#(and we got that thread sooo...

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, college au, bimbo-y reader, dumbification, praise, nerd nanami's a secret freak, fīngering, mdni.

nerd! nanami who eats you out while wearing his glasses. you told him this ‘method’ was far more efficient . . and, he could teach you more about the anatomy of the clit better.. oh, and the fact at how you said you always were a visual learner. you were always grateful for his tutoring sessions sure, but you couldn’t help but stare at him. not just at his eyes, but his noticeable bulge too that would always outline beneath his slacks. and yet now, here you were—laid flat on his wooden old desk as he’s buried right between your pretty thighs. “hm,” he’d grumble, sliding a swollen fat thumb down your glossy clit. nanami hears your cute breaths grow shallow along with the clanking dangles of your earrings and he huffs. “princess, pay attention,” and his eyes flicker down at your sopping needy entrance. “she’s important.”

“o- okay,” you wheeze out a tiny breath, and your eyes focus primarily on the head that’s buried between your legs. nanami pushes back the clear lenses of his glasses before giving your sloppy cunt a single tender kiss. a sweetened gasp rips away from your parted lips as you stare at him, watching intently as he closes his eyes shut, gradually sliding his tongue from top to bottom. “fuuck, ‘ken.”

nanami whistles softly against your dribbling folds while you’re wetly glazing his peachy, pink lips with your slick. “ah, the clit is such a mystery,” he’d purr, positioning his glasses. you’d then roll your eyes once he starts rambling all sorts of anatomy facts while eating you out at the same time. nanami’s pearly cold lenses repeatedly rub up against your thighs as he swiftly flicks his tongue, using his flat vast thumb to smear shapes down your slit. “sooo many nerves inside this pretty thing. thousands ‘n thousands of nerve fibers,” and you moan, feeling him cup his pursed dripping lips around your clit. nanami feels you claw a hand through his blond scalp, digging through his thin blond tresses before he hums.

“but – let’s start with my personal favorite shall we, princess? the dorsal nerve..”

he found it cute how you were so whiny, struggling to hold still as your back brushes up against the dozens of incorrectly marked papers behind you. they were scattered everywhere on the desk, an entire pile—and nanami thinks you were just starting to answer things wrong purposely. “let’s see,” he softly coos, feverish breath colliding right against your eagerly twitching sex. you’ve got a good tugging grip on his hair, peering at how his flaxen blond strings entangle ‘n intertwine between your fingers. “she’s important why?”

a mewling sobbing moan was your answer as his glasses continued to glide and tickle against your skin. nanami raises a single brow, and as his chiseled chin’s just streaming down with shimmery sheeny slick, he tsks.

“u- uhh,” you whimper, tightening your grip against his silky threads of hair. truth be told, your mind was entirely empty. you weren’t thinking about anything except for that fact that his tongue was ferociously gliding up and down the streaming slope of your pretty pussy. it makes you gnaw on your lip, growing even more dumb all from the salaciously narrow strokes of his tongue. “because it stimulates t.. the clit?”

“no, dummy,” he whispers, and even his playful insults made your pussy throb. nanami felt the exact pulse trigger against the flatness of his tongue and you whimper. you could feel his coy grin twisting against his lips before he starts to slurp harder.

it’s loud . . and your eyes were already starting to roll back the second he eases a slender middle finger inside.

“the dorsal nerve helps innervate this spot,” and a treble squeak of a whine snatches out your throat once he teasingly nibbles against your clit. it feels good, and you could feel your body heat gradually heating up more and more. “wonder what goes on in that pretty head of yours,” and with another moan following out from your lips, he gives your wet entrance a soft direct spank. “nothin’. bet it’s just empty, right silly girl?”

“kentoooo, fuck—” you’d moan, maintaining a good grip on his hair. fuck, it was just the way you perfectly dragged out the two syllables of his name – and, oh was the prettiest melody he’s ever heard.

panting heavily, nanami starts to run the pointed tip of his tongue farther inside of your pussy. it’s like he’s a natural—and to be honest, you didn’t think he’d be the type to have such a skillful tongue. for the hours and hours he spends talking, but you were starting to connect the dots. maybe nerds could be just as filthy. . especially with their mouths. his tongue resumes to delve in and out rapidly, barely giving you any time to catch your irregular unsteady breaths. glancing down, you see him with fogged up glasses and a sleazy growing grin.

he’s smug.

your taste – it makes nanami salivate, and he’s even starting to drool past the corners of his lips. you had a treacly flavor to you, and it continues to please his tastebuds the more he swirls his tongue inside. he’s right between your thighs and it’s a pretty sight… you’re a pretty sight, and you can’t help but start to frantically grind your hips against his slack jaw. “forget the l- lesson. don’t stop.”

nanami gives the inner sweltering flaps of your cunt another loving kiss before warm fawn eyes fixate back toward you. “ohh, but princess,” and he could hear your soft gasps once he starts to massage his palm around your sopping heat. he’s maneuvering tender circles against your wet pussy before giving it a soft smack, hearing you whimper for more. you were soaked. . geysering pools of your slick coat his hand and it makes him hum in amusement. “if i do that, then you won’t learn anything,” and you could feel every sharp axon electrocute alongside each nerve of your body. your thighs were this close to snapping back shut, and he’s gotta pry them apart with two big hands. “wonder if my tongue’s jus’ makin’ you dumber,” and that’s riiight when nanami smears the bridge of nose against your cunt.

“nghh, kento,” your eyes widen, and each time his lips smack from pulling away to breathe—you could feel both of your ears ring. he’s filthy, and nanami was so hard that he even reached beneath the desk, slipping a hand inside of his unbuckled pants. you continued to drag your cunt against his face, covering the lower part of his dripping chin with every drop of your lewd polished essence before mewling. “fuck, fuuuuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

“the woman orgasm,” he whispers in husky awe, his tone as smooth as silky silk. nanami lowly grunts, wrapping a hand around his veiny base before giving it a few solid pumps. oh, you turned him on. it was so bad that he couldn’t help but imagine being inside of you. fucking you on his desk, pushing your head into your red-marked papers in hopes that that could feed you some sorts of knowledge – all while showering you with a plethora of compliments of course.

you were pretty, but between your legs you were even prettier. as nanami continues to prattle endlessly, talking your ear off about whatever, his glasses end up falling and you grab them.

sepia hooded eyes narrow at you before he scoffs, taking a second to spit on your weeping cunt. “tell me, sweet thing,” and you’re whimpering, the arch in your back growing as your lips part awkwardly. nanami’s still fisting his cock with a single hand, slowly twirling his tongue inside between your glistening folds before applying faster and faster pressure. it’s repetitive, and you clench down on your jaw the second you feel him pop in his lanky ring finger. “how many nerves does it take to orgasm? quickly.”

as your lashes continuously flutter – you let off a sweet whimper. “around e- eight thousand?”

“smart girl,” he coos, and you felt a stir of butterflies rummage through the lower pits of your stomach at the praise. nanami’s practically french kissing your cunt, using allllll types of tongue. effortlessly, he’s thrusting his tongue in and out, locating every pivotal part inside before he abruptly stops stroking himself. he groans, feeling a vein run down his shaft before he gives your cunt it’s final departing kiss. “c’monnn, let go for me. cum on my tongue, princess.”

as your lips cutely stretch out further, curling ‘n contorting into a shocked oval shape—you tightly grip onto his blonde strands. “fuuuuck,” was all you could reply with, and you could still hear nanami grumbling out nonsense under his breath. even a nerd with his mouth full.

sloppily, his tongue wanders everywhere, reaching near every crevice and swirls its way around your clit before dipping itself right back out. there was not a single thought programmed in your brain—except for the fact that if his tongue was like this, you only wondered what his dick felt like. the thought alone makes you let off a crooning whimper as a lightning wave of pulses throb between your jittery legs. you were so close that the taste of your inevitable orgasm was simply sweet.

it’s as sweet as vanilla frosted icing, and the second you started to uncurl your toes, you felt it.

a cute whimper ripples out of your hoarse vocal chords as you remain to cling onto his glasses. nanami subtlety squints up at you with the most cunt-drunken grin before he lies his tongue all the way flat. “mmph,” and with a sloppy squelching slosh, you hear a finger of his loudly ‘pop’ out of your soddened slit. nanami was moving his head back and forth, the fabric of his tie tickling against your skin whilst you’re coming undone. your harmonious-sounding orgasm lasts for a good nine seconds, echoing through the thin walls of his dorm before he sighs. nanami’s starting to see why you preferred this more than his lectures—

“thaaaat’s it,” he smears his sheeny-slick lips against the opening of your pussy. you’re drooling wet, jaw dropped with your eyes bulged out of their sockets as you realized you came on his tongue.

nanami’s tongue completely wiped out any sorts of review that was supposed to be jotted inside your brain. instead – you’re just dumbfounded with cartoony heart eyes forming in your dilated pupils the more you stare at him. you wanted more, you wanted him. nanami gently caresses down your tender pulsating entrance before giving it a soft pat. it’s a pat that then turns into a sloppy ‘mwah’ with his lips, and it makes your heart race. with droopy eyes, you watch as he runs a hand through his neatly parted hair. unkempt, but still handsome.

“silly girl,” he scoffs to himself with a scolding head shake, and within seconds later he leans in, giving you a chaste kiss. you moan, wrapping your arms around him. nanami grunts, swiping his tongue around the sugary sweet lip gloss that glues against your lips before he slowly spins you around.

“is this part of the lesson too?” you sheepishly hum, still feeling hot ‘n heavy from his lips being on yours just a moment ago. with a tiny gasp, you feel nanami gingerly press up against you, gently grabbing your waist. you ached for more, and you didn’t care about the private session anymore.

“partially,” nanami rasps, and you feel him lean further in, resting his chin against your shoulder. nanami stares at your body and he puts his glasses back on before sighing. with a hand gently pushing you forward – making you arch fully, the blonde grunts. “we forgot the other important part of the lesson though, ‘m afraid.”

with a cutesy shake of your ass against his grey crooked slacks that barely clung onto his hips, you bite the inside of your cheek. you feel something brick hard behind you that doesn’t exactly feel like a book. “a- and what’s that, ‘ken?”

nanami slowly licks the left side of your neck and you moan once he lifts up your leg, bringing his lips up to your ear. “penetration, princess.”

second lesson?

[thelightintheattic]

I love hanging out with my friends and as soon as I get in my car it's a race home bc I'm sooo fucking tired

[nanamiskentos]

♩ (mdni) abstract — semi-public sex, in a library, fwb, canon!gojo x afab!reader

fwb!gojo satoru who's the cockiest man that you've ever seen. sure he's the strongest sorcerer of the modern day and age. and he's a good teacher to his students. but he doesn't give a fuck about deadlines, or being a decent coworker, or being polite and quiet in the staffroom — and it's enough to send you up the wall.

he also doesn't give a fuck about being quiet when he's drilling his solid inches into you. gojo clearly doesn't care for noise when he's got bruising fingertips pressed into your hips. when he's got your staff uniform pulled to the side so the fat tip of his cock can slap thick wisps of pre against your clit.

"ya' can feel that right, sweets," gojo's chuckling, teasing and so full of himself as he sees you sink your teeth into your lower lip, trying to keep your whines quiet, huffing and snapping at the shell of his ear.

"y'know we hafta' be quiet, right, mmph — satoru!" you don't get to finish admonishing him because he swallows your concerns in a messy kiss, all clashing teeth and tongue as he slowly pushes his fat tip past your glossy, winking entrance.

and what a sight, to know that this is how you can undo the most powerful man to walk the earth, to see his pale-pink lips drop open as his blue eyes glaze over. to know that he's losing himself in the tight heat of your pretty cunt, and he's not even halfway in yet.

"s-sorry, what was that, sweets?" he's gasping into the crook of your neck, a large hand on your thigh, manoeuvring your leg wider so he can slot his frame in between your legs, "didn't quite catch t-that, woah. it's like she's got magical powers or something." all sleazy grins and bashful smirks as he pats at the mound of your groin, right where his own hips are now tacked to yours, glistening.

"charming, satoru," you breathe out, trying not to let on that you're just as affected as he is, "b-but the students, they're gonna — hnngh," your words are cut off as he bottoms out with a slick pop! but you're never one to give up, digging your nails into the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. you thread your fingers into the soft hairs of his undercut, letting satoru practically purr above you, "they could walk in any minute, don'tcha think?"

it's clear that it's not a pressing concern to gojo right now, because he just suddenly leans back, rolling his hips slowly into yours so each angry and thick vein must be swabbing your insides, "ya' think too much, sweets. there's, hah, none on campus right n-now," and he bestows a shiny, spit-slick kiss upon your waiting lips again, "it's just you and me, ohhh — and her 'course."

you respond with a strong clench of your gummy walls around his cock, and the hand that wasn't holding your thigh up ends up slamming down hard on the oaken desk, sending books and stray papers to the floor as he huffs, "w-whoops, yer' just takin' me in sooo good, fuck, i really needed this sweets, ya' got no idea. stupid higher ups got me run dry. and you looked s-so damn good in that meeting, couldn't focus," and he's babbling now, "couldn't focus and knew i had to sneak ya' back out here, get you on my cock."

you swipe a thumb over his candy lips, all mint and sugar, as you mewl in pleasure, having him batter your guts over and over so you're imprinted against his sculpted abdomen, "you gon' pull outta me if i make a stupid joke about me milking you dry?" and gojo snickers but it quickly turns into a breathy moan, "tch, ya' don't think that's w-what i want? always so good at doin' this. why don't ya' just let me take you out properly?"

[lizzyiii]

Hey girl hey. Hope you are still alive and life is treating you well. Just checking in.

you're so sweet for this omg. so ive graduated from high school, have this whole summer, but I can't really enjoy it since a broke girl's got to work. got my very first job and it's sooo draining, but I've got to get that bag

Sevenmas

pairing | aemond x wife!reader

word count | 9.2k words

summary | amid the haunting ruins of harrenhal, aemond's pregnant wife senses the looming threat of alys rivers, a witch whose presence fuels her nightmares and aemond's growing distance.

determined to protect her husband and unborn child, she delves into the secrets of warding magic, reclaiming her bond with aemond as she invites him back into her bed and vows to stand against the witch’s dark influence.

tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, magic, fluff, soft aemond, hubby aemond

a/n | it's summer, the heat is evident, yet I've only been at work or home. I needdd to leave my house!

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

My Dearest Babe,

It has been a full moon since your father and I arrived at these dreary halls of Harrenhal. It is bleak here, cold and damp, and the walls seem to hold the whispers of the dead.

I have not known a single night’s rest since we set foot in this cursed place. My sleep grew all the more restless when your father saw fit to move me into a separate chamber.

Harrenhal weighs heavily upon him. It has changed him in ways I cannot yet understand. He walks the halls as if hunted, and I see the shadows of his unrest in his eyes.

Each night, his dreams twist into dark things—visions that wrench him from sleep, leaving him gasping as though clawing his way back to wakefulness. He grows ever more volatile, as if the very stones of Harrenhal press upon his mind, threatening to drive him to madness.

One night, he woke from a nightmare so violent, I feared for him. I reached out to calm him, but he struck out, not knowing it was I. I do not hold it against him—he was deep within whatever horror plagued him.

But he looked upon the bruise on my wrist with such anguish, fearing for my health and yours. It was then he resolved to put me in another room, to shield us both from his torments.

Yet, my sleep has only worsened since he made this change. This keep holds no comfort, only shadows and sighs, and I feel that something - someone - wicked watches us, waiting.

The sixth day of Sevenmas dawned in Harrenhal, a day to honor the Crone, she who carried the lantern of wisdom and foresight. How you longed for that guidance now, caught in the maze of cold stone walls and shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.

The ancient keep, with its crumbling towers and halls seeped in ghosts of past horrors, gnawed at your spirit with every passing hour.

The days bled together, each as gray and listless as the last. Time itself felt suspended, and there was little to fill it but your prayers to the Seven and the slow, meticulous pull of thread and needle.

Embroidery was meant to calm the mind, but here it became another way for your thoughts to spiral into dark corners. How could you not let them when the halls echoed with whispers not your own and the air felt thick, laden with something unseen yet suffocating?

Your husband, Aemond, the prince with a fire in his blood and the shadow of the conqueror in his step, had become a stranger cloaked in duty.

Since Rhaenyra had laid siege to King's Landing, his days were consumed with strategy, flame-bright eyes scanning maps and murmuring with commanders until dawn kissed the horizon.

You would catch glimpses of him, his presence fierce and distant, a sword poised to strike. And still, there was one tether left—he would always return to break his fast with you, no matter the hour, as if the morning meal was a sacred pact he refused to break.

This shared ritual was a brief light in the gloom, a moment where his brow would smooth, and he would offer a small nod, as if to say, I am still here.

Yet even then, the weight of Harrenhal seemed to press upon him, creasing the corner of his eye and stealing the little warmth from his voice.

You wished for the strength of the Crone’s wisdom, to find words that could soothe whatever haunted him, whatever pulled him into those long, silent stretches where he barely met your gaze.

And so, with the sun’s first pale rays stretching over the stone battlements, you whispered a prayer to the Crone. Let me see what he cannot. Let me guard us in ways unseen.

There was another shadow cast over your time at Harrenhal, one that gnawed at your peace like a hound at a bone. Within the first week of your arrival, an attempt on Aemond’s life had been made, a sloppy affair that left more questions than answers.

Yet the mere notion of betrayal and blood sharpened Aemond’s already fierce nature into something perilously close to madness.

In his rage and paranoia, he swept through Harrenhal like a storm, burning and executing every male Strong—lords and bastards alike, sparing none.

The aftermath left the keep haunted by its own silence, populated mostly by women and children who dared not cross his path. Yet among the survivors, there was one who set your skin crawling like no other: Alys Rivers, the bastard daughter of Lionel Strong.

Her gaze, dark and knowing, seemed to pierce through you whenever it drifted your way. The keep’s old women, those who lingered in the kitchens and halls, were full of whispers, speaking in hushed tones about Alys and the tales that clung to her like a shroud.

They claimed she was a wet nurse with no babes of her own, that her cradle stayed empty because she offered her children to dark gods, drawing power from their sacrifices.

The word witch passed between toothless mouths with reverence and fear, a name that conjured images of blood and whispered spells in the dead of night.

You would catch Alys watching Aemond from the shadowed corners of the great hall, her green eyes glistening like the polished scales of a serpent.

There was something about the way she looked at him, a gaze that lingered too long, with a subtle curl to her lips that suggested she saw beyond what others did. Each time, a cold knot formed in your stomach, winding tighter with each day.

Aemond, for his part, seemed oblivious—or perhaps unwilling—to acknowledge her attention. He stalked the halls of Harrenhal like a restless dragon, his eyes always aflame with thoughts of war and vengeance.

But you, kept to the fringes and left with little to occupy your time, had learned to listen. You had overheard more than once the old wives’ tales, how the stones of Harrenhal bore witness to strange sights in the dark of night.

The morning light struggled to filter through the narrow, soot-streaked windows of Harrenhal’s great hall, casting long, somber shadows across the cold stone floor.

You sat at the grand table, an expanse of dark oak that seemed almost too vast with just the two of you seated at its head.

The hall’s emptiness swallowed the small noises of clinking silver and the rustle of fabric, leaving only the low crackle of a distant fire to break the silence.

You glanced at Aemond, his face severe and sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and distant as he picked at the bread before him. His hair, pale as moonlight, spilled over his shoulders, catching the dim glow of morning like polished silver.

You traced the line of his jaw with your gaze, noting the tautness there, the slight twitch that spoke of restless thoughts.

In truth, you did not know this man well—your husband, your prince, and yet a stranger in so many ways.

It had only been moons since you first met, and within days, the marriage vows were spoken, the ink on the alliance barely dry before you found yourself bound to him in name and in fate.

Your father’s fleet had been your dowry, a formidable power that the Greens could not afford to spurn. You understood your role, the politics and power that tethered you to Aemond, but understanding him was another matter entirely.

His silences were as deep and dark as the Blackwater, and he carried an anger that smoldered beneath his skin, an unquenchable flame that whispered of vengeance and old wounds.

But despite the cold armor of his demeanor, Aemond had never raised his voice nor his hand to you. He moved with a kind of carefulness in your presence, a restraint that bordered on gentleness.

He treated you with a respect that was rare among men of power, where wives were often little more than pawns on a board.

And though it was likely due to the child you carried beneath your heart, it kindled a small warmth within you to think that he had not left you behind when he marched to Harrenhal.

Instead, he had commanded that you come with him, a choice that puzzled you even as it comforted you.

Harrenhal was a desolate place, steeped in old, cracked stone and a history that groaned beneath every step. You despised it, with its drafty halls and the air that always seemed to taste of ashes.

Yet sitting here, across from Aemond as the thin light etched sharp lines across his face, you felt a reluctant flicker of gratitude.

The silence between you was not companionable, but it was not cruel either. It was a space where the two of you existed, tethered by duty and an unspoken understanding.

Your gaze lifted from your untouched plate to meet his. “You barely ate anything,” you ventured softly, the words almost swallowed by the great hall’s vastness.

Aemond’s eye flickered to you, just a moment of acknowledgment, before drifting back to the distant, unfocused point beyond the hall’s great hearth. “I have much on my mind,” he replied, his voice low and guarded, as always.

You lowered your gaze, the golden glint of your cup catching the flicker of the fire as you turned it in your hands. “Today is the day of the Crone,” you murmured, the soft words drifting into the vast emptiness of the hall.

Aemond’s eye settled on you again, this time with a sharper intensity, as if he were trying to read the thoughts that played behind your eyes. The violet of his gaze, stark and unyielding, seemed to see through flesh and bone.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but pushed on, lifting your head with a tentative, almost sheepish smile.

“I have been holding small celebratory suppers in my chambers for each of the Seven,” you said, the words trembling on the cusp of hope. “Perhaps you would join me tonight?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, carved from the same marble as the gods whose names you spoke. He was silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he measured the request. You held your breath, bracing for the sting of rejection, but after a moment, he inclined his head with a slow, deliberate nod.

“I shall see if I am free to attend later, wife,” he replied, each syllable precise, as if spoken under a watchful eye.

A smile unfurled across your face, a small, fragile bloom that brightened the somber air. You nodded, your gratitude silent but deeply felt, and returned your attention to the meal before you.

The hall fell back into its familiar hush, but the silence seemed gentler, softened by the promise—no matter how uncertain—that he might sit with you as the evening drew near.

Throughout the day, you moved with a purpose that had been absent for some time. Excitement flickered within you, casting a rare warmth over the bleakness of Harrenhal’s cold stone walls.

You spent more time preparing yourself than you had in weeks, choosing a gown of deep violet, the color rich and regal, one you knew would match Aemond’s eye.

Your hands worked carefully as you braided your hair, fingers weaving strands with practiced precision. You wound the braids into a half-up style, securing them with thin silver pins, and threaded small pearls between the coils, their soft luster catching the waning light that seeped through the chamber’s narrow window slits.

As the sun dipped lower, you prepared the chamber for supper, eager to cast away the dreariness of Harrenhal’s stone embrace. The table, though small, was set with care.

You placed a modest arrangement of primroses at its center, their pale petals lending a touch of softness to the somber room.

Candles, thick and tapered, were placed with a meticulous eye, their wicks waiting to be lit and offer a warm glow that would banish the shadows lurking in the corners.

Tonight was meant to honor the Crone, a day of wisdom and reflection, yet you could not help but hope for something more—a chance to share a moment, however fleeting, with the man you called husband.

The hours had been long since you’d known any touch of intimacy, any whisper of companionship. The prospect of Aemond joining you, even for a brief supper, was enough to make your heart beat with anticipation.

Time stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as you sat alone at the small table in your chambers, a solitary figure in a room filled with muted light. The food before you, once steaming and fragrant, had grown cold, the sheen of oil on the meats congealing in the chill air.

The candles you had lit earlier had burned down to stubs, their light dwindling as shadows crept up the walls.

The fire in the hearth, once crackling with warmth, had reduced itself to a bed of glowing embers, the last vestiges of heat sputtering as they surrendered to the draft that snaked through the stones.

Your heart, which had quickened with hope earlier in the day, now felt leaden with disappointment. The silence pressed in around you, each passing moment a reminder that Aemond would not come. The anticipation that had kept your spirits aloft now left a hollow ache in its absence.

Pushing your untouched plate away, you rose from the table, your movements deliberate as anger stirred in your chest. It was not the hot, reckless kind, but the slow-burning indignation that came when expectation was met with silence.

You wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and slipped into the dim corridor, determined to find him, to seek an answer rather than stew in this quiet, stinging rejection.

Harrenhal’s halls were a maze of stone and shadow, empty and vast, with only the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cold. The castle held a thousand whispered secrets, and tonight, it seemed eager to keep its prince among them.

You turned corners and climbed staircases, the flicker of dying torches casting your shadow long against the walls, until the familiar paths grew strange and your resolve wavered.

Finally, as you entered a lesser hall that stretched toward a wing of old chambers, you spotted movement—a maidservant carrying linens, her head bent as if afraid to be seen. Relief mixed with frustration as you quickened your step.

“Excuse me,” you called out, your voice sharper than intended.

The servant started, nearly dropping her burden before bowing her head hastily, eyes fixed to the floor. It was a common sight in Harrenhal, the way they kept their gaze averted in your presence.

Word of your husband’s fierce reputation as Prince Regent and Kinslayer had traveled swiftly, and it seemed they feared that to slight you was to invite his wrath upon them.

With a lifted chin and a tone that brooked no disobedience, you asked, “Where is my husband?”

Before the maid could stammer out an answer, another voice cut through the dim hallway—a voice that chilled the blood in your veins and haunted your sleep with its whispers.

“I fear the prince is still occupied in the council chamber, my lady,” said Alys Rivers, her tone smooth and deceptively courteous, like the edge of a blade.

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded you, taking in the sight of your tense shoulders, the protective way your hand drifted instinctively to your rounded stomach.

There was no warmth in her expression, only the sly amusement of a cat toying with a bird that dared to stray too far from its nest.

Your nostrils flared, and you straightened your back, eyes narrowing as you corrected her in a low, simmering murmur, “Princess.”

Alys tilted her head, feigning surprise, though her eyes betrayed nothing but a cold mirth. “Pardon me,” she said, her gaze sliding deliberately to your abdomen before flicking back up to meet yours, daring you to react.

“I am not your lady,” you hissed, “I am your princess.”

With a final, steely glare, you turned on your heel, the folds of your violet gown sweeping the floor as you made your way back through the shadowed hallways, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

The silence of Harrenhal enveloped you once more, and you did not pause until you reached the safety of your chambers, locking the door behind you and pressing your back against the cool, unyielding wood.

The echo of Alys’s smirk lingered in your mind, but you would not let her see your fear. Not tonight. Not ever.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, as the pain surged through you, tearing its way up your spine and scattering your senses. It felt as though your very body was being split apart, the agony sharper and deeper than any blade.

“Keep pushing, my princess; the babe is almost here,” urged the midwife, her voice steady but relentless.

You clenched your jaw, wanting to curse her, to scream at her to hold her tongue, but the pain stole all words from you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

It was a torment that came in relentless waves, each cresting higher than the last, only to drag you under when you thought you could surface for air. The burning, the stretching—unbearable, blinding.

“I cannot,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the sweat that drenched your brow. “Please… I can't,” you pleaded, your voice broken and desperate.

The pain surged again, stealing the air from your lungs, and then you felt it—a firm, familiar hand pressed gently to your cheek. Through the haze of pain, you turned your head, and your vision cleared just enough to see the sharp lines of Aemond’s face.

His single violet eye was intent, fierce, a rare expression of vulnerability breaking through his stoic mask. Relief, so profound it was nearly painful, swelled in your chest.

“Aemond,” you gasped, his name a lifeline, an anchor in the storm.

Husbands were not meant to be present for the birth, tradition forbade it. But he was there, and you did not care for any rule or rite that would keep him away.

“Just a few more pushes, my love,” he murmured, his voice low, a thread of steel woven through the gentleness.

You nodded weakly, mustering what remained of your strength. A deep groan escaped you as you pushed once more, the room spinning around you. The midwife’s voice rose above the roaring in your ears.

“The babe is crowning, my lady.”

But the tone was wrong. Too familiar, too cold. Alarm jolted you to consciousness, and you struggled to prop yourself on trembling elbows. Your eyes darted to the space at the foot of the birthing bed, and dread coiled tight in your gut.

There, in the dim light of the chamber, knelt Alys Rivers. Her dark hair framed eyes as green and sharp as glass, eyes that glimmered with a knowing, malevolent gleam. A smile curled at the corners of her lips as she met your gaze.

“No, no!” you screamed, panic twisting your voice. “Get away from me!”

With a surge of fear-driven strength, you tried to kick her away, your limbs thrashing wildly, but Aemond’s hands clamped down on you, firm and unyielding. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, his voice cool, steady as stone.

Alys turned her gaze up to him, a shadow of mock sympathy curving her lips. “You must choose, my prince,” she intoned, each word dripping with false solemnity. “The babe, or your wife.”

A sob wrenched from your chest as you felt your breath come in sharp, shallow gasps. “No. No!” The pain was drowned beneath the torrent of fear that flooded you.

Desperately, you looked up at Aemond, seeking the warmth, the fierce protection that once resided in his eye. But what you found was a gaze distant and unreadable, as though he stood apart, watching from some cold, unreachable place. His jaw tightened. “Save the babe.”

Time seemed to fracture around you. His words, so final, crashed over you like a wave of ice. Your eyes widened, disbelieving, as rough handmaids or shadows, you could not tell—pressed you back, holding you firm as you struggled.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed, your voice raw with betrayal and terror, limbs straining against the iron grip that pinned you.

Pain cleaved through you, and you felt the weight of the babe shift within. But your focus broke as Alys moved, no longer at the foot of the bed but gliding closer, the flicker of torchlight catching on the edge of a cruel, glinting blade.

The chamber seemed to darken around her, the faint cries of the midwives fading into an ominous silence. And all you could see were those green eyes, bearing down on you like a curse whispered in the dark.

You jolted upright, heart pounding and breath ragged, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to your skin like a shroud. A trembling hand reached up to brush the tears from your cheeks, the dampness proof of the terror that had gripped you in sleep.

Your eyes drifted down, catching the soft curve of your swollen belly under the covers, rising and falling with your shallow breaths. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a bitter mix of relief and unease.

The babe was still safe within you—at least for now. You pressed your palm over it, as if to reassure yourself of its presence.

Beyond the thin light filtering through the shuttered window, the sky remained cloaked in the indigo of night.

The stillness told you it was not yet dawn, that liminal time when dreams and waking often blurred. But sleep would not find you again; not after that vision, nor for many nights to come, you were sure.

The memory of Aemond's cold, detached gaze as he spoke words that sealed your fate in your dream clung to you. It pierced deeper than any blade, a wound festering with fear and doubt.

Yet you forced yourself to swallow the sharp sting of betrayal, directing your thoughts toward another source of your unease—Alys Rivers.

The whispers, the eyes that followed, the dark air that seemed to shift when she was near. Your fears, your husband’s torment, the sense of something wicked gnawing at Harrenhal’s bones—it all traced back to her.

Resolve steeled your spine. You pushed back the covers and rose, the weight of your pregnancy making the motion slower, more deliberate.

Wrapping yourself in a heavy fur cloak, you reached for the candelabra on the nightstand. Its small flame sputtered in protest before catching steady, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls.

The corridors of Harrenhal, once alive with whispered conversations and the hurried footfalls of servants, now loomed around you in cold, watchful silence. The draft that crept through the ancient stones nipped at your cheeks and sent a shiver down your spine.

Clutching the fur tighter against your body, you moved forward, the warm light in your grasp flickering as it met the draft.

The silence was thick, broken only by the soft rustle of your cloak and the creak of old floorboards beneath your weight.

At last, you reached the great doors of the library, their dark wood carved with sigils long forgotten and gnarled from centuries of use. Setting the candelabra down, you pushed against one of the doors, muscles straining with the effort.

It groaned open, the sound reverberating through the stillness and sending a cold gust rushing past you. Picking up the candelabra, you stepped inside and let the heavy door drift shut behind you with a thud.

The scent of old parchment and dust surrounded you, familiar and oddly comforting. Shelves stretched high, towering sentinels filled with the stories of old and the wisdom of those long gone.

On other nights, you would have lost yourself in the tales that wove through these tomes—myths and sagas that spoke of courage and triumph. But tonight, solace was not what you sought.

You moved through the rows with purpose, eyes scanning the spines until they found those few volumes that hinted at the arcane.

The lore of witches, their dark arts, the means by which they could twist men’s dreams and cloud their minds—it all lay within reach, hidden among dusty pages that no one dared speak of.

You placed the candelabra down, its light casting a golden glow that flickered across the cracked leather and faded titles.

With trembling hands, you opened the first book, its binding stiff with age. The parchment crackled as you turned the pages, your eyes drinking in the inked words.

If there was any way to guard yourself, to protect Aemond from the shadows that had seeped into your lives, you would find it here. No longer would you be haunted by that witch’s knowing gaze or the dread that coiled tight in your belly.

With each turn of the page, the flickering glow of the candelabra cast dancing shapes upon the stone walls, warding off the chill that seeped through Harrenhal’s blackened stones.

The words spoke of charms and tokens, of age-old rituals whispered by the smallfolk who feared the unseen.

Marking doors with protective sigils or crosses to ward off malevolent forces. The purifying strength of salt, said to bar dark spirits and their ilk. Rowan wood, revered for its protective properties, best used when tied with crimson thread to seal its potency.

The hours crept by, measured by the slow guttering of candle wax. You read, forgetting the passage of time as the nightmare’s claws loosened their grip on your heart.

Knowledge was your weapon now, and you wielded it with the silent promise that neither you nor Aemond would fall victim to powers unknown.

The day’s first light spilled through the high, narrow windows, a pale and hesitant glow that bled into the room and painted the bookshelves in muted gold.

It was the day of the Stranger, seldom celebrated, yet you paid it no heed. Lost in the pages, you missed the bells that tolled the hour and forgot the warmth of your usual morning meal shared with Aemond.

When at last you closed the final volume, a resolve settled in your chest, resolute and unyielding. You would need these items—symbols of protection—and that meant venturing beyond the castle’s shadowed halls and out into the market.

The fur-lined cloak wrapped snug around you, guarding against the bitter drafts that swept through the corridors as you made your way back to your chambers.

As you reached the windows, a rare sight unfolded before your eyes—snow, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the bleak spires of Harrenhal.

Snow was a rarity in King’s Landing, seldom seen during your girlhood there. For a moment, untouched by fear or doubt, you felt the stir of childish wonder rise within you.

Three knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks pristine even in the snow, flanked you as you ventured to the market. The square bustled despite the cold, vendors calling out their wares with voices hoarse from the chill. Your list of protective items, hastily scrawled in the early hours, guided your every step.

Surprisingly, the rowan wood was easy to find, its branches bundled tightly with red thread as per custom.

Charms of polished crystal and talismans wrought from iron and bronze were procured with little effort, their sellers eager to part with them for a handful of silver stags.

The murmured blessings from the old crones at their stalls made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, but you pressed on, their eyes shadowed with both reverence and suspicion.

By the time the sun began its descent, casting a gilded glow over the snow-draped stones of Harrenhal, your arms were laden with your newfound protections. You returned to your chambers with purpose, setting to work immediately.

With meticulous care, you bound the red thread around the twigs of rowan wood and placed them above each entrance.

Salt, precious and fine, was spread across the thresholds, each grain catching the firelight like scattered stars.

With charcoal from your writing desk, you etched intricate symbols—wards against dark magics—onto the cold, unyielding stone walls.

But it was not just your own safety you sought to secure. For Aemond, you had combed the market for a piece both practical and protective. After much haggling, you procured a leather eyepatch, supple and black, unmarred by wear.

Returning to your chamber, you carefully stitched shards of black tourmaline into its edge, each piece glinting with a subtle, protective gleam. Your needlework was steady, each pull of the thread imbued with silent prayers.

Lost in your task, you barely noted the soft knock at your door or the maidservant who entered, setting a tray of supper on the table near the hearth.

The aroma of roasted fowl and warm bread wafted through the chamber, but your focus remained fixed.

As you worked by the fire's glow, the shadows that had haunted your waking hours seemed to lessen, replaced by the steady rhythm of thread and needle, and the quiet resolve that this time, you would be ready.

You were so absorbed in your needlework, fingers deftly stitching the dark crystals onto a supple leather patch, that the sudden clearing of a throat startled you. Your gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they met the cool, familiar face of Aemond Targaryen.

“Husband,” you said, breathless as you hastily hid the finished eye patch beneath a velvet pillow. Rising to your feet, you inclined your head, though your heart thudded with residual tension.

He stood tall and imposing in the dim glow, the silver-white of his hair catching the light like a crown. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves pressed in with the weight of his presence.

“What brings you here?” you asked, voice touched with confusion and a hint of sharpness. Exhaustion dulled your sense of propriety, leaving the question more pointed than intended.

Aemond’s lone violet eye narrowed, an unreadable glimmer within its depths. “To have supper with you,” he replied, as if such a thing were the most natural answer in the realm.

Your eyes flickered to the table, where two silver plates now sat, the steam rising lazily from the dishes set by the silent servant moments before.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and sighed, murmuring, “I believe my invitation was for yesterday.”

A shadow of regret crossed his face, so brief that another might have missed it, but you saw. As you moved past him to take your seat, you caught the soft murmur that slipped from his lips, “I deserved that.”

Aemond followed and took his place across from you, the creak of the chair echoing in the quiet chamber. For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearthfire. His gaze settled on you, sharp and searching.

“I have not seen you at all today,” he said at last, the words carrying a hint of something that might have been longing, tempered by pride.

Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers fiddling absently with the edge of your gown. Remorse pricked at your heart—you had broken your shared morning ritual, the one part of the day reserved just for the two of you.

“I was very busy,” you replied softly, the excuse feeling thin on your tongue.

Aemond’s expression remained unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard. Visits to the market square,” he said.

You hesitated, holding back the details of the charms, the salt, the ancient warding sigils you had traced with trembling hands. He would only deem you foolish or worse, mad.

“I needed fresh air.”

His eye narrowed, a flicker of displeasure passing over his sharp features. “It is too dangerous for one in your condition to wander beyond these walls,” he said, the admonishment clear, though his tone held an undercurrent of concern.

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That is why I took three of your White Cloaks,” you retorted, the fire in your voice matching the spark in his eye.

For a heartbeat, the tension crackled between you, the weight of unsaid words pressing down like a heavy cloak. Then, Aemond’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, as if some silent battle had been waged and resolved within him.

“Good,” he said at last, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You are no fool, wife.”

The tautness in the room eased, and though unspoken, an accord was reached.

Aemond leaned forward, and placed a carved wooden box on the table between you. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, his voice a measured calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something softer. “An apology for last night.”

Your brows knit together, skepticism clear in your eyes. “My forgiveness cannot be bought with trinkets, husband,” you said, your tone edged with defiance. Yet even as you spoke, curiosity stirred within you.

One of his silver brows arched at your remark, and a small smile ghosted his lips. “Let us see if it is worthy,” you murmured, reluctant to give ground but unable to hide the intrigue that tugged at you.

With a careful hand, Aemond lifted the lid of the box, revealing a necklace of silver and sapphire. The deep blue stone glimmered like the sea under moonlight, capturing the room’s faint candle glow.

Your breath stilled for a moment, eyes tracing the intricate work of the silver links, each carved to mimic dragon scales.

Your fingertips brushed over the gem, the cool surface grounding you as warmth bloomed in your chest. Unbidden, a soft smile tugged at your lips, an expression so rare that even you felt its presence.

“Thank you, husband,” you whispered, your voice softened by genuine gratitude.

Aemond’s face shifted, pride flickering across his sharp features. There was something triumphant in his half-smirk that you could not allow him to savor unchallenged. You rose from your seat, skirts rustling as you moved.

“I, too, have a gift for you,” you said, your tone now light with a note of playfulness.

“Oh?” he replied, one silver eyebrow lifting in surprise, though the glint in his lone violet eye revealed his interest.

“Mm,” you hummed, stepping to the chaise where a small cushion lay. Your fingers slipped beneath it, retrieving the item hidden there. Turning back to him, a touch of shyness colored your expression, a rare sight that softened the lines of your face.

With both hands, you presented him with an eye patch, the black leather supple and embroidered with fine strands of broken tourmaline crystals, catching the dim light with a subtle shimmer.

Aemond took it, surprise giving way to careful scrutiny. His fingers traced the delicate work, the weight of the crystals and their arrangement thoughtful.

“Black tourmaline,” you said quietly, watching his gaze flick between you and the patch. “It is said to have powerful protective qualities.”

You hesitated, unwilling to speak of how it was also believed to ward against dark energies and unseen dangers—of how it might shield him from threats both known and hidden.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Aemond’s mouth quirked into a faint smile, rare and genuine. “Thank you, wife. 'Tis a very thoughtful gift,” he said, voice low and sincere.

A moment passed, and you froze in silent shock as Aemond reached up to remove the eye patch he wore. Of course, you had seen what lay beneath—the striking sapphire set into the hollow of his missing eye—but Aemond was never keen on showing it.

In King’s Landing, he would only take it off moments before sleep and replace it the moment he awoke.

Before he could put on the new eye patch, you placed a hand over his arm. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me, yes? I have no issue with it, and you should not either.”

Aemond stared at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring slightly. For a heartbeat, you feared you had overstepped, but then he nodded, leaving both eye patches on the table.

A small, victorious smile touched your lips as you felt the weight of this unspoken understanding between you. “Allow me to have the maids bring us some dessert,” you said, the tension lifting.

Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on you as you turned to the doors.

Stepping into the corridor, you quickly found a maid and requested something sweet to be brought to your chambers. When you returned, your heart faltered at the sight before you. Aemond stood at your desk, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned over an open book—your journal.

Panic surged within you, and you strode forward, slamming the book shut with a sharp motion. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than intended, eyes wide with both shock and alarm.

Aemond straightened, holding the closed journal in his hand. His expression was unreadable, though his eye bore into you with quiet intensity. “What is this?” he asked evenly, tilting the book slightly for emphasis.

“My private journal,” you answered quickly, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of your grasp, his superior height giving him the advantage. “Give it back, husband. It is mine.”

Aemond’s voice was steady but carried an undertone of something raw, almost fragile. “Then why,” he began, his eye fixed on you, ignoring your protests, “do you write to our babe?” There was an ache in his tone, a depth of emotion he hadn’t yet voiced.

The question caught you unprepared, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirts, and your shoulders sagged as you avoided his penetrating gaze. “In case,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“In case of what?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with a demand for understanding.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could uncover your secrets by sheer will. Unable to face him, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “In case I’m not there,” you admitted at last, the words barely audible, like a confession carried on the wind.

Aemond’s brows drew together, confusion shadowing his features. “What do you mean if you’re not—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching as realization dawned. The tension in his posture shifted, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “…There.”

His sharp features softened, a rare vulnerability settling over his face. “Women do survive the childbed,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter you.

“Not every time,” you countered, your tone edged with resignation. “And there’s also… that choice.” Your voice broke on the last word, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, Aemond reached out and cupped your cheek.

His touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face toward him, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“There can be more babes,” he said softly, his words a promise etched with fierce determination, “but there is only one you.”

His eye, a storm of violet and sapphire, held yours with such intensity that you felt as though he was laying his very soul bare. A tear escaped and traced down your cheek, but Aemond caught it with his thumb, his touch steady, grounding you in the moment.

“I would not choose otherwise,” he said firmly, the weight of his vow lingering in the air between you. “Not for all the heirs in the realm.”

Your lips trembled as you whispered, “You swear?”

“I swear it,” he replied, his voice low and resolute. “I will not lose my wife.”

The ache in your chest eased slightly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a shield. You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently against your cheek.

With a soft breath, you tilted your head upward, letting your lips meet his in a gentle caress. The kiss was tender at first, a quiet exchange of affection that carried the weight of your unspoken fears and his unyielding promise.

Aemond responded eagerly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck.

His other hand found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer, as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As his tongue met yours, the kiss deepened, a slow, fervent dance that sent warmth coursing through your veins. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown.

Your hands moved up his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his tunic, before curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

The world around you faded, leaving only the press of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, and the heat that built between you like the fire crackling in the hearth.

When the kiss broke, it was with a reluctance that lingered in the air between you. Your breaths came in shallow pants as you gazed up at him through hooded lashes, the corners of your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“My love,” you purred, your voice sultry and laced with affection, “you’ve left me wanting… again.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened, the stormy hue of his violet eye smoldering with barely restrained desire. “Have I now?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then it seems I must remedy that, wife.”

You guided his hands lower, to the swell of your belly, then further down to the hem of your nightgown. “Will you show me how much you desire me?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper. “Make me forget everything but the feel of you inside me...”

A low growl rumbled in Aemond's throat as his hands moved beneath your gown, fingers tracing the curves of your swollen belly before dipping lower to find the damp heat of your core.

“You have no idea how often I dreamt of this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Of burying myself deep within you, feeling your walls clench around me...”

With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside, revealing your naked form.

His gaze devoured every inch of you, from the full breasts that rose and fell with each ragged breath, to the soft, rounded hips and the glistening folds of your sex.

“Tell me what you want, my queen,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

A shiver ran through you at Aemond's bold appraisal, your nipples hardening into tight peaks as his hungry gaze seared your skin. You reached for the fastenings of his breeches, your fingers fumbling with urgency to free his straining erection.

“I want you,” you murmured, your voice low, thick with a desire that lingered like a soft melody in the air. Your eyes never left his, the depth of your longing laid bare in the way your breath hitched.

Aemond’s violet gaze darkened, the flicker of a smirk ghosting his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s grace, as though savoring your words before acting upon them.

You took a step back, your movements slow and deliberate, your footsteps light against the floor as you inched toward the bed. The flicker of the firelight cast a warm glow across the room, the shadows dancing across the carved posts of the bed.

As you reached its edge, you let yourself fall gracefully onto the soft mattress, your body sinking into the luxurious furs and silks. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed at him through lowered lashes, a sly smile curving your lips.

“You beckon me so boldly,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet drawl, the faintest edge of amusement laced within it. “Have a care, wife, for I am not a man to resist such temptation.”

Aemond watched, transfixed, as you sank onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart, the tip already glistening with precum.

He shed his clothes the rest of the way, letting them fall carelessly to the floor as he stalked towards you, muscles rippling with each step. By the time he reached the bed, he was fully erect, his shaft jutting proudly from a nest of silver curls.

Lying beside you, he reached out to cup your breast, thumbing the sensitive peak before leaning in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss.

His free hand trailed over your round stomach, pausing to tease the edge of your slit before delving deeper, fingers probing your slick folds.

“You're so wet for me already.”

You gasped into the kiss as Aemond's fingers found your entrance, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, breaking away from his mouth to gaze up at him with pleading eyes. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, make me yours again.”

As if sensing your desperation, Aemond positioned himself between your thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your opening. With a deep groan, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure-pain crashed over you. It took a moment for your body to adjust, to relax and welcome the thick length filling you so completely.

Aemond's breath hitched as he bottomed out inside you, your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. For a moment, he simply savored the exquisite sensation, reveling in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.

Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.

The bed frame creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but Aemond paid it no mind, lost in the primal rhythm of rutting his mate.

“Yes, just like that,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Take my cock, my queen.”

You wrapped your legs around Aemond's waist, heels digging into his firm behind as he pounded into you with wild abandon.

Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft.

“Aemond!” You wailed, your nails raking down his back as you met his ferocious pace.

The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by my wanton cries and Aemond's guttural grunts. You could feel the pressure building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.

Suddenly, you were hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name as your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

Aemond's eye rolled back in his head as your velvet sheath spasmed around him, your climax triggering his own. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone, his seed erupting in thick, pulsing jets.

He continued to thrust through the aftershocks, prolonging your shared bliss until he was spent, collapsing beside you with a grunt. For a long moment, the two of you lay entwined, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

The chamber was awash with the warmth of the firelight and the quiet hum of your contentment. As you lay entwined, your bodies barely a breath apart, your gaze lingered on Aemond’s face.

His sharp features, so often hardened by duty and war, were softened now, his violet eye fixed on you with a tenderness rarely seen.

Your noses brushed lightly, a quiet intimacy, as his hand rested possessively over your waist while yours splayed across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

Almost as if drawn by a spell, he leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips, a gesture so gentle it felt like a whispered promise. When he pulled away, he settled back onto the pillow beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.

You shifted, nestling closer, your head finding solace in the crook of his neck. Your hand lay over his heart, its steady rise and fall a soothing cadence that began to lull you into slumber.

His breathing slowed, each exhale a soft brush against your hair, and soon, the quiet comfort of his presence drew you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But the peace did not last.

You jolted awake, startled by the sudden thrashing of Aemond’s body beside you. His face, so serene moments ago, was now contorted in anguish, his brow slick with sweat.

His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands clenched the sheets as if warding off some unseen terror.

Your heart clenched at the sight. He had spoken little of his nightmares, but you knew they haunted him—a torment born of battles fought, losses endured, and burdens carried.

Pushing yourself up, you moved with as much haste as your swollen belly would allow, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you only slightly.

Grabbing the robe draped over the chair, you wrapped it around yourself, its soft fabric barely warding off the chill of the room as you padded toward the small table where you had placed your new goods.

Your hands rummaged through the items with purpose, your fingers finally curling around a small vial. You held it up, peering at its contents even in the dim light. The faint, familiar scent already began to calm your racing heart.

Lavender oil.

You returned to the bed, the vial clutched firmly in your grasp. As you sat beside him, Aemond's thrashing began to subside, though his breaths were still ragged, and his jaw clenched tightly.

Carefully, you uncorked the vial, the soothing aroma of lavender wafting into the room. You poured a small amount onto your hands, warming the oil between your palms before leaning over him.

With gentle, deliberate movements, you began to anoint his temples, your touch light yet firm as you traced small, calming circles.

The oil left a faint sheen on his skin, its scent filling the space between you. "Aemond," you whispered softly, your voice low and steady, a tether pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare.

His breathing began to slow, the tension in his body easing under your ministrations. You moved to his wrists, massaging the oil into his pulse points, your hands steady despite the ache blooming in your lower back.

“You are safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “I am here.”

You whispered a silent prayer under your breath, invoking the gods for protection and peace. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, your heart clenching as you watched his features begin to soften, the tension melting away.

You held your breath, waiting. When his form finally stilled, his breathing evening out, you let out a soft sigh of relief. The lavender and your quiet vigil had worked.

Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, and you slid back into bed beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. But just as you were about to lay your head against Aemond’s chest, you froze.

A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on your arms stood on end as an inexplicable sensation swept over you.

You were being watched.

Your eyes darted to the chamber doors, which you now noticed were slightly ajar. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, you caught the faint glimmer of glowing green eyes.

Your heart raced, a primal fear coursing through you. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with an unseen presence.

But you steadied yourself, your breathing slowing as you reminded yourself of the protections you had set in place earlier that day.

You had taken every precaution, warding the chamber with runes and incantations, ensuring that no ill intent could cross its threshold. Alys Rivers might wield her strange gifts, but she would not claim Aemond—not without a fight.

With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you tightened your arms around Aemond’s sleeping form, drawing strength from the warmth of his body against yours. Lifting your chin, you stared directly into the glowing eyes, refusing to show weakness.

“I won’t let you have him,” you whispered fiercely, your voice a low, steady vow. “Not without a fight, witch.”

For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath. The green eyes lingered for a moment longer, unblinking and cold, before retreating into the darkness.

Only when the oppressive feeling lifted did you allow yourself to exhale. A trembling sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your head, nestling into Aemond’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear, became a soothing rhythm, lulling you out of your fear.

As the night enveloped you once more, you clung to him, your resolve unshaken. Whatever forces sought to disturb your peace, you would face them.

For Aemond, for your babe, for the family you were building together—you would fight.

Hope You Enjoyed!

[pshbites]

LOVE ON AiR

SYNOPSiS » two podcast groups, both equally popular on the internet, start interacting with one another. however it isnt how fans want it to be.. OR yn sees sunghoon hating on lauryn hill and accidentally starts an entire fanwar with him.

PAiRiNG » sunghoon x fem!reader

FEAUTRiNG » all of enha, giselle of aespa, txt briefly mentioned

GENRE » smau (social media au), fluff, angst, enemies to lovers (barely), chronically online humor, romance, podcast au, influencer au, HEAVILY inspired from suburb talks and under the influence podcasts, SLOWBURNN

WARNiNGS » profanity, suggestive humor, kys/kms jokes, lots of pop culture references (im chronically online im sorry), drinking, drugs, fanwars, yn haters (BOOOOO), stalking (sorta?) manipulation (NOT FROM SUNGHOON OR Y/N) changes every chapter.

STATUS » completed — (08/03/24) to (10/26/24)

PLAYLiST » your eyes only - enha, after midnight - chappell roan, ex factor - lauryn hill, kiss me - dpr live, read your mind - sabrina carpenter, 3005 - childish gambino, poison poison - renee rapp, thirst - dpr live, just a little bit - enha, daisy - wave to earth, nouvelle vague - wave to earth, thinkin about you - frank ocean. (got carried away .. 😁)

AUTHORS NOTE » BIGGG thanks to my bestest friend ever, my fav british person, @lqfiles , ily so so much and thank you so much for helping me with this process. teaching me how to work tumblr like i was a grandma even tho im only 2 years older than u and making this AMAZING cover (isnt she talented), i love u sooo much more than words can describe, you annoying brit (endearing) 🫶

TAGLIST CLOSED!

written chaps in blue

🔴 RECORDING..

teaser (read first for context!!)

profiles i & profiles ii

1) call my phone a vibrator the way it keeps buzzing

2) YAP CENTRAL EP.135: alpha male podcasts?!

3) first hate thread. feeling nervous

4) pussy slay queen!

5) okay alpha

6) ROUND TABLE EP.149: perfect pitch :o

7) 1 down 3 to go

8) what the fuck is a ynhoon

9) YNXOXO VLOG: night out w/ won and riki

10) wet and bothered

11) just a normal tuesday

12) jungwons evil arc

13) YNXOXO VLOG: cafe date with my girls <3

14) the battle of thirst traps

15) twitch streaming era

16) YAP CENTRAL EP.136: did social media ruin relationships?

17) second interaction: kinda scared

18) fuck skater boys

19) park sunghoon v. round table

20) riki emo era: OVER

21) sunghoons side hoes

22) ROUND TABLE EP.150: we traded phones?!

23) bro define: friend

24) spidey sense

25) on my cellular plan i pay for?

26) YNXOXO VLOG: night time routine + surprise!!

27) a face i would kiss

28) collab of the century

29) YAP CENTRAL EP.137: has love lost its meaning?

30) eyes don’t lie

31) operation: ynhoon (postponed)

32) crybaby

33) operation: ynhoon (BACK ON)

34) chat is this a date yes or no?

35) boss baby jay

36) boyfriend

37) soft or hard?

38) what da heck *tyla voice*

39) YNXOXO VLOG: ice skating! | vlog w/ a special guest!!

40) love is on air

UNCUTS

1) operation: get riki ip banned on twt

2) try not to blow up challenge: FAILED

3) JAYS KITCHEN: my friends trying to help me make food blindfolded. (spoiler: it’s a fail)

4) YNXOXO VLOG: my boyfriend does my makeup voiceover !

5) YAP CENTRAL BLOOPERS: riki kat and yn patreon ad

© all rights to pshbites 2024

[sanguineterrain]

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column. 

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound. 

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask. 

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh. 

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt. 

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it. 

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham. 

"How'd they get you?" you ask. 

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to. 

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?" 

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference. 

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly. 

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes. 

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded. 

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away. 

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself." 

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood. 

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink. 

"Can I crash here?" 

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines." 

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say. 

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again. 

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common. 

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love. 

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain. 

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say. 

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel. 

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?" 

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach. 

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask. 

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold." 

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead." 

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light. 

"You're tired of me," he says. 

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."  

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't. 

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit. 

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly. 

"I'd be tired of me." 

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.  

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say. 

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck. 

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask. 

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise. 

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst. 

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you. 

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow. 

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city. 

"I wanna try to use the door," he says. 

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming. 

"Then I'll leave it unlocked." 

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 7 - the last show

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol, mentions of sex

lyrics by ‘meet you there’ - 5SOS

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

once again you and the group made your way to the venue for city lights last show, and tonight was going to be their biggest one yet.

you had finally met the infamous pope, who was just as kind as you imagined he would be, being the perfect boyfriend to cleo that she truly deserved.

john b, pope and cleo left to the arena earlier to meet the boys before hand, buy you, kie and sarah wanted some more time getting ready and a few drinks to pregame for the night.

"sooo how are you feeling y/n?" kie nudged you as you were touching up your makeup.

"super nervous" you replied, "tonight already feels fueled with electricity."

"i'm so excited for you." sarah chirped in, "project city is hitting the ROAD" she jumped in excitement.

"ok, ok come on lets leave before we drink too much and loose track of time." you all got up and got into the uber kie ordered, a short drive to the venue.

the uber came to a stop outside the building, you could already hear the faint murmur of the crown inside, buzzing with excitment for the show. this was it, the moment everyone had been waiting for. city lights final show.

the three of you walked toward the entrance, kie leading the way, while Sarah bounced beside you with her usual infectious energy. your thoughts, however, were still stuck on rafe. the thought of seeing him on stage, in his element, performing like he always did, it made your heart skip a beat.

tonight was even better, as the band made sure you had seats right in the front in the pit, so they could see you in the crowd. as you got to your places just in time, the lights dimmed and their music intro started. one by one they came on stage, rafe last, as the crowd went absolutely wild for the boys that made up the band.

"thank you for coming tonight. performing in LA is always so special to us, and tonights even more special as we have our best friends in the world here with us!" jj stated as the camera panned towards you and your friends and reflected on the big screen.

the crowd roared in excitement, recognising the famous faces of your friends, and you couldn't help but smile with pride at the group.

"we are city lights, enjoy the show!" topper screamed over the crowd.

the first song blasted through the speakers, and rafe's voice filled the arena. he looked over at you briefly, holding his eyes on you as he sung the verse, almost directly to you:

"every moment spent, i wish i was with you. and every night i slept, i dreamt i was with you..."

he didn't turn away as he usually does at this point of the song. he remained exactly right in front of you.

"so you go your way, i'll go mine. and if we're meant too, i'll meet you there"

there was a split second where you could have sworn the rest of the world faded away, just you and him standing there, connected by some invisible thread. but just as quickly as the moment started, he was back in his element, his focus shifting back to the performance as he rocked out with the band.

rafe turned to you once more, giving you a soft wink you know no one else would've noticed. but you did.

✧

the rest of the night went incredibly, the crowd being one of the best yet, singing back all of their lyrics and screaming with passion.

the lights dimmed and the band walked off stage, confetti falling around you as you and the girls hugged with happiness, enjoying the feeling of spending this moment all together.

you all eventually left your seats, stopping occasionally for fans to take photos with pope and cleo, before making your way out the back entrance to wait for the band.

"i can't believe its over!" kie yelled, her voice slightly hoarse from all the screaming.

"me neither, but it'll be nice to have everyone back home in new york." sarah replied.

before you could even join in the conversation, the dressing room door opened and you were once again face to face with rafe. except he looked insanely hot post show and covered in sweat and you almost couldn't keep it together.

"hey" he smiled at you, happy with the post concert rush.

"hey" you replied. "that was amazing." you smiled back at him.

"a good introduction to LA?" he quizzed.

"could be worse" you said sarcastically, the smile not leaving your lips.

jj came out the door, "so i heard we're hitting the club tonight?"

"you bet brother" john b piped in, pulling jj into a big hug, "great show tonight."

"should we get going then?" sarah asked.

"yeah lets" you responded, a new pull of excitement rushing through your veins.

"nights just beginning." rafe smirked, saying that to you and you only.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: i have been speedy with my updates holy SHIT and really fed you with the smau today heheh

also thank u 5SOS for creating the song meet you there

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover

[dylansfavwife]

teddies

୨ৎ chris sturniolo x fem!oc

୨ৎ summary : chris went out with his brothers and made sure to buy you something.

“baby there you are” chris grinned as he walked up to you hugging you from behind. you smile as you turn around to face him.

“hey, how was the arcade?” you questioned, considering he had went to the arcade with his brothers for a video. you hadn’t been in the mood to go along so had decided to stay home.

“t’was good but i missed you” he mumbled, his words barely coherent as he nestled his face in your neck.

you laughed as your hands thread softly through his messy hair “i missed you too”

he suddenly gasped as he remembered something, rushing out of the room. you stood confused at his sudden exit until you heard his returning footsteps.

he came back into the room now holding a bag in his hands which he was trying to hide from your view but was clearly failing. you smiled “what have you got there?”

“well i saw these and had to get them for you” he explained as he pulled out two soft teddies. one was a cute white bunny and the other was a brown bear. they were adorable and you immediately giggled as he handed them over.

“their so cute, i love them” you smiled appreciatively as you kissed chris on the lips thanking him.

“sooo, what we naming them?” he asked, raising his eyebrow in interest. you nodded enthusiastically “our children do need names” you pointed out trying to think of a name as chris laughed.

he could see the gears turning in your head and the excited look in your eyes knowing he’d buy millions of teddies as long as it made you this happy.

a.n: i love writing these small fluff drabbles, thanks for the support <3

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

i just imagine mc loving driving sebastian up the wall by whispering things like I want you inside me or I want to taste you before walking away like nothing all day sebastian and his will power are holding on by a thread

One of Those Days | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

ahhhh anon thank you for this request I had sooo much fun torturing Seb while writing this. I hope you enjoy it too!!

Words: ~5,500

Tags: Implied Smut, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post Canon, Seventh Year, Angst, Teasing, Longing, Established Relationship

Friday mornings always held a certain promise for Sebastian. The week’s end brought the light at the end of the tunnel: no more late-night study sessions, no looming deadlines, and—best of all—plans for the weekend. And this weekend was shaping up to be exceptional.

He was seated at the Slytherin table across from Ominis, who was currently buttering a piece of toast with his usual meticulous care. Sebastian leaned back, cradling his coffee, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Why are you so smug this morning?” Ominis asked without looking up, his tone laced with suspicion.

Sebastian chuckled. “It’s Friday. The weekend awaits. And tomorrow’s plans? Impeccable.” He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “She got me tickets for the Puddlemere United match. Front row.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow, still focused on his toast. “Ah, yes. Your doting girlfriend, endlessly spoiling you. Do remind me how the universe decided that you deserved her?”

“Still trying to figure that out myself,” Sebastian replied, taking a sip of his coffee. He grinned despite the jab. Ominis had been endlessly teasing him about your relationship since it had started over a year ago, but Sebastian couldn’t blame him. He still felt like he was getting away with something by having you in his life.

His gaze drifted to the Great Hall’s double doors for the third time in as many minutes. You were always late to breakfast—perpetually running behind in the morning.

“She’s late,” Ominis said flatly.

“She’s always late,” Sebastian replied, unable to keep the affection out of his voice. “You’d think by seventh year she’d have mastered the concept of time.”

“She must have overslept,” Ominis mused, as if it weren’t the obvious explanation. “Again.”

“She was up late,” Sebastian said defensively. “Studying."

“Is that what she told you?” Ominis asked, tilting his head with a knowing smirk. "Let's be honest, she was probably off fighting acromantulas in the forest again."

Sebastian opened his mouth to reply, but then he spotted you slipping through the doors, looking every bit as radiant as he’d expected. His heart did its usual stupid flip at the sight of you.

You glanced around the room, spotting him instantly. That smile widened, and you started toward the Slytherin table.

“Speak of the devil,” Ominis huffed a laugh, though Sebastian barely heard him. His attention was fixed entirely on you as you approached.

“Morning, boys,” you greeted, slipping into the seat beside Sebastian as though you weren’t a solid twenty minutes late. “Miss me?”

Sebastian leaned closer, brushing his shoulder against yours. “Always. Though I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Got caught up,” you replied breezily, reaching for a piece of toast. “You know how it is.”

Ominis sighed. “No, we don’t. Some of us value punctuality.”

You smirked at him, your eyes glinting with mischief. “And yet, I still manage to charm you both despite my flaws. A talent, really.”

“Somehow, I don’t think it’s charm so much as sheer persistence,” Ominis replied dryly, but there was a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Before you could reply, Imelda Reyes appeared behind him, her usual air of impatience in full force.

“Ominis, did you finish the notes for Professor Binns’ essay?” she asked brusquely, tapping her foot as if she had somewhere more important to be.

Ominis sighed heavily. “Yes, Imelda. Not that I understand why you insist on taking history so seriously. You do realize it’s impossible to impress a ghost?”

As Ominis turned his attention to Imelda’s complaints, you leaned toward Sebastian, the faint scent of your shampoo teasing him as you spoke just low enough for him to hear.

“You know,” you murmured, “I had a dream about you last night.”

Sebastian froze, the casual sip of coffee he’d been mid-swig nearly going down the wrong pipe. He coughed, turning his head away to avoid choking outright. When he finally managed to compose himself, he looked at you, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“And what, exactly, was this dream about?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you picked up your teaspoon, delicately stirring your tea, your gaze fixed on the swirling liquid as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. When you finally lifted your eyes to meet his, you tilted your head, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile.

“Nothing appropriate for breakfast conversation,” you replied sweetly, dragging the edge of the spoon between your lips.

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited. He stared at you, a faint pink creeping up the back of his neck as you set the spoon down with an air of innocence. You went back to buttering your toast like you hadn’t just shattered his ability to think coherently.

“Everything all right, Sebastian?” Ominis asked, his attention back on him now that Imelda had left.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, biting into your toast to hide your grin. Ominis raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press further.

You sipped your tea serenely, but Sebastian could feel the amusement radiating off you in waves. He knew that look. The playful light in your eyes, the subtle curve of your lips—it was the look you always got when you were about to cause trouble. And Merlin, it was only breakfast, but you’d already decided to make this one of those days.

He sighed internally, doing some quick mental math.

It lined up. Of course, it did.

Three weeks ago, you’d asked him to come with you to the apothecary, dragging him along while explaining that you needed to restock ingredients for a potion you brewed monthly. He had listened with genuine interest, mostly because you had a knack for making even mundane things captivating. You’d laughed when he asked a few questions, calling him “endearingly clueless for someone so brilliant,” and gone on to share more details about how the potion worked to ease period pains. But now, as he connected the dots, realization dawned with the weight of inevitability.

You were ovulating.

Sebastian’s stomach did a little flip, and a faint, involuntary heat crept up his neck. That explained everything: your heightened playfulness, the way you leaned just a little closer, the way your teasing had an edge that sent sparks skittering down his spine. You were always a minx—bold, confident, and unrepentantly mischievous—but there was something about these days that tipped you from charming troublemaker to full-blown menace. And now that he’d caught on, he knew exactly what kind of day this was shaping up to be.

He was in trouble.

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur. You kept your hands to yourself, but every glance, every comment, you sent his way held that same spark. It was enough to make him want to tug you into an empty corridor and—

“Ready for class?” Your voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, cheerful as ever. You rose from your seat, brushing crumbs from your skirt as if you hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes planting suggestive landmines in his brain. He swallowed hard and nodded, pushing his chair back to stand.

Ominis muttered something about Sebastian being unusually quiet, but Sebastian waved him off, claiming he was still waking up. A complete lie—he was wide awake now.

As the three of you made your way to Charms, Sebastian tried to steel himself. He knew better than to let you get under his skin this early in the day. If he gave in to your antics now, you’d win—and you loved to win.

The moment you slid into the seat beside him, he felt the familiar brush of your knee against his under the desk. He told himself it was unintentional until you shifted just enough to press against him more deliberately. His gaze flicked to you, but you were already pulling out your parchment, looking perfectly innocent.

When Professor Ronen began the lecture, Sebastian attempted to focus. It lasted all of five minutes before you leaned toward him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Your concentration is admirable, really,” you whispered, the soft warmth of your breath sending a shiver down his spine.

His quill faltered mid-stroke, leaving a jagged mark across the parchment. He turned his head, intending to glare at you, but you were already sitting back, your expression unreadable as you scribbled down notes, head tilted in concentration, the very picture of academic diligence. But then he felt it—your hand, light as a feather, brushing against his thigh under the table. His breath hitched. You didn’t react, didn’t even glance his way. Instead, your quill kept moving steadily across the parchment as though you hadn’t just set his pulse racing.

Your fingers rested there for a moment, almost as if testing the waters, before you began to trace slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of his trousers. Sebastian swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he gripped his quill. He tried to will himself to focus, to block out the sensation, but you didn’t stop. In fact, you leaned slightly closer, your arm brushing his as you added a flourish to your notes.

“Comfortable?” you murmured, your voice low enough that no one else could hear.

Sebastian glanced at you sharply, his eyes narrowing in warning, but you didn’t look at him. The only sign of your mischief was the faintest twitch at the corner of your lips.

His hand twitched, tempted to grab yours and stop you before you pushed him any further, but he knew better. Drawing attention to what you were doing would only give you more satisfaction. So instead, he gritted his teeth and leaned slightly away, his voice a hushed growl. “Behave.”

You finally turned to him, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Seb,” you said, your tone sticky sweet. “I’m just taking notes.”

The corners of your lips quirked upward, and Sebastian let out a slow exhale. You were relentless, and this was only the beginning. He shifted slightly in his seat, praying for the class to end quickly before he did something that would land both of you in detention.

But then your hand slid higher, and all thoughts of self-control vanished in a haze of heat and frustration.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” he muttered, his voice strained. His hand moved under the desk to still yours.

You leaned in slightly, your lips close to his ear. “What’s the fun in that?” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped his quill. He managed to hold on until Professor Ronen called for the end of class . You finally withdrew your hand, gathering your things with a pleased smile that only deepened the blush on his cheeks.

When Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around, Sebastian had convinced himself that you’d already done your worst for the day. Charms had been a test of endurance, but surely you couldn’t keep it up through another class—especially not with Professor Hecat keeping a watchful eye.

You slid into the seat next to him without a word, a soft hum of a tune under your breath as you unpacked your things. Sebastian didn’t miss the glint of mischief still lingering in your eyes, but he chose to ignore it.

Professor Hecat began the lesson with her usual briskness, outlining the day’s activity: practicing defensive and offensive spells in pairs.

Sebastian exhaled in relief. Partner work meant he could focus on the task at hand, and spell practice was something he excelled at. He cast a sidelong glance at you, waiting for the inevitable quip about how you’d wipe the floor with him. But instead, you gave him an easy smile, looking far too composed for his comfort.

“Alright, partner,” you said, drawing your wand and stepping into position across from him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Sebastian smirked, eager to reclaim some sense of control after the morning’s torment. “Ladies first,” he said, gesturing for you to make the first move.

You raised your wand, your posture flawless, but before casting, you paused. “It’s so warm in here,” you murmured, loosening your tie and pulling it free with a casual flick. You undid the top two buttons of your blouse, fanning yourself with your hand. “Don’t you think?”

Sebastian stiffened, his smirk vanishing. “I—what?”

You gave him a pointed look, as if waiting for an answer, before shrugging lightly. “Never mind. Let’s get started.”

He barely had time to blink before you cast Expelliarmus, your wand aimed with precision. The spell hit him squarely, sending his wand spinning out of his hand. You grinned triumphantly as you caught it midair.

“Not bad, huh?” you teased, your voice light and smug.

Sebastian huffed, running a hand through his hair to buy himself a moment. “Not bad,” he echoed, stepping closer. “Now, hand it over.”

You tilted your head, your eyes gleaming with playful defiance. Instead of returning his wand immediately, you held it up, forcing him to move closer. “Come and get it."

Sebastian gritted his teeth, closing the distance between you. His pulse quickened the moment he got close enough to take in the details: the faint flush across your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell just slightly faster than normal, and—Merlin help him—the open collar of your blouse that gave him a perfect view of your collarbones and just enough cleavage to make his mouth go dry.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze flickering to yours. Your pupils were blown wide, and that maddening smirk was still firmly in place. You smelled like your usual perfume, that subtle scent that had been driving him to distraction all day, mixed with the faintest trace of parchment and ink.

Sebastian’s hand shot out to take his wand, but you pulled it back at the last second, your smirk widening. “What’s the matter? You look a bit tense.”

He took another step closer, his chest nearly brushing yours. The air between you crackled with tension, and he was certain you could hear the rapid thud of his heartbeat. He locked eyes with you, his voice low and rough. “I’m starting to think you want me tense.”

You shrugged. "Not sure what you're talking about."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his patience hanging by a thread. He reached for his wand again, his fingers brushing against yours as he finally pried it from your grip. For a moment, his hand lingered over yours, his thumb skimming the back of it before he pulled away.

“Your turn,” you said, stepping back with a satisfied smile. “Let’s see if you can disarm me.”

Sebastian let out a slow breath, gripping his wand tighter. Focus, he told himself, though it was easier said than done with the way you were looking at him—like you were daring him to lose control.

“All right,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Ready?”

“Always,” you replied, your smile unwavering.

He raised his wand, channeling every ounce of his frustration into the spell. Expelliarmus! The red jet of light shot toward you, and your wand flew from your hand, clattering to the floor behind you.

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “Well done,” you said, your tone dripping with mock defeat. “I suppose I’ll have to get that.”

Sebastian watched, helpless, as you turned and bent over to retrieve your wand, taking your sweet time as you reached for it. His gaze betrayed him, trailing down the curve of your back to your hips and further still. The hem of your skirt rode up as you bent, barely covering what it was meant to, and leaving absolutely nothing to Sebastian's already frazzled imagination.

He swallowed hard, dragging his eyes away with an effort that felt almost physical. Merlin, you were going to kill him. He could already feel the warmth creeping up the back of his neck, and he prayed to every deity he could name that no one else was paying attention.

When you straightened and turned back to him, wand in hand, your smirk was firmly in place.

“Enjoy the view?” you asked, tilting your head as if the question were perfectly innocent.

Sebastian couldn’t help the low growl that escaped him as he stepped closer again, his voice a quiet warning. “Keep it up, and you’ll regret it.”

Your grin widened, utterly unrepentant. “Is that a threat?”

For a split second, he considered saying something that would wipe that smirk off your face, but Professor Hecat’s sharp voice cut through the tension. “Back to your positions!” she barked, her gaze darting between the two of you. “Focus, Mr. Sallow, Miss—”

“Yes, Professor,” Sebastian said quickly, stepping back and trying to calm his racing heart. But as he moved into position, he could still smell your perfume lingering in the air, and the image of your teasing smirk was seared into his mind.

He was barely holding it together, and the day was far from over. But surely, over lunch and surrounded by friends, he’d have some semblance of a reprieve. You wouldn’t dare push things in front of an audience—or so he hoped.

He slid into a seat beside Ominis, who was already stirring a bowl of soup to cool it off. Garreth and Natty sat across from them, deep in a lively debate about the Honeydukes confections.

Sebastian exhaled a small sigh of relief as you arrived a few moments later, seating yourself between Natty and Garreth across from him. You greeted everyone cheerfully, plucking a goblet of pumpkin juice from the table with your usual grace. For a fleeting moment, Sebastian thought he might actually survive the meal unscathed.

He was wrong.

You reached for the fruit platter in front of you, selecting a piece of pineapple and popping it into your mouth with a content hum. Sebastian caught himself watching the way your lips curled around your fingers, quickly tearing his gaze away as heat crept up his neck.

He wasn’t fast enough. You noticed, of course, and your eyes gleamed with mischief as you plucked another piece of pineapple, holding it up thoughtfully.

“Sebastian,” you said, your tone far too casual, “do you eat pineapple often?”

His brow furrowed. “Uh, not really. Why?”

You shrugged, biting into the pineapple and chewing slowly before answering. “Oh, it’s just something I read once. Supposedly, it makes… certain things taste better.”

The words hung in the air for a split second before their meaning hit him like a Stupefy spell. His jaw dropped, and he felt the heat in his cheeks spread like wildfire.

Garreth, who had been mid-sip of pumpkin juice, choked and started coughing, his face contorted with suppressed laughter. Natty’s eyes widened before she covered her mouth with her hand, a muffled giggle escaping. Even Ominis, usually the picture of composure, pinched the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh.

Sebastian, on the other hand, was frozen, torn between mortification and the desperate urge to throttle you—or kiss you senseless. “You—” he spluttered, his voice low and strained. “You can’t just—why would you—”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What? It’s just a question. I’m curious.”

“Curious,” Sebastian echoed, his voice a growl. His grip tightened on his goblet, knuckles white as he tried to maintain some semblance of composure.

You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself, and went back to your meal as if nothing had happened. Garreth finally managed to stop coughing, wiping tears from his eyes as he laughed. “Merlin’s beard, Sebastian, you’re as red as my tie.”

“Shut it, Weasley,” Sebastian muttered, glaring at him before shooting you a dark look.

Ominis sighed again, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Do the two of you ever give it a rest? Some of us are trying to eat in peace.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus on his plate. You, meanwhile, continued to eat with maddening grace, each bite more deliberate than the last. To anyone else, you seemed completely oblivious, but Sebastian knew better. The way your lips lingered on the edge of your goblet, how your tongue darted out to catch the stray drop of pumpkin juice, the slow way you licked your fingers after finishing a piece of fruit—it was all deliberate, and it was driving him insane.

When lunch finally ended, Sebastian practically leapt to his feet, eager to put some distance between you. But as the group began to disperse, you slipped up beside him, your hand brushing against his arm.

“What do you say we use our free period to get a head start on homework?” you suggested, your tone casual but your eyes sparkling with mischief. “The library’s quiet. Perfect for concentration.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at you, suspicious. “Concentration, huh?”

You tilted your head, looking up at him with faux innocence. “What else would we be doing?”

He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. The library it is.”

Sebastian trailed after you, already regretting his decision to agree to this “study session.” He wasn’t walking to his doom—not exactly—but it certainly felt like you were leading him into a trap he’d willingly sprung. Every step you took ahead of him, your hips swaying just enough to catch his attention, felt deliberate, and his patience was wearing thin.

When you reached the secluded table in the back of the library, you slid into a seat with a satisfied smile, glancing up at him as if daring him to sit across from you. Of course, he did—because, Merlin help him, no part of him could resist you, even when you were driving him out of his mind.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you said, leaning forward to rest your chin in your hand, your voice laced with amusement. “Something on your mind?”

Sebastian opened his mouth to reply but quickly thought better of it, forcing himself to focus instead on pulling out his parchment and quill. He needed to get this essay done, fast—before you found another way to turn his brain to mush.

“Nothing,” he muttered, not looking up. “Let’s just work.”

You hummed in response, a light, teasing sound that sent a shiver down his spine. When he finally risked a glance at you, you were watching him with that knowing smirk, the one that said you knew exactly what you were doing to him—and you had no intention of stopping.

To your credit, the two of you did manage to work in relative silence for about an hour. It was a miracle, really, considering the way you had been tormenting him all day. The soft scratching of quills and the occasional flipping of pages filled the air, lulling Sebastian into a false sense of security. You even asked him a few legitimate questions about your arithmancy work, and he found himself easing into the rhythm of study.

But of course, it couldn’t last.

You tapped your quill against the edge of the table thoughtfully, drawing his attention as you tilted your head, a curious expression on your face. “Sebastian,” you said slowly, like you were turning something over in your mind.

He glanced up, cautiously optimistic that this might be a real question. “What?”

“If you cast Levioso on something heavy enough, do you think there’s a weight limit?”

Sebastian frowned, considering. “There’s a theoretical limit, I suppose. It depends on the skill of the caster and the strength of the enchantment. Why?”

You propped your chin in your hand as you gestured toward the sturdy oak table in front of you. “Can you cast it on objects to make them stronger, or is that a separate charm altogether?"

Sebastian blinked at you, trying to gauge where this was going. Your expression was innocent enough—curious, thoughtful—but he’d spent far too much time with you to let his guard down completely.

“That’s a separate charm,” he said slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Reinforcement charms can strengthen objects, but Levioso isn’t meant for that. It’s just levitation.”

You nodded thoughtfully, your fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. “Makes sense,” you mused. “I was just thinking… these tables have probably been here for decades, maybe centuries."

Sebastian frowned, unsure where your train of thought was leading. “I suppose so. Why?”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, and you tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with a mischief he recognized all too well. “Oh, no reason,” you said lightly, waving a hand. “I was just wondering how much weight they could handle. You know, hypothetically.”

The room seemed to still as your words hung in the air, and Sebastian felt his stomach drop. His quill froze mid-scratch, and he stared at you, his mind racing to keep up.

“Hypothetically,” he repeated, his voice flat, though his pulse was anything but.

"You know," You shrugged, leaning back in your chair with an air of nonchalance that was completely at odds with the gleam in your eyes. "Like the weight of two people."

Sebastian stared at you, half-convinced he was hallucinating. You were far too composed for someone who had just casually suggested something so completely inappropriate in the middle of the bloody library, yet here you were, twirling your quill like the picture of innocence. He wanted to say something clever, something sharp that would throw you off your game, but his mind was stuck on one thing.

Two people. This table.

Sebastian’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his quill, his patience dangling by a thread. He could feel the heat crawling up the back of his neck, and you noticed, of course. You always noticed. The way your eyes sparkled with mischief, that faint smirk tugging at your lips—you were daring him to lose control, and you both knew it.

But Sebastian was stubborn, if nothing else. He forced his gaze back down to his parchment, his quill scratching out nonsense as he tried to focus on anything other than the absurdly inappropriate image you’d planted in his head.

“Anyway,” you said lightly, your tone as innocent as ever, “I've had enough of arithmancy for the day. What was the essay prompt again for potions? Something about brewing methods?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “The efficacy of different brewing techniques for enhancing potion potency.”

“Right,” you said, nodding thoughtfully, a contemplative look crossing your face. “Hm… I think I know a book that covers this. It talks about how it’s all in the measurements. Every little thing has to be just right. You’ve got to be so careful with how deep you’re going in, or… well, the whole thing can become quite explosive."

Sebastian’s quill snapped in half.

He froze, staring down at the broken pieces in his hands as if they might somehow offer an escape from this torment. But when he looked up, your smirk was waiting for him, smug and triumphant.

“Oops,” you said sweetly, tilting your head. “Did I say something distracting?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, his patience unraveling by the second. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he growled, his voice low and tense.

“Do I?” you replied, feigning innocence. But the glint in your eye betrayed you. You leaned forward slightly, your voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Surely you'll get top marks on this essay... I think you know exactly how deep to go."

Sebastian stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushed it back. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and filled with a heat that made your smirk falter for the first time all day.

“Outside. Now,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Your brows lifted in mock surprise, but the flicker of excitement in your expression didn’t escape him. You opened your mouth to say something—no doubt another teasing remark—but he wasn’t having it.

“Don’t,” he warned, cutting you off. “Just move.”

For once, you complied without argument, though the playful sway of your hips as you walked ahead of him made it clear you weren’t done yet.

Sebastian followed close behind as you weaved through the bookshelves, his chest tight with frustration and something far more dangerous. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he finally got you alone—but he knew he couldn’t take another second of this.

“You’ve been playing games all day,” he growled as you walked, his voice low and rough. “Do you think I didn’t notice? Do you think I’d just let it slide?”

You raised a brow. “I don’t know what you mean,” you said, tilting your head in mock confusion. “I’ve been perfectly well-behaved.”

Sebastian grabbed your wrist, his forehead nearly brushing yours as his hand came up to cup your jaw. “Well-behaved?” he echoed, his tone dripping with disbelief. “You’ve been driving me mad. Every look, every word, every touch—” He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair before pinning you with a glare. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you?”

His grip on your wrist tightened—not enough to hurt, but firm enough to leave no room for argument. Without another word, he turned sharply, dragging you through the corridors at a pace that made it clear his patience had completely run out.

You didn’t protest, your steps falling into sync with his as he led you toward the one place he knew you’d have privacy: the Undercroft.

When you finally reached the hidden entrance, Sebastian didn’t even bother with his usual careful precision. He muttered the incantation quickly, his voice rough with impatience, and the hidden door swung open. He tugged you inside, the heavy door slamming shut behind you with a resounding thud that echoed in the quiet, secluded space.

The silence hung for a moment, broken only by the sound of your unsteady breaths as Sebastian turned to face you. His gaze was dark, intense, and utterly consuming as he stepped closer, backing you up until your spine pressed against the cool stone wall.

“Do you think this is a joke?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, every word dripping with frustration and something far more primal. His hand braced against the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in.

Your smirk returned. “I think you’re overreacting,” you replied, your tone light but laced with a hint of defiance. “All I did was—”

“All you did,” he interrupted sharply, his other hand gripping your chin gently but firmly, tilting your face up to meet his eyes, “was make me spend the entire day trying not to lose my fucking mind.”

You didn’t back down, even as his chest brushed yours. “I was just having fun."

“Fun?” Sebastian echoed, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “You think driving me mad was fun?”

You tilted your head, grinning. “I think you like it."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, the tension between you seemed to reach its breaking point. His thumb brushed over your jaw, a deceptively soft gesture that made your breath hitch. “Maybe you're right,” he admitted, his voice gravelly. “But don’t think for a second that you’re off the hook. You’re going to pay for every second of torture you put me through today.”

Your smirk widened, and you leaned up to brush your lips against his, your voice a teasing whisper against his mouth. “Promise?”

Sebastian’s answering smile was dark and full of intent as he guided you toward the sofa. “Oh, you have no idea.”

[magpiepills]

Into The Deep End

Rating: EXPLICIT! 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Joel Miller: Hole Filler x AFAB reader

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: you and your friend are invited to swim at the home of her boyfriend’s friend.

Warnings: PIV, dirty talk, little size kink, age gap, swimming, girls kissing girls, multiple orgasms, creampie, drug and alcohol use. no use of y/n, no outbreak, no Sarah, plus perhaps others.

A word for the author: this is a repost! well this isn’t the DBF I had planned. He wasn’t cooperating, so instead you get Best Friend’s Boyfriend’s Buddy Joel and his big dick. The important thing is that we have Joel and we have him in a timely manner!

Kim hadn’t shut up about her boyfriends neighbor all week. “He’s sooo good looking. If it wasn’t for Matt, I’d be all over him. Maybe I’ll be all over him anyway, Matt likes it when I flirt!”

“Isn’t he like, fifty though?” You frown, not looking up from your magazine.

“Nah, he’s forty, tops. Does it matter though? He’s gorgeous. Wait until you see him.”

You were skeptical. It seemed weird for an older guy to invite some college kids to hang out and swim in his pool. You needed some excitement and distraction in your life, though. College had been rough. Classes were grueling and your own boyfriend had unceremoniously dumped you right before finals. It was a killer blow.

“Whats his name? Josh? Jared? Is he really ok with us using his pool?”

“It’s Joel. And he said we can come over any time. He lives alone and he’s always been like a big brother to Matt. Plus he’s so chill. He always has weed, he’s not creepy, he’s fun. You’ll love him. I told him all about you and he seemed really interested in meeting you.”

“Kim!” You admonished and swatted her with your magazine. “Do not try anything with this guy. I don’t need to be set up with an old guy!”

“Just wait until you see him. You’ll thank me.”

And she was right. On Saturday afternoon you and Kim met Matt at Joel’s house. The guys were already in the back yard, music playing, cooler full of beer by the back door, floats in the pool. Kim ran to Matt, and he lifted her into a hug, one hand squeezing her ass in a wide grip. You sat down the bag holding your towel, sunscreen, and tshirt, and said hello to the astoundingly attractive man sitting at the patio table.

“You must be Joel. Thanks for letting us use your pool.”

“Don’t mention it. Matt told me you girls are home for the summer, so feel free to come by any time and swim. Beer?” He gestured at the cooler.

“Please!” You accepted his offer gratefully and watched him press the cap into his big palm and twist it off. Kim was right, he’s gorgeous. Tall and tan, with silver just beginning to thread through his dark, messy hair and dark brown eyes. He had a broad chest and shoulders. You took the beer and sipped, and eyed him as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a slightly soft belly and a trail of dark hair leading under his light blue trunks. Dear god you thought, a giddy feeling welling up inside you with an urge to run your hands over his skin. You felt like such a creep. You imagined touching him and smelling him, laying your head on his chest, biting his shoulder.

“Come in with me!” Kim’s call snapped you out of your thoughts, and you grabbed your towel, spreading it on the concrete. The water was warm, and it felt good to float and splash around a while. A game of chicken was suggested and abandoned, in favor of a round of shots, and you felt a little disappointed that you wouldn’t get to sit on Joel’s shoulders. You’d have to find another way to get your legs around him.

You got out of the pool, toweled off, and rummaged through our bag until you found your sunscreen. Perched on the patio chair, you slathered your arms and shoulders with Hawaiian tropic, and glanced up at Joel, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before his eyes darted away. He could pretend he wasn’t watching you rub sunscreen on your chest all he wanted.

Kim swam near you and put her arms about your waist, leaning close to whisper in your ear “He’s hot, right? Are you sorry you doubted me?” “So sorry, Kim, I’m going to fuck him, I swear to god.” You said it with a laugh, but you kind of meant it.

After a few more drinks you were feeling bold, you and Kim were getting handsy with each other, a familiar intimacy shared by best friends, but something the two of you’d wielded more than once to draw the gaze of the boys you wanted to tease. Matt was happy to watch, and Joel couldn’t take his eyes off you and Kim, squeezing each other's hips and casually tugging at each other's bikini tops, dragging fingertips along the edge of the triangles over your breasts, whispering and giggling and all but kissing. “Here we go!” You could hear Matt whoop, finally noticing what you and Kim were doing. You saw Joel shifting down in his seat, adjusting his trunks as inconspicuously as he could, but you knew what he was doing. Your eyes met his and you gave him the smallest smile before turning back to Kim and whispering to her again. The beers you’d drank and the raw attraction you felt for Joel were mixing together low in your stomach and your inhibition was quickly dissolving.

Matt had had enough and jumped into the water, wrapping his arms around you and Kim and making lewd jokes about threesomes that had you giggling and blushing. He had seen enough of you and Kim’s shenanigans to know that it wasn’t going to happen and he eventually pulled your bestie away to the shallow end to make out, leaving you alone. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, and as you tried to decide what to do next, you felt a splash on your shoulder. Joel had came and sat on the edge of the pool, looking down at you and smiling his open, warm smile before slipping in beside you.

“Are you and her and him a thing?” He asked, sounding awestruck that such a thing could happen in his own pool.

“No, just friends. I’ve known Kim for ages, we like to goof around.”

“I never goofed around with my friends like that. What’s your boyfriend think?” There it was.

“No boyfriend. Just all by my lonesome. What about you? Is your girlfriend out with her girlfriend?”

“Damn. I wish. But no, no girlfriend to speak of.”

With that you let him watch as you slowly looked him over, nibbling flirtatiously at your lip, not knowing how you wanted him to respond. He smiled and in better light you might be able to see him blush.

“‘Nother beer?”

“Why not?”

You followed him out of the pool, he got out first, then turned to offer you a hand to pull yourself up. A big, wide, strong, warm hand. Back at the table you sat closer to him, sipping your beer and twisting lazily in the comfy spinning chair.

You chatted for a while, about movies you’d seen, music you liked, books you’ve read, finding you had a lot of things in common. The longer you talked, the closer together you got until your legs were across his lap and he was gently stroking your calves.

Kim and Matt were asleep on a lounge chair, and you really should have woken them up to go home, them in his bed, you on the couch, but instead, you and Joel just looked at them for a moment, and he asked if you wanted to watch a movie.

“It’s not that late, they’ll probably get up soon and want to leave.” He reasoned and you didn’t have an argument.

You just followed him through the sliding patio door, past a sparse but clean kitchen, and onto an ugly sofa that was more comfortable than your own bed.

You groaned when you sank into it, tucking your legs under you. You had slipped on your tshirt, but your now dry bikini was still underneath. Joel’s house was dark and cool inside, the only light coming from the light over the stove in the kitchen and the tv.

Joel put on Night of the Living Dead and came back to the couch with a blanket, tossing it over you. You noticed he had changed into soft looking plaid pajama pants and a gray shirt, smelling like a mix of fabric softener and chlorine. He propped his feet on the coffee table and started the movie.

“It’s ok if you get scared. I won’t tell anybody if you hide your eyes.” He teased.

You told him how you loved scary movies, even though they terrified you.

When the first vaguely gruesome scene came on you pulled the blanket over your face. Joel pulled you against his side with a sigh.

“I’ll tell you when it’s over.” His arm stayed around you though, and you lifted the blanket so he could get under too.

It wasn’t long before your legs were back in his lap and he watched you while you watched the movie.

“This isn’t even that scary. They’re too slow.”

Maybe you were just lulled into comfort by Joel’s presence and warmth, and the way he stroked his thumb up and down your shin, squeezed your ankle gently, massaged your calf…

“Slow’s good.”

His voice was a little deeper, and he was a little closer and you didn’t move away. You turned your head and looked at him, gazing down at you, messy hair and soft eyes.

“Yeah. Maybe slow’s not bad.”

He hummed and brushed his nose against yours.

Your lips met slowly, sliding to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, warm and soft, and his hand on your shin moved up to your knee, up to your thigh, to your hip, where he found the little bow of your bikini bottom and you could feel him smile against your lips .

“Been wanting to do this all day. Ever since I saw you walk in.”

You were surely blushing now. “You should have. All I heard about all day was how good looking you are.”

Joel sat up a little straighter and lifted his eyebrows at that. “Oh yeah? Did I disappoint ya?” He asked while you leaned forward so he could tug your t-shirt over your head.

“When we were in the pool I told Kim I was going to fuck you.”

Your admission stopped him in his tracks, stunned and mouth agape.

“Jesus, you’ve got a mouth on you.”

And you couldn’t stop yourself then. “Mhm. I can show you my mouth.”

Not your sexiest line, but it had the intended effect. Joel was looking at you like he wasn’t sure you were real.

“Come here.” He pulled you onto his lap so you were straddling him, only your bikini and his pajama pants separating you now, you could feel him, hard and huge.

You circled your hips, making him groan as he kissed you deeply, tongues meeting and swirling gently before he kissed a path down your neck, across your collarbone, and down between your breasts before l pressing a kiss to each one. He slid his hands up your sides as he kissed, and toyed with the thin material of your top before dipping two thick fingers under the fabric and pulling it to the side. He kissed the swell of your breast before licking the firm peak, and sucking it into his warm mouth. Everything about Joel was so soft and warm and comfortable.

“Let me take this off.” He said with his fingers already pulling at the strings tied at the back of your neck. It wasn’t a request, really. He was needy. You quickly untied the strings at your back and flung the whole thing over your shoulder.

He sat back, mesmerized by your tits. He stared, wide-eyed for a moment before cupping both breasts, lifting and squeezing them, kissing and licking your pebbles nipples as he tilted his hips to grind his cock against your covered pussy.

You ran your fingers through his hair, met each movement, surely leaving a wet spot between you, and when you couldn’t take it any more, you reached down and pulled the string on either side of your hips.

“Fuck. Are you going to let me do this?”

You bit your bottom lip, looked at him through your eyelashes and nodded. “You want to fuck me Joel?”

He moved fast, grabbing the fabric out from under you and slinging it away and wrapping one arm around your waist to pull you against his chest while he used his other hand to cover your pussy, the heat of his palm radiating up through your core, sliding his fingers forward and back to gather your slick and spread it through your folds and over your clit.

“You’re so wet. You get wet for me? Like feeling this big cock? This what you need to fill you up?” He lifted his hips to press his cock against your mound, making you moan into his neck.

“Yes. Yes Joel, please.”

Neither of you were going to be able to hold out much longer. You wanted to tease each other, but you needed him inside you.

He lifted his hips again, shimmying down his pants and boxers as quickly as he could. Finally freed, he arranged you on his lap, his cock resting on the curve of your ass, so close to where you needed him.

“You on the pill or somethin’?” He asked as he ran his fingers over your folds again, making you tilt your hips to chase his touch, then stroking his cock with your arousal.

“Yeah. I’m good, got an iud.”

“Good, cause I’m not pullin’ out.” He said, as he positioned his thick head at your entrance and pulled you downward to meet his thrust.

The pinch was extraordinary, but melted out into a warmth that made him feel destined to be inside you. The two of you set a rhythm, you grinding down and him thrusting up, slow and deep, and wet, letting your clit roll against him. Your orgasm crept up, hot and tight in your belly, and he could feel you on the edge of release.

“Want to feel you come on my cock. Squeezin me so tight, feel you soaking me.” He babbled at you and took your nipple back into his mouth, grunting lewdly as he sucked.

It was so much. So many sensations, his mouth, his cock, his hands, his heat, his voice, they crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Joel watched, rapt as you rode it out on his lap, loving how you used his body for your own pleasure, loving how you responded to him, how you took him.

You came back to him with a kiss, blissed out, feeling floaty.

“Fuck, that was good.” You purred to him, no plan to ever leave his lap.

“Gotta fuck you, sweetheart. Y’feel too good.” He throbbed inside you, setting off a small aftershock.

Leaning back, bracing yourself on his knees, you rode him slowly, swiveling your hips, tits on display for him, giving him a good look at where he entered you, and of the thick white ring around the base of his turgid member.

The room spun when Joel flipped you onto the couch. He knelt between your knees, jerking himself at the sight of your swollen pussy, your flushed chest, your kiss-reddened lips.

In a final sprint toward his own finish, Joel pulled your hips up against his, buried himself deep and complete in your wet pussy, and set an unrelenting pace. No words were left except his chanting Fuck, fuck, oh fuck. Oh shit baby. Fuck! Accompanied by your whining, your begging for his cum. You didn’t need to wait long for your reward, although you think you gladly spend the rest of your life stretched around his cock.

He broke with three final thrusts, lips falling open, stilling inside you to spill deep.

Spent and disoriented, Joel dropped his weight onto you while he caught his breath. He kissed your chest, rubbed your side, and lay in comfortable quiet until you tapped his shoulder, reluctantly parting to clean yourselves up.

Joel found your swimsuit for you, and gave you a tshirt to put on. He tried to find the words to ask you to stay, to spend the weekend, the week, the month with him. To keep fucking him and talking to him and eating and watching movies. He wanted to take you out, play your songs, see your apartment, everything that would keep

You in arms reach. But the back door slid open, and there were Kim and Matt bursting your bubble of possibility with their impeccable timing to take you away.

Before he could stop you, your flip flops were on, your keys were in your hand, and you were kissing his cheek goodbye.

[moonstruckme]

hello!!!! i hope you’re having a lovely day or night when u see this ! can i request sirius where reader is sensitive and very often just needs a tight hug and back rub through the day, and he’s sooo understanding about it and gives her all she needs

just lots of domestic fluff (maybe a drop of hurt/comfort if you’re feeling it)

feel free to ignore as always :3

Thanks for requesting lovely!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 562 words

It’s just a few minutes after Sirius hears the shower shut off that you’re padding into the living room, wrapped in a towel and arms spread entreatingly. Sirius knows better by now than to let himself get too twisted up about it; he sets the top he’s cropping aside and lets you crawl into his lap. Your wet hair is cold and heavy against his neck. 

“What’s gotten into your head, huh?” he asks, pushing his palms into your upper back the way he knows you like. You sigh in response. “I told you you’ve got to stop taking showers. You do too much thinking in there.” 

You laugh, but it’s clearly an effort. Your arms constrict together around his shoulders, and Sirius often gets this feeling around you. The urge to put your tender heart in a protective casing and carry it with him everywhere to keep it safe. 

He gives you an affectionate jostling. “Out with it,” he demands.

Another sigh, heavier than the last. “I was just thinking about that cat we saw in the shelter.” There’s a downward slope to your voice that Sirius doesn’t like. You squish your face further into his neck. “I just can’t imagine what life is like for him with no eyes.” 

Sirius hums, rubbing your back firmly. “I’m sure he’s happy with his new owner.” 

“Yeah, but he must be so confused.” You pull away from his shoulder, sniffling. 

And Sirius’ apartment is dim, but the frail threads of sunlight still sneaking in through the blinds lay themselves down across your face just so that he can see the tormented glossiness in both of your eyes. He tsks, kissing your nose. Your melancholy only seems to worsen. 

“Imagine you can’t see,” you choke out, “and you’ve got people making all this noise at you and touching you all the time. And the only thing you can do is cry to try and get someone’s attention. Wouldn’t you be scared?” 

Sirius feels himself frowning. He loves your gentle soul, but he hates that it makes you more susceptible to these hurts. You’ll get your thoughts all tangled up in something like this, and then you won’t be able to relax or be content until you can forget about it. But Sirius likes to think that he knows you fairly well, and he’s got his own methods for helping you through it. 

He has this spot memorized. The stretch of skin beneath your jaw and behind your ear, where if he slides his hand into place you’ll let loose a breath and melt against him like butter in the sun. He does it now, and your sigh fans warmly over the inside of his wrist, some of the tension sapping from your expression as you let your head rest in his palm. 

Sirius runs his thumb over your jaw. “You’re not going to do him any good by worrying, sweetness,” he says softly. “I just think…the person who adopted him had to have really cared to take on all that responsibility. I’ll bet they love him a lot.” 

You worry your lip, looking up at him uncertainly. “Enough to be patient with him even when he’s scared and crying?” 

Sirius has to take care to keep his lips from twitching. He smears a kiss across your temple. “Yeah, baby.” He wonders what that’s like.

[sims3fiend]

Some dumb sims 3 updates/stuf

Or, how to develop severe brain damage in 10 easy steps.

Sooo… This is going to be more of a blog post than anything of any real substance, more of a whinge with maybe a few teasers for some stuff I may or may not release (probably not). Feel free to skip if you're after hot tips or coherent writing.

Stutter "fixer"

Sooooo…. The sims 3 has some stutter issueeesss… Incredible discovery, I know! I started looking at remedying them with settings, found some hidden settings that help reduce some of the issues but that can only do so much when the game was made in 2009 for 2009 computers.

So I had a looky at some things I thought could be causing it, mainly WinAPI functions because that's the easier route (h-haha…), and started to try to "optimize" some of the more common ones:

ReadFile: Was the first, and looking at the sheer volume of like 12783972198 calls a milisecond every time you move the camera, I thought surely I can speed it up a little r-right. Not really. I tried all sorts of… interesting things, file caching in memory, implementing the overlapped flag (took ages), etc. Oh and the performance increase? Literally nothing. It's called weirdly from wherever it's called and so we must suffer.

Threads: So, I had a look at other areas that were potential targets for speedup, ran an actual profile and it showed a problem areas namely threads and some other stuff I don't remember. ZwWaitForMultipleObjects and WaitForSingleObject take up a lot of time, so I very poorly attempted to optimize them, adding some timeout optimizations (and a bunch of other failed attempts). Despite being the most insane, this actually worked, and I got like a 40% speed increase in a very very niche metric that did not noticeably effect the game one single bit. I plan to combine all my failures into a single script eventually, maybe once combined they'll do something…

Actual insanity - Memory IPC: Then I had an idea, everyone hates e12, why don't we shove the games memory into another process and that'll fix it. No brain moment. No clue what past me was thinking, for some reason I thought you could like, access another processes memory if it was spawned from it, but uhh.. no, that's not how things work… I tried a few other things in a similar vein but it just crashed and crashed, so for now I'm just gunna work on:

Alloc/free mee - Current insanity: Currently, I'm still working on VirtualAlloc and VirtualFree (which is what I was redirecting to another process), but more from an optimizing memory usage standpoint than a… whatever the IPC thing was. There's a lot of things to try, and I've had some luck in some areas and some abysmal failures in others. There's a few promising functions calling VirtualAlloc/Free that seem to be potentially pointing towards memory leaks (004e54d0), but I'm too dumb to investigate that. At the moment, I'm going mostly just gathering more logs which takes forever and hurts my brain real bad.. On testing there's like 180 allocs that we could probably yeet no problem, which is like 750mb saved… Maybe idk.

I have plenty of ideas for deduplication, memory pool implementations to reduce churn/fragmentation, shoving things aggressively into pagefiles if they're not being used, etc. etc. Basically, there's a lot of avenues to explore, and I feel like there's potential… though I've definitely said that before and been dead wrong so…

Anyway, rambling over. I plan to release a dumb little renderer settings mod maybe-soon-ish that'll let you do dumb stuff that might be useful for reshade like turn shadows/drop shadows off and post processing off and on. I guess I could add max lots and other settings eventually too since they're static values.... Might also do a mythbusting post for some performance "tweak" stuff I see thrown around that isn't super accurate but I also don't want people to be angry at me so maybe not.

Sorry to whoever read all this, but also thanks :)

[dolene]

TYING YOU TO ME!

summary: nobody knows where the invisible strings could take you to. no one could ever see the threads, but the clues were surely there. you just don't realize it.

four times charles said his happy birthday, one time y/n said it back.

anonymous requested: Hi, sooo since it's my birthday in a couple of days I wanted to request a smau with Charles Leclerc's birthday post for his gf through the years like a childhood friend to lovers kinda thing and the internet is just being obsessed with them.

pairing: charles leclerc x childhood friend!reader

author's note: this is such a sweet request from you nonny! i wish you a happiest and sweetest birthday whenever it is<3

FEBRUARY, 2019

charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, and 467,213 others

charles_leclerc It's been a long time since you're becoming my best friend, Y/n. But unfortunately your mama doesn't trust me with your childhood pictures, so she gave me this.

But I wish you the happiest birthday, Mon loulou😉🎂

view all 274 comments

yourusername Since when did you becoming poetic like this?

yourusername But OMG thank you, Cha! I LOVE YOUUUUU

username MON LOULOU DAAAAANGGG

username i need to scream to my pillow she's so adorableeeee

arthur_leclerc Believe it or not, I have more of her embarrassing photos

  ⤷ charles_leclerc Send it to my phone now

  ⤷ yourusername You're dead

username i can't believe today is her birthday. happy birthday, y/n

username AWW TOINY Y/NNNNN

landonorris she looks so little (same as today)

oscarpiastri I've never knew this was Y/n until Lily told me it was her. Happy birthday, Y/n. I hope you can be in McLaren next time.

  ⤷ scuderiaferrari Not until we do it faster.

  ⤷ mclaren I love to see you try

username she's so adorable 😍

username I wish my best friend does this

FEBRUARY, 2020

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, and 594,355 others

charles_leclerc Wishing the happiest of birthdays to the coolest person i know my entire life🎂😄 ＠yourusername

view all 824 comments

carlossainz55 I bet that she's cooler than you

  ⤷ charles_leclerc NOBODY is better than the original.

username Shes really cool, now I know why is she called the coolest person he know

  ⤷ username she got that tiktok style

luisinhaoliveira99 Feliz aniversário!!! 😙😙

mickschumacher Thanks for cropping me off the picture 😔👍🏻

  ⤷ yourusername Sorryyyyy

username HAPPYYYY BIRTHDAAAAY

username LITERALLY OBSESSED W THEM

username racer bestie + influencer bestie

username imagine being wished every year like this by charles

charles_leclerc added a photo to their story! 3h

caption: Selfie with the birthday girl

FEBRUARY 2021

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, and 639,427 others

charles_leclerc She's a menace. Happy birthday baguette eater.

👤: ＠yourusername, ＠joris__trouche

view all 868 comments

landonorris ooohhhh myyyy

username is this the undiscovered dirty self of THE charles leclerc??

username BAGUETTE EATER???????

username idk who's the menace here

yourusername STOPPP😭😭😭

username I can't believe that he is this dirty sometimes

username and lando is the fastest on liking this one yet is making me cry

yourusername YOU PROMISE WOULDN'T POST THIS

  ⤷ charles_leclerc Sorry, can't help it, Arthur said i need to post this

  ⤷ arthur_leclerc THE BETRAYAL

FEBRUARY, 2022

charles_leclerc

liked by lewishamilton, and 882,490 others

charles_leclerc Still be the coolest and the nicest person I've ever had, and now she is my girlfriend. Happy birthday, loulou. ti amerò per sempre.

👤: ＠yourusername

view all 1,246 comments

yourusername anch'io ti amo per sempre😭😭😭😭😭

username Loulou pronounced lulu, that means i'm sleepy so let's sleep and be delulu

lilyzneimer Ahhh happy birthday, sweetheart!

georgerussell63 Happy happy birthday Y/n. have a visit to London, so that Carmen and I could make you some muffins 😉

carlossainz55 Happy birthday Y/n, don't forget to join me and Isa tomorrow!

isahernaez Have the happiest of birthday, Y/n

username 😭😭😭 I still can't believe they're really together

username when will i date my best friend like this

  ⤷ username DONT GIVE ME IDEAS

FEBRUARY, 2023

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, and 724,560 others

charles_leclerc A year has passed since the time that I asked you to be my girlfriend. Joris said that he took more, but unfortunately the camera took a swim, and that leave us with this grainy picture.

And anyways, I wish you a marvelous birthday to my beloved girlfriend, ＠yourusername. never change.

view all 899 comments

yourusername I LOVE YOU TOOOO CHARLES I'M CRYING SO HARD RN

joris__trouche 😉😉👍🏻

username i love them your honor

username parents

username MAMA Y PAPA😍😍😘😚

lilymhe Charles, I am not aware of your games

username 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

username i need to have it like them because if i'm not i'm going to explode

username EVERY 😭😭 FUCKING 😭😭 YEARS😭😭

username i wanna cry i want this so much

username poetic charles are gonna be my favorite gender fr

username joris when i catch you joris

carmenmmundt Happy birthday to you, Y/n!

nicholaslatifi Oh you Lovebirds... 🥹

OCTOBER 16TH, 2024

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, and 859,437 others

yourusername Who knew that this tiny man is once my best friend?

Even though I got my hair slicked back, putting up my fakest smile, and wearing the black dress you hate; I'm still amazed that you were still there for me whenever i could count on you.

And now that you're my boyfriend, I cannot be more grateful for that. Happy birthday, big boy. Je t'aime pour toujours.❤️❤️

view all 682 comments

leclerc_pascale 🥳🥳🥳

username WHO'S CUTTING ONION HERE

carlossainz55 I've noticed that you both are doing great with words now, happy birthday, Cabrón.

username a lil spicy on the eyes don't you think

username HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLES😭😭😭

landonorris that's cute. happy birthday

username ISN'T😭IT😭 JUST😭SO😭PRETTY😭TO😭THINK😭ALL😭ALONG😭THERE😭WAS😭SOME😭 INVISIBLE 😭STRING😭TYING😭YOU😭TO😭ME😭

username I've had enough, I need to date my best friend

username i'm not yet moved on from charles's birthday wishes to y/n, and now i'm screwed by thinking about this

lewishamilton Happy birthday, mate

scuderiaferrari Have the happiest birthday to you, Champ! ✨❤️

[felassan]

I received a few asks around a similar topic, so I'm popping them together here. ( ´ ▽ ` ) DA:TV spoilers under cut.

[the Felassan Files]

hello! ◕‿◕ thank you for the lovely and fun ask messages!!

lavendervoids asked: "i’ve been dying to know what ur reaction was to seeing felassan in the game was???? the moment i saw him i was yelling and hollering and my first thought was “omg what does tumblr user felassan think of this” LMAO and thank you for all the documenting you’ve been doing up until and past the release of the game, i ended up blocking every dragon age tag a couple months back to avoid any sort of spoilers but i still came to your blog everyday cause i knew you wouldn’t spoil me haha"

hhhh ( ´ ▽ ` ) tysm for thinking of me at that time!! and for the nice comment about this blog and visiting it. I'm really glad to know that my approach to spoiler tagging etc has been okay for you.

littlerune asked: "i don't even know you but you and dragon age felassan are so intrinsically linked in my brain that when he appeared in veilguard all i thought was "ohhhh i wonder how tumblr user felassan feels about this"

hhhh :D 🥺 thankyou so much for thinking of me!! ♡ some say that his ghost operates this tumblr blog, or that he lives still

songofamazon asked: "I'm still on my first play of the game, but whenever I got to the memories in the Crossroads, I thought to myself, "I hope Tumblr Felassan is having a great time. Did you?"

I had a great time playing the game and when playing the Crossroads memories sections, I loved them a lot, they were very cool and a highlight of the game. thankyou sm and for thinking of me, and I hope that you did too!!

phantabula-interactive asked: "im so glad you're enjoying the game!! I had to ask; how did you feel about seeing Felassan in game?? I was so excited to see the notes from him, I wasn't expecting a boss fight MUCH LESS. FULL CAMEO!!! They made him a lot prettier than I was expecting too (/pos)"

thankyou!! I hope that you've been enjoying it too!

so: I was sooo excited and shook to see Felassan in the game!!! I was like

(I yelped/hooted out loud like a clown) and then

and then it was suddenly like too much (pos) and my soul left my body and i astral projected into space/paradise/the Astral Plane/the Void or something etc

and then it took me some time to process or gather my thoughts about it.

obviously I was super hoping that we would see him in the game. I was sure that there would at least be some references to him in codexes/notes etc or allusions made in passing dialogue like Cole and Solas' lines about him in Trespasser. then when the marketing mentioned that we would see flashbacks from Solas' past in the Crossroads, I was like aaa omg, wouldn't that be the perfect time to actually show Felassan??, as a Fade memory or flashback or spirit echo or something. so then I was hoping like 🕯️🕯️🕯️ and yea. but even so, still when I saw him in game for the first time it was still a huge shocked Pikachu moment for me.

I was already feeling psyched from the first Felassan codex/note that I found, then I couldn't believe (pos) just how many codexes/notes scattered around written by him that there was?? I was already feeling spoiled (not spoiled by spoilers but like spoiled from eating good) from that (a bunch of codexes/notes might not seem like a lot but when your fav is a side character that has only appeared in one [1] tie-in novel..) and then he goes and actually APPEARS, AAAA. I feel like I ate so good. with the Betrayal fight and the rune at the end as well, it felt like he was threaded throughout the game and was really haunting the narrative. some assorted thoughts:

first of all everything about his DA:TV appearances/DA:TV references continues to underscore that he is the greatest of all time

it also continues to underscore the pain of his death/story and of his friendship with Solas

may I please go and start a new life living in Solas' memories of Felassan on repeat. i simply do not care that my body would waste away in the waking world from lack of sustenance

in the endgame I was trying to concentrate and punch Elgar'nan in the face and save the world but I like couldn't see straight through the tears after having been given Felassan's Magical Boyfriend Super Rune (morrigan pls.. what a way to twist the KNIFE at an extremely critical moment for thedas hhhh..)

expansion pack where we relive Solas' memories of him and Felassan dating (he didn't deserve Felassan tho fr. but then, does anyone..?)

I know that Felassan would treat Lavellan sooooo right. so well. so respectfully. felassan would pull their chair out for them at restaurants and open car doors and whatever

Betrayal of Felassan refers to Solas' betrayal of Felassan, not Felassan's betrayal of Solas

also i love how they made him DEVASTATINGLY handsome?? in the game (they didnt need to go that hard), but also how, at the same time - even before the TME Deluxe edition illustrations, we all just inherently knew deep in our bones that he was, you could simply just tell from his energy and vibes and dialogue even in only the written word. cool rolls off this guy in waves, and always has done

did his model have smoky winged eye makeup? love that. love that for him

I liked his sense of style. the hair his model has happened to be one of the ones I was debating using for my Rook. it's one of my fav ones from the CC

I appreciated the attention they paid to detail when making his model. Mythal vallaslin, violet/purple eyes, an undercut - as he was previously described or shown in TME, dev social media comments and the TME deluxe illustrations

I liked the actor they chose for him, his voice was cool

I felt like his codexes and notes that he wrote captured his voice and his character. you can see the depth of his loyalty and devotion to his friend, his concerns, and he retains his 'voice' in terms of some snark, wit etc

it's fun thinking about whether Felassan originally manifested from the Fade (and if so, what was he a spirit of) or whether he was born the usual way of other elves. (it could be either one)

Betrayal of Felassan as a manifested embodied regret and its lines like "his back, turned".. very raw. that fight was hard enough mechanically for me as it was, then the lines were like being hamstrung LOL. how could they??? (pos/lh)

I always thought that, a long time ago, Solas was essentially the player character in a different game, the main character of another story. the leader of his own group of companions and friends on their own quest (to stop the Evanuris), and that Felassan was one of those companions. Alistair to his Hero of Ferelden if you will. in DA:TV we learn that not only was he one of his companions, he was basically the second-in-command of his rebellion, a General, his closest friend aside from Mythal and his right-hand man.

he was so cool back in his heyday

pain. paaaaain. but like in a good way (I unironically love to be hurt by stories pls continue 💀...)

there are a few further posts containing more bits of my reaction and thoughts scattered through my Felassan tag. ^^

There were also a few other asks about this in my inbox, but Tumblr appears to have eaten them?? :< so if you've asked me about Felassan and my reaction since launch but the message isn't in this post, thankyou sm and I'm very sorry. 😔 pls feel free to re-send it. :)

I do remember that one of the vanished messages asked me what the Slaughter of the Pillars boss regret refers to - the Pillars of the Earth are the Titans. ("Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!") That undead boss embodies another of Solas' greatest regrets, namely what he and Mythal did to the Titans during the war with them - sundering every Titan from their spirit, severing them from their dreams, which resulted in the Blight as the dreams were driven mad. it also in a sense broke the dwarves in two and caused the fall of the fate of the dwarven people. Beyond the mural-memory that pertains to this in DA:TV, there are depictions of this time in the ancient past in the DA:TV artbook: [one, two]. Annotations there describe Solas rendering the Titans tranquil and capturing their souls; dwarves as a consequence then losing their connection to magic and fleeing into the now-Tranquil earth; and the Evanuris then building Elvhenan using the power of the captured Titan souls.

[lady-embers]

How did Gwyn lure Azriel into her orbit?

Hypothesis: Could it be because of her luring him using his shadows/her voice? 🤔

Well, the shadows hadn't warned him about her being in the ring. For something that supposed to protect him, wouldn't they have warned him if they were being lured in by Gwyn's singing powers? Wouldn't they have tried to stop him from landing in the ring? Wouldn't we see a physical glow around Gwyn from her singing?

Was this the moment Gwyn lured Azriel in?

She clearly dismisses him here though and yet he continues to carry a conversation with her...

A conversation in which he offers Gwyn a crooked smile, and we see Azriel's lip twitch in amusement.

OH! I GOT IT!! It was this moment:

But wait....Gwyn wasn't singing here and no glowing mentioned. She just asked a question, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with her breath before twirling back to him..

Key words to note here "like it heard some SILENT music."

Darn it. So close! But so far away....

Moving on... was it during this scene when the moonlight made her hair shine like molten metal?

Azriel doesn't appear to be under any singing/luring powers here.... but he was surprised and even chuckled while revealing something personal. But again, no singing is mentioned here, and Gwyn only glows when she sings....

Hmmm....Was it here?

Well.... something restless settles in him, but isn't that a good thing? It means he is at peace/calm. Even his shadows had calmed! That doesn't sound bad at all.

He found Gwyn's irreverence charming 🥹

There is that faint beautiful singing that followed him and his shadows singing back in answer, though. Again, no mention Gwyn was singing, sooo

I'm sure there is another plausible explanation given that Nessian bond is described as "music between the souls"

Maybe it was here?

Interesting, how we found out where Azriel got the necklace from here and now. THE PALACE OF THREAD AND JEWELS.

Was he "lured" there right at 7 to stand before Clotho? No one is mentioned to be singing here..... and Clotho is ALWAYS at the services.

Little fun fact: 7 is a number of perfection, security, safety, and rest 👀 (mating hint maybe given how mates are for each other)

Clotho is also a known name of one of three FATES in Greek Mythology. She's "The Spinner" - the one spun the threads of the lives of all mortals, the one who decided when a person would be born/killed, and other similar important decisions.

So, no luring is happening here... at least not any by Gwyn's doing...

And last but not least....

I think we can all agree there was no luring being done here by Gwyn. Not with the way this ends the bonus chapter.

He's the one who pictured Gwyn's teal eyes lighting up.

He's the one who consciously erased the slight smile it brought to his face.

He's the one who proceeded to bury the image deep down where it glowed quietly.

So, in conclusion, if anyone is during the "luring" of Azriel to someone, Gwyn, it's the author, Sarah J Maas.

Gwyn is not influencing Azriel in any way, not unless he's charmed by her irreverence, and that's just Gwyn's personality 😉

[hanfourz]

― consume ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ | l.rw

pairing: fledgling!riwoo x human!reader (fem bodied)

genre: smut, fantasy

word count: 2.2k 0_0

warnings: blood!!, lots of kissing, biting, marking, cunilingus, use of riwoos real name (sanghyuk)

note: that pic is what inspired this whole thing btw... -🪼

walk with me... so riwoo fangs right..? what about fledgling!riwoo who just recently turned and his fangs are starting to fully grow (?).. so obviously they're kinda uncomfortable and cause him to need some sort of relief right?... do we see where i'm going with this?... oral fixation riwoo yes yes 🙂‍↕️

him needing to suck or bite something sooo bad it makes him wanna cry. and you’re always so willing to help him even though you're not a vampire yourself and don't fully know how it all works but you'd do anything for him. and at first he doesn't really tell you he's struggling with his new fangs but he winces when he's eating certain things and you see him constantly tonguing at his gums and kinda figure it out on your own. so ever the diligent partner, you start to do some research and figure out a couple remedies for his discomfort. a lot of the things you found sounded like things you would give to a teething baby and thought that idea wouldn't rly interest riwoo... but you saw something about biting and the cogs start turning.

so one day as you're chilling together you bring it up. you ask him how he'd feel about biting/feeding from you and at first he looks at you confused before saying something like 'shouldn't i be the one asking you that?' then he asks why you even thought of that. you tell him it might help with the fangs and he tries to brush it off and tells you he's fine and the discomfort should go away on its own. you don’t push it again that night but you hope he's at least thinking about it now because truth be told you couldn't really stop thinking about the idea of him feeding from you.

he does think about it. a lot. something he also didn't tell you was that your scent was so much stronger to him now and it was sooo enticing. he'd tried to ignore it, pushing away the urge to shove his nose in your neck and inhale when you walked past him. but it only got more and more intense as time passed which was the opposite of what he hoped would happen. it caused his fangs to nearly hurt with the need to sink them into your neck. but he withheld himself, absolutely refusing to tell you of this. he was pretty good at hiding it too, his behavior never really changing around you.

it was a day while you were cuddling that his last thin thread of control finally snapped. you had just gotten out the shower, hair washed and scent especially strong. you two were watching some show riwoo had put on. you were in a t-shirt and shorts while his head rested on your chest and your hands gently carded through his hair. he felt so peaceful like this, softly inhaling your scent and eyes starting to feel heavier. just when he was ready to doze off, he felt that uncomfortable tension in his gums again. he kept his eyes closed and tried to will the pain away but it was no use. it was only getting progressively worse, so much so that he had started to curl into you unknowingly. you’d already noticed when he tensed up but concern flooded you when you heard what sounded like a very quiet, pained whimper.

“baby? are you okay?” you’d asked softly, trying to look at his face that was now almost fully turned into your chest. he just whimpered softly again, not answering. “is it the fangs, love?” you heard a small sigh before riwoo nodded and lifted his head slightly. you tried not to gasp as you noticed his fangs now poking out from his top lip, much longer than they usually were. he leaned off of you and you followed, eyes holding bewilderment. 

“baby, that looks painful…” you whispered, still keeping your tone gentle. riwoo had leaned off of you to get away from your scent but you didn’t know that so you leaned towards him to get a better look but were utterly shocked when he flinched away. confusion flitted across your features, a strong furrow to your brows as you looked at him. “sanghyukie… what’s wrong?” your tone was slightly hurt as you asked and he felt bad but how could he explain it to you without sounding like a freak? 

“you.. your smell.. is a lot stronger now. it makes it difficult for me to think…” he answered eyes downcast and refusing to make contact. it all started to make sense to you now, his refusal of your original idea, his avoidance of the subject. he felt like he was losing control. 

“will it hurt you?” riwoo looks up at you, brows furrowed. 

“will what hurt me?” he asks, not understanding where this was going.

“feeding from me. would it hurt you?” you say, head tilted to the side in curiosity. riwoo stared at you for a minute. 

“no but… it might hurt you, love.” he says, concern lacing his tone. he could see the cogs turning in your head, running over his words and thinking about it. then he watches as whatever you’re thinking solidifies and he already knows what you’re about to say. you have that determined look in your eye that tells him you aren’t budging on this. 

“we don’t know for sure though, right? hyukie… if it might help, i wanna try. i don’t like seeing you suffering knowing i could help.” your brows are furrowed and your gaze is gentle as you watch him take your words in. he hesitates for a while, tongue running over his fangs out of sheer habit at this point. then he sighs and you think he’s giving in. 

“we can try… but if it hurts you we stop. and… i’m not sure i’ll be able to think clearly but if it’s too much, you have to stop me.” he concedes and watches a small smile settle across your lips. 

“okay, promise.” you say with barely contained excitement. 

riwoo can’t deny that he finds your eagerness cute, even if the entire idea makes him nervous. he doesn’t really understand why you’re so eager about it though… he assumes it’s just because you want to help him. which is partially true but he’s unaware of your own selfish desires. when you start moving closer to him, his brows raise in surprise. you wanted to try, now?! he steadies himself as your scent starts to grow nearly suffocating, gums already starting that odd tingling sensation. 

you take his hands in yours, pulling him a little closer while keeping that gentle smile on your face. he knows it’s supposed to help calm him but truly his heart feels like it might jump out his chest. everything about you was overwhelming him but he knows that he does want this. he wants to taste you, wants to be able to get that sweet smell straight from the source. the more he thinks about it, the more it starts to drive him insane. 

when your lips meet his, he doesn’t even register it at first. his mind goes into overdrive and it’s like a shock goes through his entire body. he moans into your mouth as he kisses you much more feverishly than either of you were expecting. he doesn’t know what comes over him as he starts to press further and further into your space. all he can think, smell, feel is you, you, you. when you whimper quietly, he moans again in response. it’s the most desperate and needy you think you’ve ever seen riwoo. you move so you’re on his lap, legs wrapped around his hips and arms around his shoulders. he starts to trail his lips down your jaw to your neck, fangs grazing over a spot on your neck that makes you shiver. he inhales sharply as he tastes your skin on his tongue. he drinks your scent in, his cock twitching in his pants.

when you whine and tilt your head back to give him more space, he starts to suck on the spot right under your ear. he wishes he could see your face but he thinks he might die if he pulls his nose away from your neck right now. he softly tongues over the mark he just sucked into your skin. you can feel his heavy breaths fan over your skin. your hands find purchase in his hair, not pulling it but just resting them there. you feel it as his fangs press into your skin, him testing the waters for now as he starts to leave little love bites down your shoulder. riwoo always liked biting you even before he was turned into a vampire, it was his favorite way of marking you. and you always expressed how much you liked it yourself. now was no different but you were even more turned on this time. you grind down onto him, his hips stuttering up into you. when he digs his teeth in a little harder, you keen into him. you feel like he’s edging you as he continues this pattern of softly biting before he presses his fangs in harder but not enough to pierce your skin. 

“sanghyuk… please, baby.” you whimper out, knowing you saying his name like that makes him weak. he sighs into your skin as his hands fully wrap around your waist. he runs his hands up your shirt and over your skin as he brings his lips back up to your neck. he inhales your scent again before he sinks his teeth into your skin. you fully moan at the feeling, a warmth like syrup spreading through your veins. riwoo loses himself as your taste fills his senses. he doesn’t even know he’s whimpering out and his hips are grinding into you. your hands scramble in his hair, tugging on it as you whine out again and again. you don’t know what you were expecting but it wasn’t this. you feel like you’ve taken three aphrodisiacs in one sitting. you’re completely consumed by the man attached to your neck, sucking your life force like it’s his own. like he needs the very air you breathe. like he might die if he doesn’t become one with your body. riwoo is faring much worse, almost cumming in his pants. and it only worsens when he feels you pulling on his hair and you grinding yourself down onto him. 

he pulls away, pupils blown wide with his lips and fangs stained red. his entire face is flushed and his eyes are still locked on the marks his fangs left in your skin, blood oozing from the still open wound. he leans back in and licks over the marks until the bleeding stops, moaning lewdly at the taste. you’re still swimming in ecstasy as he pulls away again. he looks up to see that you’re flushed and your eyes are barely open. he brings a hand up to your face and you lean into his touch, sighing softly as you make eye contact. a small smile plays on your lips and he feels his heart jump in his chest. 

“you’re perfect.” the words tumble from his lips before he can stop them. you can’t find your words quite yet so you lean forward and catch his lips in a heated kiss, not even caring about the taste of your own blood on his lips. when he softly sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, you push him down until he’s laying underneath you. the need to feel every inch of him consumes you as you move your hips over the bulge in his pants. he whines into your mouth and it only urges you on as you both start to undress. his hands roam over every inch of your body as you press kisses to his neck. you leave marks of your own down the expanse of his neck and shoulders. he stops you before you can move down his body any further, causing you to whine in protest but he shakes his head. 

“need to taste you, please love.” he says breathlessly. you stare at him a minute before you nod and move so that you’re sitting next to him. he gets up quickly and you switch your positions with you now underneath him. he trails his hands down your sides until they rest on your thighs, watching the way goosebumps raise in their wake. when he spreads your legs apart you understand what he meant by tasting you. your breath hitches as you watch him lower himself between your legs. he starts to kiss and bite at your thighs, leaving hickeys and bite marks, before he sinks his fangs in again. you gasp and arch off the bed, moaning his name loudly. he doesn’t stay there long, suckling at the bite and licking your blood off before moving and doing the same in your other thigh. when he’s satisfied, he moves to get a taste of the juices leaking from your pussy. licking a long stripe up from your entrance and then circling his tongue around your clit. you grip the sheets hard as you moan out and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs. 

you let him consume you whole on that bed again and again until you're both completely spent.

tags : @onedoornet ||