#Assorted Gems

[i-am-just-a-skeleton]

[brittanyjewelmiller]

Upcoming ideas….

April- Diamond shaped gems

May- Flower shaped gems

June- Pentagon shaped gems

July- Star gems

August- Sun shaped gems

September- Hexagon shaped gems

October- Octagon shaped gems

November- Triangle shaped gems

December- Rectangle shaped gems (like presents hehe)

[snowyfrostshadows]

King Ghost is the only one having fun with the assignment. I can respect that.

GumBoo on the other hand, I hate with a burning passion. Impossible to track Hide-and-Seek is one thing, killer bats every five seconds is another.

Jerk.

[belovedgamers]

Everyone say “thank you, Shubble”

And, if you’ve got time, I would say that while we should be worrying about deplatforming an abuser, supporting Shubble is really what’s most important!

I recommend watching a few of her videos to give her that boost! You can throw a like and a comment her way. Remember that content creation is a job and we can contribute even if just a little.

Her recent hide and seek video featuring Gem, Jimmy, Lizzie and Scott is incredibly cozy, her SOS video is cute and for a series that’s just barely started, both her empires seasons are solid (one link because they’re on the same playlist), her Witchcraft smp series is fun! She has a bunch of videos on other assorted games, and a small AITA podcast series featuring HBomb!

Send all the love to Shelby! Let’s put our time where our hearts are 💗

[ohnogemini]

Do No Harm

Hello - its Gem again ✧⭑๋ I wrote this fic about 6 months ago when I was in a weird place and just now got around to edit it and make it presentable. I hope you enjoy ♡⊹

✶ Word Count: 19k (sorry)

★ Genre: !afab reader x Bang Chan

✹ Rating: Explicit 18+ Minors Do Not Enter

❀ Comments: Tropes used: friends to lovers. Mentions of anxiety, depression. Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of Ex husband (not skz). Self deprecation. Slow to smut but it gets there. Unprotected consensual sex ; some cursing ; very light d/s dynamics. Please let me know if I left out any big TW/CW.

‎‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹

Nothing could have prepared you for the deep wave of nausea that hits you. The week had moved fast, too fast for your mind to process what occurred. Nothing is particularly shocking about the events; you knew it was coming. Bolting awake without an alarm on Saturday morning, firm, bright light fighting its way through your dark blue curtains, you find yourself lightly gasping and clawing at the damp sheet that’s covering your half naked frame.

Alone. Truly alone, again.

Yanking the sheet off, you rush into your bathroom and flip on the icy water from the sink faucet. The soft churning of the water and its cool contents hitting the porcelain pulling your focus from the pit in your stomach. You pull your hair into a quick bun at the back of your head with the hair tie sitting to your right, still on the counter from a few nights earlier, and stick your wrists in succession under the water, shocking your system into rebooting. You signed the divorce papers late Tuesday evening. Work was busy enough that you hadn’t had a chance to sit and think about it during the day. Two emergency surgeries this week: a large German Shepherd with a broken femur and a young cat struggling to birth on her own. Both were successful, and you’re ashamed to admit that if they were not, you’re unsure how you would have been able to deal with it. By night you were so exhausted from your early mornings that a glass of wine and a plate stacked with an assortment of veggies, cheese and deli meat was all you could muster before falling asleep in bed or on your large, too comfortable couch. TV turned loud enough to drown out your thoughts but quiet enough to lull you to sleep.

The freezing water brings your attention forward and you inhale deeply. A soft shake cascading down your spine as the breath leaves your lungs. Glancing up at yourself now would be a mistake. Instead, you’re softly pushing the tap off, placing your hands on the cool countertop and shutting your eyes to reel your breathing back in.

As if on cue, you hear your phone with its unsettling, cheery ring going off in your bedroom. Not the time, you think to yourself. The phone continues its lively tune until whoever is caught on the other end goes to voicemail. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message. However, the phone barely stops its melody before it starts again.

Aggravation seeps into limbs. How dare someone interrupt my panic? My pain? This moment is for you alone. No one else needs to see or hear how pathetic you feel right now. But what if they can help? It wouldn’t hurt for them to try. But it would hurt. It would hurt you for them to try and fail. Knowing it was foolish for the attempt. It would hurt them to give their all in sweet sincerity just for you to still be a pile of lost puzzle pieces at their feet by the end. You push off the sink and trail your way around the bed to your nightstand, wiping the water from your wrists and hands on your sleep shirt as you reach for your still ringing phone. The contact is there, lit plainly. As is the clock above it that reads 11:38 AM. A rush of guilt, or denial pinches your nose and brows together. You rub your eyes, press the green button, and give yourself a few seconds before lifting the device up to your ear. “Hey,” you try to conceal the shakiness, but anyone with ears can hear it. “Hey Bug, sorry I called you twice, but this is time sensitive. Are you busy right now?” his voice is strained also but nowhere near the same edge as yours. “No. I was just cleaning the bathroom.” A harmless lie. It will make sense of the tiredness in your voice.

“I thought you only cleaned on Sundays?” He’s not pushing, just a genuine question. Of course he remembers that. You roll your eyes slightly. “I spilled some coffee on the floor yesterday morning and didn’t have time to properly clean it. Sue me for not wanting sticky feet.” You’re unsure why you continue the lie. You could have easily just brushed past it and moved on. Deceit never did feel good on you, but in this moment, your endorphins have come down from your rude awakening and the embarrassment is pushing you to cover it up. “Anyways Chris, what’s up?” Just divert it. You can hear a soft laugh from his end. He seems nervous, and you’re not sure why he is but you’re also nervous. You hope your emotions aren’t seeping through the phone. “Well, I know this is really last minute and I know you take your weekends of rest very seriously, but I was invited to my sister’s opening today, and of course I want to support her, but I’m in one of those… ya’know, moods. I was hoping you could come with me so I can show face and also have you as my trusty support to help get me out of conversations I can’t exactly stomach right now.” His words are rushed and straightforward. Laced with ragged breaths and a few uncomfortable fake laughs. You know this feeling all too well. A yielding plea of someone to hold your hand through something so small and mundane to most but overwhelming and suffocating to others.

You pull the phone far away from your face again to take a long-tremored breath. You didn’t mention to him on purpose that Alex and you signed the divorce papers this week. You know he’d worry about you and at the moment you can’t fathom having his soft eyes and voice trained on you. You’re certain he would have done his best not to make a big deal out of it at your wishes, but his character is not lost on you. “What time is it?” you bring the phone back and ask him. “Right now? Uh, it’s almost noon?” he sounds confused. “No Chris, the event. What time is the event? I haven’t showered today, and I need to know what style to dress in.” You sound exasperated but it’s not at him. “OH! So, you’ll come, yeah? It’s at 1pm. It’s casual and I’ve already gotten ready if you want me to come over and help you pick something out? I figured I’d pick you up anyway. Seeing as you’re doing me a favor and all…” “No no, that’s alright. Just picking me up is fine. Is noon too early for a glass of wine? Don’t answer that. I’ll, uh, just get ready right now and I’ll see you in 40?” You lightened your tone and hope he picks up that you’re fine. He is anywhere far from a burden, and you trust he knows that. “Okay perfect, see you soon. And Y/N? Thank you again. I really do appreciate it…” His voice is soft and deep. Softer than at the beginning of the convo, and the sweetness in it creeps down your chest, willing your heart to unfreeze. Even just for a moment. You nod, brush off his niceties, quickly say your goodbyes and hang up, tossing the phone on your bed. Forty minutes is not nearly enough time to tighten all the red string that’s holding together your expressions or emotions, but you’ll just have to make do. He would do the same for you in a heartbeat. What you do have time for is a glass of wine, a bit of cheese and bread, and a shower.

You pull out a freshly ironed pair of black high waisted trousers, a black belt with a gold buckle, a crisp white crop shirt and a black princess vest style top with ties in the front, paired with black boots. The outfit sits splayed out on your bed, and you sigh, rubbing your face with one hand. The fit is as dark and depressed as you. It's not worth rethinking. What is worth it is the glass of wine you pour and bring into the shower with you. Placing it in your designated ‘wine only’ spot on the top rack of your shampoo holder. You hopped into the shower before the water was a decent temperature, so you back yourself against the tile, letting the water rush in front of you with your head leaned back and eyes closed. Can’t let him see your pain today. It’s a fair assumption to think he might already know. Heard from an acquaintance about the week’s events. People never know how to keep their mouths shut especially when talking about things they have nothing to do with. Or worse, everything to do with. The alarm you set earlier on your phone to give you a timing warning goes off. You scramble a still dry hand out the side of your shower curtain and swipe the off button. Shit, 20 minutes. Truly no time to overthink now. The expensive wine in your cup doesn’t deserve this but you down the rest in one gulp and rush through washing yourself, hoping your hair has the decency to dry nicely on your head without having time to style it properly. By the time you’re dressed, you know he’ll be arriving any minute. Shoot him a quick text saying the door is open and start your make up. He can wait, but the bags under your eyes and the paleness of your skin needs to be dealt with. You hear the front door creak open, “Heyyyyy, I’m here!”

“Just a minute, I’ll be right out!” you yell back. One final swipe of a light mauve lipstick to your lips and a glance at yourself in the long mirror on your bathroom door. One could say you look nice, fresh and ready for the day. However, if they took the time to look in your eyes, like really look into your eyes, they would notice otherwise. As you step out into the living room, he is sat in one of your large emerald armchairs scrolling idlily on his phone, one arm leaned against his knee with his head resting in his palm. His eyes bolt up at once upon you entering, and he stands just as fast. “I’ll go change,” you quip out before turning to head back to your room, but before you can fully turn around one of his strong hands gently catches your arm and pulls you back to look at him. “What? Nooo, it’s fine, it doesn’t matter. You look nice, and I don’t think anyone will care or notice.” He has a big, dimpled smile on his face. You blink a few times to stomach the immediate ease it brings you. You wiggle your arm free and step back to look him up and down, gesturing wildly at him and yourself. “Chris, we are basically matching head to toe.”

He's wearing fitted black slacks with a belt, a fresh white tee with a black button up shirt open and black boots. Topped with one of his favorite hats. It couldn’t be any more identical, but his buckle is silver to match the chain bracelet that sits delicately on his wrist. “I promise you its fine. Our plan is to stay incognito as much as possible. Besides, we’re going to be late.” And before you have time to protest again, he pulls your purse off the hook and opens the door, nodding for you to exit. “You look great. It would be a shame to let that outfit go to waste.” His smile dons his teeth this time, and you can’t help but give him a small smile back while slightly rolling your eyes. “Fine, okay. I hope they have good snacks there.” You grab your purse from him and walk through the door, trusting him to turn the locks on the inside before he shuts it.

⊹ ⋆ ₊❀∿.✧ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮✧∿.❀₊ ⋆ ⊹

The opening went smoothly. A couple rushed glances from him telling you he was at his limit with a certain interaction that you solved deftly with a “Sorry to interrupt, Chris can you show me where the restrooms are?” or “Oh I left my phone in your car, would you mind grabbing it for me? I’m expecting an important phone call.” Giving him reprieve from unwanted questions. He spent a quiet moment with his sister towards the end which left you at a deserted snack table munching on decadent squares of brownies, and crackers perfectly arranged with soft cheese and prosciutto, garnished with a sort of pickled onion. A quiet moment for yourself. You spent your time here closely following his movements and body language. Picking up on the little things people usually wouldn’t notice. His fingers fidgeting with his bracelet. A short shuffle of his shoes, bouncing on one foot to the next. Things you’ve picked up on the years you’ve known him. Little alerts to your mind that he’s in a silent war with himself. 7 years is a long enough time to align yourself with someone’s idiosyncrasies. It especially wasn’t hard for you knowing he shared your same anxieties. You’ve always put each other at ease. In college, pulling the other away from isolating study sessions to take a walk and breathe fresh air. Silently keeping tabs on schedules to leave a favorite sweets or drink on a desk before a daunting exam. It was never implied that it was expected. It was easy. Inevitably when you parted, both off to specialized schools to further your individual career paths it was more than difficult to say goodbye. You weren’t especially far from each other, less than a two hours drive. But eventually the short, happy, safe moments you often shared before were long gone. The hole they left was deeper than you had imagined. You kept in touch during those years apart. Meeting once or twice a month and calling often to check in or distract each other. When you met Alex, however, the meetings slowed to a halt, your attention drawn elsewhere. He was happy for you, understanding your absence and missed calls. You thought you were happy, too.

Your attention is ripped from your thoughts at a soft touch to your lower back, jumping from the contact and almost dropping the last bite of brownie from your hand you turn to see his shocked expression hands up to his sides. “Oh, fucking hell, Chris, you scared me.” Placing your free hand on your chest, you will your heart back into its normal rhythm. His shocked expression turns into an almost gleeful laugh. “I’m so sorry; I thought you heard me call your name.” “I guess I must have been entranced by the flavors of this brownie. Have you tried one yet?” He looks to the quarter piece in your hand and to the table, where the plate that once held the brownies is left barren. “Oh, uh, whoops.” You smile sheepishly and offer the last bite up to his lips. He takes it carefully from your fingers with his teeth, but you don’t miss how his bottom lip drags along one of your fingers for a moment. He closes his eyes as he chews, then they open and crinkle at the corners. “Mm, delicious. Now how about we get the hell out of here and eat something more substantial.” You can tell his eyes are tired and worn down from the social interactions, but the way he looks at you with admiration never changes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

⊹ ⋆ ₊❀∿.✧ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮✧∿.❀₊ ⋆ ⊹

The car ride was comfortably quiet. Both of you relaxing into the gentle hum of the car and nonexistent expectations to be “on” anymore. Shutting your brains off for a moment, taking contented breaths. You agreed that eating at a restaurant would be more than either you could handle now, instead opting to pick up some pizza and go back to your place to unwind before the day’s end. By the time you arrive at your humble apartment, it’s nearly 5pm. You shuffle around in your purse for your keys and swing the door open gesturing for him to enter before you. “Pizza first.” Your lips make a smile out of a thin line. He laughs and dips his head as he walks through the threshold. Closing the door behind you, you hang your purse and kick off your shoes. Turning to see he’s still standing in the entryway, shoes off waiting for your next move. “Go ahead and dig in. I’m gunna go change real quick, this belt is driving me to madness.” You slip past him and make your way to your bedroom. “Do you want to eat at the table or...” “I didn’t skip the restaurant just to sit at an equally uncomfortable chair at home.” You say with a smirk over your shoulder as you enter your bedroom. As soon as your feet hit the cold tile of the bathroom, you’re reminded of your morning long forgotten since you kept your mind busy focusing on Chris’s needs today. Thinking of how you were planning on spending the day quite literally rotting on the couch by yourself - if anyone knew how to keep you from yourself, it would be him.

You fuss with your buckle and pull the belt from your pants in one swoop, coiling it up and setting it on the bathroom counter. Whether or not he knows about the finalization of the divorce papers, you’re not sure. If he does, he’s fantastic at hiding it. Could he have pulled you to this event on purpose? To keep your mind busy when he knows you need it the most. It’s not unlike him to predict what you need before you know it yourself. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you stand still, frozen for a moment, evaluating your indistinct expression. The way you’re sure your shoulders don’t stand as tall as they used to. How your favorite pair of pants digs ever so slightly tighter on your hips. Your eyes glaze over at the silent judgment in your head, and you spot your trusty shower wine glass sitting empty in its space. That certainly needs tending too. Never mind your doom and gloom right now. You quickly undress and throw on a comfortable, plain t-shirt, some black biking shorts and grab your empty glass heading back into the living room. “Ah, there you are.” He beams up at you from his favorite spot on your couch tucked into the left corner, legs up and crisscrossed under his body. The table has two plates, each with 3 slices of pizza barely fitting except one plate, your plate, has a dollop of ranch squeezed onto one side. In front of your plate is a wine glass filled halfway and in front of his sits an unopened beer. “Beat me to it,” you smirk at him and jiggle the empty glass in your hand. He pats the empty cushion next to him – “Least I could do.”

You slide past him and flop down in your seat, setting down your empty cup, grabbing the full glass of wine and taking a long sip. “You did good today. How’s your sister? I only got a quick moment to say hi to her.” He pops the top of his beer off and clinks your glass before taking a swig and sighs, staring up at the blank wall above your TV. Fiddling with the paper label on the bottle. “She’s great. Like usual. I’m really proud of her. Being able to open a second store was never in her plans but she excels at everything.” He sighs again and takes another sip, places his beer on the table and leans back on the couch. That’s all he really wants to say, and you can tell. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about her or that he’s not actually proud, because he is. You’re aware of the pressure he puts on himself. By no means is he doing bad in his career. His life. But you're not the type to assume everything is fine just because things seem to be in order on the surface. You silently place a hand on his knee that’s closest to you and give him a patient smile. His eyes fall to your hand, and he reaches out to grab your fingertips, giving them a quick squeeze. “Eat your pizza before it gets any colder.” His turn for diversion.

You both tuck into the pizza while mindlessly scrolling through a streaming app to find something to watch. Landing on an old classic comedy you’ve both seen a hundred times and could probably recite the lines. The bottle of wine found a spot on your coffee table, nearly empty by now. And you had no intention to stop there. 

It was unlike Chris to drink more than a beer or two. Tonight, after the three beers that were left in your fridge from the last time you had a few people over, he popped a second bottle of wine and poured himself a glass along with topping yours off. To others there would be some concern. To you, nothing but a friend needing a little extra help in the quiet your mind department. However it wasn’t working as well for you this evening. Feet propped up on an ottoman next to the coffee table, your body insisted on sinking heavier and heavier into the cushions. Seeking to be enveloped. Pulled down between cracks where the dust bunnies and, likely, a forgotten hair pin lived. 

You can tell he’s feeling better. Laughing almost a little too loudly at jokes he’s heard before. Lips permanently parted in a delicate contentedness. Hands locked behind his head, leaning back, legs stretched out and spread before him. Relaxed. Comfortable. Seeing him this way makes you feel guilty. As if he should be somewhere else, with someone happier.

Someone who could really help him feel better. Who could hug him tightly without letting their own shadow creep over him. The wine was making your head fuzzy, but where it would usually quiet your emotions, they seem to swirl in your lower belly sticking to anything with purchase. You weren’t upset about the divorce in a common sense. Yes, you had loved Alex, but the stability and togetherness were something you craved the most. It’s not hard to tell yourself now why you latched onto him and the idea so quickly. You were simply afraid of being alone after you and Chris had stopped being so close. Something you’ve never admitted out loud but are aware that your ex-husband surmised after just a few short years of being married.

Sitting here now, next to him, smelling his familiar cologne, hearing his laughter and feeling that easy tranquility that comes with your relationship. It should be enough. So why do you feel this way?

Your eyes sting and your throat tightens as you stare down at your empty glass. Willing the tears back in with an iron grasp on the glass stem in your hand. “Hey hey hey, what’s going on here?” he coos at your side, and before you can turn your head to face away from him, you’re pulled across the cushion to rest your head on his lap. He removes the empty glass from your hand and places it on the table, then lays one hand on your shoulder while the other gently strokes your hair. Something he knows well will help ease you. You sink down into him and squeeze your eyes shut, covering them with the hand that’s not lodged beneath your body. “I figured I’d wait ‘til you brought it up,” he says delicately above you. “Your sister texted me Thursday. Said she was worried about you but wouldn’t tell me why. As I expect you told her not to,” he rakes through the bangs obscuring the view of the hand covering your face and traces a finger over your pointer that’s resting over your eyebrow. “We don’t have to talk about it, but I wish you would have told me.” He sighs lightly.

Your hand frees from your face and balls in front of you placed on his knee - “What is there to tell, Chris? We all knew it was going to happen. I mean, we’ve been living apart for almost 6 months now. All we did was sign the papers and finalize the results of our shitty decisions.” The tears have made their way out, and they seep onto his nice slacks. A physical example of you spreading your disease.

“I didn’t want you to worry about me.” Your fist unclenches and falls palm up on the couch in front of you.

He hums in understanding. “You’re aware that I always worry about you, right?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” You flip your body around onto your back to look up at him.

“How long have you been doing that? Worrying about me? Your career is taking off, no matter how much you want to downplay that, along with Felix joining your company. You’ve moved back closer to your family, which I know pained you to be so far away, and I heard from Changbin last month that Lisa asked to give it another shot. Why do you insist on always keeping tabs on me?”

You shoot up from your place in his lap and turn your body to face him. The tears that were streaming have crawled their way back up as your mind races with confusion and misplaced anger. “You have so much to look forward to, Chris. We’re not stupid college kids anymore. It just doesn’t make sense to me how you continue to give a shit about this sorry sack of shit sitting in front of you.” You sigh and close your eyes rubbing at them with your fingertips. FUCK. You know he doesn’t deserve this, and you’re not even sure why you felt the need to say any of that. In its essence, your friend is just doing what friends do. Being there for each other. For some reason, though, his care always felt different than anyone else’s.

You know why it felt that way for you. But even after so many years, you never let the thought fully develop.

“Are you done?” His hand pulls yours away from your face, and he’s switched his position on the couch to face you. He tilts his head forward and locks eyes with you, his expression a look of ‘now was that really necessary?’ with a small smirk on his lips. “Do you feel like you need a reason for me to care? Did you have a good reason to drop whatever plans you had today to come help me out at my sister’s event?” His eyebrows knit together. You know these are rhetorical questions. You let a breath escape you and lull your head to the side, staring at the empty space between you two on the couch. My reason was ‘it’s you.’ I’d do anything for you. You keep this thought locked tight and away from his ears. “No matter how much I feel like I’m trying to help you I feel like it will never be enough. Or the good kind. The kind that actually helps. I think I’m stunted.” You bring your arm up on the back of the couch and bend it, laying your face in the crook of your elbow. An arm comes out, and his soft hand connects with your back as he rubs small circles between your shoulder blades. It’s been a while since you had prolonged contact with him, and it feels good. You’ve spent a decent amount of time together over the last year but typically just brunches turned into lunches, or him dropping off food to your house for dinner making sure both of you eat well. You still your body and whisper a selfish silent prayer in your head that he doesn’t stop.

“I've never seen any problems with how you care. If I were to look back at the receipts, I'd say 99.9% of all your attempts were successful.” It’s apparent he’s saying this through a smile. You don’t lift your head but mumble into your limb, “And the other .1%?” “Remember that time in our third year at university I was upset my roommate had to move out, and you bought that insane painting from the vintage shop of that lady with a really long neck to put up on his side of the room and keep me company? I still have nightmares about her, I swear." His hand stops its movement on your back while he’s recollecting the painting. Your head pops back up to make eye contact, a mock look of shock on your face. “I thought she was pretty and elegant!” “Her eyes staring off into the distance... or was she looking at you? What was she looking at? Why was her neck so… long...?" he ponders, letting his eyes glaze over while glancing over your shoulder to solidify his point.

The tightness in your chest breaks way to a full belly laugh. Catching him off guard and prompting him to join in the fit. Both of your incessant giggling bouncing off the walls together. “You’re ridiculous you know that?” You say as your hysterics subside, gently slapping his knee. Your bodies had both shifted closer to each other on the cushions during your laughter, and your anxieties have settled again. Safe. Easy. Staring down and fiddling with the hem of your shirt mindlessly, you hum out your comfort. “Bug?” He whispers his silly nickname out for your attention. Still with a half-smile on your face, eyes downcast, picking at a string that should not be meddled with, you respond, “Yeah?” You wait a few moments for a question or statement, but the air stays silent. “Wha-…” Your words are cut off by a clashing of lips. His hand on your cheek guiding you up to face him, his plush lips firm but slightly off mark from aligning directly with yours. Your eyes widen and a hand flies up to catch his wrist. A small but not unwelcome spark flits up your lower back as you start to register what’s occurring. Then the realization fully develops.

Your stomach flips in a somersault. First down to the bottom where it feels alive and floating, prickling the tops of your thighs; then up to your throat where it sticks and tries to strangle you from the inside out. A panic settles there. You pull his hand away from your face and throw yourself up onto your feet as if something just burned you. Confusion and guilt paints his face as his hands both come up to run through his soft, dark brunette hair. One of your hands finds your lips as you turn and pad around to the front of the coffee table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” He turns his body to sit straightforward in his spot, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped and not ready to make eye contact. You stare at the top of his head. Brain running as fast as the wine and confusion will allow. That couldn’t have been real. That was in your head, right? His posture says otherwise.

“Please Bug, can we just…will you let me say something?” His eyes come up to meet yours finally. Pleading and looking like he could have just been slapped across the face. Or stabbed in the back by somebody he loves. His eyes cut right through your fog, and you snap back into place. Moving shakily, you grab both your empty wine glasses off the table and make your way to the kitchen, nearly speed walking. Opening the dishwasher and placing them both in, then closing it. He doesn’t follow, and you take a few deep breaths in the open space of your kitchen. A few questions strike you particularly hard in this moment of clarity. 

Where did that come from? 

Did you miss something? 

Does this mean something more than a stupid drunk mistake? You’re certain he didn’t drink that much. Sure, a little more than usual, but 4 drinks are not nearly enough for him to be that far removed from himself. Was that pity? And most importantly,

Why did you stop it?

Every point your mind tries to make, every conclusion to your questions only fuels a deep self-deprecation as you toss around the information in your head. No matter the answer your mind revolts. Unaccepting of any critical thinking.

Sleep. You both just need sleep. This is the only rational thing you can accept. You decide quickly and round the corner back into the living room, stopping just short of the hallway to the rest of your home. “You can stay in the guest bedroom. The blanket that’s usually on the bed is folded and in the closet on the shelf. Just uhm…never mind. I’m… I’m sorry.” Your eyes prickle as you see him still in the same spot, only now his head is in his hands. “Please don’t leave me yet,” he asks earnestly. Low, as if coming from a wounded dog. You couldn’t stay right now. None of the words that would come out of your mouth would make any sense. In fact, you’re scared of what you might say. Selfish. You’re being selfish. Whatever led him to do what he did; his reaction to your abrupt shock, he deserves something from you. “Chris, it’s fine, I just…think we need some sleep,” you lie to him again today. You know neither of you will be getting any sleep, just a few steps from each other’s beds in your little apartment. He sighs into his hands and lifts his head from them, looking forward at the TV screen, long since forgotten, its screensaver bright and cheery, bouncing soft blues and pinks off his features.

You twist the front of your shirt in your hands and bite the inside of your cheek. He looks defeated, and you’re worried that you’re the reason. Five minutes ago, he was doing everything he could to make you smile and be nice to yourself. To help you. As you said to yourself earlier, you knew you would do nothing but hurt whoever tried. There is no other choice now; you just need to turn and walk away. “Goodnight.” You say under your breath and make the move towards your bedroom, taking a quick look out of the corner of your eyes at the barren guest room. Filled only with a bed, one nightstand and a standing lamp in the corner. It feels cruel to send him into the cold like that tonight. You hadn’t had any time to plan or decorate it all that much. No physical hobbies you brought from your old house with your ex to don the walls or fill shelves. Just as empty as you felt day after day. Your room had more warmth at least. More than you deserved tonight. The lamp next to your bed is clicked on already, casting a soft orange glow over your bed. The clothes you wore earlier were thrown hastily toward your hamper in the corner of your room and your white cropped t-shirt sits crumpled on the ground in front of it.

You grab it and toss it properly into the bin then pull your comforter back slipping under its fine and delicate fabric. You pull it up to your chin, curling in on yourself on your side and sinking as far as you can manage into the mattress.

Sleep. You tell yourself again. It’s what you both need.

⊹ ⋆ ₊❀∿.✧ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮✧∿.❀₊ ⋆ ⊹

The minutes to hours clicked by like thick mud descending a slope. By the time the clock next to your bed reads 3:04 AM, you knew you weren’t getting any sleep. Your body at this point buzzing with anxiety, eyes forcing themselves open despite your protests. Trying to force yourself not to think was impossible. You practice the tricks you’ve learned from years of meditation. Lying on your back focusing all your might and energy to release the tension one limb at a time. Starting at your jaw where the anger was, down to your shoulders where sadness hung, through the hot veins in your arms and out your fingertips where the anxiety lies. Nothing would stop the never-ending cycle of guilt. You tried to drown everything out by zeroing in on the sound of the ceiling fan above your head. Instead, your ears searched for any sound of him moving around. You’d hoped that he was able to sleep, unlike you. Wished for him peaceful oblivion from the uncomfortable position you both were in. You hear the hall bathroom door click shut and see the light from under the door illuminating the hardwood flooring of the hallway.

Seems his night is no different from yours. What could he have possibly told you that would have made sense of his actions earlier?

Is it impossible for you to think he might…love you? Even after all these years of seeing what a natural disaster you are? You let the thought cascade down your body like a warm sunset over a mountain. You’ve had this thought throughout your life many times in many different ways. Too bizarre to be true. Chris, in all his wholesome, thoughtful actions. Putting the needs of others above himself. Letting himself get pushed and pulled by people like you into dim light. Giving, giving, giving. 

And you, a taker. Taking people’s soft looks and touches. Drawing out their pity. Unintentionally, truly. You just seem to bring out the nurturing parts of people when they look at your frail state. Despite doing your best not to. Trying to strive, to do well. Make people proud and not show how desperate you are to keep your head above water.

Could this be one of those moments? Did he just want to make you feel better and not continue to watch you suffer in silence? What would be the goal if this was what he was trying to accomplish. One night of heat and passion to keep your mind busy? He’s just not the type. Thinking this of him makes your stomach turn and guilt pang in your chest. The toilet flushes and you hear the sink turn on. The familiar rush of icy water from the tap. The light dims in the hallway and the door clicks open, followed by his padding footsteps to the guest room. There could be a reality in which you took his words at face value. Whatever he did want to tell you. Honoring the trust built between you. Why instead do you insist that you’re underserving of it? His trust. His love. Determined to continue lying to yourself, pretending you didn’t wish it was Chris who held you when you were stressed after work. Who wiped your tears when a loved one passed. It’s possible you could do the same for him.

Your mind focuses back on the sounds of the house. There’s some rustling coming from the guest room. He might have drifted back to sleep.

You have two choices. Spend the rest of your night ignoring all these thoughts and feelings, essentially leaving him on a proverbial ‘read’ until tomorrow morning where you would surely share an awkward goodbye. Or… just talk to him.

There’s a 50/50 chance he is still awake in his room. What’s the harm in trying?

Your adrenaline picks up as you make the decision. Sitting up and ripping your comforter off your body, swinging your legs over the side standing up quickly. If you don’t move your feet now, you’re scared you won’t make it to the guest room. Just go. Getting to the hallway was a feat in itself, and you slow your steps as you reach the corner of the door. It’s sitting halfway open, and the room is softly lit. The lamp in the corner of the room turned down to its lowest setting. Your nerves catch up to you as you plan on either peaking around the corner or calling in to see if he answers. If you call for him and he’s sleeping, then you’ll wake him from well-deserved slumber. If you peek around and he’s awake, he might see you, and you’ll have no choice but to confront the situation. If you peek and he’s asleep, then you may have a chance to save you from yourself, just grab a glass of water and take yourself back to bed. “Just come in already.” You hear him say.

His voice startles you from your thoughts, and a gasp escapes you. He must have heard your erratic footsteps coming to a halt right before the door. Maybe he’s been listening for you too. Shame covers your brow as you poke your head around the corner to see him sitting up in bed, leaning back against a pillow and the headboard. His shirt is off, and the dim light from the lamp curls around his muscles, forming rich curves and indents immediately muddling your thoughts.

You swallow harshly. “Uh, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t sleep, and I heard you get up a little bit ago. I was just going to grab myself some water, do you want some?” An excuse but not technically a lie. God, I'm pathetic.

“Sure.” He nods, his smile is weak and appeasing. Clearly letting you take the lead in this dance.

You take the opportunity gladly, making your way down the hallway and into the kitchen. Using it again as a spot to gather your thoughts. You grab two tall glasses from your cupboards and fill your cups from the fridge filter. Just let him talk. Listen to him, not yourself.

Stilling your shaking hands, you trail back into the hallway and don’t let yourself stop at the door frame this time. However, you don’t dare come around to his side of the bed, seeing him up close right now in his ‘state’ would fizzle out whatever common sense you had left. You don’t make eye contact, but you can feel his eyes follow you around the bed to the opposite side and sit uncomfortably on the edge shoving your hand out to pass him the water. Taking a long sip from your own and visibly trying to settle your nerves. Being nervous around him is not something you’re used to anymore. In college when you first started hanging out, sure, meeting thanks to your mutual friend Felix, you realized early that he might possibly be one of the most beautiful and kind people you had ever encountered. But you had also decided early on you did not deserve him. Despite how quickly he gravitated towards you. And you to him.

He doesn’t seem nervous right now though, and that confuses you more than anything. He takes the cup from you and takes a small sip, sitting it on the nightstand next to him only briefly taking his eyes off you to make sure it lands on the coaster. You can sense he’s waiting for you to start the conversation, ever the patient man. “I’m… I’m sorry about earlier” is all you can manage right now. Regardless of his resolve to clearly let you take the lead here, you’re lost for words and whatever you manage to think, it’s next to impossible to try and voice them. “Why do you keep saying sorry?” His voice is a little hoarse. The question catches you off guard, and you finally look up from the cup in your hands to meet his eyes. “Because… I don’t know. I just am.” Easier to be vague. His hair is curled and ruffled on his head, making him look soft and almost resemblant to the boyish charm he held back in the day. He doesn’t speak again. His face shows he’s not happy with your answer. “I’m sorry for who I am as a person. I’m sorry I always tend to make situations worse in my personal life. I’m sorry I always make the people in my life suffer from my actions.” The words come out quick and despairing. He sighs and hangs his head, shaking it.

"I’d like to think I’ve never given you the impression that you've made me feel this way towards you.” He puts his hands on the bed to shuffle his body straighter which slightly reveals the top of his black Calvin Klien boxers peeking up over the blanket that rests on his legs. You avert your eyes and stare back down at your water. Maybe a cup of chamomile would have been better. “I can’t help right now if I don’t know what you’re thinking.” He tilts his head to try and bring your focus back up to him. “I don’t know what to think right now, Chris.” It’s true. Your head is full to the brim with thoughts but none of them feel worth sharing. “Just give me anything. The first thought that pops up in your head.” It’s apparent he may not know where to start either. “Why?” 

A simple word. It shoots out of you quicker than you imagined it would. You know it’s not an easy question to answer. But it’s the word that prefaces all the questions you’ve made yourself suffer through the entire sleepless night.

His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. He seems at a loss for words just as you. He ponders for a moment before shifting nervously. “Did you not want me too?” “That’s not an answer to my question.” He sighs and his arms come up and behind his head to grab the headboard, leaning his head back and directing his eyes up at the ceiling. You’re not making this easy on him, but you could say the same. You suppose you could make the question clearer, add context. “Why did you want to?” You’re both grown adults. But this conversation seems more difficult than trying to explain to a parent why their favorite vase sits in pieces on the floor. “It felt like it was time.” His arms come back down, and his eyes meet yours, filled to the brim with sincerity. You shake your head. Irritation trying to make its way forward. You pull both legs up on the bed sitting on your knees completely facing him. Hands still gripped tight around the glass of water in your hands.

“It was time for what, Chris? That doesn’t make it any clearer.” The frustration is plain in your voice and directing it at him feels wrong, yet the voice of reason in your head is not paying any attention. He repositions himself to face you dead on, just as you were earlier. “Our entire conversation on the couch was centered around you, in some sort of wild disbelief, that I care deeply for you. Has it not been apparent over the past, I don’t know, seven, almost eight years that caring for you is not a burden to me? That seeing you sad or stressed or angry pains me to my core? And I know I can’t just take that away from you; I can’t tell it to stop or will it away. But could you at least give me the chance to try and protect you from it? From letting you beat yourself up behind closed doors. Or at the very least let me hold your hand when it all gets too much, just as you would for me?” His words rush past you in a haze. You can’t seem to move, but your hands begin to shake again and your chin quivers. It’s typical of him to know exactly what you need to hear. Nonetheless that unyielding, rattling voice in the crawl space of your mind does what it does best and tries to beat down any accepting thoughts.

He moves closer to you, grabs the cup from your hand and reaches back to set it next to his on the nightstand. His strong hands maneuver your body to sit more comfortably on the open side of the bed, and you let him. Guiding you to rest the side of your body, head against the free pillow to his left and the headboard. Pulling the blanket that was once wrapped around his body up over both your legs and gently clasps your hands in his. He takes a few moments to let you adjust to your new position. Tears welling in the corner of your eyes not yet making their escape. He sits cross-legged in front of you. And you finally let your eyes focus on his striking features. The look on his face the very epitome of being free from pretense or judgement. You clear your throat as his thumbs rub small circles over the tops of your hands. “Is there a world in which I could make you believe me?” He asks. His monologue had shell shocked you. You know he cares for you just as you do him. Hearing it said so plainly and to a deeper extent was not at all what you were expecting. Still, caring deeply for someone and being physical are not mutually exclusive. It still doesn’t explain why…

“It’s not that I don’t believe you Chris. I just don’t understand why. And I care about you too. It’s not a secret that I’d drop just about anything to help you if you’d need it, but I know my reasonings. And still what you said doesn’t explain at all why you would– about the…” Your words trail off. Your lips unsure of the confidence of saying it out loud. “The kiss?” His lips press together, and his eyebrows slightly raise, like he knew it would be hard for you to say. Your face heats and your cheeks turn a light shade of rose. Your mind finally registering that your hands are lightly placed in his. His hands grip a little tighter as if on instinct he knew you might pull away. He’s not wrong. The flush that’s running down your neck into your chest is screaming at you to abort physical contact no matter how good it feels. “Look, Bug; I know things have been a lot lately. In hindsight, the timing for that move might not have been perfect. But I don’t know how much longer I can wait for you to come to your senses.”  There’s a smirk on his lips that begs you to fall in line and understand what he’s trying to say. However, you’re too stubborn for that. “What are you trying to say, Chris?”  Your eyes are like saucers. Big and round. He chuckles in feigned exasperation, his eyes pinched shut accentuated with a big, dimpled smile. He shakes it off and looks up at you through his eye lashes. Sudden sincerity clearly in his expression.

“The year following your marriage to Alex was probably one of the hardest years of my life. It felt like I was mourning. And in a sense, I was. I had lost the last viable chance I thought I had in this life to make you finally see me. You were gone. Out of reach forever.” “I didn’t go anywhere. We’ve still been in each other’s lives...” “I know. I know. I knew we’d still be friends just as we always were. I could call you when I needed to hear your voice. Or meet for lunch when not seeing you every day became such a miserable thought in my mind. I don’t think you realize how many times just a simple voicemail from you, snarky and annoyed that I didn’t answer your call, saved me. Made me smile and laugh when I was unsure if I could dig myself out of a hole that I made for myself.”

“Laughing at my annoyed voicemails. Interesting.” You narrow your eyes in pretend irritation, trying to hide a sly smile from your lips. He leans back and huffs out a breath with a smile on his face, shaking your hands together back and forth. “My point is!” He lets go of your hands and cards his hands through his hair, ruffling the front a bit to sit how he’d like it to on his forehead. You let your eyes dance around his flexed muscles more freely this time. His hands fall back into his lap, and he takes a deep breath, fidgeting with his bracelet on his wrist. This time, you reach one hand out and pull his hand away from its busy work and cup his hand between both of yours. You stare down at them folded together. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone in my life that is more deserving of my attention and care…” He says softly and exhales slowly, 

“Or love.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you close your eyes. A familiar sting behind them. You feel his free hand brush past your cheek with his knuckles and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear landing to cup your chin. “Y/N, look at me, please.” You’re afraid to open your eyes because surely the tears will fall. But you let him raise your head, suck in a slow breath and slowly open them. His eyes are trained on yours, earnest and full of adoration. The foundational nature of a kindness one is born into the world with. A simple tear falls from your right eye, and he swipes it with his thumb. “Will you let me show you? Will you let me help fight the thoughts that tell you you’re not?” “Chris, I…” And before you can finish your sentence you’re pulled into his lap. Rounded up into his toned bare chest and cocooned inside his arms. With your seat between his open legs and yours laid across one of his thighs, you curl your arms into your chest with one hand splayed hesitantly on the side of his lower neck and your head tucked beneath his chin. The fantasy of it all sounds like a dream. You let yourself feel it. A world in which his devotion focuses on you. Where you don’t have to imagine yourself without him. One where when you inevitably fall in a pit you’ve created for yourself, and he is there to catch you. He says he wants to show you how you deserve that kind of protection.

But does he deserve what little you have to give? It's plain to see what his intentions are. Even with his arms wrapped tightly around you, the feeling of being frail and frozen inside is still deep within you. Of course, he could make you feel safe and perhaps even truly loved. But at what cost to him?

“What if I can’t be enough for you? If I can’t give you what you deserve?” It comes out of you so small. So weak. Like a tiny branch, not yet ready to hold up the season’s first fresh ripe apple. “Whaddya mean? Was that not you today? My knight in shining black boots, rescuing me from fumbling over my words in countless conversations today at the opening? I think you forget just how strong you can be.” One of his hands that’s resting on your side lightly raps on your ribs eliciting a small yelp and squirm from you.

You pull your head up to look him into the eyes, “If you tickle me right now, I swear to god I will get up and leave this room, Christopher.”

He laughs and tucks your head back under his chin then rocks you both back and forth a few times before settling with one arm still wrapped tightly around you and his other hand on the back of your head.

“You only brought me there to busy me.” You’re back to talking quietly. Body heat is radiating off him. One of your arms is pressed tightly between your side and his defined abs. Your always cold skin, pulling the warmth from his body to put life into yours. “I think it can be described as a win-win.” He pushes his fingers through your hair to massage your scalp in slow circles. “You know it’s been hard for me lately. Hannah’s success has nothing to do with me but, my five-year plan isn't exactly going as well as I'd hoped it would.” Sighing deeply, he strokes your hair. Combing his fingers through and setting the wavy strands back into place after tussling them from his services.You use a finger to lightly trace a small infinity symbol on the skin of his arm that’s directly in your line of sight - “Finish college, move back home, start your business then watch it grow. It seems like it’s going just about as good as I recall you telling me about.”

His deep breath in and out shifts your body,

“To fall in love again,” he says in a whisper.

Your finger stops moving.

“That was part of it too, but I guess I found it hard to tell you. It’s not the easiest to tell the person you’re in love with that you hope you’ll eventually get over them and find someone else.” His hand that was on your head comes down to lock around his wrist caging you in against him again. The last time you spoke about your ‘five-year plans’ was a little over a year into your marriage to Alex. Chris had just bought his first office space, and you remember him calling you absolutely beaming through the phone about it. You laughed together and gave congratulations. The conversation didn’t seem somber to you then. “I really need you to know something, Chris.” You wrap your small fingers around his arm as far as they can reach, and squeeze lightly.

He picks his chin off from the top of your head and pulls back to try and look you in the eyes, but you stop him and pull him back against you. Unable to let his soft eyes waver your resolve to not cry in this moment.

“I really loved you.” You pause to steady yourself before continuing.

“I was sure that after we parted ways and went to different schools, I’d never find someone who could make me feel so safe. Someone who could help me not feel so isolated. I was scared, Chris. Talking to you on the phone, seeing you when we could spare the time, truly grounded me. But the loneliness, the inaccessibility, the inability to reach out to you whenever I felt like I couldn’t even stand on my own two feet… it wore me down…” A breath stutters out from you, and your throat begins to tighten. You can feel your stupid lip start to quiver despite clenching your teeth as hard as you can for a moment. He loosens his arms ever so slightly when he feels you readjust your weight. “I could have told you.” You continue. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you. You can’t convince me that if I did tell you that you wouldn’t have dropped everything to come to me. You would have put a hold on your dreams to protect me from whatever nightmare I caused for myself. And that’s dumb, Chris. That’s really really dumb and selfish of me.” “Y/N, I could’ve-”

“No, you know it’s true. So instead, I did the only thing I thought would help relieve you from the burden and tried to find someone else. And…and all it ended up doing is hurt you even more. No matter how I try, I just continue to salt your wound or push you away.” The resolve you had finally crumbles, and you can feel the hot rush of tears begin their descent down your cheek. You can sense his panic start to set in as his arms unclasp themselves and hastily find their way to your head, fussing with the hair that’s draped around your face, pushing it away over your shoulders. Both hands find your cheeks, and he holds your head in his hands and forces you to look at him. Your hands scramble up to cover your face, but he’s quick to move them out of the way with his arms. Letting them fall limp in your lap you acquiesce to his desire to meet eye to eye.

“Do you still love me?” His eyebrows are knitted together, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious before. His brown eyes are so deep, the question filling the pool to the brim. Your hands reach up again and grab his wrists. Eyes blinking rapidly to force your tears to stop blurring your vision. “Chris, we-“ “Do you love me, Y/N?” His thumbs brush a few stray tears from the apple of each of your cheeks and he studies your face again. His gaze moving from one eye to the other. You pinch your eyes shut for a moment, scrunching your face tight. Then you let it go lax, let a deep breath out through your nose, and open your eyes to lock with his. “I always will.” All at once, the tension and worry in his face gives way as his eyes soften and his lips part. His hands move slowly, pushing any stray hairs that were fighting in your favor to cover your face back behind your ears. They proceed downwards until his fingers are delicately at the back of your neck and his thumbs rub softly on your jawline. A gentle smile paints his soft lips. “You really made me fight for that, didn’t you?” He says through his smile and a light chuckle.

You huff out an annoyed laugh and begin to roll your eyes, as soon as they shut, you feel his heated lips press to your forehead. They stay there as he breaths out. He repeats the kiss a few more times as your hands let go of his wrists and make their way around his waist. Wrapping your arms tight around him, letting the affection spill from his lips.

⊹ ⋆ ₊❀∿.✧ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮✧∿.❀₊ ⋆ ⊹

Warmth spreads across the back of your legs before you can see the reason behind it. It stirs you in a nice way. Your hand comes up and runs through your hair, brushing stray pieces away from your face. Lungs fill deeply, slowly and steadily as you muster the courage to peek your eyes open. The dark blue curtains covering your window are halfway open. Letting a spill of late morning light fall through and onto the lower half of your body. Rolling onto your back you stretch all your limbs out at once in a starfish, wiggling your fingers and toes. You must have slept almost 10 hours. Eyes finally closing around midnight last night and waking naturally this morning when your body was ready. It’s in no rush despite the eagerness you have for the day.

You grab your phone and check your notifications. A few emails, a couple of social media posts from some of your favorite artists and 5 text messages. The digital clock says 10:03 AM but that doesn’t bother you. Your thumb pulls down the bar and sees the sender names of the texts waiting for you. One reads your sister’s name and the other says Chris.

You start with your sister’s. Three messages came in between 1 AM to a few minutes after 3 AM. 

Why weren’t you going to tell me this show was going to make me cry. DANG IT Y/N I CAN’T BE SOBBING LIKE THIS AT 3AM. 

Oh, thank God. The ending was fine. You are forgiven.

You giggle at your phone and type out a response:

If I would have told you, you wouldn’t have watched it. But you liked it didn’t you!

You hit the back button and click on Chris. Both messages came in around 8:30 AM.

The first message is an image. You click on the photo to make it bigger and smile. It’s a selfie of him sitting on the back porch of his parents’ house, his dog Berry sitting in his lap. You can tell he’s giving her good scratches because her eyes are closed and she’s leaning her little head into his hand. His smile is wide and bright. The dimple on the right side of his face prominent and tender.

You click the bottom left button on the screen and save the image to your phone then you click out and scroll to see the message underneath. Berry says Goooood morning! I do too of course. Can’t wait for later, hehehe ^_^ You scroll back up and look at the picture again for a few moments. Your smile deepens and you bite your lower lip clicking into the reply spot. Good morning to Berry and her loyal ear scratcher <3 Me too, see you at 4! You hit send and roll onto your side placing your phone back on the nightstand. You have quite a few hours to get ready and not too much cleaning to do. A nervousness swirls through your stomach but not in a bad way. You lay for a while, thinking and blinking at the rays of light shimmering through the window. It's been a month since you’ve seen Chris. By your own decision. That fateful night, before you fell asleep in his arms, you told him you needed some time to rearrange your thoughts. He of course accepted this, patience is his middle name. He told you he had already waited years and would wait more if he had to.

You didn’t need years to answer the question. The thought alone is simple enough. “Will you let me?” Can you, will you be able to let him love you? Spending years telling yourself and believing that you’re not deserving of it can’t be rewired overnight. Or even over a few weeks. But the beginning of the process must start with you. Will you love yourself enough to accept his love?

What is the condition one must be in to relinquish control over your emotions and let someone else bring your feelings out of you? What you knew for certain was that you were not yet in that state. Hard boiled and stagnant. Walls placed brick by brick around you with exceptionally frail edges.

Pushing the sheet off, you place your feet on the cold hardwood and stand slowly, stretching your arms up above your head, twisting your back to the left and right to smooth out any soft aches. You recall one of the emails in your phone telling you a package had arrived early this morning, find your way out to the living room, and twist the locks to open the front door.

A tall, thin cardboard box sits up against the wall to the side of your door. Excitedly, you slip your sandals on and step out to retrieve it. It’s not heavy in the slightest, you knew it wouldn’t be, but it still surprises you when you lift it so easily. You make your way back inside and push the door closed with your foot, heading straight to the guest bedroom. Placing the box on the bed you open the drawer of the desk in the corner of the room to grab a pair of scissors and start opening it up. Carefully you cut the bubble wrap and pull the painting out. The watercolors grab your vision at once. Every shade of green imaginable. Dark and rich at the forefront, light and feathery towards the top. A landscape of the treetops, of a deep vast forest with a soft mist of fog dipping in between the layers of Redwoods. A vision of home. You had already measured and prepared for its arrival, so you step up onto the bed and fix the painting onto the hooks. Easing back down onto your knees you back up until you reach the bottom of the bed and look up at your new art. It fits perfectly above the headboard and between the tall bookshelves at each side of the bed.

What is self-reflection? was a thought you had many times these few last weeks. What does it look like to move forward? To see yourself make progress and evolve past your former predispositions. It was clear to you that you didn’t have a clue.

The first week after that night you spent every hour at work and at home racking your brain to figure out your plan. Picking apart each negative thought you’ve had about yourself to see if you could find its source and snuff it out. It went nowhere. You spent hours reading articles and motivational books on self-care. All it did was make you feel silly. Out of touch with guides and steps to take.

You weren’t sure if you could call this a deep depression. You had been there before, and it didn’t quite look like this. You spoke with your family and friends often. You loved your job and took pride in your work. Cleaning your home and making dinner weren’t your favorite things to do, but they never truly were in the first place.

It was more of a wrong turn your brain had taken a long time ago. And continued to make for a long time. Set on a track headed for a cliff you knew was coming but never reached. The anxiety building and building but never falling off the edge.Halfway into the second week, you laid flat on your back on the bed in the guest bedroom. Frustrated with yourself and your inability to see the path before you. See the steps you were sure you needed to take. Fresh tears quietly and slowly making their way down your face and onto the baren bed below you. Your phone buzzed next to your head interrupting your thoughts.

A text message from Chris. A habit of his always seeming to know, even when you’re not around each other or haven’t spoken to each other, that you were silently suffering. Wiping the tears away, you pulled your phone in front of you and opened the message.

I saw this pretty thing today and thought of you. I hope you have space on your walls for a new friend.

Attached was an image of his hand holding a small square frame with a dry-preserved Atlas Moth pinned beneath the glass. The beauty and the irony were not lost on you. It was then that you knew you didn’t have to worry so much about what it looked like to move forward.

If you could let yourself enjoy the feelings he gave to you, it would be enough for now. 

The work you wanted to do on yourself would move along with him there beside you. There was no strategy to this. To love. For oneself or for another. The two things weren’t mutually exclusive. You had to take a step back and look at yourself as he would look at you. As anyone would. At the end of the day, you were just as deserving of love as anyone else was. You could say this to a friend or a family member but had a hard time saying it to yourself. 

Instead, you turned your focus to the guest bedroom you were laying in. Walls untouched. Void of color and warmth. You were never one to call yourself a minimalist. The room itself became a metaphor for your unwillingness to let Chris shine brightly the way he wants to for you.

Now sitting here in the bed scanning the room around you, it felt inviting.

You placed each object in the room with care. Bookshelves filled with some of your favorite authors and even a few rows of comic books and old video game cartridges. Shelves on the walls stacked with antique knickknacks that made you laugh and brought you joy. And now your new piece of art that reminds you of home.

Shifting off the bed, you grab the remnants of the cardboard box and wrap and take it to the kitchen. Ripping the cardboard into smaller pieces and placing all the trash neatly into your recycle bin. Chris had suggested a small Italian restaurant for dinner tonight, but you declined. Saying you two would have plenty of time to go out together, and you’d rather spend this Saturday alone with him. 

The rest of your day went by in a flash. With the only things left to do being a quick clean of the kitchen and mopping the floors, followed by a hot shower and pre-cutting the ingredients for dinner. 

Chris requested something to take the chill from his bones caused by the crisp late winter air. You could never call yourself a chef, but one dish your mother taught you and taught you well was Caldo Verde. A comforting Portuguese sausage, kale and potato soup. Homey and rich, the perfect soup to ground you both and warm your bellies. 

Despite not wanting to leave the house, it didn’t mean you couldn’t dress up a little. You gazed at yourself in the long mirror in your bathroom checking your outfit over again. A beige oversized cable knit sweater, plain black mini skirt with a slit up the side of your right thigh paired with matching beige cable knit leg warmers and fluffy closed back slippers. Cute, but not too much. 

Picking up your phone from the counter your stomach swirled once you read the time. 15 minutes to four. You couldn’t help bouncing on your toes a little bit before catching yourself and planting your hands on the counter to reel yourself back in. All you had left to do was be patient for a few more minutes.

‎‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹

Standing in your kitchen you swirled a tall, elegant wine decanter around in front of you. Appreciating the smell and the sound the wine made in its glass container when you hear a few quick knocks on your front door. You close your eyes and press your lips together while sucking in a breath, nerves coursing through your veins. It’s just Chris, stop being so nervous. Get it together girl. 

Quickly you place the decanter back on the kitchen countertop and step your way to the front door. You left it unlocked assuming he would just walk in as he usually has done before so you turn the handle and pause a second, readjusting your skirt one last time before opening it. 

And there he was, standing in the doorway, dimples on full display, one hand behind his back and the other holding a small square green pot with succulents in it.

“Anacampseros Telephiastrum Variegata.” He says in best fancy voice. 

You bring an arm across your stomach and put your elbow on your hand, resting your cheek on your closed fist. Looking at him with a smile and furrowed brows. 

“Otherwise known as ‘Sunrise’. I know you think flowers are cheesy, but I wanted to bring you something. I’ve been practicing saying the Latin name correctly all day.” He chuckles and winks at you. 

You reach out to take the plant from him and grab his now free hand to pull him inside.

“It’s beautiful, Chris. I’ve been meaning to add more color to my selection by the window.” You close the door and hear him set something down behind you and right before you turn around, you feel his arms come around your waist and embrace you from the back. One arm wrapped around your stomach, hand resting on your hip, and the other resting across one of your arms, hand resting on your bicep. 

“Mmmm, you smell so nice. A new perfume?” He says into your neck, taking a deep breath in. 

Your cheeks immediately flush, and you giggle awkwardly at the sudden contact.

“No, not new. I just never have a reason to wear it.” 

“Well, it suits you perfectly.” He rubs his face back and forth on your neck a few times, nose brushing the skin just below your ear then lets go, backing up a pace and picking up whatever was on the floor.

You turn around and see him holding a white gift bag. It’s now that you can appreciate how he looks. He’s wearing a silk black long sleeve shirt with quite a few buttons undone at the top, revealing a wide V of his prominent pectoral muscles, sleeves rolled a few times up and slightly tucked in at the front. Black, freshly pressed slacks that fit him perfectly and of course, shining black, dress shoes. A simple silver chain sits around his neck along with his favorite silver chain bracelet around his wrist. 

Fuck, he looked good.

You take a deep breath and blink a few times.

“Chris, you didn’t have to bring me anything. I feel so silly I didn’t get anything for you!” 

“Oh shush. You’re making dinner for me, aren’t you? That’s enough in itself. Promise. Plus, this is just your new friend.” He hands the bag out to you, and you grab the handles with your free hand and try to peek into the top. 

“I love him. Can’t wait to put him up with all the others. I don’t think I have a moth yet.” You say as you pace your way into the living room and set the bag and plant down on the coffee table. Chris swivels around on his heels and watches you. Arms in front of him, one hand clasped on top of the other and his head tilted to the side.

“You look beautiful.” He says just above a whisper. 

The blush that you were willing away fights its way back to the surface of your cheek bones. You shuffle on your feet and look down, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, too embarrassed to raise your head and make eye contact.

“I love the shirt.” The delicate laugh you let out is absolutely telling of your nerves, and you are positive he can sense it. 

He laughs under his breath and takes the short few steps towards you. 

“It’s really soft, wanna feel it?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You scoff and turn your head to the side as he reaches out pulling you into another hug. Arms encircling you. This time with the side of your face pressed right up against his shoulder. Your arms lay slack for a minute before hesitantly coming up around his waist and locking behind his back.

You take a deep breath and feel that swift sense of relief and comfort wash over your body. All the spikey nerves in your arms and legs fizzling out to make way for a flowing sensation of calm. He hums above your head and runs a hand up and down your back. 

“So, is dinner coming out alright, or do I need to prepare to order some food in?” He asks in a teasing voice.  

You pull back and swat one of his arms. 

“It’s perfectly fine, thank you very much. Speaking of which, go sit your ass down at the table before I accidentally on purpose burn your pieces of bread.” You point a finger at him, and he raises his arms up, his eyes wide and closed-mouthed smirk on his lips. 

Dinner was in fact fine. The soup was still the perfect temperature when you served it despite making it a little earlier than you should have. Chris devoured his bowl and asked for seconds, which you happily obliged. Conversation was easy and light, him asking you about your work week and you asking about how his parents are doing and of course Berry.

He showed you several more pictures of her on his phone before demanding he be the one to clean the table and do the dishes. You sat on a barstool on the onlook of your kitchen, slowly sipping from your wine glass and watching him bounce and dance around the kitchen, acting way too happy for someone who’s cleaning. 

When he was done, you made him go sit on the couch as you prepped snacks for the rest of the night. And along with the snacks, you made sure yesterday to stop by the bakery near your work and pick up two slices of his favorite chocolate cake. 

You glanced at him a few times through the opening in the kitchen and saw he sat on the edge of the couch, leg bouncing, elbows on his knees, worrying his lip and wringing his hands. It made you feel a little better that you weren’t the only one nervous about the night, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around what he could possibly be thinking that would make him on edge like that.

Padding into the living room you placed a platter of assorted fancy cheeses and meats with some pickled vegetables and crackers. He smiled up at you so affectionately as you smirked and quirked an eyebrow then turned back around to grab cake and wine. 

Finally bringing the rest out on another tray you sat it down and picked up the two plates of cake, handing one to him and sitting down next to him holding out two forks between you. He took one and smiled again at you although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You kept eye contact a little longer before gesturing at the cake in front of him. 

“You still like chocolate cake, right?” You asked while forking a small piece off the tip of your slice and taking the bite into your mouth.

He huffed out a laugh and followed suit. Taking a rather small bite for his standards and dancing the flavors around on his tongue before swallowing and looking back up at you. 

“It’s okay if you’re full. We can save it for later, you know.” You place your fork down on your plate and sit it on your lap. 

You watch as he slowly turns something over in his mind and sits his fork and plate back down on the tray, then reaches over to yours and takes it out of your hands, placing it next to his. His slow movements and hesitancy send a shiver of worry up your spine, and you can’t stop yourself from the comical gulp you make.

He turns his body towards you and reaches out to take your hands in his. His hands are so warm against your icy fingers, and you stare down at them for a second before looking up into his eyes. And there they are. Soft and round. You can’t make out what they portray. Somehow hiding their intel from you. 

The lights in the room seem to fuzz around you. You feel scared. Like he has a secret he’s been holding onto, and you’re the only one in the world who doesn’t know. Your heartbeat picks up as he pinches his eyes shut for a moment and runs his tongue along his bottom lip. 

“Chris, what’s wrong? Did I do something?” You tilt your head and question. A familiar sting behind your eyes and in your throat. 

“Oh god, no. No no no.” He shakes his head and lets out another nervous laugh. 

“Then why do I feel like you’re about to tell me the worst news of my life?” You gulp again and pull your bottom lip into your mouth. 

“Man, I’m really not good at this am I?” He chuckles again and turns your hands over in his so his are on top of yours like he’s grounding himself.

“Y/N, I was so worried these past few weeks. I mean, the amount of pacing I did in my room, I could have run a marathon instead.” He laughs again and runs a hand through his hair before bringing it back down to yours and grips a bit tighter. 

“I was worried you were going to shut me out. You responded to my texts, which gave me hope that wasn’t the case, but I still wasn’t sure if it was you being, well… just your regular self.” 

Your stomach knots. Another chip you had unknowingly taken out of his heart.

“I told you I’d wait for you, and of course I will. I don’t think I’d ever not wait for you. But I… I realized within that time what I didn’t notice before… the pressure I was putting on you. Asking you to take this leap of faith that I could be everything you needed. That you could feel safe with me, and I’d protect you. I can’t just…decide that for you. No matter how much I want to be that for you, it’s not my place to tell you I am what you need…” 

“Chris.” You cut him off gently. His eyes had been staring down at your hands clasped together. You could see the worry lines on his forehead from this angle. And the tears of doubt and worry in your eyes that were trying to force their way to the surface cooled their heat. 

You see him scrunch up his nose then pull his face back up to look at you. 

“I want to show you something.” Standing, you pull him up with you. You turn and keep one of his hands in yours as you walk down the hallway before stopping at the closed guest bedroom door. Turning, you face him with your hand on the doorknob. He looks at the door and then back to you confused.

Opening the door, you click on the light and drag him in along with you. You stop right at the foot of the bed, still holding his hand and sigh contentedly. 

You watch him as his eyes scan the room. The shelfs and books. The soft lavender duvet on the bed with a few decorative pillows. And eventually land on the painting on the wall. A light grin appears on him, but his eyes and brows still etch themselves confused. 

“It looks really nice. But I still don’t understand why...” 

“I’m sorry I made you wait for me again. I really am. I don’t want to continue making you feel that. But, this time it was necessary. I don’t have any concern of your, for a lack of a better word, devotion. It’s never been you who I worry about. It’s myself. You’ve never put any pressure on me, in any sense of the word, since I’ve known you, Chris. You make me feel safe. You always have.” 

You turn and sit on the edge of the bed and bring him with you. 

“My concern wasn’t that you couldn’t provide those things for me. I was afraid that I wouldn’t let you. I mean, for fuck’s sake you know how stubborn I can be.” You look at him with your lips pressed in a thin line and big eyes. 

He laughs, eyes closed and rubs the back of his neck. 

“You said it, not me.” He says playfully.

“What I’m trying to say is: I learned something important during these last few weeks… I need to stop worrying and just live. I need to let myself enjoy the things I love and accept the things I cannot change. Especially about myself. The only way I can stop myself from pushing you away is to remind myself that I am worth it. And I know, I know, you’ll tell me a thousand times over I am, but how can I take your words and believe them if I don’t think them myself?” 

You pause and glance over your shoulder at the painting on the wall. Serene, empty, yet full. The quietness of a deep forest. Just living. His eyes don’t follow you to the painting but stay trained on your profile.

“I can’t promise you in the slightest that I have accepted this overnight or that I’m immediately a changed woman, because that’s just not how change works, I think. But… I can promise you that I will try for you. Forever. Until I get it right.” 

You sigh deeply and bring your face and eyes back to meet his. His eyes are creased, accompanying a smile one could worship. And you intend to do so.

His free hand comes up and cups the side of your face, brushing his thumb across your cheek. 

“I love you.” He says softly. 

“I will always love you.” You say, brimming with sincerity as you wrap your free hand around his wrist that’s holding your face. 

His eyes dance back and forth between yours, his smile delicate, as if asking for permission. Without hesitation you lean into him, placing your lips against his. This time you feel just how plump and perfect they are. His nose pressed softly against your cheek. He presses a bit harder and pulls away to reconnect at a better angle. 

You let his hand go and reach out to place your hand on his bare chest right in the middle of the V from his shirt. His free hand comes up to mirror his other hand on your cheek and pulls you closer to him. You feel as though the lights in the room really have gone dark this time. Encasing you and him in a pocket of time.

The heat between you two rises in an instant. He uses his grip on your face to his advantage, tilting your head side to side to press his lips onto yours repeatedly until you can feel yourself go dizzy in the head. Instinctively both your hands grasp at the front of his shirt, pulling him even still closer to you and run your tongue along his bottom lip. You can feel the shutter of his body  as it takes control over him, and he pushes you back onto the bed. You gasp quietly as your lips open for access.

His tongue enters your mouth slowly, tentatively as he rolls it around to find yours. The taste of him sweet like the bite of chocolate cake he savored earlier. Your stomach rolls up into your chest, a million soft wings of butterflies, moths, birds, dancing inside you. His right-hand slips down from your face, down your side to the hem of your big sweater and creeps up below it, brushing along the skin of your hip, sending goosebumps up your skin. 

You gasp again away from the kiss at the sensation. He pulls his hand away and opens his eyes to look at you. 

“I’m… I’m so sorry we don’t have to do this right now; I just got so carried away and I, god you feel so good against my lips.” He says rushed, out of breath. His elbow and forearm lay flat next to the side of your head, and he rests his other hand on the bed next to the hip he was once touching.

You take a second to catch your breath and smile, the most genuine smile you’ve ever had. Bringing your arms up, you wrap them around his neck and pull him down flush against you.

“I don’t think there is anything I’ve ever wanted more in this world, Chris. Now please, I love this shirt but take it off before I rip it off.” 

His eyes go wide, but he quickly recovers and smirks, adjusting his body to get the right angle and pulls your body up the bed so your legs are no longer dangling off the side. Then he gets on the bed and slots his knees between your thighs. Still upright on his knees, and smirk still adorning his face, he slowly unbuttons the last few buttons left on his shirt. 

You can’t help the giggle that comes out of you as your hands come up to cover your bright, heated cheeks as you watch him peel the silky tight shirt off his shoulders, behind his back and down his arms till he swings it above his head, balls it in his hands and sends it flying across the room to the floor. You cover your face as you laugh again at his ridiculousness. 

The bed thumps as his hands come down on either side of your head. You pull your hands down and peek over them. He slowly comes closer, down on his elbows, pressing his body against yours. Hips now connected to yours, slotted between your thighs. Pulling your arms out completely from between your bodies you wrap them back around his neck. Brushing at the hair on the nape of his neck with your fingertips.

The intensity in the air comes back quickly at your new position. He shifts his elbows down a little so he can brush the hair from your forehead and eyes.

“You’re so beautiful. The universe really did its thing when it made you.” He says simply as he kisses the top of your forehead, your nose, your beauty mark, and then connects your lips again. 

This time it’s your body that takes control. Your arms wrapping tighter around his neck bringing his full body weight on top of you. Feeling as if he could take your last breath now from your lips and you’d die happy. 

His tongue asks for entrance immediately, and you let him. Your knees come up and your feet plant on the bed, shifting your mini skirt up your legs, hips involuntarily pushing up against him to feel him beneath his tight slacks. A soft groan in his throat tells you he liked that, so you do it again. He moves his hips along with yours for a better angle, and this time you can feel his hardness pressed to your heat. 

His right hand comes down to resume the work he started earlier and quickly slips beneath your sweater. Running up your side all the way up, forcing your sweater to bunch and ghosting over your breast, all the way up through the hole in the top of the sweater, hand softly grabbing your neck and pushing your face to the side. 

He kisses down your jaw, until he reaches the soft skin of your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat as he trails kisses down your pulse point until he stops and nibbles delicately right above your collarbone.

Your arms unlock from his neck and smooth over his strong shoulders. Feeling every muscle as he continues to suck and bite on your neck. A moan escapes you at a particularly hard bite, and he hisses through his teeth while tightening his fingers around your throat. A high-pitched whine from you pulls his attention back as he lets go and leans off you. 

You gasp at the sudden lack of pressure only to look up and see a fire in his eyes staring down at you. Chest heaving, his eyes are lidded, and tongue comes out to brush his bottom lip. The silhouette of his body alone could send you into a coma.

“Take your sweater off for me.” His voice is deep. Your breath still catching up to you and your mind floaty, it takes you a second to realize what he said.

His tone was not lost on you though. Something you’ll have to tuck away for later and unpack with him. 

Pulling your upper body off the bed to sit upright, you quickly acquiesce to his request and yank your sweater up over your head and throw it to the floor while maintaining eye contact as best as you can. However, your hands have a mind of their own.

Your palms come up and lay flat against his lower abdomen, running up the rivulets of his abs followed by your lips, pressing soft kisses one by one around his belly button as your hands continue up and over his chest and down his sides. Your eyes flit closed as you feel his hands run through your hair then find their way against your scalp and tighten against the roots pulling your face slightly away from him. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing you from this angle.” He says as he brushes his free knuckles against the side of your face and jaw, your eyes opening slowly to see his gentle eyes scanning your face. A rush of heat dances in your belly, and you are overcome with the sudden urge to please him. To make him feel good, the way he makes you feel good by just existing in your life. 

Your hands find the button of his slacks quickly, unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down. His hand tightens in your hair faintly, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your throat. 

“Pants,” is all you can muster. Your hands grab the waistband and try to pull but the snugness of the fit fights against you. Before you can summon the courage to clarify yourself, his hand tightens aggressively as he maneuvers your head to face back up at him.

“Come again?” His face is stoic, except for a brow that’s raised. His composure is so different than he’s ever been with you before. His attitude was always kind, lamb-like towards you. Soft words spoken to a soft shell of a person. But the tone in his words, the severity of this change in him, like he knows your body is craving someone to be rough with you. 

“These pants need to come off.” You tug at the waistband again, but his face remains focused on you. Expression changeless. His eyes bore into you while your mind finally reaches for what he wants from you. 

“Take your pants off… please?” You don’t miss the desperation in your voice. It’s not a new tone for you but the words felt fresh coming from your lips.

“Anything for you baby.” As he releases your hair and pushes your body back slowly until you’re resting on your elbows. 

He backs off the edge of the bed, and you watch as he steps out of his tight black slacks. The dips in his pelvic area creating the perfect tunnel for your eyes to follow down to his boxers. You can tell his eyes are watching yours, but you continue to stare down, mesmerized by every curve his body makes. 

He waits for you to meet his eyes before he makes the next move to pull down his boxers. Your lips part as you see in your peripheral, his cock springing free. You continue to stare at each other for a moment, your heart racing, until his eyes slowly trail down to your legs sitting open in front of him.

A rush of nerves flows down your body at your vulnerable position, and instinctively you move to close your legs, but he quickly reaches out and catches your knees before they can shut. 

“No being shy now. I need to see you.” He says as his hands smooth down your upper thighs to the hem of your skirt. He touches the fabric softly before pushing it further up to expose you more. His hands come up the outside of your thighs before hooking under your knees and pushing them up against your stomach. 

There you are, laid out for him in just your lacy black bra and matching panties with your skirt pushed up and his hands on your body. Your arms feel weak, and your elbows almost give out when you have a moment to really study his face looking down at you. He almost looks pained. His jaw is set tight, and his brows are bunched together. Your stomach swirls, and you feel the patch of wetness on your panties grow.

“Fuck. I can’t believe I’ve had to wait this long to see you like this.” He says as he brings his knees back onto the bed to get closer to you. Between the small gap of your knees your eyes can finally see his cock. Your breath hitches in your throat as you take in its length and size, filled out completely from just looking down at your body.

“Chris, please, I wanna taste you. Let me taste you.” You say, breathless.

He laughs and pokes his tongue into his cheek before pushing your legs closer to your chest forcing you off your elbows and onto your back. 

“No matter how much I loved hearing that from your lips, you’re gonna have to stop saying stuff like that, babygirl, or you’re going to drive me insane. I could come right now from the sight of you alone.” His fingers on your thighs dig into you a little deeper.

Your hands grip the fabric of the bed and whatever little patience or control you thought you might have had slips away. 

“Then kiss me. Shut me up.” You say with frustration.

A small, mischievous smile twists his lips, 

“I plan on it.” He says as his body dips to flatten on the bed. Before you can register what is happening, his plush lips press softly on the thin cotton covering you. A moan escapes you as you feel the heat flood your body. 

“This isn’t going to keep me quiet.” You say under your breath.

His lips come off you, and his hands find their way down your thighs till they both rest next to your center. You feel one of his fingers gently trace their way from the top, down to the bottom of the wetness on the cotton and back up again. The sensation sending a soft shudder down your spine.

“I don’t want it to.” He says as he hooks his finger into the fabric and pulls it aside, exposing you to the cold air. A deep breath is sucked into your chest as you feel the first contact of his tongue pressed flat against you. The warmth invades your senses. He keeps it there a moment before starting to lick at you slowly, then increasing in speed and intensity, finding every inch of skin with his tongue. 

This feeling alone has you panting quickly, your fingers digging into the soft bedspread below you. His free hand palms at the flesh on your thigh, massaging it deeply with his thumb until it reaches the edge of you, spreading you out for better access. You yelp as his tongue enters you, and the muscle dances around creating a buzz beneath your stomach.

“Mmmm, you taste fucking fantastic.” He says before attaching his plump lips to your clit, sucking gently.

“Chris.. ohmygod...” Is all you can get out before you feel one of his fingers find your entrance and tease you with it. The combined feeling has you pinching your eyes shut and a whine leaving your throat. Before you can manage to wrap your head around the pleasure coursing through your body you feel two of his fingers thrust themselves inside of you, each finger alternating in a curling motion.

Your head is spinning as you become a mess of heavy breathing and loud moans falling from your lips. His name coming in between harsh inhales. Your legs tremble as his sucking increases in intensity, coiling a knot inside of you so tight that when it snaps, you’re afraid recovering from it will be impossible. 

“I, Chris, I’m..” You mumble incoherently as your legs give out and fall from their hiked-up position to rest over his shoulders effectively closing him in between your thighs. 

“Come for me, baby, come on my fingers. Let me hear you.” He says before reattaching his lips on you and furthering his power and concentration on your pleasure. 

His tongue swirls around your clit, sending you fast over the edge. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you hold it in while the muscles in your body let go and dance under his touch. The feeling courses through you so strongly, when the peak finally subsides your legs instinctively close against his head suffocating him in your center. You hear him moan deeply and his fingers leave you so both of his hands can come around to your hips, gripping you and pushing your body harder against his face.

His mouth on overdrive, he licks, sucks and kisses you into oversensitivity. Your head buzzes at the feeling as your hands find his on your hips, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and bucking your hips further into him. 

“Chris, please, oh fuck,” you muster between your whines. 

His grip tightens on you, and you hear another moan from him, this time louder and deeper sending vibrations through your skin and deep into the bottom of your stomach. You’re positive you’ve never come twice in such quick succession, but your body reacts on its own, sending you straight off the edge from his attention.

Your body shakes, and your hands let go of him to find their way into your hair. You squeeze at the roots and ground yourself into the sweeping sensation all over your body. His hands release your hips and smooth over your stomach and waist feeling your muscles tighten and contract beneath them.

He slows his exertion, seemingly satisfied with your exhaustion and pulls his head away slightly guiding you to drop your tight hold with your thighs. They part and fall to the sides leaving his face unobstructed from your view, if only you could find the strength to lift your head.

Before you can fully catch your breath, you feel him untangle himself from your lower half, grab your panties and skirt, pulling them down and off your legs, and crawl up the bed and over your body until you’re face to face. His eyes are lidded and heavy and the bottom half of his face glistens as his tongue comes out to lick his lips. 

“I hope you liked that as much as I did.” He says with a slightly cocky smile on his lips. 

“For fuck’s sake, Chris.” You huff out jokingly as his body flattens against yours between your legs. His cock hard and warm, pressed flat against your wetness. Your tiredness aside, the sensation sparks through your body, making your breath shudder.

He laughs and connects your lips together. You didn’t even realize just how much you missed the feeling of his soft lips pressed against yours, however busy they were just a few seconds ago. Your stomach stirs again feeling his body weight against yours.

“You’re so tight, baby. We might have to go a little bit slow even after me doing my best to help you relax.” He says between kisses. Your arms wrap around his neck and legs come up to hook themselves around his waist, moving your hips until the tip of his cock is closer to your entrance. 

“I can handle it. I know I can.” You say against his lips.

His eyes close and his brows furrow as you slightly move your hips again in a circular motion. Dragging him along your wetness hoping to edge his patience into taking action. You stick your tongue out and lick his lower lip. His eyes snap back open and in one quick motion you are flipped around until you are laying over him.

“Come on baby, sit yourself down on me. Take your time. I wanna see your face as you work yourself open on me.” He reaches down and cups your ass to get a handful and squeezes. 

Your brain feels foggy, and it can’t believe it’s hearing Chris say these things to you. Using his arms as leverage you push yourself up into a seated position on your knees with him nestled perfectly beneath you. Your hands come up to your bra and go to unhook it, but his hands stop you.

“Leave it on.” His voice is deep again in a way that vibrates your chest. His hands push yours aside and caresses both of your breasts over the lacy fabric, using his thumbs to rub back and forth over your nipples. The fabric is thin, and the contact is enough to make them harden beneath it. You watch his face as he continues his work, feeling your nipples through the fabric, pinching them a few times making you moan and then pulling the fabric down to expose them. 

He ghosts his fingertips over them sending a shiver down your spine. One of his hands comes up to your mouth, softly pressing his fingertips onto your lips until you part them and take them in, gently sucking and licking them. His own lips part as you wet his fingers, and his hips rut up once against you as if working on their own accord. 

A soft “fuck” leaves his lips as he takes his fingers away and rubs them against one of your nipples. Circling it and pinching it, creating sweet shocks of pleasure. You close your eyes and enjoy the feeling until you feel a sharp smack on your ass. You can’t help the excited yelp that leaves you as your eyes snap back open.

“Let me feel you, babygirl,” he says, eyes lidded, looking like he’s right on the edge of his self-control. As if he wants to snap and take over but is fighting himself to let you take the lead. 

A new swirl in your stomach forms and you plant your hands on his chest. You move your hips up and down on him slightly, feeling his length beneath you before lifting yourself off him. One of his hands comes down to grip your waist, and the other to the base of his cock to hold it up for you to do with as you please. 

You waste little time centering and slowly sinking an inch or two down. The hand holding himself quickly pulls away before attaching itself to the other side of your waist. His eyebrows bunch as he fixes his gaze down to where you two meet. You stay there for a few beats, relishing in the stretch and heat of him. It floods all your senses, sending warmth from below your belly all the way up to the tips of your ears.

Not even a moment passes before your body sends desperate shivers down your legs to give in and sink down. You can sense he’s being extremely patient with your pace, his fingers twitching slightly on your skin, begging you to move. You swirl your hips in a circle as you lower yourself fully onto him, unable to resist the urge to let your jaw go slack and your head fall back.

You feel immediately insane. Every inch of your body is screaming to keep yourself filled by him forever. Your hands grip his pecs as you start to bounce on him. You see his expression change rapidly from one of frustration and restraint to pure, uncontained lust. His hands seek your hips and squeeze harshly on the flesh prompting you to pick up your pace. It’s not long before you’re panting and moaning softly above him. Almost unable to keep your eyes open at the pleasure coursing through your body.

Desperate to feel him even deeper than you could possibly imagine you pick your hands off him and sit up arching your back and rolling your hips forward. His hands are quick to react to your new position as they start to roam over your stomach, up your sides and back down to squeeze at your thighs working hard over him. 

Your hands come back behind you and land on his upper thighs to help keep you upright as you continue to bounce on him. However, you know it won’t last long, the power you want cannot be maintained by the strength that you have. 

Moving your face back down to face him you’re stunned by how beautiful he looks beneath you. His skin is glistening above his collarbones and gently across the apples of his cheeks. His mouth is open and his eyes that were once dancing across your body come up to meet yours. 

“Chris, I…” You start before moaning loudly as his hands grab your ass and squeeze.

“Kiss me, please,” leaves your lips as you feel your legs shake.

He groans softly and quickly fixes himself into an upright position and latches his lips onto yours, wrapping his arms around your body. His new position creates a new angle, and you clench around him pressing your body up against his and wrapping your arms around his neck. As soon as he feels you, his body reacts pistoning up into you as best as he can at a bed shaking pace.

His kisses renew your strength as your body starts to move with his, pushing him further into you and hitting the perfect spot over and over again.

"How does it feel, baby?" His lips detach for yours and find themselves at your neck sucking harshly at the skin.

“So.. good” is all you can mumble between breaths.

“Tell me again.” He says firmly, biting down on the space just above your collarbone then quickly licking over the sensitive skin. 

"You feel so good, Chris. I need you. Please." Your words are accentuated by you clenching around him. His hips stutter, and he quickly flips both of you over until you are lying on your back again under him. His hands smooth up your body as he sinks all the way down into you and stops at the hilt.

"You’re so perfect. You feel so perfect. I need you to come for me again, you're going to do that for me, right?" He fixes the position of his body until your legs are pushed up against your chest again, and his body is laying on top of yours. He puts one hand between you to massage your clit with his thumb as the other comes up to caress your face, his elbow perched on the bed beside your head. 

His passion is pouring out through his hips as soon as he starts to move again. You need more though; you need his perfect lips against yours again to seal all the emotion and pleasure. You reach an arm out and wrap it around his neck pulling his face into yours and without missing a beat he licks into your mouth and pulls on your bottom lip with his teeth sending you fast off the edge of your next high.

Your body shakes and pushes itself up against him, willing him to let go with you, to feel him inside of you. 

“Give me what I want, Chris. Please baby.” you whisper in his ear.

Your words spur him on as both of his hands find their way to your face and he kisses you through his release. Sloppy and heated kisses mixed with his stuttering hips colliding with you slowly over and over again until he is satisfied with his depth and pleasure.

He pulls away from your face slowly, leaving soft pecks on your lips until he can look you in the eyes. A tired smile is gentle across your face. Both of your heavy breathing mix in the air together. He takes his time moving his body off yours and onto the bed next to you, pulling you onto your side with one of your arms and legs draped across his front.

His hand runs up and down your arm as you both settle your breathing and bask in the heated air. There’s a serene sort of stillness that has settled around you that only comes from clearing your soul out. 

You hear him hum in contentment above you. His hand on your back rubs up and down your spine. Your breath is soft again, blowing gently across his chest as you lift your head up and place a kiss where your cheek was then crane your neck to look up at his face. His eyes are closed and the glow on his face is ethereal. 

“We still have cake.” You whisper to him with a soft smile on your lips.

His eyes jump open, “Oh fuck, that sounds so good right now.” He’s never sounded so serious about a piece of cake before.

You start to laugh as his body kicks into action, jumping off the bed and swooping you up into his arms bridal style carrying you back into the living room. 

“Chris, our clothes!” You bark out through your laughter as your arms wrap around his neck.

He winks and kisses the tip of your nose, “Nahhh, we don’t need 'em yet.”

Thank you to @thehandmaidenofcreativity for helping me edit this mess! Love you bb <3

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 5)

You rope the busy businessman into enjoying the holiday spirit.

nav: one, two, three, four, five (current), six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, fluff, your shot's smoother than stephen curry's

“You set me up,” you accuse, pointing a finger at the culprit before you.

Your midnight-feathered companion merely squawks in your face.

Frowning, you scoop the garnet-eyed traitor into your arms. Try as you might, you can’t resist stroking its feathers, the soft, silky texture effectively subduing your vexation. The bird settles comfortably in your hold, pecking at some lint on your shirt.

Are you still plagued by your embarrassing encounter with the red-eyed Apollo of a man in the park last week?

Absolutely.

Are you being unfair by taking it out on an innocent animal?

You drop your face into your hands with a dejected sigh.

It’s the eve of the Frostlight holiday, and you’ve decided to visit one of the places you hold a lifetime voucher for—a quaint little coffee shop tucked away in a shopping district alley. Aside from wanting to shake off the holiday blues, worsened by the eerie quiet of your undecorated house (save for the tiny Frostlight tree your brother gave you as a gag gift on your fifteenth birthday), you’ve been eager to check out the place after its recent renovations.

You’d been enjoying the shop’s new seasonal latte, sitting at one of the outdoor tables, when the familiar sound of cawing reached your ears. Before you could look for the source, a blur of black feathers descended gracefully onto your tabletop, a tiny red gem bead clutched in its beak.

Normally, your friend’s surprise appearance would brighten your mood. But as the events of last week played out again in your mind, you couldn't help but launch into a one-sided tirade about how your little tag game with the bird had unfolded that night.

“He said his name was Sylus—he was so handsome,” you groan, idly tracing the condensation on your cup. “And such a gentleman, too! And I tripped over him.”

The crow pecks at the stack of tissues on your table.

“But he was bleeding,” you continue, your gaze drifting to your straw, now bent and chewed. “He looked really hurt. I tried to help him, but then he just stood up—like nothing happened!”

It abandons the tissues, opting instead to preen its feathers.

“Do you think it could’ve been his Evol?” you wonder. “If it was, that’s so cool. And really convenient, don’t you think?”

You glance down at your companion, only to find it engrossed in cleaning its glossy plumage, its blatant disregard for your monologue clear.

You huff.

Deciding to leave the bird to its own business, you let your gaze wander to the other shops.

Because it’s the eve of a well-awaited holiday, the shopping district is alive with activity. The booths are adorned with warm white lights, accented by the sparkle of colorful fairy lights. Even from a distance, the aroma of cookies, hot chocolate, and assorted pastries wafts through the air. At the heart of the district where the streets converge stands a towering Frostlight tree, its meticulously arranged decorations glimmering under the festive lights. Decorative wrapped presents are nestled beneath its branches, and a brilliant star crowns the top, casting a warm, radiant glow over the lively scene.

The crowd is a bustling mix: parents paying at booths, teenagers laughing boisterously in groups, children darting around with unchecked energy, pets drawing clusters of admirers… and a familiar, silver-haired man standing by a stall, his towering presence capturing the awe-struck attention of passersby.

You blink.

Before you even realize it, you're on your feet,  weaving through the crowd—nearly tripping over a couple of kids—until you finally reach the stall.

Breathless from your short dash, you rise onto your tippy toes and tap him on the shoulder.

He turns around, brows furrowed as he glances left and right, before finally looking down.

“Sylus, hi!” you blurt out, a toothy grin plastered on your face.

You're pleased to catch the surprise flicker in his eyes.

"Sweetie," he greets, the faintest tug of a smile playing at his lips. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I was in the area trying this new latte...” you trail off, glancing down, only to realize your hands are empty.

You must’ve left it at the table, along with your little crow. 

You look back up at him sheepishly. (You send a half-hearted mental apology to the abandoned drink and bird.)

“New latte, huh?” he says, lips curling up into a smirk.

You realize his eyes are a beautiful, bright scarlet under the light.

“What about you? What are you doing here?” you ask, eyes curiously trailing over his dark button-up dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up neatly, revealing toned forearms, the fabric adorned with slashes of deep red embroidery.

Sylus pauses. “Just… handling some business,” he replies, vaguely gesturing to the stall behind him. Around it, several well-built men in black attire and face masks move about—some standing idle, others murmuring in low voices, and a few weaving in and out of the stall's shadowy depths.

Your gaze shifts past them, landing on the vibrant display of oranges, clementines, pomegranates, figs, and other fruits neatly arranged in wooden crates.

“Oh! You own a fruit business?” you exclaim, your face lighting up with excitement.

You miss the slight grimace crossing his face.

“How lovely!” you say, already fishing for your wallet. “Allow me to support such a wholesome endeavor. I’d like two bags of pomegranates, please.”

A brief silence lingers between him and the nearby men. Then, he chuckles, flicking a finger over his shoulder. Two of them—smaller and seemingly younger than the rest, each sporting identical curls—exchange a quick glance before grabbing paper bags and clumsily filling them with pomegranates.

“Here you go,” one of them says with a bow, handing you his bag.

“The freshest of the season!” the other adds cheerily, offering his own.

You accept the bags graciously, about to hand over your payment, when Sylus raises a hand. “On the house,” he tells you, eyes gleaming with amusement.

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he replies, gaze roving over your form with a slight smile. “A holiday gift, if you will.”

You take in how striking he looks beneath the soft glow of the lights, his presence almost ethereal against the lively backdrop.

It’s then you realize you only have one life to live. Life is too short for regrets, and you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. That fortune favors the bold, and that you either go big or you go home.

And so, with a deep inhale to steel your nerves, you seize the moment.

“Sylus, would you like to go get ice cream with me?”

The men behind him perk up. Deeper within the stall, a bound man sits trembling, a gun fitted with a silencer pressed against his temple. He’s being hushed, and the air grows thick with suspense as everyone waits with bated breath for the silver-haired man’s response.

After what seems like eternity, Sylus chuckles, flicking your forehead gently.

“I’d be more than happy to.”

—

You’ve barely spent an hour together, but already, you’ve learned so much about him.

He’s surprisingly chivalrous. You hadn’t expected it, but when you pulled out your wallet to pay for both your ice cream cups, he leaned over, gently swatted your hand away, and handed his card to the cashier.

You looked up at him in protest. “But I was the one who offered to get you ice cream…!”

He merely ruffled your hair, amused, as if you were an unruly feline meowing its head off for not getting the fish on the dinner table.

“I’m not letting you pay. End of discussion.”

Determined to make up for your honor, you dragged him to a weathered claw machine not far from the ice cream stand.

“Fine. But I’m getting you that one,” you declared, pointing at a black-and-red dragon plushie nestled among the other prizes. “You’re not allowed to refuse, okay?”

After a brief scuffle over who got to insert the coin (you lost), you managed to snag the plush on your first try. Triumphantly, you handed it to him, watching as he turned it over in his hands, his fingers gently fiddling with its tiny wings. Your gloating expression faded, though, at the sight of his faint smile, the image strangely sending a dull ache through your chest.

And despite his intimidating appearance, he’s remarkably generous.

When the two of you stepped outside the bustling shopping district for a breather, ice cream cups in hand, a gaggle of children in Frostlight-themed costumes approached. Tambourines and melodicas in hand, they eagerly asked if they could perform for you. Their chaperone stood nearby, wincing apologetically at their loud enthusiasm.

“Do your best,” Sylus told them, leaning against the building wall behind him, eyes gleaming in amusement.

The children hastily formed a crooked pyramid, the instrumentalists awkwardly positioned at the back, before launching into the most gloriously off-key performance you’d ever heard. You struggled to suppress your laughter, covering your mouth with your hand, but Sylus regarded them seriously, his head nodding slightly, as if genuinely finding rhythm in their chaotic melody.

When they finished with a burst of giggles, Sylus clapped slowly, laughter dancing in his gaze, before handing over a generous wad of cash. You’ve never heard so many high-pitched “You��re the best, mister!”s all at once.

You’ve been having so much fun—exploring the bustling stalls, petting the pups you come across, checking in on his hardworking fruit stall employees (and happily handing them some of the banana chips you bought), and watching the small fireworks display in the shopping district's adjacent plaza—that you don’t realize how late it’s gotten. Before you know it, you’ve arrived at your house, the neighborhood now quiet and serene, the hum of the city replaced by an almost peaceful stillness.

At your doorstep, you turn to see Sylus leaning casually against his sleek black SUV, his gaze fixed on you. A thought strikes you, and your eyes widen.

“Wait!” you blurt, fumbling for your key. “We never got around to returning each other’s stuff. Let me grab your coat!”

Before you can act, tendrils of black-and-red mist creep along the ground, curling around your feet. Bewildered, you stare at it as it coils upward, encircling you. “What…?”

Despite the way it looks, it feels soft and warm against your skin. Gently, it curls around your wrist, pausing your search for your key, and lifts your chin, guiding your gaze back to him.

“Return it next time,” Sylus tells you, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“But won’t you need it?” you ask, distracted by the way the mist dances around you, one tendril brushing your side playfully. You let out a surprised laugh. “Is this your Evol…?”

The mist retreats slowly, as if reluctant to leave. It curls around his feet one last time before dissipating entirely.

“I don’t have your sweater yet,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’d be rude to accept the coat before then.”

“But—”

“Think of it as my excuse to see you again.”

Your words catch in your throat as heat rises to your cheeks.

To appease you, though, he offers to exchange numbers so you can work out the details of your sweater and coat handover. If he notices the way your hands tremble when his fingers brush yours while swapping phones, he doesn’t mention it—though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth doesn’t go unnoticed. With a reluctant wave and a final goodnight, you step inside and close the door behind you.

You lean against it for a moment.

Then, you bolt to your room, dive onto the bed, and scream into your pillow.

When you finally roll onto your back, breathless and grinning like an idiot, the ceiling above you seems brighter, the world lighter. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this way—like you’re floating, bursting with happiness.

You like him. You really, really like him.

As thoughts of brightly colored ice cream scoops and cuddly dragon plushies swirl in your mind, the weight of the day’s events finally begins to settle over you. You briefly resist, realizing you haven’t even changed out of your clothes or undergone your nightly routine yet, but in the end, you surrender to the comforting pull of slumber.

Just as you drift off, your phone screen glows faintly from your bag.

Good night kitten.

note: tysm for taking time to share your thoughts about the series 🥺 reading through them truly makes me so happy! it's so surreal to know that there are people out there actually looking forward to updates lol!! happy holidays, everyone! 💞

nav: one, two, three, four, five (current), six or: read on ao3

tag list: @thepotatoislost, @xxfaithlynxx, @browneyedgirl22, @vorfreudevortex, @midiplier, @wisteriaflowersss, @euclase0, @leighsartworks216, @keyiswatching, @goldenbirdiee, @delaythings, @datura109, @iloveboysinred, @everythingistaken00, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @blueberrysquire, @mourning-into-dancing, @bookfreakk, @everywherenothere, @vvhira, @laidenbreecatchall, @kyushii, @lucifer-says-hii, @sylus-crow, @carmelves, @nishayuro

check out my other works!

[himbo-kuto]

idol!reader x doctor!zayne

(visuals: one | two | three)

reader is performing a song with some suggestive lyrics to hundreds and thousands of people. 

caleb | rafayel | zayne | sylus | xavier 

“are you sure there’s no way for us to thank you? this is incredible!” yvonne, held your hand as she looked around the room of lavish assorted food and beverage. you shook your head as you gave hers a reassuring squeeze. 

“not at all. you guys have done so much for me and everyone at akso. this is the least i can do to show my appreciation. please eat, drink and enjoy.” you had been nominated at linkon’s annual artist awards and you wanted to invite the people who had made it all possible. earlier in the year you had some complications with your protocore syndrome and of course, with zayne being your partner and doctor, him and his team were extensive in their care. you were able to release your album on time and even though promotion was limited, it was still widely received– hence why you were in your current position. 

“i’m sure you don’t need it, but best of luck in your category.” greyson gave you a sweet smile as he held up his fists in encouragement. you laughed as you mimicked his actions. 

“thank you. cheer for me extra loud if i win, okay?” you felt zayne’s hand that was resting on your waist give you a reassuring squeeze. even though he had attended a few carpets and events with you in the past, it was still very foreign to him. he rarely left your side, always within close proximity to you (if you didn’t have to go do an interview or perform). he was your biggest fan and supporter even if the job demanded so much of you. he had known first hand the trials and tribulations you went through to get here. he was always so immensely proud of you and in his mind, you already won. 

the door opened and your manager poked her head through. 

“we have about an hour until your performance. we should go and get into costume and warm up.” you nodded your head understandingly before leaning up to give zayne a kiss on the cheek. 

“make sure to watch me out there dr.zayne.” you quickly whispered in his ear, flashing him a wink before heading over to your manager.

“enjoy everyone!” the blush crept up on zayne's cheeks, as he lightly cleared his throat. 

“are you hot dr.zayne? you look a bit red!”

as your team adjusted your makeup and dolled up your hair, you felt your heart pounding (and not because of your condition) you had been practicing this stage for weeks making sure all the moving parts were perfect. not only did you want to put on a good performance for your fans, but in a major way you were dedicating this stage to zayne. you wore a sheer, icy blue coverup and a breathtaking bedazzled corset one piece that hugged your curves oh so perfectly all inspired by him.

“5 minutes to stage.” 

you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding as your makeup team did their final touches. you thanked them all before heading to the backstage area. even in the fluorescent lights, the gems on your bodice caught the light and sparkled– many of your friends stopped to shower you with compliments before being rushed by the crew. 

you ducked as you got into position on the platform that was going to rise up onto the stage. you all gave your team a look of appreciation as the mc began announcing your name. you felt the butterflies in your stomach as the crowd roared to life. the first few notes from sabrina carpenter’s bed chem starting playing in your in-ears as the platform brought you up to center stage. 

zayne felt the air get knocked out of him as he saw you rise up out of the haze. you were mesmerizing. your hair was perfectly curled and your makeup was smoked out to the gods giving you the perfect sultry look. the gems glistened under the stage lights like snow does in the moonlight and he felt the world stop. the cheers from yvonne and greyson fell upon deaf ears as all he could focus on was your performance. 

“dr.zayne, she looks absolutely amazing doesn’t she?” yvonne looked over to the man, her sentence quickly fading out into the air. he had such a focused look on his face– the kind she only saw when he was fully immersed in a task– nothing but you could get him out of a trance like that.

Who's the cute boy with the white jacket And the all black fit? Like Maybe it's all in my head But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

zayne knew that one of your favorite outfits of his, albeit simple, was his all black outfit– the way that you would admire him especially if he was wearing his white doctor’s coat made him blush under your gaze. the fact that you changed the lyrics to mention it, well– he was on the verge of a feral crash out.

Come right on me, I mean, camaraderie Said you're not in my time zone but you wanna be Where art thou? Why not upon-eth me? See it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy

zayne li was the epitome of composure, no matter the circumstance. he was always the most level headed person in any room– the chaos in the ER was child’s play, performing the most complicated heart surgeries without breaking a sweat, aiding hunter’s on the battlefield– nothing. however, upon hearing the first line of the second verse, he fully choked on air. greyson and yvonne quickly came to aid by patting his back and offering him some water, but not before laughing at him first.

“you alright there, doctor?” greyson wiggled his eyebrows over at the dark haired man, continuing to laugh at the loss of his poise. zayne shot him a quick glare, not wanting to take his eyes off you. 

Who's the cute guy with the wide, green eyes And the big bad mm? Like I know it sound a bit redundant But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

you were going to be the death of him. 

he watched as you continued down the stage, interacting with different members of the audience as you riffed your little heart out to these lewd lyrics. one thing about zayne? he was taking notes. from the lyrics, to the choreography, he stored it all up in his brain to surely use to his advantage when you both got home later. 

“thank you, linkon. i love you!”

the stage ended with the audience screaming nothing but cheers and praise. you blew a kiss up to the booth where you knew zayne was watching before the lights turned out. 

…

after your performance, you all sat in assigned seats out in the audience for the awards portion. you were nervous and you didn’t want to get your hopes up too high, but you really wanted to win. as the categories went on, they finally got to yours. the cameras set up in front of you ready to catch your reaction. the nerves finally caught up with you as they began to bubble up in your stomach. all you could do in this moment was smile for the camera. zayne gave your upper thigh a squeeze in attempts to calm your nerves. you let out a deep breath before putting your hands on top of his. 

“and the award goes to…” there was a silence that felt like an eternity as they opened the envelope. the name came out muffled, but you could've sworn it was yours. the outbreak of cheers from around you was so loud it rang in your ears but before you could fully register what was happening, zayne pulled you onto your feet and into a crushing embrace. 

“you won, my love.” 

it was the only thing you could hear in that moment– not the applause from the audience, greyson screaming at the top of his lungs or even yvonne crying her eyes out for you. you pulled away to look at him, as the tears pooled into the corners of your eyes. he gave you a brief kiss before pulling back to let you have your moment. he gestured for you to make your way out to the stage where you now saw your peers cheering you on. you absentmindedly made your way up, graciously accepting the award.

“wow– um– i didn’t think i would be up here accepting this award. thank you to all my fans who have been so patient with me as i’ve been dealing with some health problems in the beginning of the year. even though this is me accepting this award, everyone who was nominated in this category is so insanely talented and i want to share this with them as well. to my team, my staff, my company, my management– thank you so much for supporting me. to the amazing team and friends at akso hospital who have helped me get back on my feet–” 

you finally locked eyes with the man who had your whole heart. you saw his eyes glistening– a look that told you everything you needed to know– i’m so proud of you. 

you felt your emotions swell, as the words got caught in your throat. you attempted to smile as your lips quivered. 

“to my love, my heart– thank you for always believing in me and pushing me to my fullest potential. i love you.” 

–

bonus:

“i’m sorry, she can’t come into rehearsal today. it seems that she’s come down with a bit of a cold from all the festivities yesterday.” you listened to the sound of zayne’s heartbeat as you laid on his bare chest. you covered your mouth to muffle your giggles as he blatantly lied to your manager. 

“she should be okay within the next couple of days… yes, i’ll be sure to keep my eye on her and makes sure she gets lots of rest… yes, thank you. bye.” he hung up the phone and placed it on the nightstand. he wrapped his arms back around you as you pulled you in close. 

“you know i could lose my medical license for giving a false diagnosis.” you sat up, giving his cheek a kiss. 

“thank you, oh brave dr.zayne for putting your license on the line to tell my manager a little white lie.” he let out a chuckle as he tucked some stray hairs behind your ear. he ran his eyes down your neck and chest, all riddled with traces of him. 

“well, love. do you think we have really good bed chem?” you ducked back into his chest as you laughed out loud. it was true. you and zayne really did have good bed chem. a theory that he made sure to test over and over and over again– just to make sure he had an accurate result. 

“hmm.. let me see. i had to call out of work because i can barely walk, i have an array of different marks and bruises all over my body, and to top it off– my fake eyelash is stuck to the head board.” you reached upward, picking off the strip lash to show the doctor. 

“so i think that warrants for extremely good bed chem dr.zayne.” 

[cyborb]

great news i have more random pokemon doodles (also featuring my oc percy)

further thoughts on weird little guy sableye include: more/less fluffiness, wild assortments of gem/mineral growth and how many ways that could look.... there's a lot of potential for sure

[st4rfckerz]

house sitter | anakin skywalker x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: MDNI 18+, kinda non con ???, somnophilia, groping, unprotected sex, creampie, infedelity, mild degradation, fingering, oral (f receiving), age gap (anakins in his 30s, reader is an adult), anakin's a pervert.

summary: you watch over the skywalker's home while they're out on a date.

a/n: this might be all over the place so i apologize BUT this is actually the idea i was talking about when i posted "i just woke up with the horniest fic idea."

house sitting was without a doubt the easiest job you'd ever had. all you had to do was lounge around in expensive homes and watch out for intrusions, which, for the record, hardly ever happen.

the famous skywalker family had employed you to watch over their house while they went on dates, visited other planets, etc. you had gotten to know the couple pretty well, especially anakin since he was always friendly with you and often times would spend time speaking to you, although it was never anything more than just light conversation for him.

you noticed that anakin had spent more time talking to you lately and was starting to become a little bit more attentive towards you, he had always been kind and friendly but you felt his friendliness had become more... intentional, but maybe you were just imagining things.

padmé called you to inform you that she and anakin were going out to dinner and would be gone for the majority of the evening.

you've just pulled up to the skywalkers' driveway, parked your car, and started approaching the stone walkway. after a few knocks, anakin finally opens the door with a small grin plastered across his face. he couldn't help but feel a certain thrill at the thought of having you around again.

"hey, glad you could make it." anakin greeted you at the door, his dark blue eyes took you in for a moment before he steps to the side to let you in. padmé approaches you while still putting in her earrings.

"thank you so much for watching the house while we're gone," she beams.  padmé's enthusiastic behavior always made you smile. 

"of course, padmé. your house is in good hands." you replied with a gentle smile. anakin caught your gaze and you couldn't help but notice the way he was looking at you. his eyes had an almost dreamy but slightly lustful gleam about them. you choose to ignore it and bring your attention back to padmé.

"we'll be back at around midnight." as anakin and padmé bid their farewells and depart for their much-anticipated date night, you find yourself standing alone in the grandeur of their house. the silence envelopes you, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning.

you take a moment to admire the opulence surrounding you, marveling at the elegant decor and lavish furnishings. the house was a reflection of anakin and padmé's status and influence, a testament to their power. as you explore the various rooms, you can't help but imagine the passionate moments that must have unfolded within these walls.

the master bedroom beckons to you with its inviting ambiance - a room that surely holds countless memories for anakin and padmé. you imagine them tangled in each other's arms, their bodies entwined, lost in a world of whispered promises and shared desires. a wicked thought creeps into your mind - a fantasy of being the one who arouses such passion in anakin.

shaking off the enticing daydream, you divert your attention to the rest of the house.

you stumble upon anakin's personal study. your interest is sparked because, although it was normally locked, it was slightly open. it was a room filled with ancient jedi texts and mechanical tools. it's here that his true nature is laid bare. the forceful fervor with which he delves into his studies mirrors the intensity with which he pursues everything else in his life. you can't help but be drawn to his passion, intrigued by the raw power that lies within him.

you come across a bookshelf filled with an assortment of literary gems. pulling out a weathered book, you settle into a plush armchair, relishing the tranquility. lost in your thoughts, you find yourself sinking into anakin's chair, surrounded by his aura.

you open the book slowly, the faint smell of aged paper wafting up to greet you. each word holds the potential to shape the very fabric of your understanding of the force.

as you begin to read, the words dance across the page, captivating your attention. the author's insights into the force captivate your imagination, revealing ancient practices and techniques that have long been forgotten. you find yourself engrossed in the descriptions of lightsaber combat, the delicate balance necessary to harness the power of the force, and the connection between the physical and spiritual realms.

lost in the world of the book, you almost forget the reason for your presence in this house. the vivid descriptions transport you to a realm where you are the jedi, wielding a lightsaber with grace and precision, matching anakin's own skills in the heat of battle. you imagine his presence beside you, his body pressed against yours, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses. your mind is left with the image, a luring invitation to give in to the craving.

a sense of guilt washes over you like a bitter tide. anakin is still married to padmé, having these thoughts feels wrong. thoughts of anakin, his intense gaze, and his tempting touch linger. anakin and padmé's love is palpable, their connection evident in every glance and tender gesture. you brush off your thoughts and pick up the book to divert your attention once more.

you make your way down to the living room, with the book in your hand, and you find a cozy spot on the plush couch. the room is dimly lit, casting a soft glow on the surroundings. settling into the cushions, you open the book, eager to immerse yourself in its pages.

as you continue to read the exciting stories within the book, a wave of drowsiness washes over you. the cozy atmosphere of the living room lulls you into a tranquil state.

your eyelids grow heavy, and you find yourself sinking deeper into the plush cushions of the couch. the words on the pages begin to blur, the lines fading into a hazy backdrop and before you know it, sleep claims you completely.

about an hour or so later, anakin arrives home unexpectedly. stepping through the door, an unexpected sight greets his eyes. there you are, sound asleep on the couch, his gaze drifts down to the book resting against your stomach.

"nosy girl." anakin mutters. his mouth curves into a sly smirk as a sinister thought starts to take shape. he sets the forgotten item aside, his attention now fixated on the curves of your body, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath. slowly, he approaches, his footsteps barely audible against the soft carpet.

with a gentle touch, he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingertips lingering on your skin for a brief moment. he contemplates waking you, but the feeling of his dick twitching from inside his pants leads him in a different direction.

you looked so peaceful, so perfect. anakin finds himself yearning for the sound of your voice, the touch of your skin against his, the taste of your lips.

anakin's hand reaches out tentatively. his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch soft and delicate. with each stroke of his fingertips, anakin's touch becomes bolder, his hand gradually sliding downward. his fingers trail lower, caressing the delicate curve of your collarbone before continuing their descent.

he runs his fingers over the top of your breasts, then reaches down to cup one, giving it a light squeeze. he groans slightly, feeling his growing erection press harder against the zipper of his pants.

anakin's hands began to slide up under your shirt, rubbing small circles over your hardening nipples. his fingers moved slowly along the soft skin of your stomach, grazing your hip bones before coming to rest at the waistband of your pants. he watched intently as your body responded to his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips. with a confident yet tender touch, anakin begins to slowly slide your pants down your legs. his eyes devoured the sight of your panties.

a grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he noticed the adorable pattern of small flowers adorning the white fabric, adding an innocent touch to the moment.

"oh poor baby." he coos. his fingers skimmed lightly over the fabric that covered your core. feeling the dampness seeping through the fabric, anakin's eyes sparked with desire. unable to resist, he carefully slipped his hand beneath you, skillfully removing the delicate fabric and stashing them in his pocket without disturbing your peaceful slumber.

anakin marveled at the sight before him, the delicate folds of your wetness glistening in the dim light of the room. he couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty. the sight of you laid bare, vulnerable and inviting, sent a surge of anticipation through his veins.

with a gentle touch, he traced his fingers along your inner thighs, relishing in the softness of your skin. his gaze locked onto your core, his desire burning hotter with each passing second. he wanted nothing more than to taste you, to bring you pleasure in the most intimate way possible.

anakin lowered himself onto his knees, ensuring every movement he made was as silent and gentle as possible. he positioned himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving your pussy.

as he prepared himself to taste you, anakin carefully parted your folds. with a controlled release of his breath, he lowers his mouth onto your cunt, his tongue tracing a path along your folds. anakin moans lowly as he inserts a single finger inside of you, feeling how tight and warm you were.

anakin's movements were gentle yet purposeful, each lick and slow curl of his finger intended to bring you closer to the edge of pleasure. he was careful to maintain a rhythm that wouldn't wake you up.

as his tongue danced across your heated pussy, he couldn't help but be entranced by the way your body responded to his ministrations. the twitches and shudders, the soft moans that slipped past your lips—each one only fueled his own desire to give you more.

anakin pulls himself away from your drooling cunt once he feels that you're getting close.

"not yet baby, i wanna feel you cum on my cock." he whispers while pulling off his belt and shoving his boxers and pants all the way down to his ankles. his cock stands proudly, a small bead of precum dribbling down his shaft. anakin strokes himself a few times before carefully positioning himself between your legs and entering your pussy completely.

a moan escapes his lips as he firmly thrusts into you. he moved cautiously at first, savoring the exquisite tightness of your embrace as he began a slow rhythm, each thrust drawing him further into a frenzy of arousal.

anakin reveled in the feel of your cunt gripping him tightly, the way your walls massaged his length with each thrust. he was lost in the intoxicating sensation, focusing solely on the raw pleasure that consumed him.

you gasp loudly in shock, finally emerging from your sleep, and anakin hastily turns to face you.

"anak-" anakin's large hand abruptly covered your mouth, silencing your words before they could form completely. his intense gaze bore into your eyes, his face dangerously close to yours.

"finally awake now huh?" he teases, his voice laced with a hint of delighted amusement. he allowed himself a moment to revel in the fear that flared in your eyes, the allure of pushing boundaries and igniting forbidden desires too tempting to resist.

as he continued thrusting into your abused cunt, his motions grew more purposeful and commanding.

anakin's voice, dripping with authority, took on a more degrading tone. "my little bookworm couldn't help herself, hm? just had to go snooping around." he nods in the direction of his office.

"been thinking about this pussy ever since i hired you," he pants in between thrusts. "i've seen the way you look at me. eye fucking me every chance you get, right in front of my wife too? dirty, dirty girl." anakin chuckles, shaking his head.

as your bodies entwined, he deliberately increased the intensity of each thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin bouncing off the walls.

anakin felt a mixture of ecstasy and need flood his senses as your core compressed around his length, causing his breath to get caught in his throat. the intensity of the moment fueled his own arousal, pushing him closer to the edge of his own climax.

"cum for me baby, i know you're close." his words sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, fanning the flames of your arousal. anakin's hands gripped your body with an undeniable possessiveness, his body moving with an inescapable rhythm that drove you closer to the edge of release.

anakin's hand remained firmly covering your mouth, your moans muffled as you finally tip over the edge. he continued to thrust into you, his pace steady as he chased his own orgasm. anakin's body convulsed, his cock twitching deep within your pussy. you could feel his hot cum painting your insides. anakin's movements finally come to a stop before he pulls out of your sore cunt.

he swiftly pulled up his pants and underwear, his movements were tinged with a cold detachment. without a word, he threw your pants in your direction, his actions lacking the tenderness he had displayed moments before. the forceful gesture caught her off guard, leaving her momentarily stunned as she caught the garment.

"next time, we'll put that pretty mouth to good use." his hand gently cupped your cheek, giving it a few taps. his touch a mixture of possessiveness and affection.

with a last lingering look, he slowly made his way towards the door, leaving you behind, savoring the remnants of your passionate encounter. the room carried the heady scent of your intimacy, an echo of the fervent connection you and anakin had shared.

as you put your pants on, you see the book on the floor that you carried down from anakin's office. you close it after picking it up and place it on the coffee table in front of you. the weight of guilt bore down on you, tainting the air in the room with a mix of remorse and self-doubt. your head buried in your hands, you grappled with the conflicting feelings that threatened to overwhelm you.

the memory of your intimate connection replayed in your mind, it almost made you feel sick. a pang of empathy pierced through you. padmé flashed in your mind, her image haunting and filled you with concern.

you continued to house sit, carrying the weight of your guilt alongside your duties. in the midst of the forbidden desires that you and anakin shared, you sought solace in fulfilling your responsibilities, hoping that in time, the guilt would fade, and clarity would guide you towards a resolution.

[slut4sugu]

𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐒 𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 — Spencer Reid x black!fem reader

౨ৎ: including— black!fem reader, early!relationship with Spencer, crybaby!reader, fluff, he’s so cute help

౨ৎ: authors note— I know I’ve been doing Spencer double time I’m soryyyy I’m back in my nerd obsession phase

valentines event masterlist . music recc: real man: bebadoobee

“I hope you like it, I kinda debated on what to get you for months.” You nervously admitted, as you handed your boyfriend the pink and white wrapped box. A thankful and loving smile graced Spence’s features as he took the box in his hands. The tips of your fingers touching his, sending nerves and chills down your spine. “You know I’d love whatever you got me Angel, but I appreciate you thinking so long about a gift.” His words sugar sweet as your eyes met his loving ones, “Thank you.” The sincerity in his tone made your heart flutter in adoration.

It especially wasn’t helping that the warm lighting of his apartment made him look even more handsome than usual, mainly his chestnut eyes that were always gazing lovingly into your soul—God, he's so sweet. "You're welcome."

Spencer carefully peeled back the wrapping, revealing a book nestled inside. It wasn't a rare first edition or a scientific journal, as he might usually gravitate towards. Instead, it was a slightly worn but lovingly preserved copy of "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" by Anne Brontë. His eyebrows rose in surprise, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes.

"Huh, I've heard of this one," he murmured, turning the book over in his hands. "It's supposed to be quite… progressive for its time, right?"

You beamed, relieved that he didn't look disappointed. "Yeah! I know how much you love the old books, and I thought you might like it.” You sheepishly admitted, your heart raced in his chest as you looked over his face. Attempting to find any trace of disappointment or Boredom in his features but there was none. Though it is a book and this is your Spencer we’re talking about.

"I can't wait to read it," he admitted, his eyes lighting up with excitement. He gently placed the book on the nearby coffee table and stepped closer to you, his hands reaching out to cup your face. "You really do know me so well." His thumbs brushed softly against your freckled cheeks, sending shivers down your spine. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as he leaned in, his eyes searching yours. You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, and you instinctively tilted your head up, eager to meet him halfway. Just as your lips were about to touch, he paused, a soft smile gracing his features.

"Wait," he whispered, his voice husky. "I have something else for you."

He stepped back slightly, reaching for something behind him. You watched in anticipation as he revealed a small, velvet box and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Dont cry, don’t cry, don’t cry- Your breath hitched as he opened the box, revealing a delicate necklace with a a rose quartz gem. ‘Dammit Spencer!’ You almost bursts into tears on the spot but you willed yourself to hold it together just for a few more minutes but Spencer Reid is just the gift that never stops giving.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said softly, his eyes filled with love. "I wrote you something too." After the assorted flowers, he handed you a folded piece of paper, sealed with a red wax seal with his initials. As you opened it, you were met with his beautiful handwriting, expressing his love and adoration for you in the most heartfelt way.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥,

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐜.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

You couldn't help the tears that welled up in your eyes as you read his words, "Thank you, Spencer," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I-I,” you stuttered, your vision blurred as you looked up at him. His boyish charm and pretty curls would be the death of you one day, “I love you so much." You whispered as tears rolled down your brown face. Thank god for that waterproof mascara you thought, as you watched Spencer take a second to register what you said before wiping them away with his thumb.

Unsurprisingly, you were too emotional to even realize your boyfriend was also on the brink of tears as well, watching you sniffle and sob with flowers in your arms. As much as he hated seeing you cry, you were still so angelic while sobbing like a baby.

“I love you too sweetheart, but please don’t cry, I haven’t even given you the rest of your gifts yet.” He chuckled airily, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you sniffled. Taking the bouquet from your arms gently and placing it down on the table before pulling you flush against his chest.

The comforting smell of faint cologne filled your nose as spencers arms wrapped around you. Your heart swooned as you welcomed his embrace, your shoulders slumping as you rested your head against his chest. Before you realized what he said. “Wait—There’s more? Oh my god Spencer-“

You cried 4 more times that night.

[vixstarria]

"Where my nice, simple plan fell apart"

This is my take on how Astarion’s romance might have progressed with a silly, chaotic energy bard Tav, who doesn’t really fall for his initial manipulation but rather humours it, throughout Act 1.  

There will be more – I want to flesh this out and write more ‘behind the scenes’ moments, and continue this into Acts 2 and 3 (I’m still only at the beginning of Act 2 as I write this!) 

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav  

Comfort, fluff, budding love, cuddling, humour, no spoilers, non-explicit, light angst 

Approximately 2,000 words. 

AO3

~~~~~

“Let’s find our own little piece of nowhere. Somewhere we can lose ourselves and forget all this madness.” 

“Astarion, you insufferable trollop, what piece of cheap pulp did you fish that line from?!” you squeezed your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No, wait, let me guess... Madame Scarlett?” 

You watched his face turn from indignation to irritation, to finally settle in a resigned amusement, in a rapid succession.  

“My, a fellow connoisseur of the vulgar arts? The Madame’s been dead and out of print for over a century. But yes.” 

“A professional interest – a bard must be able to entertain all kinds of audiences, with all kinds of material” 

“And would you indulge me with your expertise tonight? But I do much prefer show to tell...”.  

This was the beginning. You did end up sleeping with him that night, despite his initial soppy attempt at seduction. And then it happened again another night. And then it kept happening... 

You tried to be discreet about it at first, but of course it wasn’t long before the other members of your party noticed your nightly disappearances, and there was no point trying to conceal it.  

You were vexed by their reactions – just about everyone found it necessary to at one point pull you aside and express their concerns about the vampire, asking you to be careful. This was, perhaps, justifiable – Astarion was admittedly quite stab-happy and had an inclination for bloodthirst (literally and figuratively). But he was on your side! And damned if you needed anyone’s approval for your choices in whom to bed! 

By that point you and Astarion had turned the cliched language of poorly written erotica novels into an inside joke. Casually addressing each other in increasingly mawkish and over-elaborate terms had turned into a game. Once the secret of your escapades was out, you weaponised this game, turning it to deliberately exasperate everyone around you with your antics. 

With your shared penchant for dramatic flair the two of you became utterly insufferable.  

You would shout corny names at each other across camp: 

“Oh precious, it’s your turn to set up the campfire! And no, I don’t care that you won’t be eating with us” you called out as the group stopped for the day to set up camp, but no answer followed. “My silver lynx..? Starry?? Snickerdoodle??” 

“Your snickerdoodle wandered off to slaughter another bear!” came an exasperated shout from Wyll. 

Strangers weren’t safe from your hijinks either:  

“My sun, my beating heart, flame of my loins, ache of my head. All my riches, at your feet”, he declaimed to you in front of a confused and embarrassed vendor, as he rummaged through and shook out his pockets and sleeves, spilling an assortment of semi-precious gems, silver cutlery and somehow even an entire silver tray, pilfered from an abandoned manor you came across earlier. 

Just to make the others uncomfortable, you would unceremoniously plop into Astarion’s lap at any given opportunity, including in your morning meetings to establish your itinerary for the day.  

One evening, as you all sat around the campfire to enjoy a shared meal, Astarion (who would ordinarily stay away during this time, or sit nearby with a book) sank down next to you, lifted your hand towards his mouth, and nonchalantly sank his fangs into your wrist and began to suck, slurping.  

“Oh, so I can’t enjoy a nice meal with everyone else, and have to be excluded? Bigots, the lot of you!” he chided, your blood dripping from his lips, to the sound of everyone’s shouts of shocked revulsion. Surprisingly, this was the closest you’d ever seen Lae’zel come to laughing.  

(You and Astarion had arranged this prior, of course. Ever the gentleman, he always asked before he bit.) 

Another night, as you were having a quiet chat with Shadowheart at her tent, while everyone else lounged at the fire, she asked: “So what is it like with him, really..? How is he?” 

Suddenly finding yourself abashed by this genuinely intimate question, you covered it up with pomp and bravado. Winking at Shadowheart, you stood up, threw your head back and began to orate, making sure your thundering voice would be heard by the fire, which you had been separated from by a distance and some bushes: 

“HIS MAGESTIC MANHOOD, WHEN UNSHEATHED, IS AN OBELISC OF MASCULINITY AND GLORY. IT IS A WONDER BIRDS DON’T CRASH INTO IT WHEN IT IS FULLY E- Ow! Who threw that?!” 

A projectile salami from your camp supplies came flying from behind the bushes, and slammed into the side of your face.  

All hell was breaking loose back at the campfire, as Wyll, Gale and a smug Astarion convulsed and shouted through poorly concealed laughter, blaming each other for the missile, as Karlach shook in hysterics and Lae’zel complimented the mystery thrower’s accuracy.  

Gale did look more sheepish than the rest once you started to develop a black eye from the impact, promptly healed by Shadowheart.  

What was it like with him? 

Despite the flowery epithets and exaggerated displays of affection you awarded each other in public, in private you had a mutual understanding that it was all frivolous, no strings play. You had a parasite that could turn you into a mind flayer at any given moment, twisting in your brain. Every day bore violent encounters. Since the nautiloid crash, you hadn’t gone a single day without something trying to murder you. You didn’t want to have to worry about anything other than survival, and you took life day by day. Distractions were welcome, but actual romantic attachment would be a burden, you told yourself. 

You thought of it as being friends with extended benefits.  

You let him feed (well, snack, really) on you, of course. It wasn’t sexual, not since the first night. He used your wrist, so as not to be overwhelmed by the blood flow. He ended the sessions by healing you himself, assisted by a magical trinket he’d picked up somewhere on your journey. You made sure not to let Gale get his hands on that one.  

In battles his arrows always picked off foes in your immediate vicinity, before they were directed to other targets. You’ve yelled at him for this, saying you were more than capable of holding your own, whilst you’d lost count of the revivify scrolls you’ve spent on Gale.  

“Yes, well, the way the man goes on about his ‘natural talents’ and ‘mastery of the weave’, you’d think he’d put that big wise brain of his to developing a strategy for not getting stabbed so often” - Astarion rolled his eyes. “I’m just encouraging him to improve, really. And besides”, his eyes narrowed, “only I’m allowed to spill your blood, darling”. You frowned at that last bit, as he flashed you a sweet and almost innocent smile, and stalked off.   

As for the other ‘benefits’ - the sex was intricate, if somewhat mechanic, almost too skillful on his behalf. Wanting more passion than efficiency, you eventually asked him to talk dirty to you. That made it nearly too intense for you to handle, and seemed to keep him more... personally engaged. During daytime you had to force yourself not to get caught up in flashbacks of his red eyes watching you writhe as he described what he was doing to you, what he was going to do to you, or how you looked while he worked your body. 

The night that you, wanting to reciprocate, asked him exactly how he wanted to be pleasured and what he liked was a fiasco. You didn’t understand why. First he said something about being able to please you being his greatest reward and satisfaction (which you immediately shut down). Then he grew flustered and irritated, becoming uncharacteristically at a loss for words. You tried to divert the conversation, but the mood was unsalvageably ruined.  

There was one takeaway from that debacle, however. After abandoning the idea of sex for the night, you laid next to each other, talking about nothing in particular: Baldur’s Gate, places you were both familiar with, comforts you were looking forward to having again. At one point he looked at his jacket, which you’d been lying on, and lamented that he couldn’t find any gold thread to fix the embroidery. You laughed and rolled over to give him a hug, and simply never let go. He wordlessly pulled you closer once it was clear you had no intention of leaving. That was the first time that you fell asleep and slept through the night in his arms. 

This became somewhat of a ritual, or another game with unspoken rules. Once you were done with each other, you’d pretend to quickly fall asleep with your face nested in the crook of his neck, or to otherwise be too exhausted to get up and make way to your own tent or bedroll. He pretended not to notice the regularity with which this was happening. You pretended not to notice the soft kisses he started leaving on your neck or forehead once he thought you were really asleep. It seemed... important, somehow, that you both pointedly refused to acknowledge any of it. You sensed that otherwise a certain line would be crossed. 

Last night, you were too exhausted to even think of anything but sleep by the time everyone started turning in for the night. Yet rest wasn’t even on the horizon for you – you remembered that you’d neglected to clean your weapons and carry out the well overdue maintenance on your equipment, which you did not allow anyone else to touch even when offered. You were planning to venture into the shadow-cursed lands the following day. You couldn’t afford to be sloppy. You begrudgingly set about your tasks. Astarion was as tired as everyone else, you figured it was needless to say you’d spend the night apart. And yet...  

“I guess I finally get my bedroll all to myself tonight, how delightful” you heard behind you. “No one to wrap themselves around me, no one nuzzling into my neck... Only free, undisturbed personal space” You heard a hint of dejection beneath the sarcasm, and something in your stomach flipped, giving you pause.  

“I’ll come back for a cuddle if you say please” you murmured over your shoulder. 

“Never!” he rasped in a perfect imitation of Lae’zel when you asked the same of her before freeing her from a tiefling cage, and disappeared into his tent. 

Over an hour later, as you collapsed into your own bedroll, you saw a pair of red eyes staring at you from across the camp, tent flap ajar. You held Astarion’s gaze.  

“Please”, he mouthed soundlessly, smiling as he lifted the edge of his blanket.  

Within moments, you slipped into his embrace, pressing your lips against his. But his kisses were gentle and feather light, lacking the usual persistent neediness.  

You pulled away from him, locking eyes as he softly ran his hand down your cheek, brushing your lower lip with his thumb. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful” he breathed. 

That night he fell asleep with his head against your chest, listening to the sound of your heartbeat.  

Your breath caught in a silent sob as you were overwhelmed by a bittersweet realization of how much you really stood to lose if you failed in the journey still ahead of you. You didn’t think you’d ever felt happier or more miserable before in your life, as you hugged him tighter. 

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

[teawithmadalice]

THE DRAGONS DAUGHTER

Prologue • Thranduil x daughter!OC

Summary: Thranduil lost his beloved daughter 500 years ago, on his search for the white gems of Lasgalen- his wife's final gift to him, he finds a young elf who reminds him of his lost daughter.

WORD COUNT: 2k

1 (YOU ARE HERE) • 2

The town square was filled with a hushed anticipation. The people, their faces marked by years of hardship and torment from the years of being terrorized by the fire breathing beast known by the name of Smaug, gathered together as the mayor, an elderly man with a deep, gravelly voice, stood before them.

"Good people of lake town, I stand before you today to speak of a matter both heavy and upsetting- one that has weighed on us all for what feels like generations although we know that is not so. Each season, as the winds begin to stir and change and the first frost that touches the earth melts away into spring dew drops, we face a choice, a duty. A sacrifice. This has taken the form of your hard earned gold, herds of sheep and piles of luxuries are sacrificed in an attempt to appease the beast"

He paused- his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd, young and old all gathered.

"For almost 2 seasons now, we have lived under the shadow of the mountain. Above us, in the crags and cliffs, the great dragon Smaug watches over this land. I and the council have decided. One innocent soul, taken from among us, chosen by fate and tradition, to appease the dragon’s hunger."

"Regretfully, one newborn babe will be randomly selected by our council, and tonight, will be given as tribute to Smaug"

His voice grew softer now, tinged with sorrow- though it remained firm in its conviction.

"Now, I know that there are some among you who question this. Who feel in their hearts that such a practice is cruel, that the price is too steep. I see your faces, and I hear your whispers. I, too, have felt the weight of this duty, the pang of grief in offering a life so young. But we cannot allow this torment to continue plaguing our lovely town any longer."

"We must remember the fate of the dwarven kingdom of erebor and our sister-city of dale, those people died because they would not submit to the mighty dragon Smaug, we survived because we are lucky enough to have built our quaint town on water, and that the flame of Smaug cannot rage on for long before being distinguished into smoke and steam.

To the great people of Laketown, for our survival, we must do this."

•••••

It is written in the history books that the queen of the elven kingdom of mirkwood, wife of king thranduil and mother to the young elfling prince legolas died during the war on Angmar at the hands of orc barbarians.

The kingdom was said to have mourned the loss of a kind and benevolent queen that day, the realm fell silent, even the elves in neighbouring kingdoms mourned the beloved queen and sent commiserations to the widowed king and young elfling prince.

But what the history books leave out is that the queen of mirkwood, Calathiel, did not die alone. She was on the road to a neighbouring kingdom to seek refuge, with a newly born babe, a princess elfling who had fallen ill and needed treatment that the war-torn mirkwood could not provide.

The knowledge of the princess was unknown to those outside the royal family and those close to them, it was a great risk- a pregnant queen is a prime target for enemy attacks.

Calathiel and the small assortment of guards, (around four or five elves) that travelled with her were intercepted and slain only one day away from their destination- their bodies were left to the elements, ivy growing over the corpses in intricate patterns- a grotesque beauty.

it was three months before a group of mirkwood rangers recovered the bodies.

6 bodies.

Five corpses clothed in armour with weapons in hand and one body adorned in elven silk and silver jewelry, a woven crown laying on top of the silver locks of hair.

No young elfling babe was found among the fallen

•••••

"mama!" a young boy, with a mop of chocolate brown curls came crashing into his home in lake town.

"Aldren Forrinson where on earth have you been boy!" the screech of a woman with the same flurry of brown curls yelled back, putting her knitting needles down onto the stool beside her.

The small blanket was almost complete, a gift for her unborn babe she had carried in her womb for almost nine months, it would only be a few days until her waters broke and the bundle of joy would come wailing and kicking into the world.

"mama I found something! I was out walking in the woods- yes, I know you told me not to go too far from town- BUT! look..." the boy approached his mother, a bundle of soft blankets and wrappings of silk lay in his arms.

A soft gasp left the woman's lips as she peered down, a small pale face peered back with piercing blue eyes-

"give it here boy."

her nimble hands peered back at the many layers of cloth, short silver locks of hair had begun to sprout from the babes head, small pointed ears and a button nose- an elfling.

The elfling shivered, sweat beaded down her forehead, the warning signs of a fever- "listen to me here boy, go to master vere and tell him that the babe needs to be monitored, I can't keep an eye with my bump as big as it is now, " the woman leaned over to the pipe of finished knitted toys, clothes and blankets and took a soft woolen baby hat and placed it a top the babes head, covering the silver locks and pointed ears.

"there. Now off you go boy - shoo"

The sun was setting by the time the small boy got to the village doctor, bursting through the door and laying the babe on top of a table

"Master! babe- sick- fever" aldren panted, out of breath.

The old man stood from his chair, grey haired and wrinkled "oh, I was unaware your mother had given birth- where is she-?" the man turned, expecting to see the boy, but was met with mud trodden footprints made in haste. A sigh left his lips, turning to the babe and picking up the now sleeping infant.

WINTER, TA 2401, CLINIC LOG.

PATIENT: INFANT GIRL 'FORRISON'

DESCRIPTION: pale faced, smaller than the average babe, small scattered birthmark on the left shoulder , newly born.

The patient seems to be infected with a sweating sickness, from my evaluation there is not much that can be done, I have administered a sedative so the babe is not in pain- it is up to the patient to fight the sickness, let us pray she is strong

••••••••

A soft knock resounded on the Forrinson families front door.

The woman opened the door slightly, peeking through the crack- on the other side was an extremely recognisable face.

"Mayor," she spoke, opening the door fully "what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mrs Forrinson, I am not sure if you've heard the announcement I made yesterday in the town centre."

A laugh left her lips at the thought "Of course I've heard, word travels fast and this is a small town after all sire! it's the most interesting thing that's happened here in a long while- it's awful that it has come to this, but I understand why you've decided to take this approach- I hope it works and that whomever the poor child is, that the sacrifice is worthwhile."

"I'm glad you think that Mrs Forrinson. Unfortunately, this is why I'm here talking to you today." his voice was soft, almost remorseful. An unsettling feeling wormed it's way into the pit of the woman's stomach.

"I ventured down to Master Veres clinic to look at the patients logs of all infants born in the last sixth months, in total there were 22"

A deep sigh left the man's lips. "I regret to inform you that your newborn girl has been chosen to do the honourable duty as a forfeit to Smaug- I understand how heartbreaking this must be but i-"

Her pulse was fast. Eyes darting around. She had not yet given birth, but her child was chosen to be sacrificed. Did he think the young elfling was hers? what should she do? her thoughts ran a mile a minute- the elfling was abandoned, has no family that would mourn her- surely she should be the one to be sacrificed, right?

"Mrs Forrinson... Hello Mrs Forrinson are you listening?" the deep voice of the older man snapped the woman out of her thoughts.

"Yes- i- apologies, this is a lot to take in..."

"I understand, your child is still at the clinic, yes? maybe you and your family should go and spend some time with her"

"yes... I-I think we will. Thank you sire."

•••••••

The trek to the caves mouth was difficult, the sharp rocks of the winding pathways cut into the bottom of the townsfolk feet through the soles of their boots- the wind was howling, bitter and cruel, whistling mockingly at them.

Beneath the large cocoon of blankets bundled in Mrs Forrinson's arms, the young elfling was slumbering, blissfully unaware of how each step taken was one step closer to a tragic fate of fire and ash.

The mountain began to shake, rumbling ferociously. "Smaug grows near, be careful!" one of the elders spoke, before he could continue a deep bellowing voice echoed from the opening of the cave

"WHAT HAVE YOU INSOLENT MORTALS BROUGHT ME NOW... A PITIFUL SOME OF GOLD PERHAPS? MAYBE SOME SHEEP TO SATIATE MY APPETITE?"

The blackening void of the cave was broken by two bright orange glowing eyes, emitting a deep growl as they slowly approached closer and closer to the small entourage of townsfolk.

"...NO... IT CANNOT BE TREASURE OR FOOD, I CANNOT SMELL THE GOLD ORE OR THE THUMPING HEARTS OF OBLIVIOUS SHEEP~ YOU'VE BOUGHT ME... SOMETHING... NEW."

"Smaug. We know you are a creature of wrath, a force of nature, and we know the land has trembled beneath your fury. The sky grows dark when you take to the air, and no beast or man dares to challenge your flame. But we are not your enemies—we seek only to survive, to live in peace with the land you claim as your own.

In our desperation, we have come to offer the one thing we hold most precious, the only way we know to ask for your mercy: a child of our own blood, a newborn babe born only a few moons ago. "

He motions to Mrs Forrinson, who cradles a newborn in her arms, unaware of the fact that the babe is not her own, but an abandoned elfling left on the edge of a nearby forest

"We offer this child, her life, in the hope that her innocence might sway your heart. Her cries are pure, her laughter untainted. She is the future of our village- the last hope we have to please you and, in turn, save our people from the shadow of death you cast upon us.

We do not ask for your forgiveness, only that you take this gift and spare us the destruction we fear. We understand the value of a life-of any life-and it is with the deepest sorrow that we present this offering, knowing full well the price it demands.

May you find in this small child something worthy of your grace.

We beg of you... let it be enough."

The older man motions to Mrs Forrinson, encouraging her to step forward and place the bundle of blankets and knitted wear at the mouth of the cave- this child was not her own, but a strong feeling of sorrow and grief ran throughout her body, solemn tears silently dripping down her face.

"I am so sorry little one." she whispered, pressing a soft kiss onto the young elves forehead, patting her hat covered head- one she kept on to conceal the pointed elven ears and the babes true nature.

"YOU MORTALS NEVER CEASE TO AMAZE ME. LEAVE. YOUR OFFERING IS ACCEPTED."

★★★★★

OMG the prologue is done! I'm scared I rushed the ending but oh well- not proofread!

like this? join my TAGLIST to be reminded of new episodes, blurbs and ficlets in the series <3

next chapter

[e-hibiscus]

Pairing: Demon!Ningguang x reader

Authors Note: Happy Hallows eve 👻

As part of @edgeray ’s Halloween Event, I’ve written you all a fic for the spooky season‼️‼️

Warnings: Nsfw, suggestive UTC

As a hobby you enjoy sifting through old estate sales. It’s always an entertaining thing to see objects that people hold onto. Each thing is tied together with a story from the past. Anytime you see a sign posted about a garage or estate sale, you always go to take a look because there’s always a hidden gem in the sea of “junk”.

Stepping out of your car, you see a man out by the garage, organizing an assortment of toys, books, clothes, and other nicknacks. The crunching of gravel lets the man know of your arrival, and after some small talk you're sifting through the mountains of mementoes. Looking through faded pictures and books for anything of interest.

While looking through some old posters, something catches your eye. An old book in excellent condition despite how dusty it is on the surface. In some odd way… you’re compelled to take it with you, so you buy it along with a few other things , like a beautiful hairpin and intricately designed pipe.

Standing before your small haul of items, the book falls to the wayside. The worn and dirty gold hairpin is the first thing you decide to restore and you’re glad you did because after cleaning the damn thing it was simply beautiful. Feeling the pattern underneath your fingertips, it’s clear this was a masterpiece in its own right. You decide to keep it on your vanity incase you ever want to use it. The pipe too, is a very similar line of event. Restoration and then ultimately you display it in your collection with your other bits and bobs.

It was only months later that you get around to the weird book you’ve picked from that estate sale. A few times you’ve found yourself staring at the cover while it sits on your shelf. You bring the worn book in your hands, being careful not to cause anymore damage to its delicate body. Despite its clearly aged appearance, your able to read the characters written in the pages.

Only some seem familiar to you, but there was much more you didn’t understand about it. It was clear that this was a ritual of sorts, that much was clear if the images and diagrams were anything to go off of. Tracing over the characters, you decide that you’re going to try and summon whatever this thing is. Everything is confusing though… so you brush up on your researching skills for the sake of finding out more about this ritual. Your curiosity got the best of you, so you began pouring in hours of research in your free time.

After years of on and off research and deciphering of the characters you’ve finally figured it out.

You couldn’t get in any faster than you already were. The frantic jingling of your keys was the only thing you can hear other than your labored breath. Your eyes continue to dart between each key and the time on your watch until you finally get the door open and shut behind you.

In your living room, mostly everything had been cleared out so you could make space for all the things necessary. You spent hours the day before crafting the sigils, referencing your notes so things would be absolutely perfect. You didn’t come this far to half-ass this, right? You couldn’t help but cover your eyes when the characters light up brightly, and you miss how Ningguang’s pulled from her slumber. The demon manifests from the smoke, to see her new “master” and when she sees you the demon only raises a brow.

Slowly, you crack your eyes open to see not an ugly scary demon… but an older woman who eyes your body almost as if she’s picking jewelry instead of looking at a person. Even under the scrutinizing gaze of the demon before you, a small “Woah…” escapes under your breath because Ningguang’s beautiful.

••

The ruby eyes take in the room around her. It’s bland for her taste. There’s only a few things amongst all the “junk” Ningguang could appreciate however the succubus can’t help but be disappointed by your taste in decor.

“Well,” Ningguang’s voice draws out smoothly. It’s not often a woman summons her, and a rather cute one at that. “What do we have here?”

The way you averted your gaze from her immediately when it became clear you’re reserved and inexperienced. With a firm grip on your face, Ningguang forces your attention into her face. A chill ran down your spine as her pertent gaze bore into you. The sharp manicured nails leave light crescents on your cheeks before her thumb gently runs over the markings with faux care. She drinks in you slightly panicked expression.

She doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches as her thin tail snakes its way around your thigh. The desire in your core grows from the sweet scent filling the air and you only grow more sensitive to everything. From the fabric of your shirt to your panties your body is getting worked up in the presence of such a power succubus. You remain still as she turns your head, a pleased hum escaping her lips before she lets go satisfied by your obedience. Ningguang’s praise sounds smooth like honey. “What an obedient little master.” Her delicate fingers swipe over your lips, before she plants an indulgent kiss to rile you up some more.

Your hand reaches out to grab her wait, however Ningguang grabs hold of your wrist. “Have patience, little master. You’ll get a taste soon enough.” Her words ghosting the shell of your ear. Ningguang leans in to steal a kiss with an indulgent chuckle before setting her smoke aside.

Soon enough you’re laid in the sheets presenting your pretty little pussy for her. Already the thin fabric of your thong is soaked through with your arousal, pupils blow wide as you stare up at her figure leaning over with nothing but grace and elegance.

The way her nails scrape against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. You should be embarrassed that a simple swipe over your clothed sex has you rolling your hips against Ningguang’s hand. The needy feeling aches from the lack of stimulation.

“All you have to do is say yes,” Her words break through your clouded mind with a tempting offer. “and offer your body to me?”

[olenvasynyt]

Random Lucien headcanons, let’s go!

1. Lucien’s favorite alcoholic drink is whiskey. He likes old-fashioned, Summer-style whiskey lemonade, whiskey sours, Autumn-style hot toddy with cinnamon and honey, in his coffee, etc

2. He has insomnia and struggles to fall asleep. Probably gets 4-5 hours a sleep on a good day.

3. Is a big morning person: will call 8 am “sleeping in”. (Day Court heir rises with the sun!)

4. He is very fashionable (of course, we all know this) but he loves wearing mismatched socks. He has the biggest assortment of socks ever, including the fancy dress socks, hiking socks, fuzzy sleeping socks, and socks so old he sews patches in them

5. Knows how to sew and is pretty good at it. LoA taught him embroidery and he’ll embroider random leaves on his clothes when he’s bored.

6. Collects trinkets and always has a random assortment of things in his pocket: a cool stone he found; a key he stole from his brother and refuses to give it back after 200 years; a gem that popped off his knife handle; a rabbit’s foot, etc. He’s a lil crow for sure

7. Loves sleeping in hammocks. One of his go-tos when he goes camping by himself

8. Can juggle. Yes, I know, but picture him shirtless with his hair draping over his bare chest, his muscled arms moving elegantly as he juggles 5 flaming balls of fire 7 feet above his head…

9. Could not sit still as a kid. He was always running around and fiddling with stuff, kicking his feet when he sits, etc

10. Has his ears pierced (tbh I headcanon that most fae have their ears pierced. Fancy, excessive is a High Fae fashion)

11. Loves interior design. Constantly argues with Vassa about how to decorate the manor they occupy in the human lands; he HATES her taste

11.5. Modern headcanon: Lucien loves thrifting and always looks for vintage furniture, wall decor, etc at second-hand stops and estate sales.

12. Never liked hunting as a kid (family hunts were always torture for him) but he grew to appreciate it as a survival skill, as well as a way to enjoy and respect nature.

13. Was raised to worship the Mother, but disliked how his father’s court used it to oppress people. Lady of Autumn is religious and taught him the kind and true side of religion. The Mother and the Cauldron became a way for him to connect with his mother, especially after he ran from Autumn and couldn’t see her.

14. His love language is gifts (obviously) but also physical touch. He loves giving massages and can warm up his hands with fire magic to give heated massages for cold feet, hands, etc. He is clingy and loves to hold hands and cuddle.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR DARK TUNNELS, NARROW PASSAGEWAYS, HIDDEN DOORS, THICK JUNGLES, AND LOCKED TOMBS *  assorted dialogue for all your cliché adventuring needs, adjust as necessary, send "reverse" for the reversal of the prompt

DIALOGUE PROMPTS

look there! i think i see daylight!

we're not getting out of here alive.

help me get this door open!

we don't have time to argue! we have to move!

can you see anything on the wall?

i can't read that, but i know someone who can.

hold the light steady.

i think we made a wrong turn back there.

where do we go from here?

oh no. i'm not going first.

what if we can't find a way out in time?

the room's filling up with water!

have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your entire life?

according to the map, we should be headed in the right direction.

we should set up camp here.

is that a waterfall i hear?

let's take turns keeping watch.

do you know what we'll find in there?

i recognize this symbol!

you'll have to go ahead without me.

move! it's a trap!

the floor is moving!

there has to be another way out.

did that wall just move?

snakes. why'd it have to be snakes?

whatever you do, don't touch it.

this treasure has been lost for centuries.

maybe there's a reason nobody ever found this place.

i think we should turn back.

ACTION PROMPTS

[ jungle ] sender and receiver navigate through a lush jungle

[ elbow ] sender accidentally elbows or leans on a button or ancient mechanism in the wall, which opens a secret door nearby

[ steal ] sender and receiver steal an ancient artifact from a museum in order to return it to where it came from

[ map ] sender and receiver locate a map that points them in the direction of lost treasure

[ return ] sender and receiver return a stolen artifact to the spot where it was taken from

[ bridge ] sender and receiver carefully cross a rickety bridge over a huge canyon and/or a huge waterfall, take your pick

[ pressure ] sender accidentally steps on a pressure pad on the ground and sets off a deadly trap

[ decipher ] sender and receiver decipher mysterious, ancient writing on the wall

[ treasure room ] sender and receiver step into a massive treasure room filled with gold, gems, and ancient artifacts

[ awake ] thanks to sender and receiver poking around where they're not supposed to, an ancient evil is awoken

[ crypt ] sender and receiver navigate a dusty, cobweb-covered crypt

[ squeeze ] sender and receiver ease their way through a very narrow passageway

[ trapped ] sender and receiver watch as the door they just came through suddenly closes, leaving them trapped and alone

[ patch ] after receiving a nasty wound durng their adventure, sender carefully patches up receiver's injury

[ swim ] in order to reach the next room, sender and receiver have to swim their way through an ancient passageway beneath the water

[ stranded ] sender and receiver's plane crashes in the jungle, leaving them stranded and alone

[ stuck ] sender and receiver are stuck on different sides of a locked door

[ rescue ] sender fights off an evil creature to save receiver's life

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare Part.6

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Description: Aemond comforts his new wife when she is rebuffed by the other ladies of the court for her low birth. When the succession to the Lord of the Tides is put to question, an insult from Lucerys Velaryon to his wife prompts Aemond's anger.

Previous part

Writer's note: basically Aemond and Y/N getting accustomed to married life but this part follows ep 1x08 Lord of the Tides. Starting to get into the plot of S1 now.

Crediting @cinderkaliningrad who is a gem and let me use their idea that Aemond would allow those he trusted to be on his left side.

Warnings: female reader, sexual innuendo, angst but also fluff, hurt/comfort, fainting (I would too if I saw Vaemond's head like that) swearing, bit of violence.

Aemond had not thought it possible to experience such happiness as he had in the weeks following his marriage to Y/N. He had never imagined that such unconditional love would be directed towards him, having been largely ignored by his family and feared by members of the court all his life. The slightest touch from Y/N was enough to set his skin alight and he burned for her alone. He was grateful his little wife did not seem to mind the fervour of his affectations, still sometimes feeling like that lonely boy from his youth who'd craved the love of his family to no avail. It filled him with pride to see Y/N wear the dresses he had made for her in varying shades of blue, for her to wear the sapphire necklace he'd had commissioned against the elegant curve of her neck, as if she were carrying a part of him with her. He could never forget her thoughtfulness to match her wedding dress to the sapphire which replaced his eye, which he supposed spoke to a degree of possessiveness in him, but in his mind he belonged to Y/N as much as she did to him. Indeed, it was still the eyepatch she had mended on their initial meeting he continued to favour for it had been her delicate hands that had graced it with her touch, and it was almost as if he could feel her tender caress against his cheek and carry her complete acceptance of him along with him as he wore it. 

It filled his heart with joy to see the evidence of her presence in their shared chambers. Though it had been strange for Y/N at first to consider the chambers she had spent months cleaning as her own, and he'd had to stop her several times as he'd caught her tidying and arranging items on his desk as if she were still his handmaiden. With time she had begun to make her own mark on the chambers, a hairbrush here and a ribbon there. He had expressed to her his wish for her to see his chambers as her own and to make any changes she would like. And it pleased him to mark subtle changes and improvements such as the vanity table now positioned close to his desk, holding an assortment of her belongings, to know she had taken him on his word. If it were not for the news that his half sister and her spawn would be arriving to King's Landing in mere days to settle the question of the succession of Driftmark he should be entirely content.

Y/N could scarcely believe that the man she'd been so wary of upon their first meeting could be such a gentle and loving husband. She blushed to think of how affectionate Aemond was with her, always touching her in some way. A hand on her thigh under the table as they broke their fast with Helaena each morning, an arm wrapped around her waist as they walked in the gardens of the Red Keep, reaching for her leg to drape it across his body each night and pull her as close to him as possible as they slept. Aemond seemed to crave her touch as if it were the very air he breathed and she thought that it provided him a degree of comfort that had always been denied him, each caress an assurance that she loved him as he loved her, that they were two souls intertwined as one.

He had been determined from the first that she should see his chambers as their chambers going forward and that he wished for her to make any changes she liked, whatever the cost. It had been a challenge at first to adapt to the drastic change of her status upon their marriage and to feel comfortable considering Aemond's chambers as her own. But she noticed the ghost of a smile lighting Aemond's features each time he saw one of her belongings on a side table or on his desk. It was only when he explained what it meant to him, that she were truly his, that she began to accede to his wishes and make her small mark upon their shared space. It had been Helaena who had convinced her of her need for a vanity table to house all of the gifts Aemond insisted on bringing her. Feeling that it was too great an expense and encroachment on Aemond's space, she had prevaricated on the subject for a time.

But before long it became essential she should have her own space as every surface in their shared chambers became littered with trinkets Aemond thought she might like. She noted his proclivity for gifting her dresses and jewels in shades of blue to match his sapphire, all of which she wore with pride, knowing the private significance the colour held for him. She had been nervous as carpenters had moved the vanity to their chambers and positioned it close by Aemond's desk, concerned it took up a greater space than she'd been anticipating. But Aemond had smiled at her so brightly upon seeing it, she was glad she had risked it.

Despite the blissful beginnings of their marriage, Y/N could not shake the sadness she felt at the continued judgement she felt from her fellow courtiers. She had tried to speak with the other ladies and befriend them if she could but had been met with only cold politeness, icy looks, and murmurs they either did not think she could hear or did not care to hide. She was aware Aemond could not spend every moment with her and she had to make her own way, but she began to worry that in time even he might regret their union and be ashamed of his choice, since she had failed to forge a place for herself at court. She felt almost like a shadow, relegated to the peripheries of courtly life, as she succumbed to her own dark thoughts. Before Y/N could stop them, tears started cascading down her face and she quickly shifted to the edge of the bed, trying to muffle her sniffles with her arms so as not to wake her husband. She did not wish to bother him with her concerns.

Aemond blinked awake confusedly, trying to ascertain what had woken him. His fingers grasped at air as he sought out Y/N, the sound of muffled cries snapping him out of his dazed state as he turned to find her curled up at the very edge of the bed, crying into her arms. His chest restricted at the sound, heart falling at the thought of his wife being so upset and trying to conceal it from him. Shifting closer to her he wrapped an arm around her waist and turned her to face him, gently pulling her towards his chest. Y/N's fingers automatically curled against his heart. "What is it, my love?"

Y/N sniffled but, he was glad to see, did not reject the comfort he offered as she placed her face in the crook of his neck.

"I did not mean to wake you." He had to tilt his head down to hear her as her voice was muffled against his skin, and he tried not to pay attention to the way her soft lips grazed his collarbone.

Aemond shushed her gently. "I would not have you rebuke yourself. I wish you to always feel safe coming to your husband with your concerns."

Y/N let out a shuddering breath.

"The other courtiers don't accept me. I fear they never will."

Aemond felt anger course through him, if some bastardly courtier had insulted his lady he would have their tongue.

"Tell me who has caused your tears, my sweet girl. I'll have their head."

Y/N placed a delicate kiss to his shoulder.

"I would not have that on my conscience Aemond. Though I appreciate the sentiment. I cannot find a place for myself with the other ladies of the court. They are as polite as they need to be but keep me at a distance and I know how they speak of me when they think I cannot hear. It makes me feel very alone."

Aemond tightened his arms around her. He had known what it was to be lonely since childhood, felt the gaping hole festering within him until he met Y/N, and he hated that she should ever have felt that way. Kissing the crown of her head, he rubbed his hand up and down her spine. "You are not alone, nuha prumia. It does not matter what they think, you are my princess. Spend your time with me instead."

Pulling her away from his chest so he could see her face he kissed her tear stained cheeks. "I always want you close to me. Have I not told you as much? Come with me to the training yard tomorrow."

He peppered her face with kisses, planting them against her eyelids as they fluttered closed, her nose, the corner of the mouth, his kisses growing more haphazard as Y/N let out a giggle. Smiling at her, Aemond brushed the hair that stuck to her face back. "That's my girl. Pay them no mind. You are worth more than the lot of them combined."

Y/N smiled at him with a watery smile "I think your mother and the other nobles might have something to say about you shirking your duties to be with me. I cannot always be joined to you at your hip."

Aemond smirked, grasping her hip and pulling her closer, causing her to gasp "I beg to differ. Indeed I forbid you to part from my side."

Y/N laughed in response to his antics and Aemond delighted in having elicited the sweet sound from her.

"I love you, Aemond."

His gaze softened and he brought a hand up to stroke her cheek. "And I love you."

Y/N snuggled back into his chest and eventually her breathing slowed so Aemond was sure she had fallen back to sleep. Stroking her hair, he considered what he could do to make the other courtiers more accepting of his wife so she should not feel so lonely when he was not by her side. Perhaps he could discuss it with his mother, she might be better placed to select some ladies as his wife's companions. He had long since grown accustomed to the stares and whispers of the nobles as he passed them. The one-eyed Prince they called him. And he could care less for their opinions, but it was clear that Y/N did and anything that mattered to her mattered to him.

Only a few days later Y/N was stunned when several ladies of the court introduced themselves to her, one taking her arm to guide her over to their party. She was not used to such friendliness and was more than a little suspicious, but she enjoyed conversing with the ladies and thought them sincere in their offer of friendship. Y/N could not but assume that Aemond had had some hand in this new development given his inquisitive line of questioning about her day later that evening. Although she felt a small degree of embarrassment at needing his assistance even to forge friendships at court, she was gladdened at the prospect of company and was grateful for his attentiveness to her needs.

Aemond was relieved to see his wife's mood improve day by day, and that she had taken to the cohort of ladies his mother had singled out as potential companions for her. He enjoyed hearing her speak animatedly of her day each evening, as it seemed to him that she was beginning to feel more comfortable with her elevated position. He could nor bear it if marrying him had cost her her happiness. The corner of his lip quirked up at the sounds of children giggling as he turned the corner to his sister's chambers, hoping to find his wife in the knowledge that she spent so much of her time with Helaena and her children. He wished to distract himself from his half sister's impending arrival the next day, knowing he would have to face the tormentors of his childhood oncemore.

The Prince's heart leapt at the sight that met him as he entered Helaena's chambers. Y/N's face was flushed with laughter as she carried Jahaerys on her back, bearing him where he pointed, his twin Jahaera in a fit of laughter at them both all the while. His smile broadened as he watched his wife interact with his little niece and nephew. A passing image of Y/N holding their own child swept across his mind. He had not thought of fatherhood before, but he felt his heart swell at the prospect of having a little Y/N running around. He knew he would love them fiercely. When Jahaerys yanked on strands of Y/N's hair as if they were reigns on a horse and he saw her wince minutely, he stepped in to rescue his wife. Plucking his nephew off Y/N's back he placed him gently down by his sister before ruffling his silver hair. "Daor, play gently little nephew."

Y/N turned to him at feeling the weight removed from her back, her own smile broadening at the sight of him. "Husband."

Aemond had not yet tired of hearing his beloved address him as her husband, indeed he did not think he ever would.

"Wife."

Helaena's voice broke through his reverie as he found himself lost gazing at his beautiful wife.

"Oh good, you're here Aemond. Let me show you my new pet."

He had to tear his eye from Y/N's face to allow Helaena to pull him towards whatever new creature she'd adopted.

Aemond was sparring with Ser Criston when he spotted the unmistakable brown hair and distinctly non Targaryen features of his nephews Jacaerys and Lucerys from across the training yard. He threw himself into the duel with increased ferocity as they approached to watch, eager to show them he would not be such an easy target now he was grown, all the while mindful of his Lady wife amongst the circle of spectators. As Cole's mace shattered the wood of his shield he carelessly tossed it aside, swinging at him and looking for any openings in the Knight's stance. Turning to clash his sword against Cole's mace, he wrenched it from his grip and had his sword pointed at his throat in seconds to the cheers of the onlookers and, he noted with a satisfied smirk, the wary expressions of his nephews.

"Well done, my Prince. You'll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don't give a shit about Tourneys." Aemond made sure to keep his eye trained on his nephews as he spoke.

"Have you come to train nephews?" A fight would be little challenge, but he could not resist taunting them with his own proficiency in his swordsmanship. A true Targaryen prince should have mastery of the sword.

Not a moment later a horn sounded, announcing the arrival of the Sea Snake's brother and his entourage. Sheathing his sword, Aemond went to Y/N's side, wrapping an arm around her waist as she stood on tiptoe to press a tender kiss against his cheek. "Well done, husband." He smiled affectionately at her before returning his gaze to Vaemond Valeryon, his mouth upturned though his eye held no mirth as the lord levelled Lucerys with a piercing glare. It would serve the bastard right to lose his inheritance. He was glad that Y/N had not seemed to notice the tension that crackled off him, not wishing her to be privy to the darker turnings of his mind when it came to this particular side of his House.

Y/N stood by Helaena and her husband as Lord Vaemond made his petition for his right to Driftmark. She was surprised by the brazenness of his allusions to the parentage of Princess Rhaenyra's children, but admittedly their features were clearly not those of Targaryens like her husband. She discreetly studied Rhaenyra's sons, unable to stop herself from taking an immediate dislike to them despite never having spoken a word to either. She did not think she could ever forgive them their treatment of Aemond. As Rhaenyra took Vaemond's place to make her own petition, heads snapped up at the sight of the heavy doors of the throne room opening, followed by a knight announcing the King's presence. Y/N had only met the King once and it had been an unpleasant experience, which left her shrinking into Aemond's side presently. He had tried to introduce her to his father but the King's illness seemed to have addled his mind and he alternated between rebuking Aemond for the match or forgetting who she was entirely. Y/N did not think it right that he should be so judgemental of Aemond's choices when he had scarcely acknowledged him his whole life, instead favouring his nephew's begotten out of wedlock. She did not like to judge Rhaenyra, but she hated the double standard. King Viserys stumbled with great difficulty towards the throne, mounting the steps only with the aid of his brother Prince Daemon, who struck Y/N as an intimidating figure.

She felt Aemond tense beside her as the King called on the Princess Rhaenys to express Lord Corly's wishes, ultimately asserting the validity of Lucery's claim to the Driftwood throne. Y/N subtly brushed her arm against Aemond's in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. He had spoken little of his nephews since their visit to King's Landing had been announced, but she felt his discontent in his silence nonetheless. She supposed that to Aemond Lucerys losing his inheritance of Driftmark might in some way make up for the loss of her husband's eye, and she could understand his dissapointment now. She hadn't counted on Lord Vaemond taking such a belligerent stand against the King himself, jumping as his voice boomed across the throne room.

"They are bastards!"

Her eyes flitted up to the face of the King, who looked positively murderous.

"I will have your tongue for that."

She regretted looking back to Vaemond to garner his reaction as Prince Daemon unsheathed his sword with lightning rapidity and cleaved Vaemond's head off, leaving the ghastly sight of a tongue lolling out of an empty neck socket.

"He can keep his tongue."

She shrieked and turned her face into her husband's chest as he moved to shield her and Helaena from the gorey scene. Y/N had never seen such violence before and felt physically sick as she recalled the squelching sounds that had followed Vaemond's beheading, squeezing her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to fend off the nausea. Her actions were to no avail as her stomach churned and she began to feel light headed, swaying slightly where she stood.

Aemond, like everyone else who'd witnessed Daemon's act of brutality, was shocked by the escalation to violence. And yet he could not help admiring his uncle for his daring and loyalty to his Lady wife. He must know surely that his nephew's were in fact bastards and Vaemond had only spoken the truth. He did regret that his own wife and sister had witnessed the spectacle. Not anticipating Daemon's actions, he had not turned quickly enough to block their view. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked down at Y/N to find her looking positively green as she swayed on her feet. Checking that his sister was well, he took a firm hold of his wife's elbows and led her quickly from the throne room. Directing her to a bench just outside the chamber so she could sit, he knelt before her and caught her torso as she fell forward onto him. Aemond held her head against his shoulder as she breathed deeply trying to ward off her nausea.

"I apologise, I'm acting silly."

Aemond would not hear of it. Y/N, like his sister, was a gentle soul and he would never have wished her to see such violence. He stroked her hair, relieved to see colour returning to her cheeks as she continued to sit and breathe deeply.

"It is I who should be apologising on behalf of my House. You should never have seen such brutality. Daemon is a rogue with no care for the sensibilities of ladies."

Y/N laughed softly but it concerned him how weak the sound was.

"Do you know before I met you I overheard some handmaidens gossiping about how you wore your eyepatch so as not to upset the ladies of the court. I thought it very chivalrous of you at the time. Is that true?"

Aemond's heart was warmed to know that his beloved had thought of him so positively even before they had met and he had fallen for her. She was of course correct, he did not wish to disturb any of the ladies of the court with his wound but was grateful to have found the one lady who would not shrink from him.

"That may have been so at one time and it gladdens my heart to know you think your husband chivalrous. But I fear I must disappoint you, my love."

Y/N's brows furrowed in confusion as she looked at him quizically. Thankfully her breathing had somewhat returned to normal and she seemed to be feeling much better, no longer slumped against him but sitting up straight. He leaned forward to brush his lips against hers.

"There is only one lady I think of now."

Y/N was nervous as she chatted idly with Helaena, her eyes continuously flitting from her husband as he stood by Aegon to the other end of the table where Lucerys Velaryon was seated. It was a cause of anxiety for her that they should be seated directly opposite one another. She only hoped this evening's dinner would not descend into violence with tensions brimming to the surface. As the King was carried in by several knights, Y/N went to take her seat by Helaena to the right of Aemond, and was surprised when he gently directed her to the seat on his left instead. Y/N had quickly realised that Aemond preferred her to remain on his right side with his good eye so he could see her, always switching sides with her as they'd walked through the gardens of the Keep. She thought it sweet that he always wished to have her in his eyeline, but it saddened her that this was necessary.

Aemond seemed so capable that it was easy to forget his sight impairment, and she couldn't help the animosity that rose up in her towards Lucerys Velaryon as the perpetrator of the act which had cost her husband his eye, even if he was but a child at the time. As such, it seemed strange indeed to Y/N that Aemond should specifically want her to sit on his left side. She could feel the tension radiating off him, his jaw clenched slightly, so she did not question it for the moment.

She cast a glance towards the other end of the table when she heard her name whispered quietly along with the words "wife" and "handmaiden." Heat rose to her cheeks and out of the corner of her eye she saw Aemond stiffen as he turned the full force of his stare on his nephews. He must must have heard their mutterings and she could not help feeling embarassed and dejected, as if she were an outsider intruding on a family affair. Aemond placed his hand palm upwards on the table, holding it out to her in invitation. As she placed hers in his she noticed he did not avert his gaze from Lucerys though he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. The sound of a chair scraping silenced the whispers as the King rose to address his family. Y/N's mouth fell open briefly as he pulled his mask from his face, revealing the gnarled cheeks and hollow of his eye socket, though she quickly schooled her features so as not to cause offense. She watched Aemond's face carefully as his father spoke, his expression softening as King Viserys pleaded for an end to the fractious infighting that plagued the two halves of his family. Y/N felt the tension easing in her shoulders as Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra toasted to one another. Perhaps this evening would go smoothly after all.

This hope was short lived however as not a moment later Jacaerys was on his feet, eyes blazing in Aegon's direction, for what reason she knew not. Aemond released her hand a moment later and was also on his feet, staring pointedly at Jacaerys. The animosity was palpable between them, as if Aemond was daring him to have the courage of his conviction. The young Prince looked fearful of Aemond and, clearing his throat gave an awkward speech before sitting down. Y/N reclaimed Aemond's hand and he reluctantly sat back down as well. The intimidating and cold front Aemond was fronting was not a side of her husband Y/N was used to seeing, though she had been all too aware how willing he was to protect those he loved. She found his quiet defence of his brother admirable.

"Come, let us have some music." Minstrels immediately started playing at the Hand of the King's command. She startled as a hand appeared in front of her, her eyes tracing the path of the owner's arm to be met with the face of Prince Jacaerys. Y/N had little experience dancing, but the Prince looked sincere and she did not wish to offend him by rejecting his offer. Aemond's fist clenched against the table but he nodded tersely as she glanced at him, so she accepted the Prince's hand and allowed him to lead her to the centre of the room. As they danced she felt Aemond's gaze boring into her back and hoped he would not be too put out with her.

Aemond did not try to hide the scowl on his face as he watched Y/N dance with his nephew, his knuckles turning white as his anger and jealousy contended for dominance. His ire was reserved solely for his insolent nephews who he'd heard whispering about his wife under their breaths and though Jace seemed to be behaving amicably enough with Y/N, he was suspicious of his intentions in asking her to dance. At the same time a possessiveness rose up in Aemond, though he knew it was childish. Y/N was his love, his person and he misliked seeing Jace touch her, his mind swimming as they interlocked arms and brushed their fingertips together.

He made a concerted effort to relax his posture and unfurl his fist as their dance came to an end, not wishing Y/N to think him angry with her. It irritated Aemond to no end to see Jace offer his hand to his sister Helaena next, prompting Y/N to weave around the Prince and make her way back to him from the other end of the table. He felt a sense of disquiet at her having to pass by Luke, though he knew it was inconceivable that he would harm her. His continued distrust of the boy who'd maimed him had prompted him to have Y/N sit on his left side, feeling a sense of comfort and safety in having the person he most trusted on his vulnerable side where he could not see. His feeling of unease was not groundless however as Luke pointedly held his cup out to her.

"I have need of a refill."

Y/N stopped in her tracks and Aemond watched with fury as a look of confusion passed across her features. He saw plainly what Luke was playing at, observing the petulant boy's barely repressed smirk. When she didn't reply Luke twisted to face her, feigning surprise. "Apologies my lady, I mistook you for one of the servants."

Aemond slammed his own goblet down on the table hard enough for it to shake the dishes and silence the hum of conversation.

"A final tribute to my nephews. Jace, Luke, Joffrey. Each of them handsome, brave..."

Aemond looked directly at Luke, wishing to convey the full weight of his insult and for him to know exactly who it was directed at.

"And strong."

Aemond felt Y/N brush her hand against his as she returned to his side, though he could not see her.

"I dare you to say that again."

Aemond was amused by the Strong pup's gall as he advanced on him, coming to meet him halfway.

"Why? Do you not think yourself strong?"

He had to admire his nephew's bravery as his fist connected with Aemond's Jaw, though it did not carry enough force to have the intended affect. Aemond did not spill a drop of wine. Hearing his wife gasp in alarm he shot her a cocky grin to let her know he was unharmed before shoving Jace to the ground. It did not serve him to fight his nephew, Jace was no match for him. The dinner descended into chaos as Luke rose to aid his brother and was roughly slammed into the table by Aegon.

His mother's voice broke through the cacophony of shouts and scraping chairs.

"Aemond, why do you say such things?"

He pulled his arm from her grip, irritated that it was him being reprimanded once again when it was his nephew's who had insulted his wife. His retaliation was surely to be expected. "I am only expressing how proud I am of my family, mother. It appears my nephews are not so proud of theirs." His tone was laced with venom as he glared at Lucerys. It was not enough for him to take his eye. That he could have forgiven. But he had to revel in his lack of punishment and embarass his gentle wife too. This was a transgression he could not ignore.

As Jace made to rush at him again Daemon stepped in between them and Aemond struggled to decide whether he would stand his ground. The soft feel of Y/N's hand against his as she interlocked their fingers decided it. He stormed from the room, Y/N in tow.

Y/N did not dare to say anything as she stumbled to keep up with Aemond's long strides. He released her hand only when they reached their chambers, stalking away from her to lean against his desk. She worried he might be angry with her but she could not bear to see him so distressed, his head downcast so that his silver hair formed a blanket around his face, his knuckles gripping the edge of his desk so tightly they turned white from the strain. Tentatively approaching him she came to stand between his legs and moved his hair away from his face. Her fears were dispelled as he only grasped her hips and pulled her closer towards him, hands splaying across her waist. "I will make no apology for defending my wife."

Y/N brushed her knuckles against his cheek and Aemond immediately brought his hand up to hold hers in place.

"I would not ask it of you. Indeed, I am glad to have such a protective husband. Though I am sorry that Jacaerys hurt you."

She trailed her fingertips across his jaw lightly, not wishing to press upon a bruise which must surely be forming. Though she could confess inwardly to a degree of girlish embarrassment that after the initial moment of shock and concern at seeing Jacaerys punch her husband, she'd found it attractive how little it had affected Aemond.

Seeming to realise she would not reprimand him for his comportment, Aemond smiled beatifically at her.

"I am unharmed, my love. I have to admire my nephew's spirit, but despite his parentage he has not the strength to match it."

Y/N quirked an eyebrow up at him. "Have I not told you to reign in your arrogance before, husband?"

Aemond's eye lit up with mischief at her light scolding, and he brought a hand to the small of her back to press her closer still. "Tell me again."

Y/N brought her hands to his chest to steady herself as she leant fully against him, heat pooling in her stomach at the way Aemond was looking at her. Noting how his gaze fell to her lips she gladly titled her head to bring their lips together.

Valyrian Translations: Nuha prumia-My heart

Daor- No

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