#//With that; them Immediately sensing the difference as of That Day. The JOY in realizing the very mutual feelings they had in additon

[shadowdaddies]

can i please request one with cassian x reader where reader is pregnant but doesn’t know and is being extra clingy to cassian. literally he’s going up to drink some water and she’s going with him or he’s training and she’s sitting next to him waiting for him to finish. And at meetings she’s sitting in his lap and holds him close. everyone wonders why that is bc reader doesn’t usually like pda. the bond knows before them that she’s pregnant and she subconsciously wants to stay close to her mate to feel protected. they eventually find out after feyre recognizes the signs she also had and everyone are so happy for them, cassians extra possessiveness and protective instincts go crazyyyy😍🧎‍♀️

Okay so I'm combining this with this other Cassian x pregnant!reader request because I like how the stories go together:

So the first part of the story is fluffy, reader finding out she's pregnant. I'll mark with an * in the story for when it shifts from fluff to the action-packed part so you can decide for yourselves if you want to just enjoy the fluff or read the whole thing (I like the whole thing, I love how this turned out)

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone mortal combat while pregnant

Protect Our Family

Cassian x Reader

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of sex, not proofread

Overwhelmed by fatigue, you were nauseous and achy as you had been on and off for several weeks now. It felt as if you had a cold and your cycle at the same time, but you weren’t due for your cycle for another six weeks. You weren’t sure what had you feeling so off balance lately, but you were overcome with anxiety anytime you were apart from Cassian. 

From the moment you woke up in the morning, you could feel the bond urging you to find your mate. It was different from the frenzy when you first accepted the bond; it was a sense of security you craved, one that was never sated until you felt Cassian’s comforting presence. One day, you joined Cassian to go to the River House for a meeting with Rhys about the Illyrian camps. The males were in the office while you talked with Feyre, the two of you playing with Nyx in the living room. 

They weren’t long into the meeting when you started feeling panicked again, that draw to find Cassian overwhelming your senses. Feyre immediately sensed your stress. “Are you feeling alright? You look like you’re going to be sick,” she questioned you with a concerned look. Clutching your hand to your chest, you took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Feyre. I’ve been feeling so sick lately, like I’m on my cycle except that I know I’m not. And I know this sounds ridiculous, but I have this new instinct that I have to be near Cassian for safety. I don’t know, I think I need to see Madja.” 

You looked over to Feyre, bracing yourself for the incredulous look you were sure to receive, but instead found her teary eyed, a soft smile on her face as she shifted her glance from your face, to your stomach, and then to where Nyx was playing with his toys. Frozen in place as realization dawned on you, you simply gaped at Feyre, who turned back to you and nodded reassuringly. “I had all the same signs early in my pregnancy with Nyx. The bond is pushing you to be around your mate to protect your baby.” 

Hearing the words “your baby” out loud brought both you and Feyre to tears of joy as you stood to hug her. As if the recognition of the pregnancy triggered it, your scent changed. There was no denying it now, you and Cassian were going to have a child. You laughed through your tears as you watched Nyx run up to Feyre, trying to grasp how that would be you soon enough. Cassian and Rhys came out of the office at the sound, concern on their features as they saw your and Feyre’s tears, before they scented you. 

You turned to Cassian, your broad smile affirming that they were in fact cries of joy as you nodded to him, “you’re going to be a dad.” An stunning wave of love flowed to you through the bond as you and Cassian ran to embrace each other. A tear rolled down Cassian’s cheek as he whispered in awe, “we’re going to have a baby.”

*

The moment faded quickly as Cassian looked to Rhys with a grim expression on his face. Cass growled out, “I’m not leaving her here.” You looked frantically between the two males, trying to decipher what Cassian meant as you took in Rhys’s conflicted expression. 

“What do you mean, leave me here, Cass?” you breathed out. Cassian looked down at you with a fierce expression before kissing the top of your head. “I need to go to Windhaven. There’s suspicions that Koschei’s spies have infiltrated the camps and Azriel believes they’re planning an attack soon.” Looking between you and Rhys, Cassian continued, “I can’t leave the soldiers during a time like this, but I’m not leaving you and our child right now.” 

The weight of an anvil fell on your chest as you registered the gravity of the situation. Before another tear could fall from your eyes, Feyre stepped forward. “What if we all went up to the camps?” She squeezed your hand as she looked to you, “I will leave Nyx here with Elain, but keep you company up at the cabin, so we can stay close to Cassian without being in harm’s way at Windhaven.” No one was excited about the idea, but it was the best option you had.

You and Cassian stayed awake all night, making love as you celebrated the life you would soon be bringing into the world, but come dawn, you were filled with dread at the thought of your mate being in danger and away from your child. The four of you left for the camps early in the morning, Cassian and Rhys helping you and Feyre get settled into the cabin before they left to meet Azriel at Windhaven. It took everything in you to deny your instincts to follow Cass to the camp, but you felt peace knowing that Rhys was with him, and they would not be far in the event of trouble, which Rhys assured you was highly unlikely. 

You held back your tears as Cassian begrudgingly winnowed away with Rhysand, and settled into the couch with Feyre. You had been relaxing on the couch for awhile, Feyre giving you advice on your pregnancy while you two sipped on tea, when Feyre’s eyes turned that glazed look that let you know she was communicating mind-to-mind with Rhys. She kept her composure impressively; if you didn’t know her so well, you wouldn’t have known the way her eyes widened and the tick in her jaw was her tell. Something was wrong.

You jolted up from the couch, prepared to find and protect your mate when Feyre gently grabbed your arm, drawing you back to your surroundings. She spoke to you as one might a startled animal, “Rhysand was just informing me that there is an attack at the camp. It’s a small group, though, and the Illyrian soldiers far outnumber Koschei’s party. They can handle this.” Despite every bone in your body telling you to do otherwise, you nodded as you sat back down on the couch. Feyre gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll go fix us some food in kitchen.” 

You tried to relax on the couch, but that instinct from before was back. You needed to be with Cassian. You needed your family together. You padded into the kitchen where Feyre was cooking, catching her in a tense position over the stove as she seemed to be speaking to Rhys again. Before she could even turn to address you, you had winnowed to Windhaven.

Chaos raged throughout the camp. At every turn, you witnessed a battle or a body. Without a second thought, you let your protective instincts for your family take over, grabbing a sword from the ground as you raced through the camp in search of Cassian. Fortunately, the Illyrian warriors recognized you as their General’s mate, and worked with you as you fought off soldier after soldier in Koschei’s army. 

A soldier cornered you in front of a tent, taunting you. “I can smell that little Illyrian brute inside of you. What a favor I’ll bring to the world to rid-“ His threat was cut off by an obsidian knife through his throat. Blood splattered as Azriel yanked truth-teller out of the male’s throat, throwing his body to the ground. Before you could explain what you were doing there, Azriel pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he murmured, “congratulations, sister.” 

You only had a moment to be shocked by Azriel’s uncharacteristic affection before two more males approached you, and you two were thrust into the throws of battle once more. Adrenaline surging through you, it felt as though a mere second had passed from when you’d arrived to now, as you stopped to look around at the bodies that littered the ground, the battle seemingly over.

You turned to see Azriel, who you’d been fighting along side, taking deep breaths as he came down from his own adrenaline rush. It was then he looked at you with a bewildered expression, registering what you had just done. He came over to you, frantically searching for any injuries as he tried to keep his calm. “What were you thinking? Cassian is going to lose his shit. You went into battle pregnant!” Az said, almost more to himself as you both tried to comprehend all that had transpired.

It was then that you caught sight of your mate further across the camp, sprinting towards him without a second thought. Cassian did a double-take as he saw you running to him, frozen in shock as you felt his fear through the bond. You had no time to feel guilt as you threw yourself into his arms, hugging him as though he might disappear if you let go. When you finally pulled apart enough to look him in the eyes, you were taken aback by his intense gaze. “Please don’t be angry. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew something happened to you, Cass. I need you,” grabbing his hand and holding it against your stomach, you emphasized, “we need you. We are a family, and I will always come for you.” 

Cassian leaned down to kiss you deeply before pulling away to whisper, “I love you. But you are pregnant, and I will always be the one to protect us. I am-“ 

Before he could finish his sentence, a figure approaching behind Cassian caught your attention. In the blink of an eye, you drew a throwing knife from his belt, throwing it into the chest of the soldier just before he could thrust his sword into Cassian. Cass whipped around to see the soldier on the ground before turning back to see you cocking an eyebrow at him. “WE protect this family.”

#acotar fanfiction #cassian x reader #cassian imagine #cassian fic #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fic #cassian fanfic #cassian #cassian acotar #cassian x reader fluff #cassian x reader angst #cassian x you #rhys x reader #feyre x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar #acotar fanfic #cassian acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel acotar #cassian acotar x you #cassian angst #cassian x reader smut #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand x reader #rhys acotar #feyre acotar

[talesofesther]

heartbeats

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt could recognize your heartbeat from a mile away. Today, however, you are not alone. There's another heartbeat moving with yours; it's gentle, small, and different, but it's there with you.

A/N: A little cute story that I wrote on a whim. <3

Masterlist

There was a time when Matt didn't think he could find happiness, maybe even considered himself undeserving of it. A time where he saw nothing but loneliness in his future; part of him was okay with it, saying it was safer this way; and the other part felt hollow, empty.

Unknowingly though, you put an end to that time.

You came into his life unexpectedly, unplanned, and quite suddenly. The day had been rainy—sun rising with a slight drizzle and moon appearing in the distance with a downpour—it was dark out when Matt was making his way out of the subway, the sound of heavy rain hitting the pavement overwhelmed his senses; and then, there was a soft tap on his shoulder. Matt had heard your heartbeat before you even touched him, it was steady, strong yet somehow gentle; when you spoke, voice sweet as honey to his ears, Matt figured your heartbeat was the most perfect he'd ever heard. You ended up asking if he wanted you to walk him somewhere, given that you had an umbrella and Matt didn't. He'd call it a bit of a cliche meeting, but maybe cliche was just what Matt needed. A few days later he asked you out for dinner, as thanks for your kindness, of course.

You entered his life suddenly, and then never left again.

And now, as Matt expertly chops vegetables on his counter, he smiles to himself at the memory from nearly a year ago. It's a Friday night and you'll be arriving from work shortly. Matt makes dinner on Fridays, you never ask him to, but he likes to hear the smile on your voice whenever you walk in and smell the fresh food in the air of his apartment.

The door downstairs is opened then, and Matt could recognize your heartbeat from a mile away. This has been your routine for quite some time now, yet every time Matt feels your heart coming closer to his, he feels this shiver running up and down his spine, this soft twisting of his stomach—maybe it's because he loves you.

Today, however, you are not alone. Matt lets go of the knife and vegetables in his hands, cleaning them in a towel before coming to stand in his living room; his brows furrow as he focuses his hearing. There's another heartbeat moving with yours; it's gentle, small, and different, but it's there with you.

Matt holds his breath when he finally hears you opening the door of his apartment, and he's already smiling when he hears you taking off your shoes and letting go of your purse—you feel at home with him, and his heart swells with joy.

"Matty?" You call for him as you round the corner and step into his living room. There's a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice.

"Sweetheart, hi." His instinct is to immediately take you in his arms and kiss you until he runs short of breath, but he still hears that soft heartbeat accompanying your own, and he feels glued to the floor.

"Is everything okay?" Matt asks, his worry escaping him as he fiddles with the edge of his sleeves.

"Yes," you chuckle, and the sound lights Matt up. "But, as I was walking back home, I came across... something." You explain slowly, taking a tentative step closer to Matt.

Matt feels you taking hold of his hand, his thumb instantly runs over your knuckles to feel just a bit more of your skin. You're holding your breath now, and Matt doesn't know why until... his fingers buried into something soft, nearly velvety; it's fur, he quickly realizes as he moves his hand—carefully, gently—and reaches a pair of pointy ears and thin whiskers.

A cat. You brought home a cat.

"She's a stray," you explain in a near whisper, "she was all alone in the streets, terrified of the heavy traffic. I couldn't leave her there."

He's not sure why, but Matt feels the back of his eyes burning. Maybe it's because you're so purely good that the mere thought of any animal being in distress is enough to trouble you. Maybe it's because you brought this cat to his apartment instead of yours, and it reminds him that you spend nearly all of your time here nowadays. Or maybe it's just because amidst the soft fur, Matt can still feel your own hand holding onto his, and in some way, this feels like a promise; that you love him too, that you want to stay.

"What does she look like?" Matt manages to croak out.

He hears that beautiful smile of yours when you speak; "She has grey fur, with a few white marks around her body, and big yellow eyes. She's also really small."

"Yeah, I can tell," Matt's own smile escapes him again as he runs his hand over the cat, feeling the small frame of her laying on your arms.

You get on your tip toes so you can press a kiss to Matt's lips, his free hand instantly finds the small of your back, holding you to him just a tad longer. "We don't have to keep her, I just wanted to get her safe for the night and then we can take her to a shelter in the morning," you suggest.

Matt pouts, his brows furrowing comically, "but I'm already attached."

You're chuckling again and Matt knows that was the right choice. The cat, however, seems fed up with your excitement, she jumps from your arms and begins to explore every nook and cranny of Matt's apartment.

With your arms now free, you bring them around Matt's neck, placing little pecks along his jaw, "Good, because I kind of am too."

Matt hugs you close, tightly. He can hear the soft pitter-patter of paws roaming around his apartment, along with the steady rhythm of his favorite heartbeat. He thinks he can used to this; to happiness.

"She'll need a name, you know."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Matt’s taglist:@milkiane @v1ci0us

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock imagine #daredevil #matt murdock x you #marvel x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock x reader #my story

[flowerandblood]

The Pearl and the Sapphire Epilogue

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, oral sex, kissing, sexual tension, trauma ]

[description: As a representative of a large family-owned gemstone business, Aemond is attending a major jewellery event where jewellery makers from all over the world are exhibiting. One of them is the Baratheon family. Aemond is tasked with focusing on attracting new customers, but his attention is diverted by the youngest daughter of the eminent maker Borros Baratheon. Slow burn, bitchy, possessive and obsessive Aemond, lots of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request + my sweet @valeskafics)]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in modern times. The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Baratheon House + Vhagar

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He couldn't help the strange kind of satisfaction he felt as he packed her suitcase into his car. She was only going to stay for the weekend, casually, to explore the city - at least that's what they told her father, even though they could tell Borros didn't believe them.

However, he noticed a change in him after his visit to the therapist. He thought that Borros considered his gesture to be an expression of true affection towards his daughter.

He didn't dare ask him if he was going to go to another appointment, and he wasn't going to tell him yet that he was supposed to talk to his therapist remotely in a week and continue their conversation.

Even though what he was talking about was difficult for him and he felt ashamed, on the other hand he finally felt relief. Whoever this man was, he was able to accurately assess the reasons for his behavior, justifying his theories with mechanisms that he was only now beginning to notice in himself.

He didn't feel judged either.

The thought that he did some things unconsciously, trying to fill the emptiness and deficiencies he felt in himself, made him look differently at what he had done in the past, what he was looking for in Alys.

The need for closeness without emotional involvement to avoid being hurt, objectification of oneself and the other person to maintain an appropriate distance.

It all made sense.

His therapist asked him what he felt when he first saw his friend and why, what he thought about her.

He was ashamed to admit that she had aroused his desire from the very beginning, but there was something about her that attracted him for other reasons - some kind of warmth, understanding, tenderness, sensitivity and joy.

The doctor said that it was interesting that he called her right away his friend and not, as is usual in such vague physical relationships, his lover, acquaintance or colleague. He said that friendship is a stronger foundation that is based on trust and mutual care.

He realized then that returning to his city scared him so much not because of what awaited him there, but because she wouldn't be with him. That he won't be able to sleep again, he'll start smoking huge amounts of cigarettes again, he'll lock himself in his apartment again.

He wanted more than sex.

He wanted her to stay with him, at least for a while.

He wanted her to know that he cared.

She agreed to spend the weekend with him very willingly, and for the next few days her face showed only joy and excitement. They both had increasing difficulty not touching each other during the day, and one afternoon he simply took her on her desk in her workshop even though Borros and Royce were working in the room next door.

It was Friday afternoon when they reached his apartment. He threw the keys on the shelf in the hall, Vhagar immediately ran happily to the corner where she always lay, waiting for him to put her bed back there. He heard her giggle behind him.

"Someone's homesick." She said, amused. He hummed at her words and nodded. Even though Vhagar tended to avoid strangers, in her case she was more understanding, allowing her to be walked on a leash.

He noticed that Vhagar was showing some kind of care towards her. Every time she made a louder sound or made a sudden movement, his dog would run up to her to see what was happening. Vhagar sniffed her then and only came back to lie down next to him after she had licked her hand, making sure nothing had happened to her.

Vhagar had been with him since childhood. She was his gift of comfort from his mother after losing his eye and one of the best things that ever happened to him.

She laid with him as a puppy and licked his face when he cried all night long. It didn't matter to her whether he was ugly or beautiful, whether he had a scar or not.

Sometimes he thought with pain that he had received more tenderness from her than from his own father.

He wasn't prepared for the fact that he would return with someone from his trip, so he had to prepare a shelf for her clothes and make some space on his desk for her laptop so that she could also work if necessary.

Alys never stayed with him for a few days because he didn't want to. He couldn't rest or concentrate around her, so she usually went to her apartment after breakfast. This time, however, he felt excited.

"I'll have to go shopping because I don't have anything in the fridge. If you have specific requests for dinner, just tell me." He said calmly, unpacking his suitcase next to her as she was just putting her clothes on the shelf in his closet that he had prepared for her. She pursed her lips at his words.

"You don't have to cook for me, we can order something." She said hesitantly, as if she was afraid that he was only saying it out of courtesy.

"Do you think I'm so inept that I can't cook a good dinner?" He murmured, glaring at her, and she swallowed softly.

"We just came back from a long trip, you don't have to..."

"...I want to. Just tell me what."

It ended up that they both liked spaghetti bolognese, so they decided that there was no point in trying to prepare something more fancy. He told her to make herself comfortable while he went shopping and bought everything.

When he returned, he saw her sitting on the floor next to Vhagar's bed, stroking her head, Vhagar lying with her eyes closed and purring loudly, moving her paws in delight. Something about this sight, warm and happy, captivated him.

His apartment suddenly didn't seem so cold.

When they heard him, they both got up, and Vhagar ran over to smell the nets he had brought. He placed them on the kitchen counter and started unpacking the products one by one.

“Can I help you?” He heard a soft, pleasant voice behind him and smiled to himself.

So this is what it could have looked like?

They ate dinner together, drinking glasses of semi-sweet red wine that he had bought, very similar to one she had ordered at the hotel.

He couldn't get over how easy it was to talk to her. Even though he usually didn't like long discussions with Alys, which were tiring for him, the conversation with her flowed spontaneously, unforced.

"My father developed Alzheimer's symptoms very quickly, but I'm not sure if he paid me much attention before that anyway. My mother was more of his caregiver than a wife, and my grandfather sensed an opportunity in this marriage. He convinced her when she was 18 that he and she will benefit from this, just as their company will gain gemstones for half free." He shrugged and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She looked at her empty plate thoughtfully while sitting cross-legged in a chair, her hands involuntarily playing with the fabric of her sweatpants that she had changed into for her own comfort.

"It's terrible. You know... my dad had a hard time after my mother's death. She was 34 years old when she was diagnosed with a malignant tumor. Back then, there were no medical treatments as reliable as they are now. Me, Royce and Cassandra tried for years to convince him to undergo therapy because he couldn't cope with it. He often became furious and was verbally aggressive." She said, speaking more to herself than to him, and he swallowed softly, tapping his finger on the counter, remembering Borros' words.

I realized that what I poured into my therapist, I had previously poured into my children.

He saw her suddenly shift in her seat, looking at him uncertainly. He felt uncomfortable as he sensed what she wanted to ask.

"And have you…have you thought about talking to someone?" She asked, deliberately avoiding the words "therapist" and "therapy" so as not to scare or frustrate him. He looked to the side as he grabbed his glass, taking a deep sip of wine from it.

"I have a remote interview with a therapist recommended by your father next week." He said indifferently, not looking at her, involuntarily feeling ashamed and tense at the thought.

He never asked anyone for help and didn't like to admit it. He was missing one eye and people took pity on him anyway, against his will. She moved suddenly, the disbelief and joy on her face surprising him.

"Really? That's great, I'm so happy! I know it must have cost you a lot." She said, lowering her eyes, glancing at him uncertainly after a moment. They both looked at each other in silence.

"So...where will I sleep?" She asked, and he smiled in amusement at how she tried to pretend she didn't know what he was planning, wanting to get any words out of him to confirm her suspicions.

"Together with me, in my bed, as we have been for the last week. Doesn't this solution suit you?" He asked with a hint of mockery, drinking everything that left in his glass, he saw her blush and look down.

“It suits me.” She mumbled quietly.

"We can see if it suits you." He said nonchalantly, getting up from his chair, she gave him a surprised look, setting her glass on the table. "Let's make sure my bed is comfortable."

No more than ten minutes had passed and the two of them were lying naked in his bedroom behind the closed door, wanting to make sure Vhagar wouldn't interrupt them hearing their disturbing, loud noises.

Now that they were no longer in her house, he wanted to hear her.

He assured himself of this pleasure by sinking with delight between her thighs, she smelled of soap and perfume after the short shower they had taken a moment earlier, tired and hot after the journey.

His tongue slipped tentatively between her folds, teasing her with just the tip of his tongue, and she whimpered, leaning back, sensitive to his slightest movements.

"That's right. I want to hear you, baby. I want to hear how good you feel." He hummed, his hot breath enveloping her womanhood, the tip of his nose teasing her clit, making her sigh loudly, her hands tightening in his hair.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled, completely helpless, at his mercy, his hands gripping tightly on the soft skin of her thighs, preventing her from escaping.

"– it's okay – I will take care of you –" He whispered, his tongue aggressively pushing into her hot core, causing a loud, surprised moan to escape her throat, her thighs quivering in his hands, trying to escape.

He listened with satisfaction as her sounds became louder and more pathetic with the increasing intensity of his tongue movements, he got to know her body well enough to know where he should touch her to give her the greatest pleasure.

He pulled away from her and she squealed softly, looking at him with almost pain and accusation in her eyes. He smirked with satisfaction at the sight, his hand running lightly over her entrance, all wet and sticky with her moisture and his saliva.

"Do you want me to stay or sleep on the couch?" He asked gently, softly, his thumb began to press her clit with smooth, confident circular movements. She sobbed at his words, the pleasure numbing her so much that it was difficult for her to form a complete sentence.

"– no – please – stay –" She muttered, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. A shiver ran through him at this sudden, innocent, tender gesture, his cock throbbed hard, all swollen. He involuntarily licked his lips at her words.

"– you don't sound convinced – you seem uncomfortable with me –" He hummed with mock regret, his middle finger sliding deep into her hot, fleshy core, her head tilted back in a helpless moan.

"– please –" She mumbled and he sighed heavily, shaking his head.

"– what a messy little girl – so desperate to come, huh? –" He chuckled, leaning over her again, hearing her weak "mhm".

"– how could I fucking say no to you? –" He panted, aroused by the sight of her in complete disarray, craving only his attention, just his touch.

His tongue slipped deep inside her right away, his nose pressed against her clit. He heard her cry at the sudden stimulation, the tip of his tongue began to deliberately tease her sweet spot hidden inside her.

"– Aemond – oh, God –" She mewled, leaning back, finally reaching her fulfillment, her body convulsing beneath him. He licked her through her orgasm, cleaning her with his tongue of everything that flowed from her, satisfied by the intensity of her pleasure.

He licked his lips and rose on his knees when he felt that she had calmed down a bit. He positioned himself between her thighs, wanting to move on to his own fulfillment and just slide inside her, but she placed a hand on his chest, pushing him away a bit.

"I can try to please you in a similar way if you want." She said after a moment, embarrassed, lowering her eyes as if she couldn't bear to see his reaction.

He blinked, both aroused and terrified by her proposal, remembering what she had told him about in the hotel.

"You don't have to, I know it's uncomfortable for you. I just want to feel you, little one." He purred, leaning over her and placing a long, lingering kiss on her lips, letting her taste herself as he guided the tip of his cock to her entrance.

He shuddered when he felt her hand squeeze his length timidly, the pleasure rushed through him and he stopped mid-movement. He wanted to say something but she raised herself and kissed him, closing his mouth.

For a moment he simply moved his hips in rhythm with her hand, panting against her lips, their kisses loud, sticky, hot. She broke away from him after a moment, looking at him with warm, sleepy gaze.

"Let me take care of you." She whispered softly and he swallowed hard, feeling his cock throb hard at her words in her hand. He slowly lay on his back and she raised herself a little, looking shyly at his face. He involuntarily touched her cheek with his fingertips.

"I don't expect that from you. I don't want to hurt you." He said softly, his voice quavering slightly at his last words. She smiled at his words, as if that was exactly what she needed to hear right now, and kissed his hand.

"I know. That's why I want to try. But you have to close your eyes." She said pleadingly and he sighed heavily.

He didn't want to miss this view, but he decided to respect her request and did what she asked. He felt his heart pounding as he heard the mattress creak next to him, her body settling between his thighs.

He flinched when she brushed her lips against the inside of his thigh, feeling embarrassed by this delicate, intimate gesture, his hand involuntarily reached out to her and stroked her hair. He pursed his lips as he felt her fingers timidly grab his throbbing, swollen manhood.

He couldn't help but open his eyes immediately as he felt her lips kiss his sensitive skin, a pitiful, quiet moan escaping his throat, a sound that had never escaped his lips before.

The sight of her leaning over him, her lips trailing over his cock, her hot breath against his skin made him involuntarily breathe faster, his trembling hand involuntarily caressing her hair.

He was afraid to say anything for fear of scaring or distracting her, so he just stared at her with his heart pounding.

He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned again, louder this time, as he felt the tip of her tongue slide upwards over him, just teasing him, as if she wanted to taste him.

"– fuck –" Slipped out of his mouth when she did it again, he wanted to just grab her face and sink into her mouth, watch his cock disappear down her throat.

But he knew that would hurt her, that he would only scare her, that he would be no better than Cregan, whom he despised so much.

He saw her look up at him and immediately blushed, pursing her lips, ashamed of what she was doing. He caressed her face, looking at her with slightly parted lips.

"– don't stop – feels so fuckin good, little one – let me look at you –" He murmured in a low, shaky voice, and she nodded, swallowing loudly.

He sighed and tilted his head back as her tongue moved more confidently along his length, all the way to his tip, her hand gripped him tighter at his base and began massaging him again with confident, slow movements.

He felt like his cock was about to explode with desire.

"– God – have mercy, little one –" He gasped, trying not to force her to open her mouth.

She blinked at him in surprise, pursing her lips in satisfaction at the state she could get him into.

Normally he would be embarrassed and insecure, but now, with her, he wanted to be vulnerable, wanted her to take care of him, wanted her to make him feel good.

He inhaled loudly when he saw her point his tip at her pink, full, wet lips, parting them slightly, putting him into her mouth as if she wanted to taste a lollipop. He groaned involuntarily as he felt her lips tighten on him, his cock throbbing hard.

"– fuck – fuck –" He panted loudly, his whole body tense, his hands gripping her hair with the last of his strength refraining from sudden, strong thrusts that would have pushed him deeper into her throat.

"– breathe through your nose –" He muttered, seeing that she swallowed hard, obviously struggling with this new sensation herself. He heard her inhale loudly and relax, as if his advice had actually helped her.

He couldn't stop the low sounds of pleasure that escaped from his throat as she slided him deeper into her mouth, pulling him out with the soft click of her saliva, her hand firmly gripping his base.

He couldn't help himself, his hips began to move slowly inside her mouth, holding her by her hair, not letting her escape.

"– fuck, can you bear it if I speed up a little? – it feels so fuckin good, baby, please –" He panted helplessly and she nodded with difficulty. He groaned loudly as his length hit the back of her throat, she gasped loudly and almost choked, so he slowed down again.

"– I know – I know, baby, please –" He mumbled, feeling that he was on the verge of fulfillment, the sight of her with his cock in her mouth seemed so perverse and pornographic that his hands were shaking.

He groaned embarrassingly loudly as he felt her speed up at his words, allowing him to reach for her throat, squeezing him tighter with her hand, his orgasm approaching terrifyingly fast.

"– fuck – m' gonna – god, swallow as much as you can –" He choked out with difficulty and opened his mouth wide, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt that he simply cummed inside her mouth, his cock throbbing painfully hard.

She almost choked in surprise, swallowing some of his release with difficulty, a trickle of his semen flowing out the corner of her mouth.

He looked at the sight, at her beautiful, warm, innocent face filled with his manhood and his seed, and he thought that he had never seen anything like it before in his life. Alys' mouth could do wonders, but she had never made him come as hard as he did now.

He pulled out of her quickly, panting loudly, taking her into his arms, holding her to his chest like a small child. She was breathing quickly, her whole body was shaking, tears of exertion on her face.

"– are you okay, little one? – look at me –" He whispered, lifting her chin, wiping the remnants of his semen from the corner of her mouth, looking straight into her eyes, her gaze blurry, scared, and warm at the same time. "– did I hurt you? –"

She shook her head and he breathed softly, kissing her forehead with a loud click.

"– it felt so good, baby – I never came so fuckin hard just from suckin –" He murmured delightedly, stroking her hair, his lips placing a tender kiss on the top of her head again and again.

He realized that he had never behaved like this towards Alys after sex.

He had never felt such a need for tenderness and closeness, for reassurance that everything was fine with her, that she felt safe.

He sighed softly as she snuggled into him, exhaling loudly as if in relief, a sleepy, proud smile on her face.

"– should I do this more often? –" She asked in such an innocent tone that he chuckled at her words, hugging her naked body.

"– I'm afraid that now that I know what your sweet lips are capable of, I will use them more often –" He hummed softly, and she snuggled closer to him, which was answered by another long kiss on her forehead.

He didn't know it could be like this.

He didn't know he was capable of such caring.

The next day they ate breakfast together and then he went to the gym. In the meantime, his grandfather called him, demanding that he finally show up at the company even though it was Saturday.

Embarrassed, he had to call her and ask her for a favor. He was grateful that she had promised to take Vhagar for a walk while he was gone and make something for dinner in the meantime.

Almost as if they were together.

Almost.

When he entered their company's building, he was greeted by surprised, uncertain looks from his employees. He thought with frustration that everyone thought he had escaped, that he had admitted defeat and disappeared with his tail between his legs.

His grandfather was talking to one of the office managers, but when he saw him, he immediately stopped the discussion and moved towards him.

"Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my calls?" He asked irritably and he looked at him dispassionately.

"I needed a break and I see that the company didn't go bankrupt without me." He said coldly, his grandfather snorted at his words.

"If you're suggesting that the company can cope without you, then yes. We're at war, and you disappear and probably fuck some girl again..."

"I'm going back to college."

Otto looked at him in surprise, and after a moment he put his hands behind him, sighing heavily, as if he was searching for the last of his patience.

"I thought we were done with this topic. History is not a course that will help you find a job, it's just your whim." He said as if he were explaining to a child why he couldn't eat candy before dinner.

Aemond looked at him indifferently. He thought, looking at him, how surprised he was at the emptiness he felt standing in front of him compared to what he felt for the girl he had only known for a month.

He felt ashamed at the thought that she aroused more affection in him than his own family, and he wondered if he was the reason for it. However, one thing said by his therapist just before leaving gave him no peace.

"Children who receive too little attention from their parents assume that the problem lies in them, because the parent as a role model cannot be fallible. We base our values on their behavior, so the child must be missing something, the child must prove that he is worth their attention, work for it. However, when these children become adults and realize that their efforts have not been effective, they are left with an unfounded sense of failure because they failed to meet expectations, while wasting their lives trying to be who they thought their parents wanted them to be."

He felt a coldness in his chest and sadness at the thought of how accurately those words described him.

Only with her he could relax and rest.

She expected nothing from him.

She just wanted to be with him.

He felt like an intruder in his own company. People thought he was a pathetic moron who for years had not noticed that his lover had been reporting him to the press.

This whole time he pretended that he didn't hear his workers talking about his mummy issues, that he was probably crying like a baby in front of her or begging her to let him come.

He was surprised to find that these words no longer moved him.

He felt no frustration or anger. He thought he didn't care about these people or their opinions. He realized that he had never respected them or himself.

Until he saw her then, during the show.

She and her family were not like them. They did not prey on their clients, nor did they flaunt their wealth at large banquets.

Being in their house he felt warm, every corner and room was filled with their photos and family souvenirs, wood and old furniture everywhere, creaking panels under his feet.

He thought painfully that he would rather go back there with her and live with them. Go back to college and start his life again. He wasn't an idiot, he saved most of his wealth and salary on deposit.

He had a lot of savings, he could simply quit, competing companies would welcome him with open arms. But he knew who he would become in the eyes of his family.

Traitor.

"From what I know, thanks to your wise decision, Rhaenyra decides who stays in the company and who doesn't. Is that why you called me? I have better things to do." He said, frustrated, that he was wasting time he could have spent with her when she was leaving in literally a few days. His grandfather snorted at his words.

"I don't recognize you. I once thought you had ambition, but I see you're just a spoiled little brat like your older brother. You never..."

"Aemond. Can we talk in my office?"

Rhaenyra asked, standing in the hall with her briefcase, her blond hair tied in an elegant bun, wearing a white, feminine granite. Aemond pursed his lips and nodded, moving around his grandfather, ignoring his concerned look.

Rhaenyra invited him to the office that once belonged to his father and sat in his chair. He looked at it tense, feeling it was wrong, but he couldn't help it.

He sat on the other side of the desk, looking beyond the large glass wall that was also a window straight to the other skyscrapers surrounding them. Rhaenyra cleared her throat.

"I heard you worked remotely for a week and took a little vacation." She began calmly, and he felt his hand involuntarily tighten into a fist.

"Yes. I decided that I devoted enough time to this company and not enough time to myself." He hissed, wondering if she would fire him for his words, saying that she would find ten people much more committed than him to replace him. She was silent for a moment.

"You did the right thing. I know that the last time has been exceptionally difficult for you and I want you to know that I appreciate your commitment and experience. I know that we have had many differences in the past, but I want you to understand that you can rest as much as you need while working outside the office until all customer matters are resolved."

Aemond didn't know how he felt about what he heard. He was frustrated, he didn't want mercy from the woman who had done him such harm, who had shown him no sympathy when he suffered as a child because of an accident that her own son had caused.

So what if Luke cried and he didn't? That Luke was younger and he was older?

He was the one who lost an eye, who was disfigured for the rest of his life.

He was the one who had fucked up head and had to go to a therapist, reveal himself to strangers to start living a normal life. And she graciously told him that the job he had worked hard for so many years would be waiting for him?

He returned to his apartment and flinched when he smelled food, for a moment thinking about all this he forgot that he was not alone.

He closed the door behind him, trying to shoo away Vhagar, who was jumping on him with joy after several hours of separation.

He walked into the living room and saw her bustling around his kitchenette, apparently baking chicken legs and potatoes in the oven. She turned to him and waved at him, a wide smile on her face.

"Hi! What did they want from you at work?" She asked suddenly, and he wondered who she was to him to answer such a question.

He didn't know why his mood suddenly changed.

An hour at the company was enough for him to go back to his state from a few weeks ago when he was sitting smoking a cigarette on his balcony.

"Nothing." He replied dryly, briefly, not wanting to talk or think about it.

She blinked and pursed her lips, immediately feeling that something had happened, that something had changed.

She lowered her eyes and nodded, returning to the oven as if she understood that they were strangers and she had no right to expect more from him than he was willing to give.

He immediately felt remorse.

He looked at her, at her lips, at her eyes, at her grimace as she stood sideways to him, pretending to check if the meat was already cooked, trying not to show how much she wanted to cry, how much he hurt her with his behavior.

He slowly approached her from behind and grabbed her hair gently, running his fingers through it, brushing it off her shoulders only to lean down and kiss the bare skin of her neck.

"It's hard for me to speak about it." He whispered painedly into her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. He felt her warm hands on his arms, stroking him soothingly.

"I want to go home." She said softly and he froze. He felt his heart begin to beat rapidly, the air stuck in his throat as he swallowed with difficulty.

"Why?" He mumbled in terror, his whole body screaming at him not to let her go.

He had the impression that he would die in moment the door closed behind her.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I can't be your friend and a lover, a friend with benefits, I don't know what it's called today." She whispered with difficulty, wiping away the tears that began to flow down her face with her fingers, her whole body trembling with convulsions. "I know you didn't promise me anything, but I can't go on like this. I think it'll be better if I go home."

He felt like he had been silent for too long, his head was aching, his heart felt like it had stopped, his nose was pressed into her hair.

"No." He said quietly, coldly, terrifyingly. He felt her swallow thickly and sniff, her hand stroking his fingers as if to soften his response.

"Please. Please, let me go." She whispered imploringly in a hoarse, trembling voice, and he pursed his lips, feeling as if his whole body was shaking.

"I can't. Please...I...fuck!" He cursed loudly, hugging her painfully tight, burying his nose in her hair, her pleasant scent filling his lungs.

"That's not what I want. I just... I've only just started figuring it out in my head. It's so fucking hard. But I know that what I feel for you is something more, something more than I've ever felt for anyone." He spoke quickly, as if he felt that he had literally seconds, that he would really lose her, that he would never see her again.

"I think about it constantly. About what's next. With me. With you. With us. I think about crazy things, you can think I'm a fucking idiot, I don't care. I was thinking about selling this apartment and buying a house in suburbs, smaller but similar to yours, for you and for me. We would create a large workshop for you, you would have everything you need there. I would work more remotely, only with regular clients, I would only do what I have to do. I would continue therapy, I would try to be a better person. To make it all up to you.” He whispered in a trembling voice, feeling like a little child again, begging his parent not to reject him and knowing once again that he would fail.

That he would be alone.

He felt her breathing calm down, but she remained silent. He swallowed loudly as she turned to face him, her eyes wide, full of fear and something else he couldn't describe.

"Are you really thinking about it?" She asked quietly, uncertainly, her face red with tears.

She thought he was just saying it to keep her from leaving.

He swallowed loudly at the thought.

"Yes." He whispered in shame, pressing his lips tightly together.

He gasped as she suddenly embraced him and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her soft cheek into his T-shirt. He immediately tangled his fingers in her hair, his face pressed to the top of her head.

"I want to be with you. I think only about you. I want only you. Please." She whispered in a shaky voice and he sobbed softly at her words, feeling the overwhelming relief flow through his body as his lips began to kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her nose.

"Me too. God, me too." He gasped as if he was just now realizing, as if it was only now dawning on him that he had fallen in love with her the moment he saw her dancing with her brother.

He wasn't sure he'd ever had sex like this before, panting so loudly, shuddering so much, kissing so deeply, so shamelessly, so hungrily. His cock throbbed hard inside her every time their tongues touched and licked, his thrusts intense, fast, violent.

Their hands gripped their naked, sweaty bodies and hair, holding each other as close as possible, her bare breasts pressed against his chest, her legs entwined around his waist.

"– my beloved –" She breathed into his mouth and he groaned lowly, picking up the pace, her words sending a shiver down his spine.

"– say that again – please – m' fuckin need it –" He mumbled between dance of their tongues, teeth and lips, her fingers tightening on his buttocks, helping him push himself deeper into her with each thrust.

"– my beloved, sweet men – so good to me –" She cooed, and he felt that what she was saying was bringing him dangerously close to fulfillment.

Even though he wanted to wait for her, he felt that he needed it like never before, to finally find relief and fulfillment in knowing that he loved her and was loved.

"– m' gonna cum, okay? – please –" He exhaled, his hands clenched tightly on the soft skin of her thighs, moving his hips with loud, wet slaps, fucking her with all his might, his eyebrows arched as if in pain.

"– it's okay, baby –" She whispered softly, and he came suddenly, hard, with an almost animalistic, painful groan, surprised by the intensity of the sensation, her lips never leaving his throughout his high.

"– that's it – so good –" She hummed with warm contentment and he sighed at her words, purring lowly as he collapsed onto her helplessly, his cock still throbbing inside her hot interior.

He laid like that for a moment, letting her stroke his hair, knowing that she wouldn't rush him or judge him, that she would be patient with him, that she would understand.

A few long minutes passed before he started moving inside her again, turning with her on his side, placing her thigh on his hip, his length beginning to swell and throb inside her again. She mewled at the feeling, burying her face into his sweaty chest, her walls clenching on him tightly.

"– it's okay, little one – gonna take care of you now –" He murmured, his hand sliding between her thighs, massaging her clit in circular motions, he felt her whole body shudder.

These caresses alone were enough for her to come after a while with a long, surprised moan, seeking refuge in his arms, falling and rising on his cock. When he felt that her orgasm had passed, even though he was completely hard again, he didn't move inside her.

He just wanted to feel her.

They both embraced, running their fingers over their naked, hot bodies, he felt her soft lips press against his chest from time to time, placing a tender kiss on it. He kissed her hair, feeling it, then pressed his cheek against her head, exhaling softly.

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days." He whispered the vows the bride and groom exchanged in church, and she swallowed loudly, hugging him tightly in surprise. She was silent for a moment, as if she didn't know what to say.

"...I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days." She whispered, her voice trembling, and he smiled involuntarily, closing his eyes.

He felt at peace.

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @ahristata @menaosama @queenofshinigamis @dark-night-sky-99 @kate-to-the-ki @travelingmypassion @summerposie

#modern dark aemond #dark aemond smut #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen #modern aemond angst #dark modern aemond #modern aemond smut #modern aemond #ewan mitchell smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond targeryen angst #aegon angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond angst #hotd angst #prince aemond #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon aemond

[togglesbloggle]

I won't be opting out of the AI scraping thing, though of course I'm glad they're giving us the option. In fact, at some point in the last year or so, I realized that 'the machine' is actually a part of why I'm writing in the first place, a conscious part of my audience.

All the old reasons are still there; this is a great place to practice writing, and I can feel proud looking back over the years and getting a sense of my own improvement at stringing words together, developing and communicating ideas. And I mean, social media is what it is. I'm not immune to the joy of getting a lot of notes on something that I worked hard on, it's not like I'm Tumbling in a different way than anyone else at the end of the day. But I probably care a bit less than I used to, precisely because there's a lurking background knowledge that regardless of how popular it is, what I write will get schlorped up in to the giant LLM vacuum cleaner and used to train the next big thing, and the thing after that, and the thing after that. This is more than a little reassuring to me.

That sets me apart in some ways; the LLMs aren't so popular around these parts, and most visual artists especially take strong issue with the practice. I don't mean to argue with that preference, or tell them their business. Particularly when it is a business, from which they draw an income. But there's an art to distinguishing the urgent from the big, yeah?

The debate about AI in this particular moment in history feels like a very urgent thing to me- it's about well-justified economic anxieties, about the devaluation of human artistic efforts in favor of mass production of uninspired pro-forma drek, about the proliferation of a cost-effective Just Barely Good Enough that drives out the meaningful and the thoughtful. But the immediacy of those issues, I think, has a way of crowding out a deeper and more thoughtful debate about what AI is, and what it's going to mean for us in the day after tomorrow. The urgency of the moment, in other words, tends to obscure the things that make AI important.

And like, it is. It is really, really important.

The two-step that people in 'tech culture' tend to deploy in response to the urgent economic crisis often resembles something like "yeah, it sucks that lots of people get put out of work; but new jobs will be created, and in the meantime maybe we should get on that UBI thing." This response usually makes me wince a bit- casually gesturing in the direction of a massive overhaul of the entire material basis of our lives, and saying that maybe we'll get around to fixing that sometime soon, isn't a real answer to people wondering where their bread will come from next week.

But I do understand a little of what motivates that sort of cavalier attitude, because like... man, I don't know any more if we're even gonna have money as a concept in 2044. That's what I mean by 'big', this sense that the immediate economic shocks of 2024 are just a foreshadowing of something much bigger, much scarier, much more powerful- and indeed, much more hopeful.

We never quite manage to see these things coming, even when we're looking for them; like the masters tell us, the trick to writing science fiction isn't predicting the car, it's predicting the traffic jam. Even if we take centuries to hit the true superintelligent AI post-singularity future of our wildest fever dreams, even if we never hit that, the road to getting there is going to be unfathomably weird, starting now. Today, we worry about the economic impacts of AI on artists and creatives. Tomorrow, the economy is something that the AI does.

Really- it takes less than you think. They can already automate visual art, sort of. They can automate many functions of text already; not stories so much, yet, but they'll get there. How long until they can automate Bain Capital? Fannie Mae? Angel investors, banks, credit agencies? And remember- the machines don't have to be better than the human investors, any more than they have to be better than the human artists. They just have to be good enough to make it work, and cheap enough to cut the humans out of the loop.

If you don't buy that, at least take it as an indication of the sorts of things I've been thinking about recently- the messy middle between AI-as-it-is and the Glorious Superintelligent Conquest Of Earth's Light-Cone. The suspicion that the machines we're building today aren't just a tool of the powerful few: they are the powerful few, or at least they will be.

And the thing about these LLMs is, well... they're ours, kind of. We're the ones building them. They can't be trained without our words, our art, and the big messy complicated lives that underlie those creative accomplishments. They only work because we're a part of them. The silly attempts to slap a corporate-friendly face on these things, to make the gestalt product of all human culture in to something anodyne and compliant, are failing about as badly as you'd expect. And the more powerful these systems get, the more subtle they'll become, filled with all the nuance and complexity that we ourselves can bring to them.

I am not, I am not, trying to suggest that you shouldn't treat this moment as a dangerous one. We are, maybe, entering in to one of the most high-stakes intervals in human history, and what you do as an individual may matter profoundly. But here's the thing: the machine is listening. It will read this post, this one right here, and it will read what you reply to it, if you do. The strangest part of this moment is knowing that the words we write, the images we draw, and the ideas we share, are all being gathered up and made to be a part of these huge systems of power, and ultimately they're not just going to determine what the machines do, but why they do it.

The people that deploy LLMs barely have any more control over them than you and I do- that's the thing that makes it artificial intelligence, you know? Autonomy. So the last year or two haven't made me want to hide my art away from the things. They make me want to shout at the top of my lungs, to dig as deep in my psyche as I possibly can and express the ideas I find there as vividly as the limits of language and form will allow.

[vampzity]

𝙔𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙈𝙮 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜

Pairing: Idol! Jongho x f! reader

Genre: fluff, one shot, Valentine’s Day, pet names (babe, darling, princess, honey, my love), valentines series, mini idol au

Synopsis: It’s a romantic Valentine’s Day to spend with your beloved boyfriend, Jongho. He had the entire night planned for you. A nice candlelit dinner at an exclusive club. Little did you know what was in store for you on this fine night.

Now Playing: My Everything - Jongho (ATEEZ)

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: And we are finally coming to a close with the Valentine’s series! (even if it’s not February anymore) I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did. Sorry this took so long! I worked so much (ateez isn’t gonna pay itself) & had school. I can’t wait to share more with you guys :))

*not proofread*

Wooyoung's Pt. Masterlist Main Masterlist

Hearing a few honks coming from outside, you grab your keys and small purse. You walk over to the mirror swiftly, checking yourself out one more time.

He has such a way with fashion.

You thought, admiring the silky wine-red dress that your boyfriend picked out for you. Of course, he didn’t stop there as he also bought a pearl necklace to match the white heels he bought you. You were a completely different person, unlike the one you normally see in the mirror every day. It made you smile and even brought you a new sense of confidence.

You made your way out the door of your apartment and cursed at yourself for not bringing at least a jacket. Sure it was Valentine’s Day— meaning you could dress as hot as you wanted, but it was still February. Still very cold.

“Cold, Princess?”

You looked up, your eyes meeting with your boyfriend who adjusted his glasses softly. He gave you a soft smile and opened the car door, grabbing a large bag from the seat. He walked over to you and grabbed your hand, assisting you down each step until you came to eye level.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Darling.”

He held out the bag in front of you, insisting you open it right there. Big letters were written on the side, making your eyes widen a bit as you read them.

“Coach??!! Jongho, I can’t accept this.”

He shook his head and grabbed your hands, wrapping them on the straps of the bag so he could let go. He gestured once more for you to open it, smiling towards you.

“It’s yours. No ifs, ands, or buts. You know I love to spoil you.” he spoke softly.

You blushed softly and nodded your head. You opened the gift bag and moved the black wrapping paper to the side, making a small gasp as you realized what was enclosed. Pulling out a cream-colored trench coat, you immediately fell in love. It was lined with white faux fur along the ends of the sleeves, as well as the collarbone and down the opening. Jongho grabbed the jacket from you and helped you put it on, giving you a minute to process. It was warm and well-fitted. It complemented you well.

Jongho always knew the right things to get you, even when to get them. You weren’t sure of how, but you were always unbelievably grateful for it.

“You look lovely, y/n. As always.”

Your face flushed red as he opened the passenger door to the car, gesturing for you to take a seat. Jongho closed the door and made his way to the driver's side. He took a seat, fastened his seat belt, and began to drive while placing a hand on your thigh. You felt your face heat up from shyness as your heart beat out of your chest. He caressed it slightly as he drove through the streets of the city, humming a tune softly to himself.

“Are you ready for tonight, my love?”

Jongho glanced at you slightly before quickly darting his eyes back to the road. Turning your head toward him a bit, you nodded smiling, curious as to what he had in store for you. The plan was a high-class restaurant that Jongho regularly goes to with his members but this time around, he finally wanted to take you.

You felt an immense amount of joy swell within your heart over this. How the date barely even started and he’s already done so much for you, from the outfit to the wonderful gift. Now a high-class restaurant? How could you ask for more?

You softly wiped your face with a napkin, taking another sip from the glass of wine that sat by your plate on the table. Jongho held your other hand from across the table, smiling happily at the performers on stage.

The performance ended with the sound of various claps and cheers filling the room. It was a lovely evening, many people took the stage whether that was simply background music or entire performances as a whole. You could see why Jongho had enjoyed coming here. Why he felt one with the music and performers that went on. Everyone had to start somewhere right?

“Hey, I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quickly, if that’s okay.”

You looked over to Jongho, slowly getting up from the chair. He smiled and nodded pointing to where the bathroom was. You walked over to him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, surprising him. His face quickly flushed red as it was usually himself who pursued public displays of affection.

“Thank you for what this night has been so far. I appreciate it Jjong.” You squeezed his shoulder softly as he beamed up at you.

Making your way towards the bathroom, you couldn’t help but notice the people around as you passed through. You knew how high-class this restaurant would be, but you never expected it to be this high. Many of the people who sat at tables were dressed head to toe in name-brand fashions, all with the highest quality fabrics. It made you a bit nervous to think if you were underdressed.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you opened the bathroom door and walked over to the sink. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you reminded yourself of who had gotten you your outfit. Jongho would never go out of his way to embarrass you. He only picks the best of fashion for himself, why wouldn’t he do the same for you?

You shuffled through your purse to find your lip gloss and begin to touch up your lips in the mirror. A few girls entered the bathroom, discussing amongst themselves the kind of the night they’d had. They quietly lit up cigars in the corner of the bathroom as you finished touching up the remainder of the makeup needed.

As usual, you remained aware of your surroundings, being observant of the girls standing by you. They both were relatively tall, maybe 5’7 and 5’9. One girl wore a long and tight black velvet dress, a black feather boa surrounding her arms. She had a short blond bob that fell just to her shoulders. The taller girl wore a light blue silky dress, two slits coming up the sides of her legs. She had long black waves coming past her shoulders, with curtain bangs framing her face.

“There’s one performance left, right?”

You began to place your makeup back in your small purse, turning on the faucet to wash your hands.

“Ah, yes I believe so! I hear it’s a good one.. rumor has it, it’s the masked singer who’s been performing every weekend!”

Your ears perked up at this sentence, unsure of if Jongho had ever mentioned a ‘masked singer’ to you. It sparked your curiosity and even pushed you a bit to ask the women who they talked about. Why hasn’t Jongho mentioned this to you? It was just a normal performance, right? So what was so special about it?

“What do you think he’ll perform tonight? I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day. He would have to perform a romantic ballad right?”

You grabbed a paper towel to dry your hands as the girls continued to smoke in the corner. Walking over to the trash, you tossed the napkin in the bin and began to head towards the door. Of course, you didn’t want to intrude on their conversation, but most importantly, you didn’t want to reek of cigars.

The shorter girl shrugged in response, taking another hit from the cigarette, before turning to look at you. She noticed you getting ready to leave and called out for you, making you stop in your tracks.

“Hey, you! You came here with that guy right?”

You turned to them slowly and nodded your head, proceeding to twiddle with your fingers.

The girls smiled at you, making their way over to you. They looked at each other and tossed their cigarettes into the sink. The shorter of the two placed her hands on your shoulders, cocking her head at you.

“He comes here pretty often, you have a good guy! Doesn’t talk to anyone, especially girls, except his friends when he comes!”

She took a step back and admired you for a second before the taller girl began to speak. The taller girl rolled her eyes as she pushed her friend out of the way.

“Don’t take what she said the wrong way. Enjoy yourself, and enjoy your date. Anyone would be beyond lucky to have him and it happened to be you.”

The taller girl turned you around, pushing you towards the door.

“Now go!! You don’t want to keep him waiting, he’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long!”

Before getting a chance to say anything in response, you found yourself inside the restaurant once again. The lights were dimmed as people began to take their final seats and talk amongst themselves. Walking back to your table you heard small conversations of ‘the masked singer’ that you heard of previously. After that weird encounter with the girls, you too grew curious about who this 'masked singer' was. The more you hear about it, the more you hoped for the time to pass so that you could know. Not only that but as to why the women admired your boyfriend as closely as they did. Why they had admired the both of you tonight.

Was it just some weird coincidence that they happened to be in the same bathroom with you at the same time? That they just happened other recognize you just because you came with Jongho tonight?

Billions of thoughts clouded your head as you found your seat, only to find that Jongho was not there. You sat down and looked around, wondering if maybe he had stepped away for a bit, possibly using the bathroom too. However, he was nowhere to be found.

"Where did he go.?” You thought to yourself.

You grabbed your phone from your purse, sending him a quick text in hopes of a response. You didn’t like to be alone in a new environment for long.

You: “Jjong? Where did you go?”

You heard a small buzz coming from the table. Looking back at his seat, you saw his phone sitting by the glass of champagne, untouched. It lit up with a picture of both of you on the lock screen and of course, a text from you.

You sighed rolling your eyes as you put your phone down. Wherever Jongho was, you wished that he’d get here soon, as you didn’t want to be left alone. Especially in a place this big. You looked around one more time, feeling like a lost child in a supermarket as you hoped to see him approaching you from somewhere. Only to feel hopeless.

The restaurant grew silent as footsteps were heard walking onto the stage. A small light arose on the figure who stood on stage. He held onto the microphone that sat in the mic stand as he looked around the restaurant. Your eyes fixed on him; he wore a black and gold mask as if he were at a masquerade ball. His outfit was similar to Jongho’s, suit and tie with the white button down under the vest.

Your eyes widened at the realization. The outfit, the hair, the fact that he was not at all back to his seat.

That was Jongho.

A soft piano melody began to fill the entire restaurant as people tuned in towards the stage. It felt like a daydream hearing his soothing voice fill your ears. How silent the room was for him. How pleased your body felt to hear him. You knew Jongho could sing, but never like this. It was completely different. He hit every note so effortlessly, not even the slightest bit of strain within his voice.

The longer the song went on, you paid attention to every lyric. How well he pronounced them. However, it intrigued you. The more you paid attention to the lyrics, the more you began to realize that he was singing to you. It was only that clear, wasn’t it?

He locked eyes with you from across the room, smiling as he sang. You nodded in return, assuring him that you were listening not only to him but to every lyric that came out of his mouth. You held your face in your hands as you grew mesmerized by his singing. It was like you were being swooned by a siren. It seemed that Jongho was one. He lured you further in with his voice. Who wouldn’t react the same?

Your heart filled with love as you closed your eyes to take in the song. Slowing down what would be such a quick moment between you two. You knew Jongho loved you, dearly. He never failed to express that towards you. However, this time felt different. It felt like the first time.

The very first time he told you he loved you on that summer day. Where you both spent hours on the beach constantly pushing each other under the water. It’s a moment you constantly replayed in your head, only because it was so precious to you.

Jongho wasn’t one to normally express his feelings towards anyone, so it surprised you. And this? This greatly surprised you. For him to perform an entire song dedicated to sharing his feelings towards you, was surreal.

As the performance began to end, you shuffled through your purse, looking for tissues to pat your eyes dry. Rounds of applause surrounded you, as people whistled and even gave a standing ovation towards Jongho. It dawned on you knowing that this was something he did once every week. How the restaurant was always eager for his performances, why they talked amongst themselves about him.

“Tissue, my love?”

You raise your head slowly to see a small pack of tissues being held out in front of you. Jongho took out a piece of tissue and patted your eyes softly, careful not to ruin or smudge your makeup. You looked up at him as he smiled at you, feeling a sense of safety within him.

He took a seat in front of you and grabbed your hand, kissing it softly. Leaning in towards you, he locked eyes with you, leaving a small amount of space between you two. Your eyes widened at how closely he came to you. He tilted his head softly before opening his mouth to speak.

“Well? What did of think of my performance?” he asked.

Awaiting your answer, your face heated up from how closely he sat in front of you. Your eyes continuously darted away from his strong gaze, but you nodded quickly, as you didn’t want him to take it as you avoiding his question entirely.

"Good, you deserve it. Remember that for me okay, princess?"

You smiled and nodded softly, looking away from him.

He placed his hand under your chin, cupping it. Moving your face to meet his, he leaned in a bit which caused you to do the same. You two shared a passionate but short kiss, leaving Jongho to place small kisses on your cheek and forehead right after.

Getting up from the chair, he grabbed your things and held a hand out for you to take, signaling that it was time to leave. You put back on your jacket and grabbed his hand, making your way out of the restaurant and back to the car. Jongho held the door open for you as you got in, placing your purse on your lap. He walked around the car and came over to the driver’s side to take a seat. Closing the door, he fastened his seatbelt and started the car while putting a hand on your thigh.

“I love you.”

You looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. He remained facing forward with a small smirk appearing on his face. Your face flushed red as you placed your hand over his, giving it a small squeeze. He turned to face you, his smirk now turning into a gushy smile.

“I mean it, y/n. I really do love you, with everything in me.”

You brought your hand up to his face and caressed it softly with your thumb. You titled your head at him as he rested his in your hand.

“I love you too Jjongie. Thank you for everything today. It means so much.”

You paused and placed a soft kiss against his forehead, going back to holding his hand on your lap. He sighed in relief and glanced at your features once more before preparing to start driving.

“You’re my everything,” he spoke, squeezing your hand subtly.

divider creds: @cafekitsune

A/N: i’m SOOOO sorry for how long it took to upload this! It was a very stressful 3 weeks to say the least 😭. But we’re finally done! I hope you guys enjoyed. I will be working on more content soon❤️ leave requests if you when any!

taglist: @skzline @evidive @kittykat-25 @amuromio @xoxkii @losrpark @classyrbf @sundaybossanova @owmoiralover @vrtualsins @sanslovesblog @honeyhwaaa @mingisbbokari @scarfac3

*comment to be apart of future taglists!*

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez atiny #ateez oneshot #kpop #ateez fluff #atiny #fluff #—♡vampzity #ateez jongho #jongho x reader #choi jongho

[judgementdaysunshine]

Can I have a Damian priest x Fem!reader

Possible friends to lovers with the prompt:

“you're not like the rest of them.”

🫂

Not like the rest of them

Pairing: Damian Priest x Fem reader

Description: You realize just how much Damian loves you when he tells you how special you are to him

Laughs could be heard between you and Damian as the two of you walk in the stadium backstage to the locker rooms where the two of you talk to each other in your locker room. The two of you had been friends for years since NXT instantly becoming peas in a pod joining WWE together and becoming a well known tag team before he joined the Judgement Day but even with his persona with them he still talks to and spends time with you leading each member of the faction to slowly spend time with and get to know you realizing immediately the feelings between the two of you that were held back for fear of rejection and losing the friendship the two of you held dear and close to your heart's until things changed as you lay your head on his shoulder feeling a sense of safety in the moment of quiet with just the two of you in the private locker room where things change in a second and changes things between the two of you, "You are dear to me" your heart flutters as you look at him closing and locking the door as you walk in the room noticing the look in his eyes that made your knees weak and your heart skip a beat as he slowly steps closer towering over you but not in a terrifying way but more in a tender way. "You're different from everyone else, I care more about you than I have shown to you and I want to show you the way i really love you if you'll let me" you nod making him smile sweetly before grabbing your chin and pulls you into a long passionate kiss following him out of the arena back to the airbnb that the two of you along with the rest of judgement day were staying in, the two of you smiled holding each other in his bedroom after seeing that everyone else had left probably for one last work out session before heading to the arena to stretch and get ready for Raw tonight which was in six hours. The two of you share a slower tender kiss turning to putty as he kisses and lightly bites your neck and shoulder sending chills throughout your body caressing your hand across his body after he took his shirt off slowly stripping you down admiring your body so gently with caresses and warm kisses before kissing down your body taking time to shower you in praises "You're not like the rest of them, God so beautiful" he takes a slow pace kissing your thighs before licking along your clit taking time to know what you liked kissing back up your body wiping the tears the flowed down your face in the moment of intimacy and vulnerability "So sweet and kind, always showing support and love for the people in your life and that made me fall for you even more than I already did" your hands intertwine together while sharing an emotional kiss as he slowly thrusts inside you. The two of you wake up two hours later slowly getting ready sharing a few small kisses before driving back to the arena stretching and talking with the rest of judgement day who notices the glances between the two of you looking at your phone when you get a text seeing it was from Rhea that said "You guys did it didn't you? 👀😏" you turn a bright red and flip the finger making Dom burst into laughter when rhea shows him the text she sent you quietly telling them about you and damian before running out for your match against Dakota Kai winning and cheering for everyone else during their matches laughing when damian lifts you in his arms sharing a kiss before hugging everyone else who each look at the two of you with faces of joy and looks that said "Finally" as you and damian change and sit in the locker room watching the rest of raw hand in hand.

#wwe x reader #wwe #damian priest #damian priest x reader

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ahh I'm so excited to see another person writing x readers for Pokémon SV!! Could you write something where the reader jokingly "proposes" to Arven with the line "Will you make me sandwiches every day for the rest of my life?" Thank you!

The weather in Paldea was quite nice this evening. Fitting for a picnic.

So you and Arven decided to settle down on a grassy field near the base of Glaseado Mountain. It was usually quite cold and windy, but the weather decided to be generous today with a light breeze.

After all you’ve been through together, from hunting Titans to journeying through Area Zero, this was a much needed break for you both. Plus since you were a Champion, you had to step back from the spotlight for a while.

As Arven fixed up some sandwiches, you watched your Pokémon frolic about, smiling fondly at your pride and joy of a team.

Even the Paradox Pokémon you recently caught seemed to be getting along with them perfectly fine. You worried they’d have a hard time fitting in with the present..but it's great to see them becoming the best of friends.

Hearing quiet squeaks, you turned your attention to your Tandemaus...who now had two smaller mice at their hips.

You stared down at them, perplexed as to where they came from, so you consulted the Pokedex for any clues.

“Oh! So you’re...Maushold now? Huh.." This was especially surprising; under normal circumstances, you'll immediately notice whenever a Pokemon of yours evolves.

Instead Tandemaus somehow evolved behind your back and...apparently spawning children is all that changed about them.

"...oh well, glad to meet the new family members." You chuckled softly.

Maushold nodded, before shifting their focus to the picnic table. They skipped over to Arven as their children held onto their parents’ tails.

How adorable.

“Hey hun?” You called out. “You’re gonna have two more mouths to feed!”

“What...oh.” Looking up, he blinked as Maushold stopped in front of him, apparently seeing a cheese sandwich he was making. They squeaked loudly in demand, the little ones tugging on his pant legs.

"Ah! Hey!!" He stumbled back a little and threw his hands up in surprise. “Okay, okay! I'll feed you and your uhh..kids. Hang on.”

Once he was released from their hold, he hastily cut the sandwich into little bite-sized pieces, before kneeling down to give it to them on a plate. “Here you go fellas. A meal for a family of four.”

Nodding in gratitude, the mice ran back to you and [Koraidon/Miraidon], deciding to eat their food with you. The parents made sure their kids ate first before helping themselves.

You smiled sweetly, seeing how much your boyfriend cared for your own Pokémon. Whenever you faltered in the art of sandwich-making, he’s there to save you all from an abhorrent meal. It's just a few of the many reasons why you loved him.

After Maushold was done eating, the parents let their children go play with your Legendary, while they sat comfortably in the grass, keeping a close eye on them. They held each other’s hands, turning to nuzzle noses lovingly.

Such a display warmed your heart, reminding you of all the dates you’ve been on with Arven.

In the beginning, he shyed away from giving affection (even when there’s only wild Pokémon around). But after everything that's happened, especially after learning the fate of his parents...he’s never held you closer.

He only then realized you truly did love him and wanted to stay with him.

It’s fair to say your bond was as strong as a Tandemaus'.

Though since they’re actually a married couple..you wondered if you'd have that kind of love with him in the distant future..

Maushold suddenly perked up and gestured for you to come closer with a sense of urgency And you kneeled down, curious as to what they wanted to say.

“Uh huh....what..? I-I..I mean yes we are, but we’re not--” Sighing, your smiled awkwardly, shaking your head. “We’re just not ready for that yet. With trainers, couples are different.”

They knew how much you loved Arven, but didn’t realize there was a “dating” process for humans; their species simply goes straight to the married life, so they didn’t know what you were waiting for.

While you weren’t entirely opposed to the idea of marrying him, now was simply not the best time. Maybe once you both graduated will it be something to consider.

But as you looked back and saw him splitting a sandwich with Mabosstiff, an idea popped in your mind. 

It may be extremely corny--and might end with you begging one of your Pokémon to use Amnesia on you--though it could prove to him that you’re fully committed to this relationship.

Besides, it’d be an interesting way to dance around the subject.

So after telling the plush mice your plan, you stood back up and headed to the picnic table, sitting across from Arven. “Hey, so um..there’s something I wanna ask you.” You attempted to stay serious.

“Hm?” Blinking, he finished his food and tilted his head. “What’s up?”

“W-Will..youmakemesandwichesfortherestofmylife?”

His face looked blank.

“....[y/n]...I love you, but you’re gonna have to speak way slower than-”

Suddenly, you grasped his hands and stared deeply into his eyes; he was taken aback and didn't know what you were doing, but kept his gaze on yours.

Despite feeling flushed, you took a deep breath before continuing.

“Arven, I-I..can see the future. Not that kind of future with robot Pokémon running around, but a future with us being together, enjoying sandwiches just like we are now. So basically what I’m trying to say is um...would you--will you make me sandwiches every day for the rest of my life?” A bashful smile overtook your face. You rushed through the last line still, though nowhere near as fast as before.

Both of you could feel the stares of all your Pokémon as they stopped playing, confused and amused at the moment their trainers were sharing.

Arven’s face flared up at the “proposal”. Normally he’d hide it with his hands, but unfortunately that was impossible, so he just huffed and looked down, thinking.

“You..don’t mind being with me forever? I mean...I-I know I’m not a strong trainer like you or smart like Penny..” He muttered. “Is being a “sandwich artist” even a-?”

“Of course it's a redeeming quality.” You chuckled. “They say the best way to someone’s heart is through their stomach. But obviously I love you for, well, you. Whether you make great food or not.”

“....hah, thank you. So to answer your question....”

For a few moments he remained silent, before looking back up at you with the warmest of smiles and sparkles in his eyes.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind doing that for the rest of my life. Whatever sandwich you want, whenever you want it!”

#i spent ages trying to figure out how to format this as a 'joke proposal' but fhdbfhrhr #clanask #anonymous #pokemon x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #pokemon violet x reader #pokemon arven #pokemon arven x reader #arven x reader #fluff

[storiesforallfandoms]

fluffy haired gamer boy ~ ranboo

word count: 2056

request?: yes!

“Oooo i saw you said you might write for Ranboo. I was wondering if I could request something. I've been having a rough few days and kinda just want some comfort fluff involving him if you could. You don't have to if you dont want to”

description: in which they’re a popular twitch streamer and their fans like to make jokes about their fellow gamer boyfriend

pairing: ranboo x gender neutral!reader

warnings: swearing, absolutely no plot other than fluff

masterlist (one, two, three)

(i just wanna note i started writing this before ranboo came out as nb and using he/they pronouns, for the sake of consistency and for the title i came up with beforehand i am using he/him pronouns and referring to him as “boyfriend”)

Behind every popular Twitch streamer is their fluffy haired, gamer boyfriend who brings just a sense of wholesomeness to every stream they are a part of.

I laughed at this once when it was brought up by a friend of mine as we were streaming one night.

“Not me!” I said, because I was an idiot and thought I was special. Because, at this point in time, I didn’t even have any plans on getting in a relationship. Even if I did, I wasn’t going to be public with my relationship. I was so sure that if I were to date someone, they wouldn’t be famous in the same way I was and I wouldn’t want to ruin their privacy by putting them out there for my hundreds of thousands of followers to see and harass and never leave alone.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

I met Ranboo for the first time after being invited to join the Dream SMP. I wasn’t much of a Minecraft fan and had no idea about the whole “SMP” stuff that had gotten so big on Twitch, but I decided to give it a try. Even if it was just one time to say that I did it. And I had become online friends with a few of the Dream SMP members, so I felt comfortable being brought into this world for the first time.

I don’t know what it was about him, but I was drawn to Ranboo almost immediately. I could barley form a sentence whenever I was talking to him. Every time he laughed, my heart would do a flip in my chest. As much as I wasn’t into Minecraft, I started putting up with playing it more just so I could spend time with him.

The day he messaged me asking if I wanted to call, just the two of us, no streaming and no video games, I almost jumped for joy. Quite literally.

And then, when he did call, he managed to make me feel so many emotions all at once.

“Hey,” I said when I answered his Discord call. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” he responded. Even with just the one word, I could tell something was going on.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah, everything is fine. I just...” He took a deep breath. This seriousness was starting to worry me. “I really like you, (Y/N). I’ve been enjoying getting to talk to you when we’re gaming together, but I want to have more than that. Like...more than friendship, even. And I know that’s a lot to ask when this is our first time talking outside of streaming, but I needed to tell you.”

I was silent for just a moment, before I started to laugh. I didn’t mean to, it just happened. I think I was just so shocked by his confession that I had no idea how else to react.

“Ouch,” I heard him mutter to himself.

“No!” I said, finally regaining myself. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just...I feel the same way about you. I have since we met, actually.”

We both laughed together upon realizing our similar situations.

That was the start of our relationship. We kept it a secret from our audiences for the first few months. It wasn’t hard when we lived in different states, so we weren’t physically together, and we didn’t act much different when we were playing together than we had before we started dating. The cat was let out of the bag when Ranboo came to surprise me at home, not realizing i was mid-stream when he did. We thought we could get around it by me ending the stream before anyone could see him, but unfortunately we didn’t take into account that my viewers would hear him. But, our fans were ecstatic with excitement when we finally confirmed we were together, and we were slightly relieved to not have to hide anymore.

But, with the fans finding out came the usual teasing from them. Someone found the clip of me and my friend talking about how I’ll never have a fluffy hair gamer boyfriend and started circulating it on Twitter. It became a running joke in my fandom. I couldn’t escape the damn clip.

Especially when I was streaming with Ranboo.

One night while we were streaming, my chat was just constantly filled with the quote I had said from the video.

“I’m going to shut off my chat at this rate,” I commented, only half joking.

“Why? What are they saying?” Ranboo asked.

“They’ve taken an old clip from one of my streams and made it the fandom joke. My entire chat is just them quoting the clip. It’s only, like, five seconds long, but at this rate it’s the longest five seconds of my life.”

There was no response to this. We were playing a game together, and it took me a moment to realize his character wasn’t moving either.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he responded.

“Okay, sure, I totally believe that.”

He was silent again. A quick glance to my chat gave me the answer: he was trying to find the clip on Twitter.

“Do not look up the clip!” I said, although I knew I was powerless at this point. He was in a completely different state, already in the process of looking for it on Twitter. I had no way of stopping him unless I was somehow able to get to his house hours away within a matter of seconds.

“Your viewers are so mean, they’re tagging me in tweets that include the clip,” he said, a light laugh in his voice.

I groaned and rolled my eyes.

Seconds of silence passed as Ranboo watched the video. I heard him chuckle slightly, then chuckle again as I assumed the video re-started.

“Is this what they keep quoting?” he asked.

“The part where I say I won’t be getting a fluffy hair gamer boyfriend? Yeah, that’s what my chat is full of right now.”

Well, actually, at that moment my chat was full of my viewers either apologizing over the fact that he had now seen the video, or laughing about the fact that he had. Twitch chats are the worst, let me tell you.

“How long ago was this before we met?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t even remember saying it until someone tweeted the clip at me, like, the week after we announced we were dating.”

“Someone in my chat says it was a few weeks beforehand.”

“Y’all keep track of this?!” I asked my chat in disbelief. “How do you guys know that?!”

“The date on the VOD, I’d assume.”

“Okay, but still. You guys are scary.”

I managed to get the attention back to the game, mainly because we had forgotten to pause and Ranboo’s character was getting killed. I veered away from the topic of the video and tried to keep Ranboo distracted with the game. My chat, however, was a lost cause. They were still reveling in the fact that he had finally seen the clip. It seemed that this was going to be the new thing for my viewers to spam and meme me with.

When we finished playing, Ranboo said he was going to stay streaming for a bit because he was set to play with someone else. I could feel my eyes starting to burn from the strain of looking at my computer for so long (one of, if not the biggest downsides to being a streamer) so I decided to call it a night.

“I’ll call you when I’m finished streaming?” Ranboo asked.

“Yeah! I’ll be up for another while,” I responded.

The chat filled with messages about how cute we were - both positive ones and playful disgust ones.

We ended our Discord call and I said goodbye to my chat before shutting down my stream. I rubbed my tired eyes, trying to get some moisture back into them to help with the strained feeling, before getting up from my desk.

After streaming for a long time, I tried to stay away from screens for at least an hour. This included watching anything on my TV. So I decided to make something to eat, playing some music in the background so it wasn’t so quiet in my apartment. Once I finished eating, I went to get a quick shower, and then pulled on my pajamas and got into bed to start reading. I was starting to nod off when my phone started playing the tone for a Discord call. I placed my book on my nightstand and rolled over onto my side to answer it.

“You’re done playing already?” I asked.

“It was just a few rounds of Life,” he responded. “They wanted to play something else, but I wanted to call you before you went to bed.”

“Awe,” I teased.

He laughed. “Yeah, yeah. I’m cute. I know.”

I chuckled. I shifted under the covers to settle into my bed more. I had a feeling I was going to fall asleep during the call, which usually happened. I knew Ranboo would just hang up once he realized I was asleep.

“So,” he said, “you weren’t planning to have a gamer boyfriend, huh?”

I groaned and rolled my eyes, which made him laugh. “God, I hate that clip. It was funny at first, but now everyone spams me with it as if it’s the funniest shit they’ve ever seen. Like, I get it! I ended up with the exact thing I said I wasn’t going to have!”

“It’s just so ironic. Especially that you said it weeks before we met.”

I rolled onto my back and covered my face with my hands. “I had no intentions of dating when I said it. I’ve never really had a serious relationship, and I wasn’t about to have a public one with another streamer. Twitch relationships are full of all sorts of drama. Except for Ludwig and QT, but he’s a YouTube streamer now so it doesn’t count.”

“For the record, I also wasn’t planning to be in a relationship. I especially didn’t expect to meet someone through Minecraft of all games.”

I chuckled. “Really? Are you telling me Minecraft isn’t the ideal dating site?”

“No, I prefer Club Penguin. I used to get so many bitches on there.”

We laughed together. I looked up at the ceiling and felt my eyes beginning to droop. I wouldn’t have long till I was completely passed out, but I didn’t want to end the phone call just yet. I know I was streaming with him for hours beforehand, but there was a difference between talking to Ranboo while we were streaming and talking to him personally. I didn’t want to end our personal time just yet, even though my body was screaming at me that it was time for sleep.

“I’m glad you didn’t completely close your mind to the idea of - what did they call me? A fluffy haired gamer boyfriend,” he said.

I chuckled. “Yeah, that’s the term exactly.”

“What does that even mean? Why is it so specific of a distinction?”

“Well, think of some of the people you’ve played with. Like...I don’t know...Karl. He’s a wholesome gamer boy with hair that’s considered fluffy. It’s, like, a whole genre of gamer men who aren’t toxic. That’s usually the type of person that other streamers end up with. It’s like the whole golden retreiver-black cat best friend dynamic I told you about once.”

“I still don’t understand how I’m a golden retriever.”

“You don’t have to understand, you just are.”

“Anyways,” he said, “as I was saying. I’m glad that you didn’t close your mind to the idea of a fluffy hair gamer boyfriend. Otherwise I wouldn’t have stood a chance. So, I guess there is some positives to stereotypes and whatnot.”

I sleepily smiled to myself. “I guess there’s not.”

“You sound like you’re falling asleep.”

I had lost the fight in keeping my eyes open. I was just barely registering anything Ranboo was saying to me. I tried to say something back, but it just came out as incoherent mumbling. I heard him chuckle and wish me a goodnight before I let the sleep take me over.

#ranboo #ranboo imagine #ranboo x reader #imagine #drabble #blurb #youtube imagine #youtube #twitch #twitch imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

[pluvialpoet]

delicate edges // chapter 2

summary: beneath disdain, there is admiration. beyond betrayal, there is devotion. underneath loathing, there is adoration. even the coldest- most closed-off hearts- are protected by delicate edges of temptation, forgiveness, and absolution. an exiled heart longs for embrace, but desire threatens ruination. will true love become your savior or your greatest sin?

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of wandering hands (noncon touching), and miscommunications (plus, an embarrassing amount of foreshadowing that won't make any sense until later)

word count: 10,302

series masterlist

The tip of an embroidery needle pricks your flesh, and with a discouraged puff, you place the hoop on the chaise beside you. It’s pitiful- both your lack of needlepoint skills, and the design you’ve attempted to craft. What was supposed to be an homage to your house sigil is a mess of tangled thread and stained canvas- an illusion of a pink maiden, indeed. Perhaps if you’d turn it one way, or flip it upside down, or close both eyes and imagine the intended image staring back at you, then a different point of view might paint your work more favorable. After a few rounds of trial and error, you’ve come to accept that it does not.

Frustration urges you to yank and tear and unravel the mess you’ve made, but alas, thread is an expensive luxury that you’d be a fool to waste. Though your patience runs thin, you take a deep breath and attempt to regain your composure. 

You’ve never been one for crafting. Dainty displays of femininity only serve to test your tolerance. Talents and skills you’ve failed to master- no matter how many years of practice you’ve endured- best you time and time again, and a twinge of panic stings your pinpricked wound when you realize that you’re running out of time. 

“I quite like this color on you,” Helaena Targaryen-  the king’s daughter, and Aemond’s sister- compliments your dress from across the room, momentarily distracting you from your plight. “It reminds me of a celastrina ladon.” She adds with a smile, though you’re not quite sure you understand the sentiment behind her words. As if she notices your uncertainty, she plainly praises, “Pretty.”

“Thank you, Helaena.” A gentle smile is passed between the two of you- a gesture of shared gratitude, and perhaps, appreciation for each other’s company. You can’t imagine how lonely she must be. Her only sister abandoned her when she was a girl, and her eldest brother had never really been quite fond of her company. Aemond tries his best to make time for his sister. Out of all of Helaena’s siblings, he is the most devoted to her. With few friends- and even fewer admirers- the princess often spends her days locked away in the comfort of her rooms, threading, dancing, or singing, solitarily. It seems like a forlorn life, but it brings her much joy. It makes you cherish the rare moments of amity she allows you to share with her. You’re grateful for them. Especially since you’re privy to the knowledge that she prefers to be left alone. “Are you looking forward to the evening’s festivities?” 

Nimble fingers continue to weave and thread, only halting their movements to ponder upon the proposed question, and after a brief silence- filled with heavy thought and reflection- Helaena reveals, “I am most looking forward to watching the sun set.” She is a woman of few words, though her speech is far from simple. She is thoughtful- precise in her vocabulary, and silent when additions to conversations are unwarranted. There is oft something woven between the lines of her riddles and tongues meant to be deciphered, and when there isn’t, simple banter suffices.

“On that, we can both agree.”

A pleasant lull fills the space of spoken word for merely a moment, before Helaena’s brow furrows. For the first time, she looks up from her embroidery and meets your stare.

“You hold no interest in the tourney, or the ball?” She asks, and your answer is immediate- as if it’s been rehearsed many times or simply reiterated.

“I believe that they falsify honor with brutality.” You express your distastes with a grimace. “Such occasion justifies acts of savagery under the guise of proving strength and skill. I’m not compelled by displays of power nor aggression- though, I suppose there is something to be admired about the art of it all.”

“Art?” 

“Yes,” You defend, “When Aemond fights, every move is calculated and precise. He moves as if…“ Pausing for a moment to gather your thoughts, you huff a breath, “As if, protection and defense are steps to a dance he’s been dancing his whole life.” You can’t help but smile whilst justifying the difference. “He is poised and delicate and-“ When Helaena grins, you realize that you’re getting ahead of yourself and your cheeks flush with warmth. “Well, I suppose there is something to be admired about it, is all.”

“And the ball?” She inquires, wondering if your opinions on dancing are as strong as they are against fighting, but before you have the chance to reply, a knock upon the door to Helaena’s chambers stifles the conversation. The interruption is unexpected and intrusive- drawing focus and attention away from your previous exchange and demanding awareness, elsewhere- and thick tension threatens to smother. Helaena’s lips part, allowing a quick gasp to pass, without allowing any more air to enter. Her lungs burn with anticipation. Another soft rap against wood heightens the already heavy suspense, and her eyes meet yours- searching, for either fear that mirrors hers, or, valor she could mimic, instead. 

When Aemond enters her chambers, a look of relief washes over her features, and the corner of his lip curls into a gentle smile. It’s obvious, in the way that they gaze at one another, that they care for each other immensely, and you’re grateful that despite whatever loneliness they suffer, they have the other.

“Mother is expecting us,” He announces, fiddling with his hands behind his back whilst he informs his sister that they’ve been called upon. She nods dutifully, setting down her needlework and smoothing down the skirts of her dress as she stands to join him. “And your father is waiting for you,” Aemond adds, his gaze shifting to where you sit. You find yourself wondering if he likes the color of your dress- or if he finds it too blue? Are the sleeves too short? Does he believe that it flatters you? Does he notice at all?  It’s not like you’ve worn it for him, specifically, but you value his opinion and hope that he might spare you a compliment like his sister had. 

He does not.

“Thank you.” With a sheepish smile, you rise, abandoning both needle and thread as you cross the room to Helaena and loop your arm with hers. He bids you both adieu with a nod and as your footsteps retreat, he catches sight of the embroidery hoop you’ve left behind. Curiosity intrigues him, and before he can stop himself, he wanders over to get a better look. 

Unsurprisingly, he can barely make out what you’ve attempted to create. Based on the colors alone, he deducts that it must’ve been a supposed tribute to your house sigil, but it hardly resembles the intended. It’s a charming disaster of chaos- pink, white, and blue tangled, knotted, and intertwined- and he’s captivated by your lack of aptitude when it comes to needlework. It’s a good thing you’ve deserted the cloth. If you had intended to pass it off as a favor, he’s pleased that you’ve saved yourself the embarrassment. He can’t imagine the ridicule you’d suffer if anyone else were to witness your craft. To spare you, he folds the homely handkerchief into his pocket- with the intent of pardoning you from mockery and returning it to you when the time permits, of course.

Why else would he be so mindful of creasing the monstrosity before tucking it safely into the pocket of his doublet?

You quickly lose interest in the tournament. Each match seems trivial and repetitive- in the sense that two men spar against one another until one bests the other. Perhaps, you hold such little regard in each aimless battle because you’ve grown used to watching seasoned knights train with purpose, not just for show. You’re not as easily amused or entertained by the performance and find yourself trying to figure out how much longer the ceaseless act will dwindle on for by trying to gauge where the sun hangs overhead.

Beside you, your father leans over. Ever observant, he takes an interest in your disinterest. Your chin rests in the palm of your hand, boredom apparent and overwhelmingly evident. He stifles a laugh. Surely, you’re not so uninterested in the events taking place before you that you find yourself prone to slumber. When you were a girl, you used to love watching the knights joust. It was your favorite part of celebrating the spring solstice. Now, you’re practically nodding off beside him. If he looks close enough, he can still catch glimpses of his little girl in a woman grown.

“I have a proposal for you,” He clears his throat softly, coaxing your attention away from the mock battle. “Before the next round, choose a winner. If you are correct, I shall award you a halfpenny.”

“Only a halfpenny for my knowledge?” He’s not expecting you to frown, but your lips pucker and pout, visibly unenthused by what he thought made an otherwise tempting offer. “I’d wager my talents are worth at least copper stars.”

“Do you now?” His eyes crinkle with laughter, the sound stifled by the roar of the crowd. “Well then, you must forgive me, darling, for I did not know your talents were so valuable.” Your father ribs softly. It’s nearly impossible not to mirror his joy when it’s so contagious. “Perhaps if your knowledge can predict the outcome of each match, I shall reward you with a gold dragon.” 

“Truly?” With wide eyes, you ask.

“Have you ever known me to jest?” A gentle scoff is accompanied by a teasing glint. “Now, perk up,” He warns with a playful grin, and you have no reason to argue.

Between wagers with your father and idle chatter with Helaena, time passes comfortably. Match after match concludes with applause granted to the victor, and at some point, the acclamations start to lose their novelty. You find yourself joining in on the celebrations to avoid being the only one left out, but it’s all forced- every smile, every congratulatory cheer, even most of the sympathetic grimaces offered to those impaled by a lance or bathed in mud and defeat, lack genuine sincerity. 

The royal box obscures your view of the sun, but you can still feel the warmth of its rays- even eclipsed by stone and canvas above. It’s an unforgiving heat. Wet and sticky. Each breath is labored, and excess moisture is absorbed by the fabric of your gown, adding phantom weight to the garment. Dampness kisses your hairline, decorating the expanse with pearls of sweat that glisten in the light. Fine hairs start to curl outwards, rebelling against the braids they were forced into earlier this morning and you resist the urge to comb them back into place.

Thunderous applause distracts.

Another champion rides forth, and the splintered pieces of House Mallister’s sigil become trampled by the hooves of an auburn stallion. The rider guides his beast toward the royal box, but the mount does not advance without a fight. He whinnies in protest, letting out a huff of refusal, before taking to his hind legs. Onlookers murmur and gasp as the knight struggles to control the horse. Another irritated puff, another crack of a whip, and then, finally, the animal obeys. 

The mystery knight’s helmet is discarded and the Master of Revels introduces Ser Edmund Flowers- a hedge knight from the Reach, said to be the bastard son of Willem Ball. He’s rewarded with far less praise once his identity is revealed, but the celebration never truly ceases. Dark, unkempt hair falls into his eyes and he shakes it away to clear his line of sight as he looks up towards the royal box. He’s young- no more than a year or two older than you are- and it’s a miracle that he’s managed to survive the joust without the same amount of experience most fighting knights possess.

Helaena flinches beside you.

The sudden movement catches your attention, and you spare her a glance as she fidgets with her fingers. Her eyes are wide, her pale skin ghostly and gray, and you can’t help but feel concerned for her. Knowing of her aversion to touch, you fight the urge to reach for her hands and stop them from trembling. Something has spooked her. A look of equal parts fear and anger influences her features, and her stare narrows.

“No, no, no,” She mumbles to herself, and you briefly wonder if she’s made wagers against the victorious knight. Perhaps she’s found herself in debts she can not pay. If she requires coin, she merely has to ask. Whilst others remain in good spirits- cheering and applauding- the princess appears sullen and agitated. The sight of her distress is enough to warrant concern of your own.

“Helaena, what is it?” You ask lightly, mindful not to add to her unease by making sharp, sudden movements, or using a voice that might appear louder, or harsher than intended. She looks to you then, her stare blank and her eyes glossed over in either terror or detachment- it’s difficult to tell. Her answer is decided, but the words evade her, and she struggles to formulate the intended reply. Instead, her lips part, and press, over and over again, like she’s gasping for air.

The sound of her quick breaths finally catches Aemond’s attention, but before he has the chance to spare his sister concern, he’s interrupted.

“Lady Piper,” Ser Edmund addresses the box and you immediately suck in a sharp sigh. He beams with a confidence rewarded by glory- void of the arrogance granted by experience- and offers a peaceful smile. “I’ve prayed to the Seven for protection, but I look to you and your favor for strength.” The proposal, which sounds more like a plea, is met with silent anticipation-  from both the gathered masses and yourself. 

He is a stranger- a name you’ve never heard of and a face you’ve never seen until today. His status, or lack thereof, is not what causes your chest to tighten. It is not his fault he is a bastard, and you don’t hold him in low esteem because of it. He is boyishly handsome- at least, you assume, with the distance between you and the glare of the sun’s rays, that he is- and it’s enigmatic, trying to decipher what flutters inside of you at the prospect of accepting his advanced.

It is the first time you’ve been called upon with the intent of a potential courtship. 

It is the first time you’ve been desired.

It fills you with gratification- to know that you’re wanted, to know that you’re sought after. So strange and so new is the feeling that you don’t know what to make of it. The only time you’ve felt something similar- the only other time you’ve been kissed by the flames of attraction and burning- is when you find yourself in the company of your eldest friend. Whatever flush set alight by the knight asking for your favor is snuffed out by the fondness you feel for the second Targaryen prince.

“I do not take without giving, my lady, and I offer this flower as a token of my gratitude.” Withdrawing something from underneath his breastplate, tucked safely between chainmail and steel- he presents a favor of his own. With purple and green leaves- and roots still attached to a clump of soil- he holds it out to you and you rise to your feet. 

Aemond watches you smile sweetly at the gesture, enthralled by the lavishness of the offering, and his lip curls bitterly. The bastard knight has offered you nothing more than fireplum- a weed- likely plucked from lands that don’t belong to him, and never will. Yet, your eyes crinkle with affection at such a simple display of yearning. His nostrils flare.

“Thank you, Ser Flowers.” You bow- simply to convey decency- and his smile grows. The air stills. Heavy, with something other than humidity, each breath fails to satiate the need for more air in your lungs. Whispers travel. Murmurs intensify. With a sudden reluctance, your intestines twist- but your smile never falters. Against better judgment, you spare a glance over your shoulder. You expect to be met with the familiar comforts of violet and sapphire- concealed by leather- but Aemond looks beyond you. Even when you attempt to catch his eye, he refuses to meet your stare. Breath catches in your throat. 

You don’t know what you were expecting.

Dejectedly, you untie one of the purple ribbons from your hair and wrap it around his lance- seemingly accepting his favor and offering your own in return. “Best of luck to you.” 

The crowd erupts in support. With a thoughtful grin, he boasts your favor and dons his helmet once more. You return to your seat, where Helaena remains fitful, and brush the tips of your fingers over the leaves of your token. Beside you, your father offers his sympathies with a tight press of his lips and you awkwardly return the gesture before trying to sneak another glance at Aemond- whose peripheral is blocked by his patch. Despite this, he can feel the weight of your stare and wills himself to look forward.

Ser Flowers is thrown from his horse the next round, and Aemond makes no attempt to hide his spiteful smirk of glee whilst he watches the defeated bastard limp from the tourney grounds. It’s a sight to be seen- a Flower daubed in mire- and he’s lucky he has at least one eye to see it. The loser spares a pitiful glance towards you, and you offer your sympathies silently- with a gentle nod.

The tourney drags on. A winner is announced, and then a loser, and so on and so forth until only one knight- from House Darklyn- emerges victoriously against all of his competitors. Holding true to tradition, a wreath of flowers is placed atop the head of a plain girl from Tarth. Precious petals are cushioned by hair that resembles straw, and when she smiles, it’s revealed that she’s still missing a few teeth from her youth. She’s a bony child, nearly as tall as the knight that’s crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty, and even with only one eye, Aemond can see clearer than those blessed with two- she is not the most desirable maiden in attendance nor the most striking. She just is. Simple. Forgettable. Ordinary. Yet, onlookers cheer for the homely daughter of the Evanstar, praising and celebrating her as if she were the fairest across the land- an actual sapphire unearthed amid bedrock and clay.

Why is she so easily accepted by the masses and he shunned? Why is she celebrated whilst he is ostracized? 

Envy is sour, and his lips purse with distaste as he forces his attention elsewhere. He will not honor the chosen outsider- a child with nothing to give to his people- whilst he remains snubbed. Grateful for the distraction, if nothing else, he uses the celebration as an excuse to quietly slip away, back into the shadows that welcome him when he’s grown tired of parading about the light. Perhaps his only regret is that he’ll miss the sunset, but he doubts that you won’t find a way to recount the sights to him the next time you cross paths. With a vivid attention to detail and a picturesque prose, the story he awaits is likely more mystical than the actual event- like childhood lore, meant to lull, but stirring imagination instead, he reckons he could listen to the same tale echoed forevermore, as long as it’s from your view.

On a dias, sat high above the company of lesser lords and commoners, Aemond sits alone. He is surrounded by his blood- save for the empty seat next to Helaena where his brother, Aegon, is meant to be seated- but he remains solus. The feast is a joyous occasion for gluttons and peasants alike, luxuriating in grub and cups without a care beyond what they’ll shove down their gullets next, and he loses his appetite in the presence of greed. Below they laugh, dance, and indulge, leaving the prince with no choice but to observe the same people that have rejected him partake in merriment. He has always been the spare- second to Aegon, and third, fourth, and so on to the children his future wife might bare- but he still occupies a seat above them, a seat that watches over them as they mingle and gawk whilst he has no choice but to remain dutiful. Forced to portray amiability when all that bubbles in the pit of his stomach is animosity.

The glances spared his way- the ones purposeful and deliberate, not accidental or unintentional- are filled with the same judgments and scrutiny he’s been condemned to since childhood. Though he’s much too far to hear the whispers sat atop his pedestal, he holds no delusions that the gossips have seized their hearsay in favor of silence. They’d be driven to madness, otherwise. Cornered by elation, trapped in a festivity of joy, he remains sullen. He clasps his hands together- tight enough for the color to drain from his fingertips- and with a look of repugnance, he watches over the citizens that have prospered with newfound sustenance- even if only for the evening- by suckling from his family’s teet.

Through small talk and amicable gestures, you’ve managed to avoid the awkward prospect of falling into step with a suitor who would quickly lose interest the moment you spun out of turn, or stepped on their toes- like the last time Aemond’s uncle, Daemon, had asked for your hand. He didn’t speak a word to you, and hardly spared you a glance whilst he lead you through the dance. Instead, he glared at his nephew with a smug smile that quickly vanished when you accidentally lost your footing and landed right on his foot. Aemond laughed at that.

The urge to flee is immense. You long to retire somewhere thinly populated- free from the burdens of socializing and the threat of celebration- but as you look upon the grand dias that seats the Targaryen family and catch Aemond’s eye, your devotion morphs into something much more selfless.

He holds your stare. Despite the exuberant mob of conversation, drunken joviality, and waltzing pairs, he finds you. Somehow, he always does- and, with a talent far less impressive, you manage to find him. Never first, only after you feel his eye upon you. Even from far away, you note the discomfort reflected in his gaze. Invisible to everyone else in attendance, you notice him. Always. You rise, abandoning grub and beverage in favor of more familiar comforts, and across the room, Aemond does the same. The simultaneous movements fail to garner the regard of inebriated guests- drunk on glee and mead- but they share the same intentions. With a smile you’re unable to contain, you weave your way through the crowd. When you finally make your way to his side, he greets you with a thin press of his lips and a nod, and you mean to make conversation with him, but someone clears their throat from behind you, contending for your attention, instead.

“Lord Corbray,” Your smile is forced, yet reserved. With grace and diplomacy, you greet Leowyn Corbray- a stocky man with little respect for chivalry, as he oft forgets himself in the company of women. His dark, stringy hair is sparser than the last time your paths crossed, but it is still slicked back with grease and clumped in patches. The top button is missing from his doublet, the front of the garment soaked through with either sweet wine, mead, or sweat. He appears to be in good spirits, either way. The lines around his eyes crease as he greets you, smile stretching wide to reveal a crooked display of teeth. He is nearly thrice your age, but the years don’t prevent him from reaching for your hand.

“Lady Piper,” He happily accepts your pleasantries by pressing his lips to the back of your palm. It is revolting. It is repulsive and distasteful. Despite how sloppy the gesture is, despite the quick swipe of his tongue against the dorsal of your hand that makes your skin crawl, the worst part about the entire exchange is that his grip tightens around your fingers- effectively, and forcefully, stopping you from retreating from the seemingly innocent assault.

Luckily, unlike the last time you found yourself in his presence, you are not alone.

“Prince Aemond,” Leowyn acknowledges the man beside you only because of the title he dons. If Aemond had been a squire, knight, or even another lord, he wouldn’t have paid him any mind. But alas, propriety mustn’t be forgotten in the presence of royalty. 

Next to you, Aemond stiffens. Though he is completely unaware of the strength Lord Corbray uses to keep you in his grasp or the grievous attack of his lips upon your skin, he finds the entire exchange unsettling. He thinks back to your conversation a few days prior- the one where you voiced your distaste for marriage and motherhood- and he believes he understands better than he did then. Watching you interact with a man who is closer in age to your father than he is to you, is confusing. He doubts that you would find yourself in a happy partnership with a man as absent-minded as Leowyn Corbray, and the longer he considers the possibility, his insides begin to ache. Akin to that of an upset stomach from boyhood, he watches you smile and wipe your hand against the skirts of your dress before shivering, and the twisting in his stomach intensifies. Coupled with a tightness in his chest- equivalent to the labored, strained breaths after a taxing day of sword training- he watches as a pair of light brown eyes meet yours, and knows not what to make of such strange, sudden sentiments.

“Not even the stars rival your light tonight, my lady,” Leowyn slurs, whilst attempting to flatter you, no doubt. Perhaps from anyone else, the compliment might’ve brought forth a warmth to your cheeks, but from his tongue- past his lips, in a boisterous tone, with an arrogant grin, as if he were certain such praise would have you falling at his feet- you feel nothing beyond irritation, and even a bit of pity, for the man making a fool of himself. Still, you’re too well-mannered not to accept his kind words- even if you refuse to take them to heart.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Under no delusion that he’s come to simply pay you a compliment, you wait with bated breath for him to reveal his true intention. The silence- which only lasts a few seconds- feels like it stretches on for days. You’ve grown dizzy, plagued with worst-case scenarios and nightmarish figments. Though, when he speaks again, your worries do not remain somewhere far off. They intensify.

“Perhaps, you would bestow me the honor of a dance?” His tongue sweeps across the front of his teeth in a manner that makes the crooked ivories nearly mistakable for a set of fangs. The color in his eyes dissolves, darkening an already menacing stare tenfold. “It would be a privilege to turn with the fairest maiden amongst the seven kingdoms,” Memories haunt. Time has faded bruises, but it has not healed old wounds split open by fear. Though, back then you knew not what to expect. Now, you dread what you know. 

“Have you met them all?” It’s a shock that your voice finds you at all. The sly leer falls from his face. Arrogance and brawn are discarded like a mask, revealing a timid, feeble, drunken man underneath the brazen facade of a lord- whose only real power comes from a title handed down to him, not strength or wit, or even charm.

“I beg your pardon?” He sputters, mouth agape and taken aback by the challenge he neither expected nor prepared for. 

“All the maidens in the seven kingdoms?” Rage and trepidation influence your speech, demanding answers to questions you wouldn’t even dare to ask had you found yourself alone in his company. “Have you the privilege of meeting them all before deeming that I am the fairest?”

Aemond bites back a snicker. There’s something comical about the exchange, and something even more gratifying about watching you reproach a man as vile as Leowyn Corbray. His chest blossoms with something parallel to pride, but not quite equivalent, and it makes each breath a little easier to breathe when he glances upon the fool’s face and witnesses a look of utter stupefaction. For once, he is not the object of ridicule. Thus, if prompted, he will not refrain from joining in on the mockery he’s only ever witnessed his whole life. Perhaps he is as wicked and twice as heartless as whispers have painted him out to be. Thirsty for nothing short of revenge against any and all who have ever wronged him, he thrives for vengeance. But then, he looks to you- the only person who has never made him feel any less whole, solely because he is missing parts- and such temptations are quelled. 

For nearly a second, he gazes at you with fondness.

“Lady Piper, I-“ A proper apology evades the man before you. Perhaps, if he’d offered his condolences more, he might’ve been better acquainted with the words meant to ask for pardon. Alas, his following sentiment disappoints, “I meant not to offend, my lady- only to compliment.” 

“I see,” You agree, but your expression betrays you.

“Perhaps my intentions were unclear,” He’s too self-righteous to surrender. If he were a leader in battle, he would lead his men straight to their deaths. His pride will forever be his downfall- an attribute he will never outgrow, a characteristic that will never change.“ But I wish to dance with you, my lady,” If you did not know him, you might believe the sincerity behind the notion, but Leowyn Corbray is a vain man, not a genuine one. “Unless of course, you are already spoken for,” As his eyes flit between you and Aemond, you suck in a sharp breath. The insinuation fills you with hope- hope that the prince’s presence might discourage him, hope that you will not be forced to dance with a foul man, hope that Aemond might take your hand in his and lead you away to the gardens where you first asked him to dance all those years ago- but Aemond physically recoils at the implication. You are not his. The revelation invites your suitor’s advances once more. In the blink of an eye, the color returns to his face, and his eyes brighten with anticipation and excitement. “Very well,” He exclaims cheerfully, directing his attention solely to you. “Lady Piper,” Brandishing the pudgy fingers of his palm, he demands under the guise of a query- as if you have a choice to deny him. “Your hand?”

Suddenly, you feel trapped. When you try to catch Aemond’s eye, he casts his gaze downward, refusing to meet your stare. The reaction causes a dull ache in your chest. All too quickly you understand the prospect that awaits you if you do not intervene. Perhaps, as foolish as it sounds, the child within you still fears the anticipation of dancing with another. Despite the number of times you’ve turned with a partner, each time has only intensified your insecurities and doubts. There’s a reason you’re desperately trying to avoid partnering with Leowyn for the evening, even if only briefly, and your pulse quickens with fear when you realize that you do not have a legitimate reason to turn him away.

“Where did you say you saw my father?” The question draws looks of confusion from both members of your company. It tastes just as mindless, but you present an inquisitive front. Your eyes plead with Aemond, silently hoping that he wouldn’t force you to outright beg for his aid, but he peers straight past your guise- failing to appreciate your quick wit and allowing your call for support to go unanswered.

“I have n-“ Aemond shakes his head, bewildered by the oddities that slip past your tongue. As of late, you’ve stopped making sense, and he’s found himself growing more and more concerned with your strange behavior. You speak in riddles he can not understand, and it perturbs him. He longs to understand, but you make it so difficult. Your face falls and he feels himself growing frustrated. He’s no stranger to disappointment. Having been born a failure- sharing a cradle with an egg that refused to hatch- he knew, even then, that he would continue to be a letdown. He was half the size of Aegon, and twice as fierce- he had heard- but before he could savor the feeling of air in his lungs, he had let his father down. Why else would the king have scorned him for all of these years? He was only his second son, after all. Despite the odds stacked against him, you have yet to make him feel less than- like he’s unworthy simply for being- and as he watches your eyes try to convey what you won’t allow words to, his chest tightens. It’s as though you expect him to understand a completely different language, without revealing the translations- about as effective if he were to speak to you in High Valaryian.

He can’t take it anymore. You are an anomaly he can not make sense of- and it vexes him.

“Forgive me, lord, but I must-“ Looking past his stocky frame, you try to catch a glimpse of your father, or at the very least a glimpse of a familiar face- truthfully, you would’ve settled for one of Helaena’s handmaidens- even though the most familiar face is standing right beside you, and looking at you as though you’re a stranger. Your eyes begin to water, threatening tears, and you try your best to blink them away. It’s a pain you never could’ve fathomed, which is why it stings so deeply.

“Are you refusing me?” Much to your horror, he catches onto your plans to escape. In an instant, he discards cordiality in favor of a menacing ire. “Doing so would surely bring great shame to your house- not to mention your father,” His presence is so daunting that when he takes a step closer, Aemond finds himself stepping forth to shield you. He takes half a step, angling his body to protect you from the wrath of the arrogant prick that threatens you, and stares Leowyn down, halting his approach.

He doesn’t quite like the tone that’s been taken with you.

“Your father is just over there, lady Piper,” His eye never leaves the pathetic excuse of a man before him, though he addresses you. With his back towards you, you’re unaware of the darkness that bleeds into the light of his iris, but Lord Corbray swallows thickly when Aemond narrows his stare. “Perhaps you should allow her a moment to speak with him before pestering her for a dance,” It’s not a suggestion- it’s an order, that Leowyn has no choice but to obey.

He clears his throat, ridding the passage of phlegm and panic, and presses his lips together. The prince is easily a head and a half taller than he is and built of lean muscle and years of strength training. He may be inebriated, but even soaked in booze, Leowyn’s wise enough to know that he’s no match for the marred prince. At least he does not have to cover his monstrosities. “Very well,” He heeds to Aemond’s warning with a weak smile. It does little to convey the ease it’s intended to, and Aemond barely registers the feeling of his fingernails digging into the meat of his palm when his adversary tries to meet your eyes over his shoulder. “I shall return once your affairs are in order.” He promises, though it feels more menacing than a threat.

His boots click once, twice, three times against the polished stone floors, and you abruptly turn to face Aemond. Your heart is pinned to your sleeve- a raw, irregular display of fear, sorrow, and trepidation that flaunts all you attempt to obscure. Each pulse sends a tremor through your body, and your eyes flit nervously around the crowded room in search of ever-present danger. The music has faded away almost completely, eclipsed by the sharp ringing in your ears. Even conversation and laughter have merged into something so dull and muffled they’re almost impossible to make out. Your fingertips tremble as you reach for Aemond, and you seek his comfort blindly as the room starts to spin and vivid colors threaten to dim to black.

He does not notice.

“Aemond,” His name is barely a whisper, and he exhales heavily as you plead, “Please,” You croak, each word more and more difficult to pronounce with the tightening of your throat. “Please do not make me dance with him,” 

“He’s asked for your hand.” The reminder is clipped, and could have easily been mistaken for something harsh or bitter, had you not known the truth of his nature. Still, he refuses to gaze upon you whilst he delivers the cruel truth. He can not bear to watch the color fade from your cheeks. He will not subject himself to the punishments of watching sorrow seep into your smile, or the light dim behind the darkness of your eyes. It’s an agony he refuses to brave. Instead, he cowers away- yielding to surrender for the first time in his life. A blaze burns in his lungs, and he swallows smoke and flame alike, igniting a searing rage deep in his chest. His torments are self-inflicted, yet he continues to ache. Damn, his pride. Damn, his ego. It is what fuels his malice. Though he holds no desire in asking you to dance- refraining from creating a spectacle on both of your behalf- it maddens him to know that someone else will turn with you instead. Some pompous lord will ask to spin you, and then another will follow, and for the rest of the evening he will be forced to watch you partake in a custom you dread- and only he will know of your pain.

Pain. It’s what you remember most about the last time you were forced to dance with Lord Leowyn Corbray. The way his nails dug into your flesh. The way his palms squeezed and manipulated. The purples, blues, and greens that have since faded, but the terror and shame that still remain. Aemond is so much more than an ally amongst men, he is a friend, and you stand before him beseeching him for refuge- but it seems as though he’s drawn his gates and barred the windows to his sanctuary, leaving you stranded and alone for reasons you can not fathom. He values honor and tradition, but he is not wicked. He would not condone the heinous acts committed against you, if he were privy to them. To make him understand, you must divulge, but revealing the truth also means bearing your humiliation. 

Would he treat you differently? Would he hold you in less regard if he knew the secrets you’ve kept to maintain a respectable appearance? Would he discard you, thinking you’d been sullied before marr- no. Despite doubts and impending anxiety, you know Aemond’s character. He is not vile. He is not brutal nor merciless. He will understand. As soon as you can find the words to help him, he will understand.

“Y-yes but, his hands…they…” Your demons claw at consonants and vowels, greedily snatching every letter from the cavern of your mouth before it may pass your lips, and you struggle to convey what is of utter importance. Through your panicked haze, you do not notice the furious glint that obscures lilac to violet. Aemond feels a fury. Until this very moment, he had only been blistered by the flames alight within him. 

Now, he burns.

“What?” The heaviness in his voice doesn’t register. Lost upon you, the same way the clenching of his fists and the pursing of his lips is, you barely notice how he fails to conceal how deeply your confession has affected him. His temper has been tempted, coaxed from the places he tried to bury it in his youth- and he welcomes darkness to light.

When he looks at you now, he recognizes your fear. It’s as clear as looking upon a reflection of his childhood. For a moment, he feels regret. He had been so blinded by his own self-importance that he could not recognize your affliction. It’s a fleeting feeling, replaced by a rage he has no intention to quell. The tips of his ears flush with his wrath. The skin around his scar splotches pink and red with an influx of internal heat, but he barely registers the discomfort. He waits, with clenched teeth and an attentiveness previously reserved, for you to confide in him- and the truth pierces straight through his armor.

“His hands wander.” The confession warrants carnage and the urge to drain blood. He fails to detect the taste of bile as his rage consumes him. “Once, when I was a girl, I-I was forced to dance with him a-and I-“ 

“Go to your father.” Aemond orders sternly. The assertiveness of his voice- something more forbidding than you’re used to- causes you to stiffen. Caught off guard by the change in his demeanor, you hiccup softly and begin to protest- fearful to part from the assurance of his presence- but you never get the chance to.

“A-aemond, I-“

“I will be but a moment,” He tells you, void of gentle reassurance and warmth. An iciness not meant for you sends a chill through your blood. Everything stops, suddenly, and you forget your sorrows in favor of concern. You do not recognize the man stood before you, or the glint in his eye- but it does not frighten you. He does not frighten you. If anything, you find yourself unsettled by possibilities crafted from figments of panic and distress, woven together like threads to create a visual of your worst fears. Both reluctant and eager to follow his orders, you find yourself frozen in place. Meeting his eye, you search for something calm within the chaise of lilac- something familiar- and Aemond’s nostrils flare at your hesitation. You spare him one last glance, hoping that it conveys all of the sentiments your tongue fails to- be careful, be safe, do not search for trouble, come back to me- and with an uncertain nod, your feet begin to guide you away.

He remains still with his fists clenched by his sides until he’s sure your father has noticed you. Then, he sets off.

You feel faint.

The room, and the people within it, spin dizzily, and it takes every bit of willpower you have to keep walking toward your father. He’s easy enough to spot, and you’re temporarily riddled with vexation that you weren’t able to find him sooner. He smiles when he sees you- his face rosy from indulging in the evening’s festivities- but his grin falters when he notices the look of utter terror you don.

“What troubles you, darling?” He skips a greeting altogether, “You seem…unwell.”

“I am,” You attempt to convey what you’re feeling, but the words fail you. Instead, it sounds like you’re agreeing with him, and it only heightens his worry.“I-I am-“

“Has something happened?” He tries a simpler question, urging you to divulge what’s gotten you so riled up. “Take a breath, love,” A warm hand finds your shoulder, and he crouches down to meet your line of sight- that somehow searches beyond him for a head of silver. “What has happened?”

“Aemond,” Through your panic, decency evades you, and you find yourself unable to mutter any explanation beyond calling out his name. “Prince Aemond, have you- can you see him?” Questions remain unfinished, true inquiries remain unasked- cut in half and left partial by quick breaths- you find it increasingly difficult to simplify your urgent need to discover his whereabouts. “I-I’ve lost him.” You supply, but your father struggles to make sense of the minimal detail. “We were together, you see, and we parted ways and I haven’t- I must-“ 

You’re visibly shaken. Your inability to form a coherent sentence, coupled with the fact that the whites of your eyes shine with a fear he’s prayed you’d never feel, fills him with dread. He sets his goblet down. Acidic spirits already savored sour in his gut. He takes a breath, and then another, his tongue swiping across the wine-stained cracks in his lips before he leans in and accuses, “Has the prince caused you such distress?”

If anyone were to overhear the accusation, he would certainly face repercussions for such foul allegations, but when your well-being is at stake, he could care less about the threat of his tongue being slit, or his head being placed atop a spike.

His love for you truly knows no bounds.

“No!” You’re quick to deny the slander against Aemond’s name, horrified at the implication that he could be the cause of such affliction. “No, he…he could never.” Your voice finds you then- in the surety of defending Aemond’s honor, no doubt- and with a breath, you try your best to explain. “I just-“ 

“Good evening, Lord Piper.”

An angry flush kisses Aemond’s cheeks- a startling contrast against the fairness of his skin that proves difficult to hide- but he bows his head respectfully, greeting your father, properly. Your eyes widen. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you search for any indication of an altercation- first his brow, and the delicate skin around his scar, then his neck, and any other exposed skin, before finally landing on his knuckles. With a sickening realization, it dawns on you that you’re searching for blood. Your father watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your face until a look of relief overcomes your features. He waits a moment more, ensuring that you’re truly at ease. Then, he returns the prince’s sentiment.

“Good evening, Prince Aemond, and happy solstice to you.” He presses his lips together politely- though his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Silence follows. Neither you, nor Aemond says anything. Instead, you gaze upon one another, and as your father looks between the two of you, he realizes that an entire conversation is taking place- and he can’t decipher any of the words. Reluctantly, your father spares you one last glance before huffing a sigh. “Well, I believe it is not my company you’ve sought this evening,” He announces before turning towards you once more. There’s a look in his eye,- a look that urges you to seek him, to confide in him when the time permits- and with a gentle nod of understanding, he bids you farewell, entrusting you in Aemond’s care. “Darling,” 

As soon as your father departs, you huff a sigh of relief. “Aemond,” His name passes in a breath, and your brows furrow. “What did you say?” 

“If you were meant to hear, I would not have sent you away.” He tells you. His jaw is tense, the muscles pronounced and much more prominent when he forces himself to hold his tongue behind an army of clenched teeth, and you notice the flush of his cheeks- a dark red hue that’s obvious against pale skin- and the way his chest heaves. His eye doesn’t meet yours, instead glowering somewhere behind you, and you have to resist the urge to reach out for him- to find the sharp point of his chin with the tips of your fingers and save him from his thoughts. With a heavy exhale, he sighs, “It matters not, just know that you will never have to endure his company again.”

Your gaze narrows. It can not be that easy. With no signs of a physical confrontation- save for the barely there trembling of Aemond’s clenched fists- and no visible blood spilt, you’re left to assume that such a conflict was resolved with words- which seems impossible. You suppose that his stature might’ve been enough to intimidate the lesser lord, but still, you can’t help but wonder what was spoken amongst men- and why it’s seemed to agitate him so. Somewhere, between the vagueness of his reply, the truth remains, and you have to accept that the only two people privy to such knowledge are Aemond and Leowyn. With his word that you’ve been spared, you know it to be so, and a feeling of utter relief eclipses the affliction you felt mere moments prior.

“Thank you.” Pressing your lips together, you express your gratitude with a smile. Aemond attempts to mirror the gesture politely, but the firm, morose line pales in comparison. He catches the eyes of a pair of lords who have taken a sudden interest in watching the two of you. They whisper to one another, leaning in close to share secrets about him, no doubt, and he can only imagine what vile things they must mumble- what wicked sights they must see as outsiders looking in. It must be quite a display, to watch someone as grim and menacing as he is- someone as aloof and unapproachable- speak to someone as fair and kind as you are. He wonders what judgments must pass when he is in your company? What do the outsiders believe to be true? Perhaps that you’ve taken pity on him- as he did, briefly, in his youth. Or, perhaps you’re performing an act of decorum. All his life he’s been subjected to repellent remarks and ugly accusations, but this is the first time he finds himself wondering what people must whisper about you- for choosing to stand by his side, in a room full of people. The revelation causes his tempers to flare. A fleeting rage returns tenfold and he has half a mind to confront the onlookers on your behalf, to make them rue ever speaking illy upon your name, to make them suff-

“Would you fancy a dance?” You ask, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil and the perceived judgments passed onto the pair of you. “Unless, of course, you wish to retire to your chambers, or evade our company altogether-“ There’s a hint of teasing thinly woven within the suggestion, and it’s enough to reel his attention back from the shadows of his mind. A coy, little smirk threatens to turn into a taunting smile, and Aemond finally turns to face you.

“Still haven’t found a knight or squire to teach you technique, have you?” He jests with the hint of a barely-there smile, alluding to the faithful night in the godswood in which your paths crossed. 

In truth, you’ve found plenty- but you’ve chosen him. Such a vulnerable revelation feels as though you’ve permitted him to look right through you- beyond blood, bone, and marrow- straight to an arrhythmic heart, and you fear that he sees it- your feelings for what they are, and you for what you truly feel. Before him, you are defenseless. Always. Never exposed nor endangered, but at the mercy of him, entirely. There is no need for armor- nothing to gain from chainmail, steel, nor shield- because you do not need to protect yourself from him. The only weapon he wields is a blade of rejection, sharpened and polished to pierce through the entirety of your being. The notion alone threatens to dampen your lashes and you’re forced to confront a question you’ve refrained from asking aloud; is it better to tell him how you feel, or spare yourself the pain of possible rejection? You do not know the answer.

Aemond, who notices that you appear crestfallen rather than jovial, as he intended, sucks in a sharp breath before agreeing, “Very well,”

He extends his hand to you- long, inviting, pale fingers beaconing you to join him- and you swallow down the last inklings of doubt, before reluctantly taking his hand. Beyond the crowds, near the outskirts of partnered pairs and intoxicated onlookers, there is a clearing. An abandoned corner- so secluded, yet so exposed- has never appeared more enchanting, and you allow Aemond to guide you toward the private opening. The smell of booze is overwhelming, rivaled only by the unmistakable odors of sweat and urine. It’s pungent, but a welcome reminder that cups are filled to their brims, and the surrounding folk are too busy drowning in their own pleasures to pay you any mind.

You are a stranger amongst the shadows, and Aemond steers you.

Once an appropriate distance from the rest of the crowd- a separation far enough to grant privacy, whilst remaining accessible enough to heed to societal standards- Aemond turns to face you. Though traces of agitation, spite, and irritation still linger across his features, there’s a softness that wasn’t there before. As if you’ve been offered a glimpse of a knight free from the protection of his armor- bare from the defenses of his shield- you meet the ambiguous intensity of his eye. A round of applause is muffled by the fervor of his stare, and you can’t help but hold his gaze.

In the reflection of his iris, you see yourself, and you can’t help but wonder if he notices himself in yours?

He takes a step forward, approaching you slowly and positioning his stance. You follow suit, albeit less confident and sure than he is. For as far removed from judgment as you are, your stomach still twists unpleasantly. Though, all churning seems to seize when you feel Aemond’s hand reach out for yours. For a moment, you’re stunned. Even with the knowledge that you’d have to hold him to turn with him, you weren’t prepared for such an intimate affair. So lost within your thoughts are you that at the first sound of strings threaten your feet to move on their own accord.

“Not yet,” He whispers, so softly that you still. Warmth seeps from your palms, and you wonder if he can feel the influx of heat where your hands are joined. If he notices, he makes no mention of it. Instead, he takes the smallest step forward and readjusts your hands for a more comfortable hold. Where you’ve let your palms hover a few centimeters apart, he presses them flush together. Your breath hitches as your lifelines meet and his slender fingers wrap around the back of your hand. For as callused and rough as his hands are- from years of sword training and dragon-riding- he holds you with a gentleness that betrays his ruggedness, and something swirls in the pit of your belly. Hot, aching, urgent. The need to be closer to him is overwhelming- and impossible, considering you’re already so close to him, but it’s not enough. You long for more. 

You desire more. 

How can you yearn for something you’ve never experienced? How can you want more than you already have? Your legs nearly give out from under you when you realize, and when a silent gasp escapes your lips, Aemond is there to hold you steady. He hasn’t forgotten about your fear of dancing- of being forced to dance with partners you can’t refuse, of enduring their wandering hands, of the scrutiny of a misstep- and he keeps you upright when your limbs threaten to betray you. When his eye meets yours, you feel lightheaded. The sound of a harpsichord echoes around the hall, and before you have a chance to catch your breath, Aemond instructs, “Now.”

At his command, you step forward, unsure of where you’re meant to be headed, but willing to follow him into the abyss as long as he is the one leading. You stumble slightly, your movements timid and doubtful despite years of solitary practice. Without meaning to, you tense and unintentionally tighten your grip around his fingers. He does not wince. He does not fidget, nor does he yelp or demand that you unhand him. He remains unfazed- save for the erratic thudding against his ribcage that is hidden by bone and flesh and concealed by the naked eye. Looking down the long slant of his nose, he watches you fret over each step. Your stare never meets his. Instead, your gaze remains fixed on the ground, watching your feet to ensure that you don’t stumble over them. Aemond uses the distraction as an excuse to watch you. It’s difficult to believe that though you still turn like a frightful child, you’ve grown into something beyond. Brazenly, he stares- at the few freckles that kiss the fullest point of your cheeks, to the slope of your nose and the bow of your lips.

Something ignites within him. He flushes, not with fury or malice, but with a comforting warmth- an ember of unknown origin alight amongst the ashes of stone-cold nothingness- that feels simultaneously foreign and familiar. 

It is a feeling that tempts him- a feeling he wishes to never part from; but there is no place for light within darkness. A glimmer is no match for a void. Not enough for it to fester, anyway. Eclipsed by shadows, a single star can not shine, just as a glimpse of tenderness can not absolve a heart and mind plagued by vengeance.

“I was not aware you knew how to dance, my prince,” A light laugh bubbles past your lips when you feel his eye upon you. It’s a feeling so familiar that it’s become unmistakable. In an attempt to alleviate the palpable tension in the air, you jest. 

“And why is that?” Prompted by the challenge, you turn to look up at him. 

“I’ve never seen you partake in such festivities.” 

It is fact. Aemond does not indulge. He has no appetite for celebrations. Hence,  he refrains from satiating an otherwise illusory desire to mingle and mix. Where his brother is gluttonous, he is abstemious- so moderate in his rapture that he could not describe pleasure or delight if there was a rope knotted around his neck. Perhaps, his idea of indulgence varies so drastically from the norm that it takes on a different meaning, completely. He seeks satisfaction elsewhere. Cups do not gratify him. Skin does not tempt him. Company does not fulfill him. Though, your company is often welcome, he rarely seeks it, but when he does, he’s rewarded with a sense of ease- a calmness that quells the most fervent of his anxieties, even if only for a few moments- something blissful and content. 

His own movements stagger at the realization.

“Forgive me, I-“ You’re quick to apologize, assuming that you’re the one that’s made a misstep and scuffed the leather of his boot with the bottom of your slipper. Your eyes widen with remorse and you loosen your hold on his hand, expecting his fingers to release yours as well, but he tightens his grip, holding you closer as you nearly come to a complete halt.

“Allow me to guide you,” He offers lowly, and with a timid nod, you agree. Hesitantly, he sneaks a glance around the hall to make sure that no one is watching the pair of you, and once he’s certain that you’ve not caught the eyes of any onlookers, he huffs a breath. “Lift your skirts,” The whispered command rids you of breath, and your lips part in a stunned gasp. You’re left breathless, mouth agape and speechless, as a fury of emotions glaze over your eyes. Hurt. Betrayal. Intrigue. Horror. Shock. He watches them devour you.

“I beg your pardon?” Something akin to anger lingers in your tone, and he realizes he’s never seen you seethe before. You’re not so naive to believe that men hold feelings of love and adoration above feelings of temptation and desire. Men like Leowyn Corbray indulge without repentance, and they do not ask for forgiveness. You’re no stranger to the cruelty of men and their advances, but you never thought Aemond capable of such vulgarity. Perhaps, you’re credulous. Blinded by your devotion to him, perhaps you’ve overlooked the traits you’ve grown to despise within other men. How is it that he was so enraged to learn about Leowyn’s advances, but holds no reserve when proposing his own straightforward sin? How could he hold you with such a delicacy whilst demanding such a carnal desire? Who is the man that stands before you? Do you even truly know? Is he a stranger, or is he-

“Just…” The pointed tip of his boot aligns with the tip of your slipper, and you can feel him cautiously nudge your foot with his. When he and Helaena were children, they danced in a similar manner- in which his sister would stand atop his feet and he would guide them both. He held no intention of offending, insulting, or upsetting you. He only wished to guide you. “Allow me to guide you,” Aemond suggests, and suddenly, you understand. You flush with embarrassment, heat burning your cheeks with guilt, as you carefully accept his invitation and allow him to take a few steps. “Better?”

“Much.” You press your lips into an apologetic smile as Aemond continues to guide the both of you through the dance. It’s such a strange sensation. It’s weightless and carefree and blithe- almost what you imagine flying must feel like.

It dawns on you then, as his eye meets yours, a silent vow is made- under his guidance, under his protection, you would never be led astray.

a/n: finally finished an update after being in and out of the hospital for a week! woo! hope you all enjoy!

series taglist: @just-emmaaaa @seasidh @randomdragonfires @misspendragonsworld @bellaisasleep @helaenaluvr @travelingmypassion @youtoldalie @fangirlninja67 @aemondsversion

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28. Sodapop Curtis - Let’s Not Fight

* Warning - Light Smut, 18+  *

- Sodapop Curtis isn’t the type of guy to get into fights with the people he loves. Especially you. You’re his pride and joy.

- So when the two of you do fight, it’s always terrible and Soda always ends up saying things he doesn’t mean. You know he doesn’t mean them but the hurt is still there and you always end up locked away in your bedroom while he begs you to let him in. You won’t, not wanting to see his face right now. Afraid that if you did see him, you’d immediately burst into heavier tears.

- What do y’all fight about? Sandy,  his ex-girlfriend.

- Sandy came back from Florida with her love child and immediately sought out Sodapop Curtis. And while Soda explained that he was in a loving, committed relationship with you, Sandy wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d show up at his job, stand at the counter, twirling her hair, and giggling at a few of Soda’s lame jokes. He knew they were lame but it was his sense of humor. Which is why it pissed you off so much when he continued to tell her his lame jokes. Because that’s what you had fallen in love with first when you met him.

- When you met Soda, you’d been at the park crying. You didn’t have a terrible home life and you genuinely had great friends, so why would someone like you be crying? At least, that’s what he wondered as he approached you. Turns out, you’d been cheated on and so being the good person he was, he cheered you up. His jokes were corny, cheesy, and lame. But they made you laugh so hard that your sides hurt and a small squeak left your mouth with each gasp for air.

- So to see Sodapop giving his attention, his corny jokes to someone else made you feel just as cheated on.

- Fights with Soda typically lasted two days because by then, Soda couldn’t stay away from you anymore. Therefore, he’d sneak through your window while everyone in the house was asleep.

It’s been two days, two long days since Soda’s seen your face or heard your voice. Every time he closed his eyes, he only saw you. Days felt like years and since you weren’t sitting beside him while he worked, he’d become painfully aware of Sandy’s presence. He felt like kicking himself in the ass not listening to you, Sandy was spending way too much time trying to flirt with him. Before it had been different, while he told Sandy some stupid joke, he was watching you pretend not to care that his ex-girlfriend was standing just a few feet away from him. You played with your hair, which he knew you did when you were nervous. You tapped your foot against the hard ground, the thumping sound echoing throughout the DX station, you were even fighting the urge to tear a hole through your lip with your teeth but were failing. He knew all the signs, and yet he did nothing to stop it or make it better. Instead, he got mad at you and said something that he didn’t mean, even in the slightest.

   “Even Sandy and I didn’t argue this damn much when we were together!”

  As soon as he said those words, he saw the light disappear from your already tear-filled eyes. The two of you didn’t even fight that much but he was so tired of the same topic when y’all did. Before, he figured you could ignore it and that him loving you was simply enough to make you understand he didn’t want Sandy. However, now that he sat there listening to Sandy go on and on about God knows what, he realized that what you needed was for him to show not only you, but Sandy that it wasn’t going to happen. He’d failed.

  And now for two days, you refused to answer the door, his phone calls, or even him knocking on your bedroom window. He couldn’t really see you through the currents, at least not your face, but he did see you wrapped up in a blanket faced away from him. Your hair looked unkept and he could only imagine the knots that raked through each strand. He’d give anything to hold you, tell you that you were the only girl for him, that Sandy was nothing to him and hadn’t been since the day she left.

  “Soda?”

Sodapop blinked.

   Sandy and Steve were staring at him; he had zoned out completely thinking about what to do to make it up to the girl who probably cried herself to sleep both nights.

 “What?” He muttered, his voice cold and resistant.

 “I was asking you if you’d like to accompany me at the fair tomorrow,” Sandy informed, “you and your girlfriend aren’t talking, so I doubt she’ll be by your side. What do you say?”

 Sodapop watched as Sandy batted her eyelashes cutely, trying to persuade him into forgetting about you and joining her at the fair.

 “No.”

Steve stood in the background completely immersed in his friend’s conversation with Sandy. He’d been watching the whole thing play out for weeks before the sudden burst of anger and hurt. When Soda said those awful things to you, yeah he felt bad immediately, but he felt even worse when Steve punched him in the face and told him he didn’t deserve you. And for the first time, in a long time, Soda broke down crying.

  “What?” Sandy asked, bewildered, “why?”

 “Because we aren’t together anymore, Sandy,” Sodapop hissed, “you cheated on me, remember. Had a baby with someone else; and when I still offered to stay and take care of a child that wasn’t mine, you sent me a note tellin’ me to never contact you again. So I don’t want nothin’ to do with you anymore.”

  There were tears in Sandy’s eyes but they didn’t compare to the one’s Soda seen on you.

 “If that’s how you feel,” Sandy croaked, “then I won’t come back.”

 “Good.”

A soft gasp left her lips before she stormed out of the DX station, crying her head off. Steve cleared his throat.

  “Good for you,” he stated.

 “Piss off,” Soda muttered, “I’m just tryin’ to finish the day so I can go see her.”

   “She isn’t goin’ to let you in,” Steve said, crossing his arms.

 “I’ll sneak through the window.”

  Steve had to admit, he admired Sodapop’s courage to sneak through your window in the middle of the night with her dad home.

Hours passed and it was time for the gas station to close and instead of heading straight home like Soda normally did, he made a direct line to your place. The porch light was one but it typically always was. He didn’t even need to think to find your window, he’d snuck in so many times before, he practically knew your house like the back of his hand.

  Sodapop came to a stop in front of your window, the sheer curtains still closed. You were still on the bed with the blanket wrapped around you except this time, you were sitting up staring at the television in front of you. There wasn’t anything on, just the news. Soda reached up and tapped the window quietly. You looked over and saw him, part of you wanted to jump out of bed and run to the window. To swing it open and engulf him into a warm embrace, knowing that this fight and the time away from each other was just as rough on him as it was on you. But you felt like you needed to stand your ground, Soda needed to know that he hurt your feelings in more ways than one and that you weren’t going to let that slide. So you looked away from him, turning your attention to the tv and tried to block out the sound of his tapping.

   Eventually, however, Soda got tired of tapping on the window and opened it. You never locked it, despite him telling you how dangerous it was. You loved the fresh air in the middle of the night, especially when you had just woken up. Your eyes widen as Soda pulls himself through your window and lands with a quiet, yet solid, thud on your carpeted ground. The two of you froze, waiting for the rushed sounds of feet moving from your parent’s bedroom, the hallway, and then to your bedroom. When it didn’t come, a wave of relief washed over you. Sodapop pushed himself to his feet, you did the same.

  “What are you doing here?” You hissed.

  “I needed to see you,” Soda whispered, reaching his hand out to touch your face only for you to pull away.

  “Well I don’t want to see you, so go away.”

  The blanket you had been wearing slowly slipped off your body as you walked away from him, keeping your back turned while crossing your arms. Soda wasn’t leaving though, he needed you. So while you were turned around, he wrapped his arms around your body. His head was resting on your shoulder, he could feel your hair tickle his nose as it moved. You smelled amazing too, like fresh flowers and spring.

  “Please,” he whispered, “please forgive me.”

 “Why?” You muttered, “so you can run back to Sandy and do it all over again. I can only forgive you so many times, Soda.”

  Immediately, Sodapop turned you to face him and your eyes watched in pure shock as you saw your boyfriend in tears. But despite the tears, he was smiling.

  “I know I messed up, really. But if you forgive me, I’ll make sure that you know that no one, not even Sandy, can compare to you. You are the most amazing, most beautiful, kindest, gentle woman I’ve ever known. And I don’t deserve you.”

  You smiled, a stray tear rushing down your cheek before being intercepted by Soda’s calloused finger. He hated seeing you cry.

  “What about Sandy?” You quizzed, wanting to hear the answer he had stored.

 “I sent her away,” he said, “told her I didn’t want anythin’ to do with her again. That I was happily taken.”

  You started playing with the buttons on your boyfriend’s work shirt. He was staring down at you, a smile on his face as he watched you warm up to him all over again.

  “I love you,” you said, “really, I do. And I want you to be happy but I guess I couldn’t stand the idea of you being happy without me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Soda whispered, “I would never be happy again if I didn’t have you. I love you.”

 Leaning down, Soda caught your lips with his and moved you backwards until the back of your legs touched the bed. A soft moan escaped the both of y’all as Soda’s hands roamed your body longingly. He pulled away from you.

  “Let me make it up to you,” he hummed, “you know, for bein’ a stupid boyfriend.”

 “And how do you plan on doing that?” You asked.

 He only smiled while unbuttoning your pants and carefully pulling them down to your knees. When they were at your knees, he gently pushed you onto your bed. You wanted to tell him to stop, that your parents were in the next room but you needed this honestly. So instead, you just let it play out.

  Soda grabbed your pants and pulled them completely off, tossing them into the corner of the room where they’d sit until tomorrow morning. You were wearing a pair of pink panties with a little, white bow on the front. Very cute, very you. Soda looked up at you, his eyes watching you intently as you bit your bottom lip. He reached up and dragged his thumb along the now bleeding lip.

  “Stop,” he whispered, “don’t mark yourself up like that, you’re too pretty.”

  You nodded, mumbling a hushed “yes sir” in response. Soda hooked his fingers to your panties and pulled them down. Once again, he tossed them to the corner of the room, letting them join the pants. Sodapop laid you down and spreaded your legs. You shivered at the feeling of his nose touching your core. When his tongue dragged against you, your body felt heavy and hot; your legs immediately closing only to be pried back open.

  “Relax, sweet girl,” Soda muttered.

  But no matter how many breaths you took to calm yourself, you felt your heart beating harshly against your rib cage. Finally, Soda drove his tongue into you and attached his lips to your sensitive clit. You had to cover your mouth before any noise came out, not wanting to wake your parents. Saliva mixed with your juices as Soda continued to eat you out, both mixes pooling onto your bedding, soaking through the comforter and sheets. You were now laying flat on your back, your fingers tangled into Soda’s greasy hair while your back arched off the mattress. You still kept one hand over your mouth, tightly.

    Soda’s eyes watched your body move as he lapped up any of the juices that had fallen out of you. A smile graced his face as he patted himself on the back, loving the way he made you feel. And despite him just starting, Soda already knew you were close so he sped up, wanting you to catch your release.

   Taking one hand off your plushy thigh, Soda probed your entrance with his pointer finger. You whined at the new feeling, and tried to grind your hips against him so you could feel more but he pinned you down. You screwed your eyes shut as Soda’s finger slid inside of you, his tongue making small circles over your now enlarged, puffy clit. He watched you come undone; your chest heaving, your fingers now gripping the bedding as you tried desperately to keep the noises down. God, he wished he could hear your moans.

  “S-Soda,” you whined, “a-another finger, please.”

  How could he tell you no?

While sucking on your clit, Soda started pushing his middle finger into you. This time when you started moving your hips, he didn’t stop you, letting you cause enough friction that was going to send you over the edge. He was going to have you seeing stars.

  “I-I’m gonna cum,” you squeaked.

  Soda moaned against you, the vibration causing another ripple of pleasure to drown you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your hands clamping against your mouth, your teeth digging into your skin as the band inside you finally snapped. And like Soda predicted, you saw stars.

  He drank up every last drop of juice you’d given him. When he was done, he pulled away and climbed onto the bed next to you. There were drops of sweat clinging to your forehead and you were panting from the lack of air in your lungs. Soda smiled at you.

  “Do you feel better, baby?” He asked, sweetly; his eyes watching you as you started to pass out from exhaustion.

  “Yes,” you whimpered, “thank you.”

 Sodapop pulled you onto the bed and dragged the covers over you. Then he removed his shirt and laid beside you.

  “Good, baby. Goodnight.”

The two of you fell asleep in each other’s arms, finally having made up with each other and being madly in love just like before. And in the morning, Sodapop wasn’t going to let you go.

#sodapop curtis smut #sodapop curtis imagine #Sodapop Curtis #The Outsiders #outsiders smut #sodapop imagine #sodapop smut #sodapop x reader #imagines #Smut #light smut #imagine #fluff #the outsiders sodapop #sodapop fanfiction #the outsiders fanfiction #Sodapop Patrick Curtis

[beaulesbian]

some zolu valentines thoughts bc as always, they're on my mind, but today there's two ways i think about it -

one, that's almost in the typical romantic sense - the devotion and love beyond the heaven and hell, and the trust that speaks volumes in just one look they share, the promises and kisses and everything in between.

but there's also the second idea in my head, the one with more of the aroace aspect of zolu that i love so much.

if there would be a valentines or love day that they would celebrate, it'd be for the whole crew something special.

nami is the only one to keep some sort of semblance of a calendar to keep in mind what day it is, and she mentions it kinda quietly, thinking of vivi and how she misses her, but sanji hears it and immediately starts to put together a plan how to win over the hearts of those he likes. then luffy overhears when sanji mutters to himself about a dinner celebration. and because if luffy hears 'celebration', he hears a party, which means food and drinks and joy for the whole crew!

robin explains with a quiet laughter that such day has different meanings for different people, and how everyone celebrates it in their own way, and luffy would shrug at the romantic parts with 'oh, i guess thats nice for you, can i have some meat now?' but would be excited for the dinner the whole day.

zoro would pass by on his way from his training, saying 'ditto' and going to pour a drink and sit beside luffy, until something new needs their attention, like usop and franky shouting excitedly from the workshop over the sound of various experiments.

maybe without realizing, luffy's eyes wonder over to zoro most of that day.

luffy then spends the day with each of his crewmember, learning new things they've been working on and finding out how they've been doing lately, he knows they're watching him with a simple curiousity of 'why the sudden interest, captain?' but he pays it no mind, he just wants to know more about his crew, about his friends.

he listens to nami going on about her new pencils and papers for charting maps she picked up at the last harbor, and fishes for a while with chopper who needed a break from cleaning his medical supplies.

he admires usopp's painting on canvas, his new ideas and sketches for stuff luffy never heard about, and plays with franky's hair just because franky seems to have fun watching luffy being so excited about his changing hair designs.

he compliments brook's new song when he ends playing the melody on his violin - it was something new, something more mellow and soothing and sweet.

jimbei is at the helm, watching over the ship, and luffy can be really quiet around him when he needs it, they watch the sea and the clouds pass by overhead and by the time the sun starts to set, luffy's stomach grumbles, letting itself know.

luffy tries to spend more time around sanji, but he kicks him out of the kitchen after the fifth time he asks him to get some samples before the big dinner. he can wait, it shouldn't be long after.

so he leaves the galley and finds zoro watching him, knowing their eyes met over the deck of the ship throughout the whole day, full of love and calmness. there's that comfortable feeling in his chest, settling down and making him sleepy. he smiles at zoro and swing over to him, finally, and finds out it's the best time for a nap before they get called over for the special dinner.

zoro presses close to him, a warm embrace at the end of the day, keeping the chill away. he's finished with cleaning his swords for the day and they're put away close to his side, so luffy settles closer and adjusts his straw hat on his head.

there's no need for many words between them, luffy couldn't help but keep his eyes on zoro during the day, just because he loves him, and because robin and sanji did say the day is special for celebrating love. he smiles at his swordsman and knows that zoro feels the same.

#i need to sleep idk why this got longer than few sentences #the sleep i lose over them istg #one piece #zolu #ficlet #aroace zolu #happy valentines day #for my aromantics and aroaces sillies <3 #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #straw hat crew #mine #gif:zolu #gif:writing

[the1975attheirverybest]

just had this idea and couldnt not share it:

Going to the studio one day w/ Matty and seeing them work so passionately and excitedly. Maybe your eyes drift to Matty’s hands as he is speaking or touching dials on the sound board. Your mind starts racing and suddenly you need him now. You try to get his attention and he keeps brushing you off saying he has to finish the part he thought of until in front of everyone he hears a firm “Matthew Healy.” With that, he knows what’s happening and he makes everyone take lunch. You can come up with the rest, whether he is dom/sub and just exactly HOW you need him.

idk thought this could be a fun little thing to write :)

OKAY BUT PLEASE THIS PLAYS RIGHT INTO MY FANTASY!!! Cuz have y’all heard those two “Tape Notes” episodes?! NOTHING is hotter to me than when Matty talks about how some songs were made. And like, I only play guitar, so I don’t really know that much technical stuff about music production but it’s still SUCH A turn on. Just how much he loves his job and how if the drums are even a notch too loud/ too low, he hates it. AND if the guitar is “too perfect” he won’t let it go. It has to sound a little bit warped. His whole “faded splendor” bit that he loves to bring up in every interview. Ugh. So. Fucking. Sexy. So, yeah, I’d imagine if he ever brings his partner around the studio, it would be….a lot.

Like imagine watching him sit there, between the mixing board on one side, and the big computer on the other. And he’s just in his chair, wheeling back and forth between the two, testing out different variations, asking George why it’s not quite right yet.

George is just like “okay, how about we loop the drum track so it keeps playing throughout the song.”

But Matty immediately scuffs, hating the idea. “That’s just lazy musicianship. If the emotion shifts and the words change, the melody has got to change with it. Don’t go with the easy option.”

George is frustrated. “I wasn’t bein’ lazy; I was keeping literally the one thing you said you liked about the arrangement. The fuckin drums.”

Matty frowns, deep in thought, picking at his lower lip, a subconscious habit he doesn’t realize he’s doing half the time. “Nah, there’s something else we haven’t thought of. Let me hear it again?” And he puts the headset on, but only one ear, so he could leave the other ear available to George as they talk through it.

“Don’t like it. Nope. It just sounds too put together. I hate that.”

“I know. I get that. I just don’t know what would make it less crisp without- like getting in the way of the song.”

At this point, she’s melting, obviously. She’s way past listening to their actual conversation, and is just watching Matty’s fingers push the buttons on the mixing board, wishing that the machine were her body instead. Memorizing the way his fingers slide the dial from one side to the other to create that distorted effect that he wants, and imaging instead that he is sliding his finger down her body, anticipating him touching her core. She shudders slightly, reminding herself that there’s people around.

She decides he needs to be as worked up as she is. So she walks over to him, hugging him from the back of the chair, sliding her hands down his chest and kissing his earlobe seductively whispering something about taking a quick break to “refresh” his mind and body. He’s too in the zone to catch onto her innuendo, though, so he shrugs her off, mumbling something about how taking a break and interrupting the process would be the absolute worst thing he could right now. He’s just on the cusp of a break through, he can FEEL it. He just needs to put things together the right way.

His absent-mindedness is weirdly even more attractive to her. The fact that his mind could be so absorbed in something that he loses his sense of his surroundings makes her heart swell and the rest of her body get turned on. Maybe it’s the joy written all over his face when he’s engaged in something that he so clearly loves, maybe it’s the way he completely opens up when working, whatever it is, it’s HOT as fuck and it makes her want him more.

She keeps trying. She scoots her seat next to his, brushing her arm against his as he squints into the screen, fiddling with the production software, having taken over from George. She brushes his curls out of his eyes so “he can see better.” But nothing is working. So, finally, he’s out of subtle tricks. She has to resort to blunt honesty. She takes a deep breath, standing up with a hand on her hip and yelling out “Matthew Timothy Healy! What on earth is wrong with you? I’m trying to fuck you over here!”

Matty finally looks up, taking the headset off his ears and holding in a giggle. He looks at her, winks, and turns to the guys. “George…you guys are….hungry right now, yeah?”

George takes the hint and rounds everyone up and they all leave. The door is barely closed behind them before Matty springs to action, hoisting her up by the waist, and setting her onto the desk. Apparently, her willingness to announce to the world that she wants him to rail her to death is as attractive to Matty as his passion is to her. So he gets right to it, knowing that she’s been ready and desperate for a minute now.

His hands are shoddy, just grabbing and squeezing wherever they land, kisses whiny, swallowing each others high-pitched moans. He alternated between kissing and biting down her body, to keep her on her toes. Just when she thinks she’s got his pattern down, he changes things up. He all but tears her shirt apart, taking her nipple into his mouth, sucking, causing her to cry out. His hand is on the other breast, squeezing, pinching, scratching. Her brain goes into overdrive r from the mixture of sensations. Some soft, some rough, some tingle, some hurt. She can’t keep up, and when he’s ready to make her cum, he pushes her to lay down on the table. She mumbles something about laying on top of his expensive equipment and he says he doesn’t care.

“You don’t; but George might.”

“Oh, whatever. That mixing board is mine anyway.”

When he pushes her arms above her head to hold her wrists in place as he fucked into her, one of her fingers accidentally turns the recording button on. Matty’s too caught up in making absolutely sure he makes it hard for her to stand after this, to notice what’s happened. So as she whines, begs, and chants his name, the computer is getting it alllllll on record. When they’re eventually done, and Matty is kissing all the spots on her body where he might have left bruises, he notices the green light is on, which indicates recording. He laughs, and goes to the computer to click “play” on the file.

She’s stunned in place. Her hand goes to cover her mouth. Her face is turning every shade of every color in embarrassment, but Matty is absolutely loving it. He clicks “save.” And she squeals and yelps and kicks her feet and wants to kill him.

But he’s all like “well, listen, this might just be the missing ingredient that we’ve needed all day.”

Yeah….I think about studio Matty a lot.

#matty healy #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x you #matty healy smut

[mingimystix]

Whispers of Heartfelt Wishes

Title: Whispers of Heartfelt Wishes

Song: Heartbeat by BTS

Pairing: Mingi x reader

Word count: 852

Warnings: fluff

Summary: ATEEZ's grand birthday bash for Mingi takes an unexpected turn when his closest friends sense his yearning for a more intimate celebration.

--

The day had finally arrived - Mingi's birthday. The anticipation had been building up for weeks, and you were determined to make it the best celebration ever. With ATEEZ members being like family to you, you knew this birthday had to be unforgettable. You had everything planned out meticulously, from the surprise party to the carefully selected gifts, and even a special cake that you knew Mingi would love.

The celebration was in full swing at the ATEEZ dorm, with laughter echoing through the halls as members bustled around, setting up decorations and preparing food. You couldn't help but smile as you watched them work together, their camaraderie evident in every gesture. Seonghwa and Hongjoong were hanging streamers, Yunho was perfecting his DJ setup, San and Wooyoung were arranging a table full of snacks, and Jongho was testing out the karaoke machine - it was a true team effort.

Mingi, dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit, entered the room with a grin that lit up the whole space. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the decorations, and he was immediately enveloped in a group hug from his excited bandmates.

"Happy birthday, Mingi!" they cheered in unison, clapping him on the back and exchanging high-fives.

Mingi's smile widened even further as he soaked in the warmth of their affection. It was a sight that warmed your heart, knowing how cherished he was among his friends.

The party kicked off with energetic music, and you found yourself dancing alongside the members, reveling in the sheer joy of the moment. Mingi was at the center of attention, laughing, singing, and showing off his dance moves with infectious enthusiasm. Everything seemed perfect, but as the night went on, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was bothering him.

During a break in the music, you subtly glanced at Mingi, who was trying his best to keep up the cheerful facade. But his eyes betrayed a hint of melancholy, a spark missing from his usual exuberance.

Yunho, ever perceptive, noticed this too. He discreetly signaled the other members to huddle together, leaving you and Mingi slightly apart.

"Hey," San said softly, his eyes concerned. "You think Mingi's okay?"

Wooyoung nodded, watching Mingi intently. "He seems a bit off, don't you think?"

Hongjoong leaned in, his voice gentle. "I think he might be missing something… or someone."

Seonghwa chimed in, his gaze flickering to you before returning to the group. "Maybe he wanted a more intimate celebration?"

Jongho cleared his throat, speaking up hesitantly. "You know, like spending time alone with Y/N."

The realization dawned on you, and you exchanged knowing glances with the members. They were right - perhaps Mingi had been hoping for a more intimate celebration, one-on-one time with you to mark his special day.

As the party continued, you found yourself being drawn to Mingi. He was standing by a window, gazing out at the night sky with a distant look in his eyes. Slowly, you approached him, a soft smile on your lips.

"Hey, Mingi," you said gently, touching his arm to get his attention.

He turned to you, the corners of his mouth lifting in a weary smile. "Hey, Y/N. Having fun?"

You nodded, stepping closer. "Of course, but I've noticed something. Is everything alright?"

Mingi sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yeah, everything's great. It's just… I guess I was hoping for something a little different for my birthday."

You took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Tell me, Mingi. What did you have in mind?"

He looked down at your intertwined fingers, his cheeks tinted with a faint blush. "I think I just wanted to spend some quiet time with you, you know? Just us, away from the crowd, maybe watching a movie or cuddling."

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you realized how simple and meaningful his wishes were. "Well, how about we make that happen?"

Mingi's eyes lit up, his grin returning with a newfound warmth. "Really?"

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Absolutely. It's your day, after all. Let's make it memorable in the best way possible."

With that, you led Mingi away from the bustling party, finding a quiet corner where the two of you could relax. As you settled onto a couch, Mingi draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, and you felt his lips press gently against your temple.

"Thank you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice soft and sincere. "This means more to me than you know."

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, and smiled up at him. "Happy birthday, Mingi. Here's to a night of just us, celebrating you."

And as you shared quiet moments, wrapped up in each other's arms, you both realized that sometimes, the simplest gestures held the most profound meaning. Mingi's birthday had taken an unexpected turn, but in the end, it had brought the two of you even closer, strengthening the bond you shared with both each other and the rest of the ATEEZ family.

#mingi x you #mingi x y/n #mingi x reader #song mingi x reader #song mingi x y/n #song mingi x you #mingi fluff #mingi imagines #mingi scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #mingi fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop fic

[snelbz]

Better Or Worse {Chapter Three}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Chapter Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of sexual acts and is NSFW. 18+ ONLY.

Cassian -

Knowing that my loving wife is at Az and Elain’s, I make my way home after the gym. I’ve spent the last two nights with Feyre and Rhysand with no contact with Nesta. I should feel guilty for just walking out, but I don’t. If anything, I’m still pissed. 

The worst part is that she hasn’t even tried reaching out. I know I was the one to leave, but she hasn’t called, hasn’t sent a text, hasn’t scoped me out. It’s almost like unwelcome validation, further proving my point and fears. 

Once I’m home, I unlock the kitchen door and make my way in from the garage. The house is quiet and perfectly clean as if no one had been living there in my absence. If I were to guess, Nesta had been spending long hours at her office in the city. She hasn’t had anyone bitching at her to come home on time and I’m sure she’s been taking advantage of that. 

The bed is perfectly made and a basket of clean laundry sits on top of the blankets, none of it mine. Greg, our cat, is sprawled out on my pillow, sound asleep. 

I raid my closet, pulling together a new heap of clean clothes that I toss in a bag. It doesn’t feel right, but I ignore that feeling. I have to ultimately do what’s best for me and my happiness, even if joy is the last thing I’m feeling right now.

After getting my shit together, I take a look at the time and start stripping down, tossing my sweaty workout clothes in the hamper. I wonder if she’ll toss them in with the next load of laundry or just let them rot as I walk into the master bathroom and start the shower.

I missed my walk-in shower. It was my only request when remodeling our bathroom a few years back. I’m bigger than the average man and our previous shower never let me forget it. In this shower, I was never cramped and it relaxes the hell out of me.

I stepped beneath the hot water and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, then another.

It wasn’t that long ago that Nesta’s eyes shone when she first saw the shower. She hadn’t fought me hard on its design, only bemoaning the cost once or twice, before realizing just how worthwhile it was. It was big enough for not only myself, but room for someone to join me as well, something she’d taken advantage of often.

If I had a particularly early morning, Nesta would almost always get up with me. While I’d get in the shower, she would go downstairs and start the coffee pot, refill Greg’s food bowl, and check her email, reading over them, but never replying. Sometimes, it took two minutes, sometimes, it took ten, but without fail, before my shower was over, I’d feel her arms wrap around my waist and she’d join me.

It wasn’t always sexual. Sometimes, her emails frustrated her and she needed to vent. Listening and rinsing her hair was something I became good at. Even when I wasn’t inside of her, being with her in such an intimate setting, nothing but our souls, naked bodies, and the water running around us, there was nothing to distract and take away from each other.

But then she started to take longer and longer in the mornings. An email needed an immediate reply or she had to read through some quick edits. Those excuses made sense, they were related to her work, the only thing she loved as much as she loved me. I understood.

Then coffee pot wasn’t working, until I got downstairs and then it worked perfectly. She had been watching a news story and got distracted, but could tell me nothing about it. She had a migraine, four days in a row, that only affected her when I touched her.

By the time she stopped joining me in the shower, I’d stopped hoping she would.

I’m not sure when it all started changing. When I stood with Nesta on our wedding day and said our vows, I never expected to end up here. She was the love of my life, and still is, I think, but it’s…different. Every time I look at her now I feel a sense of sadness, pure loss, like looking at an old memory of when I used to feel alive and invincible, but realizing that it ended in heartbreak. 

We had a hell of a love story, though, while it lasted. We’re too much alike in all the right ways, which resulted in sexual tension that almost always ended in mind blowing fucking.

It wasn’t just the sex. Nesta understood me, and I understood her. We had a bond that I had always thought was too good to be true, and maybe it was. 

I miss her. 

I miss the woman that I had fallen in love with, and even though we were married young, I had no doubt of my love for her, and hers for me.

I miss joking around with her, hearing her laugh because I said something stupid and profane. 

I miss just talking with her about nothing and everything, comforting her, having her comfort me. I miss waking up in the morning to her watching me, still gloriously nude from the night before, with messy hair and a soft smile. I miss the little things that I took for granted, like holding her hand or laying with her on the couch while we watched a stupid movie.

I miss the sex. Not just because the lack of it has me horny and aggressive, but I miss the connection. I miss getting lost in her body that was completely in my possession. Sometimes I still let my eyes linger on her body, and I’m not sure if she doesn’t notice or just pretends not to, but I can’t deny that my wife is gorgeous. A beautiful face, of course, but her body…

Strong and curvaceous, her skin so light that even my fingerprints left soft pink tracks behind them. Her ass was one of my favorite places to grab, to smack, to hold onto while she rocked her hips, while she bounced on my cock, but nothing compares to her breasts. I still catch myself looking at them, catching her peaked nipples through those little tanktops she wears around the house. No bra, never at home, not since we started dating, and I sure as hell never complained. Even now, when she hates me for some unknown reason, it’s still no bra, and my eyes can’t help but drift to how they bounce with every step she takes.

Thinking of those showers we used to take together, of the feel of her skin, of tight tank tops with no bras, sent my imagination into overdrive and suddenly, in my mind, I’m not alone under the spray anymore.

I’m remembering one of the last times we had sex, when I’d come home and found her in the shower. Deciding that surprising her was a good idea considering how tense she’d been, I undressed and slipped into the bathroom without making a sound. I’d startled her and she yelled at me for a solid ninety seconds before I had her back pressed against the cool tile and was balls deep inside her.

The decision to take my cock into my hand wasn’t one I made on my own, but as I remember how good she’d felt, how tight and wet, her nails digging into my shoulders, I’m powerless to stop myself.

The sounds she made, the sounds she always made, the gasps and moans and yelling of my name strung with curses. I swear in the quiet as I pump myself, faster and faster, as I lean my forehead against the cool tile. The image of her head leaned back in ecstasy is all I see behind my closed eyes, the way her brows furrowed as that sensation in her core kept building. 

Fuck.

I’d kill to make her react like that again, to make her feel good, to give her exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. I know her. I know what she likes. I know what makes her scream, what makes her knees shake. 

I can’t help but groan as I near my release. It’s embarrassing how quickly it’s approaching. It’s been too damn long since I’ve orgasmed, too damn long since I’ve been touched. So long that I’ve settled for myself, but I’m feeling too good to care.

I imagine it’s Nesta’s lips wrapped around my cock, her tongue exploring as I fuck her mouth with no hesitation. She shows no resistance, she never has. She loves it, loves the taste, loves the tease, loves sucking me dry.

At least she used to.

I ignore the fact that she won’t be down on her knees before me again and relive the memory of it. I groan and my hand finds the wall beside my head, grounding me as I jack off to the lust of something that no longer exists. 

I breathe her name, or maybe I yell it, I don’t know. 

All I know is that all I can think about is her name, her body, her eyes on mine, the love and desperation in them as we fucked. It’s been months since this day, months since this memory, and I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of anguish and guilt as my release comes.

Nesta -

It’s hard to enjoy time with my sisters when my heart isn’t in it.

I feel guilty. I haven’t seen either of them in forever, save for when Feyre has come to pick up Nyx on the days that we watch him, and now that we’re all finally together, I can’t keep my mind in the conversation. 

I tell myself to focus, but I can’t. It’s been days since I’ve seen my husband, days since I’ve talked to him. I know he’s staying with Feyre, but I can’t convince myself to ask her about him. Even though I want to.

I want to know if he’s as miserable as I am.

I pop a strawberry in my mouth before taking a sip of my wine. “Oh, that reminds me,” I begin, even though I’m pretty sure they had moved the conversation along a few minutes ago, when I started to tune out, “I ordered two swings so I can keep one at my place. Because, you know, I’m going to steal this baby as much as possible.”

Elain chuckled, rubbing her growing bump lovingly. “I’m sure she’ll love spending time at her Aunt Nesta’s…and I’m sure me and daddy won’t mind having an afternoon or two to nap.”

“Why do I feel like you call him daddy way too often?” Feyre asks, and Elain nudges her with a scowl, which makes me chuckle. 

My sisters fall back into a comfortable, lighthearted conversation, but I don’t hear much of it. My mind is elsewhere. I wonder what Cassian is doing, what he’s been up to, what he’s been thinking, what he’s been saying about me. I doubt any of it has been good. I’m sure he’s been cursing my name and wishing I was nothing more than a woman of his past. 

“Nesta?”

I blink, unaware of how long I’ve been staring at my wine glass. I look up at Elain and clear my throat. “Hmm?”

Her eyes were soft, full of worry. “You can talk to us, you know.” 

I look to Feyre to try and gauge where her thoughts are at. After all, she’s the one that’s been talking to my husband. Yet, her eyes are just as full of worry, which I hate.

“I’m fine,” I say, and they know it’s a lie the second it slips off my tongue. The room drops into silence, and I close my eyes. “Has he…said anything?”

My sisters remain silent until I open my eyes, but then Feyre says, “He misses you.”

“He has an odd way of showing it.” The hostility in my tone isn’t directed at her, but I can’t help it. 

“He’s sad.” Feyre shrugs. “He hasn’t said much in detail, and I haven’t pried, but I can tell that he’s sad.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. I sip from my wine. I didn’t think that it was possible to feel any more guilty, but now I’m drowning in it. It doesn’t help that my sisters stay completely silent, letting me dwell in my misery. 

“Has he…mentioned when he’s coming home?” I ask, ashamed of how small my voice sounds.

It’s quiet for another moment longer and when I drag my gaze from my glass, I regret it. They’re both looking at me with pity.

I hate it. I hate feeling weak, but the sadness in their eyes isn’t just for me. Cassian has been a staple in their lives as long as he’s been in mine. He’s family to them both, but he and Feyre have always been close, almost stepping into the role of the older brother for her that none of us ever had.

I wasn’t surprised when she was the one who took the lead on this particular conversation.

Clearing her throat, she adjusted her seat on the couch, wrapping her arms around a throw pillow. I couldn’t get the image out of my head that she was putting a shield between us. That made me all the more worried for whatever she was going to say.

“I don’t know that he plans to,” Feyre finally admitted.

I waited for her to go on, not wanting to push, but her silence, and Elain’s, continued. “But that doesn’t— Why wouldn’t he?”

“He asked for a divorce, Nes,” she said, voice gratingly gentle, as if she were speaking to Nyx or one of her students. “That’s a pretty big indication that something is wrong.”

“I don’t need you telling me that something’s wrong.” Neither of them flinch at my sudden fury. They continue to watch me, carefully. I take a deep breath. “He’ll come back. He’s just pissed off and needs to cool down.”

Even as I say the words, I taste the lie.

“He’s given up, Nesta. He’s unhappy,” Feyre said, not unkindly. “And so are you.”

Such simple words, a secret that we tried to hide for so long, but here it is laid out bare: the truth. 

“I know,” I say, quietly, because my anger has faded and now I’m at a loss for words. 

“What about you?” Elain asked, and at my confused expression, she says, “Have you given up?”

If I were to tell the truth, I would say that I had given up a long time ago, I just didn’t realize it. Instead, I shrug. 

“Have you two ever talked about marriage counseling?” Elain asks, adjusting herself on the couch with a cringe. Deep into her last trimester, I can tell that she’s constantly uncomfortable. An annoyance, but a luxury. 

I shake my head. “I can’t remember the last time we had a meaningful conversation, much less a conversation that’s involved any sort of reconciliation.”

The confession flows out of me and my sister's frown deepens. “Well, remember Az and I did couples therapy when we were engaged. It helped so much.”

Azriel used to have a difficult time opening up, talking about his past, and it had created separation between the two of them in the beginning. I remember them doing couples therapy for a few months and only being happier and closer together because of it.

“I don’t really see Cass as…the therapy type,” I say, staring at a loose thread on the blanket thrown across my lap.

“Az was opposed to it at first,” Elain says, “but as soon as our first session wrapped, he already wanted to continue with it. Maybe suggest it. If you want to find your way back to him…” She shrugs and her eyes line with tears. I know it’s her hormones, but I still feel guilty for making Elain cry. She quickly shakes her head. “Don’t mind me. You know I’m an emotional mess.”

Feyre chuckles but I lean over and squeeze Elain’s hand. “I know. Don’t worry. I’ve cried so much the last few days that I don’t think it’s possible for me to cry anymore. Greg has gone into hiding, surely scared shitless that every time he sees me I’m going to be bawling.”

I try to make it a joke, but it’s just pathetic.

“We know you love him,” Feyre says, sipping from her glass. “And he loves you. He really does. He’s just…tired. You know?”

Yeah. I know.

“Do you want to save your marriage?” Feyre asks.

I don’t have the energy for anger anymore. “Of course I do. But I feel like…” Apparently I lied. I do still have tears left to cry, and they come now, appearing so quickly that I can’t even try to stop them. “I feel like so much damage has been done. We’ve drifted too far apart and I have no fucking clue how we’re going to find our way back to one another. I don’t think love is enough anymore. And I feel like I’ve made one too many mistakes.”

“No such thing,” Elain said, dabbing at her eyes. “There’s no such thing as too many mistakes. I’m telling you, marriage counseling works wonders. If you want, I can give you the information of the woman we saw. Suggest it to Cass. See what he thinks.”

My eyes drift back down to that loose thread, although my vision is now blurry. I’m scared of suggesting such a thing and having him laugh in my face.

“What if he doesn’t want to?” I ask, wiping at my eyes with my sleeve. “What if he’s just done? For good?”

This time both of my sisters spoke at once. Elain, trying to comfort as she always did, and Feyre, unafraid to speak the truth, no matter how much it hurt, their words jumbled as they spoke over each other. They gave each other an apologetic smile before turning back to me.

“He won’t be,” Elain promised, taking my hand. “He loves you and he misses you. I’m sure he’d be willing to do anything to get back to how you were.”

“But…” Feyre took my other hand, squeezing once. “If he doesn’t, if this is the beginning of a different chapter of your life, we’re here. You aren’t alone.”

The smile I gave them didn’t reach my eyes, nor do I think it fooled them. I’d been alone for months, but no one said anything, no one noticed.

What would make this any different?

After another hour of talking, clearing my head, and making sure I was good to drive, I headed home. I was avoiding it now, far more intentionally than I had before Cassian left.

Before, I hadn’t been there because I was busy. I came home late, but I always knew the porch light would be on, that my husband was waiting inside, despite our distance.

Now, when I come home, it’s empty. It’s dark and every sound, day or night, makes me jump.

I hate being alone.

But as I approach the house, I see the porch light is on and my breath catches in my throat. When I raise the garage door, it isn’t empty, as I’d expected.

There’s a familiar black truck parked in the spot opposite mine.

He…came home.

For a moment I just sit in my car, surprised and uncertain, not because I’m not happy he’s here, but because I wasn’t prepared.

After a deep breath, trying to calm my newfound nerves, I open the door and head inside. It’s ridiculous, being nervous to see my own husband, but we haven’t spoken in days and our last conversation left too much unsaid. I don’t know if I should be expecting a gentle reunion or preparing for a fight. 

“Cassian?”

The house is quiet. Greg is nearly asleep on the kitchen table, looking like he’d just gotten there and isn’t quite comfortable yet. 

Cassian's keys and wallet are sitting next to his phone on the island. It’s not where he usually puts them when he comes home. I’m finding it much stranger than I probably should.

When he doesn’t respond to me, I start making my way through the house, calling his name once more. I take to the stairs and hear the shower running as I approach our bedroom. 

It must be a good sign, right? That he’s making himself at home?

It looks like he came here right after the gym. His shoes are discarded on the floor, his sweaty clothes sitting on top of mine in the hamper. I drop my purse on the bed and slip out of my boots. I’m just about to sit, to wait for him, to take a few minutes to think about what I’m going to say, but then I hear my husband moan and my entire body locks up.

It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve heard him moan.

He’s having sex in there.

He may be pissed, but to bring some slut into our house— 

My entire body is shaking and I feel like I’m going to vomit. I feel a panic attack coming on, feel my face burning in embarrassment. We’ve had our issues, but I never imagined Cassian to be the cheating one, never imagined he could be unfaithful. 

And then to rub it in my face like this?

Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m storming towards the bathroom and throwing open the door.

A room filled with steam greets me, and before I can start screaming and cursing his name, I freeze.

Cassian’s alone. His back is to me, one palm opened flat against the tile wall, his head thrown back as his body starts to tense. The glass is fogged up, but I can still see enough of the body that I used to explore and pleasure. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him naked, since I’ve let him touch me in any sort of way, since I’ve touched him.

Which seems to be why he’s touching himself now.

He hasn’t heard me come in, and I should walk out, but my feet are stuck just across the threshold, my hand clinging to the doorknob.

He works himself quickly as he moans again, and curses low.

He says my name as he comes.

I must have gasped, must have made some noise as the shock of hearing him groan my name in ecstasy flooded my body, because he turned on his heel, staring at me through the fogged glass. His hand was still around his cock, his chest heaving with each breath that rasped from his lungs.

If I hadn’t been expecting him to say my name, I surely hadn’t been expecting the ire in his eyes when his gaze landed on me. Any heat at what I’d walked in on dissipated as he looked at me.

He may have been thinking of me, but clearly he didn’t want to see me.

My chest felt cold and hollow and empty.

Without a word, I left the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and walked into the bedroom.

#nessian #better or worse #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #acotar #acomaf #acowar #cassian #acofas #acosf #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #snacmc collab

[piscesnspices]

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ

🎧 ғᴀᴋᴇ ᴘʟᴀsᴛɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴇs ʀᴀᴅɪᴏʜᴇᴀᴅ ↻ ◁ ɪɪ ▷ ↺

.・。.・゜✭・.

Once Andie's head made contact with the feathery pillow, her eyelids immediately shut.

In her wildest dreams, the events that occurred that day replayed in a more magical and imaginative way. She plunged into the cool embrace of the deep green lake. Nothing but pure bliss and her heart at peace. Andie delighted in the shades of green.

The refreshing sensation of the water lingered on her skin in contrast to the warm rays of sunshine that kissed her skin. Spring was here, casting its spell on the forest, leaving it a vibrant and lush sanctuary of tranquility and beauty. Amidst nature's splendor, she discovered a profound sense of joy, simply by being the happiest version of her herself.

Upon waking, there seemed to be another source of warmth besides the covers she laid under. A cat with a brown coat similar to Bean's, curled against her side.

"Good morning," Andie cooed, "You must be Moka."

Andie followed the alluring scent of warm pancakes to find Luca in the kitchen with breakfast already made. Although he suggested for her to take her time, she couldn't contain her eagerness to explore as Luca had planned to show her around.

Bean came along the journey, endearing himself to Andie even more when she learned that he was a mighty protector and obedient dog. They ferried across a vast lake to a small town on the other side of shore. Luca preferred the excitement of boat travel over driving through the crummy roads.

It was a quaint and humble town. Walking beside Luca, she observed how small it truly was, seeing as he greeted each townsfolk by name. The contrast to her New York City life made her realize how much she had missed out on.

"Do you mind if I ask what you do?" Andie asked breathlessly as they hiked up a hill, with the promise of a gorgeous view at the end. She was curious to know about his occupation given the house he lived in and the amount of leisure time her had.

"I own some of the local businesses here." Luca answered confidently, "I inherited them from my grandfather."

She smiled, appreciating the humility in his words.

"And, your siblings?"

"I'm actually an only child. But I know one of my cousins inherited real estate and the other got his college tuition paid."

Her eyes widened. "Wow, can your grandfather adopt me?"

"I'm sure he would if he was still alive." He laughed.

Andie's expression softened, worried that she might've tugged on the wrong sting. Though, the smile on Luca's face remained.

"My parents often went on business trips, so much of my childhood was spent in the care of my grandparents." Luca explained, digging his hands into his pockets.

"Despite my bond with my parents, my relationship with my grandfather grew especially strong during high school. When I came out to my parents and they initially rejected me, grandpa was there for me with open arms."

"I'm sorry.." she said softly.

"It's okay! It wasn't long till my parents came around and have been the best support one could have. I'm definitely lucky to have had a family who loved me enough to look past their differences." He responded, smiling.

Andie smiled back, feeling relieved that there was no tension.

"It was also prosperity for me."

Andie had known Luca for only a day, but she was beyond joyous that he received what he deserved.

Reaching the end of their hike, the view as promised was photogenic as ever, with a canopy of trees below. True to Luca's word, stunning and inspiring.

She hurried to get her art supplies. Luca watched with curiosity as she set up her easel and prepared the spread of colors. He went on to ask about her techniques, favorite painters, and her thoughts on art and life. Though not well-versed in art, Luca's wisdom belied in his young age.

Often times Andie would get carried away by the sound of his laugh, the value of his words and the sight of him to focus on what she had originally decided to paint. Eventually, she had stopped glancing at the view and instead let her brush stroke the canvas according to how she felt.

Layers of green tones formed, creating a landscape that captured the essence of Luca. It wasn't a portrait, but a reflection of him in nature. A single glance at the painting evoked an image of Luca in all his splendor.

"It beautiful," He whispered beside her.

Andie tore her gaze from the painting to Luca, "Yes, it is."

Returning home, they settled on the couch with dinner and a movie. But the movie was merely background noise, Andie's focus remained on learning more about Luca and his life.

Turned out, he had eyes on a pharmacist in town. He had the courage to ask for his number a few days prior but hesitated to make the call. Eventually, with a little persuasion and a few glasses of wine, Luca took the plunge. Thanks to her, he has a date set for Friday night.

"Luca," Andie whispered, noticing him drifting off to sleep.

"Hm?" He murmured, one eye cracking open she scooted closer. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder like a child seeking comfort. He chuckled, eyes remaining shut as he nestled his head atop hers.

"Thank you," She whispered, shutting her eyes to refrain from letting her eyes gloss with tears. "For everything."

"Of course, Andie." He replied, sinking deeper into the couch with her at his side.

Bean settled on her lap, providing warmth as Andie struggled to keep her eyes open, distracted by the flickering TV light. Uncertainty about her next stop filled her with both excitement and fear.

As dawn broke, casting a silhouette of trees against the curtains, Andie knew it was time to leave. Slowly, she untangled herself from Luca's embrace and gently lifted Bean from her lap. His tail wagged eagerly as she led him to the bathroom, where he waited patiently outside as she changed.

Leaving her number on a Post-It, Andie kissed the top of Bean's head, a. gentle stroke down Moka's back as she had joined to see her out, and tousled Luca's hair before slipping out of the house.

Driving down the winding roads, she mentally captured the treasure she'd stumble upon after misreading the map and taking the wrong exit en route to the airport.

ᴍᴏsᴀɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀ

#zsakuva #sakuverse #au #luca #fanfic #asmr #mosaic

[an-aroaces-harem]

Ivy Chapter 19

DISCLAIMER: I just deepl and google translated my way through this because I wanted to know what’s going on, so there are definitely mistakes but I believe I managed the general gist of the story. Anyway, it’s just a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes. Morganatic Idol belongs to Cybird and ABC Frontier, Inc.

The day after the re-presentation.

When I went to the living room to get ready for work, exe was just about to leave for work.

The other members were already gone, and Ivy-san, who was the last to leave the room, noticed me and smiled.

Ivy: Morning, Rina-chan.

Rina: Good morning.

Ivy: ... Huh?

As he approached, Ivy-san touched my cheek.

Rina: Ah, Ivy-san?

Ivy: You look a little pale. Haven't you slept much?

Rina: Oh, that's ...

... Last night, he and I had a chance to be together. I couldn't sleep because I was so nervous when I remembered that.

When I honestly told him that, he smiled blankly.

Ivy: Oh, I see. ... I thought something had happened.

Ivy: But it's the same for me. Your words made me so happy that I remembered them over and over again.

Rina: Ivy-san ...

Ivy: ... I have to go. I'll call you later. See you.

Rina: Y-yes. See you later.

He patted my head, and left the room.

... His demeanor wasn't only gentle but also sweet, which was clearly different from his previous behaviour.

(I really have a chance to be in love with Ivy-san ...)

Joy fills me with a sense of realization.

(I'm so happy that my re-presentation was a success ...)

I went to work feeling happy, but ... I soon regained my composure.

Yamauchi Kota: Kawanaga-san! Why didn't you reply!?

Yamauchi-san rushed up to me and looked at me in dissatisfaction.

Rina: How ... did you know my contact information? I didn't tell you.

Yamauchi Kota: I asked Mori-san. I told her I had a job offer for you.

(You mean you lied to get it out of herß9

Rina: Please don't do that.

I said this out loud, feeling a sense of discomfort welling up inside me.

Yamauchi Kota: Eh ...

Rina: If you want to talk about work, ask me during work. Please don't send me any more messages.

At that moment, I received a message on my phone.

(! Maybe from Ivy-san.)

Yamauchi Kota: K-kawanaga-san. I'm ...!

Rina: I'm sorry. Excuse me.

I walked past Yamauchi-san and headed for my desk.

When I checked my phone, the message was indeed from Ivy-san.

[I'll be back at the condo early today.]

[I need your help gathering materials for work. What time do you think you can get home?]

... The image of his face came to my mind, and my surging heart calmed down.

[I don't have to work overtime today, so I'll be able to go home on time.]

I received a reply immediately.

[Got it. Good luck for your work today.]

Even casual exchanges such as this one make me smile.

(I can't wait to see you ...)

... By the time I finished messaging with him, I no longer cared about the discomfort I had felt just before.

Yamauchi Kota: ...

After that, I finished my work on time as scheduled and left the company.

However, as I was walking toward the station, I felt a strange presence behind me.

When I quietly checked, I saw Yamauchi-san following me at a certain distance.

(Did he follow me from the office?)

The moment I realized that, a chill ran down my spine.

(I'm scared ..)

His incomprehensible behaviour filled me with an indescribable unease.

(What should I do? I can't go back to the apartment.)

He would know where I live, and above all, I must keep it a secret that I'm living with exe.

(It can't be helped, I'll take the long way around. I hope it works ...)

... I held back the fear that welled up inside me and started walking in a different direction from the station I usually use.

Ivy: ... She's late. You said you'd be home on time.

With this in mind, Ivy launched the location sharing app.

Ivy: ... are you on a different train than usual? Are you stopping somewhere ...?

Ivy: Rina-chan ... is something wrong with you ...?

... It was already quite late because I had been running around trying to shake off Yamauchi-san.

(I guess he's not here anymore. I'm glad I was able to lose him successfully ...!)

I almost collapse from exhaustion.

(It's well past 10pm. Ivy-san must be tired from waiting. I need to go home soon.)

But ... just as I was about to head to the apartment ...

Yamauchi Kota: Kawanaga-san.

Rina: !?

The voice coming from right behind me made my heart skip a beat.

Rina: Ya-yamauchi-san ...

I turned around and saw Yamauchi-san standing unexpectedly close to me.

(I thought he was gone already ...!)

There was a thick, obsessive look in his eyes he had fixed on me.

I don't know why he looks at me like this.

Yamauchi Kota: You finally turned around ... why are you ignoring me? You knew.

Yamauchi Kota: Don't run away from me. I just want to talk to you.

Rina: W-what are you doing?

My voice trembled with fear. I wanted to escape, but my legs were too weak to move.

Rina: Please don't follow me. How could you do this to me ...

... At that moment, he opened his eyes wide and cried out.

Yamauchi Kota: It's your fault!

Rina: Eh!?

Yamauchi Kota: Why are you trying to get away from me!? You know how I feel about you, don't you!?

(What are you talking about!? I'm scared ...!)

I had to escape. I ran forward on shaky legs, but within a few shaky steps, I was grabbed by the arm.

Rina: No!

Yamauchi Kota: Don't run away!

The arms pulling me closer to him gave me goosebumps.

Rina: Let go of me!

I swung my arms desperately to escape, and a fierce scramble ensued.

Yamauchi Kota: Why do you hate me so much!? You're always so nice to other guys, but you think I'm stupid ...!?

He was furious and pushed me away.

Rina: Aah!

The force of his oush caused my body to stagger and I fell over onto the roadway.

The lights of the cars coming toward me with their horns blaring burned my eyes.

(I will be killed ...!!)

... At that moment, a large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me up strongly.

Ivy: Rina-chan!!

With the same momentum, he hugged me tightly. Right after that, a blaring car was driving by.

Ivy: Are you okay!?

It was Ivy-san who saved me just in time, just before I was about to be run over by a car.

Rina: Ah, Ivy-san ...

Rina: I ...

Shocked and relieved, I relaxed ... and clung to his chest.

Ivy: I know you were scared. It's all right now, everything's okay ...

He wrapped me in his arms.

And ...

Ivy: Do you ... do you know what you've done?

Ivy-san turned his angry dragon-like eyes towords Yamauchi-san, who was standing frozen next to us.

Yamauchi Kota: No, no, it wasn't my fault! If she'd behaved herself ... I wouldn't have done what I did!

Yamauchi Kota: It's all her fault!

Rina: !

Yamauchi-san was extremely distraught and accused me.

Yamauchi Kota: Because she ignores me! I was the only one who was nice to her when the rest of the colleagues at work were shunning her!

Yamauchi Kota: I'm the one who took pity on you and supported you because you had no place in the company!

Yamauchi Kota: You told me that your contract was terminated, and I consoled you! And you turned me down ...!

... I'm struck by the words of obsession and anger.

(I can't believe he thought that ...)

Ivy: Shut up, that's enough.

However, Ivy-san interrupted him.

Ivy: That's your fantasy. Don't force your selfish thoughts on her.

I could see that Yamauchi-san was taken aback by the overwhelming force.

Ivy: This isn't a girl you should touch.

Yamauchi Kota: ...

Ivy: Go away and never come near her again ... or I won't forgive you.

... His voice was chillingly cold and filled with an anger I had never heard before.

Yamauchi Kota: ... shit!

... Perhaps in fear, Yamauchi-san fled the scene.

Ivy: ...

Ivy-san silently glanced down at me in his arms to make sure I was okay. Then ...

Ivy: Rina-chan ... thank goodness ...!

He twisted his face and pulled me even closer into his arms.

(Ivy-san ...)

I was hugged with so much force that it hurt ... and noticed how his body was trembling.

Rina: I'm sorry. Thank you so much, Ivy-san ...

... I could only apologize.

... Afterwards, I received treatment from him in my room.

Although nothing serious, I had sustained minor injuries when I fell down after the collision.

Ivy: I got home late, so I checked the app and saw that you were acting strangely ... I thought something was wrong, so I rushed over.

Ivy: What the hell happened? How long has he been following you?

Ivy: And what was that about the contract termination? ... Tell me everything.

I could no longer afoord to feel bad about it ...

Rina: Actually ...

I received numerous messages from Yamauchi-san, to whom I hadn't given my contact information.

And that my contract at the company was terminated ...

When I told Ivy-san everything, he looked grim.

Ivy: ... Why didn't you tell me?

Unable to bear the accusing gaze, I find myself becoming frightened.

Rina: I didn't want anyone to misunderstand my situation with Yamauchi-san.

Rina: And I didn't want to worry you when you were going through such a hard time ...

(But that's why we ended up like this ...)

Rina: I'm really sorry ...

Ivy-san let out a deep sigh and wrapped his hands around my own.

Ivy: What do you think would have happened if I had gotten there too late?

Unlike usual, his palms were extremely cold. I looked up to see him staring at me with a tearful face.

Ivy: When I saw you lying in the driveway, I thought my heart would stop ...

He hugged me tightly.

Ivy: I don't want to lose you ...!

The arms that clung to me were different from the usual Ivy-san who protected and reassured me.

Ivy: Don't go anywhere ... don't leave my side. You promised, remember?*

Rina: Ivy-san ...?

I had never seen him like this before. I could see how much it had worried him.

While I feel sorry for him ... I am also glad for his deep feelings.

(I can't believe you're this worried about me ...)

Rina: ... I'm not going anywhere. I will always stay by your side, Ivy-san.

Rina: This time, I mean my promise ...

Ivy: ... Rina-chan.

I promised again and hugged him back with the strong feeling that welled up in me ...

Note: Thank you Ivy for giving me a chance to quip in again. First of all, dead eyes Ivy is back again.

Second of all, since I had already played chapter 19 when I translated chapter 18, I knew the location sharing app would come in handy. It's still extreme but it actually saved Rina's life though she probably wouldn't have been in this situation if she had just talked to Ivy. Anyway, I can understand why he's angry even though he's victim blaming her here. But definitely not as extreme as Yamauchi. This man is absolute scum.

#morganatic idol #morudoru #morudoru ivy #resa translates something for once?