#so this ended up being a little more all over the place

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: Your FS' Secret Kinks

❦ “She lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theatre curtain. I was to get to know that trick. That was supposed to make me roll over on my back with all four paws in the air." - Raymon Chandler, The Big Sleep

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, change any pronouns to apply to you.

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

✦ Pile One ✦

Poor lil pooh pooh. This person struggles to “fill their cups up” so they get off on denying themselves pleasure. They secretly like the feeling of hitting whatever rock bottom looks like to them. Honestly, they want to be saved. They are wallowing at the bottom of a well, waiting for their savior to swoop in and throw them a rope. 

In a more literal sense, they want a person to be their reason to live. Their reason to feel daylight on their skin again. Everyone and everything around them is unsatisfying and “fake”. They want something real to coax them out of their hell and entice them with all the thrilling things life has to offer. 

However, they also like this dark and brooding side of themselves. They have a bit of a corruption kink.

They fantasize about a virginal angel coming down to save them, but they end up convincing the angel to sink down to their level. 

They like exciting, spontaneous people who are willing to jump up and run out the door to do something fun at any moment, but think innocent fun. Like going to the movies to theater hop, and getting away without paying. Or, running around the Target parking lot in shopping carts and trying not to bang into cars. Maybe even steal a few street signs. 

Innocent childhood fun that you’d see in early 90s movies. But add a sadistic twist to it that only they are aware of. 

You would be the innocent virgin (doesn’t have to be true, it's their fantasy) who is unknowingly leading this beast (also not true, they are just extremely self-deprecating) to your pretty little happy places which they plan to desecrate.

They want to fuck you in your family home and make a mess of your childhood bed, making you scream so loud that you’re family starts to look at you differently. They want to take you to your favorite movie spots where you usually chill and hangout with your friends and turn it into a place where all you can think about is them covering your mouth in the back of the theater while you’re squirming in their lap, trying to escape out of their grip as they edge you to the new Marvel release. 

They have a kink for turning all of your innocent, fun moments into their very own filthy fantasies.

Ps. Fisting came out of the blue so lube up!

Come To Me, My Senseless Angel

✦ Pile Two ✦

I don’t believe this is a future spouse, to be honest. This might be a situationship you need to move past. They seem emotionally immature, or at least this is a side of them that exclusively comes out when they’re aroused. 

They can be quite abrasive and feel like they are constantly under attack so they’re incredibly defensive. They have a history of lashing out at their loved ones when they feel overwhelmed and get so blinded by their emotions that they disregard their affection for their partners and say really unforgettable, harmful words which permanently alters the connection for the worse. 

They carry guilt from these actions and are in a constant state of regret. In this state, their sense of pleasure is a little twisted. They get turned on by causing a genuine issue in the relationship. They like the idea of pushing you to your limit where you’re this 🤏  close to your breaking point and at your absolute lowest. It’s when you reach your rock bottom and realize the need to move away from this person and you scream out, “I DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS.”

They like to grovel. You know that cycle where somebody fucks up and then they’re in the dog house buying flowers and being extra fluffy just to get in the victim’s good graces so they can do the same thing over again. So far, pile one and two’s respective partners like to feel like shit. They secretly like the moment where they completely fuck up a relationship and have to beg on their hands and knees to get their person back orrrrrr they get off on emotionally tearing someone down to the point where they get on their knees to bed for this person’s attention. 

Either way, there's a lot of fucked psychological issues underneath this fantasy that I’m not unpacking here because it differs from person to person. 

In its best light, this person glorifies struggle love. At its worst, this person is purposefully emotionally abusive with the intent to tear their partner down for their own sexual gratification. 

They’re conscious enough to know their actions are toxic but don’t have the emotional maturity to work past their actions. They’re at the phase where they’re just aware and are like “I know I’m shitty but that’s just who I am. If they stick with me and the sex is good, it’s meant to be.”

I’m honestly getting twitter relationship hypotheticals with this one. Iykyk.

They’re also an edgelord. Less in an internet cockroach way and more in a witty- can be funny if done well- way, but they get pleasure from shocking people nonetheless. This energy can be directed toward you to piss you off and annoy you with the intent of getting in your pants later. 

I’ve been guided to switch the conversation briefly: If this resonates and is someone you are dealing with. It is time to move on. This person gets gratification from hurting you and will not get past that high of tearing down a relationship and then having a messy recovery. They have their own issues to work through and cannot see how they are hurting you. There is no future with this person, they came into your life to teach you a lesson about your self-value. That cycle has run its course and it's time to move on.  

To be honest, I’m not a fan of this person and don’t even want to list the explicit kinks that came out but I will just in case this message is for you but you’re not sure.

Random messages: Hot tub/pool sex, hair pulling, break down crying, interracial, milk, broken condom, “i fucking hate you”, “whore”, mirror, drunk sex, complaining, smack a bitch, twitter

P.S. You’re too sexy for the bullshit! There is bigger and greater out there, you just need to believe that for yourself!

This person will not get a mood board out of me.

✦ Pile Three ✦

Okay, so this person has some deep religious guilt. This is a male presenting person. I am being clear with their sex because it plays a role in this reading. They have some majorly repressed feminine energy. They may even be attracted to the same sex. 

This is a fs reading, so they are likely bi, pansexual, or trans. Either way, their family is close-minded and is not supportive of them. They were forced to leave home so they could finally live their truth. They have lived their entire life fitting somebody else’s narrative. They were the hypermasculine bro type to “cover up” their femininity. 

So, they have a kink for hyperfeminity. It’s almost to the point where they obsess over the caricature of girlhood. I see lots of pink, high heels, full-glam, all-day mall shopping, pinup curls, flashy jewelry, sleepovers, day spas, that scene in Scott Pilgrim where that girl is like “SHE’S PROBABLY LIKE 25!”, and everything else that gets associated with “girlhood” nowadays. 

They fantasize about you in your receptive energy, being waited on and cared for hand and foot. They like to observe the way you move. Everything about you and your feminine aura is incredibly alluring to them. The way with each breath your breasts fall, the way your hips swat with each step, the cute way you match your accessories with your outfits. They notice everything about you. 

You know those paintings of wealthy women lying on their sides and being fed grapes? That. They’re not in the serving role, they're the painter. Their kink is capturing you in those everyday moments where the world seems to be waiting on you like you’re the collective’s queen.

They see femininity in a higher light than the general population. They see women as automatically deserving of this type of care, they also want this care. 

They have a secret hard-on for pregnant women and women with swollen breasts. They have a lactation kink. They fantasize about cumming in you over and over again. They see you as a Goddess, so they want to see you masturbate at church on an altar, like you're waiting to be worshipped. 

A lot of their fantasies, they’re not even included in. It’s just you looking God-like and being worshipped by the world around you. This person may hate when you wear clothes. They act like the fabric is committing a sin by covering your body. They just want to capture your essence. Like an admirer and a student.

P.S. Dick game goes CRAZY. They watch a lot of women-focused porn to study what gets a woman off. Like Maddie in Euphoria, here is there to study.

Pretty In Pink

✦ Pile Four ✦

WE GOT A PLEASURE DOM IN THE BUILDING Y’ALL STAY CALM. As my mama would say, they love your dirty drawls!

You could do no wrong in this person’s eyes. They’re the golden retriever type. Head empty, leading with heart and IN LOVE>>>>>

You are the pot of gold and the end of the rainbow they’re chasing. They appreciate a good fling but they’ve never felt this before. The emotions you stir in them are unprecedented, this is puppy, sandbox love that most people lose touch with after life jades them.

This is raw love at its most unprocessed. I taste honey. 

They have a kink for the power you have over them. It’s like you have a carrot on a stick and they’re the pig being led to a love den they can’t escape. And they’ll happily be the squealing pig in every lifetime they get with you. This is a soul yearning. 

You will know this person because they will proactively pursue you and they will have no doubts in their mind about it. They are really attracted to your physical form, your curves. Even if you’re on the slimmer side, they like your structure and the dips in your spine. They’ll stare at you when you’re talking and zone out, thinking about how attractive they find you. 

They’re not used to having to try to get someone to sleep with them. They have to put effort towards you and they like that. This person is downright thirsty and craves intimacy with you.

Their fantasies aren’t even dirty, they’re passionate. They want to put you in a mating press, with your knees pressed all the way up beside your ears. They want to penetrate (could be with a toy) deeply and touch that gooey part of you that makes you see stars. 

They want to see an imprint of them in your lower belly. Any position where you’re in their arms is a go for them because they like having you. They want every moment to be just you and them away from the world. So very sweet and intimate. They also love marking you, expect lots of hickeys.

Ignore them from time to time too (healthily, these conditions should be discussed beforehand)! They see you as the ultimate prize, so if you delay their satisfaction, they’ll feel like they’re chasing again, which gets them off. They like to feel like they’re convincing you to sleep with them. You both are consenting, but they like the idea of you having better things to do and they’re trying to convince you to stay and party with them. 

They are very action-oriented and love movement. Anything that involves an adventure together, they are down for. 

PS. Surprise them with a bubble bath together, they’ll love that. And tease them while pulling their hair a bit!

Ode To My Darling Sun

#arijackz #pac #pick a card #tarot #tarot reading #pick a pile #astrology observations #muah

[sinisternymphette]

everybody loves my baby

an historical au | 1930's florist!reader x dilfgangster!rafe (minors dni)✶

tw: v!olence, sex

✶ gangster!rafe, who makes sure everyone knows that you're off limits. Whether it is by gently placing his hand on the back of your soft neck and slowly caressing it with his calloused knuckles, using one of his large fingers to softly trail down one of your arms while the both of you are sitting next to each other in a restaurant, putting his muscled arm around you like a mantle, giving you warmth and comfort, and even taking your hand in his to plant a kiss on the palm as he closes his eyes and sniffs to take in your scent without the care of what others might think of your intimacy. You were his and he was yours, and that was truly all that mattered.

✶ gangster!rafe, who would do anything to protect you. Literally. If anyone ever laid a hand on his pretty little florist, they'd have to go through him, and it certainly wouldn't end so jolly.

"You dared to touch my woman, hm. Well, not so confident now, are you."

he said in a low, menacing chuckle as he shook his head slowly, cornering the man before him in the lonely and dimly lit corridor behind the bar. He had gone to the washroom for just one minute- one minute without you in his plane on sight, and a man walked over to you and started complimenting you before giving you a rose. That wasn't the problem though. When you thanked him kindly and smelled the rose, he pulled his arm up to brush a strand out of your face. And so, he had to take the matter to his own hands.

"Now now, i'm sure you're a good fella and understand that it was just a minor misunderstanding!"

the man quickly said in a pleading tone, obvious fear in his wide eyes, which were easily comparable to a frightened doe's, before proceeding to pat Rafe's shoulder with one of his shaking hands- almost as if they were old friends. Rafe shook his hand away in a swift motion, as if he had just been touched by a rat who had come out off a trash can. He punched the man on his ribcafe after his fake of a charming smile vanished and turned into a dark frown as if he was no longer who he was before. His other hand reached to the other's mouth as the man made muffled yowls of pain. He, however, didn't even flinch once.

"You're damn lucky i'm a generous man, so make sure to take this as a lesson for the future, yes? to keep your hands to yourself? wouldn't want to cut all your fingers off and make a mess on my shirt."

he then smirked almost playfully, his expression once again changing in a matter of seconds before moving his hand up and shaking it, then putting it inside the pockets of his brown pants and using the other in order to adjust his white, high quality long-sleeved shirt. The man was now practically on the floor, whimpering as he crouched against the stone wall behind him as he shamefully covered his face with his shaking hands. It was truly an embarrassing sight. Once Rafe was finished, he turned his back and opened the back door to the bar, tilting his head to the side and staring at him one last time.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to more important matters- the wonderful evening I was having with her before you, very rudly I might say, abruptly interfered."

✶ gangster!rafe, who likes giving you nicknames that represent your beauty such as 'dollface', 'peach', and his personal favorite, 'dandelion'. You absolutely adore them too- the way they always roll off his tongue so sweetly, like butter being spread on a slice of bread. He's a man who admires and cares for your body, your mind and very being as if you were a princess or a delicate porcelain vase with beautiful painted flowers.

"Look at you, m' pretty dandelion all dolled up for me." he murmurs as he carefully places his head over your shoulder, blue orbs looking into your eyes through the mirror of your bedroom while his hands found your waist and gently nestled around it. His lips were slightly curved upwards, making the hint of his smile shown to you. One of his fingers traced small circles on your waist, making you let out a small and flustered chuckle as you covered your mouth with one of your hands in a polite manner to hide it. You were wearing one of your newer dresses- a pretty light blue polka-dotted dress that perfectly hugged your figure. This, was one of the many dresses Rafe gifted you in the past two weeks. Your lips had red tint and your cheeks had a faint pink color on them- a little bit of makeup, but not too much. His eyes trailed down, all the way to the contour of your legs and to the white leathered heels you were wearing. in his eyes, you truly were a work of art- like a Renaissance painting that had come to life. Now, he was a man that firmly believed that actions spoke more than words, so as soon as his eyes met with yours once again, he planted sweet kisses on your neck alongside little nibbles. This, was his own way of letting you know that you looked absolutely stunning.

✶ gangster!rafe, who, despite having so much blood on his hands, is always careful with you and tries to avoid showing you his darker side as much as he can. Who doesn't want you to know all the sins he has done, all the people he had killed before, in fear of loosing you forever.

''Y'know how much I care about you, right kid?'' he asks after taking a long drag from his cigarette, voice almost a whisper as he's sitting on the sofa of your living room while you laid next to him, head resting on the armrest and legs over his lap while his free hand slowly massages one of your bare feet. He stared at you, blinking slowly. The sudden of a question made you open your once closed eyes and perk your head up to look up at him with an innocent, confused stare. ''Well, certainly. I always have.'' you replied softly, giving him a reassuring smile before it vanished as soon as it appeared. You sensed that something was wrong. After all, why else would he ask this? ''Why do you ask?'' you continued, now scanning the expression on his face, despite the fact that he was a very hard man to read. He swallowed, but maintained eye contact. ''Nothin'. Just wanted to let you know how much I love you all over again.'' He knew he shouldn't lie to you- that he should tell you the truth about where all his money comes from, how his family got as powerful as it is, what kind of person he actually is. But it was too dangerous. Luckily for him, he was a good liar, an actor- if you may call it that. He grabbed the foot he was massaging and placed it near his lips before he kissed each one of your fingers in a slow, sensual manner. This made you relax and soon enough, you were resting once again, breathing calmly as you felt safe in his presence.

✶ gangster!rafe, who tries to stop by the flower shop every single day to say hello. No matter how busy he was, how much trouble he had gotten himself into, what kind of business he was doing that day, he never forgot about you. Ever.

✶ gangster!rafe, who likes to take you back to where the both of you had first met every once in a while. The place, in question, is les deus magots.

✶ gangster!rafe, who might be rough between the sheets, but is as gentle as he can be afterwards and makes your comfort his prime priority.

you let out quiet mews as he pounded into you, you legs wrapped around his hips as your plush breasts jiggled up and down in rhythm with his thrusts. Your plump lips remained parted as you felt out of breath, feeling an intense flutter in your tummy that only got stronger as his movements picked up a speed. It felt so good- too good, in fact. You couldn't help but let out some tears that started to run down your cheeks, eyes closed shut as you listened to his grunts. The bed was shaking, making the crackling sound echo through the bedroom.

''There you go, shhh, you're okay.'' he whispers soothingly as he plants a soft kiss on the side of your cheek, both of you laying inside the warm bathtub. There were scented candles on the bathroom countertops, The lights on the pastel green walls turned off in order to enhance the ambiance of the room. Your muscles finally relaxed, and you felt yourself slowly start drifting into sleep while one of Rafe's hands massaged your shoulders. He seems content, blue eyes full of emotion as he looks down at you, hot breath against your neck and tiny droplets of water landing on your back from his wet and messy hair.

✶ gangster!rafe, who lets you spend his money on whatever you want, no matter what. All you have to do is ask, and he'll give you some cash- no questions asked.

✶ gangster!rafe, who loves the way your eyes brighten up whenever you're at the park and you find a pretty flower. Who later takes it from your little hands and places it on your hair.

✶ gangster!rafe, who gifted you a puppy one day as a surprise .

''So, I got you a little something.'' he tells you while he held in front of you a rather large red box with a big white bow around it between his arms. His tone was blunt, his expression the same as always, yet he was lightly tapping his foot against the wooden floor of your home. You were confused, to say the least, But of course- you accepted it, quickly taking it from his hands- perfectly manicured nails gripping it tightly. It was heavy- very heavy. ''Oh! I wonder what it could be!!'' you said almost in a lyrical shriek, excitement in your voice as you sat down on your sofa, legs crossed while you placed it right next to you. Suddenly, it moved, and your widening eyes drifted from the package to Rafe. ''No...no.. gosh, Rafe don't tell me it's what I think it is'' you murmured, placing your hands over your mouth. You were met with silence. Of course he didn't answer. Instead, he just tilted his head, almost as if he was attempting to hide the sly grin that was beginning to form on his lips. Not being able to control your excitement any longer, you carefully opened the box, taking the upper part away and revealing what was inside. You gasped, and your pretty shrieks of happiness filled the room. Rafe Cameron had gifted you a cocker spaniel puppy. A real puppy- not a plushie. ''Oh my goodness.. oh my goodness! oh wow- I have no words!'' you ran up to him and hugged him tightly- maybe a little too much. The puppy trotted towards the both of you and barked happily. ''Glad to be makin' you happy, peach'' he said before gently taking your chin in his hand to make you look up at him before kissing you on the lips.

✶ gangster!rafe, who wouldn't admit it out loud, but sometimes thinks that maybe.. you really are 'the one' for him...

✶ a/n : GUYS GUYS I DID IT!! I know this is a bit short, but tbh.. I might write more about gangster!rafe in the future :) if anyone wants to request something with him you can feel free to do so too. I tried to include a little smut, but eh.. this was my first ever fic (if you could even call this a fic) so it's probably a bit...meh. Either way, I'm glad I finally finished it, and I hope it was enjoyable to read!!

✶ creds : @amariisflossy for the gangster!rafe idea, @dollywons for the second header

@sinisternymphette 2024

#✦ . ࣪ ׅ aus #✦ . ࣪ ׅ fics #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #obx #obx fic #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #rafe obx #outer banks fanfiction #obx smut #outer banks smut #outerbanks rafe #outer banks imagine #rafe smut #outer banks #outer banks x reader #fanfic #gangster!rafe #gangster!rafe cameron #1930s au

[sooniebby]

first of all I hope you’re feeling okay and are properly enjoying your break. :)

second of all… imagine being neighbors with a married couple that loves to make each other jealous. the wife offers you a gift basket on your second day of living in your new house and invites you over for tea every now and again. the husband meets you by where your mailboxes are sitting next to each other every other day and ruffles your hair affectionately. the wife purposely wears blouses that show off a little too much cleavage and puts on her scarlet red lipstick whenever she knows you’re coming. the husband is always touching you in some way, either it be his hand on your shoulder or your legs grazing ever so slightly, and speaks in a gruff, sultry voice.

imagine how you were originally just a stepping stone for them to have hot, passionate and jealous sex at least once a week. but when time passed by and the more they spend time around you, the more they realize that this dynamic was too good to pass up on.

imagine how their priorities shift from having something to get off on to integrating you into their relationship. them asking you to join them for dinner so often that you spend more meals at their place than your own. them sandwiching you between them on the couch, watching movies all night long. them pouring you a glass of wine, and then another. and another. until you’re too drunk to know what’s what and then dragging you into their bedroom. them having at it with you for hours on end, not stopping even when you start shooting blanks.

imagine waking up the morning after. covered in bruises, hickeys and smudged lipstick. you’re shocked, confused—until you feel that you’re sandwiched between two weights. looking up, you’re even more shocked to see that they’re the nice couple next door, just as naked as you were and looking mighty happy with themselves.

ugh the concept gives me so much brainrot bro it’s insane.

Damn… this is a whole story— crazy as hell…

#bottom male reader #smut ideas

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Alright, here we go

First and foremost I want to talk about what flying bark's animation has meant to me.

In a world where every day I see 2d animation being rejected for cheaper 3d and puppet animation at every turn, Monkie Kid's animation was the one of the first things that gave me hope for the future of 2D animation. I can't tell you how long I've been wanting a 2D animated show, growing up I wanted one so desperately, I craved good animation amongst the stiff 3D and flat storytelling, so when I got it, when Monkie Kid happened, I was so unbelievably happy. It was everything I wanted in a show, gorgeous animation, excellent voice actors, romance free and friendly to my desperate friendship-craving, romance-overstimulated brain and written in a way I enjoyed so much. I struggle to describe exactly how much I’ve adored everything this show has been up until this point. It truly is a masterpiece.

Monkie kid has kept me company during the lowest and roughest points in my life. I got to such a bad place mentally but Monkie Kid’s fast-paced, snappy, detailed, colourful bright animation brought light into my darkest mental times and not only helped me stay connected with people but kept me creating even when I wanted nothing more than to lay on the floor and never move again. I'm aware most of the flying bark team is active on the bird app and none of them are gonna see this most likely but I still just wanted to say thank you. Thank you so much for animating this show, thank you so much for giving it your all. Thank you so much for giving me something I’ve always wanted so perfectly. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for keeping me company at my lowest, thank you for sharing your joy of animation so I could catch some of those rays of sunlight and feel a little of that joy too. Thank you for your positivity and good vibes, thank you. 

I know so many people have gotten inspiration from flying bark and I have to add myself to the infinite list. My art has improved so much thanks to their inspiration. My style has developed, I’ve had so much fun, I’ve written some of my favorite works ever based off of expressions that the characters make alone. My last amv I made because I was so grateful for the animation that we'd gotten up to that point. I wanted to showcase, to thank, to appreciate. I didn’t know it would be a goodbye. Words can't describe all that flying bark's animation and even their storyboards have done for me. When nothing could make me happy, monkie kid wormed its way into my brain and somehow kept me in one piece. I know that wouldn’t have been possible without the animation that left me at the edge of my seat, breathless and laughing over how incredible it really was every single time. Every new clip, every new episode I’d pause and rewatch again, I’d rewatch over and over, I’d take screenshots of every goofy background character, I’d screenshot every expression I could, I’d go through episodes frame-by-frame, literally one at a time for hours on end just so i could catch every detail, I’d open my eyes wider and wider to try and take in every bit I could in a way I’ve never been able to do before because there is nothing else out there like monkie kid. There was nothing as fun and as joyful as every single frame that flying bark gave us. And I am going to miss that so much.

The fact that season 4 was a sendoff is so heartbreaking to me, it's hard to describe how devastated I feel knowing something that kept hold of my hand when I was facing hard hard things in my life is suddenly gone. I don’t know how to ever express how important this show has been to me, it’s kept me going and helped me get to a place where I could breathe again. It’s connected me with some of the greatest people I know. It’s given me incredible experiences, introduced me to what animation could be and I can’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt having to say goodbye so suddenly. 

I know this isn’t the end of Monkie Kid as a show. I know season 5 is still coming. And I also know Monkie Kid has lost a huge part of what made it unique and special, a huge part of its heart and soul. Without flying bark it feels like half the show is missing and although I hope I can still support the show, no one can deny the cavern-sized hole that is left by flying bark’s absence in it. The animation team has such an incredibly positive atmosphere around them that just absolutely radiates from the things they create. I am going to miss that so desperately in monkie kid. I’m going to support every other show flying bark works on, I’m still going to love their animation wherever it goes, but I am going to miss it in monkie kid like nothing else I’ve ever missed.

I do have some other thoughts regarding the new changes in monkie kid but I wanted to keep that separate from the actual farewell, so that’ll be it’s own post and I just want to end this by saying thanks for everything Flying Bark you’ve been a real one. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re already being missed so hard it hurts. Keep those good vibes and keep up what you’re doing. You all really are incredible and an inspiration to artists everywhere. We love this show because of the voice actors, because of the writers, because of the music but a great deal of people loved this show because of you. You’ve inspired a community of artists, you’ve inspired me. Thank you flying bark for everything you've given us, you gave it your all and I’m gonna carry the impact you left on me for the rest of my life. 

LOVE YOU FLYING BARK. Here's to a bright future. Thanks for everything <3 

#knox rambles #long post #monkie kid #flying bark #gods ima miss them #ive never cared about an animation studio so much in my LIFE #good people will do that to ya #face in hands bro #im a fundamentally different person because of these guys #ough #lego monkie kid #its gonna take me a bit to recover from this one bois

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Already Gone {8} || MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x spy!fem!reader Summary: After a record smashing 2023 season it seems to be about to repeat as 2024 begins. Warnings: 18+ only, violence, reader injury WC: 2.3k One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight

The season had ended on a high with Max rightfully where he belonged. You had accompanied him to the FIA awards and cheered proudly as he accepted the winners trophy before jetting off to the Swiss Alps for a much needed break. Unfortunately work was never far away and all too soon it was time to make your grand entrance at the annual end of year Board of Directors meeting at the Scuderia Ferrari Headquarters.

The memory of the shocked faces when you walked into the meeting room and took the last chair around the table never ceased to make you smile. The brooch pinned to your Chanel suit jacket had recorded the moment of silence before chaos erupted while you reclined back in the chair to watch the men scramble for an answer.

Now it was time for the new season to begin.

Melbourne, Australia

It should have been a safe place. You had walked the perimeter three times just to check for any signs someone would be trying to get into the event. You hadn’t found any. Leaving the security team to their job, you returned to Max and accepted the cocktail he had ordered.

Australia was always a lively place for Red Bull as they gathered a range of their athletes across a dozen extreme sports and created some promo videos for the year. This year was no different with a party to kick off the week long trip down under and it was more than just the Red Bull family in attendance.

“What’s wrong, liefje?”

You shook away the lingering feeling that something was amiss and draped your arms around Max. “Nothing, baby, I’m just a little on edge.”

“I thought things were going well with the Board?”

You scanned the room for the current Ferrari drivers, and the future one, spotting them all in separate areas and deep in conversation. “They are, I haven’t been able to find anything planned yet but it doesn’t mean they won’t try something.”

“Relax,” he soothed as he kissed his way across your collar and up to your lips. “You can have the night off worrying. I want my girlfriend not my bodyguard.”

“Maybe if you stop winning all the time I will be able to relax,” you teased. “You’re just too damn fast, baby.”

Max’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he dipped his head to your ear. “I went slow last night, didn’t I? I think I got in trouble for that too the way you begged me to go faster.”

The witty retort you had to torture him with was lost as two men stumbled over their feet and knocked into Max. Unsure of their intentions you shoved them back and stepped in front of him protectively but all they could sum up were a few drunken expletives at your lack of hospitality. It was only going to get worse when you signalled for security to escort them off of the premises.

“It’s fine, liefje, I’m safe, we’re safe,” Max soothed as he rubbed your tense shoulders. “Have another drink with me.”

You turned to the bar and reached over the counter for two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka. “I don’t know how many more 1-2 finishes I can survive,” you admitted as you tapped his glass and downed your shot. You could feel the desperation growing with each Ferrari board meeting but it was the meetings that were happening in the shadows that concerned you more. The only reprieve was that Mercedes had started the season off poorly so it was one less team for them to worry about competing with. “I think we should hire more personal security for you and maybe Checo too now.”

“Do you know what I think? I think you worry too much.” Max laughed at the roll of your eyes in response.

“One of us has to be the responsible one.”

Max took your shot glass and the bottle of vodka, placing them on the bar top before taking your hand and giving it a small tug.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m being the responsible one and taking you back to the hotel,” he said with a grin. “A bottle of wine in the jacuzzi with you is much safer.”

There were plenty of drivers parked outside the venue for when guests wanted to leave and the valet waved one forward. Plastic barriers kept fans back, photographers snapped shots for the newspapers and police lined the entrance for anyone that grew too bold. You scanned both sides of the tiled floor for anything out of place and shifted as you saw a flash catch the glint of metal.

When the gunshot rang out, your first thought was of Max. He had only been a few feet behind you, but with the crowd that had gathered in the hopes to get an autograph you had lost sight of him. Had he been hit? Had he ducked along with everyone else? You dared a glance over your shoulder and found he had been quickly covered by the policemen while the man you had spotted tried to make his escape. 

Max’s leather jacket billowed at your sides as you sprinted after the shooter and you heard his voice over the screams of panic, he was calling you back, but there was no way you were letting the man get away. You made it two blocks before he dove into the back seat of a black sedan and fired off a few wild shots as it shot away from the curb.

Grabbing your phone from your pocket you dialled Max’s head of security and it picked up on the first ring. “1NF 2DU, Toyota Caldina,” you panted as you leaned against a building and watched the car disappear around the corner. “Male, early 30’s, brown hair, and fucking short. 9mm Beretta Nano.”

“Got it,” Harry noted before the phone was jostled. “Schatje, where are you? Are you alright?”

You looked down at the tear in his jacket and pulled it aside to see blood soaking your blouse beneath. You closed your eyes as the burning spread to your lungs and your panting grew more laboured. “I’m fine, baby, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, they won’t let me leave,” he growled the last part at Harry who was holding him back from chasing after you.

“Good…that’s good…you’re good,” you sighed in relief and slid down the brick wall. “I love you, Max.”

You heard what could only be described as a roar of pain before the line died and you were left looking at the background image on your phone. You had never been happier than that moment of waking up in Max’s arms on a lazy Sunday before the season began, your head on his bare chest and Achilles curled up on your feet with Jimmy and Sassy. The daily stresses of life hadn’t begun to claw itself to the forefront of your mind and nothing existed outside of those four walls.

 As a teenager you lived life a day at a time, not caring if it was the last one because you had never had something to look forward to. Now, the longer you stared at that photo, determination grew stronger than the pain in your chest and you cut your palms on the brick as you pulled yourself to your feet. 

“Liefje! Y/N!” Max’s voice carried above the sound of sirens and you tried to call back to him but only a hacking cough sawed through your lungs and your vision dimmed. “Where’s the fucking ambulance?”

Your steps faltered as you followed his voice and when your legs collapsed beneath you his strong arms were there to catch you.

Max thought about just going to the car but there was a young boy holding out a cap and he couldn’t leave the little guy disappointed. He looked up to tell you he would just be a moment when he saw you shift suddenly, then the gunshot rang out. Everything moved so quickly as bodies surrounded him and the crowds screamed in the chaos, and he lost sight of you making chase down the street. 

“Max, stay down, we’ll get you out of here,” Harry stated calmly as he pulled Max away from the policemen. 

“I’m not going anywhere without Y/N.”

“These are her orders, shh,” Harry growled as he saw your contact calling and answered in an instant, listening intently. “Got it.”

Max snatched the phone from Harry before he could hang up. “Schatje, where are you? Are you alright?”

The pause was long enough for him to hear his heartbeat in his ears and when you finally answered your voice didn’t sound quite right, “I’m fine, baby, are you okay?”

Max looked at Harry who was using his muscle mass to build a wall between him and the street you had run down. “I’m fine, they won’t let me leave.”

“Good…that’s good…you’re good.” Your voice was growing quieter as he grew more agitated. “I love you, Max.”

Max looked at the floor where he had last seen you and noticed the darkened spot of blood stains that led away from him. Strength he had never known flooded through him and not even Harry’s arms that were as thick as Max’s thighs could hold him back. His trousers threatened to rip from the long strides and the quick pace of Max’s sprint and he screamed for you, praying for an answer as he followed the blood drops down the street.

Max knew there were people following him as he ran to the silhouette he innately knew was you. “Where’s the fucking ambulance?”

“On its way.”

The street lights illuminated the pain etched in your face when you tried to walk to him but your legs collapsed. “I’ve got you, liefje, I’ve got you,” Max promised as he felt his hands grow slick with the blood leaking out of your side. “I’m not letting you go.”

Max could count on his hand the number of times he had felt true fear. He remembered the way his mother cried when she had him down to tell him she was leaving and how she wished she could take him too. He could remember the sound Achilles made when the neighbours dog escaped their property and chased him. He would always remember the look in your eyes before they closed.

For three days Max sat at your side, only moving from the room when you were wheeled away for scans and tests. Christian stopped by each night for an update that hadn’t changed and flowers arrived from the Board but Max dumped them straight in the bin, but other than that the room was empty and quiet. 

Max knew he wasn’t liked by a lot of people but he never really believed that his life had become a target. You loved that he was still naive to the dark side of the sport and you happily became the shield that protected him from the innocence that had long been stolen from yourself. It was why you put yourself into the trajectory of the bullet meant for him. 

Max could still see the footage that Harry had found from the lobby cameras. He had nearly thrown the laptop across the room where he waited for you to come out of surgery. That minute shift, the smallest of movements, had saved him - but at what cost?

“I found a little house,” Max said quietly as he held your hand. “It has an orchard and plenty of space for our babies, and no city around for miles. It needs some things fixed up before we could live there, but it sounds like a good place to retire.” He closed his eyes and lay back in the uncomfortable chair, your hand still resting in his so he could feel for any sign of life.

“I didn’t die just for you to retire now,” you rasped, your throat dry and voice hoarse.

Max was on his feet in an instant, capturing your face delicately as he kissed you with a sound that was some cross between a sigh of relief and a joyous laugh. “You didn’t die, liefje, I couldn’t have survived that.”

“I’m pretty sure I met the devil,” you groaned as you tried to sit up, “he spoke Italian.”

“That’s just Benedetto,” Max said with a flat laugh, placing a hand on your shoulder to stop you moving while the other pressed the call button. “You need to keep still.”

You weren’t impressed by the intrusion of the doctors and nurses who came flooding in and after answering dozens of pointless questions, because yes you were in pain after being shot, they finally left again. 

“They’re just doing their job,” Max murmured as he found space on the bed to sidle in with you. He carefully shifted you so that he could lay his arm out before tucking you in to rest your head on his shoulder. “Let them prod and poke you until they are satisfied you are completely healthy again.”

“I just want to go home-hey! Why aren’t you at the track?”

“Did you seriously think I would leave you?” Max shook his head at the idea and kissed your forehead. “You risked your life to save mine, I know exactly where I want to be.”

The stitched in your side stretched as you craned your head back so he could reach your lips. You had thought there would never be another kiss so you were going to savour the feeling that came with it. “I love you, Max.”

“Ik hou van jou.”

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #formula one imagine #max verstappen x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

[daryl-fucking-dixon]

Vamp!Daryl moodboard because oh my god I cannot get enough of him

I’m writing something for him on my main blog, but I also wanna write something else and I also don’t wanna delete what I’m already writing (because Im punishing myself)

I did in fact end up going into detail 🌞(ifykyk)

SOMNOPHILA AND BLOODKINK WARING SOMNOPHILA AND BLOODKINK WARING SOMNOPHILA AND BLOODKINK WARING

There was no place comfier and warmer than cuddled up right in your arms, nuzzled safely against your chest where Daryl’s 30/20 hearing could peacefully listen to the clear beat of your heart. It lulled him into a deep sleep almost every night, belly full and his hunger satisfied.

But a vampire could never be too full, and Daryl Dixon never sleeps without his senses guarding at all times, so the way he jerked slightly at the first hints of blood flooding into his nostrils was inevitable.

You barely stirred, which made it easy for Daryl to slip out of the cage that was your limp arms and quietly inspect your body.

He softly and gently lifted your shirt, helping himself to an eyeful of pretty tits once he determined your torso was unscathed, placing the fabric back down over you. His eyes fluttered down to your panties, brain loading for a moment before he dipped his head down, not even having to inhale before he was hit in the face with the overwhelming smell of blood.

This absolutely horrified him. Why were you bleeding, and why were you bleeding from your cunt? His cold little heart throbbed painfully, and he wasted no time pulling off your undies, shivering at the ruined fabric. It was bad, so bad. You had somehow hurt yourself in a sensitive area and needed obvious help, but first Daryl just had to take a deep whiff of your bloody panties, biting back a guttural moan when the pure smell made him dizzy, eyes almost rolling to the back of his skull as it traveled through his veins and damn-near made him cum. Not even the most expensive cocaine could get him that high.

His mouth was watering from just that alone, trying not to wake you as he quietly gasped for air, having literally suffocated himself in your underwear. He redirected his gaze to you and felt disgusting when he could feel his cock twitch at the sight of your bloody pussy.

No. He needed to help you. You were hurt and he needed to fix it, furrowing his brows as he built up his saliva in his mouth, hoping that if he coated you in enough of it, it would heal you much quicker.

When it was pooled on his tongue, he dropped down to be face to face with your cunt and forcibly swallowed the groan that formed in his throat from the smell wafting into his nose. All five of his senses were sky-high, and your skin almost felt like butter on his fingertips as he spread your bloody lips apart, running his slick tongue from top to bottom.

Your body trembled at the cold sensation, and soft sounds spilling from your lips as you reacted to his touch in your sleep. It made Daryl feel a little guilty, but it would make him feel guiltier if he just left you like this.

There was just blood all over you, and Daryl worked his tongue fervently to clean it all up. He tried not to enjoy it too much, running the wet muscle up the crease where your thigh met your labia, stopping to suck on your clit a little, cleaning off any blood with the tip of his tongue.

He was purposely trying to produce more saliva with every lick, ensuring that wherever your wound is, it’ll be completely coated in his healing spit. He wrapped his arms around your thighs so that he could pull your lower half flush against his face, slipping his tongue into your hole and swirling it around when he could taste the blood pooling inside, this time not being able to fight back his grunt at the taste. Oddly enough, it tasted so much better coming from your pretty pussy.

“Gonna make sure ya feel better doll, gotta make sure m’gorgeous girl is alright” He mumbled out loud but more so to himself, practically nose-deep as he protectively squeezed you impossibly closely, starting to get a little tipsy from all the blood he had already consumed.

You stirred slightly, grunting and wiggling your legs a little as you could feel the sturdy muscle of Daryl’s arms around them, shortly followed by the warm sensation of his muttering and licking between your pussy lips “Mm… Dar?”

He didn’t respond, nor did he move from his position, too far gone and deep between your legs.

“Daryl.” You forced your tired voice to call a little louder, coming out as more of a moan than anything else.

This time the movements of his tongue halted as his ears and head perked up, a very unexpected sight greeting you.

His red eyes were wide as they stared at you, beard stained blood red from where it dribbled down from around his equally stained lips, smeared across the tip of his nose and most likely painting his pink tongue a matching color.

It made you throb slightly, clenching as you softly stared at him. “What’re you doing?”

“Ya started bleedin'– Still don’ know-how, but ya did, ‘nd ‘wanted ta make sure ya’ weren’t hurtin’” He shook his head as he rambled, and you raised a brow at him.

“Bleeding?” You glanced at his position between your legs, and then back to his face, easily connecting the dots with a small ‘oh’ sound. “Oh Daryl, I’m not injured, sweetheart”

He gawked, flickering from your face to your cunt. “Ye-Yer not?”

A giggle rumbled in your chest at his poor ignorance, “No silly! I’m just on my period. It’s just my body getting rid of old blood. I didn’t even know you could eat that” reaching a hand down to cup his sweet messy face, the confused look on his face adorably tugging your heartstrings. Or maybe that’s just your hormones.

“Tasted good ta’ me… old?” Daryl mumbled, brain lagging behind to catch up with the new information that he was receiving.

You nodded, blushing a little at his words. “Old blood, bacteria, all that… how long have you been eating?”

“Not long, think it jus’ started or somethin’” He eyed your pussy, licking his lips. “Can I– Can I keep goin’?”

“Kinda gross don’t you think?” You cringe slightly at the idea of eating period blood, goosebumps dotting your skin.

Daryl scoffed at you, arms pulling you close to his face again as he had full intentions of leaving his plate absolutely clean. “Gross ain’t even in ma’ damn vocabulary”

I need him SO FUCKING BADLYYYABUAINA literally all my problems in life would be completely solved if I had vamp!daryl waking me up with his tongue just because he thought me starting my period was me somehow getting an injury

VAMPIRE DARYL IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE AND I HAVE DECIDED I NOT ONLY WANNA DIE ON THIS HILL BUT I WANNA BE FUCKING BURIED IN IT. SEVEN GODDAMN FEET UNDER.

no I do not care if you dont like this or if it made you uncomfortable have you ever tried reading the warnings or do your eyes only work when you dont fucking want them too

#norman fucking reedus #vamp!daryl dixon #vamp!daryl #vampire!daryl dixon #vampire!daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl imagines #daryl twd #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfiction

[leilanihours]

could u write something based of dress by Taylor Swift for Caitlin?

# DRESS

pairing: caitlin clark x wnba draftee/former teammate!reader

word count: 3790

warnings: smut with long plot beforehand (MDNI), drinking

summary: after a long day of unbelievable success, you end the night with your girlfriend in the best way possible.

from lani: first smut kinda nervous! also the word count..mightve cooked w this one idk lmk! oh also the dress in the third pic is what i was picturing but u do u ofc!

“MAKING THEIR WAY down the orange carpet now, caitlin clark and her former teammate, y/n l/n! these two have been best friends since the very beginning of their college careers, practically glued to each other’s side at all times.”

as you trail behind your girlfriend past cameras and reporters, you try to think of a more thrilling moment than this, failing miserably. with caitlin expected to be the number one pick of the draft and yourself to be the number two pick, all eyes were on you two. but with your relationship being private, you’re stuck playing the role of best friends. you stop in front of a few photographers with caitlin, posing for pictures - some solo and some together.

“y/n! caitlin! step a little closer to each other will you?” you hear one of the female photographers exclaim.

you glance at your girlfriend, silently asking her if she’s okay with the gesture. you know how big of a reputation she has, so any wrong move could send it up in flames. same goes for you, but you valued caitlin’s success more at the moment. before you can politely deny the photographer, caitlin’s large hand is placed on your waist and pulling you closer to her. you quickly place one of your hands on her upper back, the whole exchange appearing very friendly. but let’s just say you didn’t want her as a best friend, only something more.

it seems that you have pleased all the photographers from the rush of flashes, buttons clicking, and cheers, so the two of you break apart and make your way to the end of the carpet. there waited a sea of reporters and interviewers, eager to ask questions about both of your basketball careers and, no doubt, your close “friendship.”

as you walk gracefully to the first reporter, you are halted by a familiar touch on your arm. turning around, you see caitlin gazing at you carefully. she walks up to you and urges you to come closer. you’re the same height as her, but you still go insane whenever she leans down to whisper in your ear, like she is now.

“you doin’ okay, babe?”

“of course,” you reply, taking a step back to look her in the eyes, “you okay?”

nothing could’ve prepared you for what she was about to way next.

“i will be once i get this dress off of you tonight,” she smirks, a hint of desire and hunger in her voice. once again, her eyes scan your figure. talk about deja vu, right?

———

“caitlin! can you help me zip up my dress, please?” you yell to the bedroom portion of your shared hotel room. you were currently fixing yourself up to head to the draft, but having difficulty reaching the upper part of your torso to close your dress. 

your dress. one that you specifically picked out because you knew caitlin would love it. it was a big day for her, for both of you, but you really wanted to make it special for her. it was a long silk maxi dress in a champagne color. there was a small cutout right below the crease of your chest, the area accentuated by a small black trim. the straps matching the trim were thin, as if they could be easily slipped down at any moment. the fit of the dress was flowy at the bottom but tight from the waist up to highlight all your best curves. your purposely chose not to wear a jacket or cardigan with plans of having caitlin’s blazer draped over your arms later that night.

“coming!” you hear back. you’re putting in your gold earrings as she makes her way into the large hotel bathroom. your gaze is focused on the mirror in front of you, not wanting to poke your ear as you insert the statement jewelry. caitlin freezes, immediately sizing you up in your full glory. she takes mental note of the dip in your back, the sculpt of your toned arms, the way your hips were practically begging for her touch. if you saw the way she was looking at you, you would’ve let her take you right there.

you straighten your posture as you feel caitlin step behind you carefully, hands resting lightly on your waist, as if she’s fighting to hold back. she delicately moves your hair to one side of your neck, placing small kisses across your shoulder and back.

“hi,” she whispers in your ear.

“hi back,” you smile.

“this all for me?”

“mhm,” your eyes flutter shut as your feel her lips ghost over a specific spot on your neck, “only you, cait.”

“you look amazing, baby,” she says, eyes darkening, “this dress, i mean it’s incredible, but it would look better on the floor, don’t you think?”

she sounds out of breath, like she’s desperate to show you what she means. you feel your entire body heat up as you keep your eyes locked on hers in the mirror. slowly, her long fingers trace down your spine to the zipper, leaving goosebumps on your skin from her cold touch. you shiver from both her icy strokes and the thought of what she would do to you later.

after placing one last kiss at the nape of your neck, she spins you around so that you’re facing her. her brown eyes hover over every aspect of your face, every detail of your appearance. she finds herself memorizing all of it since she knows she won’t be able to observe you this close until the late hours of the night, away from the burning eyes of the public.

———

you blush feverishly at the memory, already missing her touch like crazy. before you can respond, caitlin is called over to a nearby interviewer. she looks down at you one last time before leaving your side. for a second you’re left standing awkwardly until a reporter beckons you to them. you fix your hair and make your way over, preparing yourself to dodge any particularly personal questions. the reporter in question was a young lady who looked only a few years older than you. she beams a bright smile in your direction as she reaches her hand out to shake yours. you smile politely and wait for her to speak.

“we are here tonight with the incredible y/n l/n, one of the most dedicated of women’s college basketball, and soon to be women’s national basketball,” she exclaims to the camera as she moves to your side, “there’s a lot of buzz circulating your presence here, how are you feeling tonight, y/n?

“i’m feeling pretty great, thanks for asking,” you grin sincerely, “i’m super pumped to be a part of the draft and i’ve been waiting for this my whole life so i don’t think anything could top this moment.”

“amazing to hear, i’m glad you’re enjoying yourself so far. speaking of waiting your whole life to be drafted, what was the moment that made you decide you wanted to be a part of the wnba?”

“honestly, i’ve been in love with the league for as long as i can remember, so i guess since i was a little girl. i still remember the first time my dad took me to a sparks game like it was yesterday, so hopefully i can fulfill my dream of becoming one of them by the end of the night.” 

“how touching! it seems like your family has been a big part of your journey, how else have they shaped your identity?”

“i mean, they’ve been my rock literally since day 1 so they’ve changed my life in more ways than i can count. off the top of my head, my dad was the one who got me interested in basketball, took me to my early morning practices and late afternoon games as i grew up. my mom, who was never a big sports fan, was always my loudest cheerleader at every single game. my older sister was my rebound when i was putting in the work in our backyard at home. even my dog, lacy, wears my jersey at home games so i’ve really felt the love and support my whole life.”

“and we all will continue to show that love and support as you grow in the wnba. have a great night, y/n, thank you for chatting with us,” the woman finishes. 

you smile proudly. your fanbase has always had your back and you’re beyond grateful that they are following you to new heights. as you walk away from the interviewer and down the carpet ready for more, you are stopped by someone calling your name. spinning around, you are ushered over to where caitlin is currently getting interviewed.

“hey guys!” you cheer as you stand next to caitlin. the middle-aged man before you is practically shaking with excitement, knowing that he is actually talking to two of the biggest stars of women’s college ball.

“what an honor it is to get to talk to both of you,” he beams, “are you two aware that you are single-handedly carrying women’s sports right now?”

“hey, i mean it’s super cool to be able to inspire so many young women and help gain respect for women’s athletics so it’s all thumbs up from me,” you reply.

“i agree, there’s no better feeling than being able to change lives and leave such a significant legacy. and i think i can speak for the both of us when i say there’s really no way to top how we feel right now,” caitlin adds.

“i mean, i can think of a couple ways,” the man begins, “and it involves being the first and second picks tonight. y/n, i’ve talked about it with caitlin but i’m curious, are you ready to be selected by the sparks as the number 2 overall pick?”

“i’m flattered, thank you, but there’s really no telling what the lineup will be,” i say truthfully, “would it be an honor and dream fulfilled if i get picked by them? no doubting it. but i just don’t wanna get my hopes up, you know what i mean?”

“she’s just being polite, of course she’s gonna get picked,” caitlin grins playfully.

“yeah, y/n, give yourself more credit! you have had an amazing season this year, the sparks would suffer a huge loss if they didn’t select you.”

“thank you so much, really, it means a lot to hear that.”

———

“with the second pick in the 2024 wnba draft, the los angeles sparks select y/n l/n, university of iowa.”

as soon as those words leave the commissioner’s mouth, you can’t imagine life is real. you let out a heavy sigh, shoulders immediately relaxing as you hear your name called. this is all you’ve ever wanted. and now you have it. happy tears begin to prick your eyes as you stand up from your seat to hug your family. it’s a euphoric feeling really, and you couldn’t be more happy.

“you can see the emotion on y/n’s face as she celebrates with her family,” you hear the announcer declare, “the number 2 overall pick, who will get to return to her home city in california after a decorated career at iowa with multiple outstanding records broken.”

walking up to the podium to receive your jersey, you feel a couple tears of joy fall on your cheeks. anyone who knows you can see that you are wearing the biggest smile, the emotion behind it outshining every other. 

stepping up onto the stage, you pose next to the commissioner, the both of you holding the los angeles sparks jersey with pride. thanking the kind lady, you swiftly make your way through the tables and hug your former coaching staff thanking them quickly for everything they’ve done for you. 

“and if you want rebounding and rim protection, you can’t get much better than y/n l/n,” another announcer says, “she has been a trailblazer these past few seasons, completely flipping the reputation of women’s sports on its head with almost 900 total rebounds in her collegiate career, 5 blocks per game, averaged about 13 boards a game, as well. 

“she is going to be great in the wnba right away. this young woman has an unbelievable skill set as well as physical attributes. 6’0, long, strong, and elite when it comes to shot blocking and rebounding. y/n l/n is the exact player that the la sparks can use.”

———

the after-party is as energetic as can be. bottles of champagne are popping, friends are screaming, music is blasting. the environment is completely unmatched as you soak in the celebration and accomplishments. the party in question is being held on the rooftop of a new york city hotel, the view outside the full-length windows breath-taking.

you are currently pushed into a circle of your fellow draftees: angel reese, cameron brink, kamilla cardoso, nika muhl, and of course, your girlfriend, caitlin clark. you somehow got roped into doing a full round of shots, a tiny glass of straight liquor sitting on the table before you. you and the girls clink your glasses together with cheers of gratification and congratulations, the entire affair filling your being with serotonin.

downing the shot with ease, you turn to caitlin as her hand finds its home at the small of your back. eye contact held, your mind drifts back to her promise from earlier that day.

“can we go outside for a bit?” you hear her mumble in your ear, “needa take a breather.”

she’s a little bit more than tipsy - her words are slurred, shortened. and she’s wearing a sloppy side smile. but you aren’t complaining. drunk caitlin was truly a sight, and more touchy than normal. you’re definitely far gone as well, possibly more than her. your body internally shakes with anticipation at the thought of what could happen as the night progresses.

as you dismiss yourselves from the group, you make your way to the exterior of the building and find yourselves overlooking the beautiful cityscape below. you can still hear and feel the bass booming from the speakers inside. the hum of the vibrations contributing to the literal and physical buzz surging through your body. the cold eastern air makes you shake. your girlfriend notices almost immediately, shrugging off her blazer to wrap around your shoulders. she kisses you on the cheek and moves closer to you.

“why didn’t you bring a jacket, y/n?” she asks.

“must’ve slipped my mind,” yeah right.

“i’m so proud of you,” caitlin says after a beat of silence, “you know that?”

“i do,” you reply, “i’m so proud of you, too. you have no idea.”

“seriously though…can you believe we did it?”

“not really. i’m still waiting for someone to pinch me and wake me up from this dream.”

“i know, right?” she says with a laugh, “did you hear they’re retiring our numbers?”

“really? both of ours?” you were only expecting caitlin’s to be retired, not your own. after the career she’s had, no one questioned it.

“yes, both of ours,” she responds in a duh tone, “you gotta give yourself more credit, i’m telling you. you could do literally anything and everything, and i need you to know that.”

her words make you emotional beyond words with tears threatening to fall for what seemed like the 50th time tonight. you decide to change the subject, afraid that if you continue the conversation you’ll start sobbing (again).

“yeah?” you smirk, mood shifting, “you talk a big game about how much you love me. how ‘bout you put your money where your mouth is and show me?”

you turn your head to face her only to see her already looking at you, eyes dark despite being illuminated by the city lights.

“don’t start something you can’t finish,” she challenges.

“i thought i could do anything?” you tease, quoting her own words.

wordlessly, she grabs your hand and pulls you back inside, only to lead you to the elevators of the hotel. there we go.

———

your hands shake with anticipation as you swipe your key card to get into your room. you’ve just barely stepped into the room before caitlin is kicking the door closed and shoving you roughly against it, her eager set of lips pressed against yours. her large hands grip your waist animalistically, slightly riding up your dress. you let out a moan at the contact you’ve been desperately pining for the entire day. the sound provokes caitlin as she bites down on your lower lip.

she breaks the kiss and takes her hands off of you to remove the jacket she gave you earlier. you can barely get a full breath in before she’s marking your neck, collarbone, and chest. you seize the opportunity to take off her silver top, only to learn that she wasn’t wearing a bra. your hands fly up to her chest, admiring her soft skin.

now it’s her turn to moan as your cold fingers brush against her nipples. pushing your hands away, she urges you away from the door and toward the bed. before pushing you on the mattress, she unzips your dress to disregard the fabric. underneath, she’s greeted with a white lacy lingerie set.

“y/n..” she breathes out, scanning your body.

the way she says your name makes time stop, and amongst the chaos from the day’s events, you are stilled. time resumes when she shoves you on the silky blanket of the king-sized bed, her lips immediately finding yours once again.

“you’re overdressed,” you mumble between kisses. she automatically backs away from you to take off her skirt, throwing it somewhere behind her.

she pulls on your bra strap, silently asking to take it off. sitting up, you reach behind your back to unclasp it while she decides to take off your underwear. she tugs you to the edge of the bed and sinks down before you, leaving a hot trail of kisses down your entire body.

“gonna make you feel so good, baby,” she mumbles against your skin, “show you how proud i am.”

she makes good on her promise, immediately getting to work on your clit. her tongue flicks against the bud, forcing a loud moan out of your mouth. the action alone was enough to make you come, but she just had to insert a finger into your soaking entrance.

you’ve seen her on the court and with a basketball, obviously, so you know how skilled she is with her hands. you let out a whimper at the thought of you being the only one to experience it on a whole new level.

“fuck, cait,” you pant, chest heaving.

as she adds another finger, she looks up at you from between your legs, and caitlin being the cocky motherfucker she is, smirks, the sight making you throw your head back in pleasure.

“that good, babe?”

“so good- shit.” one of your hands drifts up to your chest, squeezing it to add to the pleasure.

caitlin continues pumping her fingers in and out of you, curling her fingers every now and then. she places rough kisses on your inner thighs, leaving dark purple marks everywhere her lips touch. you feel your stomach tense up, signaling your climax. somehow she senses it, too.

“you gonna come, y/n? huh?” she says, “gonna come on my fingers?”

you nod, not being able to form words at the moment. she chuckles darkly at your state, both of your positions a stark contrast from a few hours prior. after a few more seconds, you feel the knot in your stomach burst as you release with a yell. this doesn’t stop caitlin, of course, her long fingers still hitting that special spot in your cunt.

as you begin to come down from your high, she removes her fingers to place them in her mouth and licks them, eyes closing in pleasure at your taste.

“did so good for me, baby,” she says as she stands back up to kiss you. she makes her way over to the head of the bed, as if she’s right to call it a night.

“what are you doing?” you ask her.

“going to sleep?”

“absolutely not,” you demand.

you push her against the pillows, relishing in the way her long brown hair is spread out as she lays with nothing but her underwear on. you straddle her defined waist and bend down to kiss her. 

while she’s distracted, you sneak your hands down to remove her underwear and push your thumb against her clit. she’s surprised by the action, biting your lip and moaning into your mouth.

you sit back up and scoot backwards so that your pussy is just above hers. you both adjust your positions so that your pussies align, instantly moaning out loud at the new feeling.

“shittt,” caitlin groans.

the sighs that leave her lips are music to your ears, but the mix of curses and borderline pornographic moans she lets out is your favorite song. you can’t explain this feeling with words as you rock your hips sensually, the wetness from either of you making the process easy.

“you feel so good against me, cait,” you moan, “so fucking good, holy shit.”

“yeah? you like grinding your pussy against me?” she teases as her hands come up to grab your tits, “fuck- looking like a perfect slut riding me.”

as your clits brush against each other, you moan out simultaneously. you begin to pick up your pace, desperate for a release. your hips buck against her rapidly, chasing that high you search for whenever you’re like this with her.

“fuck, baby, just like that,” caitlin sighs, “fucking me so damn good.” her back arches and her hips buck up, equally ready to come.

soon enough the pleasure gets too intense, making you release on caitlin’s pussy and thighs, her own climax not far behind. you continue to move against her, slower, as you begin to calm down. as your breathing steadies, you climb into bed next to your girlfriend and rest your head against her chest. she places a loving kiss on your head, silently thanking you for everything. you snuggle even closer to her, inhaling her sweet scent.

“i love you so much, y/n,” she whispers into your hair.

“i love you, too, caitlin,” you say as you are slowly coaxed to sleep.

she’s thinking back to when she said that nothing would ever top being the number one draft pick, but being here, with her arms wrapped tightly around you, knocks it out of first place easily.

#leilanihours #caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark fluff #caitlin clark smut #wnba #wnba draft #womens basketball #university of iowa #wcbb #ncaa #fluff #smut #oneshot #writing #music #taylor swift #dress #reputation

[astralis-ortus]

weighted blankets and projector

✱ a bang chan headcanon

— as long as you're happy, then chan is happy too.

w.count → 0.6k genre → fluff. very soft fluff. warning → none! a.n → originally wanted this to be a single post with streetlights and warm nights, but the fluff would be out of control (and i got too delirious to actually continue writing lol) sooo here's the second part!

although chan loves adventures, he also doesn’t mind spending your date nights inside.

foods and games would be the most important factor chan takes into consideration. your pool of dinner choices might be a little more limited when you’re bound to a certain location, but that’s what his little games are for.

you’re feeling like having some fried chicken? of course he’ll get them for you, but make sure you win the rounds of truth or dare or you might not be able to get even a single bite of those golden goodness (who are you kidding—he’ll definitely cave once you put on your puppy eyes, just like how seungmin taught you). hot pot night? no worries, his uno cards will help you two determine whether your dinner of the night follows his mild tastebuds or your daring ones. chan will get your every dinner requests, and put a fun twist on them just to see your smile.

when all the food is gone, chan would then pull out the weighted blanket he bought and kept especially for your date nights, all under the pretense of ‘i heard it’s good for you’ (when in actuality, he just needed wanted a tiny extra help in keeping you glued to his side).

what you’ll be doing from then on is a free arena—there are days where you’d just talk for hours on end, laughing at whatever silly things each other would say. on other days, you’d spin a wheel and let fate choose which of your all time favorite movies will you be rewatching that night (which, oddly enough, mostly fell to either the deadpool series or a few ghibli movies). there are also days where both of you decided to just melt next to each other while doing your own thing—chan with his laptop, while you, on the other hand, finishes the book you’ve been dying to read all throughout the week.

just as you’re about to feel drowsy after all fully digesting your dinner, chan would then draw a warm bath for you to relax in, bath bombs and all. he’d always tell you to take your time when you’re having your bath; he needed the extra time to pick out your set of matching pajamas set (yes, he wears one too), as well as setting up the candles and the new galaxy light projector he just bought a couple days ago. you once told him it looked pretty, and being the good boyfriend and devoted astrophile he is, of course he remembered it.

if your bath was chan’s way of taking care of you, then you doing his skin and hair care routine is your way of taking care of chan. you always treasure every opportunities you have to be so up close with him, taking note of his features while he’s surrendered under your gentle touch. you’d note every single speck of his freckles, every stray curls on his forehead, every faint smile lines he had etched over the years on the surface of his skin, which only grew in definition after he met you.

and you fall in love again.

maybe a little bit harder,

maybe a lot deeper.

now all warm and cuddled up under the layer of comfy duvet, you finally snuggled close to chan, allowing his body heat to entirely encapsulate you. the echo of his heartbeat is loud and clear, turning you all blush and giggly while sleep gently knocks on your eyelids. chan would say a couple things—noting how nice your new shampoo smelled, or how soft the layer of pajama is over your skin, but when he noticed your absence of reply, his smile would soften as he watches your sleeping face. chan would place a kiss on your forehead and held you tighter, wishing that even in his dream, the only person he would see is you.

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

#stray kids fluff #skz fluff #bang chan fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #bang chan scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #bang chan imagines #stray kids au #skz au #bang chan au #stray kids headcanons #skz headcanons #bang chan headcanons #stray kids x you #skz x you #bang chan x you #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #isa's fics #isa's headcanons

[01zfan]

anything 4 u pt. 2 | j. sc

boyfriend!sungchan x fem reader | 5k words

omg this counts as an ooc fic almost i think…sungchan please get mad at meeeee…no smut (leaving that for the next part if you guys want it hehe) BUT it is a little suggestive

contains: drinking, parties, slight toxic behavior?

anything for you: part one | part two

sungchan feels his phone vibrate next to his head. part of his mind is still asleep, he’s convinced what he’s hearing is a dream. but when the ringing and vibration persists, sungchan turns completely to his side of the bed to haphazardly reach towards the source of the sound. when sungchan lifts his head he sees 3:42 staring back at him in red digital numbers and has to squint to make sure it’s real. 

when he grabs your phone he has to squeeze his eyes shut a few times to make sure he’s seeing everything correctly. your caller ID and contact pic he has set up for you take up his whole phone is very real. sungchan quickly turns to your side of the bed, running his hand over your spot in the dark to only find you missing, a small crater in the mattress left behind. instantly sungchan sits up in the bed, feet pressing into the ground as he accepts your call.

“hello? hello?” the speaker on sungchan’s phone is almost blown out as you yell into his ear. he pulls the phone away for a second before bringing it back. “—i told you he’d answer” you yelled on the other side of the line.

sungchan looked to the time again, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose. he suppressed all of his anger, speaking through clenched teeth when you finished talking. 

“where are you?” he asked.

your laugh crackling through the speakers told sungchan all he needed to know. he remembered the conversation you two had only a few hours ago about that party. sungchan remembers telling you he couldn’t go because he had work in the morning, and he remembers telling you that you shouldn’t go either. sungchan also remembers you agreeing, and you talking about how tired you were before falling asleep first. so when sungchan heard you laugh and he heard the loud music behind you he had to close his eyes as he tried to remain calm. the fingers that pinched the bridge of his nose went to his temples, trying to massage out his incoming stress migraine. 

“at the party.” you said simply.

you could barely hear sungchan’s quiet voice over the party that raged around you. trying to find a secluded quiet place for a phone call was impossible, the closest you could get to having a private conversation was going to a dark corner and plugging your other ear with your finger.

“the one i told you not to go to?” sungchan asked.

even if he attempted to keep his voice even, you could hear the annoyance lined in his words. the alcohol in your system that made you want to call your boyfriend only made you mad now, anger shot through your body as you dissected sungchan’s every word. your hand plugging your ear dropped to your hip and you narrowed your eyes, as if sungchan was right there in front of you. you even tilted your head in faux confusion as you held the receiver closer to your face.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do.” you said.

hearing sungchan’s irritated sigh on the other end of the line only made you more upset. maybe you imagined it in your drunken state, how upset he sounded on the other end of the line. but being treated with the brief silences from sungchan made you feel irate. the alcohol in your system made your hairs stand on end.

sungchan was still silent on the other side, trying to figure out how to approach the situation.

“okay.” you can practically hear sungchan rubbing his temple as he lets out another sigh. “just send me your location.” he says.

he wanted to come and take you away from the fun. he wanted to take you away from the loud music and the puking teenagers and whatever that was in the corner next to your feet. after you were so nice to call him in the middle of the night to tell him about the great time you were having. what a fucking buzzkill.

“no.” you say, crossing your arms. 

sungchan is quiet on the other end of the line. you imagine him sitting in the dark, phone pulled away from his ear as he tries to collect himself. if he wasn’t so high-strung and let loose after work like you did he wouldn’t be so irritable all the damn time. before you can tell him this, your thoughts are cut short when you hear him vexed on the other side of the line.

“i’m not in the fucking mood for this.” 

you can’t stop your eyes from widening. if you weren’t so drunk, you would’ve played off of his annoyance by throwing a joke at him, or you would’ve submitted and sent your location while still being on the phone. but you were three shots past your limit and you saw your friends coming up to you with more, and the loud energetic music around you made your adrenaline rush. the shock from sungchan's words turned into fire, and the short fuse you had was lit. the alcohol was running through you. as you tried to mirror sungchan by using the silence as a buffer to control your anger you were getting closer and closer to anger.

when you tried to summon what little self control you had left, sungchan cursing at you rings in your ears. the anger bounces off the walls of the party, louder than the music everyone dances to. so your self control is wasted as you draw your lips to your teeth to make sure all of your words are punctuated for your boyfriend.

“fuck you sungchan.” you seethe.

sungchan hears you curse at him and he can’t get a word out before the call drops. he hears the two defiant beeps of you hanging up, and sungchan keeps his phone to his face from the pure shock. the massaging did nothing as he feels the pulsing behind his eyes, brought on from working constantly and the headache he calls his girlfriend. he stays like that for a minute, mouth agape as he tries to figure out what just happened. the irrational anger makes sungchan almost shake, he lets out a laugh to himself in his dark room as everything sinks in.

sungchan still laughs to himself as he pulls his phone away to see the time. the phone brightness blinds sungchan, and your smile on his lockscreen illuminates his face. he lets out a sigh when he sees the time, how late he’s up because of you. he just got cursed out by the smiling cute girl on his phone. you are a pain in his ass, the reason for the blossoming migraine behind his eyes, and the love of his life—it’s hard to put it into words. if sungchan had to choose between all the riches in the world or having you listen to him, you’d be beside him in bed right now. 

his anger and annoyance almost makes him roll over and go back to sleep. sungchan wishes he had the ability to be mean to you, to make you figure out your way back home. you’re more than capable, and you arguably deserve it. he did try it, laying his head back on his pillow and bringing his covers up to his chin in a huff. 

“if she found a way to get there, she can find her way back.” sungchan whispered to himself.

it almost worked. sungchan swore his words almost worked before he turned back to check the time on his digital clock. he couldn’t stop himself from imagining you walking around lost and worried, with a dead phone and a boyfriend that wasn’t there for you. 

if she found a way to get there, she can find her way back.

sungchan turned on his back to face the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut one more time to try and go to sleep. he turned to your side of the bed, eyes still shut. when he made the mistake of opening them to see your jostled pillow and you missing he pushed the covers down the bed quickly, letting out a sound of annoyance. 

if she found a way to get there, she can find her way back.

next, sungchan let out a loud groan, all of his frustrations from work and you bubbling to the surface. the whole day was heavy on his shoulders, and now this was too. sungchan knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he wasn’t even tired as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed again to stand up. 

“four in the fucking morning.” sungchan says under his breath while running his fingers through his hair.

sungchan is quick navigating his phone, his previously groggy mind is on alert as he looks through your messages. he finds the flier for the party you were at in the attachments. sungchan’s quick fingers press into the glass of his phone as he inputs the location on his navigation app. thirty minutes to get to you in the middle of nowhere. 

sungchan’s anger heats his whole body as he gets dressed. in his haste he only throws a jacket over his shirt and puts on sweatpants over his boxers. he runs his hands through his hair one more time before throwing on a baseball cap backwards, pushing back his bangs so it’s a snug fit. sungchan gets dressed in the dark, trying to not waste anytime to turn on the light. he doesn’t care if his clothes are on backwards or if he looks crazy. he plans to be in and out quickly, not being seen by anyone else but you and your annoying enabling friends. maybe if he’s mad enough maybe he’ll lecture them too. 

as sungchan leaves the bedroom he turns on the living room light. he flinches from the light and instinctually yawns as he shuffles through his apartment. even the anxiety sungchan feels for you being so clearly drunk turns into anger. the argument of you not taking your low tolerance into consideration has been a topic of debate (arguing) between the two of you for as long as he can remember. “i don’t drink to get tipsy. i drink to get drunk.” sungchan felt himself getting even more upset as he recalled your absurd philosophy when it came to drinking. 

his anger made him move fast, so fast that sungchan almost left without his phone. he had to circle back to his bedroom to slip it into the pocket of his sweats. as he was leaving the room he saw your jacket resting on the desk. sungchan swore he felt his eye twitch at the thought of you in the cold without your jacket. he snatches it from the desk and scoffs at your keyring that rests underneath it.

“act first, think later.” sungchan says as he grabs your keys.

he carelessly slams his door as he makes his way down the stairs of the apartment complex. his slides grind on the cement with each long stride, and sungchan clears two steps at a time. he makes his way to his car in the parking lot quickly, and he sees your car sitting pretty in the spot next to his. sungchan imagines you ordered an uber with your friends, none of you were responsible enough to have a designated driver.

sungchan pulls at his door twice but it doesn’t automatically lock.

“nobody is fucking listening to me tonight.” he says while grabbing his keys from his pockets. 

when sungchan can finally get into his car he slams the door, so hard that it causes his vehicle to shake. sungchan is sure he wouldn’t have cared if the window broke from the force, he thinks his anger could make him split the car in half. the only reprieve he gets is the white-knuckle grip he has on the steering wheel as he looks towards the map on his phone. occasionally he tells the robot on his phone to call you—each time you let it ring to your voicemail. sungchan has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying things he’ll regret. he only jabs the end call button before repeating the process over and over again. 

when his navigation app leads him closer to you, he finds himself at the end of a road that abruptly cuts off. he’s surrounded by parked cars, and sungchan can see people on foot heading down the hill and some people coming back. he’s absolutely sure he’s in the right place, his headlights show people in revealing clothes excited as they talk about the party. they pass by his car without a care in the world, and sungchan has to peer over his dashboard to make sure he doesn’t hit anything.

when he finally parks his car and takes the key from the ignition he calls you one last time. sungchan knows there’s no way you’ve come to your senses, or that you’re ready to apologize but he lets his phone ring in the palm of his hand one last time.

“you have reached the voicemail box of—“

before the automated voice can finish, sungchan hangs up. he looks outside one last time, thinking he still had the chance to leave and wait for you at home. maybe you had already left with your friends to go to a different party. sungchan lets all the options float through his head, and he regrets when he was blissfully unaware of the world around him when he was sleeping. he presses his forehead to the steering wheel, mentally preparing for the loud noises of the underground party and ironing his resolve. sungchan breathes deep before letting it out. remain calm he repeats it to himself over and over again. he looks out the passenger side window to follow the crowd that disappears past the hill. 

sungchan undoes his seatbelt and unlocks his door, heading down the hill to follow the music.

“you got this sungchan.”

he repeated that phrase to himself all the way to the party. it was uncomfortable, being outside in the cold with music he didn’t have a taste for playing so loud that he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. all sungchan could think about was how this wasn’t your crowd at all, and this wasn’t the type of music you even liked to listen to. the more he thought about it the angrier he got—he didn’t understand why you were so adamant on going to a party that wasn’t your style at all.

when sungchan looked through the crowd of people he saw you in a huddle with your friends. the same people you see nearly everyday stood off to the side, not even dancing or acknowledging the party that raged on around them. sungchan even saw one of your friends grimace at someone who bumped into her while they were dancing. sungchan felt his face heat up and his hands clenched at his sides. there was no reason for you to be here, no reason for any of your friends to be here either. he recognized all the girls faces, and he knew their attitudes well. when sungchan thought about the fact that you and your friends were here solely because someone told them not to be he found himself pushing through the crowd of people, making a line straight to you. 

you didn’t notice sungchan coming through the crowd. you blamed it on the alcohol, and the riveting conversation you were having with a complete stranger. all you knew was that one second you were ignoring your boyfriends nth call of the night and the next he stood in front of you, interrupting your new friend mid-sentence.

“put that on.” sungchan tossed your jacket to you, and you almost missed it with the drink in your hand. “we’re leaving.”

you look at sungchan standing tall above your friends, the alcohol in your bloodstream makes him appear like a dream in front of you. you can see the boxers he wore to bed peaking over his pair of sweats and his loose hoodie makes his white undershirt visible. he sticks out like a sore thumb, the casual outfit so different from the revealing clothes everyone else wears. he couldn’t be bothered, and you could tell. he didn’t care to keep up the appearance of the sweet doting boyfriend in front of your friends, he didn’t even spare them a second glance as he kept his eyes trained on you. 

the shock of seeing sungchan only lasts a second before you find yourself falling into your role. your friends were confused but you instantly could read sungchan, his hands that were balled up into fists and his tense shoulders. you still stood there relaxed, not moving an inch as your friends started looking between the two of you. you only are only focused on keeping eye contact—burning and intense as you two engaged in the silent battle of who can be more annoyed. you had to resist the urge to lick your lips or look sungchan up and down underneath his stare. you looked past sungchan for a moment to see all the people having fun behind him—that could be you you thought. 

you can feel your friends eyes flicker and wander from the palpable tension. even if your girls were drunk they could feel the thick atmosphere between you both. you feel a moment of sobriety as you think about the hell sungchan probably went through to come and get you. so you break first, smiling and uncrossing your arms as a sign of peace.

“i have an early morning tomorrow anyways.” you still have to maintain some sort of upperhand in the situation. sungchan would just have to understand that you have a reputation to upkeep. you push yourself off the wall and take time hugging each one of your friends. “i’ll catch you guys later.” you smile.

sungchan is still stoic when you turn back around to face him. you let your smile drop when only he can see it, and he makes sure you can see him roll his eyes as he turns around. sungchan doesn’t waste the time to tell your friends goodbye before he’s guiding you the way you came with a hand on your back. 

usually in crowded spaces sungchan would be gentle with his hand, like a suggestion on where you should go. but is hand now was pushy, almost making you collide with a few people. you lightly hit his arm each time, but he still pushed through. he didn’t bother to look down at you, his eyes fixed on the exit. you wish you could be angry, you were well within your rights to be upset at a man essentially pushing you through a crowd of people. but feeling of sungchan’s hand pressing into your back makes you reminiscence, and the strength behind his hand makes you feel light. you find yourself purposefully falling behind just so he can press the pads of his fingers into your back a little harder to move you forward.

once you made it out of the party sungchan lets go of your back. instead of grabbing your hand, or offering to carry you to the car he started walking ahead. your uneasy feet in the heels didn’t stand a chance, and it wasn't long before you fell behind. while trying to catch up you remembered the other person you called about the fun and how he would be helping you right now.

sungchan walks so far in front that you have to yell after him. he wishes the music was loud enough to drown out your voice when you called out to him. 

“taro—”

“you can talk to your brother later.” sungchan interrupts.

sungchan doesn’t turn around as he continues to walk. the last person he wants to be thinking about is shotaro. he just needs silence. he needs silence in this shitty parking lot and he needs silence in the car on the way home. he may even need silence for the rest of the week while he calms himself down.

“you’re not listening—“ you start.

before sungchan knows it, he turns around and closes the distance between your two bodies. he’s so close to you that you can feel the anger coming off of him in waves, and you can hear his heavy breaths. the gentle calming aura of your boyfriend is the complete opposite as he puts up a finger of caution. your wide eyes flicker from sungchan’s finger to his face. in the split second of silence sungchan uses the patience he has left.

“you woke me up in the middle of the night after you told me you weren’t going out. i have to be up for work in four hours and i’m playing your babysitter.” his words are quiet, coming through clenched teeth almost sounding like a hiss.

the moment of satisfaction sungchan feels by bringing you to silence only lasts for a moment. the second you take in his words your eyes widen. you look to his finger again and your own teeth become clenched.

“you think you can just talk to me anyway you want?” you bring your own finger up to him. “get your hand out of my face.” you say.

sungchan suddenly finds out he has no words left for you. the same feeling of amazement comes over him from when you hung up the phone. he lets out a single dry laugh before turning and walking towards the car. you stand there for a moment before he hears you start to walk quickly trying to catch up with him.

“don’t ignore me!” you complain.

sungchan stuffs his hands into his hoodie as he continues to walk.

“jung sungchan, i know you hear me!” you yell after him.

sungchan smiles when he hears the anger in your voice. the silent treatment is actually kind of fun when he’s not on the receiving end. he even laughs to himself when you call him an asshole. when you finally realize it’s no use you’re silent. sungchan twiddles his thumbs in his pockets, enjoying the silent night.

sungchan looks over his shoulder once when he hears you slow down. you no longer look at him, instead your eyes are on your heels as you fumble with the straps.

“my shoes.” you grumble.

sungchan turns fully around to see you trailing dangerously far behind, you are barely stable on your feet in your heels, the uneven terrain and your intoxication only makes everything worse. sungchan stands in place, watching you walk like a newborn deer in the darkness. even your hands are panicked in front of your body to try and give you balance. the thought of making you rough it in your heels flashes through sungchan’s mind, and sungchan feels somewhat at peace at the thought of temporarily putting you through hell. so he closes the distance between the two of you before you can take another step.

when you look up to sungchan he can see the outline of your face and the whites of your eyes. you almost look apologetic from up here, sungchan swears he can see a sorry on your bottom lip before you bite it. sungchan rolls his eyes at your attitude and he hopes you see it. 

when you don’t move, he puts his hand on your bicep. he can see your fingers move by reflex, the jewels embedded into your acrylic nails catch the moonlight. sungchan thinks about how expensive the intricate set was as he lightly pulls at your arm, forcing you to walk a few steps. sungchan can’t stop the satisfied smile as he sees you try to push against his pull to only stumble and almost fall to the ground—the only thing that keeps you upright is the grip he has on your arm. he even hears the surprised sound you make when you realize a beat too late you’re falling.

he knows he’s being evil. sungchan knows it’s not right to mess with you while you’re drunk and stumbling in your heels. but you have messed with sungchan for as long as he could remember. you have also arguably done worse to him—like waking him up in the middle of the night when you know he has work in the morning. even now, when you know you’re wrong you still look at him like he did something awful to you. if you only let a drunk little sorry fall from your lips, one that you could even take back in the morning when you’re sober sungchan would stop being so mean. but you don’t, so sungchan turns on his heel and begins pulling you behind him as he purposely lengthens his strides.

he can hear your feet kicking up rocks as you to stumble to make up for his large steps. he smiles straight forward as he has to pull you to keep up. sungchan doesn’t change his speed, he doesn’t stop walking until you slip your arm from his grasp. 

“you’re going too fast.” you yell.

sungchan turns back to face you. when he takes in your expression and the irritation in your voice he understands why you push his buttons so much. you make it too easy, the alcohol is making you feel everything tenfold. he can see the inability to walk the way you want and your boyfriend being mean nearly frustrate you to tears. 

sungchan knows he must be sick at how the sight before him makes him feel. he feels the satisfaction and something more churn in his stomach as your eyebrows furrow before they soften. when you pull in a deep breath to try and calm yourself, sungchan does the same mockingly. when he tilts his head and taps a finger underneath your chin, you move away from his touch. he can’t hide the smile in his voice when he talks down to you.

“want me to carry you?” he asks.

when you only nod your head sungchan comes close to you. he puts his finger underneath your chin again and this time you let him, forcing eye contact. he can see your pupils shake, how bleary they are from the drinking and how tired you must be. sungchan sees your pout, for the first time in his life he’s mostly unaffected by it.

“just say you’re sorry and i’ll carry you.” sungchan says it simply.

your stubbornness keeps you from apologizing. all you do is shake your head lightly, chin still being held up by sungchan’s fingers.

you don’t know why he’s being so mean to you and you don’t know why you like it so much. the smile sungchan has on his face is mocking, and he looks down at you like you’re stupid. the fake sympathy makes you want to yell at him and it makes you want to fist his sweatshirt and bring him down to you. you look at sungchcan’s lips, his smile turned into a pout that mirrors yours. you have to atleast try to maintain some of your pride. 

“i didn’t do anything wrong.” you mumble.

sungchan sees the way your eyes bounce from his lips to his eyes. he can see the switch that flipped inside of you, how you’re batting your long eyelashes at him. he doesn’t even know if you mean to, but he tsks at you regardless. sungchan doesn’t even think he’s mad anymore, he’s just wants to see how far he can wind you up. he comes closer to your face, so close that his lips ghost over yours. your hands go to his shoulders on instinct, and sungchan sees your face flash in pain as you go to your tippy-toes.

“you sure about that?” sungchan whispers.

he smiles again when you part your lips, and laughs at your closed eyes while you wait for him to kiss you. he can smell the liquor on your breath when you let out a tiny sigh, and he can feel your tightening grip on his shoulders. sungchan looks to your closed eyes then down to your parted lips again. he does the same thing as you and lets out a small whine before laughing. he undoes the grip you have on his shirt and he pulls away from you completely. he sees you open your eyes, and he can see the tears threaten to break past your water line. your eyelashes are already clumping together, and your pout deepens.

“why won’t you kiss me?” you say quietly.

sungchan takes his hand away from your chin but you keep your head tilted towards him. he can see your eyes, red and wet from all your conflicting emotions. sungchan almost feels sorry for you, but then he remembers how peacefully he was sleeping in his bed before you called him. he taps your chin affectionately before he turns around and bends his knees, lowering his body for you.

“because you’re drunk and i’m mad at you.” sungchan says over his shoulder.

you don’t say anything else, but sungchan feels you press your hands to his back as you wrap one of your legs around his waist. sungchan puts his arm around your thigh, and then the other when you regain your balance. when he feels your chest pressed against his back he stands up.

“i’m sorry.” you slur into his ear. 

it’s barely above a whisper, and he’s almost sure you’ll deny the apology when you’re sober. but sungchan takes it, a small smile creeps across his face as he looks for his car. readjusts you on his back, trying to get the best grip he can on your legs. 

“whatever.” sungchan says.

“i’ll make it up to you later.” you say it with a smirk, and sungchan has to stop himself from laughing. when you start licking the shell of sungchan’s ear he has to bend his neck to hide his ear in his shoulder. you only go to his other ear, your breath fanning his skin as you laugh at him.

"i think i like it when you're mean to me." you giggle into his ear.

"you're a freak." sungchan says over his shoulder.

sungchan pulls his keys from his pocket and presses the unlock button. he can already feel you slouching against his body, your head pressed into his shoulder blades as your breath begins to steady. he sighs again when he realizes you’ve fallen asleep, and he grabs your purse before it hits the ground from your weakening grip. sungchan readjusts your sleeping body on his back again as he starts heading towards his car. 

before he can start walking towards his vehicle, he hears someone’s shoes kicking up rocks as they head towards him. it happens too quick, sungchan barely recognizes someone is heading straight for him until the footsteps abruptly stop. sungchan is too busy listening to the cicadas and your light snores to notice the person that’s behind him.

“sungchan?” he freezes in his place, not taking another step towards his car. “what are you doing here?”

“and why is my sister on your back?”

#seriez: anything 4 u #01zfan: sungchan #sungchan smut #riize smut

[after-witch]

Damn Your Eyes Chapter 2 [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Cream and Sugar [Damn Your Eyes Chapter 2] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: A fateful meeting at a bookstore between you and Ren Hana, years upon years after your escape from Strade, turns into a coffee shop date. You're not supposed to accept drinks from strangers, but Ren's not a stranger--so it's fine, right?

Word count: 5,322

notes: yandere, descriptions of violence/death/wounds, drugging

AO3 LINK

How did one get over something like Strade? Get over that house and that basement? How do you move on with your life when you’ve seen someone’s guts spill out of their body while they’re still alive, and you’ve been instructed to pick them up and play with them for the delight of sick fucks watching it all on a paid stream?

The pretty answer, the one everyone recites when asked, because that’s what you do: with therapy and time and forgiveness for yourself. You take it one day at a time. You treat yourself. 

The real answer: You didn’t. You don’t. You can’t. 

Not fully. Because “getting over” something like that means it will eventually no longer affect you, no longer being a part of you. 

And sure. You will, eventually, go about something that feels like an ordinary life. 

You will walk into a grocery store with a tidy little list, you will roll your eyes at the rising cost of laundry detergent, you will smile at a cashier who says they like your outfit. You will date and drink coffee and sway to your favorite song while making dinner. 

But inside, inside of you , you are still there--still hovering at the last step of the basement stairs, listening to someone’s guttural shrieks as their skin is blow-torch melted down. Still clinging to Ren in the middle of the night, flinching when his hands wander over a recent gouge, a hastily stitched cut--an accident, he whispers, and you’re never sure if you believe him.

And that is what happened to you. 

It took years, of course, to even get close to that semblance of normalcy. A few years were spent in feverish hiding, running from place to place with no paper trails that might lead some gorehound that subscribed to Strade’s torture porn sniffing at your door, hungry for more. 

But you settled down, in time. Slowly. Bit by bit, piece by piece, inch by inch. 

That took years, too--the settling. 

It started with staying in an apartment for more than three months at a time. It started with going to the grocery store wearing only sunglasses, instead of sunglasses, a wig, and the most nondescript clothing you could fish out of a bargain bin. It started with applying for real jobs, not just seedy work that paid cash, quick.

It ended here, in this quaint little home that you shared with your husband for the past five years, though you’d lived together for longer. It ended here, with a modest marketing career that you’d built up after going back to college. It ended here, with a life you built for yourself; frail and a bit unorthodox, but a life nonetheless. 

You wouldn’t have been able to survive, if you hadn’t adapted. There is only so much terror the human man can manage before breaking entirely, and so--adaptation. 

It was a gift that your husband didn’t mind your… differences. The heavy insistence on home security, the desire for privacy, the slow way you gave trust to strangers--if you gave it at all. 

Some things did bother him. He grumbled about your lack of social media presence, and you’d once had an awful fight when his sister put a photo of you on Facebook that you’d demanded, in furious tears, be taken down. 

But, deep down, it wasn’t like you could blame your husband for bucking against your near tantrum-like reaction. For the way he sometimes sighed as you locked the front door with triple locks, and an electric sensor. For the way his jaw sometimes set, when you did something that wasn’t normal to anyone who hadn’t been the extended torture victim of a serial killer that doubled as a snuff porn producer.

Because you knew--deeper down--that you were still haunted by the ghosts in that basement. Strade and the torture victims and Ren and yourself, shaking like a leaf, bleeding onto concrete. You knew, even if the man you slept beside in a bed every night had no inkling of it, that you could never step back across that threshold and be the way you were before.

But.

And there’s always a but, isn’t there?

But… that was okay. It was okay that you could never go back; it was okay that you were someone new; it was okay that you weren’t okay, and you’d never be okay in the fullest sense of the word.

Your life was a life you created out of shaking fingers, something clawed out with dirty fingernails. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

What more could you ask for, after Strade?

What more could you ask for, after anything ?

--

Books are a vice. More than smoking, more than sex. You could give up sex, you could swear you’ll never buy another pack of smokes, but you could never give up books. 

Okay, okay. You’re being over dramatic and theatrical. But how can you think of books as anything other than a sinful pleasure when you’re surrounded by these shelves and stacks, imagining that one day you can afford an extension on your home and dedicate an entire room (or two--why not, in a daydream?) solely to books?

You’re not even supposed to be here today. It was your day off, and your calendar was packed to the brim with mundane errands. Today’s schedule certainly didn’t leave room for indulgently browsing at a bookstore, but sometimes you just have to live a little, don’t you? 

Although if you come home with yet another bag of books, your husband is bound to shove his face into the nearest couch cushion and scream. But c’mon. It wasn’t your fault that you’d long since run out of shelf space and were prone to stuffing the books into boxes that cluttered the closests. 

Your fingers wander over the spines of the books crammed onto the shelves, catching the uneven mismatched spaces between with every dip. The spines are often worn and weathered, some of them even peeling a little. 

This was why you preferred secondhand bookstores. No neat lines of fresh new books set up to catch the eye and make a sale here. No, instead there were countless books shoved together with no care for size or color or sometimes (depending on who was stocking that day) even genre. 

For instance, today you find a battered paperback copy of Carrie by Stephen King right next to a suspiciously pristine How to Keep Your House from Drowning that probably still has an uncracked spine. That poor soul, with a messy house. Maybe they should have read the book. 

You’re about to keep moving when, on second thought: Your partner might get a kick out of finding that book on his nightstand. Or he’ll chuck it at your head (lovingly) for bringing it into the house. It’s a 50/50 gamble that you’re willing to take.

And so you go to pull it out, a private little grin on your face, just as another hand reaches across for Carrie.

Fingers and elbows bump together and you feel that slight flush of awkward embarrassment rush to your cheeks as you sputter out, “Sorry!” Your voice even goes up an octave, an annoying habit that you’ve been trying to train out of yourself.

The stranger pulls away and mutters their own low apology. They sound just as awkward as you, which makes you feel a little better, at least, so you turn to look at them and offer an embarrassed smile and you think, briefly, maybe you’ll grab Carrie for them or cheekily ask if they were going for the cleaning book--

But when you turn to look at them, all thoughts and cheek are snuffed out.

Not because the man in front of you is wearing a nicely tailored business suit and matching fedora hat; a dark gray complimented by a muted burgundy tie. Like he’s off to a meeting or comes from a big city where such outfits are often found in shops and cafes during lunch hours.

Not because the man in front of you is attractive, with red hair with a bit of ever so slightly silver sticking out from underneath his hat; his cologne, soft but spicy, tickles your nose. 

But because the man in front of you is Ren. 

Older, yes. His hair and face peppered with signs of time, just like yours. There are scars on his face that you remember--some etched onto his flesh right in front of you, and some from that gray area of before, when Strade had yet to take you--and some you don’t. 

Your body is lead, your throat is closed up. Speech and movement are now foreign, unknowable things, because Ren is standing right in front of you.

It takes you a moment to shake it off; no, two moments. No, three. 

And then you can finally speak, although the word comes out hoarse and whispered, like every ounce of spit in your mouth vanished the instant you saw him. Perhaps it did. 

“ Ren ?” 

He blinks. His eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing. For a terrible moment, you find yourself thrown back down the basement steps, when knowing the difference between Strade’s brows furrowing in annoyance or amusement could mean the difference between the degree of your upcoming burns.

And then his expression opens, widens, just enough for you to recognize that he knows who you are now and you’re here, in a bookshop, decades on; not there, not in the basement, where you left Strade’s corpse to rot.

Ren--for he is Ren, and you know it--lifts his hat, his lips turning up in a smile that makes your heart twist painfully, and shows just the bottom edges of his ears in greeting.

He says your name and your ears ring, high and tinny. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a cashier standing at the till rearranging trinkets while clearly spying on whatever bit of vaguely interesting gossip this might turn into during their lunch break. 

You had, in truth, imagined this moment before. Countless times. Usually at night, though you weren’t terribly picky; a long trip on a bus, head pressed against the window glass, was also a great time for such thoughts. 

You’d imagined finding Ren some day, in many different ways. 

In some fantasies, you look him up in the phonebook (a stupid idea fit only for a fantasy, because Ren would never put himself out there like that, just as you hadn’t) and give him a call and meet up at a park and you apologize until your lungs stop working. In another, you run into him somewhere else, a store or park; a coincidence just like this one. In still others, he finds you, offering to meet in a public space because he knows you’d be scared and he wants you to be comfortable and Ren would definitely think of things like that, considering your shared experiences. 

In your daydreams, you had a speech prepared. It was always moving, of course. It culminated in a soft, unbearably sweet hug where the two of you squeezed out the pain from the preceding decades and parted in mutual understanding. Maybe with each other’s phone numbers on slips of paper. 

But those were daydreams. This is real life.

In real life, your throat feels closed up; your eyes burn with hot tears that want to spill out, and everything from your chest to your cheeks feels hot and swollen. In real life, it is not the daydreams but your nightmares that worm their way into your brain: those nightmares you have (yes, have, still--even this far down the line) where he hates you, where he tells you that you left him there like he’s nothing, where he throws back all your whispered conversations in the dark back in your face.

In real life, you can only stammer out, expecting the nightmarish worst: “Ren. I’m s…sorry. I’m sorry . I shouldn’t--I shouldn’t have --”

Ren raises his hand; his brows furrow again. He says your name, once, twice. Softer. Gentler. 

“It’s okay,” he says, low. You don’t know if he means that it’s okay that you left him (it isn’t, is it?) or that it’s going to be okay or that he’s okay or--

Ren must sense your upcoming lack of steady breathing, because he places one steady hand on your shoulder. The way he used to do, when you started thinking about the fact that you were going to die in that house, and it would be an awful death, and the thought of it made you want to tear into your own skin. 

It brings you back down to the ground, which only makes you want to cry for a different reason.

Ren’s face has a touch of sticky pity on it when he smiles at you. 

“Why don’t we go somewhere we can sit down and talk?” 

--

You are sitting in a coffee shop across the way from a fox man who used to be tortured with you in the basement of a serial killer's home that doubled as a snuff film studio. There are people around you, but they might as well be invisible, be nothing at all. 

Because every nerve in your body is focused squarely on Ren, sitting in front of you with a muted awkward expression as the pair of you wait silently for the barista to call up your order. 

Neither of you have spoken since you sat down.

Sweat is beginning to stick to your neck, but you don’t want to move without warning--don’t want to startle Ren. If you do, maybe he’ll run off, and… no. He wouldn’t run off now. You can tell. He’s not like he used to be, and neither are you. 

There are decades between you, and yet--and yet that thread is still there, isn’t it? You could never fully cut it. Maybe it pulled, instead. Pulled and pulled and eventually lost all of its slack on this unassuming afternoon, when the two of you met again in a bookstore. Reaching for books with cracked and weathered spines, lines creasing over the paper like scars on the skin.

Your scars. His scars. 

How many times have you traced over the marks on your skin? How many times has he? Maybe he didn’t do it anymore. Maybe he was in a much better space than you, and that’s why he looks so awkward and you feel like your heart is about to pound right out of its chest. Because he’s moved on and you, stupid thing, just woke up in the basement in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

His shoulders straighten; you imagine, under his hat, that his ears have perked. For a moment,, a familiar sensation washes through you. Danger. He’s coming down the stairs and it’s going to hurt.

But Strade is dead. And you are alive, and Ren is alive, and his attention only raised because the barista set both of your coffees down on the counter. Nothing more than that.

Slowly, the world seems like it regains its normal gravity. The sweat clinging to your neck feels silly and not ominous. You can breathe, and the world of the coffee shop seems to settle around you like it would have on any other day.

“I’ll get them,” Ren says, quietly, eyeing you with wariness–like he’s the one worried about you bolting. Fuck. He’s probably right to think that; a moment ago, you might have been the one to run.

Ren pauses after he stands up, and there’s something soft and sad in his eyes when he looks at you. Part of you thinks he’s about to say that he’s going to leave, that this was a mistake. But instead, his lips curl and the softest of smiles, and he asks:

“You still like cream and sugar?”

Oh. 

“Yes,” you say, automatically. But you don’t. Not anymore. Tastebuds change and you drink it black with no cream, when you do bother to drink it. It’s not worth correcting, and you don’t. You just watch as he grabs both cups and heads over to the counter on the far side of the coffee shop, where there’s oodles of sugars (and sugar substitutes); creamers; and little tins of milk to add to your drink. 

Then your phone vibrates, and the “fuck!” that comes out of your mouth is involuntary. It was about the time that you should have been heading home, bookstore stop  notwithstanding. What were you going to say to him? That you’d run into someone from your past that used to get tortured with you? That you remember what Ren looks like when his flesh is sliced into and pulled apart? 

You heading home? Took ground beef out for dinner. Tacos?

Your thumb hovers over the phone screen. You’re going to lie. You already know that. Even if you were ready to tell him about your past, it would not be like this. Even you, not particularly attuned to mobile etiquette, knew it was better to confess something like this in person. Although the temptation to confess it all and  add silly emojis to punctuate the gritty details was very strong.

Ran into an old friend , you type, finally. They want to hang out a bit. Tacos are fine, don’t wait up! Xoxoxo.

It feels so normal. And that’s okay, isn’t it? That you’re being normal right now. It’s a sign that you’ve come so far, if anything. And you’ll take any of those signs that you can manage to get, so when the text comes in–

Can’t wait to hear about it!

I don’t guarantee there will be tacos left. 

Kidding.

… Maybe.

–you let that normalcy wash over you, and it helps you settle as Ren returns, coffee mugs in hand.

His expression is lighter, too. He probably notices the weight off your shoulders, the way you’re trying to look interested and perhaps even excited to see him, rather than looking like you’re about to throw up on a half-empty stomach.

He slides your mug across the table and you can tell at a glance that it’s going to be sweet. A hesitant sip, your tongue curling back from the warmth and inevitable sugar, confirms it. Milky and creamy, just like you used to take it.

“Do you live around here?” Ren asks, taking a sip from his own mug.

Such an average question. It’s almost enough to make you snort. Really, you should be asking him when he got out of that basement and whether or not he ever thought about cutting you open and if he still had dreams, like you did.

Instead, he’s asking something you might ask an old high school friend that you haven’t seen in twenty years. 

Fuck. What a world you live in. 

Maybe he senses your thoughts. Maybe the two of you really are in tune from what you went through together. Because he cracks a smile, the edge of a sharp tooth showing. And then the smile spreads and turns into a little chuckle. It’s not the giggling snort he would sometimes fall into at the house. It’s something older and more reserved, but that shouldn’t surprise you. You’re the same way.

You take another sip of the coffee. It really is too sweet. That’s how you took it at the house, though. It was better to drown your sorrows in creamer and packets of sugar–pilfered from diners that Strade went to, sometimes to scope for victims–than mope about them all the time.

“I really am curious,” he says, voice light. “If you’re okay with telling me.” Something different in his tone. Offense, maybe? God, it’s strange, being on the lookout for what someone’s tone really means again. 

But it’s just Ren. You shouldn’t be so worried about it.

“It’s fine,” you say, just as light. “Yeah, maybe about half an hour away? I have a little house…”

Ren’s eyebrows raise. Not in surprise, exactly. But in interest. It relieves you, just a little, that he didn’t let out some sarcastic remark about having your own place away from him.

“Do you have a garden?” He asks. “You always did talk about getting one.”

A twinge in your heart. Bittersweet and old. Sometimes at night, when the two of you were allowed to curl up together, you would talk about a fantasy world. A world where you never came here; where you’d be and what you’d do. Sometimes, you’d be in a pretty little cottage with a pretty little garden in a pretty little town.

Well. Your garden is pretty, even if your house isn’t an adorable cottage and you live at the edge of sprawling suburbs where you have to drive 20 minutes to get to anything useful. Close enough?

You tell him about it. The house and the garden. You even tell him about your partner, and maybe his smile does quirk down a little, then. But you could be imagining it. 

“Do you have kids?” Ren asks, next. If he were anyone else, it would be a mundane question--the kind you ask every couple who's been together a while. In Ren, it feels different. Serious. Sincere. He tilts his head a little, taking another sip of his coffee, which prompts you to do the same.

Kids. Hah. It wasn’t like the thought had never crossed your mind. But it didn’t happen. For a lot of reasons, it didn’t happen. Mind and body and the basement worked against you, and maybe there was a part of you that was afraid to bring anything into the world, because you knew it could be taken away. Taken to someone’s basement and hurt and hurt and hurt –

Ren says your name.

Ren’s hand is on yours. 

You glance down at his hand–see a familiar scar, see that your hand underneath his is curled up and tense–and then look  up at his face. 

Oh, the passing of time. 

“Me neither,” he says, softly. Like he knows why you didn’t and couldn’t, and maybe he was the same way. 

It hurts too much to think about. So you clear your throat and slowly pull your hand away, letting it rest on the now cooling mug of coffee. You take another swig, despite it not being to your taste anymore. Ren really did put in a lot of creamer.

“What about you?”

His head tilts, almost slow, almost curious.

“Me?”

He blinks.

You blink back. 

“Do you live around here?” 

A smile–an Ahhh sort of smile. 

“No,” he says, simply. He shakes his head. “I travel a lot.” He nods his head. “For business.”

“Oh,” you say. “What sort of business?”

A flicker in his gaze. Something sharp and familiar. It’s gone too soon to matter. 

“This and that,” is all he says.

And there’s a strange sort of realization in your head. A fuzziness that seems to spread right to your scalp. This is all too casual, too normal. It’s not at all what it was supposed to be, when you met. Asking about homes and gardens and kids and what you do for work; fuck, you two had been tortured together. Had watched people die. Had helped other people die. 

This should have been about more than banal pleasantries. This should have been about reconnecting. About that thread between the two of you that couldn’t be cut, even now.

Maybe it’s that fuzziness in your scalp and maybe it’s the lurching of your heart, but you reach out your hand again towards Ren; your hand and your heart reaching and aching –

“Why did you run that day?” Soft and to the point. All the years have led to this question. 

The question drops your hand straight to the table. The thud feels harder than it sounds. What ease your heart had mellowed to earlier melts away entirely, and you can feel adrenaline beginning to pump, your heart pounding and racing. Your ears hurt.

Why did you run? It’s the question you wanted him to ask, isn’t it? The question that would lead to your big sappy explanation and apology and the sentimental hug before you two parted ways, perhaps with phone numbers in your pockets? 

But now that Ren is real again; now that he’s here, lines around his eyes and a touch of silver in his hair, you don’t know how to answer.

You ran because you were scared. Scared of people from Strade’s fucked up streams finding you in that house. Scared of Strade’s corpse rotting in the basement. Scared, too, of Ren. Of being chained to him, or by him, and you could never be sure which was more likely. 

You ran because you weren’t strong enough to face whatever was left behind for you in that fucking house. 

Thickness lodges in your throat but you swallow against it. This is not a daydream. This is real life. And you have to own up to what you did now. 

“Ren, I–” 

The words don’t come, because the world suddenly spins. The fuzziness prickling on your scalp, your ears ringing, your heart going too fast–this has all been too much for you, you should have known that. There are brief thoughts–heart attack, stroke, fuck, fuck, FUCK–and then Ren’s hand is gripping your upper arm so you don’t fall out of the chair. 

“Are you okay?” Your vision is clear enough to see the concern in his face. His brows furrow together and he looks around, telling someone– ”Yes, I'm going to get her home” --and you’re about to tell him not to take you to the hospital because your insurance has a high deductible for the emergency room when another dizzy spell hits you, and you’d rather be in debt than dead.

“Should I call an ambulance?” He asks, voice low, calming. Your mind latches onto it. You’re not alone, it’s going to be okay. Someone is here to take care of you, and if you have to go to the emergency room, well, it couldn't have happened at a better time.

Ambulances cost too much money, though, and Ren 

“Could you drive me?” Even as you talk, you know something’s wrong. The words come out too slow, a little slurry. Almost like you’re drunk. 

Ren starts to shake his head and your dizzy self makes a pitiful sound. 

You swear you can see Ren’s ears twitching underneath his hat. You don’t have the presence of mind to think about why–where and when he’s heard that pitiful whimper before–so you just cling to him as he gently pulls you out of your chair.

He grabs your purse and carefully leads you out of the shop. Someone holds the door open, and he tells them that you’re going to the emergency room, thank you for the concern. Your head swims and you might mumble thank you to them, too, but you’re not entirely sure. Are you dying? Is it a stroke? Will the last thing you texted the love of your life be about dinner? It’s funny in that awful, delirious sort of way.

“Ren?” You ask, helpless. You’re holding onto him as tightly as you can, but your fingers feel fuzzy. Your whole body feels fuzzy, actually. Heavy and strange. Drunk and leaden.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you into my car, all right?”

You don’t have the presence of mind to wonder why his car is already out on the curb, running, with a driver in the front seat. You aren’t coherent enough to think about things like that; but then, even before you drank the coffee cup laced with a sedative, you didn’t notice the black car following the pair of you down the road to the coffee shop. 

You didn’t notice it follow you to the bookstore, either, nor did you give it a second glance when it pulled out of the lot after you stopped in at the grocery store to pick up a few miscellaneous items.

You really had lost your touch after all these years.

Ren grips you carefully while he opens the back door to the car. It’s roomy, expensive. Clean black leather seats that probably don’t show stains. Up front, a driver sits, wearing a hat and sunglasses and a uniform.

There’s a brief thought–Jesus, what does Ren do for a living to afford this?--before Ren is helping you crawl into the backseat.

The movement only makes you dizzier, and you’re telling the person in the front seat, whoever they are, that you need to get to the nearest hospital please.

They don’t even turn to look at you. It’s strange. But then Ren is there in the backseat with you, and you’re mumbling the same thing to him. Rattling off your symptoms–dizzy, fuzzy, confused, tingling hands. You try to remember the test for a stroke but can’t.

Ren smiles at you.

Why is he smiling? That thought comes through loud and clear, but it doesn’t stick for very long.

“Ren,” you say, slurring. “The hospital, the nearest one is… I think it’s… you have to…”

And those words, difficult as they are to get out, slowly drop away. Because while your mind is not capable of many things right now, it is capable of registering something unusual.

Ren. 

He doesn’t look worried anymore. No more concern furrowing his brow, no more softness. 

Instead, he looks pleased. There’s a smug smile on his face, and you’ve seen it before, but it’s older now. Wiser. Less impulsive and more assured. 

A cat–a fox–that caught the canary. And you, what little remains of your logical mind tells you, are one dumb bird. 

And he knows that you know. Because he jerks his chin at the driver in the front, who must press some kind of button; the doors lock. Loud. Hard. Your numb hands fumble for the door handle but no matter how much you try to shove the door open, it doesn’t budge.

 You're locked in.

“Back to the hotel for now,” Ren says. Not to you. To the driver. Who–to your horror–begins to pull away from the curb.

“Oh, no–” You try to scream. It’s not quite loud enough. Not quite sharp enough. but maybe someone can see you, even through the tinted windows. Or they’ll hear you and tell someone, who will maybe tell someone else, who might call the cops. If you’re lucky.

Ren’s hand cups your mouth firmly. 

“Don’t waste your energy, you’ll need it soon.” The hand moves from your lips to your cheek, resting there. The look in Ren’s eyes is blurry–whatever he drugged you with is making it hard to focus–but you recognize bits of it, because you felt the same damn thing.

The awful mixture of nostalgia, regret and ache.

Maybe if you explain everything. Tell him why you ran. Apologize like hell. You won’t be hugging after this, but you won't be drugged up (what did he give you?) in the back of his car, either. 

“Ren– the hous e–I ran–I–let me explain, it–”

Ren’s hand trails back to your mouth. The sharp edges of his nails graze against your nose.

“Hush. We’ll talk about all that later.” 

Later?

Oh, fuck –

There’s an awful, stabbing pain in your thigh–you look down and see Ren pulling away a syringe with a bright silver needle.

Ren–you try to say his name, but when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Your lips gape and close and words no longer form.

Your head is swimming now, all highs and lows, dipping and rising over waves that never seem to end. It’s like you're falling asleep in the worst way, hard and rocky.

Like you’re falling backwards down the basement stairs. 

Ren’s voice is the last thing you hear before you black out.

“Sweet dreams.” 

#the price of flesh #boyfriend to death #ren hana #ren hana x reader #tpof x reader #afterwitch writes #thank you voice to text you saved my marriage. i mean my fic. same thing. #i feel like I'm aiming for... 4 chapters? Maybe 5. Definitely 4 though.

[yoonivy]

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 3.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. smut! loss of virginity, fingering, riding, creampie

wc. 16k+ 01| 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

––––

The private library in Maegor’s Holdfast is Prince Aemond Targaryen’s favored spot for solitude and peace. It is the one place away from all the noise, gossip, and politics in the castle; and he often finds himself there, reading whatever book catches his eye that day or quietly contemplating by the fireplace. The only person that keeps him company there is his sister, Princess Helaena, but that only happens once every blue moon. So it is usually only him and Snowball – a stray cat he had claim as his own only a year ago, finding the little fellow near the docks of Blackwater Bay and taking pity since he thought the cat to be a mirror of himself, with it’s pure white fur and one eye blinded from a street fight with another stray – and he likes it that way. 

So why, oh why, is his usual peace in the private library being demolished when today is the final day he can have some time by himself before the festivities of his siblings’ wedding begins? 

“This is going to be the worst week of my life!”

Aemond’s facial features slightly twitch in annoyance, but chooses to ignore his older brother, continuing to read the text he has in front of him. Or at least, trying to – Aegon has been whining for over half an hour already, and it is really hard to focus when a big man child is crying into your ear.

“So many beautiful women from all around Westeros have been arriving into the city, all so they can witness me marry my strange, little sister!” Aegon bemoans, actual tears falling from his eyes as he runs his hand through his hair. Aemond rolls his own, thinking about how Helaena is the one given the short end of the stick in the deal. “It is so unfair!”

“Now imagine how our dear sister is faring with this,” Daeron says with a snicker at his place by the window, scratching under the chin of the small cat he has tucked in his arm. “I highly doubt she is any more ecstatic at the prospect of marrying you than you are.”

Aemond grins at his little brother, adding on, “And I would even propose she has it worse.”  

Daeron laughs hard, head knocking back, which could only mean he is in agreement. It has Aegon’s jaw dropping, looking between his two younger brothers, “How can you two be so cruel when I am already in distress?” Then he turns to Daeron, “Is this what they taught you in Oldtown? To disrespect your older brother?” 

Daeron shrugs, throwing him a boyish grin, and Aegon heaves a bothered sigh as he slumps against the chair he is sitting on. 

“You know,” Daeron begins, “I’m surprised our mother and grandfather even allowed you to put it off for so long. You and Helaena have been betrothed for nearly a decade.” 

“And every single day I prayed to the Sevens that our mother would change her mind…” Aegon grumbles petulantly. 

Aemond closes the book he has in his hands – clearly unable to read anymore – and tells him, “And each and every one of those prayers were completely useless. An annulment was never going to happen. Your marriage with Helaena is not only a way for our Targaryen bloodline and your inheritance to the throne to stay strong, but also so our mother would not have to agree to a betrothal between our sister and one of our bastard nephews. It is why mother sent an olive branch to our half-sister and rogue uncle and invited them to the wedding. It is purely just to gloat to Rhaenyra that she did not get what she wanted.”

Aegon rolls his eyes at Aemond – already knowing all that himself – and mutters angrily under his breath, “I detest this fucking political bullshit.”

Daeron shrugs again, returning to showering Snowball with affection. Their youngest brother is probably happy that he is a ward and squire of their uncle, Lord Ormund Hightower, over in Oldtown instead of being around here with all the drama.

Aemond, on the other hand, does not mind the intrigue of the court. Sometimes, he can even say he enjoys it. Besides, as heirs of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, he and his brothers should at least be knowledgeable on the affairs of the land that their father rules over – whether they like it or not. 

“I know what you two can do to make it up to me!” Aegon perks up suddenly, obviously over talking about the previous topic. Grinning mischievously, he leans forwards on the table in front of him and whispers to two in the room, as if the walls had ears, “Tonight… We’ll all sneak out… Have ourselves a little party all throughout the Streets of Silk in my honor…” He lifts his brows a few times, “Huh, how ‘bout it, brothers?” Then he smirks at Aemond, “You had fun the last time, didn’t you?”

Aemond grimaces while Daeron questions in disbelief, “You actually went with him?!”

“Once,” Aemond answers, then sharply glares at his older brother. “And never again.”

Aegon huffs and rolls his eyes, once again slumping in his seat as he mutters, “What a bore.”

“Wow…” Daeron awes, walking towards Aemond and gently drops the cat in front of him, Snowball purring as soon as Aemond starts scratching near his ear. Daeron pushes aside the book Aemond had been reading and lifts himself to sit on the table. “I did not think you are one to let him coerce you to do anything, especially his stupid ideas… I’m a bit disappointed, Aemond.”

Daeron is obviously teasing, but Aemond shoots him a glare anyway.

Aegon is beaming again, amused, and laughs too. Truly a hurricane of different emotions – probably the wedding jitters. 

“Hey, if it were not for my coercing and “stupid ideas”, Aemond would not have met that girl he is over the moon for,” Aegon says, still laughing. “The Northern bitch he is always writing his gay, little love letters—Eurgh!”

Aemond suddenly has him by the collar, cutting off his airway by how tight his younger brother’s grip is. The rage in Aemond is palpable, especially given how close their faces are, it’s clear to see. Aemond is seething when he spits out in Aegon’s reddening face, “I will have your tongue if you dare utter anything like that ever again, I don’t care. She is a lady of House Mormont and you will put respect on her name, or I’ll cut off your cock along with your tongue. Then we shall see if you will be having any fun on the Streets of Silk anytime soon.”

“Brothers, brothers…” Daeron tries to put himself between his two older brothers, pressing against their chest to push the trembling Aegon away from the furious Aemond. “As much as I think it is deserved, I do not wish to witness the heart attack that both our mother and father will have when they find out that their dear oldest son has been maimed and circumcised just days before his wedding.” 

That has Aemond loosening his grip, letting Aegon fall back down unceremoniously on the chair. With his father’s deteriorating health, Aemond did not want to be the one to cause him more pain. 

He sits back down too, trying to calm down as he ignores Aegon murmuring under his breath, “The Mormonts are hardly a house.”

“But tell me, what is the story there? Why did you fly North that day?” Daeron curiously asks, so used to his older brothers’ fighting that it does not even phase him. “You never did tell us.”

“Well, you see…” Aegon grins, still rubbing at the soreness around his neck before he starts the story. Aemond shuts his eye, choosing to drown his idiotic brother out to recall the time he told you himself.

It was when he visited during the third anniversary of the night he had landed on Bear Island, the snow on the ground in abundance but not as bad as that first time. The two of you were trudging through it, hands clasped together to prevent the other from falling. Although the two of you were falling behind the group of woodcutters that you, Aemond, and your brothers were helping out to gather firewood for the upcoming week, in case a snowstorm hits. It had been a long day, both of you tired but happy of the hard work you had done. As the sun started setting, Aemond turned to you and questioned, “Have I ever told you why I ended up here all those years ago?”

As you kept walking side-by-side with your best friend, you shook your head. “No… but I have been curious. King’s Landing is awfully far from Bear Island.”

Aemond heaved a sigh, stopping at his track and it made you stop too, your hand still in his. He eyed you hard, a serious look on his face. “I’ll tell you if you promise you won’t laugh at me.”

Facing him, you took his other gloved hand, holding both now, and just as seriously as he was, you said, “I promise.”

“My older brother he…” Aemond took a breath, and you squeezed his hand in comfort, knowing every story he told about his older brother does not end well. He gave you a small grateful smile, before he started again, “Well, first of all, we were reading this story book — about different creatures, and the horrible things they do — and then we got to the story about giants. It absolutely terrified me and it caused me to have nightmares for days after that… Then he found out I–” His mouth snapped shut, frowning, “A serving girl told him what I had done, and he began to make fun of me. I tried to act brave and say it was a lie but he saw right through me. So he dared me to fly up North, go beyond the Wall, find a giant and bring him back the head. If I did not, I was a coward and he would tell everyone what I had done…”

Aemond’s lips were trembling when he finished the story, his eye was wet. Frowning, you reached up, tugging the corner of his mouth up with your thumb. “Your brother is the stupidest, dumbest, most idiotic person I know.”

Aemond laughed through his sniffling. “You’ve never met him.”

“I don’t have to. I just know,” you told him with a shrug.

Aemond smiled at that. “But doesn’t that make me even more of an idiot for trying to prove him wrong?” 

You thought about it for a second, lips pursing to the side, then answered plain and simple, “Yes.”

His mouth dropped, and with a teasing, toothy grin you added, “But at least you met me.”

He was about to retort, but karma got you first, in a way of a snowball to your face by your brother, Jorah. You screeched as you wiped away the freezing ice covering your face, then screamed at the boy who was laughing, far ahead the two of you, “This is why Renee doesn’t fancy you!” 

Thus started the Great Snowball War of Bear Island, the one that you and Aemond lost horribly.

Aemond huffs out a soft chuckle fondly at the memory, almost missing when his older brother says your name and continues with, “I actually cannot wait to meet her soon and see what all the fuss is about.” 

Aemond snaps his attention on him. “What?”

“Your little Lady Mormont,” Aegon says so slowly, dragging each syllable like Aemond is dense. “She should be arriving in the city right now, with all the other Northern Houses.”

Aemond’s head shakes, disbelieving. “What are you talking about? House Mormont are never invited to these things. Believe me, I’ve tried before.”

“Yeah, well, when you are the oldest son of the King, what you want, you get,” Aegon says with a cocky shrug. But as Aemond continues to glare at him, calling his bluff, he sighs. “I asked our mother to invite them to the wedding. Told her it would be… nice, to do this for you. Since you have not seen her in years. I saw her write the invitation and everything. There is even already a chamber in Maegor’s Holdfast ready for her arrival.”

Aemond knows his brother well enough to know when he is lying or not, and so he abruptly stands, running to the door. As soon as he has it open with a swift kick of his pointed black leather boots, he takes off, Daeron watching with grand amusement and Aegon shouting after him, “You’re welcome, by the way!”

---

The small hall is already crowded to the brim when Aemond gets there. The new arrivals from the North easy to spot with their heavy clothing not suited for the southern weather. Among them, he sees someone familiar that has him smiling wide as he stride his long legs over to her.

“Lady Dorothea!” He calls out, and she turns around to face him with a smile of her own. Aemond had already had the pleasure of greeting your sister during her arrival a couple days ago with her Lord-Husband, Tobias Tully of Riverrun. He stands beside her now. Aemond bows his head towards him, “Lord Tobias.”

“My Prince,” they both answer back in respect.

“Did you know your sister is coming here as well?” Aemond asks Dorothea, which has her smile falling, confusing the prince.

“I–” Dorothea starts, but then sighs and smacks her palm lightly against her temple. “How did you find out?” It has Aemond frowning this time, unsure of the reaction. Then Dorothea chuckles. “My sister wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Oh… My brother told me. Just now, actually.” 

“She’s going to kill him,” Dorothea murmurs in a low voice that only her husband and Aemond could hear. Aemond’s lips start tugging up into a smile, and even more when Dorothea further explains, “My sister, she was looking forward to just… spring up on you. She even wrote this… Really long and foolhardy letter to your Lady Mother, her Grace, about why she wanted to keep it a secret and begged your mother to keep it a secret as well. Imagine that? Asking the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to go along with your childish plans for… I don’t even know what,” Dorothea shares a laugh with the two men at her side, sighing at the thought of you. “Ah, my beloved little sister… How I do love her so…” 

Aemond can’t help but chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Do you know when she’ll arrive?”

Dorothea exchanges a look with her husband, then tells the prince, “She’s already here, my Prince.” The news has him sucking in a breath, his gaze already searching around again. “I have yet to see her, but I’ve already met with my father just a bit ago. He is taking their possessions to the two chambers they’ve been graciously given, and my sister… Well, I would hope you know her enough to know exactly where she is.”

A secret smile is shared with him, and in an instant, Aemond knows precisely what your sister meant.

---

Unlike the usual stoic and aloof prince that the staff of the Red Keep are used to, they are passed by a hurried yet bright-eyed Prince Aemond. There is an out of the ordinary grin gracing his face, so handsome that as he weaves through the mingling guests, he turns the heads of every pretty woman he passes by, hoping to gain his attention with a bat of their eyelashes. But he does not even notice, not when his own eye is searching around for the one face he is longing to see. 

As Aemond takes the now very familiar cobblestoned path to the Godswood, he catches sight of his twin cousins, Baela and Rhaena Velaryon, giggling together by the wisteria archways leading to one of the many gardens on the castle grounds. This could only mean that his bastard nephews are also running amok the Keep as well, but not even that can ruin his day… Because how can this day ever get ruined when as soon as he steps his foot onto the dirt ground of the Godswood, he has to suddenly stop short to catch his breath and calm his rapidly beating heart? 

Clutching a hand over his chest, he feels that he has to. Like if he does not try to protect it, his yearning heart will shoot out of his body to lay itself down for the heavenly being in the lilac dress who is staring up at the great oak Heart Tree of the Godswood. 

Although right in front of him, Aemond is still in disbelief. 

Is it truly you? 

He has dreamt of this a million times before – you, here, at his home, with him – but now that it is actually happening, he cannot even fathom it to be true. 

Aemond watches as your eyelids flutter shut, a gentle smile on your face. 

He wonders what you pray to your Gods for. All his visits to the Sept ends with him praying for your wellbeing and happiness – and more selfishly, for you to return his feelings. He used to pray for a taste of the crown on his head, but now he just wants you by his side, always — so is it really that bad?

The Targaryen Prince waits, giving you peace for your private moment, and only makes his move once your eyes flutter open. He keeps his footsteps light, so light that you are none the wiser he is by your side until he makes himself known, close enough that when he whispers your name, he can see the shiver going down your spine in delight. 

Spinning towards him, you murmur his name just as tenderly as he said yours. It makes his heart ache; remembering how long it has been since he has heard your voice, seen your smile, and felt that feeling when you looked at him – like he is someone that can be revered and loved. 

Then suddenly, your face is crumpling in mixture of a laugh and a cry, standing on the tip of your toes to throw your arms around him. 

It catches him by surprise. But it seems he is not the only one — because just as he is about to return the gesture, you are springing back and away from him.

“I’m terribly sorry, I forget myself,” you apologize as you glance around, your cheeks burning up with embarrassment at your display in front of the many others that came to greet the Old Gods after their long travel – and towards a prince . They are probably wondering why a girl from such a small and insignificant house thinks she is so familiar with the prince to even dare look him in the eye, let alone touch him. How you didn’t even address him with his title as well. At that thought, you dip your head down and murmur, “My prince.”

You feel fingers grazing under your chin, gently coaxing you to tilt your head up. You are met with Prince Aemond’s soft gaze and a warm smile on his lips. He is breathtaking, and you can only think about how pretty he is. You stare at him in awe, lashes fluttering as your eyes take in all his beauty so greedily, tucking in the image of him in every corner of your mind for safekeeping.

Before you can even form any thought other than that, his arms are wrapping around you. So tightly that you could not jump away if you wanted to like last time.  

You stand there frozen in place, feeling the curious stares of everyone around on you and your Prince. You can hear murmurings — whispers of his name, wondering who you are, and what the two of you are to each other. It should have you worried, how it might appear improper and scandalous in some way… But if your best friend did not care for their gossiping, then why should you? 

So you let go of the worry. 

You press your face against his chest, breathing him in as you hold him just as closely as he is holding you. 

It felt so nice and right that the two of you stood there like that for what seemed like hours.

In reality, only minutes passed — and although still long, when the two of you did part, it truly did not seem enough. 

“This is unfair… I wanted to be the one to surprise you, not the other way around!” You tell him with a playful pout, hoping it will hide the secret yearning in your heart.

Aemond’s perfectly straight and beautifully long silver hair swishes elegantly when his body shakes with laughter. “I’m afraid my older brother sold you out.”

“Your older brother… Prince Aegon?! How did he…?”

“He was the one to suggest to our mother to invite your family to the wedding.”

Your mouth drops in shock and it makes the corners of Aemond’s own tug up in a grin. “Believe me, I was surprised by his out of character thoughtfulness as much as you are.”

“Well if it were not for that and the fact that he is to be married soon, I would have had his tongue–” You catch yourself and glance around, hoping no one heard your treasonous thoughts uttered out loud. Luckily, no one did.

Aemond laughs again. It has been a while since he has laughed this much and he knows it is because of you. He always seems to be full of merriment whenever you are around. “Funny that, I had the same exact thought earlier.”

You share a smile with him, standing there and just happily basking in each other’s presence.

“It’s been too long…” Aemond says. Slow and carefully, he reaches a hand towards you, placing it on your shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

You suck in a breath as you allow him, emboldening the prince. He has you glancing down to follow the way his thumb gingerly brushes across your collarbone, gentle yet firm. A familiar feeling of heat toils deep in your lower belly, one you have come to know whenever you have thoughts of Aemond when you are alone in the privacy of your bedchamber. You look up at him from your lowered lashes, “I’ve missed you too.”

As you stare into his eye, you can not help but remember how you would slip your hand under your covers, your unpracticed fingers in between your thighs as you sigh his name into your pillow. It is burning you up to be thinking of something so impure in front of the Prince — if you only knew he has had his own fair share of sleepless nights doing the same. 

Aemond lets himself be selfish for a couple more moments, trailing his palm across and down your shoulder before he clasps his hands together behind his back. If he did any more than that, he knew he would have done something unbecoming for a Prince. 

“It seems you intend to stay true to your family nickname…" he says then, full of mirth. "You are still but a little cub.”

You gasp, appalled. “I’ve grown!”

Aemond hums with a teasing smirk.

You straighten up your posture even more, holding your head up high, trying to convince him. “I have!”

His answer remains the same, a hum, and the infuriating (and begrudgingly – charming ) smirk still on his lips.

“It’s not my fault you grew so freakishly so, with your long, spider-like legs,” you grumble. And it is true. The last time you had seen him, he was only an inch or two taller than you. Now he has at least a foot over you. So much has changed, especially when the first time you met him, you were the taller one.

Aemond can not help but be amused at the petulant look on your face and repeats out loud your use of ‘long, spider-like leg’ in disbelief. He licks his lips as the smirk turns into a beaming smile.

“I apologize, my lady,” Aemond says, dipping his head in mock apology. “May I make it up to you by showing you around the Keep?” 

Then he is holding his arm out for you to take. You narrow your gaze at him for a long second, letting him sweat. You notice the way he takes a hard swallow and thus, becoming satisfied. 

Sighing dramatically, you lock your arm around his elbow, your hand holding onto his bicep, sticking close by his side. “I suppose that is the least you can do.”

--

Aemond is a very thorough tour guide. For every place he shows you, he tells you about the long history of it and the most significant events that happened there. If it were anyone else, you would surely be bored. But since it is Aemond, he has your rapt attention. Besides, it overjoyed you to finally be able to put a place for all the stories that Aemond has told you over the years.

The prince takes you everywhere in the Red Keep – the Sept, the White Sword Tower, the Maidenvault, the Great Hall, the rookery, the training yard, the private library, and all the other places that are not off limits.

He saves the dragon pit for last, being the furthest from the Keep. 

“How are you feeling about the wedding?” You ask him, curious to know. You and the prince are still arm in arm as he leads you there, not at all in a rush and enjoying the leisurely walk.

Aemond shrugs nonchalantly. “It has been a long time coming. They’ve been betrothed since even before we’ve met. I think I’ve already come to terms with it.”

“Do you find it strange that your siblings are getting married?”

Aemond takes a moment before he answers, “I pity my sister, if that is what you are asking… But if it is because they are of the same blood… Well, I’ve told you about my many ancestors before, how they often married their own family to keep our bloodline pure for our legacy and to control dragons… And I must admit, there was even a time I had wanted for Helaena to have been betrothed to me instead—” He feels you stiffen slightly at his confession, “— Not that I felt anything romantically towards her in any way, but for duty and our birthright. And perhaps even to save my sister from the cruelty of our older brother. But now though…” he trails off, giving you a sidelong glance, “I am glad that the duty did not fall on me.”

You do not notice or feel his stare, deep in your thoughts and humming in contemplation at what Aemond just told you. Then finally, you say, “I could never picture myself marrying any of my brothers.”

Not only do you physically cringe, but the grimace of disgust that twists your features has Aemond laughing so heartily. 

“Good,” he says plainly, after his laughter lets up. Then he clears his throat before asking, “And what of other suitors? Surely you have many…”

You snort at the notion, very unladylike. “You think too highly of me, my Prince. I have none at all… Although I do think that they are all too scared of my older brothers to even try to court me.”

“Good,” he says once again. You look up towards him and see he is staring straight ahead, a satisfied smirk on his face. You want to ask him what has him grinning like a cat who got the cream, but before you get the chance to, Aemond turns to you and announces, “We’re here, my lady.”

You look at the building you are approaching in awe, the immense structure with the dome-like roof unlike anything you have seen before. You truly are not on Bear Island anymore. 

Aemond leads you inside, once again a walking history book. As you take in the information, you clutch onto him a little bit tighter when he takes you down into the dungeons. Though brave, you are not stupid, and you knew if you were to stray away from Aemond, there is only one dragon there loyal to the prince – the others would not be as kind. So you and Aemond pass by the others without giving them much attention, only catching glimpses of them. All of them big and mighty, and yet not nearly as immense or as ferocious as the dragon you have come to be so fond of. 

Finally, you make it to the largest holding area of the dungeon, the mighty beast inside laying down, resting.

“I took her for a long flight just this morning,” Aemond tells you with a smile. Then he parts from you, striding to the dragon first. Vhagar perks up when she hears him call her name, though only lifting up her head minutely. He stands beside her, murmurs something in High Valyrian, and then turns his heel to look towards you. Folding his arms behind his back, he waits. 

Now both their attention are on you. Cautiously, you approach the she-dragon, not knowing if she remembers you or not. She huffs hot air through her nostrils as you get closer, but does not move, only her pupils following you. When you make it to the prince’s side, he gives you a nod of encouragement. 

You reach out your hand, softly grazing the scales on Vhagar’s snout. Immediately, the she-dragon starts to rumble. Her eyes shut, basking in your touch and purrs even louder, happy.

You exchange a joyful laugh with the prince. Aemond places his hand on his dragon just beside yours and leans to whisper hotly in your ear, “It seems I am not the only one who missed you dearly.”

You can not help but burst inside with happiness.

--

For the next couple of days, you and the prince try to spend every waking hour together. Since the attention is mostly on Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena, Aemond had less commitments he had to attend to, leaving him with more free time than he has had the past three years. But he does get pulled away from you sometimes. Like this morning, after breaking fast together at the garden pavilion overlooking the ocean, leaving you with his sister, Princess Helaena. 

You did not mind one bit, you quite enjoyed the princess’ company. Her eccentricities remind you a lot of your brother, Jorah — who chose to stay home with Braeden and your mother. 

Like Jorah, Helaena talks your ear off about various subjects you are not familiar with. It is as if they think that if they know it, you know it as well. Still, you try to understand, asking questions when you see fit. It does not make things any more clear, but they seem to enjoy it all the same, and it makes you happy to indulge them with their special interest.

But when you do find yourself understanding what Helaena says, you notice that the princess has quite a funny side to her. Her jokes are very understated but intelligent, and when it hits, she has you laughing out loud. Even the dutiful royal guard following closely behind you and the princess cannot help but chuckle a bit.

The princess is so sweet and lovely, and it makes you all the more sad that in just a couple hours, she will be forced to marry her crude older brother.

You have only had the displeasure of being in Prince Aegon’s presence once – and thank the Old Gods, it was a very brief encounter because that was more than enough. Your skin still crawls in remembrance of his crass words towards you and the way he looked at you like you were merely just a piece of meat. He was lucky that he was pulled away to meet with some important Lord, because if it were not his brother, Aemond, to punch his lights out – holding back, with the knuckles of his fists whitening at his sides – it would have been your brother, Forrest, who also heard the Targaryen Prince.

“What are you thinking of, enkelitsos?” 

You snap out of your thoughts, turning to Princess Helaena with a smile.

“Hmm…? Oh, it is nothing…” You say, then you tilt your head at her. “What does that mean, by the way?”

“Enkelitsos?” When you nod, Helaena poses another question, “My brother has not told you?”

“No, he calls me it often yet keeps me in the dark.”

Helaena giggles into her hand that is not wrapped around your arm, then looks up at the clear sky, seeming faraway from you now. “When my brother disappeared that winter day all those years ago… I had a dream that he fell and met an enkelitsos, surrounded by shrouds of snow. When your father wrote us that first raven from Bear Island, I did not even know where my brother ended up, but I asked my father to send Aemond back my note asking if he has met the enkelitsos,” she looks towards you now, a peaceful look softening her face, “He wrote me back that he had.”

Then like her brother, that is all she gives to you, and you are still no closer to figuring out what that Valyrian word even means. You can guess, sure, but you would rather not. So once again you are just hoping it means something good rather than bad.

---

On the walk with the princess, the two of you somehow ended up at the training yard. 

It is bustling there. The air is heavy with the stench of sweat and grime. All of the men busy with practicing for the upcoming tournament later at noon, in celebration of the wedding taking place right after.

You catch sight of Forrest surrounded by four men, always the life of the party as his boisterous laugh and vibrant way of speaking enraptures their attention. There is a silver-haired fellow with your brother that could only be the coloring of someone of Valyrian blood, but his back is turned towards you to know who for sure. You know it’s not Aemond – for you know the sight of your prince’s back better than you know the back of your own hand – and it is certainly not Helaena’s husband-to-be. He stands tall and regal; reminiscent of Aemond, but not Aemond.

Could it be Aemond’s younger brother, Prince Daeron? 

You had not have the chance to meet the youngest and most loved prince. He had been savoring his time in King’s Landing with old friends he left behind for Oldtown, poised to head back with his uncle directly after the wedding feast.

Forrest then spies you from over the man’s shoulder, mouth spreading in a wide grin and jovially waving. “Little cub!” 

It has the silver-haired man turning around, and you see it is not the younger prince at all. This one is older than Aemond and even Prince Aegon, with roguish good looks. 

This has to be the King’s younger brother and Aemond’s uncle — the rogue prince, Daemon Targaryen. 

He follows behind your brother and Willam Stark, with two dark-haired boys in tow. The sly smirk that graces his face as he regards you and Princess Helaena has your companion pressing against your side closer.  

“The halls ablaze brings a ring of blue,” the Princess murmurs beside you.

You turn to her, confused. “What was that, my princess?”

Helaena shakes her head, just as Forrest steps up in front of the both of you.

“Princess Helaena,” Forrest bows so deep, his knee hits the ground. “Your presence must be the reason for this beautiful, clear sky.”

Though you roll your eyes, you are grateful that Forrest has a certain effect on people as you feel Helaena relax beside you. She even giggles, offering your brother a playful curtsy of her own.

“Aye, get up. Before they make you the jester for the feast tonight,” Willam Stark chides, lightly kicking Forrest’s bum.

Forrest stands, brushing off the dirt on his back and knee while throwing Willam a cheeky grin. “Doubt they will make the winner of the tourney the jester.” 

It was Willam’s turn to roll his eyes, not bothering to give Forrest a satisfaction of a reply for his cocky statement. Instead, Willam turns to Helaena and offers a well mannered bow, “My princess.”

Then to you, he takes you in a short yet tender hug. You squeeze him tight. For how long you’ve known Willam Stark – the younger brother of the Head of House Stark, Cregan Stark – and how close he is to your two oldest brothers, he is like family to you now too.

“I’m glad your travels went well, my lady,” Willam says after the two of you parted.

“I’m sorry yours did not go as smoothly, Willam,” you say, frowning. The Starks just arrived a day ago when they were supposed to arrive even earlier than your family. A brawl at an inn they had stayed at, Forrest told you last night after he helped the Stark men settle in. “At least you are here now, and safe. My brother was absolutely miserable without you.”

“Do not stroke his already huge ego, little cub.”

Both you and Willam snap at him a, “You’re one to talk.” and a “Says you?” – respectively. 

Forrest frowns deeply in mock hurt, just as someone comes in for his defence, “Even from the little I’ve seen Lord Forrest fight, I think his ego is deserved.”

“How you flatter me so, Prince Daemon,” Forrest says with a bright smile, making space for said prince and the other two behind him to join your little circle.

So it is him, you think to yourself as Daemon’s eyes find yours, a mischievous twinkle in them. From the little Aemond has talked about him, Aemond seems to respect the rogue prince as equally as he did not like him — both highly. 

You are not one to let others’ opinion form yours (except maybe when it is towards Prince Aegon) but when you give Prince Daemon a once over, you cannot stop the scowl from forming on your face. Because when you look down, what you see wrapped around Daemon’s grip is an all too familiar sword, a bear head crafted of silver signifying House Mormont at the pommel. You glare at his hand, like the heat of it will make him drop the precious sword so you can catch it. But fire cannot burn a dragon, and so you chose to glare daggers into his eyes instead.

If Daemon is confused or startled by the fire in your eyes, he does not let it show, the infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

“I should give this back to you, Lord Forrest,” Prince Daemon says, handing over the Valyrian steel sword that had been in your family for generations back to your brother. “It is something treasured that should not be touched just by anyone.” He winks your way as he teases, “Isn’t that right, Lady Mormont?”

As you watch Forrest slide the sword back into its sheath by his side, you say with narrowed eyes now directed at your brother, “When Braeden passed over his inheritance of Longclaw over to you, he entrusted you not to just hand it over to anyone, all willy nilly… Even if it is towards a prince.”

Forrest huffs, clearly embarrassed to be scolded by his little sister in front of a group of people he respects. “Oh, come off it, little sister. Prince Daemon was merely looking. He has a Valyrian steel sword of his own, he does not need mine.” 

Daemon chuckles. “You never know. Perhaps I may need it in the future.” 

You glare at him again, not quite sure if he is joking or not. Forrest, on the other hand, takes it as a playful jest and laughs foolishly.

Once again, Helaena murmurs so quietly the strange phrase she had said before. The halls ablaze brings a ring of blue. Daemon overhears, titling his head in confusion at the young princess.

“How rude of me. My darling niece, I've not even greeted you — and on your wedding day,” Daemon says, taking Princess Helaena’s hand and places a dainty kiss on it. “Please forgive me.”

“It is alright, kepus,” Princess Helaena forgives, but she says it to the ground and is quick to snatch her hand away.

That is when you feel the weight of someone’s stare, and when you look, you lock eyes with the taller of the boys beside Prince Daemon. He jolts, his face turning red as he looks away – at the sky, the others around, the ground, everywhere, but on you.

He is quite handsome. You feel your cheeks heating up as well. You are not used to male attention, so when you get it, you do not know how to act. You wonder which House he is from–

“I hope today treats you well, Princess Helaena,” the younger and smaller of the two dark-haired boys says.

Helaena smiles, genuinely this time. “Thank you, Lucerys.”

That has you stilling, hearing the name. The boy looks so sweet, so young, so innocent, and yet… and yet.. 

“I also hope the same, princess,” the older one says to Helaena, and she nods sweetly to him. Then he takes a breath, puffs out his chest, and then turns to you with a boyish smile. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Mormont. I am Jacaerys Velaryon, but those close to me call me Jace.”

You felt traitorous, finding attraction towards the man who had a hand in traumatizing your best friend – the person you secretly claim to love – and left him blind in one eye. Even more so when he offers you his hand and you take it without question. 

Then, as he keeps his gaze on you from under his long and dark lashes, he brings your hand up slowly towards him, has you sucking in a breath as his lips—

An ironclad grip wraps itself around Jace’s wrist, freezing you both in place before his mouth can touch your skin. You glance to your side and gasp, meeting Aemond’s furious face, nostrils flared and mouth pulled back in a sneer. His glare is not on you, but on his nephew, and yet, you feel just as ashamed.

“He was just introducing himself, nephew,” Daemon says with a huffy laugh. “No need to get your smallclothes in a twist.”

If Aemond heard him, he does not show — choosing to tighten his grip harder, making Jace wince in pain as he drops your hand.

Aemond does not take his eye off Jace when he grabs for your hand and wraps an arm around his sister. “Come, my mother is looking for Helaena.”

Then he takes the two of you away, the stares of the men left behind burning your back.

--

After taking Princess Helaena back to her solar to get ready for the festivities of the day, Aemond whisks you away to the private library he calls his own. The whole time though, he did not speak one word to you, fuming and brooding to himself.

And in this room, where the two of you are alone, he keeps it up. Still fuming and brooding as he stands by the hearth, staring at the fire he had just kindled.

You watch him from where you are sat on the floor, back against the wall and the cat you had helped name sleeping peacefully on your lap. Having had enough of the silent treatment, you thump the back of your head against the wall and say out loud, “You’re angry with me.”

The silence is even more deafening now that you tried to break it. Aemond lets it simmer for a while. Then finally he answers, clipped and short in tone, “No.” 

He cannot even look your way when he says it. So how are you supposed to feel?

You are about to voice out this concern but then Aemond starts speaking again, “I’m angry with myself… for letting them get so close to you.” The fist he has clenched on his side hits the wall suddenly, startling you. “His filthy mouth almost touched you!”

It makes you frown, this side of the Targaryen prince. You don’t see it often, but when you do, it scares you sometimes. “Aemond, you’re being ridiculous. He was just being respectful.”

Aemond huffs out a mirthless laugh, finally turning towards you. “If you think he was doing that out of respect then you are more naive than I thought. Perhaps you are also blind to the many suitors I know you have, if that is the way you think.” He grins sardonically, aiming to be cruel and mean. “Although I did not think you would be one to fall to your feet for the lackluster charms of bastard boys.”

You hold his gaze, yours getting blurry with tears. Though before he can get the satisfaction of seeing a tear fall, you look down, threading your fingers through Snowball’s soft fur to help with your feelings of hurt. “That was mean, Aemond.” 

Towards me and your nephews , you wanted to say. You know that Aemond has very valid reasons for his hatred towards his nephews, but you remember what your father had said before — holding a grudge leaves nothing but more pain in its wake, poisoning your own soul . It was a lesson for Jorah and Forrest, after another tiff between them, but it stuck to you too.

But you hate the way your voice had trembled when you spoke earlier, so you let it lay in your mind.

You hear Aemond sigh, then there is a shadow falling over you. You look up just as he starts to bend down, both knees on the ground to level with you. His face sullen, and sorry. 

“I…” He takes a swallow, looking down at his hands he had on his lap. “I apologize deeply… for snapping at you when you did not deserve any heat of my ire. And for whisking you away in here without even asking… If you want to leave and go to the tourney instead, I will not stop you.”

You press your lips together, head shaking. Snowball is blinking up at you, awaking from his slumber, stretching his limbs in a yawn before curling up again, purring loud. You start to stroke his fur again as you tell Aemond, “I am content right here.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure Forrest would want you there, cheering for him.”

Smiling, you hum, “I’m sure he does… But I’ve spent my life watching him train all the time. It has become a bore. I do hope he wins though… he is determined to prove to Willam that he is the better warrior out of them…” You sigh, chuckling to yourself. “Those two are always butting heads… and swords.”

Aemond huffs out a laugh, smiling at each other, as if sharing a silent secret.

Then you take his hands from his lap, holding it in yours. It forces him to gaze into your eyes, his own violet eye sheepish. It is that soft look of his that has you confessing straight from your heart, “I did not come to King’s Landing for a tourney, or a wedding, or anything or anyone else.. I came to King's Landing for you, Aemond Targaryen. My best friend.”

Then you pull one hand away from him to pat the floor beside you, inviting him to sit with you.

“And I intend to spend all my time here with you, whether you like it or not.”

Aemond exhales a shuddering breath, as if he had been holding it the whole while you were speaking, then nods before he crawls and takes his place by your side, his hand still holding yours. 

From your other side, you pick up a book on the floor, the one you had picked out earlier from a shelf when he was all taciturn and morose, and hand it over to him. 

His eye widens as he recognizes the cover, “This is…” 

You grin at him. It is his favorite book. One that he talked to you about often but could have never brought to Bear Island because of how big and heavy it was. He had told you many times over the years that once you visit him, he will read it for you, over and over again, until you have it memorized, until you are sick of it. So…

You lean close to him, whispering so soft yet he feels the tickle of your breath on his lips, “Can you read for me, Aemond?”

Aemond wets his lips, glancing from your pretty mouth to your big doe eyes, not knowing he had been leaning closer and closer with every passing second. Just when you were about to flutter your eyelids close, Aemond catches himself and moves back, smiles your way, tender and true. 

Although a bit disappointed, he has you humming sweetly as you let him wrap his arm around your shoulder and pulls you tight towards him, getting comfortable in each other's company — like the two of you are little kids again in the common room of Mormont Keep – and he opens the book and reads.

--

It was impossible for Aemond to not lose track of time when your head is on his shoulder, your light laughter and clever commentary like music in his ears, and your heartbeat beating like one with his, lulling him deeper and deeper in that dreamland you two had created in the privacy of that library.

As the sun outside starts to set, the fire burning in the room gets brighter and brighter — but it is Snowball’s whining for food that has Aemond realizing that it is late. Really late.

The tournament is surely over and the wedding— 

Seven hells. The wedding.

Aemond shakes you, stirring you awake from the sleep you had just succumbed to moments ago. He feels awful for it, wishing he could just let you rest on his shoulder like he wants to, but he has a duty to perform. Always the good and honorable son.

You don’t protest or whine, grasping the situation quickly, and he takes your hand to pull you up, taking off with one another.

Luckily, the two of you manage to make it to the Great Hall in time. 

You catch sight of your brother-in-law close to the back, towering over the other guests, and you easily weave through the many bodies to slip beside your sister, her grin wide and happy to see you as she pulls you close with her arm around your hips.

Aemond, though, strides confidently down the middle of the hall, no one the wiser that he is late with how sure he carries himself. Except for his older brother, already standing in his place and waiting for his bride-to-be (wiggling his brows at Aemond when the younger passes him by, slyly making a gesture with one hand making a circle with his fingers and the other has two straighten out, pushing them towards the other) and his mother (clearly disappointed in Aemond’s unusual tardiness and confused as to why he wasn’t wearing the formal clothes she had his chambermaids lay out for him) — both to which he ignores, to take his place beside his younger brother, Daeron.

It is good that Daeron knows the time and place when to tease, can gauge how people are feeling, and so he just grins placidly at Aemond, before both their attention towards the opening of the huge double door of the Great Hall, the wedding about to begin.

---

The wedding was beautiful. Well, as beautiful as a loveless marriage between two siblings could be. Aegon was completely out of it, not bothering to hide how bored and listless he was, and Helaena was meek and quiet when she repeated her vows.  

As Aemond watches them walk back down the long hall together, he cannot help but feel pity – for the both of them.

Yes, Aegon may be a twat but it must be a terrible weight on his shoulder. That ever since he was young, this was what he was destined for, out of duty for his family and the crown. Perhaps it is the reason he grew up to be so horrible, why he drinks, why he is the way he is.

And Helaena – sweet and dear, Helaena – could have had a pick of anyone she wanted, but here she is, stuck with her rude and crass, older brother.

As the crowd starts to disperse, Aemond stands there, thinking about you. How you and him could have a wedding ceremony just like this when he finally tells you how he feels for you. It will be even more grand and gorgeous because that is what you deserve, and because he loves you.

Or… Would he also be forced into a political marriage, to create a stronger alliance with some House that would never feel like a family to him like yours have? Forced to wed someone he does not love, while you slip through his fingers, married to another?

He swallows the lump in his throat, shaking away the dreaded thought.

Aemond’s eye searches for you now, knowing one look at you will bring him back to the library, bring him back that peace of mind you and him created in there, away from all this. He thinks he spies you near the back, but he quickly loses sight of you in the masses of guests heading out the Great Hall to get ready for the celebratory feast. 

Though before he can move to really look for you, his mother grabs his arm and leads him to the back doors of the Great Hall, chastising to get properly dressed. Aemond looks back over his shoulder and sees the hall almost completely empty. He frowns, guessing he’ll have to wait to see you again.

---

After the wedding ceremony, you head back to your guest chamber, the swarm of guests leaving the Great Hall did not allow you to do anything else. Your sister accompanies you so the two of you can get ready for the dinner celebration together. 

Dorothea has you sitting at the vanity, brushing careful strokes into your hair, making it shiny and pretty for the night. Your eyes are closed, humming in content. You miss this, it is like when you were little girls. You’d put up more of a fight back then but now…

Opening your eyes, you place a hand over Dorothea’s, stopping her mid-brush to find your gaze through the looking glass in front of you. “Come back to Bear Island with us. It’s been awfully lonely without you around.”

Dorothea looks down, hiding her smile, putting the hairbrush down to start braiding your hair in the way the pretty ladies in King’s Landing do. “I never thought I’d hear this from you. You’ve always been closer to our brothers than with me.”

“That’s not true!” You protest, shaking your head. Dorothea tuts and forces you to still. “I may jest with them more, but you have always been my favorite.”

Dorothea chuckles at that. “You are awfully bold tonight.”

Pouting, you whine in a way that only a little sister can get away with, “Can’t a girl just say what is in her heart without being questioned so much so?”

“Then tell me… Have you told the prince how you felt about him?”

This time, it is you who looks away from Dorothea’s gaze through the mirror. “I did not come here to burden him with my feelings.”

Your sister sighs. “You will not be burdening him with your feelings. Don't you see the way he looks at you?”

You bite down at your lower lip, not sure what hurts more – how your sister is pulling your hair back so tight that your face stretches with it or the hollow feeling in your chest. “I do… but… you were at the wedding. The princess and prince hold no love for one another, not even familial love… And Aemond… he is also the son of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. In line for the Iron Throne… We— it’s not a match, the two of us. As much as I want it to be.”

Dorothea frowns, letting your hair free to walk around you to kneel in front of you. She takes you by the shoulders to make you look her in the eyes, properly this time. “Don’t say that, little cub.”

You sniff, holding back the incoming tears. “Our house… it’s… We’re not…” You lick your lips, trying again, “What will they gain from letting Aemond marry me?”

Dorothea squeezes your shoulders in reassurance, then says, “They will gain a wonderful daughter-in-law. One who is smart, and strong, and stupidly stubborn, but lovable nonetheless. One that adores their son so much and looks at him as if he puts the stars in the sky.”

You manage to smile at her words, albeit one that is watery and sad. 

“I don’t think that is enough,” you whisper to her, voice trembling for the second time that day.

Dorothea purses her lips together. Her silence an admission that you may be right.

---

When it came time to head to the Queen’s Ballroom for the wedding feast, it is like you and your sister did not have that talk at all, laughing together as you walk hand-in-hand. Following behind you two are your Lord Father, Lord Grover Tully, and his two grandsons, Elmo Tully, and Dorothea’s husband, Tobias Tully.

You are so content with your sister’s company that you do notice all the handsome lords that make eyes at you when you pass them by. Instead, you are more entranced by the delicious food filling the many tables, taking your pick and then offering a piece to your sister and father whenever you find something so mouthwateringly good. 

You were in the process of popping a stuffed olive into your mouth when someone chose to slide up behind, shouting your name and startling you to choke on the darn thing. 

“You idiot,” Dorothea hisses at her twin brother as she pats on your back to aid dislodge the olive stuck in your throat. 

“I’m sorry, I did not– Are you alright, little cub?!” Forrest exclaims with worry, smacking his palm on your back as well. Finally, you cough out the olive, and thank the Gods for Dorothea, as she slides a small plate in front of you – making the sticky and wet olive fall on it instead of in your hand.

While Dorothea berates her twin, Forrest keeps asking if you were really alright. You wave him off with a laugh.

“Are you sure? Really sure?”

“Yes, Forrest. I’m quite sure,” you say once more with a playful roll of your eyes.

“Good,” Forrest sighs. “I was quite worried… Also for the fact I didn’t see you at the Tourney.”

“I was… Elsewhere. But I heard you got second! Congratulations!”

Forrest pouts now. “Thank you, but… I wanted to ask for your favor. I had to settle for Dorothea’s and I think that is why I did not win.”

Dorothea glares at him and snaps, “I can hear you, you know?”

Forrest throws a cheeky grin her way that has her eyes rolling, turning her attention towards her husband instead.

“But are you sure you are alright?” Forrest asks as he takes a careful hold of your hands, voice low and firm so only the two of you can hear. “I’m asking seriously this time… That scene in the training yard with Ae and his nephews… I’ve never seen him like that before.”

You squeeze your brother’s hands reassuringly. “It is alright. He has apologized.”

Forrest hums, frowning, but takes your word for it. Then he straightens up, happy-go-lucky Forrest again. “Then will you join me to sup tonight? Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra asked me to their table. They were quite impressed with my skills at the tourney. And well…” He whispers the next part, a teasing smirk on his lips, “There is a certain Velaryon boy that was quite taken by you, and they want you to join them as well.”

Before you can even accept or refuse, Dorothea nudges Forrest aside to wrap her arm around yours, as if to claim you for the night. “Nuh-uh. Our sister is to sit with me and my Lord-Husband tonight,” then to you she asks giddily, “Do you remember Jeremy Strong? Ser Fallon Strong’s second youngest? Well, ever since you visited Riverrun for my wedding, he had been asking about you and well, before, with the whole… situation, I let him down easy. But now after our talk…”

“A Strong? Over a Velaryon Prince for our lovely sister?” Forrest scoffs quietly. “You are a terrible matchmaker, Thea.”

“Titles and Family Names should not matter. What matters is a good man. You should know that, dear Forrest, with all your canoodling with the Stark —”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you both–” Your father cuts in, smiling fondly at his children before standing at your side. “But our little cub and I have been formally invited to dine with the King and the Queen tonight… And that is an invitation we simply cannot refuse.” 

Then without another word, your father takes you by the arm, leading you away from your siblings that are as dumbfounded as you are.

---

Aemond is running late again. So late, in fact, that his mother has Daeron knocking on his door to chaperone him to the feast. 

It puts Aemond in a foul mood. Or perhaps, fouler than the one he was in before, when he was all alone in his bedchamber, stewing in dreadful thoughts about the future – the reason he is running late in the first place.

Aemond waves off Daeron in a way that could also be interpreted as a more polite way of Aemond flipping him off. The youngest prince just shrugs, and follows closely behind his older brother as they make their way to the ballroom together.

Aemond thought that maybe once they reach the ballroom that he’ll be free to mingle, be free to find you. But of course it cannot be that easy, because what they find when they arrive is Ser Criston, waiting for them near the entrance of the ballroom to lead them straight to the main table of the room. 

With not many options on where to sit now that almost all the guests have taken a seat at a table, Aemond plops down on the chair beside his mother, all sulky and surly. 

Aegon is to his right, takes one look at the One-Eyed Prince’s face and laughs, hard – clearly already in his cups. Aemond simply shifts his body slightly more to the left to ignore him. 

Only two empty chairs remain at their table beside Prince Daeron, who is sitting directly across Aemond. At first, Aemond thought it would be for his half-sister and heir to the throne, Princess Rhaenyra, and her uncle-husband, Prince Daemon, but he spies them at another table with Rhaenyra’s bastard children, and Princess Rhaenys and her granddaughters. It was probably by his mother’s arrangement to not sit them at their table — if it were up to his father, they would be by his side. His mother – though petty at times – would rather not ruin her two beloved childrens’ wedding day and end it with another huge family feud.

So who would be sitting on those empty chairs? From looking around, Aemond sees all his immediate family already sat. Could it be for the twin knights, Ser Arryk and Erryk Cargyll, the former being the champion of the Tournament, or maybe –

Suddenly, the Queen rises, beaming with joy. “Our guest of honor! It is lovely to see you two!”

Aemond glances over to who his mother is speaking to and what he sees has his eye widening, body moving on its own as he is standing up too.

Because it is you, standing right there at the other side of the table beside your father, and looking like an absolute daydream in that dress — no, the dress, the one he gifted you for your sixteenth name day. 

Aemond had often dreamt about you wearing the cream colored dress ever since he got a look at it – how lovely the color would look against your skin, the way your dainty collarbones and shoulders will be on display due to the off the shoulder sleeves, and the elegant way you would move around him in it.

But, as you often proved, dreams could never compare to the brilliant reality of you. 

He can’t keep his eye off of you. You have completely stolen his breath away — and his heart, once again.

He can tell you were very nervous, with the way your fingers twist together in front of you. But then your eyes meet his and you are exhaling out air as you stand up a little straighter, more sure of yourself.

Aemond smiles to himself. It is nice to know that he gives you as much ease as you give him.

“Sorry for the tardiness, your Grace,” your father apologizes, bowing his head at the Queen and the King. 

“It’s alright, Lord Mormont,” The Queen shakes off with a kind smile. “The invitation was quite last minute, so I thank you for gracing us with your presence.”

Then she puts a hand on Aemond’s arm, a gesture for him to stay put, before she rounds the table to greet you and your father.

Queen Alicent talks to your father first, thanking him once again for taking care and bringing back Aemond safely all those years ago, and for always welcoming him to your home. Then King Viserys pipes up from the seat over where the Queen had been, too weak to stand up to greet your father properly, but your father leans over the table to shake his hand, and they start to converse as if old and very close friends. 

That has the Queen’s attention flicking to you, and she smiles at you in a way that seems like she is about to burst into tears. Then you are being pulled into her tight embrace.

“It is so wonderful to finally meet you,” the Queen says softly into your ear. “Thank you for being such a good friend to our dearest Aemond.” 

Alicent pulls back, but her hands are now on your arms. “I have heard so many wonderful things about you.”

You glance down bashfully. “Thank you, your Grace. I heard many a great things about you too.”

Neither of you hear Aegon’s comment, “Well, of course. Aemond, the mommy’s boy,” or how said ‘mommy’s boy’ kicks his shin from underneath the table.

Alicent then looks you over. Even if her stare is anything but scrutinizing, you still felt very self-conscious. The Queen is the very definition of perfection, and you cannot help but think of all your flaws in that very moment. Is your hair all in place? Is there food stuck in your teeth? What will she think about that scar you have on your arm from sparring with Jorah when you were young?

“You are such a darling girl,” Queen Alicent declares. “So pretty…” She then gasps, “Is this the dress Aemond and I have gotten made for you?”

You nod in confirmation. “It is. Thank you graciously, your grace.”

Alicent sighs, head shaking as she smiles at you and squeezes your arms. “Lovely…”

Then she breaks away fully, gesturing at the empty chairs for you and your father, “Come, sit! Sit!”

And when you take a seat, that is when Aemond finally sits down too. 

You share a smile with your best friend, before turning to your left to greet his younger brother. Prince Daeron gives you a handsome grin and takes your hand to shake. But before you can take your hand back, he leans in close and murmurs hotly in your ear, “I would kiss your hand, but I heard whispers about what my dear brother did earlier to our nephew… And I’d rather keep my head, no matter how absolutely divine you are.”

You are a flush when he pulls away, the youngest prince silently laughing to himself, and your prince at the other side of the table narrows his eye in question at the exchange.

The main course of the dinner arrives and soon the Queen’s Ballroom is alive with joyous laughter and utensils scraping on plates. You are slow to eat and drink, afraid if you are not careful, you will stain your pretty dress with something you cannot get off of it. This also means you are a lot more sober than anyone else around you – even Aemond, who does not drink much or often. 

He is so relaxed and happy, often looking towards you with that sweet smile on his face. 

From beside him, his mother seems quite tipsy as well. She is staring at you, her chin in the palm of her hand.

“I apologize, Lady Mormont, I can’t seem to stop myself from looking at you,” Queen Alicent confesses, head tilting with a sigh. “You look even more gorgeous than that stunning painting Aemond has of you in his –”

“Mother!” Aemond sharply barks, the tip of his ears immediately burning bright red.

Maybe you are not as sober as you thought, because, what?

“Painting…? What painting?” You ask, confused. 

Alicent is silent now, realizing she had blurted out something her son did not want you to know.

“Oh, right! That one!” Aegon exclaims, as if suddenly remembering. “The one that Aemond surely jerks it—”

The oldest prince groans, doubling over. The one responsible does not look sorry at all but just miserable now, his fingers pressed to his temple.

Luckily for Aemond’s (and Aegon’s) life, your father had gotten up moments before to chat with Forrest at his table.

“It is quite life-like!” Princess Helaena gleefully adds on from beside her brother-husband. “It looks exactly like you!”

Befuddled even more, your brows crease closer together. You try to get your best friend’s attention to make things a bit clearer, “Aemond..?”

But the one-eyed Prince is so embarrassed that he refuses to acknowledge you — leaving you in turmoil for the rest of the dinner. 

---

Even when the plates start getting cleared away, Aemond still does not say one word to you. 

Prince Daeron tries to ease the tension, making small talk with you about things that his brother could easily input a thought or two in. But Aemond doesn’t take the bait, not even then Daeron kicks him from under the table.

Although Prince Daeron is quite nice to talk to, you still felt very out of place – especially with how Aemond is ignoring you. 

Every passing second, your smile feels more and more forced – until you cannot do it anymore, choosing to stare at your hands on your lap instead, making yourself small. 

Seeing you like that has Prince Daeron huffing and shaking his head at the stupidity of his brother, and he decides to take matters into his own hands. He stands then and turns towards you, “Lady Mormont, will you honour me with a dance?”

With his jaw clenching at the question posed, Aemond feels your gaze turning to him, but he keeps his steady on the wall. You stare at his profile for another moment or two, then resign yourself to the fact that you are not going to get anything out of him – maybe not even for the rest of the night. So with a tight smile, you take Prince Daeron’s hand. “Of course, my Prince.”

As the youngest prince leads you out to where the other guests are dancing, Prince Aegon laughs out loud when Aemond furiously inhales deeply. “Seven hells, you’re an idiot.”

And for once in his life, Aemond thinks that Aegon might be right.

---

Aemond is watching you now, once again cannot take his eye off of you.

How can he when you are laughing so prettily, smiling freely, spinning around and around, and enchanting everyone with every twirl of your dress?

But he can’t even bring himself to find a little bit of joy for your happiness, not when the ones giving it to you are the admirers after admirers asking for your hand to dance, tripping over themselves to have even a morsel of your precious time.

Aemond is wild with jealousy, seething as he has Ser Criston murmuring in his ear who each one was.

Lord Thorin Tyrell. Ser Jonas Lannister. Lord Thomas Vance. Lord Alwyn Swyft. 

And the one who currently has his arms around you now, making you beam from ear to ear, is Lord Jeremy Strong .

It’s nauseating, but at least it is not that bastard, Jacaerys. He has noticed his nephew making eyes at you all night. But he might not be as daft as he looks because he keeps his distance. Maybe what happened that afternoon still burned in his mind.

Good, Aemond sneers in his head, glaring at where Jace leans against a bannister, moping.

That is when Aemond realizes he is doing the same pitiful thing. 

Feeling sorry for himself as he lets others get what he wants. It’s pathetic.

Having had enough, Aemond stands and straightens out his cufflinks before stalking his way to you.

As he gets nearer, he overhears the conversation you are having with the Lord leading you around the dancefloor.

“I did not mean to offend you, Jeremy. If I had known you were the one that made the dish, I wouldn’t have—”

“Wouldn’t have… so blatantly said it was revolting in front of me?”

“That was not the word I used! I just said it was bad!”

“Well, if it pleases you to hear, my Lady… I, uh, have gotten better at it.”

“...Truly?”

“Don’t– Don’t look so doubtful! Maybe I can, um, show you some time, how does breakfast–”

Aemond has to refrain his eye from rolling. Instead, he takes an interjecting step towards the two of you, his looming presence intense enough to halt you completely from moving even an inch.

When your eyes round at him, he simply smirks.  “Lady Mormont, I believe I am owed a dance.”

You glance at Lord Strong, smile apologetic as you take your hands off him, a faint thank you for the dance out of your lips.

Aemond does not even spare a single glance at your partner for the whole interaction, his eye only on you. He hears the Lord murmur a low my prince out of respect, but Aemond doesn’t acknowledge it, just overtakes the Lord’s place in front of you, placing his hands possessively on your hips. 

Although you put your hands on Aemond’s arms – thus accepting his invitation to dance – your gaze follows the retreating back of your previous dancing partner, a frown worrying your features. Then your fierce glare is on him, “That was pretty rude of you, don’t you think, my Prince?”

He should be happy that’s what he got out of me after he dare thinks he could just court you so easily at my home, in front of me, Aemond thinks uncivilly , Vhagar is itching to burn something alive.

But it would be unwise to say all that out loud, so he just presses his mouth together and holds his chin up a little higher, as if to let you know that what he is going to say next is not at all genuine, “I apologize for my very impertinent behavior towards Lord Strong. It shall not happen again.”

Your look of exasperation does not falter, but you do not move away, not even when Aemond pulls you to him a little more closer.

“I do also apologize though, for how I treated you at the dinner table,” Aemond murmurs, this time sincere. He takes a swallow, frowning. “I was… uncomfortable with some things that came to light. I could not face you to preserve my own selfish pride, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

You cannot help it, you are too soft for him. Your anger just dissipates away. Your hand skims down his arm, comforting him as you sway slowly together with the music from the band, “You’ve been apologizing to me quite a lot today, my prince.”

Aemond hums, head bowing low, his breath tickling your cheek when he speaks, “I intend to make it up to you, enkelitsos.” 

From beneath your lashes, you peer at his hungry gaze, your nervous voice shyly asking, “And how will you do that, my prince?”

And again, as if gravity is simply forcing the two of you to each other, the distance between you and the prince closes in more. 

Too close to be appropriate in a hall full of nobles, with eyes that see and mouths that talk. 

From the main table, Queen Alicent is one of those eyes and mouth. Fondly, she leans to her husband to comment, “Aemond looks so smitten.”

But beside the jovially laughing King, the man with the gold hand pinned on his chest watches too – disapproval strong in the lines of his face.

---

With the Bedding Ceremony underway, it is easier for Prince Aemond to sneak you into his bedchamber. Still, if the two of you were caught, the punishment will be harsh. But he has one goal in mind and he intends to see it through – to show you the painting that caused quite a stir at dinner.

“I promise you it is not as strange as you think it is,” Aemond says, his hand holding yours as he leads you carefully yet swiftly through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast.

You huff, pressing your back against the wall when Aemond does, watching as the prince peers around the corner. “Do not put words into my mouth, Aemond! I do not think it is strange. I just want to know what it is!”

“It’s–” he stops, then he is tugging you to move again, across the hall and into a door that leads to a stone staircase. As you climb the steps with him, Aemond continues, “Well, you’ll see soon. We’re almost there.”

Your heartbeat is beating so fast at the thrill of all the sneaking around. But as exhilarating as it is, you were delighted to finally be pulled into the safety of Aemond’s bedchamber, to allow the pulsing in your veins to finally calm and to breathe normally again.

Or at least you try… Because it is then when it comes to you that you are in Aemond’s bedchamber, alone with the prince.

You don't know how you do it, but you are the perfect image of serenity when you glance around the room to take everything in.

Nothing there was really surprising to you. He keeps his own bedchamber the same way he kept the guest chamber that is his in Mormont Keep – pristine, and not a thing out of place. But there are things around that make your heart sing with delight –  the little gifts you and your family have given the prince throughout the years. 

The long black leather gloves that Jorah made, with an embroidered red of the House Targaryen sigil by you on the cuffs, hanging on the handle of his armoire. Wooden Cyvasse pieces crafted by Braeden on a fancy marbled Cyvasse board — reminding you that Aemond still hasn’t beaten your oldest brother yet. The leather ball by the foot of his bed, the one that he kicked in the goal and earned a victorious win with Forrest in a game of mob football with the other kids on the island. A very amateur drawing you made of you and him riding Vhagar in a golden frame on the bedside table. A leather bound journal on his desk, gifted by your mother and father, looking well-loved and well-used. And many, many more.

He keeps it intertwined with his other things, as if they are as precious as the golds, jewels, and all the other clearly more valuable items he has.

And that is when you see it, hanging on the wall opposite of his bed, surrounded by the golden ornate frame, is you — brought to life on a canvas by talented strokes of rich oil paints. 

“This… Dorothea painted this,” you inform Aemond – who stands in the center of the room with his hand nervously clasped behind his back – as if he already did not know. 

“Yes, she did.”

As you continue to stare at the painting in disbelief, you start to recount, “I… I remember this day so clearly. She made me sit in her room for hours and hours – seven to be exact. Believe me, I counted. And then after she was finished… The next day, it was just… gone . I was mad at her for weeks. I couldn’t believe how she wasted my time, and she cannot even explain how it disappeared. But now—” You look at him, a mirthful smile on your lips, “She sent it to you.”

Aemond nods slow, taking steps to meet you by your side. “When I couldn’t travel to visit you, I was slowly succumbing to a state of dep—” he clears his throat, and tries again, “Deep discontent. I just wanted to see you, but I could not. So I sent Dorothea a letter in hopes that she can provide me with a picture of you. I just wanted something small but what she sent back was… Well, I am grateful, but I asked her not to tell you about it. Not even the part where I wanted a picture in the first place.” 

“Oh Gods,” you mutter, slapping a palm on your forehead. You remember that too. When you start to laugh, Aemond looks down at you with confusion.

“I thought you were writing those letters to Dorothea because you were courting her,” you say in between fits of giggles. So all those days you spent crying in bed were all for nothing? How your heart only truly mended when you watched Dorothea make her way down the aisle because that means that Aemond could not have her anymore? You feel so utterly silly. 

There is a grimace on Aemond’s face that makes you laugh even harder. “She was so secretive with them, so I did not know what else to think!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Aemond says, as if you are offending him. “I could never look at Dorothea in that way.”

“And why not? ” Now it’s your turn to be offended, on behalf of your sister. “Everyone is in love with Dorothea! She’s so pretty, and clearly very talented, and so polite, and—”

The way Aemond takes your hands in his has you shutting up your prattling. 

The prince shifts closer, your hands intertwined together over his heart, his gaze heavy on you as his forehead press against yours.

“Because I…” he breathes, and his mouth – his sinfully alluring mouth, crafted so prettily by the Gods – so close to yours, only breadths away. It is hard to tear your attention away from the way his tongue peeks out of to wet his lips, but you do, only to witness the beauty of his violet eye just as he confesses, “I’ve only ever had eyes for you.”

And you don’t even know who makes the first move. It might have been you. It might have been him. But his mouth is on yours, and yours are on his, and that is all that matters. 

Aemond’s lips are as heavenly as you dreamt them to be. So soft yet firm, and he knows the right pressure to apply with them to have you moaning against his mouth. 

You feel his smile, and he murmurs how delectable you are before his tongue laves along the seam of your lips, asking for permission. You give in to him, also craving for more. 

As the kiss deepens, you pull your hands away from his to wrap around his strong shoulders, and he places his own greedy on your hips, gripping tight onto the willowy fabric of your dress. You feel like you should be embarrassed about the needy, whimpering sounds you are making, but you’re not. 

Aemond starts moving now, pulling you back with him, though his hungry lips stay attacking your lips. Although your own kisses are unpracticed, it fills you with some strange sort of satisfaction that you have the prince panting in your mouth, desperate for more. His mouth so hot you are getting delirious.

“Aemond…” you gasp, so sweetly, when you part for an intake of air. The prince growls, nipping along the underside of your jaw. “Please…”

You don’t even know what you are asking for.

He turns you around, so sudden it has you gasping and grasping onto the footboard of his bed. His lips are quick to latch back on your skin, mouthing down the side of your neck while his fingers unties the lacing on the back of your dress. With every undoing of the silk ribbon, the bustier gets looser, causing your breast to spill out, the heat of Aemond’s palm on one of them without a moment’s delay, squeezing. 

Your whole body is lit ablaze, burning hotter and hotter as more and more of you is becoming exposed to Aemond’s eye as your dress starts to fall – his mouth now kissing down your spine, following the fabric down –  and drops onto a heap on the tiled floor.

Then Aemond is straightening up, his hands tender on you, skimming across your shoulders, putting your nerves at ease under his touch. 

“Gevie… ” He whispers hotly in your ear, his fingers now in your hair, undoing the braids and letting the strands free. You know that one, gevie, a word he taught you after you had wanted to compliment Vhagar. 

Beautiful . 

Your eyes flutter shut, humming under his gentle ministration. 

And that is when you feel him, hard, pressed against your lower back, rubbing onto you. You bite down your bottom lip, suppressing a wanton moan.

Once he is done with undoing all the intricate braids in your hair, he is turning you around again to face him, this time more gentle. You are a flush, his eye roaming on your bare body – completely and wholeheartedly just for him.

You don’t know how or why, but you don’t feel self conscious at all under the heated gaze of your prince. If anything, you might be bolder, standing on the tip of your toes to press another desperate kiss on Aemond’s lips.

“I want you so much,” he tells you; voice low, breath heavy, and eye full of lust. 

Your lashes flutter at him, smiling wide as you cannot contain the happiness inside from bursting out. “And I want just as much. Perhaps, more.”

He takes your hand, his grinning lips grazing the knuckles. “I don’t think that is possible.”

Then he leads around to the side of the bed, lays you down with such care, your head landing gently on the rich duvet. He does not join you, not yet, still standing beside the bed frame.

You call for him, desire burning between your thighs. 

What is he waiting for?

You sit up your elbows to watch him, watching you as he wordlessly unfastens the sashed belt around his waist and unbuttons the form-fitting leather tunic he is wearing, stripping both off unceremoniously. Your mouth gapes open at the sight of his marbled and broad chest, marveling at how gorgeously toned it is, defined by years and years of special training. 

There is a cocky smirk on his lips as he starts to unlace his breeches. His ego inflating as you eye the thickness of him with a hard swallow. He takes himself in his hand while he kicks away the rest of his clothes – now as naked as you are.

He crawls onto the bed now, his knee sliding in between your thighs, his mouth on yours again – he simply cannot get enough. 

You cannot not think straight, you need him so much it makes you dizzy. You need to ground yourself, so you touch his chest, feel the solid planes of it, his heartbeat beating fast underneath your palm. It makes you feel so safe. Aemond makes you feel so safe.

Aemond’s hands are roaming too, worshiping every inch of your body as if you are the altar he prays to. Fondling your breast, tweaking your nipples until they harden, clutching at your hips and your thighs so hard that it will leave bruises…  And then his fingers – your heartbeat speeding up so — his fingers trail along the juncture of your thigh, so close to where you want him most. 

You moan wantonly, throwing your head back and baring your neck for him. Without even noticing, you also part your thighs further apart, allowing him easier access.

“Needy ,” he tuts with a huffed out chuckle, teeth biting to leave a mark on the underside of your jaw. Aemond looks down to where his hand is, exhaling out a shaky breath as fingers slide closer to the dewy folds of your precious cunt. He groans when he finds you dripping wet, and it’s because of him. All for him. “So bloody needy.”

His fingers make a mess of you, rubbing so firmly yet tenderly at your sensitive clit. You’ve done this to yourself before, but somehow the way Aemond does it feels different. Better . He has your hips moving on its own, your mouth crying out his name, and your cunt clenching, begging to be filled.

Then a finger starts to press inside you — thicker than your own, thicker than what you are used to. 

Aemond sees how you squeeze your eyes shut, and he stills. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes flutter open to Aemond’s face of concern, and you quickly nod, clutching a hand on his arm. “Yes, please keep going.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, to make sure this is what you really want. When he deems your words true, he starts to move his hand again, his finger slowly sliding in and out of your entrance, coming out wetter and wetter each time. You start to pant softly, licks of pleasure rolling through you.

He eases another digit in, scissoring the two apart inside of you. You bite your lip, hips lifting off the bed at the slightly uncomfortable feeling. But it doesn’t take long for the fuzzy, good feeling to take over you again. So much so that when he presses his thumb on your clit again, you start to tremble, whimpering as you peak for the first time, your sweet juices spilling over his fingers and onto the sheet beneath you.

“You’re so good for me, enkelitsos,” your prince praises, has you preening underneath him as he places a kiss on each of your eyelids, the tip of your nose, and your lips. He then sits up on his knees, palming his hard cock again. Still trying to catch your breath, you watch in fascination as he spreads the precum beading at the tip along the rest of him. “Think you can take me now?”

Although extremely nervous, you find yourself nodding at Aemond.

You have had lessons about this before, about the deflowering, from your mother, your septa, and even Dorothea, but never in great detail. You do not know what to expect.

But what you do know is that Aemond will treat you right.

He bends over you, one hand gripping his cock while the other is beside your head, pressed against the bed to keep him from falling on top of you. He teases the tip of him on your still sensitive nub, making you shiver, sliding himself up and down along your folds to build up anticipation. But his set on torturing you has the same affect on himself. Not when you feel so warm and good and was so tight around just two of his fingers.

Aemond curses under his breath, unable to put it off anymore. He guides his cock to the entrance of your cunt, pushing inside with a low, impassioned groan.

You are so bloody tight, it feels too good. But he knows you need to adjust to his size, the rapid clenching of your walls letting him know you are trying to get used to his cock.

He sees you blinking away the tears. It hurts, but not as much as you thought it would. 

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Aemond murmurs as his head falls, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, finding comfort there as he inhales the scent of you. 

And in that moment, you knew you are so full of love for him, snuffling as you nudge your nose into his hair. “I’m ready, Aemond.”

He peers at you, his hand finding yours, intertwining together as he starts to move.

He fills you to the brim in one slow thrust, hilting as his hips knock against yours. You are stretched tight around his throbbing cock, the pushing and pulling building up something fierce inside of you. He buries himself deep inside, over and over again, slamming into you like a man possessed. 

The heat of his mouth is burning like the dragon he is, open above yours, hovering and close enough to touch, but they don’t — only moaning your passion for each other.

He pulls you up suddenly, still deep inside you. Has you sitting on his lap, hands gripping on your hips as he makes you move, making you bounce on his cock. He sets the pace, and you are completely under his control, letting him with no regret.

“Ae!” You cry out, feeling him hit so deep, the head of his cock probably already breaching the deepest parts of you. Your arms are wrapped tight around him, tears streaming from your eyes, all out of pleasure and none out of pain. 

“Peak for me, my love,” Aemond demands, an animalistic growl rumbling his throat. “Come all over my cock as I spill my seed inside you.”

And you do. Breaking again just as his cum fills you up, just like he promised.

He kisses you deeply one last time before you are both flopping on his bed, completely boneless and aching with exhaustion.

You lay there for some time in your lover’s embrace, completely content in the silence save for the evening out of both your heavy breathing. 

Is it possible to be this happy? You must have saved a million lives in your past life for just this moment. You cannot believe how lucky you are to fall in love with your best friend.

To have someone you love everything about.

“Eye…” You say softly, but it still breaks the quiet between you. Aemond hums in question, his fingertips absentmindedly trailing over your skin, just to feel you. You roll to your side to look at him, his hand gripping your hip when you do so. “Eye… you only have an eye for me. Earlier you said eyes , during your confession. But, you only have one …”

That has Aemond spluttering, mouth opening and closing in sheer disbelief. 

And then he is laughing, fingers digging into your sides, tickling you into a fit of giggles. “You cheeky, little…”

As you two laugh, you grab onto his face to press a sweet kiss on his lips. When you pull away, he is not laughing anymore, and neither are you. You lick your lips, staring into his violet eyes, “But this one eye.. It is the beautiful eye I fell in love with… When you opened them to look at me that first night.”

Aemond’s eye waters as he lets out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss on your inner wrist. Then his hand is moving behind his head, unclasping his eyepatch. 

It has you holding your breath. You have not seen Aemond without his eyepatch since the first time he landed on Bear Island. So why is he now taking it off?

As Aemond lets it fall onto his hand, what you see has you gasping softly.

For it is your sapphire there, taking the place of his missing eye.

You reach your hand up, running your thumb tenderly along the bags underneath it. Aemond hums happily, nuzzling his cheek against your palm.

“I keep it here because I… I always want you with me,” he declares. “The woman who has my heart wholeheartedly and for evermore.”

You say his name, so full of fondness. He kisses you fiercely, puts all his feelings in it that he cannot put into words anymore. 

“I want to be selfish now,” you say against his lips, already dreading the thought of leaving him in the morrow. “I want you to write to me everyday. I do not even care if you have nothing at all to say.”

“I will do that, enkelitsos. And many more.”

“Like what?”

Aemond simply smirks, before he is descending kisses down your body, your hand threading into his hair and pulling as his tongue spreads over you. 

---

Prince Aemond sends you off a day later with a tight embrace – stealing your kisses in every shadowed corner of the Keep as the two of you made your way to your father waiting at the gates – and you are barely even out King’s Landing but he is already in his bedchamber, writing you a raven that will be waiting for you when you arrive back home. He will keep good on his promise, writing to you every day. Greedy to steal more of your heart with every prose he writes about how much he loves you, how he cannot wait to see you again, and more salacious things that will make your whole body heat up.

With the first letter done, he makes his way to the rookery. 

When he steps inside, he almost collides into the Hand of the King, his grandfather, Otto Hightower. 

“My apologies, grandfather,” Aemond says, stepping aside to let him pass. 

“It is alright, my prince,” his grandfather says, about to take his leave. 

“Important business?” Aemond cannot help but ask, stopping the Hand on his track. He does not see his grandfather at rookery much — or at all, if he thinks about it. He usually has his serving boys deliver his scrolls to the rookery Maesters. So whatever he is here for is probably important enough for him to hand it off himself. 

“Yes, you can say that…” Otto says with a stiff smile, glances over his shoulder and giving the Maester a solid nod — a silent understanding between them. He then pats his grandson’s arm before walking out the open door. 

Aemond is used to his grandfather’s taciturn ways, so he lets him be, turning to the Maester with a grin. “A raven to Bear Island, if you have the time.”

---

Aemond waits, and waits, and waits. Several moons pass, many letters written, and the couriers traveling back and forth… Still, he gets nothing back at all from you.

And so like the harsh temperament of the North, he fears you have completely iced him out of your life.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #hotd #aemond #aemond targaryen

[shegetsburned]

❝ somethin’ stupid like i love you ❞ w. shiu kong ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .

.nsfw.

• — content. shiu realizes he’s slowly falling for you and absolutely hates it. • — author’s note. coming back of hiatus with this! part of my fwb shiu content. feel free to send suggestions for this trope btw <3

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who genuinely thinks this whole thing is suspicious. it has never happened before. there’s no way he’s thinking about you this much. you must be playing a game he isn’t aware of.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who after a few months, made many more calls and asked for you more often than the usual one day a week. it has come to three to four days and even when you were busy he found ways to clear your schedule and have you all to himself.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who has gotten rougher and less patient when he fucks you. as soon as he steps through the door his hands are all over you and his warm breath covers your neck like he had been waiting all day to finally get a sample of your addicting scent.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who has a habit of “forgetting” his jacket or his pack of cigarettes at your place just to call you a few hours later to pass by and get his items back. little did you know it was just to see you some more.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who stays longer and doesn’t leave you as soon as he’s done. to your surprise, he stays until you fall asleep or sometimes when you’re lucky, shares a bath or a shower with you. nothing sexual, he just prefers to stay clean and helps you in the process.

you two have easy conversations about anything and everything without being scared of the other’s judgment. shiu likes to talk about anything as long as it doesn’t involve work and you love it when his deep chuckle resonates in your ears.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who has asked himself several times why he always needed to come back to you. he never realized how much he looked forward to these intimate moments which contradicted the whole accord you guys had made. this was supposed to be temporary and, now, he couldn’t go two days without the touch of your skin against his.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who begins to open up more about his work and clients. how uninteresting and full of cash they are, how good the pay is and how easy it is to fool scared millionaires. more importantly, he had told you in total confidence that he thought about quitting his job. it may have been easy money but it wasn’t the most morally fulfilling job.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who, for the first time, has stayed the night, sleeping in with you. you thought you’d awoke to an empty side of the bed, like always, but here he was, peacefully sleeping. needless to say, you had never seen him reveal this side of himself. he looked so comfortable, you were the one to leave first that morning.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who cursed himself for falling asleep in your bed, but it felt so good and he was so tired that his body had just given out. he made sure to gather everything before leaving in a hurry. no jacket or packs forgotten, only leaving his fresh and rich smell of smoke all over your apartment.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who was distracted at work. his thoughts diverged to his hands trailing your curves and your perfect lips he wanted to taste so badly. the feeling pierced his heart. did he actually miss you?

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who tried to dismiss his feelings by taking a small break from you and hooking up with different girls. despite his best efforts, nothing felt right when he was fucking them. he was quick and uninterested. it was so boring without you.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who, determined to not fall into your meaningless trap, has finally decided to give you one final call. he’d explain everything to you in person.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who got lost in time and ended up pussy drunk, between your legs, once again squeezing his soft tongue into your tight pussy. after all these sessions, he came to be the best at eating you out and knowing precisely how you wanted to be touched and handled.

“god- i fucking love you, [y/n].” he murmurs against your sloppy entrance, heavy breath itching at your skin and you can’t quite discern his sentence before panic finally sets in.

it comes out so easily out of his mouth, between two pants, like praise he had said over and over again. he doesn’t even notice, but you do. oh, yes you do.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who continues to place wet kisses on your inner thighs but you had stopped clenching the sheets to stare at him, eyes wide open. shiu was so strict about following the rules he had personally set, to maintain this kind of relationship and here he was saying that he loved you. what a fool.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who’s so mesmerized by your euphoric scent that he hasn’t yet become aware of the fact that he accidentally confessed to you. you can feel your heartbeat fasten and your pulse through your ears when he pronounces the words. your pink-tinted cheeks betray how flustered you are.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who brings you back to reality with a guttural groan as he dives back against your dripping folds, his nose pressing against your clit. his hands open up your legs more as you give out the meaningless fight and fall deeper into his delicious embrace.

“f-fuck.. wait- aaah- shiu..”

your mind’s hazy from the pleasure but you’re still thinking about his words. you wonder if it was only in the heat of the moment or a true confession he couldn’t have hidden much longer.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who had promised to never kiss you in fear of his emotions getting the best of him, but this night was different. your puffy pink lips were looking particularly pretty and captivating. he wasn’t one to break promises but his self-control was hanging on by a thread when he was so drunk over you. he moved upward, parting with your needy cunt to place a trail of light kisses along your chest, from your belly all the way to your neck.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who doesn’t hesitate further. his whole body’s covering yours when he leans into your neck, nibbling at the skin before capturing your lips in a hot and steamy kiss. he’s breathing the amount of air you have left, causing you to stop him abruptly, your fingers pushing his lips away. he’s taken aback, his eyes questioning yours with your skin still blocking his lips.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who looks perplex, like he missed an episode. what were you so tense all of a sudden? wasn’t he doing enough? you always loved the way he ate you out, so what’s changed? of course, he had forgotten about the kissing rule, but the flustered gaze you were wearing told him something else bothered you the most.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu whose gaze goes from your wet lips to your eyes. he knows what he did wrong but the memory of his confession is still blurry. delicately enough, he wraps his hand around your wrist to free his mouth. you whisper his name, panting, but he cuts you off almost immediately.

“don’t read too much into what i say when we’re fuckin’, angel.”

he’s trying to defend himself. truth is he was almost ashamed of slipping out to you like that. exposing his buried feelings to you made him want to disappear, especially considering the face you were wearing right now.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who’s reluctant to talk about it, he doesn’t want to talk about his feelings, he just wants to fuck you. had he forgotten why he came here in the first place? he had never gone this far with any of the girls he was fucking before and here he was, almost completely naked and so drunk over you that your pussy wasn’t enough for a taste. wasn’t he supposed to talk to you about terminating this affair?

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who was embarrassed to be so vulnerable when it came to you. he quickly regains his senses, moving away to give you enough space to sit up and wrap your sweating figure with the sheets.

“why are you so ashamed of it, shiu?”

he shakes his head frenetically. god. you didn’t understand anything did you? being obsessed with you wasn’t in any of his plans. he needed to get out of this situation quickly, otherwise he’d simply betray himself further.

“we can’t do this anymore. I’m ending our deal.” he says, skillfully putting his belt back with his clenched back muscles exposed to your sight.

his words were frustrating. was it your fault? was it you that he was so ashamed to love? “you were the one to break the rules, shiu.”

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who brushes it off, buttoning his white shirt back on. his hands travel inside his pockets, desperately searching for a cigarette. it was so annoying. it was so annoying that you could see right through him and that he had no power over it. he had no power over his feelings for you and it was infuriating.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who refuses to explain any further. the last thing he said before leaving your place was that you didn’t have to expect anymore calls or texts from him.

what he didn’t say was that he wanted to stay so badly. he wanted, without shame, to tell you how you made him feel but his pride inevitably got the best of him and he left without another word, leaving you naked in your bed, wondering how the hell you were so hang up on such a confused man.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

#shiu smut #jjk smut #shiu kong smut #shiu kong #jjk shiu #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #shiu x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #shiu x y/n

[rougecreator1]

Just a little ask- can we get a Regina George x basically a masc lesbian version of a himbo reader?

I don’t know about you but I have to climb Mount Everest to find any masc reader fics 😭 it’s hard out here!!!

Truth or Dare ||

|| Regina George x masc!fem!reader

|| Warnings: heavily implied smut, house party, underage drinking, Regina being Regina, sex mention, reader being slightly peer pressured in Truth or Dare, swearing, Regina being possessive over reader

|| Summary: Regina gets reader ready for a house party, they get a little distracted by each other. At the house party, reader ends up having more fun than she thought she would.

Requests open!

Started: May 10th

Finished: May 13th

~~~

The only reason you were popular was because Regina George was your girlfriend; if you hadn't been associated with her you would've been a complete outcast. You didn't fall into the femme social norms society had created. You leaned on the more masc side. Backwards hats, baggy pants, oversized shirts and sweaters. How you ended up with Regina you had no idea, but man you loved every minute of it.

You sat with her group during lunch, it was Wednesday so all of you had at least some type of pink on. For you it was your backwards flat cap, coloured a soft pink. Regina had bought it for you since prior to dating her you had absolutely zero pink in your wardrobe. Your clothes were mostly neutral colours, except for the few pride merch pieces you had.

The rest of your outfit was what you would typically wear. It was Fall, so you had a brown oversized hoodie; the sleeves and hood were a soft cream colour. Your pants were a pair of grey-ish green cargos. The way you tended to dress was mostly just grabbing whatever from your closet since you were always rushed in the mornings; sleep was priority. Looking good came after.

Regina hated that you did this. There was definitely a few times where the outfit you ended up showing up with was so mismatched that she would make you go back and change.

"Have you been listening?" Regina looked at you, eyes narrowed. You blinked and stared at her in confusion.

You definitely hadn't been.

"Uhh..."

Regina groans," Pay attention, dumbass. I asked if you had an outfit planned for the party tonight."

You had completely forgotten about the house party Regina was dragging you to, so you didn't have an outfit." I can't just wear this?" You looked down at what you already had on.

Her face scrunched up and she rolled her eyes," Absolutely not. After school you're coming to mine and we're giving you a makeover."

"Great..." You muttered, not really wanting the makeover but you knew Regina wouldn't let you say no.

The rest of the school day went by pretty quickly and at the end of it Regina had driven you to her place to work on your party fit.

As you walked into her room, she grabbed you by your waist and pinned you to the wall. Trailing kisses along your neck which got a soft gasp out of you.

"Regina- I thought-" You were confused why she was she doing this, not that you minded but you thought you were here for a makeover... not make out.

Her hands gripped the bottom of your hoodie and slowly pulled it over your head.

"Well, I have to undress you first. Don't I?" She whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded your head and let her continue with what she was doing.

She smirked as she watched you easily go along with what she was doing. Once your shirt was off, she unclipped your bra and let it fall to the floor as she pushed herself against your body. Her kisses went from your neck to your chest, pulling away from you just moments before she would've reached your breasts.

You made a soft sound when she pulled away, Regina smirked and gripped your hand; leading you to her closet. She loved teasing you like this. Her favourite thing was watching you get worked up, then pulling away from you last minute.

She dug through her clothes, trying to find a nice shirt and pair of pants to go with it. Something that would both match your style and fit what she was going to wear.

When she found the right combination of clothes, she handed them to you and gave you a deep kiss. You melted into it, kissing her back. Her hand rested to the small of your back as she pulled away; eyes slowly trailing your figure.

"Change into that."

You looked down at the clothes she picked out for you, raising an eyebrow as you looked back at Regina again. "Do I have to?"

She narrowed her eyes," Yes." Her hand trailed down further before slapping your ass, making you gasp at the suddenness," Don't argue."

You rolled your eyes but got changed into the fit, Regina's eyes never leaving your body as she stood with her arms crossed.

The outfit she had given you was a little more out of your style than she planned for; she had given you a black lace corset with a fishnet long sleeve that went down to your hands and made fingerless gloves. For the bottoms she'd given you a pair of red jeans and one of her louboutin boots that had just a bit of heel. Okay, it was seriously out of your style. She just wanted to see what you would look like in it and man she wasn't disappointed. When you were dressed, you looked at her then down at the heeled boots.

"I'm so going to fall tonight." You muttered, she laughed at that and a smile tugged the corner of her mouth.

"And if you do, tell me so I can get it on video." Regina winked at you, you huffed.

"Love you, too." You muttered, she ignored your comment and grabbed you by your hand. Pulling you helplessly over to her makeup vanity. Your worst nightmare.

Regina forced you to take a seat before she sat down in your lap, a smirk on her face as she went through her makeup supplies.

"Regina..." You tried to protest, but her hand went to your mouth to stop you.

"Don't start. A little makeup won't hurt you." Regina whispered, grabbing her moisturizer cream and beginning to put some on. You cringed as it touched your face and closed your eyes, reluctantly letting her do what she needed to do.

Nearly twenty long minutes later, Regina was done and satisfied with the look she had created. She grabbed you by your chin and made you look in her mirror as she raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"It's... not my style. But it's fine." You replied, at least being honest with her.

She rolled her eyes and let go of your face," you look better than fine. Now move so I can do my own makeup."

You moved out of her way and headed over to Regina's bed, laying down as you scrolled on your phone and waited for her to be done. Hers took much longer than yours, since she was doing a whole lot more than what she had done for you. You wouldn't even begin to be able to describe what she was doing because you had no clue what half the products even were.

Once Regina was ready, she pulled you from her bed and began walking to her jeep.

"Do we really have to go? I mean, it's a Wednesday night, G. We have school tomorrow." You weren't thrilled about a late night party. Regina's dragged you to multiple parties before, they weren't your scene.

"We're going. We just spent almost two hours getting ready and that time is not going to waste." She looked back at you with narrowed eyes, you sighed deeply but got into her jeep with her and she drove the two of you to go pick up Gretchen & Karen.

When they got in the jeep, you held conversation with them until you finally arrived at the party. You dreaded stepping through those doors but you didn't have much of a choice as Regina dragged you along.

As Regina dragged you along, you did your best to avoid making contact with anyone. One girl nearly threw up on you but Regina pulled you closer to her.

"You're not ruining my clothes tonight." She mutters, hand gripping you tighter as she found her way to the kitchen.

Now in the kitchen, Regina goes through the fridge. Pulling out orange juice, vodka and some ice to make a Screwdriver Cocktail. She pours one for herself than one for you, handing you your drink.

You take it, grateful it wasn't some shit like bud light. You weren't big on beer, you preferred the simply stuff with vodka. Which Regina knew. Sorry bud light fans.

You took a drink as she walked back over to you, hand wrapping around your waist as she trails it along your body. You look at her with a soft smirk, raising an eyebrow as you see the look in her eyes.

"Yes, baby?" You ask in a whisper.

"Shh." She mutters, giving your lips a soft kiss before kissing your neck a few times. Earning some soft sounds from you.

She pulls away and chugs back some of her drink before setting it down on the counter," I'll be right back. Watch my drink."

Regina tells you, you nod and keep your eyes on her as she leaves the kitchen. You then lean yourself against the counter, taking her drink in your hand so you could keep an eye on it like she asked.

You're alone for no longer than a minute when some girl you thought you vaguely recognized came into the kitchen. You weren't sure where you'd seen her, but it was somewhere. Maybe just passing her in the school halls?

She didn't stand out all that much, at least in your opinion. Her eyes locked to yours and she smiled, walking over to you.

"Y/N! Hi!" You weren't surprised she knew your name, many people knew your name when you didn't know theirs. Being Regina George's girlfriend will do that.

"Hi." You reply simply, hoping she would catch on to the fact that you weren't interested in conversation. Not with her, anyway. You took a big sip from your drink, but she pulled it away from your mouth. The suddenness of it nearly making you choke. She grabs both drinks from your hands and sets them behind you, pressing herself against your body.

"Wouldn't you rather... have something else on your lips than a glass?" Her voice was low, she was clearly flirting with you and clearly drunk. You were about to push her off when someone very loudly cleared their throat from behind you. You looked over and saw Regina in the door way, arms folded and glare intense as ever as she stared down the girl. You felt yourself relax. Thank God.

"I'm feeling nice tonight so you have three seconds to back off before I end whatever pathetic social life you have." Regina's voice was scary calm, laced with fake kindness that sent a shiver down your spine and the threat wasn't even directed at you.

The girl flinched when she heard Regina and quickly stepped away from you, though her hand lingered for a moment longer than you would have liked.

"Regina-! We were just-!" Regina cuts her off before she could explain, marching right up to you and positioning herself where the girl had been against you moments before. Her hand grips your chin as she pulls you in for a rough kiss. You made a soft sound, melting into her lips as you easily kissed her back.

When you parted, the girl was no longer in the kitchen. You smirked as you looked at Regina.

"Thank you, baby." You whisper, she narrows her eyes and shushes you with her finger.

"Don't think you're off the hook." Her other hand grips you at your waist, nails digging into your skin. Hard enough to leave a mark on you.

Your eyes closed at the feeling, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you leaned back against the counter.

"Guys! We're starting a game of Truth or Dare!" Gretchen's voice rings out from somewhere in the living room, catching both yours and Regina's attention. Your eyes flutter open, a hint of disappointment in your features at the thought of ending whatever it was that Regina had started.

"We're so playing." Regina tells you, you nod in reluctance and hand Regina her drink from the counter before taking your own and following her into the living room.

You could see your guy's friend group seated on the couches plus some others who had joined. Faces you recognized; Gretchen, Karen, Cady, Aaron, Shane. The rest you didn't exactly know but you had definitely seen them around before. the backup dancers from Stupid with Love.

Regina took a seat in the open arm chair and motioned for you to sit in her lap, you easily followed the silent order. Leaning back against her with a soft, contented sigh.

The game went through a few rounds before it circled over to you, Shane being the one to ask you Truth or Dare. Since it was Shane, you went with the hopefully safer choice of Truth. You knew his Dares could get messy.

Shane smirked," What's your most embarrassing sex story?"

Your face flushed at the question, you should've known Truth would be just as awful." Drink." You stated, opting to skip it by drinking since that was a rule you guys had added. You only get three drink skips.

You felt Regina's hand on your waist, her chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

"No, I wanna hear this. Say it." She has a feeling she knows which one you're avoiding, but she wants confirmation.

You rolled your eyes, looking longingly at your drink in your hand. Knowing Regina wouldn't let you skip this one. You could feel everyone watching you expectantly.

Groaning, your free hand came up to loosely covered your mouth." I once leaned too far back and fell off the bed. Broke my arm."

"Oh my God! That's how you broke your arm?!" Gretchen grinned," You said it was a skate boarding accident!"

"Well I wasn't about to say it was a sex accident." You rolled your eyes again, Regina laughed from behind you and gave your hip a squeeze.

"Watching you scramble to come up with that lie to your parents was so fucking funny." She smirked, you gave her a glare.

The others laughed and you stuck the middle finger at them as you took a drink from your cup anyways.

The rest of the game continued, lots of the classic questions were asked and dares were done. Overall it was pretty fun, this was probably the most fun you've had at a party in a while.

#x reader #fanfic #canon x reader #fem reader #wlw fiction #mean girls x reader #mean girls #regina george #regina george x fem!reader #masc lesbian #masc!fem!reader #masc!reader #regina george x masc reader

[brucewaynehater101]

Hear me out for something. So we agree that Tim definitely took a bunch of Ras ninjas when he blew up the place right? And they're *super* loyal to him and also very, very competent.

What if when Tim brings Bruce back from the Time Stream, once Bruce is healed up, he insists on taking over WE from Tim. Not because Tim is bad at it, but because he doesn't want to sit around doing nothing while he physically heals and isn't allowed to be Batman.

So Tim decides to use the money he made to revive Drake Industries. He'll need a bunch of very loyal workers who know how math works to fill out upper management to make sure there isn't any corruption and wouldn't you know it. He has a couple hundred of exactly what he needs stolen from ras who are getting antsy about not having anything to do.

It only takes a year, maybe two at the most, for Drake Industries to raise to rivaling Wayne Enterprises and Lex Corp like it used to before Tim's parents died. There are rumors though, that it's impossible to rise beyond a certain point in the company as all those positions are filled already and if a new one opens, it's given to someone that no one has ever heard of before (more defectors from Ras). All the people on the board are weirdly young (is that Olympic Gold Winner Cissie King Jones???) And one of them just had a big scandal go public about being Lex Luthor's illegitimate son that he kicked out for being gay?? This is not at all what happened with Kon, and Lex has been trying to calm the rumor mill around it but the gossip collums have taken this and ran with it.

You would think that with a board of directors so young and a company so new that's so big, corporate espionage on them would be *easy* but that's to the fact that every single member of upper management would die for Tim, none of it happens. His company is massive and air tight. People who try to bribe his workers into selling secrets often end up in strange accidents. After all, you can take the person out of the Ninja Death Cult, but you can't take the Ninja Death Cult out of the person.

Yes! There is a series not quite like this, but dear to me. "Where Bats and Birds Roost" by Mouse_in_this_house has BAMF Tim Drake with ex-LoA agent spy network that he hides via the Neon Knights initiative.

However, I love that your AU had Tim make it from the corpse of his parents' company. Instead of using Bruce's resources, Tim used the ones that only belong to him. I also like his rehabilitation plans for all the defectors and their loyalty to him because of it.

Tim should go around snatching up people from his enemies because he has better benefits, way less chance of the job killing its employees, and charisma. Maybe Bruce gets a little annoyed cause WE employees also prefer to work at Drake Industries (probably not, but it would be funny).

Also, YJ working for DI? Brilliant ^^

This type of chaos and the BAMF Tim are spices I need more of. Let Tim use his whacky ability to befriend his enemies for his benefit!

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #dc au #thank you for the ask!!!!

[makkir0ll]

thinking about spiderman!makki who gets bitten by a radioactive spider. he was between jobs but now, this is his new job he figures. saving the world, and you of course.

it's late at night when you're walking home after your night classes, deciding to stop by the convenience store that is on the way to grab a couple of snacks to fuel you through your late-night studying. meanwhile, makki is doing his diligent duty of keeping the city safe at night. his legs dangle from the rooftop of someone's house, the cool night breeze brushing across his face with his mask in his hand as he peers down to see what's happening.

he watches you walk out of the store with a plastic bag in one hand and your phone in the other. you're walking with your eyes looking over emails from your professors, reminding you about the essay that is due next week (that you haven't started on, hence the energy drinks in the plastic bag).

you continue to take your usual route back to your apartment, crossing the street but you hear a loud honk coming your way, you turn your head to see bright headlights speeding towards you with no signs of stopping. you try to move but then you feel a tug on your back, and all of a sudden your face in smushed against a sturdy chest. your eyes are squeezed shut because you weren't sure what the hell just happened. you slowly open them, only to see a spider graphic with red and blue surrounding it. with the palms of your hands placed on this mystery mans chest, you push off him to crane your neck up and you are met with a masked face looking down at you. black and red web patterned stretched across the face and down his suit covered body.

your eyes widen and your jaw goes slack. no fucking way you just got saved by spiderman. the spiderman you've seen multiple times on the morning news and the online articles you read. that spiderman.

"are you okay?" he asks, you notice his hand is on the small of your back and he hasn't let go since you crashed into this chest. at a loss of words, all you can do is nod your head.

makki takes notes of your face behind his mask. he can tell you’re frazzled, and usually everyone is when they're saved by him so this is normal. but he thinks your cute and he is so glad that he has a mask on because otherwise you would be able to see his bright pink cheeks that are flushed from being so close to a pretty girl like you.

as you slowly remove yourself from his (muscular) arms he feels empty.

"thank you so much for saving me," you start, he's used to this by now. "i- i wish i could pay you back uh-" you continue, you begin to rummage through your finding from the convinience store, and end up at a pack of cream puffs that took place at the bottom of the bag. you grab them out and hand them to him. "i know it's not a lot but... thank you so much"

he smiles from ear to ear under the mask. but you can see it slightly peeking through and your cheeks turn a little red at him smiling at you. he grabs the cream puffs from your hands, fingers brushing against each other.

"no one's ever done this for me before" he says looking at the cream puffs and then back into your eyes that make his stomach do more flips than when he's jumping from building to building. "thank you."

"of course, i mean it's the least i could do" you reply shyly. voice barely above a whisper because you're still so nervous. "i have to go now, but again, thank you."

"you're welcome. make sure that you're staying safe, can't have a pretty girl like you be in danger." of course he would save you though.

as you walk home with a big smile on your face, and head not on your phone, the words "pretty girl" keeping ringing in your head like a catchy tune.

you weren't going to be able to focus on your homework tonight.

@som1ig, this one's for you!! (and me)

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! #hq imagines #hq fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu imagines #hq fanfic #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyū!! #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x you #hanamaki fluff #hanamaki imagines #hanamaki takahiro #makki fluff #makki imagines #hanamaki x reader #makki x reader #hanamaki x you #makki x you

[tomssexdoll]

can you do where reader and Tom were best friends and Tom was secretly crushing on her at school like 2003-2005 but then Tom had to leave the school because he got famous and had to go to tour and stuff and school was pretty hard for him but in 2009 he sees reader somewhere like in a restaurant and they talk about old times and then they go to reader’s house and then it ends with smut

i love this idea sm

Gone too long

PAIRINGS: Tom 2009 x Female reader CONTENT: FLUFF + SMUT SYPNOSIS: Y/N and Tom were best friends in years ago, Tom had to leave in 2005 when his career started to peak, leaving Y/N all alone. She didn't know at the time but he had the biggest crush on her and leaving her was one of the worst things that could happen. Later in 2009 he still thinks about her everyday, and then one day sees her in a resturant, eating alone. A/N: ee WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (missionary and riding), nipple play, teasing, squirting

When I was around 13, I met this guy named Tom, he was instantly my best friend and we hung out for days on end, every time we'd see each other we'd always work to one specific corner store and order the same thing every time.

But in 2005, his music career started to rise and he got more attention. I'd always helped him and the band with getting gigs at small bars or house parties but they never really became super famous.

He had to leave and I was devistated, 2 years of friendship wasted. Little did he know I had the fattest crush on him.

As the years went by I watched as his career progressed, him turning into a handsome young man. One day I decided to go eat out alone, not let my thoughts get the best of me.

I picked a cute little resturant, a family owned business that had recently opened, everyone I know was saying how good this place was, even celebrities were going.

I opened the swinging doors, greeted by a waiter and being sat at a 50s themed booth. I skimmed over the menu, looking at all the delicious options, things from chicken burgers to beef burgers to nuggets to fries to milkshakes.

I chose a strawberry milkshake and a beef burger with a side of fries, I hadn't eaten breakfast earlier so I was super hungry. I looked around the place, noticing how all the customers looked so happy, couples sharing milkshakes, families bonding and eating.

Then, I saw a guy sitting alone, black braids with a black bandana, I decided to ignore him but I couldn't shake the feeling off that he was staring at me. I decided to look again and my eyes widened, a familiar face, the face I've loved for years.

I realized it was Tom and he had realized it was me, I saw him stand up with his food and rush over to me, sitting down in the booth, we were both speechless, surprised to be seeing each other after so long.

"Hey Y/N..it's been a while" he smiled softly, I nodded, not being able to form words, super shocked that he was actually in front of me after so long. "So..how are you?" he chuckled, munching on his fries.

"Fuck..uh..." I snapped out of my trance, "i'm fine..I have a really cool job and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you..I watched all your interviews in hopes you'd maybe talk about me" I confessed, my cheeks flushing red, turning my head to look away from him.

"I mean, I couldn't stop thinking about you too, I'd try distract myself but you always clouded my thoughts" he chuckled, reaching his hand out and grabbing mine, causing me to snap my head back to him.

"I'm glad I could see you again, you've grown so much" he smirked "you're very beautiful" he teased, sending a little wink. I giggled, "you're very handsome yourself Tom, I love the braids"

For the next 3 hours we talked about old times, what we used to get up to and what we've been doing for the past 4 years. The resturant was near closing, we didn't even notice that we had been chatting for so long, we just had so much to catch up on and so much chemistry, the conversation never went awkward.

"Hey folks, the resturant is closing now, can we ask if you can pay your Bill and leave? We're so sorry" the waiter came up to us, "oh of course!" I smiled, going up to the counter to pay for my meal, "no no, let me pay liebe" I chuckled "liebe? You haven't called me that since 2004, who do you think you are" I said playfully, a smug grin appearing on his face as he payed for my meal.

"Thanks for that Tom" I leaned in, kissing his cheek sweetly and holding onto his hand, our fingers interlocking. I had walked to the resturant since it was so close to my house, Tom of course drived, his black sports car waiting outside.

"You wanna go back to mine? I really did miss you, I don't want our little date to get cut short" he frowned, looking down at me, "of course I want to" I smiled, pulling him with me to his car.

He opened the door for me, "why thank you" I smirked and got into the passanger seat, buckling myself up. He came to the side and got into the drivers seat, starting the car.

He sneakily slid a hand on my thigh as he started to drive. I rolled the window down, the cool breeze hitting my skin, sending goosebumps all over my arms.

I looked at the empty streets, admiring the yellowy glow of the street lights. As we arrived to his house he guided me in, bringing me to the lounge room. I sat on the couch as he dissapeared to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of champagne for me and him, 2 glasses in his other hand.

He sat down next to me, pouring us a glass. We continued to talk for another hour, sipping at our drinks. Eventually we got tipsy, tension starting to fill the room. I had taken my jacket off, my boobs nearly buldging out of my tank top.

I noticed the way he just stared at my cleavage, a tent forming in his pants. "Tom" I called out, "oh..sorry" he chuckled, scratching his neck nervously.

I smirked and climbed onto his lap, smashing his lips into mine. His hands immediately flew to my hips, holding them tightly, deepening the kiss.

"Mm.." I moaned into the kiss, Tom slipping his tongue into my mouth and bucking his hips up, grinding against me softly. Our tongues fought for dominance, getting heated quickly.

He picked me up, holding me by my ass and walking towards his room, our lips still glued together. He pulled away for a moment, throwing me onto the bed and crawling to me, smashing his lips into mine again, grabbing my hands and pinning them above my head.

"Tom!" I gasped, his kisses trailing down to my neck, sucking roughly and leaving marks everywhere, basically claiming me as his. "Fuck.." he groaned, pushing his erection onto my stomach.

He let go of my hands, tugging at my shirt and pulling it off, along with my bra, revealing my perky breasts, nipples hard. "Ohh my god.." his breath hitched, leaning down and latching onto one of my nipples, sucking harshly.

I whined, "oh fuck! mm Tom!" arching my back, his cock pressing into me harder. He started to take his shirt off, along with his pants and boxers, leaving him completely nude all while kissing and sucking on my nipples.

He eventually let go, dragging my skirt off and rubbing my clit over my panties softly, my hips bucking up "ohh..someones excited" he smirked, peeling them off and throwing them to the side.

I whined, growing impatient, he detected this and smirked, aligning himself at my entrance, slowly pushing in. "Oh fuck!" I cried out, holding onto his biceps as he stretched me out slowly, making sure it didn't hurt.

After bottoming himself out he started to thrust slowly, trying to get me adjusted to his size. "Fuck..Tom you're so big.." I groaned, scratching at his back, he chuckled and started to thrust faster.

Eventually he started to pound into me, hitting my g spot repeatedly, "fuck.." he grunted, leaning down and starting sucking on my nipples again, swirling his tongue around my sensitive buds, little moans escaping my mouth.

I whimpered, his cock slamming into me cruely, stabbing at my g spot desperatly, his cock throbbing in my tight wetness. He grabbed my hips tightly, grazing his teeth over my nipples.

I felt tension build up in my stomach, twisting into a tight knot. He threw his head back, mouth slightly agape, cock twitching in me.

He groaned, feeling his balls tighten as he neared his orgasm. He could feel me clenching around his cock, causing him to lose control, "I'm gonna cum! Fuck!" he groaned, ejaculating and spurting his hot cum into me pussy, filling it to the brim.

I moaned at the sensation of my pussy being filled, my orgasm crashing down, juices spilling all over his cock. "Holy fuck.." I panted, Tom fell down onto the bed next to me, catching his breath.

Before I knew it I was on his cock again, he grabbed me by my waist and easily picked me up, slamming me back down onto his length, making me ride him.

"Oh fuck!" I whined, he grabbed my hips and started to help me move up and down on his cock, "you're so fucking hot.." he growled, slapping my ass harshly.

I yelped and rode faster, his tip hitting all the right spots, "that's right baby, ride my cock like the little slut you are.." he grinned, reaching out and fondling my bouncing breasts, rubbing his thumb over my nipple.

"Ohh fuck!" I whined, bouncing up and down on his cock, chasing another orgasm, my cunt dripping with juices. I threw my head back, the pleasure taking over my body, no thoughts being processed in my head.

He started to thrust up into me, meeting my movements. Hands squeezing my breasts roughly, "taking my cock so well..such a good girl" he praised, I felt my climax building again.

I was drunk on his cock, it was like drugs to me, addicting. He smirked, smacking my ass again, balls slapping onto my ass, hips slamming into mine roughly.

"Cum on this cock again, now" he commanded, I cried out and dug my nails into his shoulders, legs twitching as I came again, a clear stream of liquid spilling onto his abdomen.

"Holy shit!" I whined, collapsing onto his chest as he came deep in me again, fucking the cum into my pussy so it wouldn't spill out. He layed onto the bed, pulling me with him, pulling out slowly and cleaning me up.

"I missed you so much baby..you've been gone for too long.." he looked deeply into my eyes, brushing stray hairs away from my face and kissing me softly.

"I'm so happy I can be in your arms again" I smiled, kissing him back gently.

tags: @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @kaulitzsbabyy @ballhair @bkaulitzlover @estxkios @charliesgoodboy @tomsonlyslut @ge-billsgf

#tom kaulitz #tokiohotel #bill kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #smut #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz fanfic #tom kaulitz tokio hotel #i love tommy #i love tom #tomkaulitzmakesmecum #tomkaulitzissobaeomg #tomkaulitzeatmypussy #tomkaulitztokiohotel #ilovetomkaulitzhessobaeiwanthimtofuckmerightnow #ilovetomkaulitzmybfomg #smut drabble #tokio hotel smut #short smut #rough smut #smutty smut smut #tokio hotel fluff #fluff drabble #sweet fluff #fluff #wet and gushy