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kiss-inthekitchen · 9 months ago

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pairing: spencer reid x reader

set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)

You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room.

You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off.

So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.

You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not.

You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night.

That is, until you opened the door.

“Oh,” you said involuntarily.

"There's only one bed,” Spencer said.

“Sure looks that way.”

"At least it's a queen?"

There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time.

"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began.

"I mean, I guess I don't really–"

"–although, JJ did say we got the last–"

"–mind as long as you–"

You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement.

"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”

It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be.

"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.

"Right."

The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window.

"No, you're not doing that."

"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.

"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.”

Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.”

God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team.

Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it.

Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep.

Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still.

“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."

You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke.

The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind.

“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.

You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers.

Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right.

From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that.

He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again.

Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you.

Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together.

Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell.

“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”

You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal.

Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot.

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation.

You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.”

He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him.

“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Sorry,” you managed.

“For what?”

“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.”

“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.”

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further.

“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.”

“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!”

“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.”

“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.”

“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.”

“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him.

“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat.

“You just said ass.”

“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.”

“Right, of course. It’s my fault.”

“I knew you’d agree.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed.

Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting.

Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed.

You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep.

But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself.

Eventually, exhaustion won out.

You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what?

You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black.

Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?!

“Hey, you okay?”

“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.”

“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well.

“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.”

You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand.

He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated.

“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way.

“You were on my pillow, by the way.”

“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him.

“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.”

“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again.

“That wasn’t me complaining about it.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say back.

It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest.

“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious.

“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing.

“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?”

“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.”

He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer.

“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.

“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.”

“Don’t profile me.”

“I’m not. I just know you.”

You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.”

“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.”

“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.”

“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.”

You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip.

“And you stuttered when I brought it up.”

“I told you to stop profiling me.”

This time, he just hummed in response.

“And so what if I stuttered?”

“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.”

Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings from him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list.

“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–”

“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed.

“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.”

“That all makes total sense.”

“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved.

“Now tell me the rest of it.”

“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well.

You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and–

“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream.

“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent.

It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing.

“Yes.”

You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word.

Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it.

“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.

You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry.

He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–”

“It is.”

“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.”

“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.”

Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back.

Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you.

“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked.

“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.”

“I was not–”

“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.

“Oh, this was such a mistake.”

He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“

“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.”

He laughed, and your cheeks warmed.

“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.”

You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?”

“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.”

Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.”

He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.”

You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips. “It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.”

“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you.

After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed.

For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside.

You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again.

“Okay, was it just me, or–”

“That was crazy,” you breathed.

“Crazy,” he agreed.

“Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?”

Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless.

“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.”

“Well, you kissed me.”

“I did.”

“How were you not nervous?” you breathed.

“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.”

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.”

“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.”

“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.”

He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist.

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it.

“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.”

“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer.

You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages.

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.”

“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.”

“You’re such an ass.”

A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up.

You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you.

Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker.

You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left.

You text back: okay?

Spencer: My crush asked me out last night.

You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face.

You: what did u say?

Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first.

You: i think u should say yes, obviously.

Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.

You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded.

You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt

You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success.

Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night

You: i promise i won’t try to jump you

Spencer: Oh

Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here

You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much

Spencer: That’s rich coming from you

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you.

You: whatever. wear something sexy ;)

You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh.

“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask.

Shit.

“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat.

Unbelievable.

You: you’re unhinged :*

Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you?

You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep

Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful

You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty

Spencer: Stop flirting with me

You: bc you’re too delicate??

Spencer: Yes

You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace.

You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that

You heard a page turn.

You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth.

This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed.

#so they have flip phones but i didnt want to write everything in shorthand so theyre just really fast at it. go with it #spencer texts with perfect grammar bc of course he does #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #my fics

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seiwas · 7 months ago

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you wear katsuki’s clothes to bed.

among all your cotton and silk pajamas, you prefer the thinning fabric of his faded tees. there are holes in some of them, just a few more seams away from their undoing as they fit far too large on you—but that’s why you love them.

they’re comfy and worn; lived in with love from the man that you love. when katsuki is gone for days or weeks at a time, you find his warmth intertwined within the threads of his t-shirts. when the fabric presses against your back, the bed doesn’t feel nearly as empty as it is.

(though it can never replace him. nothing can, you fear.)

“hoggin’ all my shirts,” he tuts, but you know it means nothing. the roll of white fabric is neatly folded unto itself, its crisp corners unfurling once handed over.

you giggle, shaking off its folds and fitting the hem right over your head. from the corner of your eye, you see katsuki’s gaze, watching you wrangle the fabric over you as the towel wrapped around your body slowly drops to the floor.

he turns away then, a little too quickly, a little too abruptly. if you look at him now, you’re sure you’ll find flushed cheeks and crimson eyes burning in shame for wanting you so inopportunely.

“guess you’ll just have to take me with it then.”

#bakugo x reader #shotorus.bubble #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #WAAAHDJENDJDN #i think he gets a lil bit flustered seeing u in his clothes 😋#and he feels so embarrassed just watChing u dress and undress #it eases up over time but his cheeks dont lie!!!!!! they flush red everytime!!!!!!#the look of shame transforms into unabashed want over the years but #the feeling is the same 🥹 bubbles or butterflies or whatever the hell it is swirling in his belly #seeing you in something that’s his #especially smth he’s had for yeaaaars 🥺 clothes that have grown up w him 🥺🥺 it makes him feel a little bit like #youre the gift he gets at the end of it all 🥺#like this is the life he has now even tho he was who he was before #and idk !!! it flips something in him !!!#bc it feels a lot like youre proud of being his 🥺 wearing him all over you and whatnot 🥺 and that you’ve chosen him 🥺#all rough edges and holes 🥺🥺🥺🥺#anyway theres a longer version of this but i might make it into a fic or put into an existing one so i will stop it hErEEEEe 🥹🥹🥹#bnha #katsu

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foxstens · 5 months ago

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andrew always being at kevin's side because kevin needs it and andrew driving kevin to night practice and andrew patting kevin down to check for injuries and andrew promising kevin it'll be fine and andrew looking awake, interested because of kevin and andrew conserving his energy for kevin's quiet meltdown and andrew smiling for the first time without the drugs because of kevin and andrew always picking up when kevin calls

#my posts #my aftg posts #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #the sunshine court #kandrew #kevin day #andrew minyard #tearing my hair out climbing the walls chewing drywall #i've always loved kandrew in some way but a few weeks ago it's like a switch flipped #and suddenly i'm absolutely feral over them just constantly thinking about them /and/ writing fic #do y'all know that in some way andrew is the reason kevin started learning how to play right-handed #because they had a fight and andrew said he won't step foot on the court until kevin does as well #augh it's so interesting like how do you even come up with a dynamic like this

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hothammies · 9 months ago

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getting caught cuddling with your "bro" gotta be the most embarrassing shit ever (fic from @campbyler)

#byler #byler fanart #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #acswy #i love the party's reactions to this in the fic LMFAOOO #love the dynamics btwn all of them so much #also mike is flipping off lucas in his prof pic just wanted to share <3 #sammi's art

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stevebabey · 2 years ago

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part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

#at this point call this the 'can i' series #sweet boys asking each other for things they most certainly would be given <3 #but don't think they will <3 #tried to flip it and make it so even tho eddie is used to touch. the romantic touch? he's got none! that's where he's touch-starved #ALSO EVERYONE'S TAGS WERE SO NICE ON THE LAST ONE #trust i am. not feelin so bad nowadays (me saying this like 4 days later lmao)#but <3 thank u all #gay ppl in my phone.... you know what to do #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #touch-starved steve harrington #not rlly anymore hehe #does anyone notice that it ends with yet another 'can i?" question? HEHE #yet again stib gets kisses where ruby doesn't but alas <3 dis is way fluffier this time #nearly went the angst route! and went hmmmm naur #ok ok i'll be quiet now

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eraenaa · 10 months ago

Text

Flipped

Inspired by the Movie Flipped

Aemond Targaryen X Reader Tag List

Synopsis: You had been infatuated with Aemond since you two were children. You could not remember a day when you did not feel anything but adoration for him— not until recently. When something in you turned indifferent, it did not go unnoticed by Aemond, who had never been a fan of change.

Warnings: Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Female Masturbation, Unrequited Love (kinda), Not Proof Read

Word Count: 3,906

It felt odd. You thought. For the first time in years, you strayed away from your routines and quirks. It was unsettling. You felt anxious that this change would bring forth something dreadful. But a bigger part of you felt exhilarated at this change. Because for the first time in years, your immediate thought was not Aemond. Your mind was not preoccupied with the thought of him— was free of wishful thinking that today would be the day that he’d have a change of heart and finally want you as you had wanted him ever since the both of you were five years old.

It has been thirteen years now since the both of you have met. And ever since then, you practically spent every single day with him. He was your neighbor, one of the sons of your mother’s dearest friends, your classmate. Every day was practically spent with him— even weekends, there would be a reason for you two to unite. May it be for joint family dinners or when your mothers would take you on excursions. Every moment was spent with him, and every moment that passed was spent adoring him— loving him. But not anymore.

“Are you ready? They’re almost here!” Your mother called from downstairs. It was that time of the week again. It was time for your family to have dinner with the Targaryens. For the longest time, your families have been spending every Sunday dinner together. Before, you were excited and giddy over the meal because it meant you would see Aemond—that you would start the new week in his presence. Your heart would always spike in excitement; your lips would always bloom into a smile in anticipation. But now, you felt none of it. It was odd; the prospect of seeing and spending time with Aemond would always bring a specific feeling of giddiness in you. But now, it was absent. All you felt was indifference. You somehow felt relieved at that. You relished at the feeling of your heart not beating erratically, that the butterflies in your stomach were absent. You felt at ease when you did not have to hold yourself to a standard that you had set long before, just in hopes he would notice you. You did not have to overthink what you would wear. Not fret over what style you would fix your hair. You simply had to be there and not trip over yourself trying to impress and catch the attention of a boy who was never willing to give it.

You descended down the staircase of your home, your parents greeting the Targaryens in the foyer. “Oh, look at you! You grow prettier every week!” Alicent gushed and went to kiss your cheek; you smiled and complimented your mother’s friend as well. Aemond frowned as you backed away, moving yourself partly behind your parents. Usually, as they came, you would rush over to his side— eagerly trying to chat with him. But now, you did not even spare him a glance. Odd. He thought.

Your families made their way towards the dining room. You wanted to grin at yourself as you did not have the wanting urge to look at Aemond— no longer desperate to acquire a seat next to him. Instead, you situated yourself between your mother and his sister Helaena. You were chatting with the girl instead of her brother. Aemond felt an odd twisting in his stomach as you took a seat that was not next to him. You always sat next to him. You were insistent on sitting next to him— before, you even fought with his older brother for the seat just so that you would be beside him. Why did you relinquish your spot next to him now?

Aemond watched you through the entirety of the dinner. Before, he would always feel your eyes upon him, always sneaking a glance. It was odd not to have your gaze on him. It was a feeling he did not care for. It felt like something was missing.

As they were leaving, Aemond watched as you said your goodbyes to his siblings, but not him. Aegon, who you usually quarreled with, shared more than one laugh with you tonight. Everything felt wrong. Aemond thought. This was not what he was used to; this was not a situation he was accustomed to. Everything felt different. As if there was a shift in you that made you… not you.

“She’s different tonight,” Helaena mumbled as they walked back home— yours and Aemond’s houses just across from each other. “She is,” Aegon agreed. “But I quite like her like this,” Aegon added. Aemond didn’t. There was a pestering feeling that followed him throughout the week. He thought that dinner was just a fluke— that you perhaps did not feel well that night, which is why you did not acknowledge him. But as you two where in school, your used to be constant presence near him was nowhere to be found. Aemond did not realize it, but there was fear trickling inside him. Aemond did not want to acknowledge it, but he was missing you.

You always used to sit behind him in class, and he would feel your stare at the back of his head; you switched places now and moved to the front.

You used to always offer him gum after lunch, knowing he hated the way the taste of cafeteria food would linger on his tongue; that stick of gum was now given to your other friends.

You would always ask him to walk home together, recalling your day as the two of you did; you walked home alone and in silence now.

Sunday dinner was fast to approach once more. It was the Targaryen’s turn to host, and you walked with your parents to their house. “Welcome! Come in, come in,” Alicent smiled warmly as her children stood behind her and welcomed you and your family to their home. “Hi,” You hear Aemond greet— never once had he greeted you first. You turn to him, giving him a sparing glance and a small smile before turning your focus to his other siblings, walking away from where he stood. Aemond gritted his teeth as he felt a clench in his heart when you walked away without even a word. What was this? Why were you doing this? Why was he feeling like this? Why does his stomach pit when he watches you converse and laugh with others who are not him? Why does his skin crawl with the thought that you no longer hold want for him? It’s impossible, right? You could never not want him— you have always wanted him. But now, why did you act like you didn’t? Are you playing a game? Are you trying to administer to him the same coldness and indifference he always showed you?

Aemond took his seat— a chair beside yours, slyly scooting closer to you to make his presence known. Maybe it would make you turn to him and set your gaze upon him once more. It didn’t.

“So, you two are off to University soon. Have you chosen which one to attend?” Alicent asked you as the dinner proceeded. You lick your lips. Before, you were entirely certain that you would attend any University just as long as it was the same as Aemond’s. “I was thinking of going abroad for Uni,” You smile but Alicent was partly shocked by your statement. “Really?” She asked. You felt Aemond’s persistent stare, “Yes, I thought it would be a nice change of pace— something different,” You replied. “You’re fine with her going alone?” Alicent asked your mother. “Oh, she was telling us that she has a classmate that might join her—“

“Who?” Aemond asked, a deep furrow in his brow. His hand reaches for your arm, urging you to turn to him. “Jace, he told me all about the programs and introduced me to the different Universities with my desired course,” You quickly explained. You stared at Aemond’s hand clasped upon your arm. Before, it would elicit gooseflesh and an exciting tingle on your skin— now, it mostly just hurts as his grip was tight and punishing.

You try to steal your arm away, your hand moving and trying to remove his hold on you, but he does not let go. “Aemond,” You called, voice cold and harsh as you were growing hurt and annoyed by his tight hold. Aemond’s frown deepened if it were possible. You never used to address him with such a tone. You would always call out his name so soft and sweetly— your voice always held a pitch of excitement when speaking with him. It was completely gone now.

“I need to talk to you,” Aemond dipped down and whispered in your ear as you stood by your locker. You were ready to deny him and step away, but he dragged you through the hallways and into an empty classroom. “Why?” You asked. You were looking up at him with a slightly annoyed expression. “Why are you acting like this? What are you doing?” He demanded, eye growing wider in anger with each passing moment as he recalled how you ignored him the entire week.

“Acting like what?” You asked, confused by his accusing tone and anger. You expectantly waited for his reply, but his mouth opened and closed without words being uttered. You shake your head and try to pry away his hold on you once more. “Aemond, I don’t want to like you anymore,” You explain as you realize what his unuttered question was. Exchanging a word to something less extreme because you know in yourself you did not want to admit the fact that you loved him since you were seven.

You feel his hold grow tighter as you utter the words. “I’m done… I have been chasing after you for years. I have been so desperate just for even a sliver of your attention— I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want to waste my time on someone who clearly feels indifferent to me— who lets me run around acting so pathetic just for them. I don’t want to follow you around like a lost pup; I’m never going to do that to myself again,” You say clearly and manage to remove his hold on you. Watching as the anger in his eye turned into shock and, dare you say, hurt.

“I apologize if I have pestered you with… with this for years on end. I’m truly sorry if I have made you feel you feel uncomfortable with my persistence in making you notice me. I’m done now, I—“ Words were not finished as you felt him take hold of your waist and smash your lips. Your eyes grew wide with the realization, pushing him away as you were shocked by his action. You felt your heart pit by his actions. You used to imagine kissing him— wishing on it every chance you got that he would be your first kiss. It was your dream, but now you were mortified. You knew why he did it— assuming he kissed you as an attempt to keep your affections toward him intact. For you to stay and be the desperate girl in want for him.

You gaze at each other in shock and outrage, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “You’re being cruel,” you say before running out of the classroom. Aemond stood there, unmoving, as he tried to process what he had done. Was he being cruel? Kissing you and only showing affection that he was intent on hiding because he felt that he was losing you. Was it cruel for him to keep his hold on you? Was it cruel to have you think of nothing but him— to be wholly consumed by him like it has always been? Aemond shook his head. That was not cruelty. It was reality. The reality that you have and will always be his. Be by his side. Have you by his side constantly. Have you dote on him and be the only thought in your pretty head. Aemond threaded the halls in haste, trying to find you. Ready to utter what he had never said nor showed. A desperate attempt to keep you by him because he did not have the faintest idea of how to proceed with life if you were not there. If you, the only constant in his life, would leave.

You rushed home after what had transpired in school. You were wholly disheartened by Aemond. How could he do such a thing? How could he be so insensitive and selfish to let you dangle on a fraying thread of hope that he would finally reciprocate your feelings? All of it was cruel. It was cruel for him to kiss you when you were finally letting go of the ludicrous dream of the two of you coming together. It was cruel of him to act as such when you finally decided to focus on something else but him.

You locked yourself in your room. You were trying to drown your thoughts in music and willed yourself not to let tears stream down your face. You’ve already shed enough of your precious pearl tears for him. You sat on your bed dejectedly. Blankly staring at your diary with the entries you’ve written that made you cringed as you wrote of Aemond in a sickeningly sweetened tone. You wrote about him as if he were god himself, as if he were the highest and most honorable of men— completely blinded as your young heart was filled with an utter infatuation with him. Infatuation you could never understand but just simply accepted.

Aemond was far from perfect, but you acted as if he were. Adored and stood by him even when his flaws shone through. Aemond knew no one would accept him the way you do— that he would never find anyone like you, which is why he scaled the walls of your home and climbed toward your balcony. He was balancing and clinging to vines, risking the fall just in hopes of speaking and explaining all to you.

Aemond knocked on the glass doors that led to your balcony, watching as you lay on your bed, blankly staring at the ceiling. He knocked louder, your head moving towards the right and your eyes locking with his. He silently pleaded for you to let him in, but all you could do was gape at him with shock and confusion. You walked toward the door, and Aemond tried hard to ignore the fact that you were only in your nightie, the silk thin and the lace see-through. “Go away,” you urged, but Aemond shook his head. “Open the door,” He grasped the handle and shook it. “Please,” he added as you shook your head.

“Leave, Aemond,” You said and moved to untie our curtain to hide the view of your room from him. Aemond called your name, pleading with you to let him. You bit your lip as you realized that your body acted without the consent of your mind, moving to unlock the glass door and welcoming him in the privy of your room. “What do you want?” You asked with a heavy sigh, disheartened with your unconscious self as you let him enter your room. “I wanted to apologize… about earlier; you must understand that I did not kiss you to be cruel,” He said, and you rolled your eyes. A scoff leaves your lips.

“Do not lie— I can see right through this… this act. You only did that because you want me desperate— you want to keep me so someone would worship the ground you walk upon.” You said bitterly. Aemond frowned and furiously shook his head and denied your accusation. “Stop lying! If it were any other time— maybe I would buy into your deceit. But Aemond, you only act as such in a desperate attempt because you see that I’m finally moving on from you— that I’m threading far from the little girl who did nothing but follow you around like a lost pup!” You screamed, the tears returning and daring to slip your eyes.

Aemond called your name and shook his head. He moved to step closer, flushing your bodies close and cupping your cheeks with his cold hands. “That is not true,” he stated firmly. But you stubbornly shook your head. “I want you, " he added, his voice sincere, making you close your eyes in restraint. You could not believe what he said. “Stop lying, I—“ Aemond kissed your lips shut. You resisted. You fought hard not to enjoy the feel and taste of his lips. To forget that this simple act was your dream ever since you two were children. Aemond smirked against your lips as you relinquished your resistance, and you started to kiss him back. It was adorable how uncertain you were— how your lips would stagger and second-guess their movements.

Aemond cupped your cheeks and held tightly onto your waist, moving you to lie on your bed and opening your kiss. He did not miss the hesitancy in your steps nor the shocked gasps coming from your lips. When you pulled away for a breath, Aemond’s lips instead found your neck—placing open-mouth kisses and inhaling your scent deeply. You bit your lip to prevent the sound of pleasure that wanted to be released as he nipped at your neck and groaned at your scent. Aemond could not believe nor explain how he had managed to control himself all these years, how he had managed to keep you at arm's length and a respectable distance in fear that if he gave into his wants. Guilt shaming him to take and be close to you because if he did, he knew he’d ruin you. But all the skepticism in him faded away with each moment he had you flushed against him, your skin meeting his, your lips kissing his.

“Aemond,” You mewled as you felt his hand caress the exposed skin of your thigh. Only now did you grow aware of what you wore and what both of your actions would eventually lead to. You tightly closed your eyes as Aemond’s lips trailed down from your neck and then to your chest, his breath fanning your exposed skin, leaving gooseflesh to scatter all over your body. “Say you want me… tell me you want me still,” Aemond almost pleaded, placing a ghost of a kiss in the middle of the valley of your tits. You swallowed thickly as his hand continued to caress upward your thigh, and his lips grazed your flesh.

Aemond felt his stomach pitting with each passing moment that you uttered no word. You took in a harsh breath as Aemond’s hand squeezed the plush flesh of your thighs, urging you to spill the words that were instilled years before. “I want you, always you.” You breathed out but were quick to inhale sharply as Aemond yanked the fabric of your nightwear downward to expose your chest, his lips closing on the taut bud whilst his other hand went to cup your needing sex. Aemond tensed as a sound of pleasure finally left your lips and how your hips grounded against his hand.

Aemond traced circles with his tongue as he teased your tits. He was alternating from one to the other, nipping at it every now and then because it would elicit a whine from your throat. His fingers drew circles against your cloth-covered cunt, your wetness seeping through the fabric, and only encouraged Aemond as he felt how you truly wanted him. Aemond simply hummed as you called for his name, urging him for more. “First, tell me…have you ever pleasured yourself with the wanting thought that one day, it would be me?” Your eyes widened at his question. You feel him shift his weight off you, his warmness leaving you cold and exposed. “Answer,” He urged as he stood by the foot of your bed, watching you as you lay disheveled and exposed.

“Aemond, I d—“ He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Do you want more? Do you want me to pleasure you throughout the night? Do you wish to be mine?” Aemond’s voice was deep and clouded by impatience. You clenched your jaw and surrendered any pride left in you. “Yes… I touch myself with the thought of you.” You answered, watching a smirk place itself on his lips. “Show me,” He ordered.

Aemond clenched his jaw as you did what he asked without hesitation. Your fingers danced on your cunt, drawing circles upon your needing sex whilst your other hand played with your tit. Sighs of pleasure left your lips whilst you tilted your head to the heavens. Aemond began to remove his clothing, his eye dark as your head moved to watch him as he unzipped his trousers. Not missing the way your eyes widened then rolled back as you were met with his length, already pleasured by the sight of it even though it had not touched you yet.

When you made another sound of pleasure, one more urgent as if signifying you were close to climax, Aemond moved your hand away, wanting for him to be the reason why you came that night. You whined, but Aemond once again kissed your lips shut. His hand moved aside the cloth that covered your cunt and positioned himself for the taking. Your breath shallowed as he slowly pushed himself in you. Your hands clinging and digging into his shoulder blades as you were succumbed to pain of having his large and thick manhood tear its way through you. Aemond hushed you and kissed your lips once more. His other hand drawing circled upon your nubbin to divert your attention from the pain.

Aemond was cautious of each of his movements as every one of them only elicited a wince, but once the face of pain turned to pleasure, Aemond slipped in and out of you at an urgent pace that you enjoyed. He held your hips to keep you in place, watching as your pretty face was etched with nothing but sheer pleasure, that your tits heaved up and down with every single one of his thrusts, that your legs that were placed upon his shoulders started to quiver. “Are you to come?” He asked through gritted teeth, his fingers returning to draw circles upon your nub, making you moan louder and cling to the sheets of your bed.

“Aemond— please, please!” You cried. Aemond shifted his wait atop you once more, removing your legs that rested comfortably upon his shoulders. Instead, wrapping them around his waist as his lips met yours again. Aemond gave one last thrust, burrowing himself deep, spilling his seed inside you as your name left his lips in a pleasured groan. You panted as your body clung tightly to his, your ragged breathing trying to calm as you slid down from your high. Aemond kissed your lips once more, your skin flushed and sticky with the sheen of sweat. “You’ve always been and will always be mine,” He uttered against your lips before flipping you and letting your stomach face the bed as he filled your cunt once more.

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