#Folding Bath Screen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chxnsgirl · 23 days ago

Text

김승민 ─── you want it too, sweetheart?

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] kim seungmin x afab!reader . masked intruder!seungmin , dubcon , cnc , dirty talk , knife play , breeding kink , mask kink , somnophilia , impact play (reader gets slapped) ♡ synopsis : you wake up to a surprise .. a/n ๑ this is a repost sorry i deleted it originally :c if you don't like cnc or if it makes you uncomfortable please don't read this. ♡ masterlist

smut below the cut - minors gtfo.

it was a typical summer night, the kind where the air is thick with warmth but the breeze carries a soft, calming touch. the windows of your house were open, letting in the coolness of the evening, the air gentle and comforting as it wrapped around your body.

you lay in bed, your body half-hidden under the delicate folds of white sheets, the soft fabric clinging to your form in a way that was both innocent and enticing. your nightgown, thin and light, molded to your curves in a quiet, serene way. the room was bathed in the dim, tranquil glow of moonlight, the world outside still and peaceful.

it was a perfect night.

until it wasn’t.

from the other room, you remained blissfully unaware of the sound of the window screen being cut away. the masked figure, silent and swift, slipped inside your home like a shadow. he moved through the house with the kind of stealth that could only be compared to a predator on the hunt, making his way through your rooms with careful, calculated steps. he rummaged through drawers, collecting what he could, stuffing your silver, china, and other valuables into a duffle bag.

his eyes then wandered to the bedrooms. the glint of jewelry might’ve been tempting, but what caught his attention instead was far more enticing.

there you were, lying on your bed, the moonlight playing over your peaceful face as you slept unaware. the sight of you, your body barely concealed by the thin fabric of your nightgown, stirred something primal within him. his gaze never wavered from your form, watching as you lay on your back, the fabric of your nightgown just barely grazing over your hips, revealing the soft curve of your body beneath.

for a moment, he froze, the sight of you so serene, so utterly unaware of the danger in your room, nearly caused a pang of something—something that felt uncomfortably close to regret or guilt—but it was quickly overtaken by something far darker, something far more instinctual.

"is this fate?" he murmured under his breath, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking to the shadows around him. his body stirred, his heart racing, a sick excitement building in him. the dynamic between you, so pure and innocent, and him, the dirty stranger standing in your room, sent a rush of heat straight to his core.

his cock hardened in his pants, the pressure making him suck in a sharp breath. there was something intoxicating about watching you, so vulnerable and unaware, lying there in a bed that was supposed to offer you safety, yet now it seemed to be a stage for something darker.

his mind raced with the consequences of his actions, the risk of getting caught and the thrill of escaping. but as he gazed at you, his body pulsed with desire and pain from his aching cock. he couldn't take it anymore. carefully setting down his duffel bag, he approached you with caution, kneeling by the bed where you lay unsuspecting next to him.

with trembling hands, he lifted your nightgown to reveal your delicate panties, hugging your perfect curves and giving him a glimpse of your moist lips. as his heart pounded in his chest, his bulging arousal strained against his pants. unable to resist any longer, he pulled up your nightgown even further, exposing your stomach and bare chest to his hungry gaze.

a guttural groan escaped his lips as his gloved hand left your nightgown to cup and squeeze your breasts, feeling their weight in his palm and rubbing his thumbs over your already hard nipples. the sight of your body responding to his touch only fueled his desire as he lost himself in the ecstasy of exploring every inch of you.

with shaky hands, he slowly slid his fingers from your breasts and fumbled with the elastic of your panties. he tugged them down in a hurry, but then hesitated before shoving them into his pocket for later. he couldn't resist marveling at the sight of your exposed pussy, his own arousal evident as he unbuttoned his pants and freed his aching cock. his touch along your inner thigh was light and teasing until he found the sweet spot between your legs. he ran a finger along your slit, relishing in the wetness that gathered on his fingertip. with care, he spread your folds and couldn't help but let out a breathy "fuck" at the sight of your pink insides.

you stirred restlessly, feeling a teasing finger flicking on your swollen clit. your legs involuntarily shook at the sensation, but he didn't stop there. he continued his ministrations, reveling in the lewd, wet noises emanating from your dripping core. with his free hand, he stroked his throbbing cock, his mind wandering to all the other ways he could pleasure himself while playing with you.

he slid a gloved digit inside your slick entrance effortlessly, the leather material only adding to the tightness of your sex. "shit," he muttered under his breath as his own cock twitched in his fist. the ache and longing were too much for him to bear any longer, he needed to be inside you. carefully, he crawled onto the bed, his arousal causing his shaft to bob with every movement. gripping your thighs tightly, he pushed them up against your torso.

just when he was about to comment on how soundly you were sleeping, your eyes fluttered open and you gasped at the sight before you. he quickly covered your mouth with one hand while reaching for his knife with the other. pressing it against your neck, he applied enough pressure to make you tremble in fear.

"one word and i cut," he growled menacingly. tears welled up in your eyes as you looked down and took in the scene before you. your legs were spread wide, exposing your bare sex, while his flushed and engorged member hovered just above it. you squeaked into his palm and shook your head, pleading with your eyes for mercy.

"fuck, i really didn't want to do it this way," he muttered mainly to himself. through the holes in his mask, you could barely see his dark eyes and searched desperately for any shred of humanity left in them. but there was none. he shifted his hips and pushed himself into you, groaning in sheer pleasure. "oh, you were made for me," he moaned as he thrust into you with a relentless rhythm.

you cried out in pain and ecstasy as his large cock stretched you inch by agonizing inch. your hands flailed and hit his chest, trying to push him away, but he only removed his hand from your mouth for a moment to slap you across the face. "don't make this harder than it has to be, sweetheart," he grunted, his hips slamming into yours with increasing force.

a sharp slap across your cheek stunned you, and as you blinked up at him, your vision blurred and distorted. his grip on the knife against your throat remained steady, a constant threat. with his other hand, he yanked off his mask, revealing a young man with a surprisingly attractive face. he panted from the heat and lack of oxygen under the mask.

your eyes widened at the sight of him. despite the menacing situation, you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was - his lips pressed together as he focused on thrusting into you, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. it was confusing why someone like him would force you into this predicament.

he noticed your surprise and chuckled, slowing his pace as he teased you. "are you starstruck, pretty girl?" he asked, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you gasp.

but despite your body's betrayal, coating him in your essence with each thrust, your mind screamed for it to stop. your cunt may have been gripping him tightly, but that didn't mean you wanted this.

he panted heavily, his hips stuttering as he neared his climax. "i wanna breed this little pussy so badly," he groaned. "you want it too, sweetheart?" a sly smirk spread across his face as he asked for consent that wasn't really consent at all. you shook your head frantically, trying to show him through your fear and desperation that you didn't want this to happen.

"you could feel the roughness of his jeans against your bare skin as he pinned you down on the bed. his words were laced with malice, but also ignited a sense of forbidden pleasure within you. your body trembled beneath him as his thrusts grew more frantic, your wetness coating his cock and making it slide in and out with ease.

as your orgasm hit, you cried out loudly, your body writhing uncontrollably as he fucked you through it. he couldn't hold back any longer and with a final roar, he released inside you, his eyebrows furrowed in intense pleasure as his hot seed filled you.

breathing heavily, he pulled out of you and tossed the knife aside, looking down at you with a soft smile. "are you okay, love?" he panted, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. you nodded, still catching your breath and trying to process what had just happened. "that was really...believable," you laughed softly.

seungmin leaned in and kissed your cheek. "did you enjoy it?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes as he made sure you were okay. you nodded again. "of course i did," you giggled, nuzzling into his hand as he caressed your cheek. "i just need a minute, that's all."

and he gave you just that - cleaning you up, changing clothes, and staying by your side until you felt ready to move on from the role-play.

tags : @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

623 notes · View notes

uhohdad · 7 months ago

Note

Just a little idea, loser Konig at the beach with reader who is torturing him in the best way (sun screen/ice cream), your work is so so good! Take all the rest/time you need, art/smut this good takes time!

(18+) Beach Day with Loser!König

☀︎ ･｡ﾟ ☀︎ ･｡ﾟ ☀︎ ･｡ﾟ ☀︎ ･｡ﾟ ☀︎ ･｡ﾟ

Loser!König purposely misses when he swipes for the glob of sunscreen you pointed out on his cheek. He’ll play dumb until you take matters into your own hands, leaning forward to smear it in for him while he peers down your swimsuit. His eyes flutter shut as you touch him so intimately, touch him the way a lover would touch him, cupping his stubbled jaw with your thumb massaging circles into his cheek. When you pull away, he’s more than disappointed, having used this moment to play out a fantasy where you held his jaw steady to plant a kiss on his lips.

Loser!Konig is bright red, and while you assume he’s getting sunburnt, it’s actually because he is more than flustered by your swimsuit. He can’t help the way his eyes are lingering on all of the new skin covered only by dainty straps. The perfect, plush thighs he wants to rest his head on. Soft shoulders and pretty collarbones and cleavage on display for anyone to ogle. He’s memorizing your body to take home with him.

Loser!Konig who can’t keep his eyes off you as you work an ice cream cone, scarfing it down with a greedy tongue before the searing sun turns it to a puddle. He won’t so much as blink, imaging you’re using your flat tongue to lick stripes up his cock instead, sand sticking to your shins and knees as you pleasure him in front of the entire beach right here right now.

Loser!Konig who has to set a folded towel over his lap even though it’s an ungodly hot day, because he’s been straining against the net in his swimtrunks since you stripped down to your bathing suit.

Loser!König who has to bite back a needy whine when you grab a handful of ice from the cooler and rub it on your skin to cool off. His half-lidded, ravenous eyes glued to the melted droplets tracing your curves as they glide down your body. When you let out a breathy, relieved sigh, he swears you’re doing this to him on purpose.

Loser!Konig who chokes on his own spit when you ask him to lather sunscreen on your back after you gave up awkwardly contorting your arms to reach. His breaths are shallow and hands trembling as he watches you pull your hair out of the way. When you slip the straps of your swimsuit off your shoulders, his mouth goes dry. From where he’s standing, you might as well be naked from the middle up.

Loser!König who’s pleading with his fingers to steady as he pops the cap to the sunscreen. He doesn’t even bother warming the lotion between his fingers because he’s too eager to get his hands on your glowing, sun-kissed skin. He sucks in a sharp breath as you shudder under his touch. He’s painfully hard and praying you won’t notice as he smooths the sunscreen over you. He goes slow, hoping to stretch a task that should only take a few seconds for as long as he could. Your shoulders are so smooth and soft under his coarse, hardened hands. When he slides down your sides, he pretends that he’s filling you up from behind, gripping on to your core to keep you steady as he pounds into your pretty cunt. He’s breathing so heavily, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he smooths circles over your skin. His cock is throbbing in his shorts, a shiny glint of arousal already forming at the tip.

Loser!Konig who has to sneak off to the filthy boardwalk bathrooms to relieve his aching cock, rutting into his hand and stifling his breathy moans and grunts by biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. The show you gave him had him practically on edge, and it takes less than a minute before he’s choking on your name as he coats his hands in his generous, pent-up finish.

☀︎ ･｡ﾟ ☀︎ ･｡ﾟ ☀︎ ･｡ﾟ ☀︎ ･｡ﾟ ☀︎ ･｡ﾟ

loser!könig

941 notes · View notes

w1w2 · 20 days ago

Text

A Contract of Silence

Part 1 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: A young mute woman is drawn into the world of a powerful CEO through an unexpected proposition that could change her life and her family’s future forever.

Notes: I've been obsessed with When the Phone Rings lately, and it has been inspiring a little.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Y/N’s heart pounded as the elevator doors glided open to the executive floor of Uchinaga Couture. A soft chime signaled her arrival, and she stepped out hesitantly, her worn flats making barely a sound against the pristine marble floors. The space around her was intimidatingly sleek, high ceilings, gold-accented furniture, and white walls so spotless they practically glowed under the recessed lighting. Every inch of the space radiated power and exclusivity.

The air was cool and quiet, the only sounds were the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant clicking of keyboards from the rows of assistants stationed in glass-walled offices. It was the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it demanded perfection from anyone who dared to linger too long.

Y/N clutched her bag tightly against her chest, trying to steady her breathing. Her mind raced, replaying the cryptic message she’d received from Giselle Uchinaga’s assistant earlier that morning.

“Miss Uchinaga would like to see you in her office. Immediately.”

Why would Giselle Uchinaga, the CEO of one of the world’s most renowned fashion houses, a woman so influential she rarely made public appearances, want to meet with her? Y/N wasn’t even an intern yet.

Her fingers instinctively reached for her phone in her bag. She’d been rehearsing a polite introduction during the entire elevator ride, but now, standing here surrounded by the grandeur of Uchinaga Couture’s upper echelon, her words felt hollow. Would she even be able to speak at all in the presence of someone like Giselle?

The receptionist sitting behind a minimalist gold and glass desk barely glanced up from her screen. “Miss Uchinaga is waiting for you,” she said, her tone clipped and professional, as though this sort of summoning happened every day.

Y/N nodded. She smoothed the front of her blouse, realizing with dismay that it was slightly wrinkled from her hurried commute.

The receptionist gestured toward a pair of imposing glass doors at the far end of the hallway. They stood like gates to another world, one Y/N wasn’t sure she was ready to enter.

She hesitated, but the receptionist’s pointed look left no room for second guessing. Forcing her feet to move, Y/N approached the doors, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The office beyond the doors was even more magnificent than the hallway. Vast and bathed in natural light, it was dominated by floor to ceiling windows that offered an uninterrupted view of the city skyline. The desk at the center of the room was a masterpiece of sleek mahogany, polished to a mirror finish. Behind it sat Giselle Uchinaga herself.

Y/N had seen Giselle in magazines and online, always poised, with an untouchable elegance that made her seem more like a mythical figure than a real person. In person, that aura of control was even more pronounced.

Giselle didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence. She sat with her back straight, her silky black hair falling like a curtain over one shoulder as she studied the glowing screen of her tablet. A fountain pen rested delicately between her fingers, tapping soundlessly against the desk. Her tailored navy suit accentuated her sharp features, and even seated, her posture exuded authority.

“Miss Y/N,” Giselle said finally, without looking up. Her voice was smooth and controlled, with a faint edge of disinterest. “Have a seat.”

Y/N obeyed quickly, lowering herself onto the leather chair in front of the desk. It was so soft and luxurious she worried for a moment that she might sink into it entirely. She folded her hands in her lap, trying not to fidget as she waited.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes. Giselle remained focused on her tablet, her fingers scrolling through unseen files with practiced precision.

Y/N used the opportunity to glance around the room. The walls were lined with black shelves holding a curated collection of awards, framed magazine covers, and bound portfolios. Every object seemed to scream success, as if Giselle’s achievements had been distilled into physical form.

When Giselle finally looked up, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The CEO’s almond-shaped eyes were sharp and assessing, like she was dissecting Y/N with a single glance.

For a moment, Y/N felt like an open book under that gaze, every secret and insecurity laid bare. The weight of it was suffocating, but she forced herself to meet Giselle’s eyes, refusing to shrink under the scrutiny.

“I assume you’re wondering why I called you here,” Giselle said, leaning back in her chair. Her tone was calm but carried the faintest hint of impatience.

Y/N nodded quickly.

Giselle’s perfectly manicured hand gestured toward a sleek black folder resting on the desk, though she didn’t open it yet. “I’ve reviewed your file, Miss Y/N. You have an impressive work ethic. Resourceful. Determined. Someone who doesn’t back down when faced with challenges.”

Y/N blinked, unsure whether Giselle was complimenting her or simply stating facts. Her file? She’d almost forgotten she’d even applied for a position as an assistant in the accounting department months ago, an opportunity that had seemed impossible even then.

“I have an opportunity for you,” Giselle said, her voice deliberate, as though testing Y/N’s reaction. “But before I explain further, I need to know one thing. How far are you willing to go to help your family?”

The question hit like a thunderclap. Y/N’s lips parted instinctively, but no sound followed. Her breath caught in her chest, her pulse roaring in her ears as her thoughts spiraled.

Why was Giselle asking something so personal? How much did she know about Y/N’s situation?

Giselle’s gaze didn’t waver, her expression unrelenting. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly as they curled into her lap. She wanted to ask what Giselle meant, to demand clarification, but the words never came. They never could. Instead, she lifted her head, her eyes locking onto Giselle’s with a quiet intensity.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she inhaled slowly, trying to project steadiness. Her gaze was resolute, though her chest tightened with fear, she refused to look away. If Giselle wanted to test her resolve, she would show it, even if only through the unwavering determination in her expression.

For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Giselle’s eyes, curiosity, perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of approval, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Giselle didn’t wait for a response. She leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing the edges of the black folder on her desk.

“Your father left you and your family in an unfortunate position,” she said, her tone clinical, devoid of any trace of empathy. “The debts he accrued are substantial, and your current situation offers little opportunity to escape them. Correct?”

Y/N flinched at the bluntness, her chest tightening as though someone had reached in and exposed every hidden part of her life. She hesitated, her fingers twitching toward the phone in her lap. Finally, she picked it up, her movements deliberate, and began typing.

“Yes.”

She held up the screen for Giselle to see. The stark simplicity of the word felt both shameful and raw.

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the phone, her expression remaining unreadable. She gave the faintest nod of acknowledgment before continuing.

“I’m offering you a way out,” Giselle said, folding her hands neatly on the desk. “But it requires your cooperation and your discretion.”

Y/N blinked, her curiosity piqued despite the knot of unease tightening in her stomach. She typed quickly, her fingers trembling slightly.

“What kind of cooperation?”

The corner of Giselle’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “I need a fiancée.”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening. For a moment, she was sure she’d misread the words that had just left Giselle’s mouth. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, uncertain what to say. Finally, she typed.

“A fiancée?”

“Yes,” Giselle said, her tone as even and detached as if she were discussing a routine business transaction. She leaned back in her chair, exuding an air of unshakable confidence. “My reputation has... complications. Certain people perceive me as cold, unapproachable. The board at Lueur, with whom I am negotiating a highly lucrative partnership, values the appearance of stability and warmth in their collaborators. I need to project that image.”

Y/N stared at her, stunned. Her fingers moved instinctively, typing out the only question that made sense.

“Why me?”

“You,” Giselle said, her sharp gaze locking onto Y/N’s, “are the perfect candidate. Young, vibrant, and unknown to the media.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she read Giselle’s words. Her mind raced, struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. She typed slowly this time, her hands shaking.

“I don’t understand. I’m just an applicant. Why would you choose me?”

Giselle’s lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she appeared to weigh her response, then answered with calm certainty. “I’ve done my research. Your background is compelling, your work history suggests you’re resourceful and adaptable and most importantly, you’re desperate.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her chest tightening at the final word. She lowered her phone slightly, breaking eye contact for the first time.

“You have no other options, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, her voice firm but not unkind. “This arrangement would benefit both of us. You’ll help me secure the partnership with Lueur, and in return, I will pay you enough to clear your family’s debts entirely and provide a stable future for yourself and your family.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Humiliation, anger, and a flicker of reluctant hope. She stared at her phone, her vision blurring slightly. With trembling fingers, she typed.

“And if I say no?”

Giselle’s expression didn’t waver. “Then you walk out of this office, and we go our separate ways. But consider this carefully, opportunities like this are rare, and for someone in your position, it could mean the difference between struggling for decades or starting over.”

Y/N stared at the words on her screen, her heart pounding. Giselle’s words weren’t a threat, they were a calculated statement of fact.

This wasn’t a choice. Not really.

Giselle leaned back in her chair, her sharp gaze never leaving Y/N, and slid the black folder across the desk with a single, precise motion. The faint sound of the leather cover gliding against the polished wood echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers hovering over the edge of the folder. Slowly, she reached out and pulled it closer, her heart pounding as she flipped it open.

Inside, the contract was laid out in meticulous detail. The dense paragraphs of legal jargon were daunting, and Y/N’s eyes flitted over the page, struggling to focus. Certain phrases stood out like beacons, each one hitting her like a punch to the chest.

“Exclusive agreement.”“Media appearances required.”“Strict confidentiality.”

Her throat tightened as the magnitude of the arrangement settled over her like a heavy fog. This wasn’t just a deal, it was a meticulously crafted performance, with no room for mistakes.

“This isn’t a charity, Miss Y/N,” Giselle’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Her tone was firm, but there was a hint of expectation, as if she were testing how Y/N would respond.

Y/N glanced up, her fingers still clutching the edges of the folder. Her mind swirled with questions, fears, and doubts, but she forced herself to focus. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone and typed quickly before turning the screen toward Giselle.

“What exactly do you expect from me?”

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the screen, and a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curved her lips. “Professionalism,” she said. “You will follow my instructions, attend events as required, and present yourself as a devoted partner. In public, we will be inseparable. In private, however, we will remain strictly separate.”

Y/N’s fingers flew across the screen again, her anxiety spilling into her typed words.

“And if I mess up?”

The question hung in the air, and Y/N watched as Giselle’s expression hardened slightly. The CEO leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her fingers steepled in front of her.

“Then the deal is off,” Giselle said, her voice cold and unwavering. “And you’re on your own.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the bluntness of the ultimatum. She tightened her grip on her phone, her chest tightening as the enormity of the situation loomed over her. She quickly typed another message, her hands trembling slightly as she showed the screen to Giselle.

“You mean... everything ends? No payment?”

Giselle nodded once, her expression unchanging. “Exactly. This is a transaction, Miss Y/N, not a handout. If you fail to meet the expectations outlined in that contract, there will be no second chances.”

The weight of those words settled over Y/N like a lead blanket, heavy and suffocating. Her eyes dropped to the folder again, scanning the tightly packed lines of text that seemed to stretch endlessly.

She hesitated before typing another question, her fingers pressing against the screen more forcefully now.

“What happens if someone finds out this is fake?”

Giselle’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time, her calm exterior seemed to harden further. “They won’t,” she said simply, the steel in her voice leaving no room for doubt. “As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, no one will suspect a thing. I’ve accounted for every possible variable. Any leaks or suspicions will only arise from carelessness, yours, specifically.”

The words sent a chill through Y/N, but she refused to look away. Her fingers hovered over her phone as she considered her next move. Every logical part of her told her to walk away, that this was far too risky, far too overwhelming. But the memory of her family’s desperate situation, the crushing weight of her father’s debts, made her stay rooted in place.

She swallowed hard, then typed a final message.

“What happens if I succeed?”

Giselle’s expression softened, just slightly. “If you succeed, your debts are gone. You’ll have enough money to start over, far away from whatever struggles brought you here. And,” she added, her tone shifting to something almost imperceptibly lighter, “you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you helped secure one of the most important deals in this company’s history.”

Y/N read and reread the words on her screen, her chest tightening. The stakes were high, terrifyingly so, but so was the reward. She could picture her family, free from the weight of her father’s mistakes, finally able to move forward.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N stared down at the open folder before her. The dense, unyielding text seemed to blur as the enormity of what she was about to do settled over her. Her hand hovered over the pen resting neatly beside the folder, trembling with hesitation.

Her thoughts raced. Signing this contract would bind her to a life she couldn’t fully comprehend, a world she wasn’t prepared for. But walking away wasn’t an option, not with her family depending on her.

Y/N picked up her phone and typed a message, her fingers moving slower than usual as doubt gnawed at her resolve. She turned the screen toward Giselle, who watched her with patient intensity.

“What if I change my mind later?”

Giselle’s sharp eyes flicked to the screen. For a moment, her expression softened, not with kindness, but with something close to understanding. “Then I suggest you don’t sign,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. “Once you commit, there’s no room for second guessing.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the answer hitting her like a stone. Giselle’s unyielding certainty was both intimidating and strangely reassuring. This was a woman who never faltered, who didn’t allow for failure.

Her hand tightened around the pen. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she steadied herself. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered the pen to the page and began to sign her name.

Each stroke of ink felt heavier than the last, like an invisible weight pressing against her hand. Her name, once complete, seemed foreign and final. This was it, the moment that changed everything.

When she finished, Y/N set the pen down carefully, the faint click of metal against wood echoing louder than it should have. She slid the folder back across the desk, taking one copy of the contract for herself and tucking it neatly into her bag, her eyes darting up to meet Giselle’s.

Giselle picked it up without a word, her fingers flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency. Her sharp gaze scanned the document, ensuring every detail was in place. Finally, she closed the folder and set it aside.

“Welcome to your new life, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, extending her hand.

Y/N hesitated, staring at the outstretched hand. She’d expected this moment to feel more... transactional, but now that it was here, the reality of what she’d agreed to seemed overwhelming. Slowly, she reached out, her hand meeting Giselle’s.

Giselle’s grip was firm, her palm cool and steady. There was no warmth, no reassurance, just the unspoken promise of professionalism.

Releasing her hand, Giselle leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. As Y/N stood, clutching her phone tightly, Giselle’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door.

“Remember,” she said, her tone low but resolute, “this is business. Nothing more.”

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, then nodded.

The glass doors closed behind her with a soft click, sealing her into a world she wasn’t sure she could navigate. The quiet hum of the floor seemed louder now, the weight of her decision pressing down on her chest.

As she stepped into the elevator, her reflection stared back at her in the polished steel walls, unsure, but resolute.

This was her choice. There was no turning back now.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and after the short walk Y/N stepped out into the bustling street. The late afternoon sunlight stretched across the buildings, painting the city in hues of amber and gold. Pedestrians moved around her in a blur, business people rushing to catch cabs, couples strolling hand in hand, and tourists snapping pictures of the skyline.

But Y/N barely noticed any of it. Her thoughts weighed her down, each step feeling heavier than the last as she weaved through the crowd.

The weight of the signed contract in her bag felt almost tangible, like an anchor tethered to her future. Her grip tightened around the leather strap of her bag, so firm that her knuckles turned white. She had done it. She had agreed to step into a world she barely understood, tethering herself to a woman who felt as untouchable as the city’s towering skyscrapers.

Giselle’s words echoed in her mind, cool and precise, as if they had been carved into stone.

"Welcome to your new life."

Her new life. Was it really hers?

She felt a pang of uncertainty, the same pang that had risen in her chest as she’d signed her name on the dotted line. It hadn’t felt like liberation, it had felt like a pact with something she couldn’t quite define.

Y/N slowed her pace as she passed the entrance to a quiet park, the bustling noise of the city receding like a distant hum. The shade of a row of oak trees stretched across the grass, offering a temporary reprieve from the chaos of the world outside.

Her feet carried her to an empty bench near a fountain, its soft trickling water providing a soothing contrast to the relentless rhythm of her thoughts. She sank down slowly, her shoulders sagging under the invisible weight she carried. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness settling in her chest.

Y/N pulled her phone from her bag and stared at the blank screen. Her fingers hovered over the device, poised to type something into the notes app, but no words came. She didn’t know what to say, to herself, to the universe, to anyone.

The screen dimmed, and Y/N let the phone drop into her lap with a soft thud. She leaned back against the bench, her head tilting toward the sky. The golden light filtered through the leaves above, dappling her face with shadows and warmth, but it couldn’t reach the chill that gripped her heart.

Her breathing slowed, and with the stillness came the memories, unbidden and relentless, rising to the surface like ghosts she could no longer keep buried.

She was ten years old the last time she heard her father’s voice. It was a warm evening, much like this one, when she’d sat cross legged on the thick carpet of his study, her fingers trailing absently over the edges of a well worn storybook. The smell of his cologne, cedarwood and something faintly spicy, lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of the leather bound books that lined the shelves.

His desk, usually an organized chaos of papers and trinkets, was unusually cluttered that night. Contracts, ledgers, and letters spilled across the dark oak surface, the symbols of a crumbling empire he had worked so tirelessly to build.

Her father had always been her hero. His laughter had a way of filling every corner of the house, and his warmth made even the darkest days feel like they carried a glimmer of hope. But that night, something was different.

His usual smile was absent, replaced by a furrowed brow and a tightness in his jaw that Y/N didn’t fully understand but instinctively feared. His movements were hurried, his hands shaking slightly as he shuffled through the papers in front of him.

“Papa?” she had asked softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

He stilled for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath before he turned to her. His eyes, so often kind and full of life were clouded with something she couldn’t name. He crossed the room in three quick strides and knelt in front of her, his large hands gently gripping her small shoulders.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “I need you to listen carefully, okay?”

The seriousness in his tone made her heart race. She nodded, her gaze locked on his face.

“No matter what happens, no matter what you see, you have to stay quiet. Do you understand? Don’t make a sound.”

His words wrapped around her like a cage, cold and unyielding. She opened her mouth to ask why, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no time for questions, no room for explanations. He pulled her to her feet and led her to the far wall of the study, where a towering bookshelf stood filled with thick tomes and small mementos.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he pressed his hand against the side of the shelf, triggering a soft click. The bookshelf shifted slightly, revealing a narrow doorway. Beyond it was a small, dark room she had never known existed.

Her father knelt again, placing both hands on her shoulders this time. “Stay here, sweetheart,” he whispered. His voice wavered, just for a moment, before he steadied it. “Don’t come out until I tell you. And remember, no sound.”

The fear in his eyes mirrored the growing terror in her chest. She wanted to cling to him, to beg him to stay with her, but he gently pushed her into the hidden space before she could.

“Be brave, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he closed the door, sealing her in darkness.

Y/N pressed her hands against the cool walls of the hidden room, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would give her away. Through a thin crack in the door, she could see her father return to his desk, his movements quick and tense. He sat down, his back straight as if bracing himself for something.

Minutes later, the front door burst open with a thunderous crash.

Y/N flinched, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Harsh voices filled the air, angry and unfamiliar. Men in dark suits stormed into the study, their faces obscured by the dim light.

She watched as her father rose to meet them, his posture firm despite the chaos that followed. The men surrounded him, their movements calculated and menacing.

“You know why we’re here,” one of them said, his voice cold and cutting.

Her father’s voice was calm but resolute, though Y/N couldn’t make out every word. She caught fragments “not fair,” “family,” “too far” but the argument was heated, the tension in the room palpable.

One of the men slammed his hand against the desk, making Y/N jump. Her father stood his ground, his expression unreadable.

The man’s voice rose, sharp and angry. “You should have kept your mouth shut.”

There was a flash of movement, something metallic glinting in the dim light.

Then came the deafening crack of a gunshot.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat as her father’s body crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to stop. The dark pool spreading beneath him was all she could see, staining the polished wood of the study.

Her heart felt like it would burst as she clamped her hands over her mouth, her small frame trembling violently. Tears streamed down her face, hot and endless, but she didn’t dare make a sound. Her father’s warning echoed in her mind like a mantra. Don’t make a sound. Don’t make a sound.

The men stood over his lifeless body for a moment before one of them spat something cruel under his breath. Then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone, their heavy footsteps retreating into silence.

When the house finally fell quiet, Y/N stayed frozen in the hidden room, too terrified to move. It felt like hours before she found the courage to push the door open.

The study was eerily still, the papers on her father’s desk fluttering softly in the breeze from an open window. She stumbled toward his body, her legs shaking so badly she nearly fell.

“Papa?” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her small hands reached out to him, shaking as they pressed against his arm. “Papa, wake up.”

But he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. The warmth she had always associated with him was gone, replaced by a cold, lifeless shell.

The weight of her grief was unbearable, suffocating her as she knelt beside him, sobbing silently. At that moment, something inside her broke.

From that day on, Y/N never spoke again.

The official story was that her father had taken his own life after his company went bankrupt. The newspapers were ruthless, painting him as a failure who had crumbled under the weight of his mistakes. The debts, they said, had been too much for him to bear.

The truth, however, was far darker. Y/N had tried to tell someone, anyone. In the days that followed the horrific night in the study, she had opened her mouth countless times, desperate to describe the men who had invaded their home, to explain how they had taken her father’s life.

But every time, the words got stuck.

Her throat would tighten painfully, and the memory of her father’s lifeless body would crash over her like a wave, pulling her under. The gunshot, the men’s cold voices, the dark pool of blood, it all came back too vividly, paralyzing her. No matter how much she wanted to scream the truth, her voice refused to cooperate.

At first, her mother didn’t seem to notice. She was too consumed by her own grief and the weight of what had been left behind. Lawyers had come and gone, each one bearing bad news. The company her father had built was gone, swallowed up by his debts, leaving nothing but bills they couldn’t pay and creditors demanding what was owed.

Y/N had tried to help, using the scraps of courage she had left to write down the truth in shaky handwriting. But when she’d handed the paper to her mother, her hands trembling, her mother had barely glanced at it.

“Not now, Y/N,” her mother had said softly, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She’d set the note aside and never brought it up again.

Y/N had crumpled the paper in her hands, the rejection stinging more than she expected.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N stopped trying to speak altogether. What was the point? Every attempt ended the same way, with her throat closing up, her heart pounding, and tears burning her eyes. The trauma sat in her chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

At school, teachers and classmates would ask her questions, their faces twisting with confusion when she wouldn’t respond.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” “Why won’t you talk?”

The questions only made it worse. She wanted to answer, wanted to explain, but her voice was gone. Instead, she would shake her head and look away, her cheeks burning with shame.

Her teachers contacted her mother, concerned about her silence. But her mother, overwhelmed with grief and the mounting debt, had little energy to address the issue. “She’s going through a lot right now,” her mother had said. “She’ll speak when she’s ready.”

But Y/N wasn’t sure she ever would.

Their once beautiful home, with its sprawling garden and cozy rooms, was sold within months of her father’s death. The furniture went next, piece by piece, until their lives were stripped down to the bare essentials.

They moved into a cramped apartment in a part of town Y/N had never visited before. The walls were thin, the pipes rattled when the water ran, and the single window in the living room overlooked an alleyway filled with dumpsters. It was a far cry from the life they’d known, but her mother said it was all they could afford.

Y/N had watched as the stress wore her mother down, the vibrant woman reduced to a shadow of herself. Lines of worry etched themselves into her face, and her shoulders seemed permanently hunched from the weight she carried.

Y/N hated seeing her mother like that. Hated the hopelessness that seemed to hang over their tiny apartment like a storm cloud.

It was then, at the age of ten, that Y/N made a promise to herself. She would do whatever it took to help her family.

For months, Y/N relied on gestures and written notes to communicate. She would scribble messages on scraps of paper or point to things when she needed something. It was clumsy and frustrating, and more often than not, people misunderstood her.

One day, during a particularly frustrating moment at school, her teacher handed her a flyer.

“Have you thought about learning sign language?” the teacher had asked gently, her voice free of judgment.

Y/N had stared at the flyer for a long moment before taking it. She wasn’t sure if it would work, but it was worth a try.

The next weekend, her mother took her to her first sign language class at a community center downtown. Y/N felt out of place at first, surrounded by people of all ages, each with their own reasons for learning. But as the instructor demonstrated simple signs and encouraged them to practice, something shifted.

First time in months, Y/N felt like she had a voice again.

She practiced obsessively, her fingers fumbling at first but growing more confident with time. She learned to sign her name, simple phrases, and eventually, full sentences. The fluid motions of her hands became second nature, and with every new sign she mastered, she felt a little piece of herself returning.

Sign language became her lifeline, a way to express herself without the fear that had stolen her voice. It wasn’t perfect, many people didn’t understand it, and she still relied on her phone or written notes in those cases, but it was hers.

As she grew older, Y/N poured herself into her studies. She took on part time jobs after school, working long hours at diners, grocery stores, and anywhere else that would hire her. Every penny she earned went toward the family’s expenses or into a savings jar she kept hidden under her bed.

But no matter how hard she worked, the debt loomed over them, a constant reminder of her father’s death and the men who had taken everything from them.

Y/N refused to let it break her. She had resolved, then and there, that she would claw her way out of the darkness, no matter what it took. For her mother, for her siblings, and for herself.

She just needed an opportunity.

Y/N stared down at her phone, the sleek black screen reflecting her tired eyes and the faint streaks of sunlight filtering through the trees. Her thumb brushed against the edge of the device, but she didn’t unlock it yet. For a moment, the world around her blurred, the muted chatter of children playing in the park, the distant hum of traffic, the rustling of leaves in the soft breeze. None of it registered.

Her thoughts were louder than any of it.

She had signed the contract.

The realization settled over her. She had sealed her fate, tethering herself to a woman whose world was as cold as the steel skyscrapers that loomed over the city. She had done it not for herself, but for them, for her family.

Her mother’s face floated to the forefront of her mind, etched with exhaustion from years of carrying a burden she was never meant to bear alone. Y/N remembered the way her mother used to smile, bright and unrestrained, a beacon of warmth in their home. But over the years, that smile had become rare, a faint shadow of what it once was. Y/N wanted to bring it back.

Then there were her younger siblings, still so full of life, so full of hope. She thought of her sister sketching dresses at the kitchen table with crayons, dreaming of becoming a designer. She thought of her brother, meticulously building castles out of old shoeboxes, telling anyone who would listen that one day he’d be an architect.

They deserved to dream.

Sliding her thumb across the screen, Y/N opened her notes app and stared at the blank space. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for a fraction of a second before she began to type.

“I’ll make this work.”

She stared at the sentence, her lips pressing into a thin line. The words weren’t just a promise, they were a lifeline, a tether to something stronger than her fear or doubt. They were a reminder of why she couldn’t fail.

Y/N’s chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath. Her fingers brushed across the screen again, and for a fleeting moment, she thought about typing something more. Something about the uncertainty she felt, or the weight of the decision she had made.

But no. This was enough.

Sliding the phone back into her bag, Y/N stood. Her legs felt unsteady at first, like a newborn fawn’s, but she squared her shoulders and steadied herself. She couldn’t afford to falter now.

She cast one last glance at the park around her. A couple laughed as they walked hand in hand, their carefree joy like a far off memory. A boy chased after a kite, his delighted shouts rising above the rustle of the breeze. For a moment, she let herself imagine a life where she didn’t have to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders.

But that wasn’t her reality.

Giselle’s world was cold and unyielding, a place where people were assets and trust was a rare commodity. Y/N knew that stepping into that world meant losing pieces of herself, her warmth, her softness, maybe even her hope.

But it was also her chance to escape the shadow of her past.

For her family, she would endure anything.

With that thought anchoring her, she turned on her heel and walked away, the echoes of her determination carrying her forward.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #aespa giselle x reader #aeri uchinaga x reader #giselle x fem reader #giselle x reader #a contract of silence

294 notes · View notes

always-just-red · 6 months ago

Note

I NEED some angst+comfort with Zayne PLEASE. It could be anything, the reader being run over in front of him, him being stressed about work and being mean to the reader... Literally anything

This was my first request, so thank you so much! I started this last night with a cup of tea and an "I'm sure I can manage some angst for Zayne, why not?" sort of attitude, and it culminated with me evil laughing to myself at 3am. Enjoy I guess? 😭

Reserved

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: You've been looking forward to this dinner with Zayne for a week, but it seems he has other priorities.

Genre: angst, SO MUCH angst (but sshhhh... we save it with some comfort... 👀)

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, fluff, uses of y/n, reader is feeling neglected, Zayne gets a tiny bit mean

| Word count: 1.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Zayne… c’mon. Let’s go.”

You feel like a child, whining for what feels like the hundredth time in the last half hour, but you’ve little else left to do. You’re perched on Zayne’s desk, having long ago lost respect for the sanctity of his workspace, and you pout as you stare down at the phone in your palm. The screen is lit up by a reminder you’d set a week ago: Reservation. The Cerulean. 8 o’clock.

It’s 8:25, and you’ve snoozed it five times already— each time more pointedly than the last.

“Just a minute,” Zayne mumbles.

“You said that an hour ago!”

The man hums in acknowledgment, but he doesn’t look up from his computer. His face is bathed in the ghoulish light of the screen, his glasses shining as he dips his head— just a fraction— to glance at the paperwork spread before him. You give him his minute: let second after second tick by, though you mark each one with an idle tap on the desk’s cold surface.

A murmur: “Stop that, please.” His patience is thinning too.

You’re feeling petty, because you’ve been listening to the patter of his keyboard forever and it’s driving you insane. You purse your lips and tap louder. One second. Tap. Two seconds. Tap. Three. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Stop it.” Zayne’s hand catches yours, his grip soft, but his face stern.

And he still won’t look at you.

He releases your hand, and his dutiful fingers are back to their post, pattering away. With a huff, you come away from his desk, stalking past him to the window, where you fold your arms and study the barren street below. The view is obscured by the dark and the drops of rain that carve hazy trails down the glass. You can just about make out a couple, emerging from the hospital’s entrance. No uniforms. A patient and their other half, and they’re leaning on each-other— no— pushing each-other, competing for the cover of an umbrella that’s much too small. They’re laughing, you think.

Your chest aches.

“Zayne,” you press.

His chair rolls back, wheels harsh on the floor, and he’s standing, logging out of his computer with a final, few clacks. “I’m done,” he snaps, but his tone says otherwise. He tugs his coat from the back of his chair. “We can go.”

…

You sit on the edge of the wet pavement, rain seeping from your hair and soaking the fabric of your clothes. You should be cold, but you’re not. You’re nothing. Your eyes are cast downwards and all you see is grey, though it’s illuminated by an orange glow.

Behind you, light bleeds through the windows of a busy restaurant. Zayne is still in there, playing diplomat. Playing doctor: always trying to fix things.

Your phone buzzes, and you slip it from its home in your coat pocket. There’s a message: having fun? Then another: ur welcome, miss bodyguard.

Rafayel. He knows a guy who knows the guy who owns this place, so you’d called in a favour. You and Zayne had been drowning in work for a week: him, overwhelmed by new patients at the hospital, and you, out hunting the wanderers that had put them there. Linkon is getting worse. Everything is getting worse, and you just wanted one, single night for yourself.

Well, not just yourself.

The monotonous drum of the rain breaks to the creak of an opening door, but you don’t react. “Y/N?” Zayne sounds far away. “Where did you— Y/N!?”

Footsteps echo on the pavement behind you, splitting puddles, and the orange light is gone. You’re trapped by a shadow that’s talking, speaking your name, but you pretend you can’t hear it. Let him say it a hundred times. A thousand; you can wait.

“Just a minute,” you lilt, your voice dripping spite.

You’re going to sit here for an hour.

“Y/N…” The doctor is oh so patient. “Please get up. You’ll catch a cold if you—”

“Good!” you spit, rounding on him. “Then why don’t I check myself into the hospital? Maybe then you’ll actually think about me once in a while!”

Zayne is towering over you: a small, wet, pathetic little thing, but you still make him draw back. His virescent eyes are wide, his lips parted ever so slightly. He almost always knows what to say, but this is an exception.

After a long moment, he moves around you. Slowly, he lowers himself to sit at your side.

“Do you have any idea,” you start, staring out across the slick road, “how selfish you make me feel? How much I hate myself when I… when I ask you to…”

The confession catches in your throat. It hurts, but you force it out anyway:

“What you do is so important, Zayne. You’re saving lives. You’re giving people back to their families, their loved ones, and you’re amazing for that. I think you’re amazing for that. But I miss you. It feels like I have to share you with the rest of the world, and I know I have no right to ask it, but sometimes? Sometimes I just… want you to be mine.”

You’re looking down, now. Hugging your knees— burying your face, so he won’t see you cry. There’s rain and salt in your mouth, and you wish he would say something. Anything.

You have to wait a few seconds, but then you feel it: something heavy being draped over your shoulders. His coat. Then his arm is around you, drawing you close, closer, until you’re nestled against his chest.

“You have every right to ask,” he soothes, his tone so warm when it’s compensating for the rest of him. “I am yours, Y/N. I will always be yours.”

“But your work—”

“Can wait,” he finishes for you. “I know I forget that sometimes. And I’m sorry. But you?”

He lifts your chin, gazing down at you with something you can only describe as adoration.

“There is nothing in this world more important to me than you.”

Your heart flutters at the words and the feathery touch of his thumb on your cheek, wiping away a tear. It’s futile in a downpour, but it still makes you smile. Rain is spattering on your forehead, some dripping from his now-soaked hair, and you laugh as he tries to dry your face with his sleeve.

“You’re important to me, too,” you manage between chuckles, “and I’m sorry, too.” Your cheeks are flushed, even in the cold. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“No.” A statement: not up for debate. Zayne untangles your limbs from his as he helps you stand. “We have a reservation.”

“We had a reservation. They gave away our table, Zayne.”

“Did they?”

There’s a hint of smugness. “Wait… what did you—”

He nods at the restaurant, and you follow his glistening gaze to where a waiter is holding the door— a menu clutched above his head, shielding him from the rain. He’s looking back at you. Waiting.

“Rafayel isn’t the only one with friends in high places,” Zayne smiles, leaning down to speak into your ear, and it makes you shiver. “The head chef is a friend of mine. I saved his brother’s life, you know.”

#🖋rach is actually writing #zayne x reader #zayne #love and deepspace #lads zayne #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #lads #lnds #l&ds #li shen #lads x reader #zayne x mc

630 notes · View notes

sepherinaspoppies · 8 days ago

Text

Only If For A Night

ꕥ series masterlist & taglist ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ masterlist ✧₊⁺AO3

⟢summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

⟢pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

⟢warnings for this part: Mentions of dead bodies, Harrenhal visions, light gore, Ser Crispy Coleslaw, Aemond being jealous and horny.

⟢wc: 7,872

⟢gif credit: @peachysunrize but she deleted her acc so im sorry!

Chapter 3: Me and the Devil

She was doing her best not to lose her mind. She’s never been stuck in a situationship like this before. Or hardly knew anyone that had been. Stuff like this only occurred in…books. In which she was now in the middle of.

She had so many questions yet no answers.

She knew she had to come up with some sort of well thought out plan. But if she was being honest, she barely even had a pl. As Phoebe Buffay once said on an early episode of Friends.

One thing was for sure, she was in the Riverlands. Harrenhal. Westeros. If she had her history correct, and she did, the year is currently 130 AC.

Rhaenyra Targaryen had just taken over the city of King’s Landing with the help of the Rogue Prince at her side.

She recalls how this news caused Aemond to go on a seize of murderous rampage, killing the entirety of House Strong. The very same pile of dead bodies she saw in the outer yard, those were them.

As much as she tried, she couldn’t get that horrifying image out of her head. Not now and perhaps not even the days to come. With every blink of her eyes, she saw them; bloody, decaying, eyes wide of what they felt before death: fear.

Don’t throw up, don’t throw up.

Not that there was much in her stomach to.

Shortly after Aemond had severed the guard’s head, she had literally thrown up just inches away from his feet.

He did not say much, only bringing a small green handkerchief from his pocket and wiped remnants away from her lips. Instead of being angry or disgusted, Aemond’s face exhibited only concern.

Because of that she was escorted inside Harren’s castle with haste by Aemond’s orders. With the very little time she had, she tried to go against this but her words were swiftly overlooked and ignored.

She was brought into a medium sized room at the highest tower of Harrenhal. The room wasn’t much to look at. High stoned black walls with no decorations or personality. A canopy bed with multiple pillows and furs laid near the window with two nightstands on each side, holding lit candelabras.

Facing the canopy was a vanity table with nothing but dried flowers and a dusted mirror that she couldn’t make out her reflection. It was obvious that no one had occupied this room in a very long time. The cobwebs, near all four corners of the ceiling, confirmed it.

To the left of the vanity was a beige folding screen and behind it was a large white bathtub that she had been thrown in immediately upon arriving in the room by two older women.

After she had been bathed and dressed, a third woman delivered a hot cup of peppermint tea to ease the nausea. However, after they left she made sure to discard the cup, choosing not to drink anything, harboring feelings of distrust when she previously drank a cup of tea.

The sound of the door being opened caused her to sit rigidly on the chair, thinking it was a particular one eyed prince entering the room. Instead, the knots in her stomach loosened as an elderly man made his way inside, offering her a simple smile before he set a leather bag he’d been holding on a nearby table.

Her mouth opened, wondering who he was but as she assessed his gray robes and the several decorated chains hanging from his neck, he’d have to be a maester.

Something close to a doctor in her world.

“You have not touched the tea, my lady.” His voice was barely audible, gentle as he pointed out. “Are you allergic to peppermint?”

“No,” she shook her head, her eyes landing on the medical supplies being brought to the rounded table. She recognized some of them such as the suturing kit, scale, gauze, scissors and a scalpel.

Her abuelo, Vidalio, had a collection of identical vintage medical supplies in his office that often as a kid she’d glance at in complete fascination.

“Are you not partial to peppermint?” The maester questioned.

“I’m not partial to drinking something that I did not see being made,” she added. After drinking that tea Alyssandra had given her, there was no way she’d risk doing that again. “Besides, peppermint is most known to target headaches. If you were to mix ginger and chamomile, then you have an accurate tea to treat nausea.”

The maester lifted a bush eyebrow, cocking his head to side taking her suggestion into consideration. “Very well. I’ll bring a cup of boiling water—” He tried saying, only for her to sprint directly in front of him.

“—there’s no need. I am well; as you can see.” She feigned a recovered smile.

“I still am in need of boiling water to brew milk of the poppy, my lady.”

It was her turn to gaze at him in wonder. “What for?” She inquired. She knew what milk of the poppy was. An opium made from the poppy flower to aid in severe pain and to anesthetize a person out cold in a deep sleep.

It was also the same pearly liquid she read in A Game of Thrones that Grand Maester Pycelle used to treat Ned Stark after an altercation he had with Jaime Lannister, which gave the Warden of the North, strange dreams. ‘Poppy dreams’ otherwise known as hallucinations.

As helpful as it was, it was also very addictive. Equivalent to morphine and fentanyl. As an intern at St. David’s Hospital, she’d seen how bad opioids took a toll on people.

So it was safe enough to say she wasn’t going to be easily convinced to take it.

The older man pointed at the swollen cut on her lower lip, where that asshole of a guard had slapped her hours ago. “The wound on your lip; I have to stitch it. I will use milk of the poppy to ease the discomfort when inserting the needle into your lip.”

“I already said I’m fine.” She answers more firmly. She glanced at the multitudinous array of small amber jars on the table that contained different kinds of fine powders, liquids, dried herbs, seeds, and strange looking roots.

She was able to make out a little bit of everything. Though, nothing of the sort would be needed for something so minor. Rubbing alcohol and perhaps a topical antibiotic ointment were as good as any.

“Tis’ not what the prince thinks, my lady.” The maester abruptly murmurs out, fearfully looking at the door. If the prince were to walk into the room, seeing his guest not being properly treated as he demanded, he too would suffer the same unmerciful fate as his lord.

“It’s a superficial cut! You can tell the prince, I don’t need tea or stitches.” What she needed was to get out of here and go home.

“A topical amoxicillin ointment should be enough. Though, I don’t think it exists here.” In fact no modern medicine could be found here. This era was if not the same as medieval times, where people die everyday of infection or contamination due to the lack of antibiotics, antivirals, and vaccines.

She felt lucky that all of her vaccines were up to date.

Except maybe for her yearly flu shot. Fuck!

The maester tilted his head in surprise, “Are you a healer?” He asked, intrigued that she too knew medicinal practices. Most witches did not, if he believed the rumors around the castle.

She crouched down, eyeing the herbs that caught her attention.

“Something like that. I know enough to know that I don’t need stitches. It’s just a little bit of swelling that will go down in a day or two if I ice it.” Though, she wasn’t sure how the maester would get ice in the Riverlands. If this was the North, ice wouldn’t be a problem.

The maester, befuddled, nodded. Knowing that his endeavors to treat her lip were pointless, he slid her a small amber salve of bread mold.

She gave him a ‘what the hell is that?’ kind of look, in which he explained it was an ointment to prevent infections.

After a few series of questions, she realized that this bread mold was as close as what she was going to get to penicillin.

A look of relief and ease plastered on the maester’s face as she delicately dabbed some of the salve on her wound. She was equivocal if the salve was meant to have a bitter taste or smell, but she kept her thoughts to herself as she wanted this visit to speed up.

“What’s your name?” She asked while watching the man place his medical supplies in his bag with uttermost care.

“They call me Maester Nywen.” He revealed.

She pronounced his name repeatedly in her head, trying to remember if he was mentioned in Fire & Blood. Though, there was no record of him at all.

“I’m—”

“I know who you are, my lady.” Nywen interjected. Everyone knew her name, including the walls of Haren’s castle. It was said she possessed otherworldly abilities unknown to men.

In his many years serving House Strong, Nywen never came across her path. Never saw her in the flesh. Just tales and rumors. Some that he believed; such as her being his lord’s favorite out of his true born sons and daughters. Some that Nywen didn’t quite believe; like the rumor of her bathing in maiden’s blood to remain forever youthful.

Looking at her now, her complexion differed from what he pictured.

To her befuddlement, she had no idea how Nywen knew her name. She didn’t remember mentioning it to anyone, including the old ladies.

This was all some weird mystery that was making her feel dizzy and unsettled. She only now wished she had some Ibuprofen or an Advil pill to dull the pain in her head.

“If this is all, I must take my leave. Good day, my lady.”

“Wait! I’ll go with you,” she called out, and the older man came to a halt before he exited the door.

A look of sympathy came on Nywen’s face. “Apologies, my lady, but the prince ordered for you to remain here.”

“Wait, what?!” She followed a close second after him, perplexed. Nywen gave her one last look of remorse, “I am sorry, my lady. You won’t be kept in here for long. The prince has some matters to attend to before he calls for you. Should you come in need of anything, ring the bell.”

“Nywen!” She called out, but it was too late as the door was suddenly closed right in her face. The sound of a lock confirmed her fears.

She was alone again.

She wondered how abuela Selena was doing. The older woman, who’d been more like a second mother to her, had come across her mind a lot more now.

Had she known she was missing?

Of course she did; she was probably seriously panicking right now and sent out a search party to look for her.

The pueblo was small, and it wouldn’t have taken her family long to figure out she wasn’t there or in any surrounding pueblos. She knew that wouldn’t hinder them from continuing their search for her. Her family were strong and brazen fighters and would stop at nothing to keep the family safe.

She also wondered if her mother knew. Though, she already knew the answer to that. Her very overprotective mother, who calls every hour of each day, must have flown from the states the second she did not answer the phone. A heavy argument most likely would’ve happened between her mother and her abuela, Selena, for not keeping a close eye on her.

Even if the fault had not been her abuela’s, she feared that her disappearance became a fresh new layer of conflict added on top of the decades long strife between her mother and Selena.

She did not wish for that. For years, she’d attempted to push them together to communicate and get past whatever tension they had between them. She prayed that things would not escalate further between them in her absence.

She could just imagine seeing them after all of this was over.

But to pinpoint when?

Now, that was going to be challenging.

She was so high up in Harren’s castle that she wished she were some type of bird. A raven, perhaps. With great big and wide wings to fly to carry her away.

Fly, a voice whispered next to her.

Startled, she snapped her head up to the side in the direction of the voice. “What?” She asked with a shaky voice.

You have wings. Use them.

She glanced behind her shoulders, feeling for soft feathers but was met with bare skin and no wings.

“Liar.” She asserted back. And the voice responded something in return, though it was barely audible.

However, something in the room had shifted. It became darker, colder, and overall strange. The dark hairs on her arms stood when the flames of the candles blew out one by one by themselves while the hinges of the door creaked open.

A thin curtain of light appeared at the end of the hall and her body seemed to sense some type of energy vibrating around the room, pulling her to leave now that the door was unlocked.

A part of her debated whether or not to take the risk and leave as this was exactly how people died in scary movies, by following strange energies. Another part of her said fuck it, sensing the energy as not evil or not good either.

She let out a frightened gasp as the door shut completely from behind and the vibrating energy increased tenfold. The longer she walked throughout the corridor, she began to realize that the buzzing was actually a low humming sound echoing down the hall.

A song.

Arrorró, mi niño

Arrorró, mi Sol

Arrorró pedazo

De mi corazón

Abuelo Vidalio would sing that exact song as a lullaby when she had trouble sleeping as a child. Which happened to be all of the time since she experienced very vivid dreams about strange people and creatures she did not recognize. Vidalio, with his soothing voice, would be there to sing the bad dreams away.

Este niño lindo

Que nació de noche

Quiere que lo lleven

A pasear en coche

Could it be him?

With trembling hands, she takes a peek through the slim opening. A large and nicely furnished room is set directly in front of her. It sort of reminded her of Vidalio’s private studio near the outskirts of her family’s home. Vidalio had a love for old vintage things like outdated medical books, scrolls, medical supplies, herb vials, maps, and furniture.

Some of those things decorated the inside room.

In the center, a man sat on a wooden rocking chair with his back towards her. She glanced at the carvings on the top rail of the chair; a three headed dragon, wolf, lion, some sort of sea creature, fish, falcon, stag, and a rose.

Instantly, she knew who the rocking chair belonged to.

“Abuelo?” She asks aporetically. Although she missed him terribly, she secretly hoped it wouldn’t be him. Since he, himself, had been dead for years. And it wasn’t like she didn’t believe in ghosts; she did.

The humming impetuously ends before it begins, and so does the back and forth movement of the rocking chair.

Purple eyes stare directly at hers like he’d been waiting a while for her to come in. “El niño no se puede dormir,” Vidalio addresses her in complete distress. (the boy can’t fall asleep)

His appearance made her halt on her tracks, he looked and dressed differently than what he normally looked like. She remembered him older, tanner, his light blonde hair styled directly away from his face, with more modern fitted clothes.

Here he was younger with milky white skin that was untouched from the harsh Mexican sun; his hair slightly long and silver. And more importantly, his clothes were strange and old fashioned, almost aristocratic.

The only way she knew for certain this was her abuelo, was by a polaroid her abuela took of Vidalio when he was young, were they both briefly lived in Cancun.

How was it possible that he was here, in Harrenhal?

In Westeros?

How could it be?

Her lack of response causes Vidalio to continue humming the lullaby as he sways something tight on his arms.

A boy, no more than eight, laid lifeless across Vidalio’s arms. Small cuts and bruises painted across the young boy’s small and delicate face and body. All while fresh blood dripped from the side of his chest, pooling down onto the floor.

He was bleeding out.

Yet, the boy was already dead.

What was more harrowing of it all, were the boy’s eyes. They were a rich and dark violet color, wide, blinking and staring right at her.

Through her.

It was the only thing about him that was alive.

Este niño lindo

Ya quiere dormir

Háganle la cuna

De rosa y jazmín

“We need to take him to a hospital,” she frantically suggested. Maybe the boy wasn’t completely deceased. Maybe all he needed was proper medical attention like a blood transfusion and a few stitches.

“It’s too late.” Her abuelo pointed out. “All he needs now is the comfort of his mother.” Vidalio gives the boy one last hug before he stretches the body in her direction.

“What?!” She exclaims, feeling the air in her lungs rapidly leaving her body.

Surely, he didn’t mean the little boy was hers…

This didn’t seem possible. A mother is able to recognize the face of their own child. She’d hear on multiple occasions from mothers, at the hospital she interns in, how a sort of natural maternal instinct and intuition set in the moment they became mothers.

She’d know if she had a child, but that boy was not hers.

Or was it?

“I- I need to go. This isn’t real. This-this isn’t true. You aren’t real. You are dead.” She says between ragged breaths, feeling a panic attack brewing in.

She took a few steps back, only to be met with a cold hard chest. An older man, perhaps in his late sixties, with long silver-white hair and dark eyes, smiled warmly at her. Beside him, were six other men and a singular woman.

She noticed that the two older men wore more modern clothes, while the others wore some sort of old fashioned clothes similar to Vidalio’s, embroidered by the same red design.

“I’m sorry,” she let out an apology to the older man. The man, though, remained unfazed. He simply continued to look at her with tears in his eyes before he replied with a strangled voice. “Mama.”

“No. Oh, no, no.” She shook her head, placing some distance between them. All of them. As if that would help them disappear.

Yea she needed to get the fuck out right now.

She eyed the door and ran towards the opening, leaving behind people that did not exist. For a moment, she believed she heard something but dismissed it as quickly as lightning.

She saw people along her path but whether they were real or not she did not know or care for. Her goal was to leave. Leave this place, sapphire or not.

Halfway into her sprint, she got the feeling she was being followed. So she ran into a solitary hallway and opened the first door she saw.

“You’re early.”

She drew in a sharp breath as she came across the last person she wished to see right now, none other than Aemond Targaryen.

The prince’s lone eye was practically sparkling when looking at her after being hours apart. She had been away for too long for his taste.

Aemond would have preferred for her to come after everything– the wine, dinner, and dessert– were perfectly set up on the table as he had planned.

Yet, she was here now.

With the light blue with silver gown he specifically picked out. The colors itself reminded Aemond of House Arryn, a traitorous house that sided with the whore that was his half-sister. Though, the colors were at least better than that of House Strong.

Aemond almost had the two women killed for even considering such bletcherous colors for his one and only to wear.

Blind luck was bestowed upon them when another woman quickly brought an unused gown from her daughter’s armoire. Which was the one his love was currently wearing.

She looked mesmerizing. Goddess like. The very Maiden in the flesh.

“Are you alright?” Aemond asked as he noticed her out of breath appearance.

Before she had a chance to say anything, a tall and dark haired knight came in; presumably after her as he was out of breath too.

Aemond looked between Ser Criston and his one and only, and concluded that he’d been chasing her for some time.

“Tis’ alright, Cole. No grave offense has occurred,” Aemond affirmed with a court nod.

She blinked, assessing the man who was one of few to cause the civil war, Dance of the Dragons, between Aegon and Rhaenyra.

He appeared just as he was described in the books.

Charming.

Though, she did not expect him to be quite so… short.

Whilst Aemond stood exceptionally tall, Ser Coleslaw seemed no taller than five foot and eight inches. Perhaps that is one of many reasons he was such a misogynistic dick who couldn’t handle rejection.

If she did the math correctly by the current year, he must’ve been in his late forties. Yet he had this youthful look about him that one wouldn’t have guessed he was reaching his fifties.

Not that he would live to see his fifties.

Days later he would die south of the Gods Eye.

“Holy shit, you’re Criston Cole?!” She exclaimed not with fascination but with distaste lacing her tone.

The Kingmaker placed a hand on the pommel of his sword, glaring at her with such vigilance. “I am. Have we met before?”

“Not really–”

“Leave us, Cole.” Aemond snapped unexpectedly, causing her body to jolt at the intensity of his voice.

Criston shifted his focus to the prince regent. “I think it would be wise if I stay, my prince. Wouldn’t want anything… unseemly to happen.”

Oh.

At that, she took a few steps away from Aemond, placing as much distance between them as possible.

The mere thought of her and Aemond together made her feel uneasy and very unsettling. He was a prince. Royalty.

While she was the opposite of what he was. A simple commoner.

Aemond kept himself from frowning at the space his love placed between. He clearly did not intend to take her today, as much as he desired to.

His incessant desire and appetite would be sated the moment they were joined as one.

Which would be soon, if everything went according to plan.

“Leave us. It is a command,” Aemond said, tone much demanding and darker.

Criston clenched his jaw in anger before he turned to leave. Just as he was about to shut the door he gave her one last look.

There was no kindness in his cold green eyes. Rather he looked at her like the dirt beneath his boot that quickly needed to be swept away.

“Do you always captivate this much trouble, my lady?” Aemond asks, just seconds after the door closes.

She is only able to let out a hum as she feels all the words in her throat shrivel and dry up.

Aemond’s white linen shirt hung loosely and unbuttoned against his chest; His pants were halfway unlaced.

Aemond looked down at her silently, waiting for an answer from her. Yet she stood there gawking at the man in front of her, with his toned-pale chest on display, light silver trail of hair below his navel, leading to–

She apologizes quickly before rapidly turning around to grant him some privacy.

Doing so caused Aemond to curl his lip into a smirk. She didn’t need to be sorry about her curious glances. Aemond thought to himself. Very soon, she’ll be well acquainted with his body; as well as he with hers too.

Though, that day could not be any sooner. Much to his dismay, Aemond had to settle on that memory when she wore such sheer chemise. The same clothing he kept to himself after she was dressed, and used to pleasure himself with just moments ago.

“What makes you think that?” She added, her voice stammering a bit but she masks it with a cough.

“You outran three of my guards, for starters, and managed to harm one of them. You also fled from your chamber without so much as a word,” Aemond breathed. “Will you hand me my doublet, please?”

Her hands reached for the black leather doublet in front of the armchair, handing it back to Aemond with hands over her eyes. “Are you saying that I shouldn’t have run and let them have their way with me?” Anger, panic, fear and disbelief brewing deep in her stomach

“Seven Hells, no. That is not what I am implying,” Aemond expresses. “I am elated that you managed to defend yourself and run. But if your reason for fleeing was because you harbor any fear that it will happen again, I can assure you it will not.”

She stilled for a moment, the hair follicles at the back of her head rose when she felt Aemond’s presence so close behind her. “As long as you are here, you’re under my protection. I will never let anyone or anything harm you. I promise you this.”

The very gruesome image of Aemond beheading the guard that assaulted her, deemed his promise held true.

Nevertheless, she was taken aback by the comment and the surface of her face felt warm. “Um thanks,” she nervously chuckled. It was the only thing she could say at such earnest promise.

“You can turn around now, if you wish.”

And she did. He looked well put together, dressed in all black from head to toe. The dark shade truly suited Aemond, giving him the illusion of a gothic prince.

In such proximity, she could smell something amidst smoke, fire, and ash emitting from his clothes.

Possibly from his dragon, Vhagar.

Vhagar.

Being the bookworm that she was, she wondered what the oldest and largest she-dragon looked like. Or where she was currently nesting at.

However, her nerdishness had to be set aside.

For now, atleast.

“Are you famished, my lady? The servants are to bring us dinner shortly, but if you’re hungry now I could ask them to speed it along.” Aemond asked across the room, his hand on the handle of the door.

She was about to refuse his polite offer, unfortunately for her the mention of dinner provoked her stomach to growl so loud that even Aemond heard it.

Damned traitor.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Aemond said, his lips curling into a witty grin. She held up her hand in a way to prevent him from arranging dinner, she didn’t have time for. “That won’t be necessary–”

“The ferocious noise inside your belly says otherwise,” he quips as he instructs a nearby servant for some food. “I am starved from killing Strongs all morning and afternoon. I crave something more fulfilling besides shellfish and mediocre soups.”

It was all Aemond ate at the capital after the Pretender ordered the blockade. At first, the small council had spent a remarkable amount on enough meat, poultry, grains, fruits, and vegetables for his family and guests. Subsequently, in a moon or so everything had run out. Fish, oysters, shrimp, and different kinds of soups were served.

Aemond did not mind, in the beginning, but after a while his appetite longed for his regular and satiated meals. He nearly took one of Vhagar’s goats for himself. Aemond knew he couldn’t as Vhagar needed her strength for upcoming battles and decided to let that foolish idea go.

A few minutes went by when an array of servants arrived inside the room, carrying hot plates of food. She recognized two of the servants. Both of whom helped her bathe and dress earlier.

One, she noticed, struggled to keep a ceramic bowl steady. Instantly, she took the bowl from her trembling hands. “The bowl is very hot, my lady. You must be careful!” The old woman warned as she tried to pry the plate off her hands.

Although she was touched by her worriment, she couldn’t help but to chuckle. “It’s alright. I’ve been accustomed to touching hotter things, and this is not nearly as hot as you think.” At a young age, she more than often would help her mama make homemade tortillas de harina and would flip them by hand in the comal while scorching hot. On the weekend’s she’d help out at her uncle Belen’s restaurant. Often serving customers hot plates of food straight from the stove. (flour tortillas, griddle)

So heat never really bothered her.

She placed the large bowl in the center of the table, adjacent to the other plates and pitchers. Then she proceeded to help the servants set the table.

All while doing so she couldn’t help but feel Aemond’s eye on her the entire time as she moved. He stood silent near one of the windows, patiently waiting until everyone that wasn’t her, to leave.

“Will that be all, my prince?” A kitchen servant asked, her eyes struggling to keep eye contact. Aemond waved the woman away, disinterestedly. Something about that irked her to her core, and it reminded her of the countless entitled customers who treated servers beneath them.

“Thank you,” she smiled at the servants before they took their leave. They returned the smile and she couldn’t help but to think if they’ve ever been thanked before and she was content that she did.

“Shall we dine?” Aemond gestured to the overly-filled table.

She nodded, her stomach doing flips for food. Before she had the chance to pull out a chair, Aemond beat her straight to it with a smug smile carved into his lips.

“In truth, I’m glad that you came now. I was to summon you for another hour while you had your rest but to my surprise the maester informed me that you refused treatment.” Aemond spoke from behind.

She sucked in a breath, shoulders tensing as the tips of Aemond’s fingers softly grazed around the exposed skin behind her neck. A spot where she felt insecure and anxious from anyone viewing.

Even the two older women, who bathed her, halted their scrubbing when they came across the two deep vertical scars on each of her shoulder blades. A part of her was relieved that they did not say anything and continued their scrubbing, but the overthinker in her worried if they were secretly judging behind her back.

Aemond pressed his lips together tightly, replacing a frown as she wiggled herself away from his touch.

“Stitches are required for deep or gaping wounds, and surgical incisions. I did not necessitate it since this is a superficial cut. It will heal in a day or two if I clean it properly to prevent infection. Nywen agreed as well as I did and supplied me with a topical antibiotic.”

She watched as Aemond slid into a seat directly across from her, digesting in her words.

“Nywen?” Aemond arched his brow.

“The maester.”

Aemond hummed, content by her answer. “You speak as if you’re a maester yourself.”

“I’m a nurse,” She shared proudly, though ignoring the fact she has not taken her NCLEX yet. Meaning she was not actually licensed.

Aemond appeared to be taken back by her response and redirected his eye to her very glorious and plump pair of breasts.

Would she allow him the pleasure to drink from her chest as well?

The one eyed prince could only wish.

Aemond could practically hear his one and only loudly moan and cry for him as he drank every last drop from her breasts, providing her with not only relief but also pleasure.

The thought alone made his cock stir underneath his breeches.

“Not a wet nurse!” She exclaimed, as she crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to cover her boobs.

That, however, proved to be fruitless as the action alone caused her boobs to thrust upwards, revealing more for his eye to see. The violet in Aemond’s lone eye darkened and she swore she almost heard him… moan.

“Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean to cause offense,” Aemond softened his voice as he discreetly adjusted his hardness beneath the dining table, stifling a hiss at the throbbing sensation.

“I never met a woman who practices conventional medical treatment; especially a young woman. Just old men. But seeing as to the maester being gone–”

Hearing that caused her head to snap up. “–Gone?”

“Yes, he left shortly after he was done treating you. I bid his freedom in exchange for his services and you were his last patient.” Aemond briefly told as he grabbed a slice of some type of roasted meat onto his plate.

“Well, that’s good to hear. At least he is free to see his family now,” she exhaled a breath she didn’t know she held.

Aemond hummed in agreement, choosing to spare the grisly details of him beheading the maester for treason against the crown.

In a way, the maester did get to finally visit his family, along with his liege.

“With him gone, perhaps you’d want to take his place?” Aemond offered coolly.

It wasn’t like she would stay here long enough to help heal his people. She had a deadline to meet and follow, and the One Eyed Prince sure as hell wasn’t going to get in her way. So she chose to give him a little inconsequential lie.

“Perhaps,” she shrugged as she began to assess the food upon the table.

And boy, were there many to choose from. There was a variety of cooked meats, sauteed vegetables, hot stews, breads, cheeses, and fruits.

It reminded her of an all-you-could-eat buffet.

She ended up selecting the same type of roasted meat as Aemond, paired with a small slice of bread and a goblet half full of a golden liquid she believed was some sort of juice.

By the way he was staring at her, she almost wanted to tell Aemond to take a picture to make it last longer but saying such a thing would be indecipherable to Aemond.

Rather it was better to say “paint a portrait.”

Now, however, was not the time to be comical.

Aemond began shifting to a new topic of conversation when she took the first bite of what he said was ‘roasted duck’. Instantly, she scrunched her face at the off- putting taste.

She always preferred her meat to be cooked well done and generously seasoned with garlic, salt, pepper, with a hint of rosemary and chili peppers for spice.

Though this meat itself felt uncooked in the center, bland and not seasoned correctly.

But what else could she expect from Westeros?

Aemond watched from where he sat, disheartened by her dischuffed reaction, “Is the duck not to your liking?”

No. She wanted to reply but she had a feeling that if she denied him, Aemond would try to convince her to take another dish.

“It’s good, thank you.” She lied after she forcefully swallowed the meat, smiling as she reached for her goblet to wash down the horrible aftertaste that lingered in her mouth.

Aemond was not in the slightest convinced that it was or the wine judging from her disapproving reaction. “Here, have some Dornish red. It is what I’m drinking, much better than the shit from Lannisport you drank.”

With hesitance, she took the cup. His fingers brushed with her own with a gentle caress that shocked her and almost pulled away from, if not for the goblet being nearly full.

She examined the dark red wine carefully before sampling it. There was a sweetness blended with some sourness that had her wondering if she had it before. It wasn’t a bad taste but it was definitely strong.

“Better?” Aemond queried, sitting straighter.

“Well you’re definitely right about the other one tasting like shit.” She laughed as she drank more Dornish red.

She's had some questionable alcohol before, but Lannisport wine definitely takes the cake. It was like drinking straight raw honey and cinnamon.

Aemond joined in with her laughter. “Dornish red can be quite strong and can surely get a person drunk if they have not eaten. Mayhaps I can have the cooks prepare something you prefer eating. What would you like?”

There were many foods she craved right now.

Back home, her abuela was preparing the masa for the tamales that took hours to make just for the entire family. (dough)

Her cousins Sara and Valeria, planned to bring a very spicy pozole and mole from their side of the family.

Tio Belen and tia Alicia were bringing their infamous chocoflan and caramel empanadas for dessert.

Those meals alone were what she wanted more than anything.

Sadly, there were zero chances that Westeros had any of that.

Especially during a war.

“I’m alright, thank you. I’ll stick to eating this, it’s not so bad now with the wine,” she reassured. Last thing she wanted was to waste food. Something she despised.

Her answer, however, wasn’t what Aemond hoped for but he settled on it for now.

“I do, myself, wish to know how exactly a lady such as yourself came to be wandering about in the woods, dressed in nothing but her shift.” Aemond implored, tilting his head to the side.

Uh oh.

“The remaining guards confessed that you were wearing your shift when they found you. Prompting them to believe you were some mislead whore. It still doesn’t justify their actions against you and for that I sincerely apologize. But, I’d like to hear your side of the tale if you do not mind.”

It all had been some unusual mystery, how she— the woman he had been expecting for ten years— came running onto his arms out of the blue.

Your life awaits

Was all Helaena said before he left to take back Harrenhal.

The pounding of her heart increased tenfold. She knew she had to stick to the truth as much as humanly possible, only altering the details that had to be kept secret.

She wouldn’t deny a part of her wondered if there was even a chance of coming clean to Aemond.

Without proof, maybe he’d think she was ludicrous.

If someone from Westeros came to the modern world, and extemporaneously said they’d been transported from a fictional universe, she without a doubt thought they were on some sort of crack.

She clears her throat, blinking rapidly in search of the right words to say. “Earlier I was sent to pick out some flowers for my family. Along the way, a woman came across my path and robbed me of not only my gown and shoes but my belongings as well. I tried chasing after her but after several minutes my feet became tired and I was lost around the woods with nothing to go by.”

“Your guards found me moments later. They insinuated that I was a whore, and I tried to tell them I wasn’t. That’s when things got violent and I was only trying to defend myself.” She explained transparently.

Aemond redirected his gaze towards the cut on her lower lip, then to her hand noticing some bruising. He recalled how the first guard had a stain of dried blood on his nose right before he killed him.

“Again, I must say how truly sorry I am for the dishonorable actions of my men. And I applaud you for your braveness, my lady.” Aemond said as he raised his goblet before taking a sip.

“Oh, this?” She asked, gesturing to the hand that was bruised. “This is nothing.”

Aemond let out a chortle. “It’s not nothing. You certainly broke his nose and damaged his foot by the looks of it. Who taught you to hit like that?”

“My uncle, Aimon.” She answers. Though unsure if she should reveal details about her family. “Most of us, my cousins and I, are girls. He said it was important that we, as women, learn how to be self resilient and defend ourselves. He taught us with a practice dummy, at first. Then with some padded gloves. ”

Aemond raised his brows, shocked by the notion that a man would allow their nieces to physically fight. His own father never bothered to teach his sister how to train in combat, not that Helaena would’ve wanted to or his mother allowed it. The Dowager Queen detested violence.

It was only ever him that learned to train in combat.

Not by his father, too sickly and yet too worried about Rhaenyra. Only Ser Criston Cole who shared the passion of the sword with him.

“Your uncle seems progressive,” Aemond stated, watching as a sad smile set on her face. “Yea he is.” The reminder of Aimon made her reflect on how much she missed her family right now.

Especially since Aimon was coming home for Dia De Los Muertos, after being stationed in Mexico City for ten years. Alicia and her were the only ones that knew of Aimon’s surprise visit to abuela Selena.

Though, perhaps now the only surprise her abuela was going to get was her disappearance.

“Have I said something to upset you?” Aemond questioned.

Her attention went back to the one eyed prince, who looked at her with concern. “No, no you haven’t. I just… nevermind.” She shook her head as she fiddled with the edges of her goblet.

Aemond leaned forward in his seat, desperately wanting to know what she had to say. “What is it? You can tell me—”

Just as his hand was about to reach hers, a knock interrupted them both. “Prince Aemond, the dessert you requested is almost done. Shall I have it straight delivered to your chambers?” A kitchen maid inquired from the other end of the door.

Aemond made a sound of complete annoyance, causing her to give him a major side eye. “Yes, do so.”

His reply caused her to be taken aback. Did that mean she had to stay longer with him?

She hoped not as there wasn’t enough time for dessert or any of his pleasantries. No matter how hard Aemond procures her to stay. There was a deadline she had to follow and a family and home to go back to.

She knew that by now, her family already contacted the authorities; the police and even the fucking FBI. They’d even call the SWAT team if it were possible.

Maybe she was being a bit too… dramatic. But was she?

There wasn’t anything her family wouldn’t do for her, including searching all of Mexico just to get her back.

Sadly, she was nowhere near Mexico.

Rather she was stuck in a world that up until hours ago, was purely fictional. A work of fiction that she received as a gift.

Her first mistake of coming into this strange world was not thoroughly checking the cottage properly. Perhaps there, she could find some clues and answers that could help identify where this sapphire might be.

So, now was as good a time as any to leave. More hours later and she’d permanently risk staying here forever, just as Alyssandra warned.

As much as she wanted to explore and live through every bit of Westeros, she already missed her home, her family, the food, internet, and comfortable clothes that weren’t medieval dresses.

“Would you care for some more Dornish red as we wait for dessert to be served?” Aemond eventually asked, breaking her out of her stupor.

Go.

“Actually, I can’t,” she nervously chuckled as she stacked her plates and swept leftover crumbs with a napkin. Even universes away she still had the decency to pick up after herself.

Aemond felt his heart drop.

“It’s getting late and I must go. I’ve been gone for hours and my family is probably wondering where I am.” It was not entirely a lie. Her one way ticket out of here was to play her cards right by telling the truth.

“But the dessert—” The one eyed prince tried to explain but was interrupted.

“— can wait or I’ll take it on a to-go box. Do you guys have one of those here?” She knew not but it was worth a try.

Aemond gave her a look of utmost bewilderment. “A what?” A box for a piece of dessert?

She waved him off before she stood up, “it doesn’t matter. Thank you for letting me stay and for everything else you’ve done. I’m grateful, really. But I seriously have to go.”

Aemond found himself standing as well and before either of them knew it, Aemond spun her around so that her back was pressed on rough stone and his chest just inches away from her glorious plump breasts.

“You can’t leave,” Aemond said with a loud growl.

She swallowed, her eyes widening in total disbelief. “What?” In a frail voice she asked.

Aemond had to be gentle with his next choice of words. Last thing he wanted was to scare her off, like how he currently was doing so.

The prince softened the darkness in his eye. “Well,” he sighed, “you’ve said so yourself, it is getting late and I don’t think it is wise for a lady to wander by herself in the woods again. Especially at night and with a mugger on the loose.”

“I’ve caused you enough trouble as it is if I stay.” She stated, distancing herself away from Aemond.

Though the one eyed prince was quick to act as his hand barricaded her point of exit. “You caused me no trouble, I swear this to you. Please stay a little while longer. I’ll send a raven to your family that you reside here with me.” Aemond begged, feigning a demeanor of woefulness.

Although she did slightly feel bad, the deep voice in her head told her to stick to her guts; which was leaving.

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head as she was quick to duck underneath Aemond’s arm towards the door. She felt the light graze of Aemond’s hand reaching for her but she pulled away before he could touch her, causing him to frown.

Aemond yearned to have more time with her; to know every single part of her that made her so intriguing to him. She had haunted his dreams every night for far too long to let her go now. Considering how he had not yet voiced his affections to her. Aemond presumed, now was not the right time to declare his devotion. Time is what he needed.

“Alys, wait!” Aemond called out.

And she was sure as hell did wait.

A/N: sooooo I haven't updated this story for 8 months and for that I'm sorry guys 😩

but for those who are wondering: I live in an abusive household. so that should say enough.

and yes I am trying to get out, but I am currently unemployed.

the next chapter won't take 8 months I promise, but I am writing some smutty one shots for valentines day so I won't update this story until march!

also, if anyone can guess who Vidalio is, I will post a sneak peek of chapter 4!

#prince aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #dark aemond x reader #alternate universe #modern reader

273 notes · View notes

wonton4rang · 1 month ago

Text

——————————————————————————

pairing: bnd x reader.

warnings: none, mentions of arguments, kissing in some parts, mentions of the members real names.

summary: how would bnd react to “we have to talk”

——————————————————————————

sungho; unless he knows he did something to make you feel sad or mad, he would be chill, leaving his coat in the hanger and walking to you with a little bit of confusion since you said this as soon as he went in the house after coming back from work. “sure, what is it about?” he would ask in the sweetest and softest voice, his eyes showing the way he worried about you. and you just couldn’t do that to him, so you finally came clean and explained it was only a joke to see his reaction, sungho would laugh and kiss your forehead, assuring you that the whole “we need to talk” situation didn’t scare him since couples need to communicate in order to last :’) best boyfie award winner right here.

riwoo; “we need to talk” chills ran through his body before he unglued his eyes from the tv screen and directed them to you, his orbs got glossy really quick and his voice trembled when he asked “is everything okay, baby?” it was late, at least 1 or 2 in the morning and there was riwoo binge watching the series you told him not to loose sleep for. yeah, in sanghyeok’s mind you guys were done. but you just laughed at his scared frame, making him gulp before looking confused as you just kept laughing, explaining how it was only a joke and that you didn’t mind him watching his serie anytime, he was going to be the one tired after all. he would be soooo relieved, because he couldn’t even think of loosing you.

jaehyun; he didn’t even registered it the first time, his mind taking its time to process everything and create a thousand scenarios where he did something and you left him for it. so when you snapped your fingers in front of his face, he just held you in his arms, kissing your lips right away, so soft and yet so passionate and rough, only him could kiss you like that. he would back you up to the wall when you didn’t push him away and kiss you a little longer before letting your lips go for a second, panting against them before looking for your eyes and saying “i don’t recall doing anything wrong but if i did, i’m sorry, baby. can you tell me what it was? i promise i’ll fix it” but when you said it was just a joke, he just got a little mad, because why would you put his heart through such a harsh time.

taesan; “we need to talk” he was sitting on his bed when you said this, noticing how woonhak left the room right after you talked and taesan directed his eyes to you, still cleaning that vinyl disc “about what, noona?” you closed the door behind you and then crossed your arms in front of your chest, dongmin confusingly looking at you before putting his disc back in place and finally standing up “is there something bothering you, love?” his hands held your arms to uncross them and pull you in for a small peck in your lips, “what did you wanna talk about? did they do anything to upset you?” , “w-what? no, the members are just fine” , “are you sure?” and you could tell that even though he was showing you that nonchalant attitude he was really worried, he would NEVER think wrongly about his members, which is why you couldn’t hold it and laughed, explaining it was just a joke before he rolled his eyes at you and put you on laundry duty with sungho as a “punishment” for making him worry.

leehan; “what do you think i did now?” and that alone would make you feel soooo offended, your eyes and mouth opening at the same time and before you could even say anything to defend yourself he kept going “I haven’t even been out lately, you have my phone most of the day because for some reason you don’t want to subscribe to youtube premium on yours, i made you breakfast, i took the garbage out, i did the dishes and took a bath after cleaning the living room and folding the clean clothes. I don’t know what I missed or what you think I did but I-“ you had to stop him before he kept ranting “it’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, it was just a joke” he arched his eyebrow at you as you added “but I didn’t know you did all that” leehan laughed this time and pull you over to sit on his lap in the couch “i did, between yesterday and today” and you couldn’t hold it just laughed while he kissed you, he was also a really good boyfie even when he liked to argue back.

woonhak; oh god please don’t do this to him omfg, he is nervous, screaming, trembling, tongue tied, shaking and paralyzed at the same time, he doesn’t know what he did, he doesn’t really think he did anything but you are his noona, his first girlfriend, you know better. so he could just sit there and look at you with his big eyes, sobbing every once in a while, waiting for you to talk and stop walking around in front of him. so when your eyes met he crumbled, “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i don’t know what i did yet but i will fix it, it won’t happen again. i love you so much, y/n. please forgive me” and the way his voice sounded broke your heart, immediately leaving the joke behind when you held his face and softly kissed his lips, assuring him that he didn’t do anything wrong and apologizing for the joke that took the wrong turn.

249 notes · View notes

heauxvibez · 5 months ago

Text

Dipsea 2

warning: smut (18+). I had to change my panties after typing this bad boi up..

You looked at your phone with a desperate whimper, the frustration of the sudden interruption running through you. You had just begun to sink into the sweet rhythm of it, and now, you were certain the app was worth every cent. There was no way you’d be left on a cliffhanger—not when the heat was already pooling deep in your pussy, and his words were making your body ache with need. No other free option would suffice. Joe had started this, and you were determined he’d be the one to finish it.

With a quick tap, you paid for the app, heart pounding, pussy throbbing as the screen shifted. You watched as all nine parts unlocked, the bright purple and orange hues of the app glowing softly against the darkened room. The colors pulsed much like the warmth building inside you, teasing you as you imagined what was coming next. You were ready to dive back into the sultry depths of Joe's voice, ready to be carried away again, this time with no interruptions.

With another quick tap, you clicked on part two of Watch, your excitement beaming as the screen transitioned to reveal a new silhouette of him. This time, the image was a stunning depiction of his back, his broad shoulders and sculpted muscles bathed in more hues of deep orange and violet that painted the app. The soft gradient colors traced the contours of his body, highlighting every curve and dip in his toned frame just as much as the last silhouette.

His hair and tattoo were the only contrast—bold, inky black curls outlined by thin, glowing lines of orange, the strands seeming to ripple with motion as if you could reach out and feel the soft waves between your fingers. The black tribal patterns were striking—precise and pristine. The lines were sharp, curves fluid, creating a seamless flow of ink that wrapped around the silhouette with an almost hypnotic grace. The design seemed alive, as if the artist had studied every inch of his form with care. Whoever had illustrated this masterpiece deserved a raise.

The silhouette cut off just above his lower back, but not before emphasizing the curve of his spine and the dimples that rested at the base, drawing your gaze down. The image lingered there, inviting you to the details and shadows that made him feel more magnetic. It was impossible to look away.

You pressed play and closed your eyes without hesitation, you were ready to fill your ears with his voice and your mind with his image.

"Now go ahead and play with that pussy for me, but take your time. I don't want our fun to end so soon," he commanded. It was the same line he had whispered at the end of part one, a teasing reminder that he knew exactly where you both had left off, pulling you right back into that state of arousal.

But this time, things were a bit different. Your panties, once tangled around your ankles, had now disappeared somewhere within the soft, silky sheets beneath you. Your fingers hovered above your clit, ready to obey him, knowing exactly where they were headed—into the same silky folds that ached for attention, craving the touch you’d been holding back from for too long.

You could already feel the tingling between your thighs, the way his voice alone had the power to make your body respond, your mind slipping into a haze of pleasure. Just as he’d asked, you were savoring every second, drawing out the pleasure because you both knew there was no rush. It was about indulgence—taking your time, sinking deeper into the sensations, and losing yourself completely.

Your middle finger drew light, teasing circles around your clit, barely grazing the sensitive nub. Despite the faint touch, you were already soaking wet, your juices slick against your skin, and you hadn’t even fully given in yet. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you imagined his eyes on you, the thought heating your skin even from a distance. You could picture the way he’d tilt his head back slightly, his eyes dark while lifting his hand to stroke his beard in that slow, menacing way he always did when he was gathering his thoughts. His fingers would glide over the coarse hairs, tracing the strong line of his jaw, and then move down toward his throat, his palm smoothing over his skin as if grooming himself in preparation.

You could hear the sound of him shifting in his seat, the sound of his body moving making your breath hitch. It was subtle, but you pretended as if it was an involuntary thrust, his horniness impossible to hide. You imagined his dick strained against the fabric of his tight bottoms, pressing insistently, desperate for relief.

"Just like that, sweetheart," he groaned. "Fuck, I can barely keep still over here," he chuckled, the sound rough and deep, making your body tingle in response.

"I can see you drippin' all the way from here," his voice purred through your earphones, carrying a teasing tone that vibrated in your ears.

"Those lips, glistening and glossy... all for me, right, baby?" you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips. Your body responded before you could think, the words slipping out in a breathless whisper.

"Yes, daddy..." you murmured into the air, your toes curling with the rush that came from answering him. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke again,

"Good girl," he affirmed. "Now, can you slip those fingers inside for me? But tease yourself just like I would..." what he wanted from you, what he asked of you was so damn irresistible, and as your middle finger slid down your slick slit, you listened, teasing your entrance, tapping it lightly, just as he’d instructed. The teasing was unbearable, your body aching for more as your fingers played along your soaked folds.

"You're such a great listener, baby. Go ahead and slip those fingers in.."

"Whew, Jesus," you sighed, finally giving in as your middle and ring fingers slipped into you, the warm, tight sensation wrapping around your digits beautifully. Your palm brushed against your swollen clit, your body pulsing around your fingers. The friction was maddening, every stroke drawing you deeper.

You could hear his breath hitch in your ears, shaky and uneven, as he narrated your pleasure. "God damn if only you could see yourself right now," he groaned, "Your pussy taking in your fingers, going deep and curling against your g spot... Shit, you don’t know what you’re doing to me."

It was wild how his words were basically tailored to cater to your own pleasure. Every syllable felt like it was crafted just for you. His praise, the soft, commanding tone he used, was almost too much. You could hear every minor shift in his voice, the way he controlled each breath, making it deeper, huskier when the moment needed it. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he wielded them, like a lover’s touch, knowing exactly when to soften, when to tease, when to push.

"Keep the pace slow,” he uttered, “I want you to enjoy and savor this. I want to enjoy and savor this. You know I love watching you fall apart in agony, knowing that you've been waiting to nut all night. Knowing that you're holding onto that nut just for me. Knowing you ain't gon nut until I say so."

“Fuck," you cursed as you slowed your movements, still doing as he says even though it felt torturous. Your finger slid in and out of you with agonizing slowness.

The contrast between the slow, teasing strokes and the need inside you made everything feel so much sweeter. It was as if his voice was in control of your body, holding your hand, pushing you just to the brink but never letting you tumble over. The slowness frustrated you, yet it pleased you so perfectly.

"Just like that, my love. In..." His voice purred as your fingers slipped deeply inside, "And out..." he continued, his words guiding you as you pulled them out slowly, feeling the slickness of your folds against your skin. "In..." You pushed your fingers back through your wet heat, your breath trembling. "And out..." you obeyed again, this time a soft moan escaping your lips as your fingers retreated, leaving you wanting more.

"Mmm, you hear that?" His voice was now getting lower, making your whole body shiver. You listened closely, the only sounds in the room now were his heavy, steady breathing in your ear and the unmistakable sound of your juices being pushed in and out of you. The wet, slick noise echoed throughout the room which did nothing but tighten the knot deep in your belly.

Your fingers moved with purpose, matching the slow, teasing pace he had set, the wetness coating your fingers making the motion smoother. You were getting closer to the edge.

"You ain't ever been this wet baby. I just know them fingers are drowning in that nectar of yours.." he murmured, with his words being slightly interrupted by throaty moans. The sounds of fabric rubbing made you think that he might be stroking himself through the barrier of his clothes, fueling the fantasy and pure delusion of him watching you.

"Aht, remember what I said? Keep that pace slow; I know you can take it..." His voice urges you to follow his demands despite the desperate need to cum.

"I can’t..." you whimpered, your voice breaking as your back arched in a sad attempt to increase the friction against your palm. The struggle to maintain the slowness was killing you. You were doing your best to follow his instructions, but he was too damn good at this erotic audio shit. It felt impossible to hold out much longer—his voice was relentless.

His breaths seemed to grow louder, more insistent, and his moans were becoming deeper and more profound. "Wrap your left hand around your throat, mhm," he instructed, "Make sure you grip it well. Just like I would when I'm holding you in place, keepin' you from runnin.'"

Your left hand moved slowly, trembling slightly as it glided up your body, feeling every shift in your skin. The vulnerability of the touch made you acutely aware of how fragile you were. Even the gentlest of touches at this moment felt like they would do you in.

"Just like that. Fuck, you're gonna come, ain’t you?" He questioned seductively, his voice was filled with a knowing confidence as if he could read your mind.

He laughly breathlessly, a sound of cockiness that made you want to reach through the phone and give him a light slap on the wrist for being such a know it all.

"Your breaths are gettin' shorter, your pussy’s gettin' wetter, and I can see those legs trembling, trying to stay open." You were stunned by how right he was, it was a perfect reflection of the torment yet pleasurable moment he was talking you through.

"Cum for me baby, cum for daddy," he whispered compelling your fingers to delve deep inside and your palm to press the perfect amount of pressure onto your clit. Your body quivered as your orgasm radiated from the top of your head to the tip of your toes and back up again like waves. Pure waves of euphoria that is. Waves that nearly shatter you into pure bliss.

Your back arched with each breathy word he spoke to you, “Keep going, sweetheart. Don’t stop. Don’t stop moving those fucking fingers,” he growled, his words were rough and delicious. Your fingers continued their relentless rhythm, pumping deep and steady. Your thighs tightened around your wrist, pulling you closer, your juices flowing freely into your palm, glistening with every stroke. Your pussy clung to your fingers with a needy grip, pulling them in as you withdrew, a constant dance between your walls and your digits.

Tears streamed freely from your eyes as your left hand stayed firm against your throat, the sensation of the choke making you lose your mind, while also serving as a grounding anchor. You couldn't quite tell if it was your own grip or his that held you captive. Physically, you knew it was your hand, but emotionally, this man had an undeniable hold on you, wrapping around your mind with his words, and his energy.

Your body gradually relaxed, the tension melting away after the breathtaking orgasm that had left you well…breathless. You had been holding air in your lungs, caught in the throes of pleasure, until his soothing voice gently pulled you back to reality.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmured, his sultry voice and slow, deep breaths filled your ears. You matched his rhythm, each inhale and exhale guiding you back to yourself. When you finally opened your eyes, which had felt closed for hours, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, still reeling from your release. You could hardly believe how powerful it had been. “That was good,” he chuckled, and the sound made you crack a small, satisfied smile.

“Mmm, now that I’ve watched, come over here so I can listen to you moan in daddy's ear.”

Click here to play "Listen" narrated by Joe, voiced by Roman Reigns.

--------------------------

I feel absolutely DELUSIONAL after writing this. Only because I feel like something like this could actually happen LOL.

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @sortudademais @empressdede @alichesmi

@msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @blacst4r @sassginamillls @wrestlingprincess80

@headoftheetable @trashbin-nie @sheyaish @saintmagx @mzv11

@venusesworld @tshepisho @cyberdejos2

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! I tend to forget to tag sometimes, so just direct message me. It'll be easier for me to keep up lol!

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #wwefanfic #wwe #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns imagine

253 notes · View notes

melbourneba · 11 months ago

Text

Enhance Your Bathing Experience with a Sliding Bath Screen: Style, Functionality, and Convenience

In the realm of modern bathroom design, versatility and practicality are paramount. The sliding bath screen stands out as a brilliant solution, offering both style and functionality to enhance your bathing experience. In this blog post, we'll delve into the world of sliding bath screens, exploring their benefits, design options, and how they can transform your bathroom into a haven of relaxation and convenience.

The Perfect Blend of Form and Function

Sliding bath screens are the epitome of form meeting function. Designed to fit neatly alongside your bathtub, these screens provide a sleek and stylish barrier to prevent water from splashing onto the bathroom floor while showering. Unlike traditional shower curtains that can be cumbersome and difficult to maintain, sliding bath screens offer a more permanent and sophisticated solution that complements the overall aesthetic of your bathroom.

Maximizing Space and Flexibility

One of the key advantages of sliding bath screens is their ability to maximize space and flexibility in the bathroom. Unlike hinged shower doors that swing outward and require additional clearance, sliding screens glide effortlessly along a track, making them an ideal choice for bathrooms with limited space. This space-saving design allows you to make the most of your bathroom layout while maintaining easy access to the bathtub for bathing or showering.

Customization Options to Suit Your Style

Sliding bath screens come in a variety of styles and configurations to suit your individual preferences and bathroom decor. Whether you prefer a minimalist frameless design for a modern look or a framed screen with decorative accents for a more traditional aesthetic, there's a sliding bath screen to match your style. Additionally, you can choose from different glass options, including clear, frosted, or textured, to enhance privacy and create a spa-like atmosphere in your bathroom.

Easy Installation and Maintenance

Another benefit of sliding bath screens is their ease of installation and maintenance. Unlike traditional shower enclosures that require complex assembly and sealing, sliding screens can be installed quickly and easily with minimal tools and expertise. Once installed, they require little maintenance beyond regular cleaning with a mild detergent and water to keep them looking pristine.

Enhancing Safety and Accessibility

Sliding bath screens not only enhance the aesthetics of your bathroom but also contribute to safety and accessibility. By providing a barrier to contain water within the bathtub area, they help prevent slips and falls on wet bathroom floors, especially for those with mobility issues or limited dexterity. Additionally, sliding screens offer easy access to the bathtub for bathing or showering, making them a practical choice for users of all ages and abilities.

Conclusion

In summary, sliding bath screens offer a stylish, practical, and convenient solution for enhancing your bathing experience. With their space-saving design, customizable options, easy installation, and maintenance, sliding screens provide the perfect blend of form and function for modern bathrooms. Whether you're renovating your existing bathroom or designing a new one, consider incorporating a sliding bath screen to add style, comfort, and convenience to your bathing routine. Say goodbye to shower curtains and hello to the timeless elegance and functionality of sliding bath screens.

#Folding Bath Screen #Sliding Bath Screen

0 notes

jornami · 1 year ago

Text

Nanami Kento does not FaceTime. Well, not until he meets you.

“Why do you need to see me?” he asks. “When we’re on the phone, I’m just doing random household chores or paperwork.”

“Thats exactly why! You look so handsome when you’re washing dishes and folding laundry,” you insist.

He scoffs at your statement, but it’s genuine; he always looks so handsome. It’s not enough to convince him though.

“You don’t wanna see my pretty face while we talk?” you pout.

There it is.

“Fine,” he sighs.

You two begin to FaceTime regularly. His phone propped up on the paperweight on his desk or on the paper towel holder while he cooks. You always get a great view of him. Him of you…not so much. You have a tendency to set your phone down or turn the camera to show him something then forget to turn it back.

“You’re not holding up your end of the bargain,” he says, not looking up from the cucumber he’s cutting.

“Huh?”

“I can’t see your face,” he says.

“You’re cutting a cucumber!” you protest, “All your attention needs to be on the knife in your hand.”

He sets his knife and cutting board to the side, and does that thing where he looks at you over his glasses.

“I’m washing it right now,” you say.

“And?”

Ugh. You grab your phone with sudsy hands and position it in the medicine cabinet so he can get a nice side view of your soap-covered face.

“Better?” you ask, not looking away from the mirror.

“Much,” he says.

You can hear the smug smile in his voice.

During one of your evening FaceTime calls, you’re away for work. You show him the hotel your company put you in. With your back camera, you give him a walk through.

“And look!” you say, walking into the bathroom. “This shower is so nice and the water pressure is amazing. And there’s a tv in here!!”

The adoration in his eyes is not meant for the marble bathroom tile you’re currently showing him, but for you. He takes great pleasure in your excitement.

“Very nice, sweetheart,” he speaks softly and smiles at you. “Anything else you want to show me?”

Your enthusiastic “yes!” makes him chuckle. You walk out onto the balcony. A picturesque view of a beach fills his screen.

“Isn’t it amazing?” you awe.

“Mhmm,” he agrees. “But not as pretty as you.”

You flip your camera not so he can see your pretty face, but rather the apathetic look casted on it by his cheesiness.

“Corny,” you say.

“I know,” he concedes. “But I got to look at you, so no real loss for me.”

You roll your eyes, but when you look out to the water again your annoyance is quelled.

“Seriously, Kento,” you say. “We should come here on vacation sometime. It’s beautiful.”

The camera is on you, but you’re looking at the water, mesmerized. You look so serene, so content. The afternoon sun bathing you in gold. Cheesy as it may be, you really are more beautiful than any beach.

“What’s the name of the hotel?” he asks.

He writes it down so he can research after you two hang up.

He’s washing dishes. He’s washing dishes and you’re riled up. Shameful. But not really because any human with eyes would be if they could see how your boyfriend looks. Dish towel thrown over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up, tie lazily draped around his neck, blond hair messy, belt…well it’s buckled, but if you were there it wouldn’t be.

You’re staring at him, but your mind is somewhere else.

“Hello? Earth to, ____?” he pulls you out of your trance.

“Huh? I’m sorry,” you say.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” you almost leave it at that, but last minute decide to tack on, “Just thinking about all the things I wanna do to you when I see you.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me more.”

“Well it’s still coming to me, but something something blindfolding you with your tie something something tying your hands above your head,” you pause. “I think ice cubes were in there somewhere.”

Your boldness never ceases to amaze him, but he’s gotten better at hiding it.

“Is this something you’d be interested in realizing in the near future?” he asks, ever the wordsmith even when he’s horny.

“Mhmm,”

“Why don’t you come over tonight?” he suggests. “I just washed all my ties.”

“Mmm…no,” you shrug. “I’m getting drinks with some friends tonight.”

His laugh translates into “you’re such a tease.”

“Plus, I need more time to make my plan of attack,” you say. "You'll appreciate me being well prepared."

"I'm sure I will," he says.

"I gotta go get dressed now," you say when you see the time. "Talk to you soon."

"Love you," he says.

"Love you too."

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #my writing #c.nanami #fun fact: the last part inspired this whole thing but then i started writing and we got two more scenes #nanami kento love of my life

2K notes · View notes

whereforarthur · 5 months ago

Text

I'll wear your name on my heart til I die

Request: Would you be up for writing any George Clarke fics about labour or birth???

Pairing: George Clarke x Reader

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 3k

*****

“Babies and Other Hazards of Sex: How to Make a Tiny Person in Only 9 Months, with Tools You Probably Have around the Home.” ― Dave Barry

In the bustling heart of London, George sat cross-legged on the floor of their cozy flat, surrounded by a clutter of untouched scripts and half-eaten sandwiches. The afternoon sun painted the room in a warm glow, but George barely noticed, his eyes glued to the computer screen as he edited his latest video. The click-clack of his keyboard was the only sound, a stark contrast to the chaotic pattern of the city outside.

Y/N, his girlfriend, waddled in, her hand resting on her burgeoning belly. She looked flushed and tired, a clear sign that the pregnancy was taking a toll on her. "Hey, Georgie," she called out, her voice weary yet hopeful. "How's it going?"

George swiveled around in his chair, his eyes widening at the sight of her. He took in her disheveled hair and the slight grimace on her face. "You okay, love?" He asked, setting aside his headphones and standing up.

"Just a bit… off," she replied, gently rubbing her lower back. "These Braxton Hicks are getting more frequent."

Concern etched his features as he rushed to her side. "Why don't you sit down?" He offered, guiding her to the plush couch. "You're sure it's just Braxton Hicks?"

Her nod was slow, but firm. "Yeah, the midwife said it's normal." Despite her assurance, her voice trembled slightly.

George's hand hovered over her stomach, feeling the tension beneath her skin. "Would you like some tea? Maybe a bath?" He suggested, trying to keep the worry out of his tone.

Y/N managed a smile. "Tea would be lovely, thank you."

As George disappeared into the kitchen, the silence grew heavier. The clinking of the teacup against the saucer echoed through the room, punctuating the quietude. Y/N leaned back into the couch, her eyes drifting to the pile of baby clothes neatly folded in the corner. The anticipation of motherhood was a mix of excitement and anxiety.

When George returned with a steaming cup of tea, the scent of chamomile filled the air. He knelt beside her, placing the cup on the coffee table with care. "Here, drink this," he said, his hand gentle on her shoulder. "It'll help you relax."

The warmth of the tea did offer a small comfort, and she took a tentative sip. "Thank you," she murmured.

He sat down next to her, his hand on her knee. "How can I help?"

"You're already doing enough," she said, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "But maybe a foot rub?"

With a chuckle, George began to massage her swollen feet. "Anything for you, darling," he said, his thumbs pressing into the arches with a gentle but firm pressure.

The tension in the room eased slightly as Y/N closed her eyes, her breathing becoming more even. The soft sound of George's voice and the rhythmic motion of his hands were soothing, a small bastion of peace amidst the storm of impending change.

But as the sun dipped lower, the contractions grew stronger. Y/N's breaths grew shallower, and her grip on George's hand tightened. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at him with a newfound urgency. "George," she whispered, "I think it's time."

*****

The color drained from George's face, but he remained calm. "Okay, let's get you to the hospital." He helped her up, wrapping an arm around her waist.

The journey to the hospital was a blur of traffic lights and racing thoughts. George's grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, his eyes darting between the road and Y/N in the passenger seat. Each contraction brought a sharp gasp from her, and he felt a pang of helplessness.

As they pulled into the hospital parking lot, George's heart was racing. He knew that the next few hours would be life-changing, and all he could do was be there for her, to support and comfort her through the most incredible and terrifying experience of their lives.

Together, they walked through the sliding doors of the maternity ward, hand in hand, ready to welcome their little one into the world.

In the hospital room, Y/N lay on the bed, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as each contraction washed over her. The sterile scent of the room mixed with the faint aroma of antiseptic filled George's nostrils, making him feel both anxious and on edge. He held her hand, his thumb tracing circles on her palm, trying to be the source of comfort she needed. Her eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were now squeezed shut, the lines around her mouth tight with pain.

"Breathe, darling," he whispered, his voice a steady reminder of his presence. "In and out, in and out."

Her hand clenched around his, nails digging into his skin as she bore down through the contraction. He winced but didn't pull away, offering her his strength as the wave of pain crested and receded. The room was a cocoon of soft whispers and beeping machines, the only constant the rhythm of their breathing.

The midwife, a kind-faced woman with a gentle touch, checked Y/N's progress, her eyes encouraging. "You're doing so well," she said, her words a balm to Y/N's taut nerves. "Almost there."

Y/N's mum and George's sister hovered nearby, their eyes filled with a mix of excitement and empathy. They offered sips of water, wiped her forehead with a cool cloth, and whispered words of encouragement. Despite their own anxieties, they knew their roles in this sacred dance of birth, each step bringing their new family member closer.

George felt his own heart racing, matching the erratic beeps of the fetal monitor. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, whispering words of love and support into her ear. He knew that every contraction brought her closer to holding their baby, and he was determined to be her rock through it all.

As the hours ticked by, the contractions grew more intense, and Y/N's cries grew louder. George's eyes never left hers, his gaze a silent promise that he would not let go, that he would be there every step of the way. His own breathing synced with hers, inhaling her pain and exhaling his strength, willing her to keep going.

The moment came, and with one final, mighty push, their baby was born. The room erupted into a symphony of cries—both from Y/N and the new life that had just entered the world. The midwife placed the squalling, red-faced baby into George's trembling arms, and he looked down at the tiny miracle with awe.

"It's a boy," she announced, and George's heart swelled with love and pride. He turned to Y/N, whose eyes were now filled with tears of joy. "You did it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

*****

Their families rushed over, eager to meet the new addition. But for a brief, perfect moment, it was just the three of them—George, Y/N, and their son—the world outside fading away as they became a family. The pain of labor was replaced by the warmth of new life, the exhaustion giving way to pure, unadulterated joy.

Y/N's mother, her eyes glistening with tears, took a step back, allowing George and his sister to take their place beside the bed. The midwife handed the baby to George's sister, who cooed and whispered sweet nothings as she held him. Y/N's mother hovered, offering gentle strokes to her daughter's forehead and a proud smile that spoke volumes.

George looked up at the woman he loved, her face a map of pain and triumph. "You're amazing," he murmured, his voice hoarse from the hours of encouragement. She managed a weak smile, her eyes never leaving the baby.

The room grew louder as the midwife began to clean up, the baby's cries punctuating the air as George awkwardly changed the first diaper. His sister, a mother of two, offered a knowing smile and a few tips. "You're a natural," she said, and George felt a sense of pride swell in his chest.

Y/N's mother stepped forward, her hands outstretched. "Let me," she said, taking the baby with an ease that came from years of experience. "You two should rest."

George nodded, his eyes never leaving the baby's face. He knew the next few days would be a blur of feeding, crying, and sleepless nights, but right now, all that mattered was the warmth of Y/N's hand in his, the sound of their son's breathing, and the feeling of their new life together, forever entwined.

As the midwife finished up, George helped Y/N to sit up, cradling her as she held their son for the first time. The baby's tiny fingers curled around hers, and she gasped at the sensation. "Hi, little one," she whispered, her voice a soft, shaky melody.

The baby looked up at her with wide, curious eyes, and George felt his heart melt. He knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful, messy, wonderful journey. And as he sat there, holding his family, he couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

The door to the room opened, and the sound of soft footsteps approached. It was Y/N's mother, carrying a bouquet of flowers. "Congratulations," she said, her voice thick with emotion as she placed the flowers on the bedside table.

The room grew quiet again as George and Y/N stared at their son, their hearts full. "What shall we call him?" Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

George looked at her, then at the baby. "How about Archie?" He suggested, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Y/N's eyes lit up. "Archie," she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. "I like it."

And just like that, their son had a name. Archie Clarke. The first of many milestones in their lives as a family of three.

The sun had fully set by the time they were left alone again, the room bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight. Archie slept peacefully in his mother's arms, and George couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the tiny life they had created together.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Y/N's forehead. "Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

Her eyes closed for a moment, and she took a deep, contented breath. "Thank you for being here," she murmured. "For being my rock."

They sat in silence for a while, simply watching their son breathe. The pain of labor was a distant memory, replaced by the warmth and love that filled the room.

As the night deepened, George knew that their lives would never be the same. But as he looked at the two most important people in his world, he realized that change wasn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it brought the most beautiful moments of all.

Once Y/N had been settled and Archie had been fed and swaddled, George began making calls. The first was to Max, his best friend and fellow YouTuber. He knew Max would be eager to hear the news. "Mate," he began, his voice filled with excitement. "You're not going to believe it, but she's here. Archie's here."

Max's whoop of joy echoed through the phone. "Congrats, George! Tell me everything!"

George recounted the day's events, the excitement in his voice palpable even through the receiver. "It was intense, Max. But she was amazing."

"Send me a picture!" Max demanded.

George chuckled, snapping a quick photo of Y/N with sleeping Archie in her arms. He sent it through, watching the screen as the image loaded. "Just a second," he warned her, leaning in for a selfie. "Max wants a picture."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. "Tell him he's welcome to visit when he's not busy being a goofball," she murmured.

Max's response was swift. "Oh, you guys are just the sweetest," he texted back, followed by a string of emojis.

The conversation with Max was a much-needed distraction from the overwhelming reality of fatherhood. They talked about everything from the birth to the baby's size to the absurdity of changing nappies. It was comforting to share this moment with someone who had been by his side through thick and thin.

As the conversation wound down, George looked at Y/N, who was dozing off. "I'll be right back," he whispered, carefully extricating himself from the bed.

In the hallway, George sent messages to their other friends—Arthur Hill, Arthur and Chris—announcing the arrival of Archie. The congratulations began pouring in, each one a warm embrace in the cold, sterile hospital corridor. The buzz of his phone was a gentle reminder that they weren't alone in this journey.

With the initial round of calls and messages out of the way, George took a deep breath and allowed himself to feel the weight of the day. The excitement, the fear, the joy—it was all there, swirling around him like a tornado. He leaned against the wall, his eyes drifting to the vending machine at the end of the hall.

"You okay?" Max's voice pulled him back.

"Yeah," George said, straightening up. "Just a bit overwhelmed."

"You're doing great," Max assured him. "Now, go back in there and be with your family."

With a nod, George ended the call and pushed open the door to their room. The sight of Y/N and Archie, nestled together in the hospital bed, brought a fresh wave of emotion. He approached them, his steps soft on the cold floor. "Everyone's dying to meet him," he said, his voice filled with pride.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, and she offered a sleepy smile. "Send them in tomorrow," she murmured. "We need some rest."

"Of course," George said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out to touch Archie's cheek, marveling at the softness of his skin. "We'll show him off tomorrow."

And so, as the first night of their new lives began, George sat vigil, watching over his family. He knew that tomorrow would bring more challenges, more joy, and more love than he could ever imagine. But for now, he was content just to be here, in this moment, with the two people who had irrevocably changed his world for the better.

*****

The next day, their hospital room was a flurry of activity as friends and family trickled in to meet the new addition. Arthur Hill, George's childhood friend and fellow YouTuber, was one of the first to arrive, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in the sight of the tiny human in George's arms. "Bloody hell," he breathed, his hands hovering over Archie as if afraid to touch him. "He's so small."

Chris, another close friend, followed shortly after, a bouquet of balloons in tow. His smile was a mile wide as he hugged George, clapping him on the back. "Congrats, mate," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "You're going to be an amazing dad."

Max, ever the entertainer, brought a camera with him, eager to capture every moment for their vlog. He hovered around the bed, snapping photos and asking questions with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. "So, what's it like holding your own little mini-me?" He quipped, eliciting a laugh from George.

The room grew crowded with love and laughter, each visitor offering their own brand of congratulations and well-wishes. Y/N's mother bustled about, ensuring everyone had tea and biscuits, while George's sister whispered stories of her own children's births.

But amidst the chaos, George never lost sight of the most important thing—his family. He watched as Y/N's face lit up with each new person who cooed over their son, her exhaustion forgotten in the face of their friends' excitement. And as the day turned into evening, and the visitors began to leave, he knew that this was just the start of their adventure.

As the last of their guests filtered out, George helped Y/N into a more comfortable position, her eyes heavy with the weight of the day. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice a testament to her fatigue.

"For what?" He asked, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"For everything," she said, her eyes drifting shut. "For being here, for being you."

He looked down at her, his heart swelling with love. "Always," he promised. And with Archie nestled between them, the three of them finally allowed themselves to rest, the comforting hum of the hospital machines lulling them into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning, George woke to the sound of Y/N's soft whispers as she cradled Archie in her arms. The sun was just beginning to peek through the blinds, casting a gentle light across the room. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and took in the sight of them—his two favorite people in the world.

"Hey," she said, looking up at him with a tired smile. "You missed the first feed of the day."

"I see you're a natural," he teased, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from her face.

"It's not so bad," she said, her voice filled with a newfound confidence. "I think we're going to be okay."

Together, they watched as Archie yawned and stretched, his tiny fists waving in the air. "He's perfect," George murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N nodded, her eyes shining. "He really is."

The day ahead was filled with doctor's appointments and discharge papers, but for now, they had this moment—just the three of them, basking in the glow of their new reality. And as they watched the sun rise over London, George knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, as a family.

*****

@gvf23

@loveheart-123

@xxkatxgracexx

#fluff #british youtubers #imagines #george clarkey #george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #george clarkey x reader

235 notes · View notes

faustiantales · 6 months ago

Text

𝖆 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖕 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖛𝖗

Dark Descent: Info-kun X fem/afab!Reader

Twisted Truths: incest, dubcon, headcanon info-kun name, underaged sex, fingering, vaginal penetration

Synopsis: Kenzo's little sister sought his help for a VR game. Since the game she's playing is an 'immersive' visual novel romance, with his aid, the line between reality and fantasy blurred — as well as the line between siblings.

Shadows Lengthen: 2.6k words

The room was bathed in the soft glow of the computer monitor, casting an eerie light on [Y/n]'s focused face as she navigated through the virtual world of 'Amorous Abyss.' It was a game she'd heard whispers about, a visual novel rumored to be so immersive it was like living a second life. Her heart raced with excitement as she approached the moment she'd been eagerly awaiting for weeks.

[Y/n] had chosen her love interest carefully: Kai, the brooding, mysterious hero with a heart of gold hidden beneath layers of angst. His digital eyes seemed to gaze into hers, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It was time for their relationship to take a steamy turn, and she was more than ready.

But there was a problem. The game's latest update included a feature she hadn't anticipated: a full-body immersion system that mimicked intimate contact with the characters. The game's description called it 'revolutionary,' but she knew she needed help to authenticate the experience.

Her thoughts drifted to her older brother, Kenzo. He was the closest person she had to a confidant, and she knew he'd be able to keep a secret. Plus, she'd caught him playing games with mature content before. He'd understand. She took a deep breath and picked up her phone, and the decision was made. Her thumbs danced across the screen as she composed a text message, her cheeks flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment.

"Niisama, I need to talk to you about something...it's kind of weird," she typed, hitting send before she could second-guess herself. The anticipation grew as she waited for his response, the game's romantic background music swelling around her.

The redhead's reply was swift. "What's up, [N/n]? You okay?"

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew that her brother was stuck on gadgets 24/7, though she never expected him to reply to her message this fast, especially when he deemed it 'insignificant'. Most of the time, he would just ignore her message or leave it on 'seen' when he's busy doing his shady dealings. Thankfully, this time, he seems free to acknowledge her.

"Can you come to my room? It's about this game I'm playing. I need some advice," she responded, pursing her lips in anticipation.

She heard his footsteps in the hallway, and a moment later, her bedroom door creaked open. Kenzo's face was a mix of curiosity and concern. Though the second emotion appeared only for a split second — by the time his narrowed, red orbs landed on her, intrigue and annoyance masked his features.

"What's going on?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

The girl swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her older brother's gaze on her. Kenzo was always a man of few words, but he had a knack for making his presence known. His arms were folded across his chest, and he waited for her to speak, his curiosity piqued by the urgency in her message.

"It's about the new VR game I got," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to... experience it fully, but I need your help."

The bespectacled male raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes darted to the floor as she gathered her courage. Her older brother's gaze was heavy, but she knew she had to ask. So, with whatever little courage she had, she gathered everything and stared straight at her brother's ruby orbs, which were looking at her intensely, making her feel small and vulnerable.

"There's a... scene coming up, and I need a stand-in for the physical part. It's just for the game," she rushed out, hoping he'd understand.

Her brother's expression morphed from confusion to surprise and then, to her relief, to amusement. [Y/n] felt her heart leaped with hope, knowing that her brother would be willing to listen to her trivial concerns and give her the advice she needed.

"You want me to... help you with that?" He chuckled, his voice low.

She nodded, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. "Please, Niisama. It's important to me. I've never felt this way about a game before."

He studied her for a moment, his eyes softening as he stepped into the room. "Okay, but you have to explain everything to me."

With trembling hands, she demonstrated the VR setup, showing him the controllers and the headset. She explained the intimate scenes in detail, her voice growing softer with each word. Kenzo's smile faded, replaced by a look of understanding.

"Alright, I'll help you," he said finally, his voice a gentle rumble. "But only if you're sure this is what you want."

She nodded, a spark of excitement igniting in her chest. "I'm positive."

"Let's get this over with, then," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of something she couldn't quite place. The redhead took the headset from her, his eyes meeting hers.

As the headset slipped over her eyes, the real world faded away, and she was transported into the arms of Kai, her virtual lover. The sensations began to overwhelm her, and she reached out, her hand brushing against something warm and solid.

Her heart jumped up in her chest. It was Kenzo, standing next to her, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air. [Y/n] briefly removed the headset, looking at her redheaded older brother with an apologetic expression, which he only responded with an unreadable expression.

"Sorry," she murmured, her cheeks flushing even deeper. He snickered, his hand dropping to his side.

"No problem," he said, his voice thick with something she hadn't heard before—desire?

[Y/n] put on the headset once more and the VR game began to play out, and she felt the digital whispers of Kai's breath against her ear. Her body responded instinctively, her breath hitching in anticipation. Kenzo's hand found hers, and she squeezed it tightly as the scene grew more intense. The fabric of her pajamas felt rough against her skin, a stark contrast to the soft caresses she felt in the game.

The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken desires. It didn't take long for the siblings to move to the bed, mirroring the scenario played in the game. [Y/n] could feel her body reacting to the sensations, and she knew her brother could feel it too. His thumb began to trace circles on the back of her hand, sending shivers up her arm. Her heart raced in her chest, thudding like a bass in a dance club.

The moment arrived. Kai's digital hands began to undress her, and she felt Kenzo's own hands mimic the movements. His touch was gentle but firm, his skin warm and real against hers. The game's graphics were stunning, the fabric of her dress sliding away to reveal her naked body. She gasped as she felt her brother's hand cup her bare breast, his thumb brushing over her erect nipple.

The line between reality and the game blurred as she leaned into his touch. The VR world swirled around them, the only sounds were the sighs of the virtual lovers and their ragged breathing. Her body arched off the bed, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan as Kenzo's hand traveled lower, his fingers slipping under the waistband of her pajama bottoms.

The game's narrative grew more heated, and the girl felt her arousal mirror Kai's digital passion. Her brother's touch grew bolder, his fingers delving into her wetness, exploring her folds. She couldn't tell if the sensations were coming from the game or her brother's hand, but she didn't care. All she knew was that she wanted more.

Her hips began to move in time with the rhythm of his fingers, her body undulating like a wave in the sea of desire. The VR world melded with the physical one, and she could feel Kai's mouth on hers, his tongue probing deeply, as Kenzo's kissed her neck. It was as if the two men were one, their passion intertwined in a dance of flesh and pixels.

The climax built within her, a crescendo of pleasure that she'd never felt before. She threw her head back, her moans echoing through the headset. Her brother's other hand found her hip, holding her in place as he drove her closer to the edge. The room spun around her, a whirlwind of sensations that left her gasping for breath.

And then it hit her, the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced, tearing through her like a tornado. She bucked against the redhead's hand, her body convulsing with pleasure. She could feel his arousal pressing against her leg, and she reached out, her hand wrapping around his hard length.

As the last waves of her climax subsided, she opened her eyes, the VR world fading away. Kenzo's eyes were dark with lust, and she knew at that moment that their relationship had shifted forever. The game had brought them together in a way she'd never dared to dream of.

But now, as she looked into his eyes, she knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in their lives—a chapter filled with passion, secrets, and a bond that was no longer purely familial. With trembling hands, she removed the headset, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the sultry embrace of the virtual world.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse with desire. Kenzo's eyes searched hers, the intensity of the moment weighing heavily on them both. He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek.

"Don't thank me," he murmured, his hand sliding from her hip to the back of her neck. "This is just the start."

Without another word, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was every bit as passionate as the ones she'd shared with Kai in the game. His tongue danced with hers, the taste of him intoxicating. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before—real, raw, and all-consuming.

[Y/n]'s hand tightened around his shaft, her movements growing more confident as she felt him respond to her touch. She could feel his pulse racing through his veins, the beat matching the frantic rhythm of her own heart. His kiss grew deeper, more demanding, and she met him with equal fervor.

They broke apart, panting, their eyes locked. The air was charged with a tension that could have powered the city outside their window. He stepped closer, and she could feel the heat of his body against hers.

"We should..." she began, but he silenced her with another kiss.

Kenzo's hands slid down her body, peeling away her pajamas. Her skin was alive with sensation, every inch of her yearning for his touch. He paused, his eyes raking over her naked form with an appreciation that made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice a gruff whisper.

And then, with a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating, he removed his clothes, throwing them across the room like a sack of potatoes. His body was a sculpted masterpiece, a stark contrast to the softness of hers. [Y/n] could feel her own pulse hammering in her throat, her eyes wide with a mix of lust and awe. She could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against her, and she spread her legs, inviting him in.

Their bodies moved together in a dance as old as time, a dance of passion and need. Kenzo's kisses grew more urgent, his hands exploring every inch of her skin. He knew just where to touch her, just how to make her gasp and arch her back, her body a canvas for his desires.

And as they became one, the barrier between the game and reality shattered. The digital world of 'Amorous Abyss' faded away, replaced by the very real sensation of her brother inside her, his movements driving her towards another peak of pleasure. The lines blurred until she couldn't tell where the game ended and her new reality began.

"So this is what you truly meant by help, huh?" the redhead sneered, cleaning his glasses while thrusting into his little sister's tight hole without mercy.

[Y/n] nodded, unabashed, feeling the warmth spread through her body. Her cheeks were flushed with a perfect pink hue, her tresses damp with sweat and sticking to her forehead. She let out a couple of wanton mewls, her inhibition gone when her brother continued his relentless assault on her poor cunt.

Kenzo's strokes grew stronger, more demanding, as he watched his sister's body respond to his touch. He'd never seen her like this—so open, so vulnerable, so desperate for release. It was intoxicating, and he found himself getting lost in the moment, forgetting the taboo nature of their situation.

"Such a slut," he growled darkly, ruby eyes narrowing to a judging glare, his signature smirk adorning his lips. "But you're mine now, aren't you?"

[Y/n] nodded vigorously, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure built up within her. Her body was a symphony of sensations, each stroke of Kenzo's cock sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her core. She felt his grip on her hips tighten, his pace quickening as he approached his own climax.

But amidst the whirlwind of passion, a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered a warning. This was her brother, the person she'd grown up with, the one who'd protected her from monsters under the bed. Yet here they were, sharing the most intimate of moments. Would this change everything?

The question was forgotten as Kenzo's hand found her clit, his thumb rubbing it in perfect time with his thrusts. She threw her head back, crying out his name as the orgasm claimed her once again. The room was a blur of lights and sounds, their cries of pleasure melding together in a symphony of lust.

And when it was over, when they lay tangled in the sheets, their bodies slick with sweat, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. They'd crossed a line, and there was no going back. But as she felt his heartbeat against her chest, she couldn't help but wonder if this was the start of something incredible, something that had been hidden within the pixels of a game all along.

Kenzo rolled onto his side, his arm draped around her waist, and she could feel his breath against her neck. His cock was still hard, still buried inside her, and she shivered with the aftershocks of pleasure. For a moment, they lay there in silence, the only sound the steady thump of their hearts.

"That was..." he began, his voice trailing off.

"Incredible," she finished for him, her breathing still ragged.

"Should we make this a regular thing?" he teased, humping his hardening cock against her entrance.

The sensation of his thickness sliding in and out of her was so real, so intense, that she could hardly believe she'd ever lived without it. [Y/n]'s eyes widened with surprise and a thrill of excitement, biting her lips to prevent a shameless moan from escaping her lips.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice breathy.

Kenzo leaned in, his eyes gleaming with sinister mischief. "You know what I mean. Every time you play that game, I'll be here, bringing those scenes to life. What do you say, little sis?"

The girl felt a rush of conflicting emotions—shock, arousal, and a hint of fear. But the excitement won out. She nodded, her voice a whisper. "Okay."

📜— Return to the Shadowed Archive

340 notes · View notes

fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

Note

hi! could i make a tim bradford x shy!reader request where shy!reader is pregnant, and she decides to visit tim at the station since she’s on maternity leave. but while she’s visiting tim at the station, all of a sudden her water breaks, so her and tim both start to panic and rush to the hospital. luckily, they make it in time to the hospital, and then eventually she gives birth to a baby girl.

hopefully that makes sense!🤍

It absolutely makes sense! Thanks for the shy!reader request, I love it so much!! This could probably act as a part 2 for the firefighter fic or any of the other pregnant!reader x Tim stories, too!

Warnings: pregnancy and labor, teasing, fluff!! 2.0k+ words

Is it My Turn to Panic?

Standing in the new nursery and organizing the freshly washed baby clothes, you’re happier than you anticipated. People warned you that the last month or two of your pregnancy could be agony, always hot or tired, or worse, on bed rest. But you feel good – great, even. You know that’s because of Tim, though. He’s been by your side for every mood swing, weird craving, and uncomfortable moment. Glancing down at your stomach when you feel a kick, you think your baby is probably thinking about Tim, too.

Once the clothes are folded, you put them in the dresser Tim assembled last night while you took a hot bath. He asked you not to do anything, to take it easy, but you get bored and lonely when he’s not home. As the pile on the dresser dwindles, you sit in the rocking chair by the window, enjoying being in your home, the one you share with your husband and soon your child.

When you pick up your phone, smiling at the picture of Tim on your lock screen, you get an idea.

“Want to visit your dad?” you whisper, rubbing your hand over your bump.

You laugh when you feel another kick as you rise out of the rocking chair. Your phone rings, and you pause, answering it quickly.

“Hello,” you greet.

“Hi, gorgeous.”

You’re glad Tim can’t see you because you duck your chin shyly even though he’s miles away.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I was putting the clothes away,” you answer softly.

Tim chuckles before reminding you, “I said I’d do that.”

“I got bored.”

“And lonely?”

You huff, a half-sigh, half-whine that makes Tim know he’s right.

“How are the contractions?”

“They’re okay.”

As you say it, another contraction hits, and you slide your hand under your bump as it passes.

“Yeah, they sound okay,” Tim says.

“’S just Braxton Hicks, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I know you will be. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You don’t say anything, walking into your bedroom to get shoes. Tim sighs before telling you he has to go.

“I love you,” you say, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you gather your things.

“I love you, both of you,” Tim replies. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The call ends, and you put your phone in your bag before locking the front door behind you. You miss Tim, and he’s right, you’re bored and lonely, so you’re going to visit him. He has been upset that he’s missing so much of your pregnancy and when the contractions started a few weeks ago. So, you’re doing it for him, too.

Once you’re in the car, another contraction seizes you, and you furrow your brows in pain. It’s the most intense you’ve had, but you soon forget about it. The doctor assured you everything was okay, and your baby was healthy at your last visit, that the contractions would continue until you went into labor and would just be an inconvenience.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bradford!” Wade yells. He turns to you and smiles, lowering his voice to ask, “How are you feeling?”

“Big. Tired,” you answer quietly.

Wade laughs and pats your shoulder before stepping away while Tim hugs you. You wrap your arms around him, smiling against his chest as your baby kicks excitedly.

“Someone missed you,” you mumble.

“I know you did.”

You push your face further into Tim’s uniform before he eases your shoulders back gently.

“Been kicking like that all day?” he asks, smoothing his hand over your cheek.

Humming, you don’t notice Tim looking down at you.

“Soccer player,” he adds softly.

“Of course you’d pick a unisex sport.”

Tim smiles as you raise your head to look at him. “You’re the one who wanted to be surprised by the gender.”

“So did you!”

Tim drops his chin as he laughs, and you shake your head before backing away from him.

“No,” he grumbles, grabbing your hand and pulling you to his side. “Are you here for a while?”

“Sure,” you answer, moving your free hand to hold Tim’s wrist. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. That’s why I keep calling.”

“Is this the new normal until we have a baby at home?”

“It is.”

Tim leads you into his office and closes the door, and when his hands land on your hips, you’re not sure if you like the privacy or wish you were back outside where he wouldn’t engage in such affection.

“Are you…” Tim begins, trailing off when you lean against the corner of his desk, gripping the edge in pain.

Tim’s hands hover beside you, watching you until you relax, slumping forward slightly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tim asks softly.

Nodding, you say, “They’re going to get worse the closer I get.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim murmurs, cupping your face as he kisses your forehead. “Do you need anything?”

Your shoulders move with a silent chuckle, and Tim steps back, offering a hand. Every time you leave him to use the restroom, Tim acts like it’s some form of treachery, alternating between blaming you and the baby pushing on your bladder.

“I won’t miss this part,” he says as you enter the hallway.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim says your name, cracking the door open.

“Tim,” you reply, unsure what else to say.

The door squeaks as it opens, closing softly as Tim’s footsteps echo in the empty stalls. When you see his feet stop in front of the door you’re behind, you sigh.

“Let me in,” he demands.

Opening the door, you wipe your hands on your pants.

“What happened?”

Tim takes your face in his hands, searching your face and then your navel for any sign of a problem.

“My water just broke,” you whisper.

While you clench your jaw against another contraction, Tim’s eyes widen as he realizes what this means. He takes both of your hands, walking backward as he leads you out of the stall. Laying an arm around your shoulders, he takes you to his office to grab his wallet. You wait in the doorway, and Tim looks around frantically.

“Tim, calm down, handsome,” you say. “I’m not having this baby now, just take a breath.”

Shaking his head, Tim finds his wallet on the floor and squats to get it, arguing, “I’m supposed to be comforting you.”

“I’m right behind you,” you whisper. “We’ll take turns. Can I panic now?”

Tim takes your purse, putting it over his shoulder as he leads you back toward the bullpen.

“Bradford,” Smitty says, “I have a question.”

“Ask someone else,” Bradford replies, his voice strained as you stop suddenly.

“Are you in labor?” Wade asks, rushing out of his office.

Tim nods, holding both of your shoulders as he stands before you.

“Do you need an ambulance?”

You shake your head, sniffing softly before nodding at Tim. Wade goes to the door, holding it open and yelling for people to get out of the way as Tim leads you to his truck.

“Can- I’m going to pick you up,” Tim says.

“No,” you argue.

“No for a real reason or because you’re still really shy?”

You don’t answer, and Tim chuckles as he lifts you into the passenger seat. You’re glad to see him calm down briefly, even at your expense.

“Tim!” Angela calls, walking out of the station. “Care for an escort?”

You shake your head vehemently, but Tim agrees, climbing into the driver’s seat as Angela pulls a shop out to drive before him.

“This is ridiculous, Tim,” you whine.

“Hey, you’re having my baby, we’re pulling out all the stops,” he replies.

When you look over at him, his jaw is tight, and his knuckles are white from his grip on the steering wheel. You want to say something but then decide not to distract him.

“Did you bring the hospital bag?” Tim asks suddenly.

“No,” you say quickly, breathing through a sudden contraction.

“Where is it? Still in the closet at home? We don’t have time to go get it, but-“

“Tim, Angela or someone can get it later,” you remind him. “You really need to calm down. We’re going to be fine.”

Tim nods, but his demeanor doesn’t change, even as he ignores your protest and carries you inside to meet the wheelchair.

“Contractions are nothing compared to that,” Angela muses, standing beside you while Tim negotiates to get you a private room.

“I thought he was going to need the hospital more than me.”

“It gets better after the first kid.”

“I can’t survive this again,” you mumble, spinning your wedding ring on your finger.

“I’m going to go get your stuff, so he doesn’t yell at me again,” Angela adds. “But I’ll be right back. Try not to let him get away with anything, okay?”

“Tim,” you say, and he immediately turns around, his shoulders dropping when he sees your smile.

“I’d apologize,” he begins, squatting to look in your eyes, “but I’m not really sorry.”

“Rarely are.”

“You’re getting a private room in just a few minutes.” Tim squeezes your knee as he says, “We got this. You said so, and you’re always right.”

You close your eyes, and Tim isn’t sure if it’s because of him or his baby.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, you’re alright,” Tim soothes, brushing your hair off your forehead. “You can do this.”

You shake your head, your throat tight, and tears brimming in your eyes.

“I thought I was the only one allowed to panic,” Tim teases.

“It’s my turn,” you whimper.

“Alright, Bradfords, it’s time to push,” your doctor says kindly.

Tim offers his hand, and you take it, gripping the bedrail on the other side. This is the first time in your relationship that you haven’t considered getting shy; the intensity of the contractions, the focus it takes to have a baby, and the number of people in your room distract you.

“One more,” the doctor urges. “You’re almost there.”

Tim lays his hand on your shoulder, uncaring that you’re stronger than you look, and his hand is bending at the pressure of your grip. The moment you relax, hearing the hospital room fill with healthy cries, you look over at him.

Tim is already smiling at you, his eyes glassy as he turns to watch the doctor. Several nurses help you move, adjusting the bed and prepping you quickly. When you take your baby into your arms, you whisper a hello, looking over at Tim as he stands beside you.

“It’s a girl, healthy and happy,” the doctor says quietly, smiling at you and Tim before exiting the room.

A nurse takes her away from you, promising to bring her right back. When you’re alone in the room, you look at Tim and are surprised to see tears streaming down his face.

“Tim?”

He smiles, laughing as he bends over the bed to hug you. “We have a daughter,” he says against your shoulder.

“Move,” you demand before sliding over in the bed and welcoming him to your side.

His arm wraps over your shoulder, and you kiss his hand before the nurse returns, giving Tim a turn to hold his daughter.

You somehow fall more in love with Tim when you see him: calloused hands holding a tiny baby against his chest as he smiles through the tears, whispering about how much he loves her.

“There’s an Angela Lopez here to see you,” someone says at the door.

Tim turns toward you, kissing your forehead and his new daughter’s before going out to get Angela. She’s quiet when she enters, pouting at the sight of you.

“She looks like Tim,” she coos, extending a finger as she pats your shoulder.

“Thank you for everything,” you tell her, moving one arm to give her half a hug.

“You really think she looks like me?” Tim asks, setting your bag in the corner.

“Absolutely,” you and Angela say together.

“I guess we’ll have to try again then,” Tim sighs.

“Why?” you inquire.

“I wanted a mini-you, someone else to make shy,” he answers with a smile.

His smile grows when you and your daughter tuck your chins, almost in sync.

“Or maybe not,” Angela says.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Tim adds, sitting beside you again as you look at your daughter together.

“What’s her name?” Angela asks, and you and Tim look at each other with wide eyes.

“I knew we were forgetting something.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #shy!reader #team shy!#tw pregnancy

694 notes · View notes