up. Are you okay?" Sami asked, his tone soft and caring.

You nodded, sniffing and wiping away more tears. "I just... it's been a lot tonight, you know? The girls and the drinks and... everything." The emotions that you had kept at bay for most of the night now threatened to overwhelm you. "Did Jey ask you where I was?"

Sami nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah, he did. He's worried about you."

You sighed, looking down at your hands. "I was just hanging with the girls, and-" You hiccuped- "To forget that me and Jey were fighting." Your eyes went teary again, and Sami's heart sank as he listened to your words. "But I just feel worse." 

You peered up at him, and the tension between the two of you was palpable. Sami could sense the emotional turmoil within you, and a part of him longed to be the one to ease that pain. "Why does everyone keep questioning me? Why can't they just trust me?" you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice tearing at Sami's heart.

Sami sighed, his thumb gently tracing circles on your cheek. "People make mistakes, Y/N. Sometimes, they let their insecurities and doubts cloud their judgment. It's not a reflection of you. You're strong, and you deserve trust and respect."

You leaned into his touch, appreciating the comfort he offered. The emotional exhaustion of the night was catching up with you, and Sami's presence provided a sense of solace.

You started giggling, which made Sami smile in response. "What's so funny?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You wiped away another tear, chuckling softly. "Y'know, Liv asked me why Jey is so jealous of you, and I told her that *hiccup* we used to be real close, if you know what I mean." You looked at Sami with a tipsy grin, your words slightly slurred.

Sami's eyes widened slightly, surprised by your confession. The tipsy honesty in your words sent a shiver down Sami's spine. He wasn't prepared for this revelation, and the complexity of your history together suddenly became more apparent. He wondered how much Liv knew, how much she understood about the dynamics between you and him.

He remained silent, allowing you to continue. "And she told me that we seemed perfect for each other. And I started thinking, maybe we were. But then... Kevin got in your head, and you started questioning everything." You sighed, the alcohol making the words spill out more freely than you had intended.

Sami's expression shifted, a mix of regret and understanding. "I messed up, Y/N. I let the pressure get to me, and I let Kevin's words affect us. I should have trusted you."

You looked at him, your gaze sincere. "But you will always listen to Kevin, won't you? You'll always try not to hurt the people you care about, even if it means hurting yourself," you said, the alcohol making your words a bit more candid.

Sami sighed, his eyes meeting yours. "I made a mistake, and I let it affect our friendship. But that doesn't mean I'll always choose loyalty over the people I care about." He placed his hand on your shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm. "Loyalty means nothing when you 're hurting the ones you love. I've learned that the hard way."

You nodded, a mix of emotions swirling within you. You looked at Sami, your eyes searching his for sincerity. The vulnerability in Sami's eyes mirrored your own, and for a moment, the weight of the past seemed to hang between you two.

Unlike Jey, he made his loyalty clear, but not at the expense of hurting those he cared about. The stark contrast made you realize the complexities of the relationships within the Bloodline. Sami's admission struck a chord, and you could see the genuine remorse in his eyes.

"I told her about us, Sami. About everything. And how Jey is so hung up on that one kiss, and it's like... it's like it's haunting us. Like it's this dark cloud that won't go away," you confessed, your voice trembling.

You tugged on your dress strap, making sure it was still in place. Sami watched as you adjusted your dress, his eyes never leaving yours. The weight of your words lingered in the air, and Sami could sense the depth of the emotions you were experiencing. He remained silent, absorbing your confession and trying to find the right words to respond.

"I just don't know how to fix things anymore," you continued, your voice filled with a mix of frustration and sadness. The vulnerability in your eyes resonated with Sami, and he felt a strong desire to provide comfort and support.

Sami took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. You felt your skin prickle with the intensity of his stare. "Start by talking to him. C'mon, I'll take you to your room, and tomorrow you can have an honest conversation with Jey. Lay everything out on the table, Y/N. The misunderstandings, the insecurities, the mistakes. If you both care about each other, you owe it to yourselves to try and find a way through this."

Sami's words were sincere, and you could sense the genuine concern in his eyes. Despite the complexities of your history, there was an underlying friendship that neither of you could deny. His advice resonated with you, and a sense of determination flickered within.

You nodded, wiping away the last of your tears. Sami extended a hand to you, offering support. You hesitated for a moment before taking his hand, and he helped you stand up.

The room swayed a bit, but Sami's steadying presence anchored you. He let you lean on him as he led you towards the door. The hallway lights blurred as you walked, and Sami kept a protective arm around you.

"Thanks, Sami," you said, your voice a bit more composed. "I appreciate your honesty and, well, being here."

Sami smiled warmly, his hand still on your shoulder. "Anytime, Y/N. Friends help each other through tough times." The word friend made his heart hurt, but he pushed aside his own feelings, focusing on being there for you in this moment of vulnerability.

As you reached your room, Sami stopped and faced you. "You got this, okay? Tomorrow is a new day, and you can work things out. Just be honest and true to yourself. He's a hothead, but he cares about you. Sometimes, he just needs things spelled out clearly." 

He also knew Roman would have his head if you and Jey didn't work things out. He assigned his 'Honorary Uce' to look out for you, and Sami took that responsibility seriously.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Thanks, Sami. I'll do my best."

Sami returned the smile, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "That's the spirit. Take care, okay?"

You smiled up at him, like the stars in the night sky were in his orbs, a mix of emotions twinkling in your eyes. The tension between you was as prominent as ever, and you could practically taste the anticipation in the air. 

Sami was staring down at you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than usual. The unspoken words hung between you two, a silent acknowledgment of the shared history and the emotions that had surfaced during this unexpected encounter. 

"You're a really good friend, you know that?'" You smiled at him, the lingering words between you and Sami hanging in the air. The atmosphere shifted, and there was a palpable tension.

The alcohol made you way more honest, but you were aware that you should snap out of whatever was building between you and Sami. You needed to focus on resolving things with Jey, not getting entangled in another emotional web. Sami's eyes softened as he looked at you, a mixture of emotions playing on his face.

Sami cleared his throat, his expression becoming more guarded. "I try my best," he replied, his voice a bit quieter.

You gave him a small nod, still feeling the weight of the emotional exchange. "Well, goodnight, Sami. And thanks again," you said, stepping into your room.

"Goodnight, Y/N. Take care," Sami replied, offering a final reassuring smile before turning away and heading back to his room.

As you closed the door behind you, the events of the night swirled in your mind. The encounter with Sami added an unexpected layer to the already complex emotions you were dealing with. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of Sami's advice to have an honest conversation with Jey. The challenges ahead seemed daunting, but with newfound determination, you were ready to face them.

Wargames was tomorrow, but you had never felt less prepared for the battles both inside and outside the ring. The emotional turmoil had taken a toll on you, and as you changed into more comfortable clothes, you couldn't help but replay the night's events in your mind.

Unbeknownst to you, Sami had run into Kevin in the hotel hallway as he made his way back to his room. He internally rolled his eyes at the sight of Kevin, a reminder of the tangled web of emotions and conflicts that had affected your relationship with Jey. Kevin, sensing Sami's presence, turned to face him with a sympathetic look on his face, as if he wasn't gonna go to war with him tomorrow.

"Rough night?" Kevin asked, swiping his card to get a late-night snack from the vending machine.

Sami glared at Kevin, his guard immediately up. "You're one to talk."

Kevin chuckled, paying for his snack and turning to face Sami. "Look Sami, I don't know what Roman told you to get you this brainwashed as his 'Honorary Uce,' but you're treading on thin ice. Y/N deserves better, and you know it."

Sami's jaw clenched at Kevin's words, a surge of frustration bubbling within him. The history and tensions between Kevin and himself were as intricate as the web of emotions surrounding your relationships with Jey and Sami.

"Stay out of it, Kevin. You don't know anything," Sami retorted, his tone sharp.

Kevin raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Oh, I know more than you think. And I know I might have hurt you in the past-"

"Might have?' Kevin rolled his eyes at Sami, continuing. "Okay, I did. But I have never treated you like a second class citizen, Sami. Remember that when Roman has you picking up his dry cleaning," Kevin said, his tone a mixture of mockery and seriousness.

Sami's fists clenched at his sides, his frustration with Kevin palpable. He took a step closer, the tension between them escalating. "They are a family to each other, Kevin. Something you wouldn't understand. And I'm not doing this for Roman. I'm doing it for her, for Y/N-" Sami realized he said too much, his words hanging in the air. Kevin's eyes narrowed, processing Sami's slip of the tongue.

"And what do you think Roman is gonna do when he finds out how to use her against you? When he realizes you've gotten too close? You think he won't manipulate her to get what he wants?" Kevin's words cut through the tension, his gaze unwavering.

Sami's jaw tightened, and he shot back, "I'm not afraid of Roman. And Y/N is smarter than that."

Kevin scoffed, shaking his head. "The same one that went back to Jey after you, right? The same one that's caught in the crossfire of your loyalty to Roman? You're naive if you think Roman won't use that against you." Kevin stepped closer to Sami, their faces inches apart. The air was thick with tension, both men locked in a silent battle of wills.

"I don't need your advice, Kevin. You're not exactly a beacon of successful relationships," Sami spat, his voice low and controlled.

Kevin's smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "At least I'm not letting the love of my life get hurt by a guy who will always pick his family over someone like her. Open your eyes, Sami. Roman might be your 'family,' but he won't hesitate to throw you under the bus if it serves him."

Sami's nostrils flared, and he clenched his fists, the intensity of the confrontation escalating. Kevin's words struck a nerve, awakening doubts and fears that Sami had tried to bury. The complexity of his loyalty to Roman and the tangled emotions involving you and Jey seemed to tighten its grip on him.

Kevin watched the emotions play out on Sami's face, each one revealing a different layer of the internal struggle. Despite their history, Kevin's words managed to penetrate Sami's defenses, sparking a seed of doubt in his mind.

"Jey is a snake, just like his piece of shit cousin. It might not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but eventually Roman will finish using Y/N and ask Jey to be the one to put her down. And what will he do?" Kevin's face was inches away from Sami's, filled with a mix of bitterness and concern.

Sami's mind raced, processing the weight of Kevin's words. The hallway seemed to close in around them as they stood locked in a silent battle of ideologies. "He will betray her, follow orders like a loyal dog, and leave her broken. And you will wondering if you could have done something to prevent it," Kevin concluded, his words hanging in the air.

Sami's gaze bore into Kevin's, a storm of conflicting emotions raging within him. The hallway was eerily silent, the tension between them almost tangible. Sami took a deep breath, trying to push aside the doubts and fears that Kevin's words had stirred.

"You don't know anything about my relationship with Roman, and you certainly don't know anything about Y/N and Jey," Sami retorted, his voice firm.

Kevin chuckled, a bitter edge to the sound. "I know that you have this kind of pull on Y/N that goes beyond friendship. I've seen the way she looks at you, the way you look at her. You may think you're doing the right thing, but you're just setting yourself up for heartbreak. And for what? Roman's approval? A place in his so-called family?"

Sami's expression hardened, a mixture of frustration and inner turmoil. Kevin's words were like a relentless assault on his convictions. The internal conflict reached a boiling point, and Sami's response was laced with a raw honesty.

"I don't need your approval or anyone else's. I'm doing what I think is right," Sami declared, his voice resolute.

Kevin shook his head, a disappointed sigh escaping his lips. "You're blinded by loyalty, Sami. It's gonna cost you more than you realize." He grabbed the food from the vending machine, before turning back to Sami, and Sami paused.

The confrontation in the hotel hallway had reached its peak, both men standing their ground with a shared history and conflicting loyalties. Sami realized that this Kevin was nothing he ever faced. He wasn't angry. He wasn't trying to tear Sami down with insults or physical threats. He was genuinly concerned, and it struck a chord with Sami.

"Tomorrow, you have the choice to either blindly follow orders and be a pawn in Roman's game or to bring both you and Y/N out of this mess." Kevin said, his tone more somber now. "If you leave, she'll realize that the Bloodline is not worth the sacrifice, and you'll get your girl back, our best fried back.  If you stay, you'll be dragged down with her when Roman decides she's expendable. And I won't be there to pick up the pieces. The choice is yours."

 Kevin's words lingered in the air, the weight of his advice settling on Sami's shoulders, and his gaze even more probing. With that, Kevin walked away, leaving Sami standing alone in the hotel hallway, wrestling with the internal turmoil sparked by their confrontation.

Sami took a deep breath, his mind racing as he tried to process the complex web of emotions and loyalties that surrounded him. The encounter with Kevin had shaken him to the core, forcing him to confront the potential consequences of his choices. The loyalty to Roman, the complicated history with you, and the growing realization of the impact on his own happiness all collided in his mind.

Should he listen to Kevin? Should he betray the Tribal Chief in the heat of battle so he could salvage his relationship/friendship with you? Should he risk everything for a chance at a different future? Should he ignore Kevin and stay true to the Bloodline, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness and potentially hurting you by Roman using one of you as a pawn to get the other in line? He didn't know what he was gonna do. 

But he knew one thing.

He had to choose between you, Roman, and Kevin. And he didn't know which one would be the right path to take. Each option seemed to carry its own set of risks and consequences, and Sami found himself torn between his loyalty to Roman, his feelings for you, and the warnings Kevin had presented.

But no matter what... tomorrow, he needed to be prepared for war.

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[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part twelve

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

joel finally gets his head out of his ass, with a little push from tess.

a/n: we have BIG CONVERSATIONS IN THIS HOUSE FAM. i want to reiterate: i love the canon joel x tess. i live for it. but the drama/angst/emotion it has allowed me to create but backpedaling them SLIGHTLY? delish. enjoy babes, please scream at me about the ending 😇

word count: 5.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, drinking, lots of emotions, mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries, mentions of death, joel is both an asshole and an Emotional Man, tess and liv are true bffs and god bless last night’s episode for solidifying some of my plans 🤍

✨I do not have a taglist - follow @friskito-library for updates on future chapters/works✨

“You need to talk to her.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, Joel, you—”

“Don’t tell me what I need to fuckin’ do, Tess. Leave it be.”

“Joel—”

“Please.”

+

You’ve been staying at Deanna’s. Two weeks now, since your stint in lockup, since Angie had beat the literal shit out of you. The couch isn’t comfy, and your ribs are still sore, but it’s fine. 

The kids are happy to have you around. Emily especially, once she got past the bruises on your face. You weren’t expecting Henry’s reaction; when you woke up in Deanna’s apartment the next morning, he was sitting vigil beside you, tears on his face, bottom lip jutting out. You told him you fell down the stairs, trying to get a laugh out of him, and he’d just hugged you, buried his face in your chest.

You try to keep things normal, whatever the fuck that means anymore. You take on extra jobs, trying to earn more ration cards for the three living in your apartment. Tess shadows you, follows you around every day, and you tell her your secrets, point out your routes, the soldiers you have dirt on, the ones you know not to fuck with.

“She’s the one that beat you?” she asks one day, jutting her chin towards Angie. You’re standing in the warehouse that serves as the food bank, waiting in line. You’ve had a heartbeat in the bruise on your cheek since you woke up, and standing ten feet from the woman who gave it to you isn’t exactly helping. 

You disguise your nod as a stretch, wincing at the pull on your ribs. Deanna was sure you hadn’t broken any, but you sure as hell were bruised. They didn’t look as bad as your cheek, but the pain was deeper, and seemed intent to linger longer. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Tess sneers in her direction, and you have to stifle your laugh. “Fucking bitch.”

You like Tess. You really like her. She’s a hard ass, but rightfully so, given the history. She hasn’t given you much more of her past, and you’re definitely not about to offer up any of yours, but the friendship between you is quick. You’ve skirted the Joel subject so far, despite the fact that they’re literally sleeping in your bed. Most of your conversations have been about the QZ, the inner workings, your smuggling. You have a job coming up, and Tess has already said she’s coming with you.

“I doubt Joel will be thrilled about that.”

“Joel can fucking shove it.”

She hasn’t been shy about her displeasure towards him, but it hasn’t done much to change things between you. You went down to grab some clothes a few days back, and he’d been the only one inside. Tess was out exploring, and Tommy had gone with her.

He didn’t say a goddamned word.

You’d managed to hold back the tears until you were back in the hallway, but you sobbed so hard you thought you actually were going to crack a rib. And on the other side of the door, you heard the radio flick on, assumedly to drown out your noise.

You nearly put your boot through the wall.

You move up a few places in line, and reach into your pocket, pulling out the ration cards you’ve collected. It’s worked out okay; you had some stashed to begin with and you were able to pull a few jobs after you got back on your feet. But Tess is adamant they’ll pay you back, despite your protests.

“First job I take,” she says to you, jutting her chin towards the stack in your hand, “you get half.”

You shake your head. “I told you, it’s fine.“

“It’s not,” she replies, her tone determined. “It’s the least we can do, after what you did for us. Hell, I should give you back double for putting up with the bullshit Joel’s been throwing at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she repeats, and grabs your arm, turning you towards her slightly. “I’m not fucking okay with this. I need you to get that. He needs to talk to you. You need to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me, Tess,” you say, toying with a corner of a ration card. “I have to respect that.”

“And he should give you the same courtesy,” she says as you move up again. “You need to talk this out. He can’t keep putting up brick fucking walls; you deserve more respect than that. You put your ass on the line for us, and got the shit kicked out of you. History or not, he owes you. I’ll lock you two in the same room if I have to.”

“Hah,” you scoff, lifting your brows. “I’m sure he’d love that.” 

She goes quiet as you reach the front of the line, handing over the cards. The woman working the table slides a crate of food across to you a second later, along with two jugs of water that Tess reaches for. It’s not until you’re back outside that she speaks again.

“I want us to be friends,” she says, and the tone in her voice makes you pause, stopping in your tracks. “I like you, Liv; you’re strong as hell. Brave. Best damn smuggler I’ve ever seen. I just…I need you to understand, me and Joel, it’s nothing close to what I had with Nate, or what he had with you. I know that. I get that. We laid out ground rules from square one. It’s a…” She trails off, searching for the right word.

“A comfort,” you provide.

She nods. “Yes. And I…if I had a second chance with Nate? If I walked down this street tomorrow and saw him walking through that fucking gate, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to—” She stops, clamps her hand over her mouth and you almost jump when you see the tears in her eyes.

“Tess.” She blinks hard, waving a hand at you, and in an instant, the badass demeanour has returned, if not doubly so. You continue, “If he’s a comfort to you, I can’t be the person that takes that away. He’s not mine to take. Especially not if he doesn’t want me back. It’s okay. You can’t force his hand in this.”

She eyes you, chewing at her thumbnail before, “Maybe I can.”

You shake your head, hefting the crate of food higher on your hip. “Let’s take this back.”

+

The doorknob jiggles, and Joel’s head snaps up. He’s sat on your couch, some book about woodworking in his hands, a mostly abandoned glass of whiskey on the table in front of him. Tommy’s at the kitchen table, bent over a map, trying to figure out the path they’d taken, all the way back to Austin. “I’m just curious,” he’d said when Joel had asked, his voice almost clipped. Joel hadn’t pushed any further.

The door swings open, revealing you and Tess, a crate of food on your hip, Tess carrying jugs of water. Joel gets to his feet, wanders towards the kitchen, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Tommy gets up immediately, takes one of the jugs from Tess. She starts putting stuff away, and you step closer to the table, digging in the pocket of your coat. “Exciting news,” you say, pulling out a key ring with three keys on it, dropping it onto the table. “Moving day.”

“We’re not going far, are we?” Tess asks over her shoulder.

“No,” you reply, pushing a hand through your hair before shucking off your coat. “One floor up, few units down. Besides, you know where to find me.” Joel catches you glance his way, but it’s short-lived, you turning away a moment later to help Tess put the rest of the food away. “I saw they have a posting for a handyman in the building, one for the apartment across the street too,” you say, putting away a box of instant mashed potatoes. “Unit maintenance and stuff like that, thought you boys might be good for it.”

Tommy nods, enthusiastic. “Sounds good to me.” He glances at Joel over his shoulder. “Gotta get started paying you back what we owe you, Liv.”

You wave a hand, and Joel sees Tess give you a pointed look. “Listen, all of you. We’re square, okay? I mean it. I’m just…I’m glad you’re all here. Safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

Joel can’t hold his tongue. “That soldier beat you half to death.”

“Oh, you noticed?” you throw back, and the guilt simmers in his gut. “We’re square,” you repeat, leaning against the kitchen counter, hip cocked, arms crossed over your chest. A mirror of Joel’s stance. “But there’s something I wanted to bring up to the three of you. Tess and I have already talked it over, and I’ve done okay for myself given the circumstance, but I could use you, all three of you.” Your eyes flick from Tommy to Joel and back again, so quick he nearly misses it. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie, but I’ve got dirt on half the soldiers in this QZ. And I know exactly what to give them to keep their mouths shut.” 

“You already know I’m in,” Tess says, bumping her hip into yours. There’s a tiny grin on your face, the bruising along your cheek pinching slightly. “There are still connections from Baltimore we can use. Between the four of us, we could be living like kings, for a change.”

You nod. “Either way, it’s an offer. I trust you all enough that you’ll keep it secret, but if you want in, my door’s always open.” You pause. “But I do want my keys back.”

“I’m game,” Tommy says, leaning back in his chair. “You tell me where and when, Liv, and I’m there.”

“Same,” Tess agrees, “but we’re still paying you back.”

Joel can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you out of your damn minds? Both of you?” He stares at Tommy when his brother turns to face him, glances at Tess when she steps forward and plants her hands on the kitchen table. “We just got safe again, and already you want to put that in jeopardy?”

Tess scoffs, and the sound makes Joel blood boil. There’s too much happening. The guilt never leaves, but seeing you, hearing your voice, it makes it that much worse, and Tess looking at him like he’s a fucking idiot doesn’t help matters.

“We pulled a lot of bad shit to stay alive out there, Joel,” she says, her tone stern. “Baltimore was no different. I highly doubt a bit of smuggling is going to fuck with our reputations.”

“Your records are clean,” you offer, your voice placating. It makes the hair on the back of Joel’s neck stand on end. “When Cowan brought you through, he wiped them. Tommy’s is already clean, otherwise they wouldn’t have let him through to start with.” You lift your hands. “It’s just an offer, Joel.”

How have you managed to make his own name feel like a punch to the gut?

“I’ll show you to the apartment,” you say, grabbing the keys off the table, putting a hand on Tess’s shoulder. “You guys can talk it out. There’s no pressure. I’ve got a job in a few days, and—”

“I already told you, I’m going with you,” Tess says, and Joel’s brows raise.

“Tess—”

“Shut up, Joel.” She turns towards the door. “Let’s go.”

You swallow, hard enough that Joel can see your throat bob from where he’s standing. Tess grabs her jacket, gestures at Tommy to do the same, and his brother gets to his feet. You hold open the door, and Joel follows Tess and Tommy out. He tries to catch your eye as he walks past you, but your gaze drops to the floor.

Their unit is one floor up, three down from yours. You unlock the door before handing the keys to Tess, let it swing inwards. It looks about the same as yours, save for the floral wallpaper. It’s a bit bigger, an actual separate bedroom, another bed tucked in one corner, a room divider that’s seen better days blocking it off. He’s surprised, almost, that there’s furniture, even blankets on the beds, and follows his brother inside. Tess wanders, and you hang in the doorway, leaned against the jamb.

“I found some stuff at the donation warehouse,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “People will leave all kinds of shit down there, stuff they don’t need. The mattresses aren’t great, but I cleaned them best I could, and there’s some clothes too.” Joel turns to look at you, and your eyes move away from his again. “And, if you’re game for smuggling, when knows what else we might find.”

Tommy walks back over to where you’re stood, slings an arm around your neck, pulling you against him. “You’re an angel, Liv. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, leaning your head against Tommy’s chest, and Joel ignores the zip of…is that jealousy surging through his gut? Fuck.

But it turns into guilt just as quick, makes something mean bubble out of his mouth before he can stop it. “You shouldn’t have done this.” He doesn’t look at you, not directly, but from the corner of his eye, sees you balk, flinching slightly.

“Joel,” Tess chides, walking over to the door, pulling you out of Tommy’s grip and into a hug. “We owe you, I mean it.”

Joel watches, as you hug Tess. Your eyes flutter shut, your hands hooked around her shoulders, your brow pinched slightly. God, how many times had this thought crossed his mind? How many times had he wondered if the two of you would get along?

How many times had he dreamt of merely seeing you again?

Yet here he is, fucking it up harder than anyone ever could have imagined.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “Tess, I’ll see you tomorrow?” She nods. “And Tommy, you can ask Sergeant McCoy about the handyman gig. He’s a decent guy.”

Then your eyes turn to Joel. He meets them, looks back at you, feels the guilt so thickly he’s convinced it’s replacing his blood. He thinks he hears you say his name, but then your wrench your eyes from his, disappearing from the doorway. His feet move of their own accord, propelling him towards the door, but he stops short, hands swinging at his sides.

Tommy claps him on the shoulder. “Brother, I love you, but you’re a fucking idiot.” He turns to Tess. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

Tess just nods, and the door shuts a moment later. It’s just the two of them, and Joel can already tells he’s about to be on the receiving end of Tess’s anger.

“Sit, Miller.” She points to the kitchen table. It’s not much different than yours, though there are no maps spread across the surface. “You can’t keep doing this shit.”

“Tess, don’t—”

“No, shut the fuck up,” she cuts him off, her hand flexing in the air. “You’re gonna sit there and you’re gonna listen, you understand? Please.”

Tess doesn’t often say please.

Joel swallows hard. “Fine.”

“You need to go after Liv,” she says, the words blunt, laying her hand flat on the table. “You can’t keep pushing her away and treating her the way that you are. You can’t keep doing this to her.”

“I have to,” he replies, the words quick, half-hearted. An excuse.

“No, you don’t,” Tess throws back, just as quick.

“You—”

“We’re done,” she says, cutting him off again. “You and I. It was just stress relief, right from the beginning. I know that, you know that. Nate was gone and you were there and I…” She shakes her head, lifts her hand to her mouth and bites her knuckle before continuing. “If I had a second chance like this, a second shot, goddamn, I would have dropped you so fast your head would’ve spun.” She actually laughs. Her eyes are big and wet, but no tears fall. “She loves you, Joel, and you love her. I knew it from the second you saw her at the gas station. It’s not—”

“Tess—”

“Listen to me, Joel. If I turned a corner tomorrow and saw Nate right there in front of me, there’s not a force on this whole fucking planet that could keep me from him. So why are you doing this to her? To yourself?”

He goes quiet, for a long moment. Stares down at the table top, digs his nail into the grain of the wood. “You said it yourself, Tess. We did a lot of bad shit out there to stay alive. I’m not…” He shakes his head. “I’m not who she remembers, who she loved before.”

Tess reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezes his fingers tightly. “Joel, the fucking world ended. I didn’t know her before, but I highly doubt that the Liv I know now was the same before the outbreak. We do what we have to, to survive. She put her life on the line for us, without batting a fucking eye. The least you can do is talk to her.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. What do I have to say to get it though your thick fucking skull, Miller? Second chances like this don’t just happen. If I had one, I sure as hell wouldn’t squander it the way you’re so hellbent on doing. So don’t.”

“Tess—”

“Please.”

Tess doesn’t often say please.

Slowly, Joel gets to his feet, and Tess follows suit. He’s not quite sure what to do next, but then she grabs the front of his jacket, hauls him against her, throws her arms around his neck. He hugs her back, mouth pressed to the curve of her shoulder.

“And I don’t wanna hear any more shit about not joining forces with Liv,” Tess says softly. “We’d be fucking fools not to.” She claps him on the shoulder, pulling away. “I’ll see you around, Joel.”

“Bye, Tess.”

The doorknob is cold when he reaches for it, and Tess doesn’t say another word as he steps out into the hall, pulls the door shut. His feet seem to carry him down the hall on their own. He heads down the stairs, faintly hears Tommy’s voice calling after him as he heads down towards the lobby. 

“Joel, where you going?”

It’s still a few hours until curfew, the sky still light, though dark clouds are gathering over the city. The moment he’s out the main door, he’s sprinting, running as fast as his legs will carry him. He’s pushing past people on the street, boots scuffing on the pavement, mumbling apologies when he almost crashes into someone. 

He just keeps going, arms pumping once he’s through the crowds of people trying to get home. He has no idea where he’s going, but he just keeps going, on and on and on until he finds himself standing in the same alleyway you’d lead him and Tess through, when you’d smuggled them inside.

What the fuck is he doing?

The rain starts slow, a few drips pelting his shoulders, the back of his neck. He tips his head back, stares up at the ominous dark clouds, hears the rumble of thunder in the distance. Joel lets his eyes slip closed, hands loose at his sides.

In a flash, it’s a downpour. He’s soaked in a matter of seconds, rainwater seeping through his hair, wetting his scalp. It runs down his cheeks, sneaks beneath the collar of his flannel, gathers in the hollow of his throat.

She loves you, Joel, and you love her. 

Tess is right. He knows she’s right. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, he always knew in the back of his mind that if he found you again, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away from you. Everything he’s been doing, everything he’s said since you mentioned Sarah, it’s been…survival. Fear, that if he lets himself have you again, he’ll just lose you, like he lost her. That someone or something will take you from him.

Tommy told me. About Sarah. Joel, I’m so sorry, I just—

It hurts. The memory makes panic and fear surge through him, every single time. Makes his heart beat faster, his hands clench into fists, sweat at his hairline. But you don’t know that. How could you? He hasn’t told you, hasn’t let you in, hasn’t done anything but try and stay as far away from you as possible.

He can’t keep doing this. He knows that. When he closes his eyes, he still sees those tears on your face, at the gas station. The bat in your hand, the bravery in your eyes. You weren’t the same person he’d fallen in love with back in Austin. But you’ve survived just as hard as he has, and you lived. You’re alive.

I’ll find you, baby.

He swore to you.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Joel says the words aloud, towards the sky, to the dark clouds still pouring down on him. “Fuck.”

He turns on his heel and sprints back up the alley. The rain isn’t letting it up, pelting his face, soaking his hair further. He pushes his way back through the crowds, takes the same random path he’d just run in reverse, back to the building.

Back to you.

He takes the stairs two at a time, ignoring the way his knees are shouting in protest. He’s out of breath by the time he skids to a stop in front of your door, bangs his fist on the wood. “Liv!”

“It’s open,” he hears you call from the other side, and twists the handle, pushes the door open. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing at your forehead, a bottle of whiskey not far from reach. Your gaze lifts slowly, but then your entire expression changes when you see him standing there in the doorway. “Joel? What’re you do—”

“I wanna talk to you,” he says, the words coming out in a rush. His heart is hammering in his chest. He steps through the doorway, shuts it behind him. “Please.”

“Why are you wet?” you ask, your eyes narrowing, but then you shake your head, waving your hands. “Doesn’t matter. What…you wanna talk?”

“I do.”

“About what?”

He heaves a breath. “You. Me. Tess, she—”

You lift a hand, your expression turning defeated, and reach for the whiskey. “It’s fine, Joel. I get it. It’s not like I expected you to wait around for me or anything like that, but just for the record, it’s not reason enough to avoid me like the fucking plague.” You take a swig from the bottle, tearing your eyes from his.

“I’m sorry,” he says instantly, and takes a step towards the table. You lower the bottle, slide your gaze back to his. “About all of it, Liv. Please. I just wanna talk you.” 

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, shakes the water from his fingers. You don’t say anything when he shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it on the hook near the door, settles into the seat across from you. He points towards the whiskey, and you slide it across the table to him. The liquor burns on the way down, but the warmth that follows helps with the chill from the rain.

You lean back slightly in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest, staring him down. “You wanna talk, Miller,” you say, and part of him wonders how much you’ve had to drink already. “Then talk.”

He takes another long swig of the whiskey. The noise the bottle makes as he puts it back down seems to echo through the apartment. “I’ve been an asshole,” he says, his gaze dropping to his lap, “since the gas station. I’ve been trying my goddamn best to push you away, and I just…” He lifts his head, lets one hand rest on the table, an olive branch between you. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“Liv, I just…I did some terrible shit out there, to stay alive. I’m not the same. But I know you aren’t either.”

“We all do terrible shit to stay alive, Joel.” You huff a little laugh. “It’s just the way of the world now.” You drag a hand over your face. “Besides, you are the only thing I have left,” you say, and Joel’s heart jumps into his throat, “from before.” You blink hard, and he can see the tears gathering along your lashes. Everything in him wants to vault the table separating you and just hold you. “I was gonna leave Boston. Before they put up the wall, when all that was standing in my way was a fucking chain link fence. I was gonna leave. Then Cowan calls the Austin QZ, asks about my family, and there’s no record of my sister, no record of you, but my parents…”

You trail off, shaking your head, squeezing your eyes shut. You wipe at your cheeks, and lay your hand on the table, inches from his. Joel’s fingers twitch.

“What happened?”

“FEDRA levelled Austin, when it was overrun. My parents were in a shelter, when they dropped the bombs, and no one survived.”

Joel balks. He remembers, that night, the outbreak. He remembers Tommy’s truck barrelling down the road, down the main drag where the hardware store was. He remembers flames pouring out of the storefront, shattered glass and the way the awning had caught fire. He remembers praying to whoever the fuck was even bothering to listen anymore that your family was okay.

“So you stayed.”

You nod, fingers tapping on the table. “I stayed. I got lucky, really. Dean got me good, before I…” You trail off, rubbing at your shoulder. “They were killing anyone who was injured, shooting them point blank in the streets. I just ran, and nearly a week later, when the soldiers stopped me at the fence, I was still me, and Cowan made sure no one saw my injuries, had Deanna treat me. Left a nasty fucking scar.” You squeeze your shoulder, pulling your eyes from Joel’s. “I never stopped wanting to go looking for you, Joel. Not once. I just—”

He shakes his head, flexes his fingers on the tabletop. “It doesn’t matter, Liv. You did what you had to, to stay alive. We all did.” He swallows hard. “When did it happen? With Dean.”

You grab the bottle, turning fully to face him, your other hand still planted inches from his. “Outbreak day. It’s funny, actually, I had just been on the phone, with you, you remember?”

Joel lets himself smile, the conversation rising to the surface of his mind. “We wished each other happy birthday.”

“We did,” you agree, and take a swig. “I just got home, and Dean was…he was just standing there, in the bedroom, staring out the window. He didn’t notice me, not at first.” You shake your head, letting go of the bottle, rubbing your fingers across your forehead. “I shouldn’t have done it, looking back, but I didn’t know, and I…I called his name. He turned, and he looked at me with that…that dead look they have, you know? And then…then he started running at me, and I knew something was wrong. I kept the bat right by the bedroom door, and when he came at me, I just…swung. Until he stopped.”

You grab the bottle again, and Joel flexes his pinky wide, until it grazes yours. Your eyes drop to the table. “You protected yourself, baby.”

It’s like everything in the apartment shifts, as the endearment rolls off his tongue. He doesn’t mean to say it so soon, but everything in him is aching to comfort you, the feeling tenfold after being stuffed down for so long. Why did he put you through this? Why did he put himself through this?

Your eyes are watery when they lift to his again. “I never should have left Austin, Joel,” you say, and slide your hand across the table, settling it on top of his, your palms pressed together. “I never should have left you.”

“I’m here now,” he says, letting his fingers curl around your wrist. His heart races when you do the same. “It doesn’t matter. None of it.”

Your thumb slides across his pulse, and your eyes flutter shut for a moment before they meet his again. There’s fire in your eyes, one he hasn’t seen in a long, long time. “What are we doing here, Joel?”

His brow pinches. “What d’you mean?”

“This is the ultimate second chance,” you say, and he can’t help his chuckle, “and we are royally fucking it up.” He keeps laughing, and you dig your nails into his skin, making him yelp. “It’s not funny, Joel!”

“I know, I know,” he says, his tone going apologetic. “It’s just…you and Tess get on well, don’t you?”

You scoff a little laugh, nodding. “She’s a badass.”

He juts his chin towards you. “So are you.”

“I get it,” you say, pulling your eyes away. Your hand stays where it is. “The two of you, it makes sense. I…I was with Cowan.” You make a face. “Am with Cowan? I don’t know. It’s just…comfort, I guess, but now, it…”

Joel can’t help but bristle slightly. “He’s helped you all these years?”

You nod slowly. “Hasn’t ratted me out, got me out of some pretty deep shit once or twice. But he’s not…” You nail him to the spot with your stare, leaning forward slightly, sliding your hand up his arm until it’s wrapped around his forearm, resting in the crook of his elbow. “He doesn’t come close, Joel. Dean, Cowan, they’re just…” You shake your head. “They’re nothing, compared to you. I could never love anyone else the way I loved you.” You pause, chew your lip. “Love you.”

“Liv—”

“But I won’t get between you and Tess, I promise. I like her, and you and me, it doesn’t—”

“Tess broke things off,” he says, and your eyes go wide. “She was right. I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing, pushing you away, thinking it was easier that way. I don’t want to stay away from you anymore. I can’t stay away from you.”

“So don’t.”

“You just said you and Cowan—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter. None of it matters.”

Joel’s brain stalls, for a moment, seeing the flare in your eyes. He gets up slowly. Your hands move to your lap as he rounds the table, pulls you to your feet. There’s only inches between you, the air turning thick with tension. “Say it again,” he says, his voice hushed, almost a whisper.

You close the distance, stepping into his arms. His hands slip beneath the hem of your sweater, resting on your jean-clad hips, and Joel inhales deeply when your palms slide up his biceps, rest on his shoulders, one hand slipping up the back of his hair, wet curls twisted between your knuckles. 

“Don’t stay away from me,” you murmur, tugging lightly at his hair, until his face is angled with yours. He can smell the whiskey on your breath, see the remains of the bruise on your cheek. He can feel your heartbeat, wild against his own, your chest against his. “Be with me, Joel, please.”

Your voice cracks on the please, and that’s what gets him. The tension snaps, and he can’t hold back anymore.

There’s no hesitancy in it. It feels like he’s kissing you for the very first time all over again — feels like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. The press of your mouth is hot and wet, a tiny mewl falling from your lips to his as you hold him to you, your fingers tightening in his hair. He kisses your bottom lip, then the top, sinking his teeth into your flesh, pulling more tiny noises from you. God, he’s fucking missed you, so goddamned much.

You chase him when he pulls away, grabbing his lower lip between your teeth, making him groan into your mouth, giving you a hungrier kiss the second time round. He pushes you backwards, your boots tangling with his and suddenly you’re a heap of limbs on the ground. You actually laugh and Joel kisses the sound right out of your mouth, licking his tongue along the seam of your lips.

The motion makes you whimper, adjusting yourself beneath him until your thighs are spread either side of his hips, your boots planted on the ground. Everything in him feels white-hot, and he can’t stop kissing you, making up for lost time, pouring his apologies into his kisses, memorizing the way you feel and taste now.

“Joel,” you gasp out when he slides his hand along your jaw, tilts your head back on the wood floor, noses his way down your throat.

“Yeah, baby?” he murmurs into your skin, inhaling you deeply, kissing at your pulse.

“Take me to bed.”

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

[livwritesstuff]

Steve is in the kitchen, their ancient landline pressed to his ear and an incredulous expression on his face as he stirs a pot of pasta boiling on the stove.

“I just —” he stops as he’s interrupted by whoever’s on the other end of the call, “—Tracy, why do you think Moe did it?” he pauses again, “Okay, why do you think Moe helped Grace do it?”

He’s silent for another little while, and Eddie sees his eyes narrow (a common state for them to be in when talking to their neighbor Tracy Baker).

“Okay, well I’ll talk to Moe, but until you can give me anything definitive that actually shows she was involved, I’m not gonna make her — what was it you said? Reap the consequences of anything.”

A moment later, Steve is hanging up the phone.

“What the hell was that about?” Eddie asks, but Steve just shakes his head. He follows as Steve walks over to the stairs and calls, “Lucy Maureen Harrington!”

There’s only silence for a long moment, and then a faint, “Yeah?”

“Come downstairs please.”

“Explain,” Eddie says, bouncing on his toes as they hear Moe’s bedroom door open.

“That was Tracy—”

“Yeah, I got that part.”

Steve nods, “—who thinks Moe had something to do with why the Fox News channels on all their TVs are suddenly password protected.”

Eddie lets out a choking laugh, “Oh my god …and Moe…”

“Absolutely had something to do with it — but there’s no way in hell I’m letting that woman — who did the sign of the fucking cross in our doorway the one time she had to come into our house — get the satisfaction of—”

Steve stops as Moe appears at the top of the stairs.

CONTINUE ON AO3

#steve enthusiastically elected to raise children with eddie and is somehow still surprised when they turn out to be conniving schemers #also warning: eddie goes p much entirely by ed in the fic bc sometimes that's what happens when you get older #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Olivia Benson Masterlist

Mommy… Master List

Approach at your own risk… smut =* extra smutty =**

One Shots

Late Night Submission ~Cabenson*

Bye Bi Bottom

Teasing Snow ~Holiday Bingo

Not Without You ~Casey Novak xFem Wife!Reader (Olivia Benson x Alex Cabot) [MATURE]

She’s Been to Hell And Back ~S13!Alex Cabot xFem Wife!Reader(feat. Casey, Rita, Liz, Liv, & Amanda)[MATURE]

My Guardian Angel ~Broken!Rita Calhoun xFem Younger!Investigator!Reader (Liz Donnelly x Alex Cabot) feat. Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson

How It All Started… ~Pre-S1!Younger!Olivia Benson xFem Older!Detective!Partner!Reader

Reap What You Sow ~Post-S21!Daddy!Olivia Benson*

Oh and I take Requests, so hit me up with your ideas 😉 Requests & Prompt-List

#benson #detective Olivia benson #olivia benson x reader #olivia benson #liv benson #Olivia benson smut #Olivia benson fluff #Olivia benson angst #Olivia benson x Alex Cabot #cabenson #Cabenson x reader #Cabenson fanfiction #Alex Cabot x Olivia benson #law and order special victims unit #law & order #law and order svu #law and order fanfiction #law and order fic #law and order smut #law and order x reader #law & order svu #law & order special victims unit #mariska hartigay #mariska hargitay #svu #special victims unit #l&o svu #svu fic #svu x reader #cissyenthusiast010155 Masterlist

[barbieaemond]

A curse for a curse

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)

Word count: 8.5K

Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond.

Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver

Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.

She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.

The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.

But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.

“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?

Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?

What is he doing with that bastard woman? 

“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.

“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”

He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.

“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”

His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.

He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.

She has utterly bewitched him.

Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.

He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.

Soon.

Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.

It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.

The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”

She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.

“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”

“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.

Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”

She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.

She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.

She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.

“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”

They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.

The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.

“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”

He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”

“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”

His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.

“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.

The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”

She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”

“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”

“Does he keep her in his chambers?”

“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”

“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”

Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”

The wound between her ribs cracks open.

There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?

“I want to see her.”

“Princess, it is not wise.”

“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”

 Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”

“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”

“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”

Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.  

“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”

A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”

Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”

Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.

She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.

There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.

“Alas, you have come.”

The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.

“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.

The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”

“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”

“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”

“His mark?”

“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”

The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?

Lovers?

“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”

“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.

“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”

She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.

“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”

She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.

“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”

“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”

“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”

“To see what?”

“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”

The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”

Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?

“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”

“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”

The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”

“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”

“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”

It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.

“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”

The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.

“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."

“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”

“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”

The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"

“I told you, I don’t want—���

“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”

Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”

She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.

The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”

Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.

Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.

“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”

There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.

“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”

“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”

They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.

“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”

He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.

“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”

“What do you mean she’s not here?”

“S-she left, your Grace.”

The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.

“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.

“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.

He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.

“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”

They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.

The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”

She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.

“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.

“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.  

“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”

The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”

She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”

“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.

“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”

“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”

“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”

“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.

“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.

“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”

“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.

“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”

“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”

“The Blacks will not attack.”

“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”

“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”

“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”

“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”

The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.

“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”

Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.

“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”

She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.

Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.

“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”

This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.

A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.

She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.

“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in a letter, in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death.

As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.

As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.

She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.

“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”

And yet.

She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?

She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.

She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.

“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.

She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”

She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.

“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”

She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.

Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“That you’re with child.”

“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”

He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her.  “You will stay here with me.” Another order.

Another rejection. “I will not.”

“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”

“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”

He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.

His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."

“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”

“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”

“Did you want me to fuck her now?”

“I wanted you to need me, not her.”

His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.

Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.

He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.

The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.

No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.

She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?

“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”

His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.

He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.

Aemond didn’t believe in curses.

He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.

He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.

For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.

Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.

In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.

He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge. 

He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.

And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.

But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.

He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.

She, of course, had sensed it immediately.

“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.

He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”

“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”

The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.

She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.

The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.

The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.

He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.

He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.

“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.

“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.” 

He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.

He doesn’t have a clue.

He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.

“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.

She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.

Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?

“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”

He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.

“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”

“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.

She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”

Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.

“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.

He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”

“As if you didn’t like that.”

A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.

They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.

In all truth, she doesn’t have to.

He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.

“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.

“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.

“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.

She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.

She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.

Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.

Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.

He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.

“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”

Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.

“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.

“Prove what?”

“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.

She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”

“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”

She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.

“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”

He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.

“Chain me.”

She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.

She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."

He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.

Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.

He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.

The chains metal clink as he winces.

She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.

“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”

“I need you to fucking do something.”

“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”

He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.

She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.

Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.

But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.

“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”

She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.

“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”

Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.

“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”

“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”

Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.

“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.

“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.

His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.

“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”

“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”

She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.

The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”

“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”

He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.

But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.

“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.

“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.

“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.

“Louder, my love.”

His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue. 

“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”

A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.

“I can’t take it…let me come…”

“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“You’re cursed, woman.”

“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”

She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.

“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”

In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.

She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.

“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”

She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”

Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.

“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”

“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”

The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.

He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.

The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.

That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”

If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.

“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.

Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.

Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.

“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.

“You are not in charge here, my love.”

“Then quit the act and fuck me.”

Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.

She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.

“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.

“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”

She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.  

They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.

He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.

“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.

“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.

“Besides, it’s your turn.”

She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”

“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”  

#a curse for a curse #liv (in la vida loca) #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x wife reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond smut #hotd fic #house of the dragon #aemond one eye

[figthefruitfaeth]

Robin’s First Date.

| 12:36pm | 

“Wow, okay, I’m not taking advice from Mr. Polo for everyday of the week.”

“Hey, those were a gag gift—”

“Right, a gag gift you spent twenty minutes looking for. I got written up cause you couldn’t wear a Saturday on Tuesday.”

“I’m sorry I have standards.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Whatever. Come on—when have I ever steered you wrong? I’m off at 5, plenty of time before your date—”

“No! No. Not that I don’t appreciate it, cause I do and your great and all but...well...our styles don’t exactly mesh.” 

“Right, well that’s cause one of us has eyes and one of us has clashing patterns, so—”

“Oh, and the stripes? They don’t ever—”

“Which is good for you! But I know what the ladies like, Bobbin. I also know what this lady likes. And I know what’s going to get you laid.”

“Gross—“

“So are you gonna let me help you or what?”

“I’m calling Eddie.”

“Eddie?! No—”

| 12:57pm |

“Munson Mansion. This is Eddie, trapped in the wine cellar, speaking.”

“Eddie, I need your help.”

“Oh, hey, hi, what’s up?”

“The date’s tonight and I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Okay...”

“Not anything, but what I wanted to wear was in the washer before it broke and now it’s not gonna be dry in time and everything else is too bright, or too boring, and I’m getting sweaty and maybe developing a rash which is just perfect, I’m going to show up red and gross and she’s never going to talk to me again. God, maybe I should just cancel—“

“Heeey there, settle down. Breathe, in—out, there you go.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be over in 10.”

| 3:09pm |

“This is the Wheeler Residence. Looks like you’ve just missed us! Feel free to leave a message—“

| 3:33pm |

“Wheeler Residence, this is Karen speaking—“

| 4:17pm |

“This is Hop.”

“Oh. Um. HI Chief Hopper, or, Officer? Uh—“

“Who is this?”

“Robin. Buckley. Sir. Robin Buckley. I’m a friend of Steve’s?”

“Right.”

“Right. Right, uh yeah.”

“Well, he’s not here, so—“

“Right, right, no! I was, uh, calling for Jonathan? Is he—is he around?”

| 4:21pm |

“Robin?”

“Jonathan! Hey! Buddy...how’s it going?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, totally, why wouldn’t it be? Unless, everything’s not alright with you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just don’t get a lot of calls from you.”

“Right. Well, you know work. Busy, busy! Ha ha...”

“Okay...did you wanna talk? Or...”

“Yes! I did, I did...OW! Sorry, sorry, banged my knee against something annoying. So...I can’t do this, this was a terrible idea...well, you shouldn’t have encouraged me—”

“Hey, if you’re busy—“

“Sorry, that was..my dad! Yeah, he needs help with the car. Tire busted and he’s not strong enough to lift the wheels so he always asks me, cause you know. Guns of steel and all that. But we should talk more. Yeah! Okay.”

“Yeah. Definitely...”

| 4:55pm |

“Family Video. This is Steve.”

“Steve.”

“Robin.”

“...”

“You need me to—“

“I need you to come over.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. What’s Eddie got you in?”

“Well...it’s creative?”

“Robin doesn’t want to go metal, even though metal clearly wants to go Robin. Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi babe. Rob, this is why you shouldn’t’ve asked him. He has terrible taste—“

“Ugh! You love this!”

“I do. For you. And more specifically, taking if off of you—“

“O.K. gross! Disgusting! Stop! Can we focus on me? I’m in a crisis!”

“Alright, alright. Let me clock out. Don’t let him near your scissors.”

| 6:14pm |

“This is the Wheeler’s, it’s Mike.”

“Mike! Oh, Michael, thank God I thought I was gonna have to hangup on your mom again.”

“Robin? Why are you calling my house? Is someone in trouble?”

“No! Why does everyone keep assuming that? Don’t answer that. Listen, I need your help.”

“What? No, I have a campaign going.”

“It’ll take like two minutes—did he say a campaign?—then you can do whatever—no, don’t—What campaign?”

“Eddie?”

“What campaign? Unless I’m mistaken, and I rarely am—HA—we don’t have a Hellfire meeting scheduled till Friday. What is this? A mutiny?”

“No! No I promise! It’s just a one-shot, just to get Will back into things, I swear.”

“You swear, huh?”

“On my life! On The Knights of Mystic Fire!”

“Yeah, you better. I’ll let this slide if you help out Robin. No buts! Or Sir Miklan is getting disadvantage on every throw next session.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“Can you go check and see what Nancy’s wearing?”

“What?!”

“Not like that! Just! We’re, uh, hanging out tonight and she didn’t tell me where we were going and I don’t know if I should bring a jacket, so just go and check, okay?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s weird. Here, just talk to her yourself—“

“What—no, Mike—”

“Robin?”

| 6:19pm |

“Nancy. Hi.”

“Hi, Robin.”

“...”

“I didn’t mean to hang up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I figured it was an accident or something.”

“Yeah. You know me, love slipping on things and hitting buttons I can’t..unclick..”

“Yeah, I do. It’s really cute.”

“Ah, well, I mean, if you say so. Most people find it annoying, but I mean, if you think—ah, well, thank you. I think your cute too, obviously. Um. I mean, not for that, also obviously, cause I don’t think you’ve tripped on anything in your life, uh, so—“

“Robin.”

“Yes!”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah! Could you tell?”

“Hm!”

“I don’t know what to wear. I had an idea, and then it vanished and nothing else in my closet felt right. Steve just kept trying to cinch my jeans cause he said that’s what girls like, and Eddie kept suggesting leather, but I sweat a lot in leather, you know? And then I called Jonathan—“

“You called Jonathan?”

“I know, Steve already chewed me out for that. I didn’t really talk to him anyway, I just didn’t know who else to call—I don’t have a lot of friends. But—I don’t know. The outfit needs to be perfect, cause the girl I’m going on the date with, is perfect. And...I really like her. A lot. Like, makes my head dizzy, a lot.”

“Oh, Robin.”

“That’s not a pitying ‘Robin’ is it?”

“No. It’s a ‘you’re very cute and I’m very excited for this date’ Robin. Look, don’t listen to Steve. I’m pretty sure the jeans are more about him getting to check out his own ass than anyone else, and Eddie’s into whatever everybody else isn’t. Just wear what you feel like. You could pull up in PJ’s and I’d be happy. I don’t want the date to be perfect, I want the date to be us.”

“Naaaancyyy! Oh my god that was so perfectly sweet.”

“Does that help?”

“Yeah, that makes me feel better. Still a little anxious, cause on a practical level I still don’t know what to wear, but I do feel better about the not-knowing.”

“Well...if it helps, I’m wearing purple. So you should wear something green, that way we match.”

“That’s smart. I love green.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah, that’s why I wore purple.”

“You were trying to get us to match?! Nancy, do you have a crush on me or something?”

“Well I’m glad to see you’re feeling more confident. Even if it’s at my expense.”

“Ha-ha yeah. Okay, gotta run, I’ve got—oh my god, I’m gonna be late. Okay, I’ll see you at the diner—dressed! Bye, Nance!”

“Bye, Robin.”

#my writing #my work #ronance #ronance ficlet #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things fic #steddie ficlet #hi here's a two line idea that exploded #i loved JUST doing dialogue this was such a fun exercise #also purple/green combo FULLY crediting liv for her genius brain