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fragileheartbeats · 4 months

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໒꒱ ⌒ ｡ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 ★ · ⟆ ﹏！

⠀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ﹙🪽﹚ 天国のキス ୨ৎ . . .

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀꒰͡ ⠀ ִ 𝐽 𝐽 𝐾 𝑀 𝑒 𝑛 𝑥 𝐹 𝑒 𝑚 𝑅 𝑒 𝑎 𝑑 𝑒 𝑟 ⠀ׂ ⠀ ͡꒱

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ♡ㅤ𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 kiss you for the first timeㅤ۫ㅤ𝅄ㅤೀ

— 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶, 𝘔𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘪, 𝘠𝘶𝘫𝘪, 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢, 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰, 𝘚𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶, 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪, 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘰, 𝘠𝘶𝘵𝘢, 𝘛𝘰𝘨𝘦 <3

˚꒰🌼꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language and this is one of my works that I had posted in my previous blog. Hope you enjoy!

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 | 五条悟 ─ 𓇼 . ♡𝆬

Satoru, kissed his lover with an intensity of passion. His kisses descended like thunder, shaking the core of her soul. His hands roamed her body like a river in heat, caressing her curves with an electric fervor. When their lips eventually parted, her body was trembling with the ravishing sensations. He spoke in a whisper, 'My sweetest love, I will never let you go.' And with that, he kissed her again, giving her a divine taste of his divine love.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 | 伏黒恵 ─ 𔒌 . ♡𝆬

He shyly stepped toward her, Adoring her from head to toe, Taking a deep breath in, To make him ready, by and by. He took her face in both his hands, Gently caressing her skin, His heart beating faster, As the moment was wearing thin. And then he kissed her with love, Slowly and tenderly, His affection overflowing. They swayed with joy and embraced, Inhaling the warmth of the night, A love, stronger than ever before, A love that was so marvellously right. The sun rose in the sky, And the two lovebirds stayed together, The kiss of their lover, Opened them like a beautiful feather.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 | 虎杖悠仁 ─ 𓐐𓎩 . ♡𝆬

Falling in love was a sweet symphony, It filled his heart with a melody. He brought her close and held her tight, Her face glowing in light of delight. He brought his lips to hers with immense care, Intoxicated by her beauty beyond compare. As they kissed, his heart was lost in the bliss, Swept away by her touch, pure and tenderly kissed. Their souls and hearts seamlessly intertwined, The world around them seemed to pause in time. Peacefully and gently, their embrace untold, It nourished their love, mutual and bold. An enchanting night and love so true, It was all for them a magical view. He kissed her again and promised forever, As love bound the two together.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 | 宿儺 ─ 𓇢𓆸 . ♡𝆬

The malicious curse layed his lips upon his beloved, A kiss full of desperation and hopelessness, Sullying the one thing he truly adored, With no remorse for the futility of their love. his kiss was fraught with regret, The tenderness of his breath ripped away by a hunger for control, It was a passion fueled by bitterness and tainted by selfishness, The kiss of an almighty conqueror determined to have it all.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 | 七海建人 ─ ☘︎ . ♡𝆬

He saw his lover standing before him, the light misting around her like a halo. He moved closer, her scent so sweet and pure, entwined in her mesmerising allure. He reached out his hand, so warm and gentle, her heart began beating in anticipation. brushed her cheek with the softest of kisses, and their love swirled in the air, like a bliss. His mouth then caressed her quivering lips, emotions fluttering between them in it's bliss. savoured her tenderness and sweet taste, their longing love became one in this embrace. He slowly moved back and looked into her eyes, their love spelled out in the gentle moon lights. He held his lover a little tighter, as they shared a kiss that was ever so lighter.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 | 夏油傑 ─ 𓆉 . ♡𝆬

His fingers slowly trailing over her soft cheek, He gently brings her closer and places his warm lips upon hers, Kissing her with all the love and adoration he had for her blossoming within him. The kiss deepened, his heart beating in excitement, His breath warm and tender as he enveloped her into his embrace, Their foreheads meeting, the sound of their beating hearts melding into one, Their lips interlocked, the feeling of this moment imprinted in his mind, In that moment of stillness, their connection was undeniable, Their bodies dancing, in perfect harmony, solidifying their infinite love. The moments fading and slowly coming to a close, His heart so full, he knew he'd had found the one who touched his soul, As he looked into her eyes, he realized that that one kiss spoke a million words.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 | 伏黒甚爾 ─ 𓆤 . ♡𝆬

He leaned in close and as he did so, His heart melted into a quiet flow. She smiled softly, expecting his kiss, A moment of passion and tender bliss. The moment their lips met was divine, Bodies pressed tight to intertwine, A gentle caress of utmost bliss, This kiss had an unspoken promise of bliss. The clouds parted for the sun, In the peaceful sky above. A magnificent sight of beauty, Their love so tender, it was hard to describe. The kiss they shared resonated, A deep emotion uninterrupted, The connection was undeniable, Toji and his lover in a sweet ride of bliss.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 | 脹相 ─ 𖤣𖥧 . ♡𝆬

He longed to taste her lips, As he pulled her close. The rush of adrenaline and love, As his body had froze. He tenderly pressed his lips, To hers, so sweet and so pure. Their lips moved in sync, In a passionate allure. Time seemed to pass by, Their connection was unique and true. He'd never felt so alive and in love, The feelings beneath and above his skin grew. He had found his bliss, In this beautiful embrace. Their love would last for an eternity, A never ending love he had found in this place.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐔 | 乙骨憂太 ─ ✉ . ♡𝆬

Yuta looked into her eyes, A kiss upon her lips, A passionate embrace,The sparks between them the eternal bliss. As their lips met in a magical embrace, Electricity sizzling through both their veins, Their hearts raced in sync, As their souls intertwined in timeless bliss. Yuta could never be separated from his love, For even after the kiss, Their souls were intertwined, In a divine state of purest bliss.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 | 狗巻棘 ─ ♬ . ♡𝆬

He slowly planted a loving kiss on her rosy lips, The moment felt like eternity as his heart gave a flip. Lost in her glittering eyes, entrancing and alluring, Sparkling like the stars, like a beautiful painting. The warmth of his touch swept her away to heaven, The love between them not even time can sever. As their lips intertwined, in sweet ecstasy they'd drown, It felt like a beautiful dream, never to be taken down.

MASTERLIST

@fragileheartbeats . Don't plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

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dhampling · 3 months

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one fem!reader, 2k

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?”

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

astarion is a newly-minted girldad. that's it. that's the plot.

word count: 2,028

an: fluff, fluff n more fluff. no smut this time. soon. promise. parts ONE and TWO linked respectively but can be read alone.

“She’s asleep, Astarion!”

You are wide eyed, furious; speaking in a whispered shout at your husband.

His pale hands flit across the ties of your shirt, frisking every which way they turn. You slap them off like flies on fruit.

“Even more reason to take advantage of the situation, if you ask me.” He murmurs hungrily in your ear, hands now circling down to your waist to tug on your waistband.

“It’s a fine job I didn’t ask you then!” Gritted teeth. Eyes aflame. Cornered against the dresser.

The crib beside your bed holds your infant daughter - skittish and fresh to a world wholly unknown in every sense of the word. She rests rarely and wails often for company in these early months of being alive with you both. Pallid and red-eyed yet beautiful beyond comparison and entirely yours.

Seeing you together brings him joy unparalleled.

He has, genuinely; never been prouder of anything of his doing - saving the Sword Coast is a drop in the ocean that is completely and utterly awash with love for your youngling. The mistaken mess of his own bastard elven vampiric genetics now born unto another. This time it would be right. The hunger, the rot; the abuse and neglect, they were hundreds of miles away.

He would make it right.

But it was already so. She was here, and you all cried together in that dark, sweaty birth chamber. His great guttural sob at her birth, wracked with emotion he never knew he could possibly be permitted to feel on this immortal coil. Your genuinely feral howls of pain turned weeping with pure joy.

Two full days of agony unlike any you’ve ever endured and she had arrived, breathing; wailing; skin of a changeling in birthing viscera and lungs keen to rival any bellow of the Gods.

Astarion weakly clinging to you both; tears salting your lips and wetting her tiny head for hours on end.

The great weight of another being on your shoulders. His sincere - yet cliche - fervently whispered oath to her just moments after being placed in his arms.

She is home. She is loved beyond any unit of measure. She will want for nothing, and she will never know anguish like that of her parents and their complex lives. No matter who she is or what she becomes, she has two people who are in her corner. She will be fierce if she so desires. Cunning. Witty. Roguish. Barbaric. Horrid.

It didn’t matter. It never would.

She was yours, and his; and she would always have a choice.

He had spoken with her for hours, the nurse whispered to inform you once you had awoken from the deepest slumber of your life. Even then when you looked he was hanging over her small form in her cot, running his lithe fingers over her tiny hands and feet in a repetitive soothing pattern.

When you queried the topic of conversation he simply looked at you with a grin so lovesick it would flip your stomach completely. Butterflies.

“We deserve a bit of fun though, darling. Mummy and Daddy’s evening off? No?”

Astarion pouts, wrapping his arms around you - still pinned against the dresser - and inhaling your scent deeply.

You return the gesture and cough reactively.

“You stink of Noblestalk. I know your tricks.”

You playfully shove him away and tiptoe from your room to the landing, the pale elf hot on your heels.

“I have never stunk in my life, thank you.” He sulks.

You pointedly stop to look at him, before picking up a basket of waiting laundry and descending the stairs. He follows.

“I’m trying to fuck you, dear. Don’t make it weird.” He rolls his eyes and huffs.

You hum.

“Corpses tend to smell awful.”

“Warning.”

“You started it.”

“Touché.”

A beat of silence.

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?”

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

“You’re getting rusty.”

He captures you in a kiss as you reach the bottom of the stairs, slow and patient. Holding your free arm to keep you close.

“Look at me. I’m the epitome of the fatherly jester!’

Waggles his free hand.

‘I have been blessed with brains and humour anew by the birth of our daughter, clearly.’

He grimaces.

‘Not necessarily superior versions of either, but I - am - changed.”

From the moment of her conception you’d felt it. An old wives’ tale. The night you’d agreed to mother a brood alongside him, you knew she was there. That she was her. That she was brewing as something brilliant deep inside you and nothing would be as it was ever again.

He’d called it ridiculous, gestured wildly and rolled his eyes to the deepest hells, but a hazardous hope never left them until you’d far missed your bleed and it was confirmed to be true.

From that moment onwards, something shifted even further in Astarion.

The domestic tether to your townhouse in the city - no longer just a convenience to remain a steady base for you both, but a fundamental part of his scene setting, to plant roots and grow together. Two centuries of rot and abuse, and his reward was finally nearing completion.

His nesting phase began far earlier than yours and with greater intensity than you could’ve matched even without the issue of your later-heaving belly. Entire pinboards tacked with decadent fabric swatches for every occasion - be it swaddling or nursery curtains. Tailor’s tape around his neck each morning and notebook in hand to note your measurements and take inventory of your wardrobe; ensuring you never looked awry or felt anything less than wholly comfortable.

Because gods forbid ill-fitted clothing stand in the way of you and your brutal vomiting spells, obviously. A pointed click of his tongue as he fixes your sleeve.

In the middle months of your gestation, the typically discerning clientele who visited you and Astarion in your tailor’s store at the dead of night were the first to become privy to the news. Rounder by the week, flushed; brimming with a deep fatigue and yet somehow absolutely aglow.

Children to be fitted for yet another presentation evening placed sleepy hands on your belly with a saccharine softness. Their parents jostle you - sometimes in congratulations, sometimes to whisper in sheer curiosity. Dhampir are a notoriously rare breed, and you’re certain there were rumours of a third party involvement in the process.

‘No, no. We just tried really, really hard.’ You’d smile, as if in a blissful stupor from just the recollection. He’d turn to you with his ridiculously brilliant hearing; needle between teeth, brow raised; lips upturned in a slight quirk. Devilishly handsome, never anything less.

You drop the laundry basket in the kitchen corner. A stuffed bear falls from it. Clive.

A pause.

“You never asked what I did with that shirt, you know.”

It takes you a moment to recall which shirt he’s referring to. He sits at the table and watches you lazily.

“Which? The one for Mr. Chugley? I didn’t think it needed much by way of adjustment, at least?”

A stale piece of burnt toast sits on the counter untouched. You bite and chew and bite and chew like a woman who has never once tasted a morsel so divine; so untainted by the evils of hot butter and a filling bronze crunch.

“Oh - Bunt? Gods, no.’

He sips his stone-cold tea. A fresh film wobbles on top.

‘Bunt Chugley.”

A snort of laughter sends it straight back through his nose and out onto the table. You begin to choke on your toast.

“Bunt Chugley.” You giggle, crumbs spilling from your mouth.

Astarion stands to wipe himself down, creasing over with an escalating laughter.

“Bunt Chugley.”

He waggles his hands, eyes heavy lidded with lack of rest.

He looks purely maniacal.

“That’s- that’s what we should-’

You stop for breath, cackling now; hands over knees for a brief moment.

‘We should call the next one Bunt Chugley.”

He launches into a wheezing fit.

“How- How would that even work, darling? Like Bunt Chugley Ancunín, or- or-”

“No! No, no. Just that. Bunt Chugley.”

You hold both hands to your eye as if framing a canvas, looking through the gap at the ludicrous proposition in front of you.

He takes a moment to still. Smiles at you dopily.

Crosses the floor and brings both hands down to your waist with a gentle grasp.

“I am so sorry, my love.” He grins and holds his forehead against yours.

You look at him, dazed.

“Hmm?’

He simply looks up.

A profoundly gut-wrenching wail becomes apparent to you from above. Your face falls.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Astarion.”

He’s up the stairs before you can comment further, swiftly darting back into your chambers and grinning with an unbridled joy - though, you note, with lack of rest that grin is beginning to look more insane by the hour.

“Sweetheart! My darling girl. Shush now. You’re sounding something absolutely wicked.”

You watch on from the doorway, arms folded; stale toast in hand and jaws meeting in a firm chew.

He’s far too good with her.

It somewhat surprised you at first just how innately fatherhood came to him, but as he picks her up and cradles her intently it’s as if there are fractures of his own childhood coming back. How he was loved, how he was held.

A piece of him, now alive and breathing again after all these years of death.

He coos at her, bouncing her small frame gently in his arms and hushing her with each wail. It takes very little for soft mewls to take their place as she reaches aimlessly in his direction.

He leans towards her grasping fingers and allows her to take one of his ringlets from the front of his head as he kisses her tummy. She’s enthralled by him; recognises him. She wants to know more of him.

As he lifts his head her grasp remains firm.

“We have some work to do on your sleight of hand, I think. Not to worry.”

Ever so gently, he unpicks her fascinated fingers and kisses them all in tow. Her face looks almost ready to crumple before he reaches for one final kiss on the very top of her head.

“There, now. All better. Back to sleep?’

A gurgle. A puzzled blink.

‘Absolutely. Mummy does look particularly radiant today, doesn’t she? I’ll be sure to send your regards.”

He catches the smile on your face. Winks your way.

“You’re getting the baby to flirt on your behalf now?” You tease.

“That’s the lady of the house to you. She was simply passing on her praises.” He whispers as he places her back into her crib and steps back fondly. Sidles over to you as you finish the last bite of toast and pulls you in for a soft kiss.

“Stop playing coy. I know you feel the same way I do.’

He whispers down at you.

‘You want another one, don’t you?’

A kiss on the very top of your head.

“You’re projecting.” You smile.

You can’t deny him for long, he knows this. You don’t particularly want to.

Since becoming a mother you’ve taken to parenthood almost as naturally as he has; and when the topic has come up since you’ve struggled to say no and mean it.

“Think, though. The sooner we try again, the sooner we can begin building our little mercenary force.” He looks at you with the face of a man who thinks he’s just had a really good idea.

“Oh! Yes! You’ve sold me!’

You pull him into a long kiss, the kind that still makes you swoon after all this time together. He tastes like cold tea and smells so clinical you can’t help but laugh heartily as you pull away.

‘That Noblestalk is getting to me. Have a bath and try again with a little less?”

He scowls before narrowing his eyes in thought.

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It just might, my darling dearest.”

You wink this time.

The bath starts running before you’ve fully made it back down the stairs.

#astarion x reader #dadstarion #i LOVE HIM #my writing #fluff #no smut #yippee #astarion ancunin #afab reader

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hotmencore · 10 months

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“𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬” 𝐃𝐑𝟑

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x girlfriend!reader (she/her)

Summary: In which Daniel learns the true extent of his girlfriends hatred towards mornings.

Warnings: language, but other than that it is pure fluff

Word count: 700+

A/N: Sunshine x grumpy is one of my favourite tropes so i had to make a fic for it, and no one is more symbolic of the sun than Daniel Ricciardo. This will probably get edited because i don't really like it.

Likes and reblogs are much appreciated! Copying and reposts are not! My fics are only posted on tumblr, under this account, @hotmencore

Everyone knows that Daniel is a pure ray of sunlight. He is the joy of the grid, and the life of the party around family and friends. Everyone also knows that his girlfriend is all of those things too. You both match each other perfectly, your contagious smiles, your quick witted humours, everything! Well, apart from one thing.

Mornings.

Daniel is always in a good mood, including at 8.00am on a Saturday, but you on the other hand, are in a good mood about 98% of the time. And that 2%, includes 8.00am on a Saturday.

Daniel woke up at that time today, and wanted to get up on time to start his day. But you, did not. And Daniel knew that. He has always known that. He always will know that. But today, he decided that he would try his luck with getting you up at the same time as him, as he would for once like to actually start his day off with his girlfriend. He turned over in bed to face you, your head somewhat shoved into your pillow, face turned away from him, the covers laying over your body delicately.

Daniel decided to try a simple and slick approach, slithering his hand beneath the covers in order to not move them too much, to lay his arm around your middle. You shifted slightly, and Daniel instinctively held his breath. You didn't wake up, so he was able to quietly breathe a sigh of relief, which absentmindedly made him rethink his choices. But he knew he had to commit. He shuffled up towards you, his bare chest now lightly scraping your back.

Now was the time.

Daniel slowly leaned into the crook of your neck, and placed a soft kissed on your bare skin.

"Good morning love" he murmurs.

All he gets in return is a loud inhale, and an even louder groan. You roll away from him in frustration that you had been woken up, your face now shoved even further into your pillow. This does make Daniel chuckle, as he once again laces his arm round your waist, and this time, pulls you flush to him, away from your lovely cool pillow and soft covers. You open your eyes slowly, and do nothing but groggily death stare him.

"Hello little miss grumpy" he tries again with a grin. But before he can even respond, your hand that lay on the outer side of your boyfriend slams down beside you to grab your pillow, and to speedily swing it back past you, aggressively thrashing it down on his face with a thump. Of course this 'violent' throw of a soft pillow didn't do any harm, but Daniel was still taken aback by the new found approach of you pretty much telling him to piss off and let you sleep.

"Fuck off Daniel, its too early" you mumble, although your body still lay wrapped up with his.

"Love its 8, not 4" he replies with a small chuckle, removing your pillow from his face.

"That's still too earlyyy" you groan, causing a real laugh to come from your boyfriend, who was finding this torment of yours quite hysterical.

"Come on, we can get up together and have breakfast at a normal time for once, not at like 11 for a change, Who knows, you might actually like it" he offers, a slight hesitance prominent in his voice.

"You can get up, i'm not" you quickly reply.

"Come on, mornings aren't that bad" Daniel counteracts.

"Fuck mornings" you respond, nuzzling into Daniel further, trying to fall back asleep. Through instinct, your arms go around your boyfriend, now fully cuddling him. Although you were still annoyed that he woke you up way earlier than you would have liked, you couldn't resist the warmth that radiated off of his bare, muscly chest.

Daniel ponders for a second, and finally decides to give up on his attempt, now deciding to do mornings your way, just this once.

"Yeah alright, you win, fuck mornings" he repeats, a small smile playing at his lips as he leans down to place a soft kiss to your forehead.

From beneath Daniel, you smile with pride at your amazing Saturday morning win against him and his early mornings,"Victory is sweet, but sleep is even sweeter, so shut up now so i can go back to it."

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #daniel ricciardo drabble #daniel ricciardo blurb #daniel ricciardo fanfic #dr3 #dr3 x reader #dr3 imagine #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x yn #daniel ricciardo one shot #sunshine x grumpy #tropes

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annawritesblog · 5 months

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When I first saw you (o.p.)

Summary: Oscar falls for y/n instantly.

A/N: enjoyed writing this a lot. just some pure fluff for my Oscar girlies out there. also we need more Oscar imagines. please remember that english is not my first language, so excuse me if something's not correct. enjoy

Oscar knew. He knew the first time he saw her. The way her navy blue dress hugged her body, the way she laughed, the way her hair fall into her face. He just knew he had to get her.

He didn’t know who she was or why she was there then. He did know that he had been mesmerized by her beauty.

She just wanted to leave. She wasn’t a very sociable person. She had her close friend group whom with she very much liked spending time with. And although she did have her best friend by her, it was just awkward for her. She didn’t know anyone there, except Lily and her boyfriend. But the pair of them had disappeared minutes ago to have a chat with Alex’s boss. Time didn’t seem to pass and y/n grew anxious. She was standing all alone with a glass of champagne in her hand.

She didn’t know why she came. Maybe because her best friend had convinced her that it would be fun ‘hanging out’ with f1 drivers, at a formal dinner party. Tho she liked f1 and being in the same room as most drivers filled her with joy, the being alone thing didn’t. Neither did the fact that she felt like an outsider.

On the other end of the room, Oscar stood with a glass of champagne in his hand. He had spent the entire evening looking at the heaven brought angel. He wanted to go up to her several times, but never actually worked up the courage. So he just stayed with the staring. Which might have resulted in some confused looks. Mainly from his teammate. After a while, Lando decided that it was enough.

“Come on now Osc. Go up to her.” The Brit looked at the brunette standing next to him.

“And what do I do? Just stand next to her?” Oscar pointed out, although he knew his point didn’t make any sense. He didn’t make any sense.

“Oh, I don’t know let me think. Maybe talk to her?” Lando joked and Oscar just rolled his eyes. If it would be that easy, he wouldn’t think twice.

“I can’t. She would think I’m an idiot.” The young driver sighed and sipped his champagne.

“Go up to her and ask her if she’s enjoying the party.” Lando suggested, hoping that his friend would finally make the step. “Look, she’s alone. She’s been for a while. I’m sure she would even enjoy your company.” He laughed and Oscar wanted to disappear.

He was right tho. She was standing alone for some time. There’s nothing wrong in accompanying someone who’s standing all alone. And who knows, maybe Lando’s right. Maybe she would enjoy his company. More or less.

“Okay fine. I’ll go talk to her.” Oscar tightened his tie and inhaled nervously. He was going to finally do it.

“That’s the spirit.” The McLaren driver exclaimed. “Just keep it light, crack a few jokes. You have pretty funny ones.”

“Thanks.” Oscar said and left Lando on his own.

She wasn’t that far away actually. But the whole way there, he had ran things through his mind. Keep it light. The words from his teammate kept repeating in his head. It shouldn’t be that hard. Right?

She was ready to leave. Ready to go home and make a hot chocolate while listening to real music. Not this jazz that was making her head hurt. She would come up with some shitty excuse for Lily, something like a headache. She grabbed her clutch from the fancy table and started heading towards the exit. That was until she heard someone behind her.

“Did you drop this?” The brunette boy asked her. She looked confused, annoyed even. It was a penny in his hand. She did not drop that for sure.

He knew this excuse was terrible. It was everything but keeping it simple. And he felt like a fool. Did you drop this? Seriously? God he was so mad at himself.

Daniel joined Lando at the other end of the room. Lando had his eyes glued to the scene. He was cheering for Oscar when he had started going towards her. Then, not so much. He examined the actions of his teammate with wide eyes. What was he doing? He’s messing it up big time.

“What are we watching?” The Alphatauri driver asked.

“Oscar flirting.” Lando simply answered and tried to figure out his plan. Daniel shrugged his shoulder and decided to roll with it and catch up with the plot. He soon realized what was happening. And God, was he surprised.

Everybody knew Oscar as a professional and serious driver. Always had his eyes on the prize and nothing could get him out of his concentration. Although he was a rookie, he walked with confidence and broke down any wall that had blocked him in his career. But now, he looked like was completely changed: nervously scratching the back of his head as he was explaining something to the girl in front of him, probably mumbling and so on.

Near the exit, y/n stood with the racing driver. The Australian still waited for her answer although he knew she in fact didn’t drop it. She couldn’t have, because he was the one who took the penny out of his pocket and acted like someone dropped it. Just so he could have an excuse to talk to her. God, was he just an idiot.

“I didn’t, no.” Y/n said and smiled lightly. She found him attractive. Not like intimidating, more like he was comforting. He stood tall infront of her and she could smell his cologne. It was pleasant.

“Alright then, sorry.” Oscar looked at her and boy he was falling. Now having heard her voice, he was hooked. He never thought that love at first sight could happen to him, but here he was. Making a fool of himself.

“Maybe you should keep it. It gives you luck apparently.” She explained to the driver.

“Well I guess it already did. Otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you.” He said without thinking. The girl blushed and smiled which made the butterflies in Oscar’s stomach erupt. Maybe he wasn’t that bad at flirting after all. “I’m Oscar.” He offered his hand.

“Y/n.” She shook his hand. Their hands fit perfectly. Perfect for them at least. The way her small hand stood in his big one. It was comfortable. And both of them could feel it. They eventually let go.

“That’s a very pretty name.” Oscar said and he was well aware of how blushed his cheeks were. So were hers. “So, are you enjoying the party?”

“I-it’s okay.” She chose her words carefully. She didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

“Very convincing.” He laughed and y/n felt her knees go weaker at the sound of that. She wouldn’t mind hearing that more.

“I just don’t really know anyone here.” She confessed and felt a bit small. He must think she’s some kinda antisocial person. Which she was, to an extent.

“Well, now you know me.” The brunette smiled. “It’s not the best dinner party, but also not the worst. The music tho, horrible.”

“Right? It makes me want to sleep almost.” The two of them laughed and y/n felt comfortable for the first time that night.

The pair of them kept talking for a long time. In the mean time y/n had placed her clutch on the table, signaling that there’s no way she’s leaving. Although that was exactly her plan not that long ago. The talked about her studies, his career, where they both came from, and many many things. Before they knew it, people started leaving. Both of them acknowledged that the night had come to an end, though neither of them wanted to leave. But they had to.

“I had a really great time talking to you, y/n.” Oscar said as he escorted the girl out the place. He placed his hand on her lower back, not too low tho, no need to scare her away. Goosebumps ran through her whole body from the combination of his hand and the cold air. She didn’t want the night to end.

“I had too.” The girl answered and smiled up at the boy in front of her. As soon as they stepped out of the venue the cold hit them both. It was the middle of the night so it was no surprise.

Oscar still kept his hand on her back but the girl had turned to face him. They were close, not too close but close enough. “Can I see you again sometime?” He asked and felt his cheeks burning, luckily it was dark.

“I would love that.” Y/n smiled and felt like nothing would ever top this feeling. Oscar actually wanted to see her again. Like a date. They would meet again and talk just like they did before. Unbelievable yet true.

The wind was blowing, messing up the girl’s hair. It didn’t really bother her, she just wanted to freeze the moment. Stay like this forever, that’s what they both wanted to do.

A strand of hair had escaped her elegant bun and Oscar quickly noticed. He put the strand behind her ear and inhaled sharply. Both of their hearts were racing. He lightly caressed her cheeks lovingly and the girl felt the warmth of his fingertips on her face. It was truly magical, until.

Until someone shouted out y/n’s name. Both of them pulled away awkwardly and just stood there. Lily and Alex walked up to the girl, at first not noticing the McLaren driver.

“Oh thank God, you’re here.” Lily hugged y/n and she felt awkward as hell. “You didn’t answer your phone, I thought you left without us.”

“I was-“ she was cut off by Alex who was the first to notice that y/n was in fact not standing alone.

“Oscar?” The Williams driver furrowed his brows in confusion. Oscar just waved then shook his hand. It was all becoming too much. For y/n at least.

And then it hit Lily. The two were together. Of course they were. And they just disturbed them.

“Oh.” Lily looked at the two of them. “So we’re just gonna wait for you in the car. Whenever you’re ready.” She smiled and grabbed her boyfriend’s hand who was still very confused.

As soon as the pair left, y/n and Oscar bursted out laughing. What could have they done? The moment was gone anyway so why stress about it more?

“So listen.” Oscar started. “I would be really happy if you’d go on a date with me.” He came out with it clear and simple.

The girl nodded. “I would love to go on a date with you, Oscar.” God, his name sounded so good from her mouth. He wanted to hear that playing on loop in his head.

Y/n gave the tall boy her number and he promised to call very soon. Little did she know, he would text her that night telling her again how much fun he had. Both of them started heading against different cars, y/n having carpooled with Lily and Alex, while Oscar drove himself home.

“I promise we’ll finish what we started.”

#oscar piastri #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #op81 #imagine #lando norris #alex albon #daniel ricciardo #f1blr #charles lecrelc #oscar piastri x reader

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loveindefinitely · 1 day

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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

13 — THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS BAD THOUGHTS, ONLY YOUR ACTIONS TALK

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You’d, somehow, forgotten just how… vibrant two of your oldest friends were.

With the blades of the helicopter still spinning, the deafening sound of aircrafts around you, and a steady mist of rain, your body collides with another.

“Oi, watch it!” You exclaim, a beaming smile stretched over your features as the bulky, oblivious man squeezes his arms around your torso and buries his head into your neck. “You smell like gunpowder. And your fiancée.”

His voice comes out muffled against your skin. “And you smell like cheap body wash.”

He squeezes you once more before finally letting you go, his dimples deep and hair soggy with rain. You study his features, the sharpness of his jaw and the dusting of brunette against it. Him. One of your oldest friends in the military.

He looses a breath, eyes meeting yours and his hands falling to your shoulders, a comforting weight. You don’t have any words, can’t find them, so all that leaves your lips is a single name.

“Alex,” you whisper, voice breaking in the middle, heart a sore throb in your chest.

The storm clouds above paint the world around you in harsh greys and physical manifestations of sadness – but in it all, your light has arrived.

And how powerful it is.

“Moonflower!” A deeply familiar, feminine voice shouts, and you spread your arms wide and accept the body that crashes against your own. Your laugh is startled and pure, but relief and serotonin floods your system as warm as the embrace you’re surrounded in.

You’d found solace and even a home in your solitude, your loneliness, but now?

Now, with the only two people in your life that have remained by your side, no matter the distance, holding you in their embrace?

It feels like family, even if you know there isn’t a space between the two of them for you to fit in – no crevice large enough for you to ever comfortably merge.

A foster family, maybe. Or a found one, however tenuous and distant.

“I missed you both so much,” you murmur, voice cracking slightly. You clear your throat, inhaling a trembling breath as you squeeze your eyes shut and rest your face in the crook of her neck. She smells of an odd mixture of her usual perfume, and Alex’s cologne.

You wonder if you’ll still have enough limbs attached to get to their wedding, by the time everything has been dealt with.

If you’ll even have a head attached.

It’s a small eternity (or maybe a few seconds, or maybe a few years) until she pulls away, a glint in her eyes that seems a concoction of pity and strength.

“You look stunning, Farah,” you grin, and your cheeks burn with the odd sensation of joy.

She crinkles her nose, dark stray hairs flying across her face from the continuing wind of both winter and the helicopter. Her skin glows with health – and you realise, then, how even with the stress of reconstructing a nation, she’s happy. Honest and unrepentant and golden. A survivor of war, but a survivor nonetheless.

Raising a brow, she returns, “You look like shit.”

A chuckle leaves your throat, the familiarity that is Farah’s honesty akin to a hot chocolate and a blanket wrapped around a freezing frame.

“You look like you’ve been injured,” Alex adds, a small wince gracing his features. He’s miraculously found himself once more at Farah’s side, not unlike a loyal guard dog.

A guard dog guarding a lion, maybe, but a guard dog nonetheless.

“Unlike you two,” you chastise, folding your arms and burying your cold hands in the space between your bicep and breasts, “I’m at war.”

“With the guy we warned you about,” Farah raises her brow, voice acidic and biting. “The guy we told you was going to ruin your life?”

“There’s a difference between ruining my life, and quite literally ruining my life,” you counter, watching a cloud of breath hang in the air, chilled by the evening cold, before dissipating into the breeze.

“He can continue ruining your life inside,” Alex cuts in, a hand falling against the dip of Farah’s spine, and the other moving to rest between your shoulder blades. He applies just enough pressure to be convincing, but not demanding.

It may as well be a demand, however, with how weak your mindscape seems to be in the face of comfort and familiarity.

The base seems small, even with the short distance, a reminder of how self-contained and cataclysmic your life has become (has always been). It’s well past eight, now, and with the winter hours it’s almost pitch black already. A few stars decorate the black landscape, this far out from most light pollution. Your eyes stray to the glistening balls of flame, and you wonder if someday soon you’ll find yourself amongst them.

Two duffel bags hang off of Alex’s shoulder, and it sparks your interest.

“How long are you two planning to stay?” You ask, as if they’re merely old friends staying for a weekend, catching up over bottles of wine and damaged decks of cards.

They both shrug, almost in sync. Your heart thunders in your chest at the small display of how attuned they are with each other – how in love. It’s Farah who answers, simply, “However long it will take.”

When you look down to your boots, ripples of water against sleek concrete cascading beneath each footfall, it’s merely to hide the stretch of a smile that braces your chapped lips. Your voice is small, uncharacteristically vulnerable, when you mutter to the ground, “Thank you.”

“We owe you, hell, we owe you more than a dozen lifetimes for what you’ve done for us,” Alex scoffs, the gratitude rolling off of him unlike the rain soaking his long-sleeved v-neck.

“Let’s just call this even, then,” you retort, lifting your head once more, allowing them both to see the softened curve of your mouth, the gentle slope of your brows.

The rain has paused its pouring, but a whole other kind of thunderstorm awaits the three of you in the entry of the base.

When you’d called Farah and Alex – just two nights ago, mere minutes after finishing your meal with Ghost and Soap – you hadn’t spared many details about Graves. You’d told them of your betrayal, of your thoughts, of the adrenaline rush that was that last fight with him.

What you hadn’t disclosed was your increasingly peculiar arrangement with the 141. Or your tryst with Gaz. Or your mess of feelings, as a whole.

So, really, you hadn’t told them much in the realm of everything.

Now, seeing the outline of four starkly familiar profiles, waiting underneath the small awning above the entrance to the base, you regret leaving such vital pieces of information out of your hours-long call.

“This is the one first impression you don’t want to fuck up,” is all you manage to grate out to the two beside you, before you fall into hearing distance of the very imposing image the 141 has managed to portray. Sometimes, you forget how genuinely daunting the four men are, with the different lights you’ve seen them in.

This is not one of those times.

As soon as the light sitting at the door shines against the three of you, Soap startles forward, clad in only a tight-fitting grey shirt, with a hefty leather jacket in his grip. When he reaches you, not even glancing at the newcomers, he pulls the jacket over your shoulders, warm and gun-rough hands brushing the soft skin of your neck as he does so.

“Impatient, lass, runnin’ off into the rain without any feckin’ layers,” he reprimands, without any bite at all.

You’re stumped, for a moment, before shaking your head lightly and stepping away from the utterly confusing man. With a dramatic flourish of a hand gesture, you motion towards your left.

Thankfully, Soap hadn’t met you too far out, so it only takes a few steps before you’re standing before the other three. A healthy dose of scepticism and tension fills the air between you all, and while you could certainly do without it, it still stings.

Just as you’re about to introduce everyone, despite Soap’s oddly rude behaviour, Price interrupts.

“Bloody hell, small world, ain’t it?” He chuckles, throaty and pleased, muscle-corded arms folded over his chest. His smile is like a beam in the dark of night.

“Thought it’d be a nice surprise, old man,” Farah returns, bringing out her hand for him to shake with a firm grip, both comfortable and at ease in each other’s presence. When Farah goes to pull away, however, Price stops her from doing so with wide eyes, laser-focused on her ring-adorned finger.

“Well I’ll be damned, Alex, how’d you convince her to deal with your arse for eternity?” Price teases, and while you expect the younger man to hit back, he simply beams.

The three seem to be in their own little world, with you, Soap, Gaz and Ghost being left with raised brows.

“Oh, sorry, guys,” Alex raises a hand, having the decency to look sheepish. His eyes trail along the 141 warily, before meeting your own eyes, relaxing slightly under your gaze. He seems reluctant to break the contact, but does so nonetheless, words directed at the 141 as he says, “Price is an old friend.”

Farah and Price break their quiet conversation, directing their attention back to the group at large. It’s quiet, for a moment, which is a blessing considering the large personalities at hand.

You’re the one to break it.

“Well,” you start, a sudden burst of anxiety sparking in your stomach – you hadn’t considered the merging of your two lives, of past and present, the clashing of…

Oh. God.

Oh God. Oh God, you had almost forgotten that, but if you had, maybe they did, too? Yes. Definitely. It’ll be fine.

(It won’t be fine, you’re more certain, but a little lie to yourself can’t hurt. Much.)

You continue, not a breath out of place despite your internal thoughts, “Farah, Alex, meet the 141.”

Gesturing to the four men, meeting all of their eyes, you then gesture to the other two. “Guys, meet Farah and Alex.”

Silence fills the space between you all for a mere moment – just past a second, really – but it’s damning and heavy all the same. It has your chest tightening and your throat constricting, not unlike a thread of rope being pulled taut around the curve of your neck.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” Farah says, voice steady and calculated. Defensive, really.

Gaz’s eyes narrow, his voice perfectly even and sickly sweet as he responds, “I can promise you, the last thing Sweetheart needs is to be taken care of.”

It’s… tense.

You’d, of course, expected that it would take some time for Farah and Alex to become anything close to friendly with the 141, but this feels different. A kind of static alights the air, a live wire sensitive to any spark that will instantly set it aflame.

“It’s good to see you again too, mate,” Alex smiles, but a sharp edge lines the curve of his lips. His eyes meet Gaz’s, and they don’t stray.

With a tight smile, Gaz responds, “Likewise.”

Ghost stands farthest from the group, a haunting spectre, shrouded in shadows with his arms folded over his chest and his hip resting against the wall. It’s impossible to see where, exactly, his eyes are trained – but you know they rest on you nonetheless.

Soap’s jacket remains a comforting weight on your shoulders, and although you’re loath to admit it even to yourself, it is miles better than the thin top you’d braved. He’s standing closest to you, on your right, posture straightened and imposing. He exudes a kind of energy you haven’t felt from him before, the closest being when you’d been separated from him post-surgery, maybe.

“Let’s have some tea, maybe, in the common room?” You ask, but it’s not really a request. Your tone is thick with insistence and command, and no one is in a place to deny you.

By the time you all make it to the common room – Alex and Farah comfortably speaking with Price, and you walking silently with Gaz, Ghost and Soap. The latter, especially, remaining a close presence at your side.

A few candles are lit against the windowsill, and a singular lamp sat against the large couch has been lit. No need for the blinding white light of the ceiling – just comfort and familiarity.

It feels at odds with the terse energy at hand, but simultaneously, a blessing.

Alex immediately takes a seat on the far right of the couch, at ease with himself and his surroundings. Gaz sits on the far left, leaving two spots between them. Without a word, Soap’s hand finds your lower back, and he virtually pulls you with him to sit between the two men.

You find yourself stuck between Alex and Soap, with Ghost, Price and Farah more than happy to stand. Even if there was space, you doubt they’d choose to take a seat.

“We need to find out what Shepherd’s up to,” you speak, breaking the small talk between Price and Farah, as well as between Gaz and Soap. The room falls silent immediately. “And we need to find out what actually happened to my mother.”

The silence continues, and you find yourself pulling the leather jacket tighter around your frame – finding solace in the heat of the two men at either side of you. Your past and your present, both there, both helping.

It’s, surprisingly, Ghost who answers the sentiment first.

“We’re at your disposal,” he simply says, as if it’s ever that simple. Maybe it can be, maybe it will be, with the powerhouse of a group that’s surrounding you now, with all of your history and feelings and sentiments.

You can feel the seeds of hope in your chest begin to blossom, begin to shine underneath the rays of sunlight that are Ghost’s words.

“Are,” you roll your tongue in your mouth, feeling the words out before you speak them, “Are you all ready and willing to do this? Because if you’re not, I’m going to get the job done myself.”

It’s true, suicide mission or not.

“Yer outta yer feckin’ mind if ya think we’re leavin’ ya behind now,” Soap scoffs, relaxing further into the couch as he throws his arm up and around the back of the couch, hand skimming your left shoulder. His thigh presses against your right one.

“You’re stuck with us now, Sweetheart,” Price shrugs, hands in his pockets.

Murmurings of agreement and similar sentiments echo around the group, and you find yourself exhaling such a deep breath that you’re sure it expels some decade-old air that had been stuck in the crevices of your lungs.

“Hold on,” Farah raises her hand, brows furrowing as her other fist rests at her bucked hip. “What’s this whole Sweetheart thing about?”

Soap’s hand finds the nape of your neck, brushing away your hair to rest a firm grip around the warmed skin. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and another when he responds, “Simple, aye? She’s a Sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s impossible to quell the growing grin that’s creeping onto your face. “This idiot,” you nod towards the Scot at your side, “Was bleeding out. Gave him some sweetheart lollies to help with the blood loss, and, well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoes, his eyes trained on your profile. When you meet his eyes, for a mere second, it feels like an electric shock.

Alex, on your other side, glances at you through the corner of his eyes with a hint of conspiracy. He leans in, mouth just a hair away from your ear, when he asks, “Which one of them are you fucking? Or have they all tumbled into your bed?”

Your elbow to his side is more a knee-jerk reaction to his words than anything, but you’re at least decent enough to wince at his groan of pain. He clutches his side like he’s been shot on the field, head falling to rest against your chest with dramatic flourish. Both Gaz and Soap start, as if about to physically restrain the man, and your unamused gaze immediately finds the Sergeants.

What the actual fuck is up with everyone?

“Not a jealous woman, are you, Farah?” Ghost chimes, voice guttural where he stands just to your left, by the arm of the couch. You can’t say you’d forgotten his presence – even with his silence, it’s a tangible, physical weight on your shoulders – but it still startles you when he speaks.

Farah’s easy smile turns into a cryptic smirk instantaneously, and, fuck.

Maybe, very possibly, most likely definitely: they remembered. Or, at least, Farah did.

Fuck.

You suppose it’s not really a thing you forget, unless your mind’s an overfilled storage room of memories and current events and problems. Which yours most definitely is, and of which theirs is likely not.

“Can’t say I am. Not the first time they’ve gotten handsy,” she shrugs, as if it’s an obvious statement.

As if the room hasn’t instantly dropped approximately ten degrees, and your heart stops where it should be thrumming in your chest.

It’s almost funny, how you instantly train your attention to Gaz. How your mind immediately fears his expression, his reaction to such a thinly veiled sentiment.

What you see is the instant rising of walls, the shuttering of his eyes, and the stiffening of his frame.

You wonder how many missed heartbeats it takes to constitute a heart attack.

“Old fling, were they?” Price asks, because, really, of course he does. When you look to him, he deliberately keeps his gaze on Farah, not giving you a single glance. It’s not jealousy, you know, because it’s Price, and he, in no capacity, holds any such feelings towards you. But it’s something damning nonetheless.

Alex, oblivious idiot that he is, finally pulls his head back up with a sharp laugh. If you didn’t know him, you’d think it was malicious. “Nah. Just thought some experimentation with an extra partner would be fun, and, hey, she is pretty damn hot.”

“You’re a dickhead,” you chastise, suddenly aware of all the points that you and Alex touch – all the points that you and Soap touch.

“Didn’t realise ye were into that,” Soap bites, abruptly, tone sharp and acrid. You barely suppress a shiver at the shift in the man’s attitude, in comparison to his usually jovial and good-natured attitude.

“Didn’t realise you were into kink-shaming, either,” you retort, almost startling at your own defensiveness.

Ghost’s hum feels like a reprimand, akin to an owner using a dog whistle on their trusted border collie, or a dominatrix snapping her whip.

“I don’t think threesomes are a kink?” Alex’s statement ends in a question, a confused look settling over his features. “Like, polyamory definitely isn’t, but what about one-offs? Babe, do you know?”

Farah doesn’t answer, not for a long while. Entirely too aware of the tension filling the room, of the dangerous game she’s about to partake in. The one Alex started, likely unknowingly, but started nonetheless.

“No. It’s not kink. But some of what we did was.”

For, well, not the first time in your life (or even the last week, really), but pretty darn close to it, you consider storming into the weapon supplies and shooting yourself.

“Well!” You exclaim, nervous laughter following the statement, palms clammy where you wipe them against your pants, “Farah, Alex, you probably need some rest, y’know, after your flight. I certainly need it.”

Standing before you even realise you are, you move to get the hell out of there, when Soap’s hand wraps around your wrist, and tugs you back down to sit even closer against him. When Alex’s hand finds your shoulder, you realise distantly that this must be a kind of tug of war. Or piggy in the middle.

Potato, patata. You’re the bait either way.

“The night’s still young,” Price cuts in, and everyone around you seems to nod. “Unless you’re uncomfortable, Sweetheart,” he adds, and the genuinity beneath his words turns into a threat of your pride in your head.

“I’m fine,” you straighten your shoulders, set your nerves. “Just looking out for my friends.”

It’s a lie. You know it, Ghost most likely does, too, and you can only hope that everyone else is ignorant to that small fact.

Subconsciously, you find your attention drifting to Gaz once more.

He hasn’t spoken, you realise, not since Alex had said that. When he catches you watching his profile, lit by the lamp, the candles – he meets your eyes. Not for longer than a second, or half of one, you’re sure, but it hits you like a bullet. When he instantly looks away, you can’t help the sudden anger that stokes the flames in your stomach.

It’s not as if you were openly flirting with either Alex or Farah, and even then, who was he to be mad? You’d been together once, for God’s sake – not for a single moment since. Long days of work and stress and training made the comfort of his bed simply that.

And even then, even then, you were in no way official. Not in any semblance of the word, not with the stakes of the mission at hand, the risk that came with such relationships.

His response gives you half a mind to play up your past on purpose. You won’t, but the urge is definitely there.

It’s not silent, thank god. Alex, Price and Farah have continued a previous conversation, Ghost is silent and brooding, and…

“Didnae pick ye as promiscuous,” Soap states, fiercely meeting your eyes with a swirling of emotions visible within his own. He says the words like they’re poison on his tongue, and, fuck, you’re close to breaking point.

Your responding smile is nothing short of mocking. “Calling me a slut is less wordy, don’t you think?”

“Dinnae put words into my bloody mouth,” Soap seethes, leaning in further to your space, the scent of his cologne invading your senses. You hate how confused it all makes you feel, how unsure of your emotions and goddamn attachments.

“Oh, sorry, does the big bad military man want to tell me what such a big word means? If I don’t have the mental capacity to choose how I have sex, I surely can’t understand your wide vocabulary, can I?” You hiss, bending your neck slightly and not backing away from his posturing for even a moment.

“Soap, stop threatening her,” Price barks, and you distantly remember the people around you, the setting, the image the two of you must make.

You remember, and you can’t seem to find a single fuck to give.

“I can fight my own damn battles!” You yell, not sending a single glance Price’s way – eyes completely remaining on darkened blue instead.

“And that’s why ye still got bloody feckin’ bandages, damn bruises –”

“Do not go there with me right now, Johnny, or I swear to fucking god.”

Both of your chests heave, and you’ve forgotten what even sparked this sudden argument, this spiteful back and forth. You haven’t a clue in this moment, and you relish in it.

“She’s a better damn fighter than the lot of you,” Alex interrupts, “Injuries don’t mean shit, ‘specially not when you don’t know what the fuck she’s gone through.”

Soap directs his ire toward the man at your side, voice thick with anger and his accent when he counters, “And ye know ‘er so much better, jus’ cause ye got in ‘er pants? Aye?”

“Because he isn’t acting like a goddamn meathead!” You find yourself fisting your hand into his shirt, pulling him closer to you, faces inches apart.

“‘Nd kissin’ ‘n tellin’ is fine ‘nd dandy,” Soap laughs, without a hint of humour, “Thought ye had standards.”

A lot of things happen in the preceding moment.

You’d like to say you can’t be blamed for any of the actions that occur, but you also know that accountability is a virtue. And you mean to uphold it.

It goes something like this.

The fist that had been wrapped in his shirt pulls back, and instead, collides with his jaw.

Arms wrap around your chest, caging your arms to your side. Arms, too, wrap around Soap, pulling him away from you. You’re both yelling obscenities, none of which you can name, and you both fight against your restraints.

You don’t need to have a full frame of mind to know that it’s Alex and Price holding you back, and through the haze of it all, you’re sure it’s Ghost and Farah keeping Soap away.

“Calm the hell down!” Price commands, voice a beam of light in a storm. It brings you back to yourself, but not enough to stem the bleeding of your anger, just enough for you to recognise it.

“Bloody idiot, Johnny, get it together!” Ghost is saying to Soap, standing in front of him and shaking his shoulders as Farah’s arms remain wrapped around his torso, keeping his fists below his waist.

Gaz is nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t fucking speak to be, Johnny, I don’t want to see your face,” you shout, eyes glassy, before you finally ease into Price and Alex’s grips, their own going lax. You shoulder off their arms, before without a word, storming down the corridor.

Your name’s called out after you, ‘Sweetheart’, ‘Moonflower’ – none of it matters. Not past the roaring in your ears, the spite burning in your veins. The pent up energy of an unfinished fight.

Shoving open the door to your – Gaz’s – room, you startle when you see the man himself, standing in the middle of the room, shirt in hand. The only light comes from the window, the full moon high in the sky more than enough light to serve as a lamp. His sweats hang loose on his hips, his muscles bulging but still lithe, more like a gymnast’s build than a wrestler’s.

He’s never looked better.

Whether that’s the adrenaline speaking, or the anger, you don’t know. Don’t care. Not past the need to have his mouth against your own.

It takes all of two seconds before the door slams shut behind you, and you’re shoving Gaz onto the bed, his own groan answer enough. His brown eyes glisten with the moonlight, and his throat dips when he swallows, focus trained on where you tug off that damn leather jacket. your shirt following.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” you demand, “Unless it’s yes, no, or please.”

He nods, shaky, voice breaking when he responds, “Yes.”

Kicking off your pants, leaving you standing in only your panties and bra, you move to straddle him. He dutifully remains laid onto the bed, chest heaving in harsh sweeps, mouth slightly open in a mixture of shock and lust.

“Where do you get off,” you breathe, voice heavy with threat as you drag your pointer finger along the length of his throat, before following the line of his collarbone, “Being all moody about who I’ve fucked? What gives you the right?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the weakest he’s ever sounded, “Not – I’m not mad, I just. I want you.”

Your hand finds his neck, forming a light grip around it. You haven’t applied any pressure, but his breath hitches at the weight of it, the promise.

“That sounded like more than one syllable,” you frown, mockingly patronising. You squeeze his neck, not anywhere hard enough to choke, but enough to have him squeezing his eyes shut. “We can talk later.”

He nods, harsh, quick jerks of his head, and the slightly unhinged smile returns to your face.

You hadn’t gotten the fight you’d yearned for, not with Soap, but this is a good enough replacement for that need.

Dragging your hand down his bare chest, you pause when you see scars. Not healed like those from battle, and ones you recognise. Before you can process what it means, Gaz lets out a sharp gasp, and when you look to him, his eyes are wide and.

And scared.

“No, hey, you can speak,” you ramble, and you can feel the flame of rage dim to sparking charcoal. It should be scary, how quickly you find yourself worried for the man, but it’s not. “It’s okay.”

“I should’ve told you,” he immediately breathes, squeezing his eyes shut once more. His head falls back to the bed once more. “I’m.”

He swallows, and you find your hand gravitating to his throat once more – this time, in a soft, soothing caress.

“I’m trans,” he finishes, saying it like one would whisper a secret in a confessional. Your heart stutters in your chest, and it aches, the idea that he’s had lovers who’ve made him feel so awful about his identity.

Your hand moves from his neck to his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eyes, and they finally flutter open once more.

They soften when they see your smile.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, voice low and cautious. “If you wanna stop, it’s fine, but,” you shrug, “You’re hot. I still wanna fuck. You might have to show me what feels best, but that’s kinda hot, too.”

“You’re okay with it?” His voice is fragile, shaky, and fuck he’s pretty.

“I’m okay with it,” you echo, sentiment genuine and kind. “Tell me what you want, Kyle.”

His arms remain laid out on the bed at either side of him, his skin still heated with want and need and wanton lust. His voice strengthens when he answers.

“I want you to use me – take it out on me,” he says. “Please.”

And who are you to deny such a request?

author's note. i was veryveryvery close to orphaning or marking as complete. i'm not really in or interested in the COD fandom at all anymore, but, i realised that i also want to see where this story goes? excluding the characters, the actual story and world i've created for sweetheart has me wanting to see it to its end.

that, along with the fans. you guys and your genuine interest and comments have made this project worth it. i can't express enough how much you all mean to me, especially those that comment on every chapter and have been there every step of the way. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i can't promise as efficient and regular updates, but i CAN promise that i plan to finish this story in its entirety.

thank you to those who have stuck around, and thank you for those that continue to do so. you mean the world to me, and the very writing of this fic is owed to you.

(also, if anyone has any feedback on my trans rep and dealing with a trans character, PLEASE lmk. i am in no way perfect, and if i've made a mistake, please tell me so i can fix it and grow as a writer!)

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19 @infpt-zylith @marispunk @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @xvintageghostx @thigh-o-saur @thriving-n-jiving @callsign-pyro @mmmangel @aisawa-reo @just-pure-trash @silly-norman @annoyingstrawberryballoon @chop-zulyzulyyy

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nina-ya · 11 days

Text

Late Nights With Luffy

Pairing: Luffy x Reader CW: None, pure fluff WC: ~600 A/N: Hiiii im gonna write a bunch more now that im back <3 fun little fact- this used to be a drabble for Law but I've been in my Luffy era lately so this spawned instead

When restlessness gnaws at you, the idea of sleep feeling like nothing but a mere myth, you can always count on Luffy to be awake to keep you company. With a sigh, you slip out of your bunk, your feet softly thumping against the ground as you attempt to find Luffy in his usual spots. You check his own bunk first, and seeing he isn't there, you make your way to the kitchen.

There, you see Luffy’s figure illuminated by the refrigerator light, his silhouette outlined against the faint glow. He is rummaging through the contents, his brow scrunched in concentration and his tongue poking out with determination as he searches for a late-night snack. You pause in the doorway, watching for just a moment, before stepping into the kitchen.

The floorboards creak softly under your feet, and Luffy’s head snaps in your direction, the corner of his eyes crinkling as a wide grin spreads across his face. “Hey!” is all he exclaims, his louder voice ripping through the quiet atmosphere of the ship. You smile at his constant enthusiasm, muttering something about not being able to sleep, and he nods back in understanding, not surprised since this is a usual occurrence for you. You walk up to him from behind and peek over him to get a better look at what he is scavenging from the fridge. It’s a mishmash of leftovers and snacks, typical of Luffy’s late night feasts.

You eye the skewer he’s holding, resisting the urge to snatch it straight from his hand. Instead, you reach across from him and grab a snack that catches your eye. “You can’t just hoard all of this, Luffy.” you say teasingly with a giggle as you start munching on the treat. As if by instinct, his hand reaches out to steal your snack, and you playfully swat him away, pulling a pout from him.

He knows how to get you to give into any of his requests. His bottom lip juts out ever so slightly. Those big brown eyes widen, feigning innocence, gleaming with that mischief that is always an underlying presence. The fridge light bouncing off the caramel orbs, making them twinkle ever so subtly. You can’t help but admire the way his features scrunch up in that expression, his brows furrowing ever so slightly to convey his disappointment, or the way his messy black hair frames his face, mirroring his playfully charming personality.

You decide to tease him, holding the snack just out of his reach, waiting for him to reach out, right before popping it right into your mouth, taking another bite. His expression shifts to a determined one, his pout morphing into a grin as he leans closer, staring at you with a look that is daring you to deny him again. It’s a sort of game that the two of you often play when you encounter each other on nights on these. You finally relent, offering a piece of your snack, and his face lights up with unabashed joy, a radiant smile stretching across his lips. His gratitude is evident in the way he eagerly accepts the offering, absolutely inhaling the snack, and staring at you once again with an anticipatory grin as he awaits another bite.

Late night encounters with Luffy always seem to be a highlight. You often wonder if your body is subconsciously keeping you awake so you could have these private moments with him. Such thoughts get pushed away once you meet Luffy’s gaze, and you can’t help but yearn for more moments like this with him.

#nina writes~✦#one piece x reader #one piece fluff #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy #one piece luffy #straw hat luffy #luffy #x reader

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whyse7vn · 3 months

Text

KIM TAEHYUNG

HERE:

[ recommend that you read this for context ]

“You’re…. here?” Taehyung is confused.

It’s not like he was unhappy to see you or anything, in fact his insides felt as if they could fucking explode out of joy right now you’re here. He could of sworn you were mad at him, like reallly mad at him like i’m not talking to you for at least 24 hours, running you over with a car in my mind i’ll push you off a bridge type of mad at him but like he said you’re… here, at his front door. Kinda weird he notes, you definitely do have a key that you make very frequent use of but he decides he’ll call you out on it later.

“Problem?” You voice seems hoarse.

Taehyung frowns. Had you been crying?

You immediately notice the frown that boy in front of you wears and let out a small cough in an attempt to clear your throat.

“Problem?” You try again followed by an awkward smile.

Taehyung can’t help but mirror your small smile with his own boxy grin “Never”

———————-

You now sit on Taehyung’s soft brown couch legs crossed holding one of his many decorative pillows to your chest. You inhale deeply and a musky wood scent fills your nose as you exhale his automatic air freshener, located on a shelf near his tv, goes off and a sickly sweet rose scent fills the room. You scrunch your nose up in disgust but choose not to comment on it knowing that your complaints will fall onto deaf ears as Taehyung claims the smell is “super romantic and alllll the girls love it” You giggle at the memory.

“Water right?”

You break away from your thoughts and look over your shoulder to find Taehyung’s eyes staring right back at you over his kitchen counter. You’ve always liked the way Taehyung’s place was laid out. The open plan really helps his home feel connected and has become your groups go to when hanging out.

You give Taehyung a small nod and turn back around. Something’s…. missing. Your gaze falls to the floor. Oh. You now notice one of Yoentan’s chew toys tucked under the corner of Tae’s fluffy carpet, the toy is purple in colour and what seems to be in a bone shape. Your lips pull into a smile.

“Where’s Tan?” You question.

Unbeknownst to you Tae freezes. “I— erm he’s with my parents right now” He internally cringes he hates lying to you. “Schedules have been real busy lately had to put him somewhere” At least that part was true.

Realistically there was no need to lie you about Yeontan’s whereabouts. I mean sure you would have looked at him funny probably asked a bunch of questions too but ultimately he could have told you. Yet he knew as soon as that question left your mouth he wasn’t going to tell you the truth.

Simply because he’s afraid.

Afraid that you’ll be ok with where Yeontan is right now. Who he’s with right now. And knowing you as much as Taehyung hates to admit it you most likely would be okay with it. You’ll probably read into it congratulate him on finding someone. Taehyung physically rolls his eyes at the thought. He wants you to burn like he did, like he does. He wants the thought of him choosing to leave Yeontan in the care of her instead of you consumes you whole. He wants it to devour you to haunt your every waking thought he wants it to—

“He’s all the way in Deagu? You know i would of taken him if you needed me to”

Taehyung blinks “I know”

He definitely does know.

But call him jealous, call him petty he didn’t care the thought of you and Jaehyun, Joon, Yoongi, Kook and fuck even Hoseok now consumed him. Consumes him. And that’s practically why he felt no shame in calling that number buried so deep in his contact list a week ago.

Now though, he must admit as he sits around an arms length away from you on his couch this whole “no shame” thing he was feeling before had just turned into pure guilt. Taehyung desperately tries to find your eyes but you refuse to make contact the air around you both suddenly awkward. Do you know he’s lying to you perhaps? Or is this just you upset because of the breakup? It’s very rare for Taehyung to be at a loss of what to say most of the time, so with everything in him he decides to break the awkwardness that has somehow found you both.

“Soooo…you went to see Hobi?”

Your eyes lighten up instantly thankful that Tae had taken the initiative to break the silence “Yeah i just wanted to make sure he got that the whole situation wasn’t actually his fault you know he gets in his head about that kind of stuff”

Taehyung nods along with what your saying

Another wave of awkward silence takes over.

You sigh and begin to get up off the couch.

“Maybe i should lea—”

“Did you fuck him?”

Both you and Tae’s eyes widen after the bold question leaves the man’s lips. Taehyung even slaps his hand over his mouth to had to the dramatics of it all.

“I’m sorry?” You begin

“No i’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to ask that i just— i just noticed you are wearing Hobi’s hoodie and i just thought that— you know so i asked and—” Tae rambles trying to save himself.

You look down at the light blue hoodie you’re wearing very clearly not yours and equally clearly Hoseok’s due to the bold “J-HOPE” printed on each hoodie cuff and it entirely being a little too big for you. You look back up from the hoodie to Tae finding him still rambling on.

“I mean with you Jaehyun it’s like crazy so if you—”

You make eye contact with Taehyung and he shuts up almost immediately.

“What if i did?” The air shifts.

“Huh?” Taehyung is quick to reply

“Fuck Hoseok, what if i did fuck Hoseok?”

“T-thats cool” Taehyung suddenly feels small under your intense gaze.

“Is it?” You press

Taehyung nods unable to trust his own voice right now.

“Are you sure Taehyung?”

“Super sure. I don’t care”

“Then why ask?”

Taehyung turns his head away from you breaking the eye contact you both once held. The Tension in the room in the room is thick, suffocating. Taehyung takes a deep breath.

You’re here.

And Taehyung is still confused as to why. You’re making him feel guilty. Taehyung has nothing to feel guilty about. You’re still here you shouldn’t be here. Not after what’s happened today no. You’re here, why are you still here? This isn’t fair, not on him on you, on Hobi, on Joon Yoongi Koo—

Your delicate fingers on his jaw pull Taehyung both out of this spiralling thoughts and his head to face you again.

“I’m here” You speak slowly to him.

Taehyung can’t breath, he won’t breathe he refuses to breathe so many thoughts, too many thoughts it’s-it’s all not fair. Hot, his body feels hot his mind feels hot everything is just hot and the way you’re looking at him is just so…

Hot.

Fuck it. Taehyung throws all the nonexistent composure he had out the window and tugs you closer smashing his lips onto yours. His hands immediately find you hair while yours find rest on his neck your tongues dance in each other’s mouths for what feels like hours your kiss filled with so much passion and unspoken words before Taehyung pulls away for some much needed air. His hair just as disheveled as yours and lips just as swollen he smiles at you. He doesn’t say anything just stares and smiles. You go to open you mouth to say something but he’s quick to cut you off by diving back into your lips. He does this partly out of fear you’ll ask him to stop say this isn’t right and leave and party no fuck that definitely because if your lips aren’t on him in the next five seconds he’ll actually pass away.

In this moment Taehyung is happy. He’s happy and you’re here.

—

i don’t know where tf this came from shocked at myself actually

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie @sopebubbles-replies @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @elissasimp

#bts crack #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts text #bts x y/n #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung × reader #!gc taehyung #v x you #v x reader #gc offline #kim taehyung

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chvoswxtch · 10 months

Text

divine

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you wanna have your way with frank, but he has other plans.

warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

a/n: riding frank's face has been heavy on the brain lately. pun intended.

word count: 704

Frank feels like he’s in fucking heaven. With your soft thighs on either side of his head, your fingers weaved through his dark and grown out tresses, and his tongue delved deep within your sweet cunt, he’s never been happier.

The evidence of his joy is outlined perfectly in a slate gray peak straining against the soft fabric of those low hanging sweatpants that sparked this sudden explosion of lust. Before your hand could boldly slip past the waistband, Frank had grabbed your wrist delicately and redirected your hips further up. It was rare that Frank was ever selfish when it came to being intimate, but your hunger was no match for his, and he was starving.

Before you could protest about not getting to ride your first choice, his large nose was rubbing deliciously against your tender clit as he inhaled the scent of your arousal from the source and his warm, wet tongue began to explore your soaked cunt. He slowly dragged the wide expanse of his flat tongue against your entire pussy while his large nose stimulated your clit. In a matter of minutes your shyness had evaporated, and his large hands were no longer holding your hips in place to prevent you from pulling away, but kneading the soft flesh of your thighs and dragging your hips closer to his greedy tongue.

Frank had a perfect view of you from this angle. He could could see your pretty pussy dripping onto mouth as he alternated between fucking you with his tongue and sucking on your sensitive clit. Your breasts lightly bounced as you moved your hips sensually, riding his face the same way you rode his thick cock. Your lips were parted slightly as melodic moans of pleasure and hymns of his name flew off your tongue. The amber illumination from the golden hour outside slipping past the thin curtains in the room cast an ethereal glow over your skin. You looked downright divine from Frank’s view beneath you.

The harder you tugged at his thick and unruly mess of curls, the closer he knew you were to granting him what he wanted most in that moment; the taste of you. Frank’s deep brown eyes were locked on you the entire time, his pupils nearly blown wide open with pure lust. His own moans and noises of pleasure were muffled by your pussy, and the vibrations of them made your toes curl, but you could hear the faint tune of encouragement in them.

Frank slowly let go of your thighs to guide his large hands up to your waist, gripping firmly as he guided your hips back and forth against his face a little faster, encouraging you to take what you needed the same way he did when you were close to coming from riding his cock. Excitement pulsated in his bloodstream as your thighs tightened around his head, and he groaned in delight as he felt your walls contracting around his tongue.

As you hunched over slightly with your eyes screwed shut and your face contorted in pristine rapture, Frank groaned loudly when the sweet tang of your release finally erupted and filled his mouth. You were tugging at his hair by the root so roughly it stung, but Frank finally allowed his eyes to fall shut as he groaned loudly, basking in the sensation of you weakly rutting your hips against his face to wring out every ounce of euphoria he could offer.

Frank eagerly lapped at your soaked cunt until you were a whimpering mess, trying to pry your overstimulated pussy away from his greedy mouth, and only when he felt satiated did he finally set you free.

There was a huge, toothy grin on his full lips that were completely coated and shining in your slick when you collapsed onto your back beside him. A dark gray wet patch had formed on the front of his sweats, and he could feel the warmth of his own sticky release dribbling down his now half hard cock. A hearty chuckle echoed from deep within his chest as he turned his head to look at you with pure mischief in his eyes.

“Alright, baby. You can fuck me now.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

#frank castle #frank castle blurb #frank castle smut #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #the punisher #the punisher blurb #the punisher smut

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ilykaveh · 1 year

Text

ꨄ︎ . ⋆ THERE'S GOTTA BE SOME BUTTERFLIES !

thoma.

ABOUT: there's nothing better than waking up with the inazuma's esteemed fixer by your side.

CONTENT: fem reader, praise, creampie.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

"morning, princess."

you couldn't imagine waking up to anything other than your boyfriend's raspy hums, riddled with sleep yet still so warm and enticing. his arms tugged you closer, securing your back flush against his bare chest as you both lay on your sides.

thoma placed a tender kiss to the back of your neck and then another to your cheek, making you giggle. you swivelled around and onto your back, with thoma hauling himself to hover above you. you could barely utter a "good morning" of your own before his soft lips met yours once again.

mornings like this with thoma were a rarity, for he often needed to be at the kamisato estate in the early hours. today, however, it seemed that the esteemed siblings could wait a while longer. the sight of his tousled blonde hair created the illusion of a halo that the morning sun cast over him, and was accompanied by the melody of inazuma's local avians serenading the rising dawn outside of the windows. everything was peaceful and serene.

thoma's affections showed no signs of halting, as he continued peppering an abundance of butterfly kisses to every inch of skin he could reach: to your cheeks, to your nose, to your lips. the interaction was pure and innocent, playful and intimate. you could feel the beaming smile on his lips as they came into contact with your skin, radiating the omnipresent glee that made him inviting to everybody that was blessed enough to spend even a fraction of a second in his presence.

"thoma!" you finally got out, your own features exhibiting true bliss. "what's gotten into you, my love?"

reflecting your own joy like the perfect mirror, thoma replied with a grin: "can't i show my sweet girl how much i love her? if you'd rather i leave, i'm sure lord kamisato would appreciate my attention instead..." the teasing statement was punctuated with a playful chuckle leaving his lips.

you wrapped your limbs around the man, clinging to his body like an oversized koala. "not going anywhere," you mumbled, nuzzling your head into his neck.

the position gave thoma the perfect opportunity to start sucking at the delicate skin of your neck, teasing you slightly before attacking your sweet spot. you only buried yourself deeper into him, pulling yourself closer and inhaling his scent. meanwhile, he continued the assault on your neck, trail of hot skin left in his wake. though muffled by your head planted against him, few strangled whimpers slipped past the weak barrier of your lips. for thoma, this was encouragement to continue nibbling at your skin, warm breath tickling you as the ghost of a smirk embellished his features.

one particularly drawn out moan of his name caught thoma's attention, heavenly noises going straight to his cock.

"my pretty darlin', there's nothing in the universe more beautiful than that sound."

thoma's hand let go of you for a brief moment, only to snake its way underneath your shirt (well, his shirt, considering that you often slept in one of thoma's old black tees.) his thumb caressed your stomach before moving upwards to find your breast. he grabbed a handful of it, gently massaging and groping at the flesh.

your breath caught in your throat as thoma's nimble fingers flicked at your nipples, buds hardening under his touch. each tweak and tug exhibited expert care; you struggled against the urge to begin grinding against him as he toyed with you.

always the observant individual, he noticed this. you whined as thoma made a futile attempt to pull himself up and off of you, only to be forced back into your embrace once more. instead of sitting you up and watching you tremble as he played with you, thoma thought on his feet and came up with another option. one of his arms wrapped around your back once again, his other hand sliding between your legs. he traced a few languid shapes into your inner thigh, patterns that will soon be lost to time. thoma loved how hazy you already were, the remnants of sleep and strings of pleasure creating that fucked out look on your face.

thoma began by tracing your clothed cunt, feathered touches feeling how needy you were for him. both the way your hips subconsciously rotated against his hand and the little wet patch seeping through your underwear told him just what he wanted. lithe fingers pushed the material to the side, dancing over your puffy clit as he captured your soft lips in his own. you moaned into thoma's mouth, the calloused pad of his finger heightening your sensitivity. breaking away from the kiss, you began to beg.

"thoma," your voice breathy, "want you in me, please? need you,"

thoma couldn't help himself from being amused by your neediness, nor could he resist giving into you when you sounded oh so sweet. "of course, princess, anything you'd like."

he didn't bother to kick off his own underwear, simply lowering his waistband just enough to take out his cock. your own eyes remained trained on his face, how etheral he looked when bathed in the sun's early rays. he pumped his length a few times, smearing pre and preparing himself for you. he traced your slit until you whined. aligning himself with your entrance, slick already soaking the pair of you, he pushed in painfully slowly.

you fit him like a glove, velvety walls enveloping thoma's thick cock. he moved to hold you close once again, letting you cling to him whilst he fucked you. his movements remained slow and sensual, relishing in how he could feel every part of you, just as you could him. with each thrust he bottomed out, retreating back until barely the head of his cock rest in you, repeating the motion over and over.

he splayed a hand out over your back, encouraging the arch that let him pound deeper into you. his other arm caged you to his chest, positioned perfectly for him to whisper tender praises into your ear.

"so good for me, baby. keep going, just like that, my perfect girl,"

thoma's pace eventually quickened, indicating that he was close to his high already. he could tell that you were too, fluttering walls ready to milk his cock for all that it was worth. "'m close," you confessed, although it was as clear as day to the man who knew you so well.

"going to cum on my cock, pretty girl? go ahead, baby, but i wanna hear you say my name,"

mind in a daze, the only word you now seemed to know was "thoma". each time he plunged into you, you punctuated his thrust with a whine of his name. thoma's cock kissed your cervix, gently tapping the opening with his blunt head. it drove you insane, repeating his name like a lewd mantra, the only thing keeping you anchored in the seas of euphoria.

thoma let you hide your flushed face in his shoulder and pull yourself impossibly close to him, holding you with one arm, and the other reaching between your bodies to rub a tight circle around your twitching clit. the added stimulation made you gush, pretty cunt squeezing thoma's cock enough to trigger his own orgasm. strings of his creamy cum spilled inside of you, the room filling with pants as you both tried to regain some composure. you remained clinging to him, as he did you. thoma made no move to pull out of you, simply enjoying the sweet afterglow that only he was privileged enough to see.

eventually, thoma felt it was time pull out of you, putting your panties back in place as the mixture of his and your cum seeped out of your used pussy. he moved to cradle your cheek, pulling you in for the softest of kisses.

"i love you," he whispered, forehead pressed against one another as you returned the sentiment.

thus ensued the kind of peace that can only be found at dawn in a bedroom, two lovers basking in each other's presence. the thought of getting up, showered, and ready loomed, though remained ignored for the present moment. the only thing either of you cared about was the other, further responsibilities forgotten for now. thoma laid back and you curled into him, accumulated sweat disregarded as you held him and he you, neither wanting to let go.

#delilah.docs #thoma smut #thoma x reader #thoma x y/n #thoma x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin imagines #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles

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optimist-pine · 2 months

Text

Snow

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: It snowed, and the brilliant beauty of it created this drabble.

Era: Between seasons 2 & 3, on the move

The sparkling grass crunched under every step of your boots. Frost coated the ground as far as the eye could see, shimmering in the fresh morning's sun. You inhaled, long and deep, the sharp sting of cold wintry air assaulting the back of your throat.

Complete contentment washed over you, the scent of a blank slate filled your lungs and your eyelids fluttered shut with the feeling. So quiet was the world in a moment like this. You would stretch it as long as you possibly could, soaking in every minute detail.

Like the way the breeze rustled your hair and slipped down the back of your coat, cooling the sweat that had built against your skin. Or how the silence only amplified the birdsong and made it echo and pulse. The nearby stream, half frozen as it was, made it as melodic as a garden full of windchimes.

A soft crunch turns into faint footsteps and you return to the world once again, a puff of air billowing out from the sigh that escapes your lips.

"Ya finished?" Daryl asks. His voice is soft and it causes a swell of gratitude to rise within you. Without fail, he graciously gives you these moments to shut off every thought and just simply feel that you're alive. To know so deeply within yourself that the world isn't dead, but instead is thrumming with life in overflowing abundance. It's not just a possibility, it's true and real and so are you.

"You smell that?" Your ask in a hallowed whisper. Your hands lift themselves outstretched at your sides, fingers opened to the sky.

You don't see, but he's watching you curiously. He would most absolutely never admit it, but he secretly savors the moments when this invisible switch flips in you. When your heart practically writes itself on your sleeve and you suddenly appear to be overwhelmingly in love with life itself. How it pours out of you so intensely that he can feel it too. How he inexplicably craves it. How no greater desire exists within him. "Hm?" He responds distractedly.

"Snow." You say simply. And the exact moment you open your eyes is when the flakes begin to fall. At first they're only tiny little pellets, just enough to claim that it's actively snowing. But it doesn't take long for the grey sky to let loose and soon the flakes are large and fluffy and you could swear that God just shook up a snow globe somewhere above.

You do a little spin, sticking your tongue out in pure joy. The flakes are beginning to cover you, collecting on your hair and eyelashes, and the ground is growing whiter by the second. "It's beautiful." You laugh.

A small thought nags at the back of Daryl's mind that the two of you should be getting back to the rest with your catch. But as he watches you, as he studies designs of the flakes on his glove that have yet to melt, he decides that will just have to wait.

And he'd die if you told anyone, but on the way back, when he can no longer put up with your relentless teasing, he finally succumbs and holds his own tongue up to the flurry. He's sure to follow it up with the idle threat, "Ya tell anyone an' I'll kill ya."

Amusement palpably rolling off you, you respond, "Yeah, yeah, ya big ol' softie." The look on his face causing you to laugh on and off the entire way back. There's no way you're sharing the memory with anyone else, maybe it's selfish, but this one's all yours.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 2 #twd season 3 #optimist pine

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lev1hei1chou · 3 months

Text

Kikufuku

Gojo x reader Genre: Fluff Words: 481 Synopsis: Making Kikufuku with chef Gojo Masterlist

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you found yourself in the comfort of Gojo Satoru's penthouse. The sun rays seeped in through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the kitchen counter where the two of you stood together. An assortment of ingredients lay in front of you, ready to be turned into something delicious.

"Alright, sweetheart, are you ready to create a masterpiece?" Gojo flashed his signature grin, making your heart skip a beat or two. It is no surprise that Gojo had a sweet tooth, so making Kikufuku, a traditional Japanese sweet, had been on the top of your to do list for days.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Gojo grabbed a sieve and handed it to you. "Let's start with the flour."

The two of you worked together, laughter and banter filling the air as you measured out and mixed the necessary ingredients. Flour dusted the air, and the sweet aroma drifted through the apartment.

As the Kikufuku took shape, Gojo couldn't help but be impressed by your cooking skills. "Y'know, I might have to keep you around just for your cooking."

You chortled, "Well, I hope that's not the only reason."

After the final touches were added, you both admired the plate of the scrumptious looking Kikufuku. Gojo smirked, "I guess I gotta admit, you're not just a pretty face."

Later that day, you decided to share the creation with your students, inviting Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi over for taste testing. Gojo, though not entirely thrilled about the idea of sharing his masterpiece, reluctantly agreed.

As your students gathered in the living room, you presented the Kikufuku with a happy grin. "Ta-da! Satoru and I made these. I hope you like these!"

The reactions were pretty much immediate and ecstatic. Yuji practically inhaled one with no hesitation, and his eyes turned into saucers in delight. Nobara and Megumi exchanged surprised glances before tasting the sweet treats.

Gojo, who had been observing the scene unfold from a corner, couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and irritation. "Well, I suppose I am a great teacher," he remarked, though his pouty expression gave away his true feelings.

The evening was filled with laughter and pure joy. As the Kikufuku disappeared one by one from the plate and Gojo couldn't stay mad for long, especially with the smiles that decorated everyone's faces.

Later that night, as you and Satoru cleaned up the kitchen together, he inched closer and whispered in your ear, "Y'know, I might make you my official cooking partner. Not everyone gets this opportunity."

You beamed, "As long as you promise not to be too possessive of our creations."

Gojo laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Deal."

And so, the memory of that lazy Sunday afternoon acted as a sweet reminder of the joy that can be found in simple moments and experiences.

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asumofwords · 10 months

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: You know I can't resist... So here is another chapter! Hehe, thanks for the love and kind words as per usual! I wonder what the reader is going to do now heheh <3

Chapter 82: The Cracks

A letter sat in the centre of the table in your chambers. Its soft yellow parchment was rolled neatly, a black, three headed dragon wax seal holding the fine paper together. It had been untouched. Unread. Unopened. The seal still in its whole form.

A letter from your family.

Its soft gentle sloping the telltale sign of your mothers handwriting. Small and gentle, feminine slopes, no harsh ’t’s or sloppy ‘y’s. It was her. And you let a small sigh of relief escape from your lips.

The letter began as most did, a greeting, a comment about Daemon to let you know it was your mother, despite you knowing her writing by heart. But then the letter became more anxious. Asking about your wellbeing, stating that it had been too long since they had last heard from you.

How long had it been?

Was time running away from you? The days bleeding and blinking together.

When was the last time that you had written?

Aemond had held the parchment out for you and you had taken it wordlessly, bitter resentment still curling in your gut. You took your time walking to the chaise and moved to sit by the light and warmth of the fire to read, the hearth crackling softly as Aemond sat at the table, quill in hand. Quiet gentle scratches of ink rose in the air as he wrote, having been writing all day after you had spent yours in the Gardens.

‘It has been too long, we fear you have fallen ill. Are you well? Must we come visit to see for ourselves? Alicent has corresponded to let us know that you are well, but we wish to hear from your own word. Have you lost yourself amongst the library? Or have you run out of starfruit and are desperately in need of more?’

Alicent?

Your mother had written to Alicent?

You smiled at Rhaenyra's script, bringing the parchment to your nose and inhaling deeply. It smelt of her. Her subtle oils that she rubbed into her skin, the soap she used to wash her hair, and the ever so faint smell of smoke.

‘Jacaerys and Baela were wed in tradition here at Dragonstone.’

A stone sank in your stomach.

‘It was a beautiful day, no winds, nor rains, nor a cloud in sight. Baela was a vision, a beauty of Valyrian blood, and Jacaerys as handsome as ever. His hair has grown longer, it curls above his shoulders now. He misses you terribly. We all do. Your absence was noted at the union by all present.’

A tear fell from your cheek.

You had missed it.

Baela and Jacaerys’ union.

A union of love.

A union of respect.

Something pure.

And you had missed it.

A day like that would never come again.

You felt sick to your stomach as another tear fell from your eyes, stomach turning painfully as you thought of it.

You thought of your father, proud and smiling at his daughter and step son. Of how Rhaneyra would have beamed, and fretted over Jacaerys’ hair and clothing. Of how Rhaena would have been glued to Baela’s side.

You wondered what Joffrey, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger had worn. Of what they looked like. Of how it had been.

Would you have smiled brightly at the union, filled with joy at seeing two people you love dearly be wed to one another?

Or would have cried, overwhelmed by it all and what you had missed out on in life?

You sniffed, and Aemond’s head lifted from his page to look at you. You roughly wiped your eyes with the back of your hand placing the parchment in your lap as you tried to steady your breathing.

You had not forgotten the dinner that the two of you had. Nor of Aegon’s confession of Aemond’s deceit.

But you swallowed it as you did everything else, and made priority over what you could and could not feel for. And soon the sadness that ate at you turned to anger, and you began to think more on when the perfect time to strike is.

Aemond stood from the table, shoes barely making a sound as he came around beside you, one hand on your shoulder as he reached forward for the letter.

If Aemond so wished it, he could sneak anywhere without being seen or heard.

“May I?” He asked, and with shaky fingers you lifted the parchment to give to him.

“Jacaerys and Baela were wed.” You spoke dully, pushing down the tide inside of you.

Stay strong.

Aemond hummed, eyes skimming the pages, “I am sorry to have missed it.”

“As am I.”

“Perhaps when Rhaena is wed-“ Aemond stopped himself.

Rhaena.

Rhaena was betrothed to Lucerys.

But now she would not wed him.

You would never get to see Lucerys be married to someone who would have loved him just as fiercely as you did. You would never get to see him grow, or start a family of his own. You would never get to see him grey with age. Lucerys would always be a boy.

You stood on stiff knees, brushing down your skirt in habit.

“Excuse me.” Was all you said as you moved yourself away from your uncle and the fireplace, and across the room to leave the chambers, leaving Aemond behind, needing a moment for air.

Needing a moment to breathe.

A moment to be away from it.

It was overwhelming, and you fought the urge to cry.

You slowly made your way down to the Gardens, neither walking fast or slow, but taking your time with each step as you tried to steady your breathing and tame the tides that surged within.

“It has been a while since I saw you here.”

You turned your head slowly, looking behind you.

Aegon sat in your usual seat in the Gardens, looking at you with a lazy grin. He did not wear his crown today, and despite him being alone and you with him, your heart did not race.

“I have been thankful.” You responded, moving to continue on your walk down the Gardens to the shore of the beach.

Aegon’s footsteps clunked against the stone ground loudly, heavy on his feet where Aemond was light, as he chased to catch up with you, your hands held together at your front.

It was a fine day in King’s Landing. Small clouds littered the skies, and a gentle breeze rolled through the trees and plants of the Garden, wafting the sweet aroma of the flowers around you.

“Might I join you on this walk?” The King asked, no tone of mocking in his voice.

You turned your head to look at him, eyes roaming up and down his body.

Aemond would be furious.

“You may.” You said stiffly, turning your head away as you strolled together past bushels of lavender and rosemary, their gentle scents curling around you.

“And how is my brother today? Has his temper been soothed?”

“He is in our chambers, attending to your duties.”

Aegon hummed in agreement, a high pitch noise where Aemond’s was deep. Aegon’s came from his throat, Aemond’s came from his chest.

“Aemond does love his writing and his books. Best to keep him preoccupied.”

“And you love your drinking and your whoring.” You replied primly.

“And what if I told you I have turned a new leaf?” Aegon’s tone lightened, head turned to smile at you in your periphery.

You kept your eyes ahead on the path, “I would not believe it.”

Aegon laughed heartily, "I suppose you may be right. No harm in trying.”

“There is plenty.”

“Did Aemond ravish you after the council dinner? I have never seen him so fiery as he left to go after you. I can’t imagine it had been fun.”

“It was perfectly enjoyable.” You sighed.

I hate him, Aemond’s voice echoed in your head, He should beg for my mercy.

“Aemond does not leave much to be desired.” You continued, insinuating Aemond’s skills.

“Though I am thicker. You said so yourself.” Aegon waggled his brows at you and you fought the urge to not gag.

“Aemond is longer and simply reaches places you could not dream to reach, where you are thicker. Though the thickness does not stop at your cock.”

“Such a tart mouthed woman.”

“A brainless, whore of a King.”

“Be nice, or I may bend you over that rose bush.” Aegon pointed jovially at a bush you remembered Helaena getting caught in as a child.

Your stomach roiled and your heart rattled against your ribs.

“Perhaps I should bend you over it.” You quipped back, swallowing the lump that formed in your throat.

Aegon laughed sincerely as you began to walk down the steps towards the water, “I would not be adversed to it.” He smirked, hands tucked behind his back.

The walk down to the water was quiet, and as you got to the bottom, the two of you looked out at the rolling waters, soft fluffy white tips peaking over the waves, wind brushing over it softly, making the water look like diamonds.

You stood side by side for some time, counting your breaths in your head as you realised the risk of being with Aegon alone where you were.

But it has already happened.

What is another time more?

You turned your head to look at Aegon, who still looked out at the water, face still. His nose sloped softly where Aemond’s was harsh. Aegon looked more like his mother than Viserys. Soft cheeks and pouted lips, and a perpetual sadness that lingered behind his lavender eyes.

“I miss her.” His voice broke the silence.

You blinked.

“I know that you would not believe me, but I do. She was my sister. My wife,” He turned to look at you and you saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes, “The mother of my children.”

You swallowed as you looked at him, brows furrowed.

My children.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The King sighed.

“Do you know?”

Aegon shifted on his feet sighing, looking out at the water for a moment, letting the unanswered question wrap around the two of you coldly. His jaw clenched.

“They’re not your children.”

Aegon huffed, “Vicious little thing aren’t you.”

“Aemond and Helaena-“

“Loved each other in their own way. I know this. Anyone with eyes would know this.” Aegon began, brows pulled down, “But he was good to her. Kind even, if you can believe Aemond is capable of such qualities.”

“You are brothers.”

Aegon laughed humourlessly, “That we are.”

Silence.

“They are my children. My heirs. Maegor will sit the throne after me. And his children after him.” Aegon’s tone was brittle and stiff, an iciness that wrapped around each syllable.

“They ask after her, especially Maegor. But Jaehaera has gone quiet, so quiet since…” Aegon trailed off and looked back at the water, “She asked for you once.”

You blinked, “Jaehaera?”

“Mother is in charge of raising them now.” Aegon’s violet eyes met yours.

“My condolences."

Aegon turned on his heel and offered and elbow for you to loop your arm through. You looked at it in question. When had things gone so wrong? Why did life find a way for ruining connection and families? You thought for a beat, looking at your eldest uncles arm, and swallowed the fear that clawed at your throat.

Slowly, you looped yours through his as you began to walk back up through the Garden together, step by slow step as you both looked at the flowers in bloom. Your skin prickled in disgust and nausea ate at your stomach.

As you passed the Monkshood, your eyes darted to it and then back to Aegon who turned his head to meet your gaze.

“Remember when you caught me and that servant girl in the Gardens?” Aegon smirked, “I don't think I have ever seen you so red.”

There he is.

Fucking prick.

You hummed, “I could not think of a worser fate than having your cock in my mouth.”

“Ah, but you did say perhaps.” Aegon paused, letting go of your arm as he reached an arm forward, plucking a bright red rose from its bush. You watched as Aegon stepped closer to you, his scent closing around you as he lifted both arms.

You flinched at the movement, but Aegon did not stop, instead pushing its stem into the back of your braid, a thorn catching a strand of your hair as he pushed it down. Aegon stood back and smiled at his handy work.

“I did.” You swallowed, “Though I worry for your ability to actually please.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, I’m a quick learner.”

Aegon grinned, from up ahead, the greying head of Otto Hightower came into view and Aegon sighed loudly, letting his head fall backwards on his neck as he looked up at the sky.

“Duty calls.” Aegon griped, searching your face. “Until ‘perhaps’?”

Bile rose in your mouth as you stared at him.

“Perhaps.” You said coyly.

A wide smirk pulled on his lips before Aegon turned away from you walking lazily up to Otto, whose gaze flicked between you and the King, his voice hushed as he spoke to his grandson. You watched the two of them walk from the garden out of sight before you released the breath that you had been holding, heart racing.

When you arrived back in your chambers you moved straight to the table, retrieving a blank piece of parchment and writing back to your family. Apologising for not being there, assuring them of your wellbeing, telling them of the gardens and the new books you had been reading. Each swipe of your quill caused heat to bloom in your chest.

Perhaps.

You were disgusted in yourself. But you knew it had to be done.

The sound of the chamber doors alerted you to Aemond’s entrance, but you made no move to greet him nor even acknowledge him, your eyes still on the parchment as you wrote. His footfall stopped beside you as he looked at you writing your letter.

“Where have you been?” Aemond asked, tone pressing.

“The Gardens for a walk.” You responded tonelessly, looping a ‘y’ with care.

Silence wrung out in the room before you felt the gentle pull of your hair at the back of your head, Aemond held the red rose in his hand as he turned it over, your eyes still on the page as you told your mother of some of the new tomes you had received, as well as the Black Stone.

“I did not know you were fond of roses.” Aemond mused, turning it over in his hand.

You paused your writing to dip the quill in the ink pot before you lifted your gaze beneath your lashes at Aemond, “I’m not. It was a gift.” You said dully, scraping the quill against the ink well, thick drops of black ink sliding back inside its holder.

A beat.

“A gift?”

You pressed the quill back onto the parchment, “Aegon joined me on my walk.”

“Aegon?” Aemond’s voice was dangerously low.

“Do you know of any other Aegon’s in the Keep?”

“Did he touch you?” He all but growled.

“He offered an arm.” You drawled, signing off your name at the end of the letter.

“An arm and a rose.”

You dropped the quill into its holder unceremoniously before turning your upper body to look at your uncle, who’s face was pulled into a frown.

“An arm and a rose are far more respectable than a bastard given to your whore.” You spoke cooly, tilting your head down to blow on the ink lightly before looking back up at him.

“You provoke me.” He grunted.

“I do no such thing.” You countered, “Merely a friendly walk and talk with my dear uncle.”

“When has he ever been dear to you?” Aemond snipped.

“When have you ever been faithful? Honourable? You wish to question me and my honour when you have fathered a bastard. Not only have you fathered potential others," You hissed, "With this one, you did not even think to tell me, your brother did. Your ‘pathing a path with good intentions’ has been trodden under your boot.”

Your words hung heavily in the chambers as Aemond looked at you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Good.” You snipped, pushing the chair out from beneath you as you handed Aemond the scroll, “Feel free to read it if you like before sending it out.” And with that you left the chambers again, needing to cool your temper.

Over the next few days, you and Aemond danced around each other, barely speaking except for your snips and snarls, Aemond returning it with little patience and immediately apologising afterwards. And Aegon took advantage of that.

And you took advantage of him.

The King begun to hang around you more often since the walk in the Gardens. His presence appearing like smoke, seemingly out of thin air. He would find you everywhere.

Anywhere.

The Godswood.

The Library.

Even in the halls and corridors as you walked aimlessly, not wanting to be found by Aemond and his incessant presence.

And you let him.

For humouring the man brought you an advantage that you hadn’t had before. You answered his questions earnestly, and responded to his flirting with playful jabs in turn. You made quick work of it, for though you had told Aegon his cock was thicker, which was true, he was also the thickest brother. Not as smart, nor as cunning as Aemond, and it showed.

Each time the King found you, you would indulge him, little by little, and by the fourth day of his small rendezvous, you even offered him a smile, something you had previously only reserved for Aemond. And with each day coming to an end, spent by the side of the whoring and drunken King, you ended your conversations with the same echoing ‘perhaps’, and the promise of something to come.

It angered Aemond to no avail.

Each time you returned to your chambers, you would mention in fleeting passing that Aegon had found you again. That he had spoken with you. That perhaps he brought you a gift, or complimented your dress, brining home more roses, or in one instance a silk chemise. And Aemond simmered with anger each and every time.

He fucked his anger out into you and you revelled in it, coaxing it from him. Making him believe that you had no play in it. That you were not repeating ‘perhaps’ to the King. That you were not letting your eyes linger on his breeches for fleeting moments. That you were not egging the King on. That Aegon was seeking you out, that you merely had no choice but to endure his presence, that you had said no once before and Aegon had not listened.

It also left him with the possibility that you were encouraging it. Though he had no evidence of such.

Aemond saw his brother pursuing you, and you played the innocent dolt. The One-Eyed Prince’s resentment to his brother was building, and you were ecstatic.

I hate him.

That morning as you and Aemond dined together, he asked you of your plans. You told him that you would be going to the Gardens to read the rest of your book in the sun, and had plans to even have your lunch there. At the mention of the Gardens, Aemond informed you that he would be joining you.

“And is a certain King the reason for this sudden declaration of company?” You questioned, lifting a brow at the Prince from across the table.

“No.” Aemond said all too quickly, “I have finished my duties ahead of time, and wish to spend my day with my wife.”

You hummed, chewing on a small piece of toast.

Aemond wanted to make sure Aegon didn't get you alone.

When you walked down to the garden together it was a quiet affair, the only sounds being your foot steps and the swishing of your skirts. When you arrived to your usual spot, you were surprised to find it empty, but felt a small piece of disappointment knowing that the two brothers would not use you as a weapon against each other.

You sat and read for a time, though you felt the constant subtle gazes of Aemond as he looked up at you.

Sensing his unease, you sought to work on it. Tucking the book at your side you chuckled softly and looked out at the water, Aemond following your line of sight.

You needed to bite your tongue about Alys. For now.

You needed to play to your strengths and his weaknesses.

Your shared childhood.

“Do you remember when the Sea Snake told us that there were dragons in the sea?” You coaxed, letting a small smile rise on your lips as you looked back at Aemond, who’s gaze was on you, and not the water.

“Hm.”

“I remember being so excited, and you were terrified.”

Aemond huffed, “I was not terrified, I simply did not believe it.”

You grinned at him, “And why is it so unbelievable?”

“Because who would claim them?”

“Perhaps the sea people he spoke about.”

A wry grin pulled on Aemond’s lips, “Again with your tales and stories. You always did love fairytales and mystical creatures.”

“I remember you loving to hear about those stories. Besides, who is to say they aren’t real? I’m sure the people in Westeros had stories of Dragons before, and they exist, do they not? What is a tale without a little truth to it?” You turned your head to look back out at the water, Aemond’s not committal hum beside you.

You paused a moment or two, looking at the water in mock thought before you opened your mouth to speak.

“Aemond,” You asked again, looking back to find he had not taken his eye from you, “How did you remember I liked lemon tarts? Did you remember when we snuck into the kitchens?”

“I remember you running into a passage to eat them greedily. You even stole mine.”

Your mouth dropped open, “I did not. You gave it to me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and you know it to be true. You stole armfuls of them and only had two by the end. A terribly bad thief you make.”

“My apprentice was worse. You got caught the next time by the Septa.”

You winced at the memory, the sound of her shrieking voice as she screamed at the both of you, dragging you to your respected mothers and telling them that you were sneaking out of your chambers together.

“Not my fault you weren’t listening for footsteps. You were too busy complaining about Aegon.”

Aegon.

Aemond shifted at the mention.

“He was a twat.”

“Is.” You corrected him, "Do you remember when I hit him in the shins in the training yard?” You laughed loudly, enjoying the small smile that wound on Aemond’s face, “He really thought that he could best me with a sword just because I was a girl.”

“He underestimates a lot of people. Especially you.” There was a dark undertone to his words, but you chose to ignore it.

“Seeing him fall to the floor, clutching his shins was better than any lemon tart or star fruit. You should have seen Ser Cole’s face! I've never seen him so appalled.”

“Not even in the library?” Aemond teased, and you blushed.

“You’re cruel.” You teased, “But Aegon deserved it.” Your tone hardened, “I couldn’t stand to see the way he treated you. How he pushed you around. How my brothers joined in.”

Aemond stayed silent as you continued.

“When I found you that day in the tunnels, after they gave you the pig…” You looked back at the water, “I wanted beat them bloody. I’ve never felt rage like that before, I wanted to-“ You paused taking a deep breath, “I know that you think I betrayed you.” You said quietly, looking at the soft white peaks on the waves below, not daring to lift your gaze to Aemond’s piercing one, “But I didn’t have a choice. Rhaenyra would have never let me stay in the Keep, and seeing your mother come after Lucerys with a blade? I was terrified.” You swallowed, thinking of that fateful night.

“I stepped in front of Lucerys, I think I was ready in that moment.” You explained, your breathing uneven, “I was ready to die for him. And then I saw you, and you were looking at me, and then I saw your eye.“ You swallowed again, “I never forgave Luc for what he did to you, just like I will never forgive you for what you did to him.”

You finally turned to face Aemond, who’s face was carefully blank, “But know that if Alicent had not come at us all with that blade, I would have run to you. I wanted to see if you were okay. I wanted to make sure that you were alright, I-“ You paused, reaching your hand out to touch the scar that split through his cheek, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. You were just a boy. And you were my friend. All we had was each other, and I left you alone.”

Aemond’s eye searched your face before his hand gripped your own, pulling it into his lap.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Aemond and your heads flicked to the noise, seeing Aegon standing at the entrance of the sitting area, Ser Cole behind him. Aemond’s hand gripped yours tightly, and you soothed over his knuckles with your thumb.

“It's not hard to find someone in a place they cannot leave.” You quipped back.

“Merely came to see if perhaps today was a good day.”

“Clearly I’m here, brother.” Aemond growled.

“Like I said, you could watch.” Aegon teased.

Aemond moved to stand, but you tugged him back down with his hand.

“When the sun rises in the West and sets in the East, Aegon.” You sighed, keeping a firm grip of Aemond’s hand.

Aegon smirked, looking down at your hands and then back up before bowing his head to the two of you. As he left, escorted by Ser Criston Cole, Aemond kept his eye on his brother the entire time, whilst you kept your eye on him.

“Aem,” You brushed his cheek with your hand, coaxing his attention back to you, “Hēnkirī hae mēr.”

Together as one.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

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