#I listened to a girl version of the song and it has been living my mind rent free | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelytsunoda · 7 days

Text

common people // mercedes amg (v)

summary: baby merc has a magical brush with love at a college event....too bad she doesn't get his name, contact information or any way to ever see him again

pairing: platonic!mercedes amg x intern!female!reader

author's note: i'm back, bitches! y'all should know i use this series as a coping mechanism for some of the things going on in my life....just putting that out there. that's why it sometimes seems like baby merc is just floundering, but today, it's her world and we're just living in it.

"nobody is going to be at this thing anyways since its so close to exams, so don't even worry that you can't make it." baby merc laughs, turning down her radio as she tries to reverse into a parking spot at her college. "the parking lot is packed though, must be lots of late classes today."

on the other end of the phone line, doriane pin laughs. "i'm sorry still! we've only got a few more days to hang out before i have to go to zandvoort for more academy testing."

"listen, if a mercedes sponsored driver can win anything at this point, i will be happy about it because or car is shit with a capital 's'." she paused for a moment. "please don't let toto know i said that."

doriane laughed gleefully. since the addition of the f1 academy driver to mercedes’ army of teenagers and young adults, each one mentored by toto and Susie themselves, y/n and doriane had become close friends. closer than friends, almost. it was nice to go to work and be around another girl her own age for once.

she stepped out of the aging, secondhand mercedes she drove, locking the car door and tucking her keys into her pocket as she crossed the lot to the student centre. there were dozens of college students milling about, despite all the on-site food options having closed half an hour ago.

the student center smelled like fresh paint when she opened the door, a serene expression in her face as she wandered into the common room, delighted to see the electric fireplace going, the room filed with round tables full of canvases and acrylic.

the college paint nights had always been her happy place. no expectations, a relaxed environment. an instructor who didn’t care if you followed her instructions to the ‘t’ (or at all). it was a welcome break from all of the other crap going on in her life.

she took her usual spot near the front, donning the dollar store apron hung over the back of the chair and settling in front of the canvas, a chill britpop playlist humming from the in-ceiling speaker set.

the group had been painting happily for ages when he wandered in. with the blended background almost done, she looked up from her conversation with the blonde girl next to her to catch him tentatively standing in the doorway.

his hair was messy, flopping around his face. he had airpods in, and she could faintly hear the riff of a rolling stones song. his sweater read ‘elevating devices.’ he was a trades boy.

“do you have room for one more?” he asked, looking over at olive, the program leader.

“of course!” olive grinned, caught in the middle of doing a blending demonstration on her forearm. “come on in, I can get you caught up.”

she felt her heart skip a beat when she realized that the only empty spot in the room was behind her. the boy smiled at her as he sat down, clumsily slipping into the gingham apron. it looked out of place with his hoodie and sweatpants, and the visual made her smile.

could this be it? the day something in her love life finally went right?

all throughout the paint night, since she was two steps ahead of everyone else (you go to every one of these things, you begin to pick up the tips and tricks of the trade), she found that she kept looking back at the newcomer, and admiring the look of concentration etched onto his face.

whatever happens, happens.

you did not come here to meet boys, you came here for you.

but goddamn it, he was so cute! and he painted! he was perfect! hell, he listened to the goddamn rolling stones!

it was the end of the night, 'pulp' playing on the speakers as the last few painters began to pack up.

"excuse me?" she felt a hand tap her shoulder, and she turned around from where she was repacking her primark purse to face the boy in the lifting devices sweater.

she hoped he couldn't hear her heart beating out of her chest.

"what are we supposed to do with these?" he asked, holding up one of olive's easels.

"they fold up." she said quietly, almost shyly as she took the metal stand from his hands. "like this. i come here all the time, helping olive pack up is the least i can do."

"nice." he said sheepishly, reaching for his own painting. "this was my first time."

"that's pretty good for your first try." she complimented, picking up her own canvas, as well as her car keys.

"can i walk you out?' the boy asked, gesturing towards the door.

"sure." she smiled, blush rising on her cheeks. she turned, flagging olive down and hoping the boy wouldn't notice. due to her frequent attendance at the paint parties, olive an dher had become fast friends, and she didn't miss the way the painter flashed her a thumbs up and suggestive wink as the pair left the student center.

"so, you a fan of the stones? i could hear them playing from your headphones when you walked in." she asked, trying to start a conversation, and hoping that he somehow found her interesting.

"a fairly recent one." he laughed, free hand in the pocket of his sweatpants.

sweatpants. we can work on that. three months dating me, she thought, and i can get you into a snazzy pair of jeans.

"i took a history course on the british invasion as an elective. it's all about the stones, the beatles, the who. any british band with 'the' in the name, really. the kinks are my favourite."

"awesome. my dad is a big jagger fan. i grew up singing 'you can't always get what you want' when other kids my age were singing 'apple bottom jeans'."

god, she loved the guy already.

"what are you studying?"

"law. i have my last final exam tomorrow, and i'm actually doing some part-time, minimum wage office work for a formula one team. legally, i can't tell you what exactly i'm doing." she grinned. "well. i could. but then i'd have to kill you."

she'd been waiting her whole life to say that.

"that's awesome." worlds were burned for a smile like the one this guy had. it was dangerous just how strongly she felt after barely talking to him. "i doubt my chosen career path will land me anywhere near as exciting as an f1 team. but who knows, i might be paid the big bucks to fix a service elevator in their building."

"well, this is me." she frowned, pointing in the direction of her parking lot. why did she feel so strongly about leaving a guy she didn't even know? "it was nice painting with you. you should come to another one in september."

"yeah, maybe i will. are you going to the one at the other campus tomorrow? i might try and make it, since my classes are over at that campus anyways."

"i can't, it's right in the middle of my exam." but god did she wish she could. if she wasn't so scared of failing, she'd skip the exam just for him.

"right, right." he nodded, gesturing towards the residency building behind him. "this is me. it was nice talking to you."

"you too." she smiled sheepishly, turning around and beginning the walk to her car.

she resisted the urge to look back, worried that it would be followed by something potentially foolish, like an 'aren't you going to kiss me', or an invitation to get coffee (that he could then very well turn down).

it wasn't until she was back in her car, heat turned on and classic rock playing, that she realized that he might have very well been into her, and she didn't even get his name.

"shit!"

__________________

"i'm telling you, doriane, this was my rom-com moment waiting to happen and i blew it!" she groaned, face in hands as she sat around the round table in the break room, recounting her woes to not just her closest colleagues, but those she considered to be her friends as well.

she had always loved the break room. it was light and airy, painted in white with bamboo furniture and a wall of windows. sometimes, she brought her work laptop in there and worked at one of the green couches in the corner.

"you were so close!" doriane commiserated with her, placing one hand over hers. "babes, you got this. you'll be ready for the next stud who comes along."

across the table, frederik vesti hid his grin behind his cup of coffee. "hey, maybe you dodged a bullet. he could have been a serial killer. or worse, a premier league fan."

doriane snorted, and ungraceful sound, yet one that was full of love. "yeah right."

she had been over the situation millions of times since the she'd gotten back in her car, and she just could not figure out why it had never occurred to her to get the boy's name, or to offer up her own.

"eh, you'll get the next one." george shrugged, placing a hand on her shoulder as he moved to stand behind the young intern. "just look at me and carmen. it took me a very long time to find someone like her. she'd one of a kind, that woman. i'm gonna marry her someday."

"better get cracking on that one, george old boy." frederik laughed. "i want your seat, if the kid doesn't beat me there."

"they're not putting kimi in an f1 seat." doriane argued. "its way too soon."

"i dunno, bearman did a really good job with that ferrari. if he's the blueprint, toto will just follow what his mates are doing so it looks like he's keeping with the times."

the seat conversation was beginning to make her nervous, and she could feel the hives rising on her arms as she tried to remind herself that lewis leaving mercedes had nothing to do with her.

it was the timing of his decision, announcing he was leaving so soon after she felt like she had truly made a home at brackley. but it made sense. a man like lewis needed to go somewhere that could give him the car he needed to take home that eighth championship, and currently, it wasn't looking like that was going to happen here.

that didn't change the fact that it stung. that in a way, it felt like lewis was leaving her.

"y/n, do you know who toto's been talking to about the second seat?" geroge asked, raising an eyebrow as he blew on his tea, steam rising onto his pale face. pair that with the cardigan he was wearing, and he was starting to look like someone's geriatric grandfather (and she said that with all the love in her heart that she had to give)

y/n did know. legal had been very busy organizing and prepping meetings, as well as drawing up draft contracts and disclosure agreements.

but a non-disclosure agreement worked both ways. and, since she liked fucking with george, he wasn't getting a proper answer.

she grinned, sipping the last of her hot chocolate "no can do. signed an nda. expressly forbids me from selling the gossip to the press, or from telling nosy british boys."

"that's not fair! you're british as well!" george whined. "come on, it affects me as well."

y/n laughed, appreciating the light air that george brought to the conversation, instead of making it a somber affair about lewis' departure. "oh, would you look at the time. my break is over, and i now need to go track down some engineers and get them to swear affidavits."

fred looked at her with a confused glace, his head cocked to the side like a golden retriever puppy. "why? who's taking us to court?"

"nobody is suing us. it's time to make our cost cap submissions to the fia, and the engineers need to swear that they're telling the truth."

"so you can tell us about that, but not about contract talks?" george tried one last time to get an answer from her as she packed up her tote, bag, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her knuckles.

"nice try. good luck on the sim this afternoon, vesti over here says its not pretty."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @clemswrld @thatsdemko @userlando @diorleclerc @sidcrosbyspuck @arshiyuh

#family are the friends we meet along the way series #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #mercedes amg f1 x reader #toto wolff x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george russell x reader #frederik vesti x reader #mick schumacher x reader #f1 imagine #doriane pin x reader #Spotify

193 notes · View notes

keepingsecretstokeepyoutk · 6 days

Text

This is going to be very long and sound a little crazy at first, and maybe a little mean but please hear me out…

I’m convinced that Taylor sometimes purposefully includes one line or multiple lines of poorly written or clunky lyrics in specific songs to make a point.

We all have seen some version of this with bearding songs like London Boy, a simple bop whose lyrics were immediately detected as sounding disingenuous, even with the general population (the locations she was signing about were the most touristy and too far away from each other to visit on the same day, etc, basically implying that she doesn’t actually have a long term local bf there that she spends a bunch of time with exploring the city with, etc).

But just like everything else on the album, I think she’s doing maybe a more in your face version of that. No holds barred.

So High School is an obvious example of this, with all of the early 2000’s hs imagery, she seems pretty blatantly to be mocking the idea the public has of her “living out every American girl’s high school fantasy” of dating the tall popular football player. With lyrics like “touch me while your friends play grand theft auto” (barf), etc, shes being clear enough that this is not a serious song.

This is the possibly controversial part, but I’m so curious to see what others think about this - I think another iteration of this on this album is the title track, The Tortured Poets Department. Hear me out.

(First, I want to reassure you that there are lines in this song that I really like and think are well written, like: “you’re in self-sabotage mode/throwing spikes down on the road” and “but you awaken with dread/pounding nails in your head/but I’ve read this one/where you come undone/I chose this cyclone with you”. And I fully agree with the idea that these sentiments are from Karlie’s perspective. Basically, when you take out the chunks I’m about to talk about this song makes way more sense and has a beautiful sentiment of undying love behind it - which makes the following parts stick out that much more!)

The first time I listened through the album, and this was the second song, I got terrified because I didn’t understand its place in the whole narrative and when I heard the first clunky line “scratch your head like a tattooed golden retriever” I got the ick. Then the bridge with no structure and no wit and no clever turns of phrase, no metaphor, just “you put my ring on the finger people put wedding rings on” and “that was the closest I’ve ever been to my heart exploding”. So over simplified and cheesy, and doesn’t sound anything like her writing, especially the caliber of her recent lyrics

I know art is largely subjective, but I insist there is no way that the same person who wrote Cowboy Like Me wrote these lines into her title track if she didn’t have a reason and a point to make. To make it clear that this isn’t a matter of genre personal taste, because I know CLM is a very specific sound and a style that music snobs often take more seriously - I love SO many of her candy pop bangers, they are infinitely more clever, articulate, and overall works of art by a true wordsmith than this. Karma, The Very First Night, etc are all a master classes in clever words and tight writing being tucked into an “unserious” pop song.

The lyrics I cited above to me sound like what haters believe her writing sounds like, even fans who make little jokey TikTok’s about her and make up a spoofy something to sing while in character - that’s what these lyrics sound like.

Im worried im being too harsh, but please stay with me because the more I think about the more genius I think it actually is.

In the context of the themes of rest of the album, (her being trapped, miserable, manipulated, ready to burn it all down, screaming to be seen) this theory became clear to me. I think she’s leaning into her public persona (in more ways than one, we’ve already seen it with the stunting), in a way setting a “trap” for her fans and the public, that will essentially call them all out on how they ignored the real her in favor of her pr narrative, making the album about paternity tests, etc, all of which I’m guessing will become very clear in retrospect, possibly after she comes out? (Of course it’s already clear to us now, which is another purpose of the beard songs including clunky writing - to signal to us that these are not serious and that she knows that we know that she knows (like Phoebe on friends lol))

Ultimately, this is (along with So Highschool) a classic beard song. When she writes in this voice, she embodies the most extreme versions of her public persona, not just the one she has cultivated on purpose, but also the one that people have of her that don’t know her (as she did in Blank Space), including those that don’t take her seriously - because her identity as a boy crazy psycho ex girlfriend is directly tied to people dismissing her art as vapid because, they’ve only ever heard her singles, they don’t know the full her.

That voice is the straightest, the most boy crazy, the most one note, and sometimes the most unsophisticated writer version of her that people have in their minds, including her fans - the fans that refuse to see her as a whole person, the real, that believe she is head over heals for big football boy, that believe “he knows how to ball, I know Aristotle” is a romantic line about how opposites attract, the fans that say they don’t “get” some of her most beautiful and well-written songs, the fans that don’t see her and haven’t been seeing her.

They didn’t see giant Taylor on the eras tour, they refuse to see all of her queer signaling, etc, and I think she’s making the bearding songs obvious to underscore the difference between her Taylor(TM) and Taylor(person) personas.

She knows that despite the fact that the lyrics don’t even come close to measuring up to the rest of the album, the public, and many of her fans, will make this song one of the most listened to simply because they are looking for evidence of her relationships from the past year. We’ve all commented on how insane it is that this layered, complex, devastating album is being reduced to the usual paternity tests. This is currently one of the top songs precisely because it is “about Matty”. And of course, So High School is one of the tops songs along with it because it’s “about Travis”.

The juxtaposition of the bearding songs alongside her beautifully written poetry of Prophecy, Peter, Whose Afraid of Little Old Me, Cassandra, How did it end, The Albatross, etc mirrors the juxtaposition of her two selves during the Midnights era.

She has proven the point that if they think she wrote every line of this song completely in earnest, then they see her largely no differently than her haters do, as a subpar writer who writes absurdly cheesy love songs praising trashy to mediocre, problematic men. By eating it up they tell her that’s what she’s good for, for being the subject of tabloids and warring fans who make this entire album about two (purposefully) mediocre songs and the men who “inspired” them.

She has proven her point - that a subset of her fans will be distracted by a lesser song simply because they think it’s about one of the greasy men that’s she been seen holding hands with. That they will ignore once again all of her pleas to be seen, that she’s in pain and caged, and has been driven insane by their willful ignorance. That they don’t appreciate her full potential and talent, that they don’t even see it, and just want to be confirmed in their ideation of her.

This song is essentially the “forget him(her)” pill at the beginning of the fortnight mv, but it’s a sedative for the fans, who are addicted to her straight narrative. Similar to Willow’s 13 chants of “that’s my man” that started off evermore, casting a spell of heteronormativity over everyone who wanted it, so that they could choose to just completely ignore the following 14 gayest songs ever written. Don’t pay no mind to her singing directly about women with zero male perspective - she said “that’s my man!” We’re good! She’s still straight!

Taylor in the fortnight mv had to a take a sedative to be able to go into the next room and write her bearding songs - ie she self medicates to deal with keeping up the straight persona and to get through having to release dumbed down songs to feed the masses. (I also see the pill as something forced on her, I think it represents both layers)

From the first time I watched the music video I thought the writing Taylor looked so miserable and the bearding songs are why.

In this room she’s trapped, churning out the songs that her fans expect of her, the songs that make her team money, the songs that make her money, but that she has to compromise her truth to create.

But when she frees herself she’ll burn the stories that weren’t true, the filler that doesn’t represent her.

I’m curious to hear other’s thoughts on this - have you ever felt like Taylor purposefully inserts off-sounding lyrics that are written in a different voice to make a point?

I want to reiterate that it’s not the entirety of either song that I think is terrible, I genuinely love bopping along to both So High School and TTPD (track). Like I said above, when you remove the clunky lines from ttpd (track), the song has another layer and likely gives voice to some Karlie insight that is beautiful and tragically profound. It’s the red herrings, the pieces specifically meant to tie this song to a bearding narrative, that I’m dissing, and the only reason they are suspicious in the first place is because I know how gifted Taylor is with the written word.

Taylor is such a skilled writer that she can embody the voice of the bad writer that dismissive ignorant idiots believe her to be, just to make a point!

I even wonder if maybe there is a second version of this song locked away in one of those drawers in the fortnight writing room that leaves out the red herrings and is a thousand times better than the bearding version we got.

I hope one day we get to hear it.

#gaylor #kaylor #bearding #closeting #ttpd #so high school

174 notes · View notes

arielleslipgloss · 1 month

Text

It Girl Habits!!

(none of these photos are mine)

“You cannot live your life to please others. The choice must be yours.” - Anne Hathaway

Stay busy!! Do you see those it girls like Serena Van Der Woodsen scrolling on their phone all day? No, you rarely do. It girls are always busy doing something. So, therefore do some self care, study, workout, read, journal, go shopping, go on solo dates, hang out with friends, paint, have a dance party, etc. Do fun activities and take care of yourself. Another example of a busy it girl is, Elle Woods. Elle Woods wasn’t becoming one with the couch everyday. She had goals to achieve. She had people that doubted her to prove wrong. So get up! Start planning out your day or week. Start making goals!!

Have goals! You wanna know why you’re bored all the time? Well, it’s because you have no goals. You practically don’t have a life because all you do is sleep, eat, scroll, and repeat. You’re wasting time doing nothing. You could’ve had a clean room by now. Maybe you could have finished that book. Whatever it is, you could have had it. You could’ve been 1% better than yesterday. You don’t though because you have no goals. That time you’re wasting, can be used toward your goals. It can be used toward your dream life. Maybe, you do have goals? Yet you don’t even take action. What are you waiting for? For someone to do the work for you? No, get up and start taking action.

Be mindful of what you consume online!! Just like how who you surround yourself with affects you. What you consume online affects how and who you are. For example, listening to sad music makes you feel sad. Music is meant to tell a story that you feel deeply. You may not even relate to the song, but you feel as if you do. So, you become sad and continue to listen to sad music. When listening to uplifting music you gain confidence. You still feel like you relate to the song. Just with a more positive effect. As for what you watch and read. Don’t read/watch stuff that will put you down. Watch/read content that will help you.

Complimenting yourself every time you pass the mirror!! Some may say it’s cringy, but DO IT. Would you rather be cringy or be the best version of yourself? Exactly, so either say it out loud or in your head. Say it even if you might not believe it. Say it because you deserve it! Try to be creative with your compliments. Not all compliments have to be about your looks. It could be your personality, your thoughtfulness, how creative you are, etc. Also loosen up, be your own hype girl. When you see the mirror you could say, “Omg I look like the main character.” “Oh wait, I am!” Lastly, don’t forget to have fun with hyping yourself up.

Mediating or journaling when stressed!! When stressed we start to feel a lot of tension. So, that’s why meditating is so important to do when stressed. All you have to do is sit down and focus on breathing. Plus, It calms down your nerves, relaxes the mind, body, and soul. Not just that, but plenty of other benefits. Which includes, helps focus, betters mood, helps you sleep, slows down aging, etc. As for journaling, it’s practically free therapy! That is, at least in my eyes. All you need is a notebook, a pen or pencil, and yourself. Journal what’s making you stressed or anxious. Let all your emotions out, write freely. Your words don’t have to make sense. Nor do you need to have perfect writing. In fact, when you journal it may be all over the place. However or whatever you write, just let it out.

Expressing your gratitude!! Life is so beautiful and has so much meaning. So, either write down what you’re grateful for or thank God. You are so blessed to be here today. That is only just one thing to be grateful for. There are so many things to be grateful for, air, family, friends, your mind, being born as you, water, books, food, shoes, clothes, and so much more!! Express your gratitude everyday. It could be the most random thing like, a poster. As long as you’re truly grateful, then express it.

7. Having a low screen time!! Cliché, I know but it’s true. Your devices are consuming you. Think about what you use your device(s) for. Good examples are, for work, for motivation, tips, workout videos, inspiration, knowledge, and maybe even faith reasons. Now here are bad examples, procrastinating, sinning, hating on others, scrolling, because you’re bored, to watching videos of people that make you insecure, and lastly to cope with something. Which to clarify, trying to cope by using your phone, I understand somewhat. On the other hand, it could make what you’re coping with worse. I say that because there are so many studies on why our phone is bad for us. Seriously, so many and we are completely unaware of the damage it does. So for that reason, try to use your phone only for the good. I know you’re probably going to make an excuse. Which we all do and that’s ok, but please try.

8. Encouraging yourself to do better!! You should always be working hard to be 1% better everyday. So on the days you don’t feel like doing anything, encourage yourself. Show up for yourself, you will be so happy after. Lastly, trust yourself to get whatever done!!

9. Having a healthy sleep schedule!! For me, I try to aim for 8-11 hours of sleep. For others, it may be 7-10 hours of sleep. Whatever makes you feel the most well-rested should work. Just try to be consistent and mindful of the time. I also recommend to be off your phone for at least 30-60 minutes before going to bed. It will improve how you sleep a lot. That also being said, try not to be on your phone when you wake up either. It’ll help improve your health by a lot. Especially, the health of your brain and eyes. As I had mentioned, try to be consistent. Set a certain time to go to bed and turn off your phone. Then, get your lovely beauty sleep gorgeous!!

10. CLEANING!! The last habit is, cleaning. Now, I don’t just meaning cleaning your room or house. I mean even your body and mind. For starters, a clean room equals a clean mind. Therefore, stop procrastinating and start cleaning. Turn on some fun music and maybe even romanticize cleaning. Just make it fun and DEEP clean. I know someone reading this has been procrastinating on cleaning. You know who you are, so clean everything. Then, for cleaning the mind a little extra meditate. I feel like I already went over a bit about meditation. So lastly, for the body, take your showers consistently. Also, please wear deodorant. I see way too many people nowadays not wearing deodorant. Seriously, wear your deodorant.

“Always walk around like you have on an invisible tiara on.” - Paris Hilton

Remember, always apply lip gloss and stay pretty! Love you, dolls 💋

Info I used: https://reallifecounseling.us/blog/benefits-of-meditation

My Pinterest: @arielleslipgloss

289 notes · View notes

huhniebowl · 1 month

Text

French Toast?

dominic fike x reader

warning(s); none!

Listen to 7 hours when reading!:)

a/n: yeah, im whipping these mf's OUT! thank you for this yummy request!

this is short but fun. also calling myself out heavy here...i 100% went through both the justin bieber and bts phase...

*still editing this a bit, so bear with me!*

You don’t obsess.

You’ve never had a One Direction phase. You never had the primal urge to deck your walls with Justin Bieber posters, and you never succumbed to the fanfictions of BTS.

You’re firm on the narrative that obsessing over someone who has no idea who you are, a complete waste of time. So you never indulged.

So why is it that you’re leaning against a barricade, a sign below your feet with, “Dominic, play your unreleased shit!” written in big sparkly bubble letters.

Pierced tits showing nice and pretty under a fitted white t-shirt you made just for the show.

“Fuck me Dominic Fuck!” ironed on the front. His actual last name printed small and in parentheses under the second fuck.

Your wordplay landed perfectly. Other fans coming up to you with laughs and praise.

"You know," Ian, your best friend's boyfriend, begins, giving a playful glance as you slip your phone into your mini purse, "I still can't believe you've succumbed to this."

"Ian's got a point," Aria chimes in, leaning into him.

"You beat the One Direction phase, but this? This is the one you can’t beat?” She raises an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes.

"Fuck off," You start, uncrossing your arms and sliding your manicured nails into the pockets of your low-rise jeans, "This is perfectly normal, thank you very much. Mind your business."

You jut your hip out, and lean your weight to your right leg.

"Besides, I’d rather this than the Larry allegations.” You stick your tongue out.

Aria gasps, "You didn't!"

"Oh, she most certainly did," Ian confirms with a nod, stepping out of the way.

Before you can revel in your victory, Aria launches herself at you, locking you in a loose headlock. Laughter fills the air as she swings you around, and soon, the three of you are engrossed in conversation.

Occasionally pestering Ian to snap some photos of you and Aria as the field begins to fill up.

Amidst the chatter, you lose track of time.

Engaging with a girl behind you who complimented your shirt. You share a laugh with her as you recall having to fight with a 10-year-old for the last pack of sparkly iron-on letters at Michaels.

You’re handing her phone back with your number saved when the lights start to dim, and whip around to your bestfriend, smiling big.

"Oh my fuck, it's time, it's time!" You squeal, grabbing onto her arm.

Your heart races, pounding against your ribs, as adrenaline courses through your veins.

With the rest of the crowd, you scream at the top of your lungs, cupping your hands around your mouth to amplify the sound.

A single bulb illuminates the stage and outsteps Dominic. Bathed in golden light.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes widen at the sight of him so close.

He looks unreal.

Dominic extends his hands in his signature heart as the opening instrumental of "How Much Is Weed" begins to play.

You steal a glance at Aria, both of you screaming the first few lyrics together before dancing. Shaking your heads, and moving your hands as you rap the lyrics bar for bar.

Completely losing yourselves in the moment.

About 30 minutes into his set, Dominic launches into "7 Hours," your favorite off the album.

Aria shouts, and it rings with your own, as you both grasp each other's shoulders in anticipation. She knows you’ve been waiting for this one.

"I just wish that you would move round me, move round me," Dominic's voice fills the air, wisping goosebumps over your body.

You find yourself captivated.

Unable to put into words how hearing the song live feels. There's a rawness to his voice that transcends the studio version and you wish you could forever hear it like this.

Closing your eyes, you give in to the pulsating rhythm, slowly spinning in a circle and moving your hips in a way that's usually reserved for after a few tequila shots.

The new friend you made earlier joins in, hyping you up alongside Aria, while the golden stage lighting envelops you in its warm glow.

It's a sensation you haven't felt in ages, an intoxicating blend of music and friends. You feel comfortable in your skin, like you're hottest here, and you poke your ass out just a bit during your last twirl.

As the chorus returns, you throw your hands up in the air and lean against both girls, belting out the lyrics with all your heart while swaying to the beat.

As you open your eyes, momentarily blinded by the lights, a chill runs through you.

You find yourself locking eyes with Dominic, his gaze piercing and intense as he sings. His eyes linger on your face before trailing down to your body, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his lips as if he's reading the words on your shirt.

Just as quickly as the moment began, Dominic diverts his attention back to the crowd.

You try to shake off the idea that he was actually looking at you. There’s no way, you tell yourself; surely, he was just scanning the audience, his eyes drifting past you to someone else in the sea of fans.

But then, he glances over at you again, and again, and another time after that.

It became clear that he’s singling you out amidst the sea of faces. His eyes, pools of depth and intensity, captivating you with each lingering look.

Entire verses pass with your eyes locked in a silent exchange, a language of longing? Desire? You're not sure, but you know you don't want him to look at anyone else around you like this.

You're in awe by the intensity of his attention.

Sooner than you'd like, his second segment ends. And the world that was created just for you two, shatters.

You let out a breath and try to calm how jittery you feel. Nerves running wild as you get ready to hold up your little sign, and brace yourself for what's to come as Dominic prepares to address the audience.

"There's a girl up here," he laughs, "Who, I swear I locked eyes with for the majority of that set." The crowd erupts into screams.

Glancing over at your best friend, your eyes widen. When you turn back toward the stage, Dominic is indeed looking right at you.

"What's your name?" He asks, bending down on the edge of the stage and holding his mic out to you.

With your stomach in knots, you manage to speak your name into the mic without stuttering, thanks to the grace of whatever god is out there.

Dominic attempts to repeat it but ends up completely butchering it. Seeing your laugh as you shake you head, he places the mic back to your lips, clearly hears your name, and pronounces it correctly.

"That's a beautiful name," He grins, "Not as beautiful as you though." The screams ring louder and your eyebrows raise.

You're not sure if you're still breathing at this point. Dominic backs up towards his mic stand and leans on it.

"Her shirt says 'Fuck me Dominic Fuck,'" He announces with a shake of his head, "My last name in the tinest font possible under the fuck that should be Fike." The crowd roars, and Dom lets out a breathless chuckle.

"I don't know," He drawls out your name, his voice carrying a playful tone as he sways with his mic stand, commanding the stage with effortless charm.

"I'd be down, but at least take me out to dinner first?" He tilts his head with a simper, sending the fans into a frenzy.

Aria curses excitedly, her phone camera poised to capture the entire moment.

Feeling a surge of confidence, you find your voice again and begin shouting something back, prompting Dominic to step forward, thrusting the mic in your direction.

"You're right, I'm sorry. Let's go get french toast after this," You offer. "The thick kind, not the thin shit."

His laughter rings out boyishly and he throws his head back.

It's a sound that makes your stomach flutter, the only sound you ever want to hear.

"I'm not usually like this, I swear," Dominic points, his movements fluid as he untangles himself from his orange mic cord.

"ButImdownmeetmebackstage. Okaynextsongletsgo!" He talks so fast that you almost didn't hear, and your mouth drops before you laugh.

It's loud, and unfiltered, and you just can't believe your life right now.

Especially when one of the stage crew members hands you a backstage lanyard over the barricade. Your ears ring at the amount of screams that comes from the fans around you.

For the umpteenth time tonight, Dominic catches your eye, and with a wink he launches into AntPile.

You blow him kiss, and goofily wink back.

You know he saw it.

171 notes · View notes

man-down-in-hatchet-town · 5 months

Text

VHSCC OH MY GOD

(no spoilers)

Starkid nation, you aren't ready.

So let's start with the obvious. Look, I spent thirteen years growing up with Starkid. That initial Michigan gang are deeply special to me and I will always miss Dylan, Brian R., and Corey in any show they aren't in. And this one's no different. But just as Janaya came in and took over Belle from Britney so flawlessly, Curt, Brian, and AJ were all WONDERFUL in their new roles. The gentle-but-high-energy, truly decent, romantic himbo charm Curt brought to our Springsteen boy Jim (you all are going to LOVE Jim, I promise) perfectly offset the defiant, sneering anger of Young Scrooge in "That Scrooge." Brian's reactions (particularly to the "rather take my own life" line) were so funny and some of my favorite parts of the show. And AJ... this is now my favorite thing AJ has ever done. And that's saying something. The smaller casting shake-up moments (Joey as Fezziwig, other little line re-distributions) were so fun as well!

The new act 1 is PERFECTION. I was actually surprised by how absolutely hysterical it was? Like, I won't tell you what was up with that clip on Instagram of Brian, Lauren, and Joey doing a freak-out dance, but I can tell you that their whole Act 1 deal threatened to steal the show every. Single. Time. I already mentioned Curt as Jim, but you will also love Della, who is so funny and real and truly carries us through the start of the show (Janaya is a STAR and she Curt have brilliant chemistry). Ali did a terrific job of balancing the sadness and hope that are both at the center of the devastating little Match Girl. And Jamie's Grandma... well, honestly I have no idea how to talk about Jamie's song without giving stuff away.

But the real star of the show in Act 1, as he should be, was our man Clark. I can't emphasize enough how much he nailed the writing of this whole new act. I mentioned that the new stuff is hilarious, but it's also deeply heartfelt, and also sad exactly when it needs to be. Like, the transition after Jamie's song? I can't really talk about it yet, but what that moment does with emotion is unreal. And, as expected, every song is a banger! My one complaint about this show, and it IS a big one, is that there is no cast recording of the Act 1 songs. I want to listen to them all the time.

But the good news is, I CAN listen to Christmas Carol as much as I want! The classic that started it all is back, with so many people reprising the hell out of their truly iconic roles (God I love the VHS Cratchits), and better than ever. I traditionally hate change, and I love the version of VHSCC Live! we already have so much, but I think I somehow loved this version even more? The staging is alive and clever and there are some additions and changes, particularly in "Final Ghost"/"Christmas Day," that frankly blew my mind and somehow managed to elevate the material even further. I can't wait for the digital ticket to come out so that I can talk about them. To put it simply, James Tolbert mastered his Starkid directorial debut like you won't believe. I'm so proud of him and grateful for the larger role he's taken in Starkid since they moved base to LA.

Also, the Ghost of Christmas Past is extra unhinged this year? Jaime pulled out all of the impish stops and it was the BEST.

Basically, everyone more than delivered. I haven't talked about Meredith yet but she rocked it in the band and continued to validate the hell out of my opinion that "3 Spirits" is the dark horse best song in the show.

And a special shout-out to June Saito for continuing to be a costuming GENIUS. I always love her work and this production is no exception. I honestly wanted to give the return of the Bob Cratchit costume its own round of applause.

You know, the world is a mess and everything is pretty much terrible. It's been a hard year in an impossible decade. But every once in a while you come across some art that takes all of that, acknowledges the truth of it, and somehow pulls back the curtains to harness the joy and hope that's still there under the rubble. To me, Starkid in particular has always been about finding and holding onto the hope and the beauty and humanity that allows us to endure an existence that can so often feel bleak. And VHSCC is maybe the most perfect encapsulation of that idea.

So thank you Clark, James, Meredith, Brian, and everyone who worked so hard on this little bit of magic. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Let's make a little light.

#apologies for any typos it is late and I've had a wild day #Also shout out to Meredith for the number of times she teared up while playing in the band #she is so real for that #starkid #team starkid #vhscc #vhs christmas carols #clark baxtresser #james tolbert #AJ Holmes #Meredith Stepien #Brian Holden #Janaya Mahealani Jones #Jamie Burns #Lauren Lopez #Ali Gordon #Curt Mega #Joey Richter #Jaime Lyn Beatty

212 notes · View notes

starkwlkr · 1 year

Text

christian’s version | christian pulisic

faceclaim lucy boynton

also i think there was also another christian imagine with the reader being taylor’s sister but i can’t remember the user that wrote it so if you know who wrote it, let me know so i can give credit!!

Liked by Taylorswift, Selenagomez and 3,314,422 others

y/nswift not a lot going on at the moment

lavenderhoes i have a love hate relationship with the swift sisters

13antiheroes pls tell me we didn’t lose you to a guy who kicks a ball for a living

y/nscloset bestie don’t leave us hanging

View all 34,564 comments

Liked by kepaarrizabalaga, deedee_pulisic and 310,321 others

cmpulisic not a lot going on at the moment

mmcp._ THHIS ISNT FUNYYTT

masonmount 👀🧐

benchilwell are you feeling 22?

gioreyna are you gonna shake it off?

kaihavertz29 are you the man?

cmpulisic nah that’s taylorswift

y/nswift i’ve taught you well

y/nswift suing for identity theft

cmpulisic arrest me then

benchilwell STOP BEING HORNY ON MAIN

View all 5,687 comments

Liked by masonmount, benchilwell and 508,107 others

cmpulisic eras tour round 2 with my favorite swift y/nswift

lavenderhoes oh he’s brave for that caption

capamericapuli wouldn’t have guessed that pulisic listens to taylor swift

y/nswift of course he listens to the music industry he’s an evermore girly after all

cmpulisic y/nswift only because you’re a folklore girl

pulisicbitch he’s so lover album

y/nswift that’s what I’ve been telling him all week!!!

swiftiehaze bestie he’s so gorgeous

cmpulisic like the song or actually?

y/nswift whatever helps you sleep at night, gorgeous😘

View all 10.765 comments

Liked by Taylorswift, maya_hawke and 6,564,879 others

y/nswift wreck my plans that’s my man

cmpulisic justice for evermore

Taylorswift come get your man y/nswift

deedee_pulisic avery and i are ready to dance all night! she can’t wait to meet you!

y/nswift ahhhh! i can’t wait to meet baby avery!

benchilwell where’s my ticket?

masonmount and mine?

gioreyna and mine?

kaihavertz29 and mine?

joaofelix79 and mine?

y/nswift those block buttons are looking real good rn

Comments on this post have been limited

y/nswift has added to their story

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #cp10 #christian pulisic imagine #soccer #football imagine #chelsea fc #usmnt #football instagram au

522 notes · View notes

lily-fics-11 · 2 months

Text

The Girl Next Door: Chapter 2 (Hazel Callahan, Bottoms)

Fic master post here (feel free to comment to be added to taglist)

The Girl Next Door

You hadn't been close with your neighbor Hazel for years. But you find her beat up in the locker room after fight club and all of that changes.

Chapter 2

Car rides with Hazel have you falling for her harder than ever.

CW: mentions of blood and injury, mentions of violence, cursing, Taylor Swift references (I know not everyone is a fan so if people don't like it, I won't add anymore) *not beta read

You and Hazel walk to your car in silence. You get in the car and pass her the aux. “You still listen to Taylor Swift?” She asks shyly.

“Of course I do!” You tell her with the biggest smile. She remembers your favorite singer. Does she remember all the times you would sing those songs together?

“What do you think about the new albums? And the re-recordings?” Hazel sounds excited to talk about Taylor Swift too, she remembers.

“The 10 Minute Version of All Too Well has literally changed my life.”

“Should I put it on?”

“Absolutely!”

Before you know it you are on your way home, scream singing the 10 Minute Version of All Too Well, with Hazel. Since the song came out you’ve been listening to it over and over and thinking about her. There were so many lyrics that reminded you of your relationship with her.

Her sweet disposition, and your wide eyed gaze. Being able to picture it after all these days. You might be okay but you’re not fine at all. How you got lost in translation. You had lost the one real thing you had ever known. It was rare, you were there, you remember it all to well.

But singing these lyrics with her, it was healing all those old wounds in a way you didn’t know was possible. You were stealing glances to see the smile on her face. Sometimes she would catch your gaze. As the words “ever lovely jewel” play she’s looking right at you.

Usually you were happy to live so close to the school. It was convenient. But with Hazel beside you it just wasn’t enough time. It’s hard to keep the smile on your face as you pull into your driveway, knowing that your time together is about to end.

As soon as you are parked Hazel throws open the door, like she’s trying to run away.

“Wait!” You yell at her, wondering why she’s so anxious the get out of your car. You do have to admit that this was a little overwhelming for you and it probably was for her too. She was the one that left you. She probably never wanted to be in this situation.

She’s halfway out the door when she acknowledges you. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at you.

You nervously clear your throat.

“I just wanted to see if 8:00 was good for tomorrow morning…”

“Yeah. Yes. See you then.” Is all she has to say before she’s out and walking away from your car.

You were hurt for a moment but you started to watch her walk away and you realized that her wearing your sweatshirt meant that she was wearing your last name across her back. You just started giggling and then you punched your fist in the air and said “yes” when you thought about the smell of your perfume being stuck on her, even if it was only for a little while. You were never religious but you point up at the sky and say thank you.

That night you spent about an hour curating the perfect outfit and set your alarm for an extra hour early so you would have time to perfect your makeup.

When your alarm goes off the next morning you are immediately up and getting ready for the day, which is as stark contrast to your usual slamming of the snooze button.

You usually just filled in your eyebrows and put on mascara for school but today you were going to be the first person Hazel saw and you wanted to stay on her mind all day.

You start with your face. A little bronzer to warm up your face and a little blush to liven you up. Some highlighter on your cheekbones and the tip of your nose to catch light, and Hazel's attention. You also add a bit of highlighter to the inner corner of your eyes to draw her eyes right where you wanted it. You add a subtle wing to further accentuate your eyes and then do your usual mascara and brow routine. You finish off with your lips. You over-line them with a darker brown and fill them in with a nude lipstick to make them look as full as they can. You add a layer of lip gloss on top to make them look as inviting as possible. Not that you expect anything to come of this, but you can dream, right?

Your light wash ripped jeans are high waisted and perfectly hug the shape of your body. Your shirt is the perfect amount of low cut to highlight your assets and short enough to expose a tasteful amount of midriff. You put on your trusty pair of converse for good luck.

You are in your car a few minutes early feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. You sip on your coffee as you wait for Hazel.

The clock hits 8:00, no Hazel. Not a problem though. You told her a few minutes early because you know she has a tendency to run late. That girl is nothing if not easily distracted.

Hazel emerges from her house at 8:05 looking a little disheveled. She’s got hair sticking up out of place and she’s wearing… holy shit she is wearing your sweatshirt again!

Hazel plops down into your car. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. I was just thinking about… things, and lost track of time.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You tell her, and you can’t help yourself from pointing out “I see that you’re still wearing my sweatshirt.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilating, and a bright red flush appears on her face.

“I, um, fell asleep in it last night. And I didn’t have time to find another sweatshirt after getting dressed,” she tries excuse but you don’t need any justification. It takes everything in you not to giggle and kick your feet. Your sweatshirt. On Hazel all night. The smell of your perfume on her and now on her pillows and sheets.

You just nod, “makes sense.”

“I didn’t even have time to make coffee,” she shakes her head in disappointment.

You are not really sure what caffeine would do to someone like Hazel but you still offer “you can have some of mine.” You didn’t think it was possible, but she is blushing even more.

“No, it’s totally fine. It’s my fault I don’t have any coffee. I’m the one that got distracted. You shouldn’t have to give up any of your coffee because I’m a mess.”

“I don’t usually finish it before it gets cold. So feel free to go for it.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“We used to share everything, right?” You remind her.

“We used to share everything.” She echos.

She mumbles something under her breath that you can’t quite make out. But to your surprise she picks up the coffee and takes a sip.

You bite down a smile when you see a bit of your lipstick on her mouth, it must have gotten left behind from when you were drinking it.

“What?” She questions, seeing your failed attempt at holding back a smile.

“You’ve got a little something…” you motion to your mouth.

She looks confused and opens the visor to look in the mirror. You expect her to be upset that your lipstick got on her but she just giggles. “Believe me, this color looks very good on you, but I think it looks even better on me.”

You can’t help but giggle too.

To your surprise she doesn’t bother to wipe the lipstick off, she just leaves it there. Leaving behind the indirect connection of your lips for anyone to see. Not your ideal way to leave your lipstick on her lips but you can’t complain either.

Your sweatshirt. Your lipstick. You feel like you are going to pass out.

You clear your throat, “we should probably get going…” Hazel nods in agreement.

You turn on the car and put it in reverse.

“Can I have the aux?” She asks.

“Go for it.” You pull out of the driveway.

“I made us a playlist.” Your jaw drops and you accidentally slam on the breaks.

You look at Hazel and Hazel looks at you in a panic. “I’m so sorry!” You tell her.

“It’s ok, it’s fine, it’s all good,” she tries to assure you but she is clearly fearing for her life. How stupid could you be? Hazel will never get in your car again after this!

You just stare at her for a minute trying to gauge where she’s at. She clears her throat. “You should probably drive now…” she suggests.

You just nod and start to drive, focusing on the road, afraid to make eye contact.

“So, the playlist,” she says very hesitantly, “it’s all the Taylor Swift songs we haven’t gotten to listen to together.”

Your mouth drops open and you are speechless.

Her eyes widen, and she quickly tries remedy the situation “if you don’t want to listen to it we don’t have to!”

“No! That’s not it. I’m just surprised. That’s all.” You mumble, just clear enough for her to understand what you are saying.

“I always used to make us playlists,” it’s her turn to remind you. The memory is a little bittersweet, tainted by the years of separation. Music starts playing over the speaker.

If there is one thing people should know about Hazel it’s that she’s a talker. She can talk about anything and everything for hours on end. But in the best way possible. She always puts a smile on the face of whoever she is talking to. It’s quite endearing.

Hazel goes off on a tangent about fight club. After telling you the story of how she ended up in the state you found her in yesterday she pauses for a moment.

“You could always come with me today, to fight club. We meet everyday after school.” She shyly offers.

“Hazel I don’t know if you remember the blood all over you yesterday, but I do. And you have a black eye.” You are thinking it but neglect to mention how the black eye and smear of your lipstick are making you feel a certain type of way.

“Yes there are, side effects, but it’s worth it to learn how to defend yourself. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” That last part comes out as more of a mumble that may not have been intended for you to hear.

You start to take the offer into consideration. How far are you willing to go to spend more time with Hazel? You don’t want to seem desperate, doing something you clearly don’t want to do just for her. So you ask “Isabel and Brittany are in the club, right?” They are two of your very close friends.

“Yeah, and a bunch of other girls. I promise that everyone is really nice. Everyone except PJ. No one is trying to hurt you. Everyone except PJ. But if you are worried about who you are going to have to fight, you can just pair up with me until you get comfortable. You know I would never do anything to hurt you.” A lump forms in your throat and you focus on the road, afraid that if you look at her you will burst into tears. If asked at the age of 13 you would have said that Hazel would never in a million years do anything to hurt you. You absolutely believe she would never physically harm you. But she didn’t just break your heart, she ripped it out of your chest and stomped on it. If anything you would have preferred for her to have punched you square in the face. That pain would have only been temporary. A million thoughts are swimming through your mind but you snap back into reality once you realize that you just parked your car.

You thought the pain of losing Hazel was the worst thing you would ever feel. But now that you are thinking about it, missing out on the opportunity to get Hazel back would be astronomically worse. You remind yourself that you wouldn’t be getting Hazel in the way that you truly want her. But it was better than not having her at all. You turn towards her and she is looking at you expectantly.

You let out a deep breath you don’t know you were holding in when you tell her: “fuck it, I’m in.” Her face lights up.

“It’s going to be great,” she assures you, “I promise.” She holds out her pinky and you feel butterflies in your stomach. You hook your pinky around hers and you both kiss your thumbs. The way you always used to.

84 notes · View notes

namazunomegami · 1 month

Text

Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #meesa writes #DAAARLING GUESS WHOS COME BACK FROM JAIIIIL #Idk what kind of deep psychological issue of mine is in that fic but now its your job to decipher #just please dont bring Freud into the picture I hate that man

65 notes · View notes

sturnsdoll · 25 days

Note

can you write eating madison beer out PLEASE🙏

DRUNK IN LOVE ୨♡୧ - M.B

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

summary: you're at your bestfriend madison's birthday party. a few drinks and her flirting for the fun of it turns into you taking her upstairs. warnings: smut with (a LITTLE) plot, slight intoxication, switch!madison x dom!reader, oral, fingering, pussy slapping, praising, degrading, dirty talk, pet names (angel, honey) word count: 1648 authors note: i'm so glad someone put in this request because i've literally never seen a fic for madison?? but i'm also like scared to post this for some reasonn suggested song while reading: drunk in love (the weeknd's version) ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10ᯤ "pink" - reader speaking "purple" - madison speaking ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

music blares throughout your bestfriends home. decorations in mostly silver are scattered across the walls. empty beer cans, bottles and solo cups littered everywhere. the scent of many different people mixed with alcohol and weed wafts through the air.

you push your way through the crowd to look for her. after a few long minutes you see familiar shiny brown hair and her gorgeous mini dress. your eyes trail down to her clevage and then to her hips and the way the dress hugs them perefectly.

"hey" you're snapped out of your trance by madison's voice. "hi. how's my birthday girl doing?" you ask as you mirror her warm smile. you notice how she sways just a little, same as you. she must've had a couple drinks. you know she's normally not a drinker so she's a bit of a lightweight.

she approaches you with her hand out. she takes a strand of your hair, twirling it around her finger "i'm good. been looking for you for a bit now though" she says while tucking your hair behind your hair. "yea i've been looking for you too. who's fault is that?" you're reffering to earlier when you asked her not to go far but not-surprisingly she had been sucked into 100 different conversations until she lost you. she is the birthday girl afterall.

a guilty look consumes her features but she shrugs innocently as she grabs your hand. "come dance" she mumbles, more so telling instead of asking. "can't say no on your birthday i guess" she shakes her head no, agreeing that you can't. on her way to the living room she tries to grab another drink but before her hand can reach out to the case of beer on the shelf, you pull her back toward you "i take it back. i can say no" you say half jokingly but she knows you're somewhat serious.

she had decided to listen and continue to where the party was the most lively. you both make it to her living room where everyones either dancing or subconciously bumping to the music as they scream over it to speak. you use your hand in hers to twirl her around once before pulling her backside up against you. this wasn't anything out of the ordinary, typical drunk girls being drunk girls, right?

you both begin to rock back and forth to the music. both of your dresses ride up your thighs a little as you 'dance'. her hand comes behind her to the back of your head. madison leans back so you'll be able to hear her speak when she tells you "i'm glad you're here". "yeah why's that?" you mindlessly respond, less interested in the conversation then just enjoying the music and atmosphere.

"well someone needs to make sure i behave tonight" madison innocently bats her eyelashes at you as she says this. you freeze up for a second as you stare back at her. she has a mischevious look on her that you know all too well. your smiling back but there's also something devious about it.

you still weren't sure if she meant this in a sexual manner or not. "you implying that your gonna misbehave?" your tone comes back flirtier than intended. now she turns around to face you and one of her hands comes to your waist while the other goes around your neck. she moves as close as she can get to you, her mouth beside your ear again.

you can feel her hesitate to do whatever she was gonna do next. she sighs before teasingly responding "only if you'll put me in my place" as her hand trails down to the edge of your dress. you reach down and grab her wrist, stopping her from going further. you pull your face back to look at madison. you can see the lust in her eyes now, the need.

without another word you pull her by her wrist toward the stairs.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

your arms are wrapped around her and both her hands are in your hair. it's a messy makeout, both of you tasting alcohol on each others lips but not caring.

you and madison are in her bedroom. guiding her over to the bed, you shove her onto it. her legs are off the edge of the matress. you sink down, your knee's pressing into the ground. madison looks down at you with anticipation, her lip between her teeth at the sight of you between her legs.

you grab both her knee's to spread them apart. you're met with the sight of her white lace panties, a pink bow at the center of the waist of them. you slowly slide them off of her, discarding them elsewhere. your fingertips ghost over her thighs as you admire her for a second. she scooches her hips closer toward you "touch me" her tones a little too impatient for your liking. you stop your movements and stand up. your hand snakes up her thigh before cupping her pussy as your knee sinks into the bed in the space between her legs. now you're practically straddling her right thigh.

"you think.." your palm massages into her heat, stimulating her clit. "..that you get to talk to me like that.." her hips start to grind into your hand "and you'll get what you want?" with a smirk madison looks up at you "well i told you to touch me.." she starts as her gaze switches to your hand between her legs "..and now you are soo, yeah. i do."

despite the situation, her tone is soft and innocent sounding. you give her a glare as you realize she's right. just as she opens her mouth to speak again you land a smack against her pussy and her hips jolt in unexpected pleasure and pain. an almost unnoticable whine slips out as well. "didn't know you were such a brat, mads" you state before landing another slap against her cunt. she whines and clenches around nothing, squirming needily. her thigh accidentally presses up against your clothed pussy. instinctively your thighs close around her leg. she can feel how damp you are. "didn't know you were so easy to get wet" she retorts, pushing her thigh up against you again.

with that, you get off of her and she looks dissapointed "what? can't admit that- oh, fuck" she cuts herself off when your tongue flattens against her, licking from her hole to her clit. "what was that honey?" you ask as you look at her through your lashes. "nothing." madison responds back sheepishly.

you pull her thighs further apart "that's what i thought." you say finally before your mouth attaches to her clit. a moan slips as her head's thrown back. you begin sucking and licking harshly, eating her out like your life depends on it.

she pushes her hips up towards you but in turn you tighten your grip on her thighs to keep them down. noises fall past her lips as you flick your tongue back and forth. "not- mm- gonna last long" she cries out quietly as she continues uselessly squirming.

"already close?" you ask as you release one of her thighs to use your thumb to toy with her clit. she nods her head as she clenches around nothing, begging to be filled. you shake your head as you watch her squirm and whine "pathetic." you comment before filling her with your tongue. strings of moans fall from her perfectly glossed lips as your mouth and thumb work her perfectly.

her hips roll, fucking herself on your tongue at the same time you shove it in and out of her. her fingers slide into your hair and there's a sting from madisons acrylics grazing and poking your scalp. she suddenly gives your hair a tug, causing you to moan into her. her thighs squeeze your head at the feeling. you let them.

her breathing picks up and you just know she's close. you stop for only a second, leaving her empty, only to push your middle and ring fingers into her. "you close angel?" you question your friend and her only response is a high pitched moan and a pathetic nod of her head. your free hand slaps her thigh. "words babe". "y-yes m' gonna cum" her legs tensing and the fucked out expression on her face were evidence of this. "as much as i'd love to watch you beg for it.." the idea makes her eyes fill with panic, knowing she can't hold it off much longer. "you are the birthday girl. so go ahead, angel, come on my fingers" your mouth attacks her clit one last time as she clenches around your fingers, her cum coating them completely. your fingers continue to curl into her and your tongue doesn't leave her clit just yet. you wait till her legs shake and she's shoving your head away to release her swollen bud with a pop. your fingers leave her at the same time.

she lays there breathlessly looking up at you with a smile "didn't know you were hiding all that" she says with a breathy laugh. "same goes for you" you say while picking up her panties and tossing them to her. you offer a hand out and help her up. you smirk at how she wobbles a little on weak legs. you grab the back of your bestfriends head and pull her toward you, landing a kiss on her forehead.

"you need help cleaning up or anything?" you say checking up on her. she shakes her head no with a grateful smile. "alright. i'll meet you in the kitchen when you're ready birthday girl." you say as you start to walk away. madison nods "give me five" she confirms, heading for the bathroom.

tommorow you're definetly gonna have quite the night recap to talk about with each other. (sorry if this was a little too vanilla for y'all. it's def not my best but i hope you enjoyedᥫ᭡!)

#madison beer #madison beer fanfic #madison beer smut #sturniolo fanfic #strnzslut #madison beer x reader #sturnsdoll

80 notes · View notes

omarera · 2 months

Text

Oh wow 🫠 collecting my thoughts the day after The Day. Long rant ahead.

It’s truly one of the most beautiful concert experiences I have ever had. The intimacy of the venue and all the love from the very excited audience was so special. His live vocals are incredible! I was a bit worried how he would handle the dance routines and keep his vocals on top but certainly no need to worry. The sound and his vocals were amazing through out the show. His stage presence is also something very unique, he has this glowing energy and just radiates and it’s very natural and feels like he is in his right element when he performs on stage. The dance routines were also on point and he is such a smooth and beautiful dancer.

I also liked the diversity and the planning of the set list. I was a little surprised that he added Build a girl for example but that song became a nice toned downed version and he was sitting on a chair singing it. People filling in the lyrics and he made a shout out and thanks to Felix and Oscar in the audience. It was a sweet moment for him to cherish his start, telling us about it and praise his band members. And Mapei came in during Om du inte fanns and Jubel appeared during Off my mind.

He did some small talk between songs and had a lovely talk about moving to Sweden and praising his mom as well. And a talk on YR ofc. And was so sweet and caring when a fan needed support and needed to be removed from the floor by security and waited till it’s was all clear and he made sure to get a “good to go” answer from the security before continuing.

I read a review in DN (one of Swedens two large morning papers) and first I was disappointed of it, and still is to some extent, but it was also a very promising review. It basically says that his own song catalogue doesn’t hold for a full concert yet, since covers were included, and that his small talk were good on paper but didn’t fly on stage. And they criticized him speaking English, which actually shows they had no idea how loved he is around the world and that so many fans had come and he was just respectful to them. I can understand some of her points though (after my first reaction lol), that he dreams big and talks about fulfilling dreams but has not fully reach a level of being a the top level artist (due to song catalog) She could have focused more on his stage presence etc but ofc they hit in the things they can. But I also find that review very hopeful. It was his first show, the song catalog will grow. He can develop the small talk and make the breaks in the show more tight, to not loose momentum. Those are things he can change. The reviewer compared him with a young Darin, who is now one of the biggest names in Sweden and he also has a big career abroad. So she clearly see his potential to grow. And she had no complaints on his stage presence, singing and his performance. How could she have. That was clearly on point. And he got a 3 on a scale from 0-5. Getting a 2 is equal to “pass”, so he still got a review above “good enough”. It would have been nice if she would have mentioned his amazing voice.

I brought a friend, she just listened in on his songs before the show, and she was absolutely floored by his performance and personality.

I am so so proud and happy for him. For him (and us) , this really was to fulfill one of his dream. He has had the dream to make his first solo concert for so long. The professional way he excelled doing it with his family and friends there, all the loving fans (he also shows he loves back), was just magical and very beautiful ❤️

#omar rudberg #omar at circus

60 notes · View notes

jaimeslanisters · 1 year

Text

the pawn in every lover’s game (part twelve)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 8.2k notes: i live!!!! so sorry this chapter took so long - i got a new job, had relatives visit, my college friend visited, i saw taylor swift omg omg omg - but i’m still here working on it!! trust that it will be finished bc i have big plans for our little pack of greenies (: enjoy part one of the helaena/aegon wedding day!

Your hunger pangs wake you long before the sunrise ever does. For a few moments, you lie there, listening to the quiet sound of Helaena’s breathing. After the dinner that was more a test in restraint than anything else, you had dutifully followed the princess up to her room and, just like the pair of you had so many times as children, you had curled under the covers together, not touching but just close enough to feel each other’s heat radiating through the thick covers. As little girls, the two of you would always whisper and giggle throughout the night and you would fall asleep to Helaena eagerly lecturing you about whatever insect had caught her attention, your mind spinning with her passionate words and all the little facts and details she had learned from her books.

There had been none of that last night. Instead, the two of you had crawled into bed and, after a final prayer that you didn’t think either of you believed, had fallen asleep.

A part of you wishes you had kept her awake, that you could have made her laugh with jokes about the septas that had trailed the two of you all day or about all the ceremonies the pair of you had to perform. Maybe you could have asked her about Aemond and his unerring desire to push boundaries and your own willingness to let him, let her tease you in that kind way she always did where there was no bite to her words, no hidden meanings for you to puzzle out. Maybe you could have comforted her, maybe you could have lied and said everything would be alright.

But you hadn’t. You had slept instead.

You feel a flash of relief that you didn’t eat anything last night. That means there’s nothing to throw up.

As quietly as you can, you creep out of the bed, careful not to make any noise or shift the bed too much. Helaena has always been a heavy sleeper though and, aside from a whine of displeasure, she doesn’t stir, simply turning on her side and curling into herself.

You look at her for a moment, taking in her white curls poking out from underneath the blankets, her pale hand lying limp on the side of the bed. She looks so terribly young like this, more the girl she used to be rather than the woman she was and had been for some time now. You wonder when the switch had happened, when the girlish features of Princess Helaena Targaryen had faded away and been replaced with the ones of the woman who would turn into Queen Helaena, sister-wife to King Aegon, second of his name.

Try as you might, you can’t find that version of herself in her sleeping form, can’t make a crown on her seem like anything more than when you had played pretend as children. She’s a girl. You can’t make her anything but - can’t pretend you have any desire to.

Yet this is the final day when you will have that girl. Tonight, she will be married to a brother that she only loves as a brother. She will be wedded and bedded and that girl will only exist in your memories. Maybe sometimes you’ll see her in echoes in the future, in the children Helaena will bear or even in Helaena herself, but you will never see her, not truly, again.

Today was a funeral as much as it was a wedding and you want to scream and scream until your throat rubs raw and no more noise can escape you.

Today should be happy you remind yourself, forcing yourself to remember the songs you had sung only yesterday underneath the watchful eyes of the septas and the Maiden statue, the beautiful songs about the grace and strength that came inherent in marriage. You even try to remember the songs that the singers sung, the ones that promised that marriage was beautiful and kind and good. It isn’t the end of anything. Nothing will change.

Nothing would change, not physically so. Helaena’s chambers would move to border Aegon’s, of course, but the two of you spent your time in her mother’s sitting room or the gardens anyways. She would remain in the Red Keep, just like you would, and things would be like they were. You would still have tea together, you would still read your books and go riding and dig with her in the dirt to find whatever shiny bug had caught her attention. Nothing would change.

Maybe if you repeat it to yourself enough, you’ll eventually start to believe it.

With a quiet sigh, you pull yourself away from the side of the bed, heading towards the plush chaise that bordered the massive window in her room. You clear off the cushions, gently placing Helaena’s glass terrariums on the ground. Inside of them, insects slither and writhe, clearly upset by you disturbing them, flailing wildly in protest, but once you move them, you promptly settle on the chaise, curling up so you can stare out at Blackwater Bay.

This early in the morning, the sun hasn’t even risen yet but you know that much of the castle must be awake. By now, servants must be running through the halls, hastening to finish whatever tasks they had to complete before the ceremony today. Perhaps even the Queen was up by now, already managing the preparations, no doubt worrying herself to excess with all the little details that made up a royal wedding.

You already know, without a doubt, that Aemond is awake. He’s always been an early riser - a fact that you had often bemoaned to your uncle in your first years in the capital. Before Driftmark, he would always use the early morning hours to study in the library and you would usually accompany him, hiding your exhaustion behind copious amounts of tea. After Driftmark, however, he had used that time to train in the yards, dragging Ser Criston along with him before the sun ever got a chance to rise in the sky. He never told you why he changed his schedule, merely informing you that the pair of you would need to meet at a different time, but he hadn’t needed to. It hadn’t been too difficult to figure out.

He trained as early as he could so people wouldn’t see him fumble with the loss of his eye. The injury had taken away all the skill he had worked for years to attain, leaving him no better than a green boy who had never touched a sword in his life, and his pride would not allow him to suffer the pitying stares from everyone else in the yard, not when he already had to deal with them as he walked through the hallways of the Red Keep.

You know for a fact that it had taken a better part of a decade for Aemond to rejoin the typical hours that the knights occupied the yards, having preferred his early habits so he could continue training with only Ser Criston as an instructor. Occasionally, other members of the Kingsguard had joined, in order to keep his training from getting repetitive against only one opponent even if the opponent was widely considered to be the greatest knight living.

His years of training, however, had paid off - when Aemond had finally deemed himself ready to reenter the training yards with the other men, he had famously knocked even some of the most seasoned knights into the dirt, something that he had never bragged about to you but you had heard from the gossip that spread like wildfire throughout the castle. His victory did not mean his habits changed, however. Even now, having long since made up for the lack of an eye, Aemond kept to the same schedule, rarely, if ever, straying from it.

Somehow, you can’t picture him in the training yards right now, though, not when the entire city was preparing for his siblings’ wedding. You’d be surprised if the yards were even open for usage - no doubt some form of wedding preparation had taken advantage of that large and relatively empty space. No, if anything, you imagine Alicent has placed him and Daeron on Aegon duty, to both ensure he ended up where he needed to go and to ensure that he was sober - A difficult task that you’re not sure even the most experienced Kingsguard nor the most grizzly man of the Night’s Watch could handle.

Kingsguard swore oaths to protect the king against all of his enemies and the men of the Night’s Watch were supposed to be the shield that guarded the realms of men and, somehow, you doubt that either could handle Aegon at his worst.

This past week, poor Daeron has been tasked with serving as his brother’s keeper, trailing behind him to prevent him from becoming too embarrassing in public. Aemond, no doubt, would have been tasked with the same impossible demand if only his attention hadn’t been stolen away by the tourney.

You can only imagine how exhausted the two princes had to be if they spent the night with their wayward brother. Aegon had left the dinner looking distinctly queasy, even more sway in his steps than when he had first arrived even though Alicent had purposely kept the wine carafes out of his reach. Daeron had immediately followed behind him but Aemond had only moved when his mother had shot him a glare, sharply jerking her head in command. Aemond hadn’t complained or even said anything in return, merely getting up to trail behind his brothers, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else than there.

With any amount of luck, hopefully, the two princes would have reined in Aegon’s indiscretions. Aegon tended to steamroll Daeron, typically able to get away with more than he ought to, but with Aemond, the dynamic always seemed to flip. Out of everyone, save maybe the Lord Hand, Aemond alone seemed to be most capable of forcing Aegon to bend to his will for the sheer fact that he was unafraid to physically manhandle his older brother, uncaring of his brother’s position as the presumptive heir in the eyes of most in Westeros. In turn, Aegon tended to follow his brother’s commands even if he usually did it while arguing fiercely or causing as much trouble as he could.

If there was anyone who could ensure that Aegon would turn up to the wedding in a state at least resembling sobriety, it was Aemond.

You settle into the corner of the chaise, staring out at the Blackwater. The sun still hasn’t risen but soon - the sky is lightening more and more by the minute and already, pink and yellow clouds soften and blur the horizon like paints on a freshly finished portrait that someone had run their hands through.

It will be a beautiful day - more than the wedding deserves.

Taking deep breaths to steady your nerves, you watch the shifting sky, thinking about watching Vhagar feed with Aemond only two nights earlier. In the daylight, with no dark skies and empty waters to hide her, she would look even more monstrous, even more like an impossible spectacle that could engulf all of King’s Landing in her shadow.

You wonder where she is right now. Whether or not she’s resting or if she’s hunting in some other part of the world.

Maybe the sunrise will summon her.

You keep staring out of the window, a part of you hoping that Vhagar will fly back from wherever it is if only so you can see her in the morning light, when the doors to the chambers fly open and you twist your upper body towards the source, slightly frowning at the loud interruption.

Immediately, a stream of handmaids enter the room, each of them laden down with something that they’re carrying whether it be all the silks and lace Helaena will be dressed up in or trays and trays of food for the pair of you to snack on while they prepared you for the day. In the middle of all of the almost militant movement, Queen Alicent stands, deep in conversation with her handmaid Talya.

The Queen is already dressed, an absolute marvel in emerald green with her red hair nearly glowing in the warm sunlight streaming in from the windows, and you wonder what time she would have needed to get up at in order to prepare herself.

Did she even sleep? You think, completely baffled by how put together she already looks. You were in your nightgown still and Helaena was still in bed, completely covered by blankets, and here she was, already ready to ride down to the Dragonpit for the ceremony.

Before you get the chance to say something or even stand to greet her, she gestures for the handmaids to put down the food where they can, taking over a good solid half of the bedchamber. On the other side of the room, the other handmaids clear space, laying out Helaena’s wedding gown on a table, her maiden cloak neatly folded next to it. From here, you can see glimpses of the red thread that you and Helaena had used to painstakingly embroider her House’s sigil and something in your chest squeezes tight and fierce at the sight of it.

Alicent gives you a small smile and nod before she sits on the side of the bed, staring down at her daughter for a moment, her hand reaching out for her daughter’s curls. Helaena shifts in the bed, rolling over on her side, staring up at her mother.

You watch them, heart in your throat, and the only thing you can think is that you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here to see this moment. This should just be for Alicent and Helaena. A mother and her only daughter.

I want my mother.

You look away sharply, staring down at your lap, twisting your hands up in the white fabric of your nightgown.

If Lady Johanna were here, nothing would change. Helaena would still be marrying Aegon. Her girlhood would end to the cheers of a watching King’s Landing. The night would end in blood-stained sheets. There’s nothing your mother could do to stop it nor would she.

But she would be here, with you. She would be sitting by your side just as Alicent was sitting with Helaena. She would be brushing her hand over your hair and she would tell you that even if everything changed around the pair of you, that didn’t mean that the two of you had to change with it.

You’re the blood of the old kings, a lion of the Rock, Your mother’s voice echoes in your head. The world bends to your will, not you to it.

Taking deep breaths, you calm your pounding heart and lock away your longing deep inside of you, where it couldn’t hurt you. When you look up, Helaena is sitting up in the bed, her hand curled around her mother’s.

Alicent isn’t crying but her eyes are shining in the light.

“Are you ready, my sweet girl?” Alicent asks. Behind her, a handmaid steps forward as another one carefully lays out brushes and oils and strips of ribbons onto the vanity.

Her question hangs heavy in the air.

After a moment, Helaena nods. She doesn’t shake or tremble. She doesn’t tear up or frown. She simply nods.

Helaena has always been stronger than anyone has ever given her credit for.

Alicent doesn't say anything. She merely raises Helaena’s hand up to her lips and presses a kiss on her knuckles, closing her eyes as she does.

You did this, a part of you wants to accuse. You and no one else.

But then again, who were you to judge someone for marrying their family off? You sent Cerelle into the North, away from everything she’s ever known. At least here, Helaena would remain in her home, would remain surrounded by those who love and support her.

Alicent was marrying Helaena to Aegon to protect her, to protect their lineage. You married Cerelle off for your own ambition.

You swallow back your protests, all your complaints and accusations. They weren’t meant for the Queen anyways.

Alicent guides Helaena to the vanity where a handmaid immediately descends upon her to start rubbing oil in her hair as another begins to brush her thick hair back. Helaena flinches back, startled by their fast movement and their intimate touch, and Alicent swoops forward, gently pushing the handmaids back slightly so that they’re not pressed up against the princess’s back.

You watch for a moment longer, eyes trailing the way the handmaids are beginning to work together to braid elaborate patterns into the hair at the crown of her head, their hands moving nearly impossibly fast, before you turn to the spread of food that has been laid out. Most of it is light food - various loaves of bread and cheeses and hams - so that the pair of you could break your fast and not keel over in the middle of the ceremony.

None of it, however, feels particularly appetizing right now. The bread looks unbearably heavy, the meats look salty. You don’t want any of it - not now when your stomach is still rolling with anxiety and worry for not only the upcoming day but for all the days that would follow after.

Still, if you didn’t eat now, your next chance wouldn’t come until well into the evening, during the wedding feast. You’d be just as liable to gnaw off someone’s arm as you would be to pass out and disrupt the ceremonies.

With a small frown, you stand from the chaise to walk towards a small end table where servants had laid out small slices of bread with little jars of assorted jam placed carefully all around. You look down at the food with a sense of trepidation, trying to figure out which fruit would be less likely to upset your stomach, when someone clears their throat next to you, calling your attention.

You turn to face a short servant girl, one you’ve seen often trailing behind Talya and, in turn, Alicent. She smiles nervously at you, no doubt terrified to have called your attention towards her, and, after a beat, holds up a tray of lemon cakes in front of her.

“Prince Aemond asked me to save some from the feast for you, my lady,” she says, a small tremble in her voice telling you that she’s wholly unused to being the one to address the nobles she served.

You stare down at the tray, your cheeks feeling impossibly hot.

The absolute nerve of him…

“Thank you…” You flounder for her name, feeling a flush of embarrassment that you can’t recall it, but the girl only smiles, clearly desperate for any reason to leave your immediate vicinity. She moves the tray of bread and jams slightly to the side, placing the lemon cakes right next to them, before she gives you a quick curtsey, scurrying off to join the other handmaids waiting patiently by the door for any one of your commands.

You turn to face the lemon cakes, feeling your stomach turn for a completely different reason.

Aemond and you rarely toed the line of impropriety, the past few days aside. The most you had ever gotten to doing something decidedly improper with him was when you had snuck into his room at Driftmark. Your intentions had been entirely pure though, if someone had spotted you, you doubted that they would have accepted any explanation you could have put forward. In the years after, though, the two of you had kept your careful distance from one another, conscious of the rules of etiquette that ruled your every move.

Of course, that didn’t mean you obeyed all of them - neither of you had ever bothered to get a chaperon for your meetings in the library or even raise the question of it. Maester Dustin, the old man in charge of the library, was asleep half of the time and was deaf the other half. If ever questioned, you would have cited his presence but no one but the most lenient and generous would count him as a true chaperon and the court at King’s Landing was anything but.

Despite ample opportunity, however, the two of you had never tried anything improper. You hadn’t even tried anything proper. Aemond had never requested a meeting with your uncle, had never made a formal request for your presence that would indicate he was interested in a betrothal meeting. Things had been as they always had been.

Until the tourney. Until Victor Florent had tried to claim you, forcing Aemond’s hand in revealing his intentions or risk an attachment between you and another man in the eyes of all of King’s Landing.

Things were different now. You didn’t know where the line of acceptable transgressions was and, if Aemond’s words last night at the dinner that was not quite a dinner were any indication, he was very interested in pushing it as far as he could.

It wouldn’t be a problem if you knew where the line even began. Aemond’s ‘hint’ about the bud between your legs was the first time anyone had ever told you something concrete about your body and the pleasure that could be derived from it, the pleasure from which you were supposed to abstain. Your septas only ever spoke about the act of bedding in the most clinical of terms; he’s meant to get on you and his member will enter you. It will hurt. You must bear the pain. You must take it. This is your duty as a wife and as a mother.

None of it had ever sounded appealing to you, had never called your attention. It was easy to restrain yourself when the actual act sounded like a tortuous thing to suffer, something you would have to endure rather than enjoy.

Aemond promised pleasure though. He promised that the prize was something you would want, something that would be difficult to hold back from. Something that you would long for just as you had yearned for the lemon cakes last night.

You stare at the lemon cakes for a moment longer, your eyes lingering on the candied lemon slice placed delicately on top of the soft yellow sponge. The sugared delicacy gleams in the light, the glaze incitingly beautiful, and all you can think about is the way Aemond had licked the sugar off his fingers, the way his mouth had gleamed after.

You’ve never been one to pray to the Maiden but you pray to her now, asking for her forgiveness.

Perhaps if you met Aemond, you would understand, you tell her even as you reach for a lemon cake. Perhaps you didn’t know what you had to abstain from either.

——————————–

Somewhere in the middle of the handmaid weaving flowers into your hair, Helaena starts to scream.

You nearly knock the poor handmaid over in your attempt to rush to the princess’s side, tripping over your own feet slightly, but you right yourself quick enough, nearly blind in your panic to reach her. Alicent is already standing next to her but, when she tries to touch her daughter, Helaena jerks away, shaking her head and curling into herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

“Helaena,” you cry out as you slow to a stop in front of her, hands trembling from the restraint of stopping yourself from reaching for her. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

She shakes her head again, eyes gazing ahead without seeing. You’ve seen them go empty and glazed when she tells her strange riddles but this is something else. Her amethyst eyes are so dark you can no longer see the color as she stares at the table in front of her. She’s shaking so badly you would think it was freezing inside of the room if it wasn’t for the sun’s blazing heat coming through the windows.

“Shadows in the wall,” she sobs, sounding as if she’s gasping for air that just won’t enter her lungs. “Shadows in the flame. There will be no choice. No choice at all.”

Helaena lets out a loud keening cry, finally ducking her head down as she curls into herself even more.

“Clear the table,” Alicent hisses, waving her arms wildly, and immediately servants move forward, taking away the trays of jams and cheese and bread with even more speed than when they had put them down. The Queen is shaking, terrified and helpless, and you’ve seen this look in her before and it stings now just as it had at Driftmark.

She could do nothing then and she can do nothing now.

You kneel in front of the princess, close enough that you can reach out for her but far enough that there’s no danger that you’ll touch her by mistake. “Helaena,” you try again, a note of desperation entering your voice. You’ve never seen her like this, so out of control, so hysterical. “Helaena, I’m right here. Your mother is right here. You’re ok. You’re safe.”

You almost scream yourself when Helaena’s hands fly out, grasping your face. Her grip is tight, almost painfully so, but you bear it because it’s her. She stares into your eyes, searching and begging, and you wonder where she begins and where the prophet that replaces her does. You wonder if there’s even a difference. “A lioness,” she begins, her voice soft like a prayer. “Will burn blood to protect her pride.”

You nod, almost dumbly, and she leans again, nose nearly brushing yours.

“Feed well the land,” she insists. “Drown the stone. Burn the sea. Fell the sky.”

You nod again, your heart pounding so hard in your chest that it reverberates in your skull, a marching tune for no one to follow.

Helaena’s eyes bore into yours for a moment longer, a moment that reaches into eternity and traps you within it, until finally, she lets go of you, leaning back until she sits perfectly straight, a statue for all to see.

Helaena comes back.

And she begins to cry.

It’s soft and gentle cries as if she’s already exhausted herself and this is the only noise she can produce. Next to her, Alicent settles on the bench, hesitantly reaching for her daughter’s shoulder. When Helaena leans into her touch, the Queen lets out a shaky breath, pulling her daughter into a tight hug, cradling the back of her head as she rocks the two of them back and forth.

You sink to the ground completely, leaning forward to rest your head against Helaena’s knees as you take a deep, gasping breath. Your quick movements have completely unraveled all of the handmaid’s work and, even now, you can feel the delicate poppies she had braided in falling all around you, landing on the cool stone floor.

You can’t bring yourself to care, however, not when Helaena’s desperate words are running rampant through your mind. Two of them are her most repeated prophecies, ones that always send her into hysterics. You wake up in the middle of the night thinking about them, about what they could mean, what you could even do to prepare. Her last prophecy was a new one but no less nonsensical.

None of it meant anything yet it all meant everything.

An eye has been closed Helaena had promised that night in Driftmark and Aemond had been scarred forever and the war between the two branches of the Targaryen family had started in a crowded hall with a brawl between children.

You couldn’t decipher her words, not until it was too late. There was no one you could talk to, no one you beg for answers. Helaena herself never knew the meaning behind her riddles for all that they haunted her every movement.

There was no easy answer here, no solution to puzzle out, and it made you want to weep for the unfairness of it all.

You feel a hand touch the back of your head and, after a moment where you forcibly pull yourself together, you lean back, resting your chin on Helaena’s knee so you can look up at her. Helaena’s eyes are redrimmed and her face is impossibly pale. She doesn’t do anything like smile but something in her gaze is soft, comforting.

Tears rise in your eyes and you press your face against her knee, taking deep breaths to try and calm yourself. Her hand rubs down the back of your hair, gentle and kind, and soon another hand joins to touch your shoulder and you know that Queen Alicent is reaching for you as well. You press your face even harder into her knee, fighting the urge to sob.

None of you say a word.

You don’t have to.

——————————–

You’re late down to the courtyard because of course, you are. Even the handmaids’ top speed was not enough to prepare you and Helaena in time and Alicent had waved you down to the courtyard in a bid to at least start the ceremony slightly on time. It’s a verifiable hive of people, more crazed and hectic than you’ve ever seen it. A small army of servants is racing to prepare wheelhouses and horses while golden cloaks from the City Watch take up a good bit of the crowded space, all of them listening attentively as Ser Harrold belts out orders to them. Behind you, the same red cloaks your father had assigned to watch you at the tourney trail behind you, their hands on their swords as they carefully scan the only slightly organized chaos around you.

The tourney will seem almost like child’s play compared to the pageantry the Queen had planned for the wedding proper. Even arriving at the Dragonpit will be a chore - while the majority of the court will ride in their wheelhouses to reach the ceremony location, you and the other attendants will ride on white chargers, out in the open for all of the smallfolk to see you. The route would be heavily guarded, of course, but the idea was for the people of King’s Landing to witness the strength, the might, and the beauty of the royal family of Westeros.

These are people to be loved. These are people to be followed.

It was a show - a crucial one. The smallfolk would have little say in who would next sit the Iron Throne but having their devotion would certainly make things easier.

You scan the hordes of people and almost immediately, you spot Aemond and Otto Hightower, standing tall even next to the massive white horses that would serve as your ferry to the Dragonpit. As you approach them, weaving your way through the moving masses, you can start to make out Rhaenys and Daeron and Aegon, their silver hair a beacon in the crowd.

Surrounded by soldiers and servants, the extravagant luxury of their clothes stands out starkly, a marked difference from all the silver armor and the grey uniforms. Otto’s outfit is the most understated - it was a darker green than he normally wore, so green that it was nearly black, but the velvet was rich and it shone in the sunlight, the golden flame of House Hightower outlined in actual golden thread. Similarly, Rhaenys’ dress is a tribute to her family, paying respect to House Velaryon. It is a dark blue, the silk moving like the water that surrounded Driftmark whenever she shifted. In her hand, she casually swings the Crone’s lamp though the flame was not yet lit.

The Targaryen princes were a marvel to behold.

Daeron, standing between his two brothers, has some of his curly hair pulled up and away from his face, braids keeping the rest of his hair from falling into his eyes. His tunic was a rougher fabric than either of his brothers but it was hardly anything to scoff at with its golden trimming and brilliant sheen. Around his neck, a necklace of golden hammers hung and, whenever he moved, they would clink together like bells in the wind.

Someone, more likely than not his own brothers, had likely held Aegon down to be scrubbed at and cleaned since you haven’t seen Aegon look nearly this alert in years. His curls are neatly maintained rather than the stringy mess they normally were and an iron coronet was nestled neatly on top of them. It wasn’t a crown, no true crown by any means, but it was dangerously close to being one. There were no heavy arches, no bold jewelry, but it was a distinction that only few would make. No one but the Lord Hand could have been the one to decide for Aegon to wear it since you doubt the prince himself would make that bold of a decision and there were few that could force him to do it anyways. It was a reminder to the realms that this was the next King of Westeros, the only true heir that could be by all the laws and traditions that governed the kingdoms.

It’s a testament to how striking Aemond looks that you’re able to tear your attention away from the political moves Lord Otto is making to focus on him.

Unlike most depictions of the Warrior, he wasn’t in a suit of armor but whichever tailor had designed his outfit had clearly drawn inspiration from one nonetheless. He is dressed in a dark, velvety green, similar to his usual dark clothing, but, in ode to the Warrior, black chainmail has been laid over it. It was far too fine to be made out of actual metal, the twists in it too delicate and careful, but it shone in the sunlight, gleaming dangerously and swallowing the light. The mail was cinched at his wrists by black vambraces and around his waist by a heavy belt, pulled tight to showcase his slender build. Off of it hung a sword and, encrusted onto the pommel, the seven-pointed star formed out of dark rubies.

This is what the Warrior was meant to look like. This is who the songs were about.

You reach them soon enough and, when all their eyes turn to stare at you, you realize why the smallfolk whispered about the divinity of the Targaryens, how they were closer to gods than to men.

All of them, from Rhaenys to Aemond, are otherworldly, too beautiful and odd to be real.

If you were a lesser lady, you would be frightened to stand in front of them, too scared to draw their attention and mar their vision with your own imperfection.

As it is, you drop into a curtsey before rising up to stand tall and proud, tilting your head up to look them all in the eye.

Rhaenys smiles at you first. “You look lovely, my lady,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corner from her smile, and you duck your head in acknowledgment, murmuring your thanks.

Unlike the rest of Seven, the Maiden didn’t have a symbol that denoted her holiness. She wasn’t like the Smith with his hammer or the Warrior with his sword. She wasn’t the Father or the Mother where her virtue was the service she had done for the world. Her beauty was her grace instead.

You’re dressed simply to accommodate that - a white linen dress that is tailored exactly to your figure, so perfectly starched that it’s nearly blinding in the sun. The handmaid had worked deliriously fast to weave red and yellow poppies into your hair, braiding your hair to keep them in place, and, unlike everyone else, you weren’t laden down with gold to showcase your wealth and power - your only accessory is a garland of parchment that annoyingly crinkles whenever you move.

You’re almost ridiculously plain next to all the Targaryens with their silver hair and amethyst eyes but you try your best not to let it get to you as you nod your thanks to the chorus of compliments that come your way from all gathered.

A chorus that one voice does not join and, when you look up, Aemond is already standing by your side, looking you over carefully.

You raise an eyebrow when he meets your eyes, suppressing the urge to laugh delightedly when Aemond refuses to be flustered, simply quirking his head instead and offering you a real smile.

“Please don’t commit an act of blasphemy through your compliment,” you say when he opens his mouth, grinning when he shakes his head.

“I was simply going to say that the Maiden herself would be envious of you.”

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire even as you mockingly frown. “That feels borderline.”

“You’ll have to forgive me then,” Aemond murmurs, his arm brushing yours. The chainmail feels cold even through the thin layer of linen and you fight the urge to shiver at its cool touch.

You smile then. “I may be dressed like the Maiden but I don’t think I’m qualified to forgive people for that. You’ll have to ask a septon.”

“Good thing there will be plenty of those at the Dragonpit,” he says. He picks his head up, having spotted someone in the crowd. “In fact, here comes one now.”

When you glance over, the first thing you see is the High Septon’s crystal crown gleaming in the sun. It’s almost blinding the way it shimmers and reflects the light but still, most people stop and gape at the rainbow streaming through the stones and how the colors dance on the cobblestone. It’s the most beautiful crown you’ve ever seen in your life, completely peerless and without compare.

What a shame that the man beneath the crown was not.

To be fair to him, you’ve never spent much time with the High Septon. You’ve only ever seen him at a distance during his weekly sermons that the royal family all attended. But the times you have been near him have been uncomfortable, to say the least.

The High Septon has these pale gray eyes, so pale they seem almost colorless up close. Those eyes always latched onto you, staring so deep into you that it seemed like he was searching for the smallest hint of sin and blasphemy within you. His eyes would trail any bit of skin you had on display and it didn’t feel like when men in the Red Keep would stare at you with lust in their gazes, when they were attempting to peel back your layers of clothing with their stares alone. His gaze felt burning, scornful.

Like with his look alone, he could damn you to one of the Seven Hells.

Even dressed as the Maiden, you feel sorely lacking as his pale eyes seek you out from underneath his rainbow crown. The dress feels too tight, the fabric too thin. All the beautiful poppies in your hair suddenly feel like vanity rather than a prayer for fertility.

You shift awkwardly, wishing you had insisted on a shawl or something to cover yourself with. It would have been more of a hassle than anything, especially considering the spring sun beating down on your back, but it would have been worth it just to have something to pull closer to yourself, to hide away even the smallest scrap of skin.

You only meet the High Septon’s pale, cold eyes for a moment before Aemond moves in front of you, casually and seemingly without purpose. His back is broad enough that he neatly covers you up and, when the High Septon looks over at him, he bows his head in acknowledgment even as he stands his ground, concealing you from sight.

Your heart pounds loud in your chest as you stare at his back for a moment, wishing you could reach out and grab him. Instead, you stay rooted to your spot, carefully sidestepping the High Septon as he walks past you to the carriage that will carry him to the Dragonpit. Behind him, a few septons trail behind, heads bowed as they murmur prayers under their breath, and, behind them, looking frazzled, Alicent speeds past her two youngest sons, heading directly for Aegon, stopping right in front of him.

She doesn’t say a word as she cups his face with her hands. She doesn’t say a single thing. Instead, she stares at her oldest son, her first child, and Aegon stares back.

The courtyard is crowded, people streaming past you, pushing and jostling to get to their spots quicker. All around, there are servants yelling and, even now, you can hear Ser Harrold’s booming voice speaking to the knights surrounding him.

But none of it matters. Not when Aegon looks like a little boy again, his eyes wide and vulnerable. You don’t even remember him looking like this when you had first come to the capitol - even at thirteen, he had never seemed like a child. There had always been this world-weariness to him, this anxiety that he wrapped around himself like a cloak. The worst thing to ever happen to Aegon Targaryen had been his own birth - with it, his fate had been sealed and the noose had been tied around his neck. Since the days when the First Men struck down the Children of the Forest and lifted themselves to power, there had only ever been one thing that the firstborn sons of Kings could become.

He had never been a boy.

But he is one now as he stares at his mother.

You want to look away, you want to give them their privacy but you can’t. You can only stare at them. Hesitantly, you move closer to Aemond, your hand coming up to grip the edge of his sleeve slightly. He rocks towards you but, in your periphery, you can tell that his eyes are also focused on his mother and brother.

Alicent opens her mouth, to say what you’ll never know, since Aegon shakes his head slightly, finally looking down, looking away from his mother. Even from here, you can see that he’s shaking.

The Queen pauses for a moment, staring at her son’s face in her hands. You wonder when’s the last time she’s held him - when’s the last time she tried and the last time he let her. You pray it wasn’t long.

After a moment, she presses up on her tiptoes slightly, pressing a kiss against Aegon’s brow, lingering for a breath.

Aegon doesn’t move, doesn’t react, but, when his mother pulls away and his eyes open, they’re glistening with tears.

Is it worth it? You want to ask even though you already know the answer you will surely receive.

Otto Hightower pauses for a moment by his daughter and grandson, gazing down at them with his usual stoic expression. Not for the first time in your life, you’re desperate to peer inside his mind, desperate to know what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t give you even the slightest opening, the slightest hint of what is running through his mind. “We must begin if we’re to finish anywhere near on schedule.”

Alicent tears her eyes away from her son, dropping her hands from his face. She nods, her own mask coming back onto her face. “Helaena is waiting for you inside. The rest of the attendants must leave with Aegon. Only you will ride with her.”

Otto looks at his daughter for a moment longer, clearly looking into her for something. The Queen stands steady as she looks at him, her brown eyes hard as steel as she stares into the eyes of her father. Whatever he was seeking he must find since he nods his head and begins to walk back into the Red Keep, some members of the Kingsguard trailing behind him.

The instant the Lord Hand moves, it seems like the chaos in the courtyard finally has a focal point: all of the attendants. Immediately, servants begin to bring the massive white horses to each of you, the grand beasts in question neighing loudly as their fragile peace is disturbed. The chargers move slowly, heavily, and you eye them as a pair of them slow to a stop next to you and Aemond. You’ve ridden horses before - every Westerosi noble worth anything was skilled in horsemanship - but never one close to this size. The horse looms over you, snorting air out through his nose aggressively as he stamps his feet, and you reel back slightly, stepping closer to Aemond and pulling the fabric of his sleeve closer to you.

“You control him,” Aemond reminds you, his voice low, as the servants swarm around the white chargers, securing the straps of the saddle soundly. “He’ll listen to your commands.”

“I should hope,” you respond, glancing up at him. “I feel like it's an awful omen if the Maiden gets carried away on a runaway horse.”

He shakes his head. “Surely no more bad luck than a Maiden being tempted during her fast.”

You smile despite yourself. “There’s no abstinence without temptation. I’m sure my sacrifice means more that way.”

“Perhaps the Seven will reward your faith. Surely they know that Aegon and Helaena will need it,” Aemond responds, shaking his head at a servant when he takes a meaningful step towards you. The servant in question falters slightly, looking at a loss for words, before he quickly steps back, nodding his head as he folds his hands behind his back.

You’ve done this song and dance before. You don’t ride often with Aemond but sometimes he would accompany you and Helaena whenever the fancy struck him. Sometimes servants would help the pair of you climb onto your horses. Sometimes he would. You’ve done this countless times before.

Somehow, this feels different. Maybe it’s that he’s dressed as the Warrior and you’re the Maiden. Maybe it’s that you can hear the gates slowly begin to open, hear the screams and cheers from the waiting audience of King’s Landing filter through the air. Maybe it’s how he grips your waist harder than he ever has before as he picks you up high in the air, your hands flying to steady yourself at his shoulders.

He places you on the horse, sitting you side straddle, and you stare down at him, letting go of his shoulders so you can twist one of your hands up the reins of the horse. He looks back and you know that he can see straight through you, can see the scream that is building up in your chest, buried so deep so that none of it can slip out.

Aemond lets go of your waist and you lean down, your hair falling all around you, as you lean over him, his face turning up towards yours. A poppy knocks itself loose from the breeze and he reaches up to grab it, catching it by its cut stem.

It’s golden.

In front of you, by the gates, you can see Alicent and Aegon begin to move forward, can hear the screams of the crowds reach a feverish pitch as they catch sight of the royal family, but you ignore them as you reach for the flower in Aemond’s hand. You brush his fingers as you pluck it from his grasp and for a moment, you hold it between the two of you.

It’s beautiful. More beautiful than anything has a right to be on this day.

Carefully, you lean down even more and you tuck the flower into the links of his chainmail, the yellow startling against the black. Your hand lingers for a moment and he captures it, pressing it to his mouth gently.

It’s a promise. It’s an apology. You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Finally, he lets you go, pulling away to his own silver charger, mounting it with an ease that only a warrior could have. In front of you, Daeron and Rhaenys begin to ride out and, as you turn your head slightly to watch them go, you can see the flame in Rhaenys’s lamp has been lit. As she rides through the gate, she lifts up the lamp in front of her, her arm steady and sure even as the flame flickers and sways from the canter of her horse. She’s a guiding light, wisdom and strength personified. You’re supposed to follow her.

But you can’t imagine wanting anything less.

Somewhere behind you, Helaena waits with her grandfather, her maiden cloak pinned around her neck. Somewhere ahead of you, Aegon rides with their mother, a crown that was not quite a crown placed in his silver curls.

This is it. This is where it all ends. This is where it begins.

Servants begin to gesture you to move forward and, after a moment, you shift your weight forward in the saddle and, without missing a beat, the massive charger moves forward with a shake of his mane. You glance to the side and meet Aemond’s amethyst eyes blazing in the light.

Together, you ride through the gates.

#aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond x Reader #aemond x you #i wrote this in my notes as no one has fun at a westerosi wedding #and the actual wedding hasnt even happened yet sdkflasdlfkasdf #hopefully the next chapter wont take as long im so sorry babes!!!

156 notes · View notes

agentwhiskeysdarlin · 7 months

Text

Fooled Around and Fell In Love

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+ (minors dni)

Warnings: mostly done in Jack’s pov with one switch to reader’s for a short time, mentions of death and funeral setting briefly, bar setting, alcohol consumption, (y/n) mentioned once, heavy make out session, smutty good times, oral (female & male receiving), p in v sex, the fluff is ridiculous topped off with the cutest ending I’ve ever written

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s Notes: I honestly have had this fic sitting for weeks and completely forgot about it. Oops. This idea has been in my head for at least a year and I finally did it. This was also the first timeI wrote a lot in Jack’s pov which was a lot of fun. I’m probably not going to have anything else until kinktober 👀 Thank you as always to @clint-aww-no-barton and I hope you all enjoy! Also if you have never heard the song played in the fic go give it a listen!! Fooled Around and Fell In Love by Elvin Bishop

ao3 link

Jack Daniels had only been in love once in his life. She’d been his high school sweetheart. He never did figure out how he’d won her heart, but he had. They were going to get married and she’d been pregnant, a baby boy. Then it was all ripped away from him. He’d stood in the cemetery and watched them lower her into the ground along with his heart. Buried six feet under. He swore that day, when he turned his back to her grave, that he was also turning his back on love. He was done with the silly four letter word, that meant nothing but heartbreak. It was hard at first especially seeing his parents, knowing their story. It was a beautiful one, one people wrote books about but Jack just supposed that life wasn’t for him.

He fooled around of course. He still found women ridiculously attractive, and sometimes it was just too hard not to try and charm his way in. He would flirt until he found the perfect girl, who just wanted a little fun for the night. By the morning he was long gone. It got lonely sometimes, but when it did Jack would imagine himself right back at that grave. It was a reminder to not get attached, not to fall in love. He couldn’t do that again. He wouldn’t live through it a second time.

He sat now at a local, small town bar, which had pulled in a crowd not long after he’d arrived. He was nursing his second whiskey, turned around on his barstool watching the crowd as it grew. This was his usual Friday night routine, when he wasn’t working. He would come here and wait for the ideal woman and then make his move. Tonight was busier than usual which, Jack didn’t mind at all. The bit of sunlight remaining suddenly broke through the dim lighting, and Jack turned his head to see who was walking in. That’s when his eyes fell on you.

*Your POV*

You couldn’t believe your best friend had dragged you here. Actually you could. She was strong willed, and didn’t take no for an answer much. You’d rather be sitting at home, binge watching a show and eating your weight in ice cream.

“Oh come on. Let’s get you drunk and laid.” Your best friend looped her arm within yours.

“I’m not the one getting over a dick of an ex. I’ll pass.”

“You still need to get laid honey. You’re too cranky.”

“I am not! I’m perfectly fine. Plus there’s not a single guy in here who would look twice at me.”

“Tell that to Burt Reynolds sitting at the bar.”

You glanced over and sure enough, a man who looked like a younger version of Bandit himself, had his brown eyes on you. You felt your face heat as you turned away.

“He’s probably looking at you.”

“Oh honey. He’s not looking at me. Come on, let’s get a booth and I’ll get our first round.”

You rolled your eyes but let her drag you along to a booth. This was going to be a long night.

*Jack’s POV*

Jack watched you, as your friend dragged you to a booth reluctantly. You were beautiful. Honestly one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Something about the fact that you obviously didn’t want to be here, just piqued his interest even more. A little more liquid courage and he would go make his move. He watched your friend walk over, confidence so clear on her face. She leaned on the bar calling out to the bartender, placing her order. Two whiskey’s on the rocks. Then she turned to Jack.

“Hey tell me, where you looking at me or my gorgeous friend over there when we walked in?”

“No offense against you darlin’ but definitely your friend.”

“Oh no offense taken. You’re definitely her type. I just wanted to prove that I was right.”

She grabbed her drinks and Jack smirked.

“I’ll add more to your case here in just a minute.”

“You better be nice to her. I have a black belt and I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

Jack chuckled at your friend’s protectiveness over you. It just made him wonder more about you. Jack realized then, that this was the first time he wanted to actually get to know a woman in a long time. He pushed it away, trying to focus on just getting you in bed, before he downed the rest of his drink and got up. He weaved through the crowd, keeping his eyes on you. Your friend said something to you and you turned, your eyes growing wide before you spun back around, your face turning red. Jack couldn’t help but to think it was cute. Luckily you had just finished your drink, and it gave him the perfect excuse to speak to you.

“Can I buy you ladies another round?” He spoke as he leaned on the table.

“You can buy her another round,” your friend spoke and Jack smirked as his eyes went from her to you.

“Uh yeah. Yeah I’ll take another…”

“Whiskey on the rocks?”

“Um…yeah,” you spoke slowly your eyebrow knitting together in confusion.

“I’ll be right back.” Jack smacked the table before turning away.

He ordered two drinks for you and himself before making his way back over.

“May I join you?”

“By all means.” This time you spoke and slid over, making room for him.

“Names Jack. I’ve seemed to have forgotten my manners.”

“Oh (Y/N),” you spoke giving him a shy smile.

Your friend introduced herself, and then her eyes darted to someone in the crowd and gave a flirty wave. She excused herself, your eyes burning a hole in her as she went. Jack moved to the other side so he was facing you.

“I see you were dragged here against your will.” Jack spoke and you pinched your nose between two of your fingers.

“What gave it away?” The way you looked at him was full of embarrassment, but a smile still pulled at your lips.

“A guy just knows,” Jack smirked as he leaned back, his arm draping across the back of his seat. “Not your usual scene then?”

“Not really. I went through a very small stage where it was, but it didn’t last long. It ended in heartbreak so I’m safer at home in front of my tv.”

“Ah come on. You gotta have fun every once in awhile.”

“I guess I’ve had all my fun.”

Jack felt his stomach sink slightly but he’d dealt with this before.

“Oh sugar I promise you haven’t.”

“What makes you say that?” You raised a brow, challenge in your voice.

“Because you haven’t been with me yet.”

“You sure are confident,” you chuckled lightly.

“That I am. I ain’t ashamed of it.”

“Definitely nothing to be ashamed of. I wish I had an ounce of it.”

“You should. You’re a beautiful woman.”

You looked down at the table your face once again red.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s just…I don’t have the best record so…” your voice trailed off and Jack felt his heart clench.

He wanted to make you feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. He wanted you to believe it. It was now a mission of his, and he never left a mission unsuccessful. Jack slid out of his seat, and he watch your face fall slightly.

“May I pull you to the dance floor sugar?” He reached his hand out and he saw a smile pull at your lips.

“Yes you may.” You grabbed his hand, and he pulled you out of the booth and out onto the dance floor.

A fast pace song was playing at the moment, so Jack spun you around and the two of you joined in on a little line dancing, before the song shifted to something slower. Jack pulled you close, his hands on your hips and yours wrapped around his neck. He watched you look around the bar, and he knew you were trying not to meet his eyes. He reached up and his finger brushed at your chin, moving your head until your eyes met his. You looked over his face, your eyes stopping briefly at his lips. He quirked an eyebrow and you gave him a soft nod. Jack dipped his head and his lips met yours. The entire world disappeared. It was just you and Jack. He felt something shoot through him, and it only made him kiss you deeper. He felt your fingers lace in the hair at the nape of his neck. You kissed him back with equal fever, and it made Jack wonder if you had felt the same as him. He never wanted to stop kissing you. He could stand here until the day he died, attached to your lips. He had to get you out of here, now. He pulled away and looked down at you. You were panting and searching his eyes. He could tell you were having a battle with yourself. You pulled him down, your lips brushing at his ear and pulling a shiver through him.

“Take me home Jack,” your words were intoxicating and Jack gulped before nodding.

You pulled him along to tell your friend where you were going. He could only let out a soft chuckle at the high five the two of you shared, before you all but pulled him out the door. Jack took the initiative then, and pulled you to his car. He opened the door for you and you slid in. He was quick to round the front and climb in, buckling and driving off. There was a comfortable silence, full of the tension that hung between you and Jack, as he drove as fast as he could without breaking the law. Your knee bounced rapidly, and Jack knew you were probably feeling the same excitement he was.

Jack noticed far too late that he’d pulled into his driveway. He hadn’t even thought to ask you where you lived. He’d just driven straight here. Another sign he was off his usual game. Deep down, he already knew why. He shook his head slightly trying to clear his thoughts, to focus. The two of you filed out of his car, and he was quick getting the front door open. As he shut it, he moved to cage you between him and it. You were both panting, and he smirked, before he was kissing you again. Damn your lips, your kiss could make him drunk like he had several bottles of whiskey. You moaned against his lips and he shuddered. Your hands traveled over his shirt, and soon he felt his jacket fall to the ground. He was quick to get rid of yours, before he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. One hand stayed secured around you, flat against your back, while the other traveled down to your ass. He gave you a quick squeeze, and with a gasp against his lips, you jumped circling your legs around his waist.

The two of you stayed there for several moments, never coming up for air, you pressed between the door and Jack. He let out a breath through his nose, and pulled away reluctantly. Your eyes fluttered opened and you panted. Jack’s breathing was rapid as well, and he gazed at you.

“Please tell me you want to,” his voice betrayed him as it came out slightly hoarse.

“More than anything,” you breathed, your voice not even going above a whisper.

That was all Jack needed, before he pulled you back to his lips, his kiss hungrier than before, as he walked through his house and to his room. He kept you close still with one arm, as the other caught him as he laid you down on the bed and hovered over you. You kept your arms secured around him but your legs slowly fell away, spread wide for him to stay between. He kept himself propped slightly letting his other hand wonder. He his slipped under your shirt and then under the wire of your bra letting his thumb brush across your already hard nipple. It pulled a moan from Jack’s lips and he sat up slightly bringing you with him. His lips parted from yours as he quickly pulled your shirt over your head and discarding it somewhere in the room. Lips back on yours he soon tossed your bra away too. Then he finally let his lips drop and start to wander across your body. Your skin was soft and you smelled so good, that once again Jack could only think about how he never wanted to leave this moment. He kept his kisses feather light as he explored you, finding all the places that made you moan. He noted them carefully, before he finally moved to your breast. He pulled your left nipple between his fingers and pinched slightly. At the same time he pulled your right one between his lips and flicked the hard bud with his tongue. You let out a loud moan, your back arching into him and Jack smirked at himself. He flicked once more as he pulled and then was gone. He was quick to repeat the process on the opposite breast. You, once again, beautifully responding to him. He started to make his way down your stomach, until he came to the top of your jeans. He leaned up slightly, undoing your button and zipper slowly. He glanced up at you and you let out a whimper in a plea. Jack felt his cock twitch at the sight and sound.

He pulled your jeans away, along with your underwear and let them fall to the floor. He stood then, still stationed between your legs and looked down at you fully bare for him now. You were beautiful, no that wasn’t even the right word. There wasn’t one that accurately described you. Jack knew he was in so much trouble. His eyes that had racked over your body, now met yours, that still had a plea held in them. Your pupils blown, your lips swollen. It was truly a sight. He kept his eyes on yours as he removed his shirt and didn’t bother with his jeans yet as he kelt between your legs. He wound his arms around your legs, flatting his hands on your thighs to keep your legs open. The sight before him made him lick his lips. You wiggled and let out another desperate whimper, that sent Jack reeling. He dove, his tongue licking up your slit, and you let out the most beautiful noise Jack had ever heard in his life. You tasted incredible and it sent Jack into overdrive. He kept going, sucking and licking at your clit. He felt his hat knock off from his head, and your fingers in his hair pulling slightly.

“Jack,” you panted out, pulling slightly harder and he looked up at you still giving your clit little flicks with his tongue.

“Please…I want to feel you…inside me,” you begged and Jack smirked.

He reluctantly pulled his mouth away from you and stood. You sat up your feet hanging from the bed, as he watched you undo his pants. He helped you shove his jeans and underwear down, and before Jack could think to make a move you had his cock in your hand. You were quick to take him into your mouth, and it was so unexpected it took Jack a moment to catch up. His hand laced in your hair and he pulled ever so slightly, pulling a moan from you around his cock. He let out a hiss and closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in how good your mouth felt on him. He pushed his heavy lids open, looking down at you and it was such a beautiful sight, it was so hard for Jack to stop you. He pulled you up to him and kissed you deeply. The both of you seemed to moan in unison at tasting each other on your lips. He lightly pushed you back once again, and hovered over you. He pulled away, his forehead falling to yours as he glanced down and lined himself up with your dripping entrance, before he pushed in. He made himself go slow trying to take in how you felt as you opened for him. He buried his head in your neck as he finally filled you completely, and it was like the perfect puzzle pieces coming together.

“Fuck,” you whined and that sent Jack into a frenzy.

He pulled out and then snapped his hips forward, letting out a moan at the feeling. He did this a few more time, pulling moans and curses from you before he set a quicker pace. The room filled with the noises coming from the both of you. Jack tried so hard to be quiet, so he could hear ever last little sound you made. He wanted to hear them for the rest of his life. He wanted to spend every spare second he had pulling them from you. You felt so good around him and he swore he had never been with anyone that felt this perfect. It was making him climb his high, quickly.

“I’m so close,” you suddenly whimpered out.

“Let go for me sugar,” Jack spoke in a horse voice.

You snapped and clutched at him like a vice. It was enough for him to follow you. He drilled deep inside of you, and you milked him. He let out a groan as he buried his face in your neck. Your fingers came up and ran lazily through his hair. The two of you stayed like that for awhile, until you’d come back down to earth. Jack pulled out of you and gently laid down next to you. You turned on your side and he did the same, the two of you looking at each other.

“You were right,” you spoke after a few moments and Jack’s eyebrow quirked.

“About what sugar?”

“That was a lot of fun. The most fun I’ve had in awhile,” you smirked and Jack felt his heart jump slightly.

“I must say it was the most fun I’ve had as well sugar. You’re breathtaking,” the last few words fell from his lips in a whisper as he reached out and brushed away hair that was stuck to your face.

His fingers lingered as they softly brushed down your face, and he watched your eyes close and lean into his touch.

“Let me clean you up and we can get some sleep. That is, if you want to stay?” Jack had sat up and he paused looking back at you.

“Yeah I think I would like that,” you looked up at him and he smiled as did you.

He cleaned you up gently, and the two of you settled into bed. Jack pulled you close and watched as you slipped to sleep before he soon followed.

The sun pouring into the bedroom window pulled Jack from the most blissful sleep he could recall having. He turned his head to look at you, and my god how beautiful you were. You were still peacefully asleep. Your breathe was even and the sun danced over you. Jack watch you for awhile weighing these feelings that were creeping up on him. He knew deep down no matter how hard he tried not to, love was going to creep back up on him one day. Looking at you in his bed next to him he could feel it. He gently and slowly crawled out of bed, slipping on some pajama pants before padding to his kitchen. He turned on the radio and turned the volume low letting old classic rock and country music fill the silence. He started in on fixing you breakfast, silently praying that you would want to stay for it.

“I must've been through about a million girls

I'd love 'em and I'd leave 'em alone

I didn't care how much they cried, no sir

Their tears left me cold as a stone”

The familiar lyrics of a song filled the air around Jack, and he found himself smiling to himself. He moved around the kitchen and then he caught you leaning against the doorframe, hair ruffled and nothing but his shirt hanging on your figure. He knew in that moment, one glance at you, eyes catching yours. Both of your faces breaking out into smiles. The lyrics of the song rang true. Jack Daniels had fooled around and fell in love.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl @arcadianempress @discogrrl @immundusspiritu @someplace-darker @thisis-theway @ohpedromypedro @scribbledghost @fioccodineveautunnale @princess-and-pedro @phoenixhalliwell @littlevodka @all-hallows-evie @mack4676 @perropascal @audreyshepbvrn @mswarriorbabe80 @kaqua @novemberrain221 @weasleywinchester

#pedro pascal #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fic #jack whiskey daniels x reader #agent whiskey smut #Jack whiskey daniels fic #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x female reader #jack whiskey daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels smut

108 notes · View notes