#I hope this was worth the wait and that I did your girl justice

[coconutdays]

going crazy

s. your boyfriend, handsome and secure suguru geto, doesn't get jealous

w.c. 4.8k

w. fem! reader, biker!geto! x reader , fluff!, smut!

a/n: based on my seat taker biker!geto au! also I feel this does not live up to seat taker! but I tried my best! so I hope you can still enjoy! likes reblogs and comments r always appreciated to know y’all liked it!!!

your boyfriend does not have a single jealous bone in his body. it’s convenient you suppose?

you’ve heard nightmares of insecure men who have to know where there girlfriends are every second of every hour, the direction they’re even going to utter a breath in. the occasional story of a girl who can’t speak to any men whatsoever because her boyfriend will berate her for doing so. 

although you do always keep suguru in the loop about what you’re doing and don’t really talk to guys because at the end of the day, more often than not, they always do not plan on just being your friend, he never expected those things out of you. It was a silent form of showing your respect for him. and he did the same out of instinct too, first too. 

but aside from that, he doesn’t show any jealousy.

there was a time he even tried to set you up with toji zenin when he was still crushing on you. 

your boyfriend is a little peculiar, you’re very well aware of that, but you find his confidence in himself sexy. because you couldn’t look anywhere else if you wanted to. he was handsome, his face chiseled so prettily it was painful. his smooth voice that always had you reeling to get him to talk more. and his spine tattoo that always made you blush at the sight of it befriending your scratch marks after a particularly rough night, 

so you don’t care about the way you dress, because he won’t control what you wear. in fact, it’s one of the things you both love about each other, a recent discovery now that you’ve been dating for a month. suguru is an avid fan of the way you dress, relishing in what new outfit he’ll see you in whenever he sees you that day, and if not possible, asking for a picture. and you love how he loves it. appreciating the fact that he loves when you wear booby shirts to campus or dates with him or particularly tight jeans that attract eyes aside from his, but are worn for the sole purpose of serving cunt–and riling your boyfriend up.

it all comes together to why you wear the dress you do tonight to go clubbing with him and some friends. it’s honestly the hottest thing suguru will have seen you in so far. yes, your previous halloween costumes were something alright, but this…was different. halloween was like a month ago and the outfits for those events were meant to be slutty, purely slutty. this look was meticulously planned by you the moment you ordered the dress online. the sheer dress and its sparkles had been running across your mind that entire week of shipping with the perfect sultry way you planned to do your hair and makeup. 

you 

hey can we carpool later tonight, my dress isnt motorcycle proof :/

suguru

sure princess.  can i get a peek?

you

don’t feel like it hehe wait for it sugu <3

suguru

tease

any other time, he would’ve more than likely have gotten his peek at your outfit, you are weak to his demands naturally, but this was something he genuinely would have to wait for. pictures would not do you justice and you wanted to catch your boyfriends raw reaction when he saw the look for the first time . 

and you were right.

when he went up to your apartment to pick you up and you opened the door, the reaction was worth the wait. the constant warmth your boyfriend’s gaze always held fell the moment his eyes landed on you and took a moment to breathe you in. 

you saw his pupils dart to your cleavage first, staring for a hard second, then to the tightness against your waist and hips bringing attention to your figure. the small quirk of his eyebrow seconds within that let you know he spotted the thong hugging your body under the sheer dress. he did a once over of your legs, looking at what shoes you were wearing, before he brought his eyes up to look at your face again.

he doesn’t say anything, instantly moving forward and getting rid of the space between the both of you to take your head in his hands and plant his lips on yours. you press a hand against his chest when you feel him swipe his tongue across the top of your mouth so hungrily. 

“you’re going to kiss off my lipgloss sugu.” you giggle, heaving a little as you press your forehead against his, blinking up happily at him. 

his stare is firm as his blown up pupils stare back into you, “sorry pretty girl, couldn’t help myself.”

“and why’s that hm?” you bite your lip through your smile, eagerly waiting for his answer, still forehead to forehead with him, his hands still holding you in place.

his hair is in that half up half down duo you go so feral for, you realize this detail when he says, “you know why.”

“no I don’t,” you drag on, a teasing lilt in your voice

“because,” he drags one of his hands down to caress your neck softly with his thumb, you can see a slight crease in his eyelids at your playfulness, “my girlfriend is trying to get away with first degree murder right now.”

“you like the dress?” you give him a toothy smile and you can slightly catch his gaze turn hungry at the sight of it

suguru suddenly raises you up by clasping his arms behind you, below your butt and on your thigh, so you’re above him when he looks at you lovingly, “like is an understatement.”

“well i like your hair today,” you compliment him, still giggly

“yeah?” he smiles, “i’m glad.”

it’s your first time ever going to the club with suguru, so there’s some sort of powerful feeling lingering when you enter the loud building holding hands with him. you’re going in belonging to someone and so is he, as opposed to other people going in and hoping to catch a body tonight or at least a good grind on the dancefloor–satoru cough cough.

the white haired maniac’s influence gets all of you a vip table with liquor already waiting for you and when you get there, suguru sits and plants you on his lap, arms loosely wrapped around your waist.

It’s when you look forward, you see toji zenin give you a quick once over from where he’s seated near satoru. and you ignore it, you always do. he’s never made an advance on you ever since you and suguru became a thing, he’s respectful of the relationship, but his eyes can never lie, he’s into you. it’s why you’ve never uttered a word to him and why he doesn’t either. and you can’t really blame him if the purpose of tonight's look was to turn all heads, not just your boyfriend’s.

“you smell good baby,” suguru mutters into your ear as he brushes a hair away from your face, “are you using the perfume i got you?”

you wrap your arms around his shoulders when you respond with a nod of your head and, “yeah. I finally ran out of my old one.”

“good girl.” he smiles appreciatively before placing a tender kiss on your neck

the softness of it makes you giggle a little and crane your neck a little, suguru pinches your side to tease you for it. 

it’s when a certain lullaby of a song comes on that your ears perk up and your boyfriend observes the reaction, looking up at you and rubbing circles into your waist, “what’s up baby?”

within an instant all the girls at your table begin to get up and rush to the dance floor and you turn to suguru, already starting to unwrap his arms from your waist.

“i have to go dance this babe,” you say hurriedly, like a little kid leaving their mom the moment they see the bouncy castle go up.

suguru can say nothing before he watches you run off to join the other girls on the dance floor, eyebrows raised in amusement at your antics then in reaction to your immediate inclination to start dancing. 

you look pretty, he thinks as he reaches over to serve himself a glass of whiskey. 

and he continues to think it as he ‘talks’ to his friends, nodding and giving small mhms when all he’s really doing is watching you live it up at the center of the club. 

you’re ethereal, the only star in that murky puddle of bodies. maybe your dress is part of the reason for all that shine and glow you’re giving off, but nothing beats the pretty little smile on your face that says you’re having a good time. it’s turning him on to be honest. he always wants to shove himself inside of you when you bear that toothy smile at him. 

and other people think the same, he notes. 

he’s always seen the stares, he knows you’re a sight to behold. there hasn’t been a day where he isn’t aware that so many other people want you. he knew it when you were merely the smart, hot girl he had a crush on his lit class, with so many other guys obviously paying a little more attention when it was your turn to speak, and he knows it even more now with your male following on social media and the way he constantly gets sized up just for being next to you. for fuck's sake he's heard toji zenin talk about how bad you are before he knew about your thing with suguru at the halloween party, hell, he still catches the frat president unable to control the way his eyes eat you up when you're near.

“done already?” satoru asks haughtily when he sees all of the girls that went to dance come back heaving a little

it’s been an hour since they all left at the start of that first song.

“y/n’s still there though,” one of them breathes, taking satoru’s drink from him, “she does not stop.”

“yeah, she doesn’t,” suguru laughs a little, looking back at you, still as energetic as when you first got there.

fuck, you're beautiful.

speaking of before,

he’s painfully more aware of it when he notices the number of eyes gravitating towards you from the dancefloor, tables, and the bar.

it’s like a bunny in a room full of wolves. or those scenes where scooby and shaggy are in a dark room and a thousand red eyes pop up to blink at them. the eyes to you ratio is beginning to get a little mind boggling now that he sees it in a real life setting. this is not the handful of guys checking you out when you go to the library with him or the nth guy staring at you when you walk past with your boyfriend next to you. this is a huge club with you in the middle and catching the eye of almost every guy in here, most of whom come to this place with plans of taking a girl home or putting moves on her. 

the thought manifests itself when a blonde frat bro walks up to you and tries to dance with you. suguru’s heart stops a little for some reason. he’s seen guys come up to you before, actually talking to you and trying to get your number, so he shouldn’t feel this irked when he knows the guy is going to be disappointed by your answer. he actually wants to go up to the guy and beat his face in.

the surge of pride that courses through his body is immense when he sees you put a hand between you and the guy and you make an annoyed face, all before strutting off and making your way back to the table. 

he manspreads a little more for you to sit between his legs, draping one arm on your thigh, the other holding onto his whiskey.

“a guy tried to dance with me,” you huff when you sit down, reaching for suguru’s drink, which he hands over without a second thought, now using the other free hand to fully hug you.

“I saw,” he says, perching his chin your shoulder, watching as you take a sip of the whiskey and cradle the cup in your hands.

“dance with me,” you turn to look at him and pout, “i don’t want guys coming up to me.”

“but you look so good rejecting them.” suguru teases, smirking a little at you

when your face deapans, he laughs and hugs you tighter, “we’ll go in a bit. rest your pretty feet for a second, don’t want them to tire out.”

“okay,” you slump into his hold, pouting

and suguru did keep his promise, like always. he took you dancing after a few minutes of rest and letting you drink the rest of his whiskey.

he protected you from any other guys trying to come up to you, evident in the way no guys even dared get close from a ten feet radius.

he kept you close and let you dance with him, hands appreciatively holding onto you when you pressed your body against his. it was much different to the dancing from that first time at satoru’s party, he was really holding onto you this time. his hands always found your ass, your hips, even the underside of your boobs during every second of every song.

and suguru isn’t a jealous guy, so it was a little weird to you when you saw him notice a guy oogling you and he immediately pulled you in to makeout with him on the dancefloor. it was unlike any other makeout session you had ever had with him before. he was gripping your ass while his other hand held your neck, that wasn’t new, he always did that, but his energy about it was so…all consuming. 

all you know, is that instantly had you horny and you couldn’t help the mewl you let out after he squeezed you in his hold.

“let’s go,” he spoke a bit tensely into your ear so you could hear him past the music.

and you were never one to go against him because everything suguru did always made sense and worked for you, so you nodded mindlessly and said, “okay.”

when you got to suguru’s apartment, he immediately pushed you against the door and resumed the makeout session he had started at the club. one of his hands was planted against the door while the other roughly gripped your waist to keep you close to him. 

“If you ever see toji, i want you to run the other direction,” he spoke ominously against your lips

the command had you furrowing your eyebrows, you mean of course yes you'd do that, but you never would’ve thought he’d ask it from you. he never really cared to address your actions when it came towards other guys. suguru wasn’t ever jealous…nonetheless, you agree meekly, taken aback by his roughness, “okay.”

all your boyfriend did in response was let out a gruff sound of acknowledgement before pressing his body further against yours and beginning to tug your dress off. he started by pushing down the straps, then pushing the upper half down, including your strapless bra until your tits popped out. 

he pushed both of them together the moment they peeked out and then let a glob of spit drop down onto one of your nipples rather obscenely before he went down to mouth at that same breast. it had you keening, you could feel your thong becoming nonexistent with the way you were starting to drench through it.

a bite from suguru had you squeaking before he continued his ministrations on your other breast while his hands worked on pushing the rest of your dress all the way down, even your thong since it caught onto the tight material of the dress.

you were left completely naked in front of him now and he manhandled you by suddenly picking you up and pinning you against the wall next to the door. he let one hand hold one of your legs to his waist, while the other went under and quickly swiped a finger across your folds with ease due to the wetness

“so easy baby,” he muttered against your lips before plunging a finger all the way in and curving it upwards

“you’re being mean,” you complain, feeling completely flustered at his brash actions

“what’s so mean about making you feel good hm?” he leans back to get a good look at you when he plunges another finger in and starts to push them in and out quickly, watching as your eyebrows knit and you start to mewl, “atta girl.”

“nothing,” you mumble, brainless as you wrap your arms around his neck and hook him in closer with your legs, “ow!”

he started adding a third finger when he felt like you were starting to open up more, however your small complaint started dying into a moan when he increased his pace with the third finger. 

“that’s a lot sugu,” you heave through delirious breaths, flustered at the fact that he was staring so intensely at how you were sucking him in

your comment had him finally looking up at you and you dont know if you’d rather he go back to staring at your pussy, because he was giving that same intense stare to you now. the all heavy pressure of his gaze was entirely being directed at your own eyes now, and how could you meet that same gaze equally when he was three fingers into you and making you moan like a slut.

suguru might have granted you a quick mercy when he leaned against you, quickening the pace of his fingers so you could get louder, and breathed into your ear, muttering lowly, “my cock’s a lot more than three fingers but you always cream all over it.”

the dirty sentence has you pulling suguru closer to you, and trying to trap him where he was so you wouldn’t have to look at him in the flustered state he put you in. but your boyfriend didn’t have it, forcing himself out of your grip, and craning his neck back to go back to looking at you.

he pulled out all three of fingers just to land a sharp slap across your pussy before plunging all of them into you again, “let me watch you baby. be good for me, okay?”

he honestly expects you to be able to answer him when three of his very large fingers are stretching you wide open and curling on that one spot that always has you crumbling, you know he expects you to because he turns his head a little when you don’t answer and lands another slap before going back to fingering you.

“speak up princess,” he orders so easily and so sweetly, like he’s not torturing your body right now

and you do your best to force the words out of you, legs quivering and resisting the urge to writhe in his grasp when you gasp, “ok–okay.”

“good girl,” he almost groans with a snarl as he suddenly stops fingering you open and hoists you over his shoulder, a squeal leaves your mouth at the action.

he’s walking you both to his bedroom, you notice from the path of his hallway made out from your view, and the realization doesn’t last long before suguru brings you down again, then pushes you down and bends you over his bed. he lands a slap to your ass and you can makeout the rustle of him getting naked when he says softly, “grab the pillows and put them under your stomach angel.”

and you listen, reaching easily for both of his large and fluffy pillows, and putting them under your abdomen.

you feel suguru’s heavy length press against your ass and bare pussy when he presses up against you, gripping onto the crease between your thighs and ass, and starts mouthing hot and heavy kisses across your spine. you whine a complaint at the fact that you feel so good, but you know you could feel so much better if he just put it in already.

“what?” suguru notices the pitch that you always make when you’re complaining, continuing his line of affection down your spine

“put it in,” you pout, wiggling your ass for emphasis and hissing a little when you feel his cock graze your lips at the action

suguru gives a last kiss to the bottom of your spine before coming back up and grabbing a fistful of your hair and bringing your head up so he could look at you, “how bad do you want it?”

“really bad sugu.” you mewl, feeling gratification from the sting of his hold on you

“you want me to fill up your little hole? even when we both know you’re gonna start crying that it’s beating your pussy up, yeah?” he questions cruelly 

“mhm,” you nod pathetically, “even if i do.”

his lips twitch a little at your admission and he yanks on your hair a little harder when he lands a sloppy kiss on your lips that has a string of saliva connecting both of your mouths when he pulls away.

he stands back up and lands another stinging slap across your ass, groaning, “my pretty fuckin ass.”

as if he couldn’t get any dirtier, suguru then grabs either of your cheeks and spreads them apart to get a good view of your sex, the sudden exposure of which makes you feel even wetter. that last fact seems of no use to suguru when you feel a large glob of spit land and run down your hole.

you suck in breath when you feel suguru start to rub his tip across your folds.

“sloppy little pussy,” he mutters before pressing into you. and you both groan when he starts to inch himself in even further.

the moan you let out when he completely pulled out and slammed back in was sinful and the noises that followed when he started doing that again and again at a faster pace without mercy had you outright screaming. 

you felt like you were constantly breathless, constantly trying to breathe. he hadn’t ever been this hard on you before.

and you thought you knew what hard was from him before.

“i know, i know,” he whispered against your neck when he pressed himself down against you and started jackhammering even closer to your cervix, so on point with your gspot too that you felt your orgasm starting to build up

a particular gutteral squeal from you had him breathing a “so cute” while he never relented his brutish force against you

“sugu–sugu,” you reached around for one of his arms, heaving, grabbing onto it while he violently moved the both of you, “i’m gonna–mmm–i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum!”

the confession had suguru suddenly changing positions, hooking his arms up and under your armpits to pull you up to stand flush against his body while he slammed up against you ferociously. it unexpectedly had your high crashing against you after a graze of your gspot.

“that’s it baby, that’s it.” suguru consoled when he felt you twitch in his hold and your juices dripping all over his abdomen and cock, “such a good fucking girl.”

all you wanted to do was fall down and rest, but the most you could muster was letting your body go limp in your boyfriend’s unrelenting hold, letting him use you as he pleased.

“ ‘s too much sugu,” you whined as the overstimulation started kicking in

It didn’t get him to stop at all.

“remember what you said earlier hm?” he brought up, breathing heavy as he lifted a foot up to plant it against the edge of the bed. it was leverage for the scream worthy pace he started forcing on you now.

tears started to fall down your cheeks at the overstimulation. it was so good, too good. It was all so sinfully good. 

you felt your walls start to flutter again at your second nearing orgasm when you sniffled from the tears. and although your boyfriend still evilly abused your pussy, he leaned down and moved your face to the side with one hand so he could be face to face with you. 

you thought he was going to kiss you, but instead he started licking your tears off.

it was the catalyst for your orgasm and you thrashed rather hard against suguru, who you could feel suck in a breath at the sporadic clenches of your pussy.

“fuck,” he breathed harshly, pulling you even tighter against him to more easily meet his thrusts and you could feel his cock twitch as a symptom of his incoming orgasm.

that, and he started to speak up filthily.

“Mine–mine–mine–mine.” he reiterated quickly, punctuating each time with a thrust, “fuck ‘s all mine. god can’t get enough of you pretty baby. so fucking slutty and pretty. fuck–fuck–next time i see toji giving you heart eyes im gonna pump my cum inside you so he can see it running down your fucking legs. fuck–you like that baby? what–a–good–good–fucking–girl. tell me you want that baby.”

scrambling for any piece of sanity just to tell your boyfriend what he wants to hear, in hopes of spurring his lust, you moan out weakly, “i want it sugu i want it.”

“yeah? you want him to see me dripping out of your pretty fuckin pussy? god–i fucking–want–it. he’ll never get to fucking know what it’s like to cream this little hole.”

“so–so dirty sugu,” you moan sheepishly at the embarrassing realization that he might just make you cum a third time because of the added spur of his pussy drunk words. 

“pussy’s fucking dirty,” snarls back at you, pulling you closer to him, “can feel you clenching around me. know you fucking like it.”

the shut down of his words had you shaking in attraction to his ability to shut you up like no other.

“never–forget–you’re–mine,” he thrusts through, “ ‘s fucking pussy, your ass, your tits, your body, your pretty fucking face, ‘s all mine. you don’t need anybody but me. i’m yours i’m yours i’m yours. ‘s dick ‘s all yours, everything, baby. take it–take it–take it.” 

his breathing was starting to get heavier and you could feel his abs start twitching against you, a sign of his orgasm building up just as yours was all over again.

so it surprised you when suguru pulled out and threw you onto the bed, your legs hanging off the edge before he picked them up and slanted them up against his body by hugging them close. “come here, come here,” he quickly let one arm go for a second to guide himself into you again before wrapping it around your legs again. he repositioned the one leg of his back on top of the bed for his leverage and leaned forward a bit to go back to his brutal thrusts. 

“wanna see your face when you cum again.” he muttered as he stared at you squealing and moaning lewdly at his ministrations

suguru started kissing and mouthing at your calves while keeping you in a deadlock of eye contact. his cheeks and ears were tinged pink and his hair had fallen out of the half up half down do he had it in earlier. 

the worshipping of your legs and eye contact had to have been the last straw for you, because after a certain lick of your skin, you started crashing, feeling yourself let go across the entire lower half of your boyfriend, resisting the urge to cover your face in embarrassment because he recently made it a point that he really really liked seeing your face when you came.

the point was proven when he followed soon after you, thrusting half haphazardly into you as he blew his load inside of you in time with every squeeze of your cunt. it was accompanied by a litter of painful bites across your calves and heavy breathing from your boyfriend. he looked like he came hard, it felt like he did, considering how every spurt of his cum was sharply thrusted into you, making you wince in pain every time his tip kissed your cervix.

both of you were breathing heavily after, especially suguru, his skin covered in a thicker veil of sweat than you, who was simply taking all of that force he was exerting. he was still holding onto your legs, resting his forehead on the bare skin of your foot that wasn’t covered by your heel. 

his eyes were closed and he licked his lips, a bit tired, as he spoke, “i think i do get jealous after all, i’m sorry.”

his confession made you slightly clench around him, making him suck a breath in at the sensitivity while you breathlessly giggled, “that’s okay, i never said you couldn’t.”

suguru lazily bit your calf again as a sign of retaliation, "you could sound less excited."

[peachysunrize]

Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys. 

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid… 

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing. 

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily. 

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives. 

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.  

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way… 

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs. 

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him. 

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say. 

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke. 

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,”  he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,” 

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup. 

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face. 

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness?  How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him? 

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.” 

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans. 

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

 He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore. 

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor. 

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this? 

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body. 

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little. 

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you. 

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

[erwinsvow]

hii shea idk if someone has already made this type of request if that's the case please ignore me but i can't stop thinking about shy!reader absolutely cock drunk asking for the first time rafe to fuck her raw and the question caught him so off guard that he felt feral and dizzy, his composure slipping away just wanting to please his sweet girl<3

hi baby omg no i don't have any reqs like this here it is hope i did it justice <33

rafe was teasing you today.

after more than an hour of back and forth at whatever party you two had gone to for the evening—and only because rafe wanted to sell and your friends had already promised they'd be there—you were more than ready to go home.

except rafe hadn't taken you home yet. instead you'd been all around the house—on rafe's lap in the living room to start. leaning in to your boyfriend's ear, you know he can tell how desperate you're getting.

you don't do well with denial anymore—rafe had spoiled you too much for that.

"can't we go now?" the words are whispered to rafe, and you rest your head on his shoulder, blinking up at him while you wait for a response. one of his hands leaves the armstand of the sofa and grips your exposed thigh, skirt riding up a little too much.

"it's early. hold out a little longer. can you do that for me?"

you think your eyes are going to roll all the way back. the answer is yes, of course, you can do that for him. you would do anything for him. you just don't want.

following that, you accompanied rafe to the other side of the house where a whole swarm of people were chasing their next high. though you should really stand next to him, you just can't find it in you today, instead staying his back, peering out every now and then like shy children do.

it's all worth it, because moments later rafe takes you upstairs, murmuring something about how you're being a good girl for holding out. there's an empty bedroom that you think is the perfect place to spend the next hour.

rafe's talking to you—though you're so deliriously horny you can't really hear him. you nod and stare up, agreeing to whatever your boyfriend wants to do, just wishing he would hurry up and do something already, when the door opens.

you're not naked, though if they had barged in a few minutes later, you might have been. and normally you think your face would be burning, that you might die of embarrassment at someone catching you like this.

instead you're just mad.

it's the owner of the house—which makes sense, since your boyfriend has brought you up to the master. he's got a girl of his own on his arm, and you grind your teeth getting up with rafe, furious and impatient now.

"at least knock next time!" you yell when you shuffle through, ignoring splutters of it's my house!

you think rafe is going to ask you what you want to do next—but he doesn't. your boyfriend, like always, knows what you need before you can even know it sometimes. you follow rafe back to his truck, ready for, at the very least, some peace and quiet.

when you finally get up to rafe's room, the buzz of the party is wearing off a bit. your feet hurt from your heels and you can't believe you yelled at someone. lost in your own thoughts, you don't even process rafe sitting down next to you, until he takes your feet into his lap, undoing the strap of your shoes for you.

it's instant—one touch from him is enough to set your skin on fire.

"oh," you say, at the sudden realization you might finally be getting what you want. you stare at where rafe is holding your ankle in place, shoes on the ground now. "thank you."

"s'nothing, kid. get on the bed." eagerly, you comply.

in the vain hope that rafe was as impatient as you are—you thought he would just fuck you already. but it seems not, with the slow way he kisses up and down your neck, down to your tits and your stomach.

you find it a lot easier to ask him for things now—a new dress, dessert, money for your nails—but it seems impossible to ask him for this, so you opt for enjoying it and staying silent.

but even then—rafe always knows when something is wrong. you're practically vibrating from anticipation—you had wanted your boyfriend to fuck you hours ago on that stupid couch from that stupid house. it seems your body was only now realize how long you'd been clenching your thighs, biting your cheek and ignoring the tense knot in your stomach.

a few touches from rafe was enough to have you practically melting—staring up and still not saying anything.

"y'okay, kid?" he asks, and you really don't know how to answer. "s'okay. you're getting what you want."

you can do this. you're patient—you've always been patient.

"can you-please, just-" alright, maybe not. "can you please just fuck me raw, please, please, just fuck me-"

of course, rafe's not stupid. he could tell you've been on edge all night, he just hadn't known why. he stares down at you, all flushed, hot skin and heavy breaths, looking up at him. he knows whatever reaction he gives you will stay on your mind, and though he can try as hard as he wants, you are impossible to say no to.

"jesus. s'that really what you want?" you nod eagerly. "can't regret this later, baby. once we do that, it's-it's serious. what if i knock you up, huh?"

rafe watches you take in the words, facing twisting in understand.

"please knock me up."

[monster-disaster]

Can you do a female demon x female reader? I need more lesbian monster content !!!!

demon!female x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Summary: You meet an ex-classmate from college for an interview. She has other plans.

You can feel your professionalism slipping through your fingers with each passing second you spend in the female demon's presence.

The fragrance of her perfume fills your senses when Ada comes closer, sitting down on the armrest of the sofa. She leans against your side while gently holding your arm and caressing your skin with her freshly painted nails. The teasing touch sends shivers through your body.

"Your pictures don't give you enough justice," she says. "You are much prettier in real life."

Your voice gets stuck in your throat. "Oh?"

The woman hums, leaning closer. "I follow you on Instagram." Her plump lips ghost over the curve of your neck. "You are the sweetest in your colorful summer dresses."

"Thanks," you croak out, almost sounding like a question. Heat burns under your skin while your heart pounds in your chest.

"I hoped you would wear one of them today."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's fine," she chuckles, looking over your form shamelessly. You wear a white blouse with a dark blue skirt that reaches your knees and matches your high heels.

Standing up from the armrest, Ada moves in front of you. You feel cold without her firm body pressing against your side.

You watch her, mesmerized and breathless. "What are you doing?"

A slow grin pulls on her vivid red lips as she slips onto her knees. Your thighs clench at the sight of the woman.

Ironically, there is something ethereal about her. Perhaps it's the smoothness of her light pink skin or the gentle curls of her dark hair framing her horns, which are a few shades darker and gracefully trace the curve of her head. You can't be sure since there is so much you can admire about her. Your heart skips a beat as your eyes follow the straight slope of her nose and the firm curve of her full lips.

"Something I wanted to do since we met in college."

You can feel the warmth of her palms even through the thin fabric of your skirt as she rests them on your knees. Your muscles tense for a second when the beautiful demon pushes them apart while your mind struggles with keeping up with the woman. Her hands trail up on your legs, pushing your clothes up with the slow but confident motion.

Ada looks up at you with amusement in her eyes. "Did you know I liked you back then?"

You shake your head. You had no idea. The demon wasn't a mean girl by any means, but she was always... unreachable. Sometimes, you weren't even sure if she knew about your existence even though you spoke several times.

"I'm surprised," she chuckles.

By now, your thighs are bare under her caressing hands. Her thumbs move between your legs in slow circles, getting closer and closer to your panty-clad pussy.

"Why?" You ask. You sank deeper into the sofa without your noticing. You melt under her touch.

"All my friends knew about my crush on you."

You want to slap yourself across the face when the only reply you can force out of your mouth is an 'oh' and Ada laughs again, slipping her long, manicured finger under the damp fabric of your panties to pull it away.

"It's fine, though," she says. "I mean, this is my chance to make up for the lost time."

Your mind is blank as you try and fail to process everything. Your whole body is on edge with anticipation. There is a heavy knot in your belly, keeping you on the sofa, compliant and easy under Ada's attention.

"And it's definitely worth the wait," she grins, letting the tip of her thumb brush over your clit for a second. Just enough to take your breath away and send shivers down your spine.

"Really?" You gasp out, holding onto the leather of the sofa. Your nails dig into it, and you only hope you don't damage the fabric.

She hums, leaning closer. Her shoulders spread your legs apart even more.

When you woke up and got ready to do an interview with your old classmate about her successful company, you didn't think you would end up like this. Half-naked and wet in her office while she feasts on the sight of you.

"So pretty," she says, letting her finger slide over your wet slit once again, parting your lips in the process to get a better view of your soft, glistening center. "And smells so good."

Your mouth opens to say something, but before you can form words, the demon grabs the flesh of your thighs to tug you to the edge of the seat.

"Hold them for me," she says, holding up your legs until you reach behind your knees to do as she says.

Heat and embarrassment flood your whole body in the new, vulnerable position.

"Good," she hums, reaching under you with one hand to grope your bottom while her other hand keeps your panties out of the way.

You watch Ada transfixed as she leans down and licks your pussy with one long swipe. Her eyes are on you the whole time, staring at your unfocused eyes, open lips, and heaving chest. The demon's mouth moves up to your clit, flicking it with her tongue before sucking the sensitive bud into her mouth. Her cheeks hollow, and your back arches. Your legs almost slip out of your hold as your toes curl with pleasure.

"Ada." Her name escapes your lips as a moan, and she hums, satisfied.

"You taste so good, Y/N," she says. Her lips and chin shine because of your wetness. "I imagined being between your legs so many times since you called to get an appointment with me."

"Really?" You gasp out, her thumb works on your clit, not giving you any break even while she talks.

You called her because of the interview a week ago.

"Really," she replies. "I was so angry when I couldn't find a date sooner to meet you."

"It's fine," you gasp. Your hips grind up against her hand. Her fingers are soaked with your juices by now.

The female chuckles. "It is now."

She winks at you before lowering her face down back to your pussy, opening your lips to feast and slurp on you. Her finger doesn't stop on your clit while your climax builds inside you with each passing second.

"I'm almost there," you groan, closing your eyes.

Ada hums. The vibration of her reply rolls through your body in thick weaves. You moan and gush around her tongue that slipped inside your aching hole while you were busy chasing your pleasure under her caress. 

Ada's tongue fucks your pussy while teasing your clit and making you see stars under your closed eyelids. Your orgasm ripples and trembles through you while your muscles jerk and twitch, and your nails dig into your own skin at the curve of your knees.

For long seconds, the world stops existing while you sag into the sofa, and the woman still between your legs cleans you up with long swipes. Every touch and lick of her tongue on your sensitive flesh makes you twitch and shake.

When you lift your head to look at her, she grins at you hungrily. "We can start the interview now."

- Masterlist Sweet Asks Patreon

[general-fanfiction]

Hopes And Fears - Part Two. (Wally Clark x Reader.)

Summary: Y/N’s death is traumatic. So traumatic in fact, she can’t even look at Wally without reliving what happened to her.

Word Count: 3.1k

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: Death

Part One.

A/N: It’s finally here!! I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am that has it has taken me over a year to get part two out. I’m sure most of you are probably over waiting for it anyway but if you do fancy giving it a read, I really appreciate it and hope it was worth the excessively long wait. I’ve tagged everybody that asked for a part two!! Once again, I am so deeply sorry! Please forgive me!!

“I would like to begin by thanking everybody that is here today and for those who have reached out to our family in this incredibly difficult time. Your thoughts and prayers have been so comforting and a reminder of the impact that our beautiful daughter had on so many people.

How would I even begin to describe Y/N? She was truly the most special girl and I am so thankful that I was able to bring her into this world, even if she did have to leave it early. The years I got to spend with her, were the best of my life and nothing will ever compare to the bond that her and I shared. She was so kind, so generous and so loving. Never declining the opportunity to spend time with her family, even if it may have been the embarrassing thing to do. I know what it’s like to be a teenager and for her to put us first consistently was just one of her many great qualities.

Y/N was an honour roll student, a successful gymnast and dancer, as well as being captain of the Split River Cheerleaders. As a child, she had so much energy, to the point where we didn’t know what to do with her. After enrolling her in dance classes for the first time, she fell in love with the sport, gymnastics and cheerleading followed and I remember being so nervous that she would injure herself. However, when she stared up at me with those gleaming eyes, I couldn’t bring it in myself to say no. These were just a few of her passions and it was evident that this was where she felt at home anytime we watched her at competitions or rehearsals. No longer the shy little girl that used to hide behind my legs before her first day of school.

Our daughter was also a keen activist and did a lot of charity work, though most of you probably wouldn’t know that. She volunteered at the animal shelter on our block every weekend, which led to her rescuing countless animals over the years. Leaving us with not only a dog but three cats, a ferret, five rabbits, countless chickens and four rats. She also ran at least one marathon a year in order to raise money for numerous charities, and often donated supplies and food to women’s shelters around the state.

Our daughter was the most selfless person I know, always putting other before herself. She taught us a lot and made us better people. For which I’ll be eternally grateful.

We wish we could’ve stopped this, and that we could’ve had more time with her. We wish we could’ve watched her grow and sent her off to college. We wish we could’ve moved her into her first apartment and seen her get married, maybe even had grandchildren.

The pain we are experiencing right now is unlike any other. To lose a child is the most gut wrenching thing, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. I would give anything to hold her in my arms one last time. To be able to tell her I love her one last time.

So please, if anybody has any information as to who did this to our precious girl, all I ask is that you share this with the police department. Please help us find the person responsible and allow us some closure and for Y/N to get justice. She didn’t deserve this. Thank you.”

My mother cries as she steps away from the podium, collapsing into the arms of my father. Tears silently roll down my face as I take in the scene, the heartbreak across their faces as they hold each other. Unable to contain the grief they’re feeling.

As the principal speaks, I watch the crowd. My friends trying their best to hide their sadness, teachers hold their heads down, struggling to understand how this could’ve happened, even some students I only knew in passing look as though they could burst into tears at any moment.

It’s a difficult thing to watch, your own memorial. I suppose I never thought about how other would react to my death before, it never crosses your mind as you assume you won’t be able to witness it. God, what I would give to be that naive again.

“Hi Split River, for those of you that don’t know me, I’m Abby. Y/N was, well is my best friend. We met when we were in kindergarten and from that day forward we’ve been inseparable.

Y/N was a very shy person, I’m sure most of you would describe her as an introvert. Fortunately, I was one of the few people she let into her life, breaking down the invisible barriers she built around herself and it was the greatest pleasure of my life.

We were total opposites and enjoyed different things but that didn’t matter. For example, Y/N hated theatre, she called it glorified pantomime, but she still attended every show I was in, she still helped me practice my lines and she still encouraged me to do what I loved even if she couldn’t stand it.

We had so many things we wanted to do together, we were going to share a dorm together at Parsons, she would major in fashion design and I would do photography. We’d take over the world as a duo, running our own magazine that I could star in, of course. All those dreams of ours have been ripped to shreds now and I don’t know what to do without her. My life was intertwined with her’s and there was never a future that she wasn’t apart of. I’m completely lost without her.

I hope whoever did this rots in hell. You deserve nothing but suffering for taking such a pure soul out of this world.”

Abby’s words leave a small smile on my face despite the tears that continue to fall. In all honesty, I’m surprised her entire speech wasn’t a rage fuelled rant directed at the perpetrator.

Despite my eyes being fixed on the service taking place in the gym below, I still feel the bench dip slightly. Alerting me of someone’s presence. My eyes reluctantly drag themselves away and I realise it’s the footballer, he sits towards the other end of the bench, keeping his distance. I’m quick to notice the lack of football jersey, wearing nothing but a white tank top that defines his arms nicely and his blue school assigned gym shorts.

His hands are clutching a bouquet of flowers, an array of sunflowers, dusty orange irises, blood red snapdragons and soft peach chrysanthemums. They’re arranged beautifully, held together by a small piece of string.

“They were beautiful speeches.” He comments, soft smile gracing his features.

I nod, offering a small smile in return. The lack of football attire puts me at ease and I’m appreciative of the distance between us. Guilt consumes me slightly at my judgement towards him, but I can’t control it. After what happened, I don’t want to put myself in that situation again. I’m not taking any chances.

“This is the hard part. My mom couldn’t even finish her eulogy she was crying that much.” He tells me, eyes fixed on the girls from my cheerleading squad who are now doing their own speech. “It’s good to know you have so many people who care about you though.”

He doesn’t look over at me once he’s finished speaking and I take my time to look at him properly. Soft brown eyes compliment his dark, almost black hair. Full lips and a youthful glow, it dawns on me that he’s been stuck in this state for decades, never aging, never changing.

“I feel bad.” I state, voice barely louder than a whisper as I allow myself to make eye contact with him when he turns to face me. “They shouldn’t have to go through this.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault.” He goes to move towards me before stopping himself, though never taking his eyes off mine. “You can’t blame yourself, trust me I spent years doing that and no good comes of it. You’ll just end up tormenting yourself.”

Nodding as I take in his words, I let out a long sigh. Gazing down at my parents once again, I can’t help but feel the tears welling up in my eyes once again and I’m quick to wipe them away. Not wanting Wally to see me cry. They’re still clinging on to each other, though they’ve moved to sit down now, neither of them look as though they’re paying much attention to those speaking. Focused solely on comforting one another.

It’s in that moment that I notice who the next speaker is and my entire body tenses. Why is Spencer getting up to speak? He’s dressed to the nines in a black suit, hands gripping a piece of paper that has evidently been crumpled up. If my heart still worked I’m almost positive it would’ve stopped beating right this second.

Is this some sort of sick joke? Parading around in front of my grieving loved ones, knowing full well that he’s potentially evaded justice. I feel sick to my stomach and can’t bare to watch. What could he even have to say?

“Walk with me.”

Before Wally can even figure out what is happening, I’m practically sprinting out of the gym. Hurrying down the hallway in an effort to get as far away from Spencer as physically possible. It’s completely irrational, I know he can’t see me. He can’t hurt me again. Yet, I can’t even bring myself to stay in the same room as him.

“How did you die?” I ask Wally once he has caught up to me, walking beside me while making sure to keep a few feet between us. I’m in need of a distraction and as long as he’s talking, I can keep my mind off the situation that just unfolded before me.

“Oh, I um was tackled during the homecoming game of my senior year in ‘83. Snapped my neck and died on the pitch.” He tells me, one hand scratching the back of his neck as he does so, eyes unable to meet mine. “I’d already been benched but my mom pushed me to get back in the game and I just wanted to make her proud.”

Stopping in my tracks, I turn to face him properly. His face is full of guilt, and perhaps a little bit of shame. Afraid that he didn’t do his best, that he didn’t make his mom proud.

“She still comes to every game. I mean they named the stadium after me so it’s nice that I get to see her once a year. I’m lucky in that sense.”

He’s rambling, trying to fill the silence with anything he can. It’s something I often found myself down when I was still alive. Wanting to aid the embarrassment and nervousness I often felt.

“Wally. Your mom will always be proud of you. A mom’s pride for her child is unconditional.” I speak confidently, allowing him to feel reassured, something I can sense he needs right now.

“You’re right. I just wish things ended differently, like if I’d won the game, all those years of training wouldn’t have gone to waste you know?”

The sadness in his voice is prevalent and I can tell he struggles with it even after all these years. He’s still not making eye contact with me and I feel that pang of guilt once again, for assuming he would be like all the other stupid footballers I know. He has a good heart, I see that now.

“You heard my mom’s speech right? If we’re gonna play that game then all those years of dance training were for nothing.” I joke, hoping it’ll ease his sullen mood slightly. “I danced because it was fun, besides, if all of those years were for nothing, would I still be able to do this?”

For the first time since we left the gym, Wally actually looks at me. Raising my arms, I judge the distance behind me before throwing myself into a back handspring. The boy laughs quietly, causing me to smile as he brings his hands together in a round of applause, muffled slightly due to the flowers he’s still holding. Bowing obnoxiously, I can’t help but allow myself to enjoy the moment. It’s the first bit of happiness I’ve felt this entire time and I intend to savour it.

“Wow. Yeah, you would not catch me doing that.” He comments, matching my pace as we continue to walk again. “Thank you, by the way.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion, not entirely sure where his thanks are coming from. Staying silent as we sit opposite one another in the communal gardens towards the back of the school. It’s quiet, not many students know it’s here, and the ones that do have no interest in being back here. They’d much rather be on the quad where they actually get phone service.

“For cheering me up, I mean. The others can sometimes get a bit annoyed when I bring up what happened. They think I should’ve got over it by now with it being almost forty odd years ago.” He states, the sunlight reflecting on him at just the right angle, it makes him look angelic. Beautiful really.

“Can anybody get over their death?”

“Rhonda seems to think so, but I reckon she just doesn’t like talking about what happened to her.” He replies, a fondness in his eyes as he talks about her, almost as if he’s remembering a past conversation.

Leaning back to take in the sun, I close my eyes, absorbing the light that hits my face. Being dead is strange to say the least, I thought I wouldn’t feel anything. No emotions, no sensations, nothing. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Since death, I’ve mostly felt sadness and anger, but spending this short amount of time with Wally has made me aware of the happiness i’m able to feel as well. Not to mention the warmth of the sun on my skin, I can pretend I’m alive. Even if it is just for a second.

“These are for you by the way.” Wally’s voice bring me back to reality and I realise he’s holding the bouquet of flowers out to me. He’s sat a good distance away and so I have to lean forward to take them from his grasp. Fingers brushing as I do so and I’m quick to pull away, despite the warmth that rushed through my hand upon the momentary interaction. “I was going to give them to you earlier, but then it didn’t seem right because we were watching the eulogies and all. I didn’t wanna make it weird or awkward for you or anything. I also didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked so I just picked a bunch from the flower gardens, Charlie helped me arrange them, I hope they’re okay because my first attempt wasn’t the best. Apparently the colours didn’t match or something-“

“Wally they’re gorgeous.” I interrupt, unable to hide the grin that is beginning to spread across my face as I bring them to my nose to inhale the scent. “Snapdragons are my favourite.”

“Oh thank god. I was really worried you would hate them, or that maybe you weren’t a flower person.” He blurts out, following a quick sigh of relief. “Not that it’s a big deal or anything. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I mean no harm, and sort of welcome you the afterlife I guess.”

I must admit the nervous rambling is cute, I can feel the redness flushing my cheeks as I hide myself behind the flowers. Taking my time to admire the bouquet as much as I can. It’s a beautiful gesture, and I’m in disbelief that he spent the time to do this for me. A peace offering despite him doing nothing wrong.

“You’re sweet Wally.” I admit, delicately stroking the petals on a couple of the flowers. “I’m really sorry about before. You just remind me of someone.”

“A footballer ex perhaps?” He questions, unable to get Rhonda’s previous comment out of his head. Whether it be down to jealousy or curiosity he’s unsure.

“No, no ex.” I shake my head adamantly, eyes glued to the flowers as I try to come up with the words to describe why I acted the way I did. It’s still too soon for me to talk about, I know that. However, I also know that Wally does deserve some sort of explanation. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it just yet, but if I have another moment like before I promise it’s not your fault.”

Wally nods, understanding and accepting my boundaries. We stay sat in silence for a moment longer, he doesn’t push me to talk, nor does he change the subject. Instead, we just embrace the peace we’ve created in the garden. It’s the most relaxed I’ve felt for a while and I’m able to sit with my own thoughts without sending myself into a spiral or a panic. It’s nice.

The minutes pass as we listen to the gentle sounds of birds chirping and the occasional rustle of the trees in the wind. It feels as though we’re stuck in time, but I feel content. I wouldn’t mind being stuck right here, right now. At least, if it wasn’t for Charlie.

“Y/N, your memorial’s ending, just thought you’d want to see your parents again before they leave!”

Wally and I both look towards the boy who stands awkwardly in the doorway. He sounds out of breath and I imagine he’s been sprinting around the school in search of me.

My hands grip the flowers tighter, veins popping and knuckles flexed as I squeeze tightly. Wally’s the first to stand and when I finally look up at him, he offers me an encouraging nod. A reminder that I am strong enough to do this. To say my goodbyes.

While I walk besides the tall jock, with Charlie taking lead in front, I do feel strong. Wally’s supportive and comforting nature radiates through the hallway and I feel confident. Although, I know this is the last time I could potentially see my parents, there’s no sadness, just a readiness to take on this new stage of my life and it fills me with a sense of acceptance. Accepting death was difficult but finally, I feel ready to take on whatever comes next.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[incorrectbatfam]

how would bruce be at the retail jobs?

Previous: Margie | Batfam | Rogues | Justice League | Batkids in training

[clothing store]

Steph: Bruce, you're on menswear. 

Bruce: Yes ma'am. 

Bruce: Need help with anything?

Dick, pulling a shirt off the rack: How does this look? 

Bruce: It's very flattering, chum.

Dick: You think? 'Cause I'm really looking forward to this weekend at Wally's and I wanna impress his folks. 

Bruce: Never mind, it's all wrong. 

———————

[furniture store]

Steph: I'm gonna take inventory. Why don't you help that guy over there?

Bruce: Sure. 

Bruce: You've been looking at that recliner for a long time.

Jason: Yeah, it's pretty nice. 

Bruce: You thinking of buying it?

Jason: Nah, I'll just take my dad's. 

———————

[coffee shop]

Steph: Remember to write their names, especially since it's the morning rush. We don't wanna get the orders mixed up. 

Bruce: Don't worry, I have it all taken care of. 

Tim: One espresso, please. 

Bruce, writing on a cup: You got it. That'll be $3.25.

*5 minutes later*

Bruce: Espresso for Dick– I mean, Jason– I mean, Damian– I mean– oh, you know who you are, get over here. 

———————

[call center] 

Steph: I'm taking a break. Cover for me. 

*phone rings*

Bruce: Wayne Enterprises account support, how can I help you?

Damian: I would like to purchase the Horror and Slasher movie bundle. 

Bruce: Sorry, you have to be at least 18 for that. 

Damian: This is an outrage! Do you know who I am? I am the son of the CEO himself. I demand you put him on the line right now. 

Bruce: As you wish.

Bruce: *spins around in his chair*

Bruce: CEO of Wayne Enterprises here. I'm afraid we can't get that for you. To make up for your troubles, though, I've given you a free trial of our Goodnight Gotham children's bedtime audiobooks. 

———————

[grocery store]

Bruce: That'll be $50.36.

Duke: Shoot, I only brought forty. 

Bruce: Wait, I can give you the friends and family discount. 

Bruce: *swipes his credit card*

Duke: Sweet, thanks!

Bruce: Steph?

Steph: Yeah?

Bruce: Did I just buy my son fifty dollars worth of applesauce? 

———————

[drive-thru]

Cass: Just a water. 

Bruce: Alright, please go to the next window. 

Bruce: *hands her an ice cream cone*

Bruce: You sound like you need this. 

Cass: *smiles*

Steph: How did you—

Bruce: *pulls out his Girl Dad badge*

———————

[restaurant] 

Steph: Here's a menu and your server will be with you shortly. 

Barbara: Thank you. 

Bruce: Good evening. I'll be your server tonight. Have we decided on what we're going with?

Barbara: Yeah, I'll have the chicken. 

Bruce: And would you like a soup or salad with that?

Barbara: Depends. Do you spin the salad in front of me? 

Bruce: Yes. 

Barbara: Then I'll do the soup.

———————

[at home]

Bruce: *face down on his bed*

Steph: Lemme guess, long week? 

Bruce: *grunts* 

Steph: Me too. Hope you don't mind if I take a nap here. 

Steph: *curls up in the blanket*

Bruce: *grunts and pats her head* 

[thisismeracing]

The phantom of miscommunication | LH44

― Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x black!plussize!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1.8k ― Warnings: not proofread; suggestive content; angst with a happy ending; mentions of an argument. Minors DNI! ― Summary: Dating a professional athlete is hard, and it’s even harder when you are famous too, and your schedules just keep crashing. how will their love beat their insecurities?  ― A/n: I took forever to finish this request, but I hope the waiting was worth it and I did the request justice 🤍.

⁕ Based on this request. ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist ⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)

You often hear about loving someone being easy and natural, a fall that you would pray the other catch you from. Turns out, as Yn discovered with Lewis, it feels natural, and she’s sure he’ll be there to catch her if she falls, but easy? Love wasn’t that easy. Or life was hard with it. 

That’s at least how it feels for her while she finishes getting ready for the last performance of her Broadway play. Alone. She’s ditching her favorite dress because it reminds her of Lewis and how he would look smug whenever she wore it because she would need his help to zip her up. Lewis loved being needed. Not in a selfish way, but in a way that meant he loved to be helpful to those he cherished. Loved to hear their joyful tones while they thanked him, or the warm arms around his body, and in her case, the cold lips against his. 

Lewis loved loudly. 

Maybe that’s why they ended up fighting that last week. Because if he loved being helpful and seeing others happy, how could he not cancel a meeting to watch her finish the play she spent months traveling around overseas? 

Yn loved silently.

It was as if she liked to feel him slide beside her in bed at night, rather than hear the noise of the door closing, and knowing he would be there. The silence that led to the moment was deeply appreciated by her. And her love somehow worked similarly. She wouldn’t ask more than twice for something she wanted, something important, something someone who loves her should know. To her, it was enough her dad showed up, he didn’t need to tell her she did a great job, no words of affirmation or bouquet of flowers and gifts whatsoever. Just their presence. And that was what Yn was expecting from Lewis: his presence. 

She felt a tear slide down her cheek and she quickly wiped it before grabbing her bag and keys and leaving her house, making her way to one of her favorite cafes. There was something so unique, it mundane on finishing her tour home. Just minutes away from the house she shared with Lewis. A quick walk to her favorite café. The view of a grey, yet very beautiful London being her company. 

Yn goes about her day doing most things on the automatic mode. Sometimes, she would think about how she always dreamt of this day when she was just younger. Starting on Broadway as a black girl was a hard task, that, in her case, was two times harder because she was also a plus-size actress. Some of the producers would reduce her to her weight, her skin tone, or just about anything, but her talent. She had to prove herself over and over until she finally became a phenomenon in the country and then, years ahead, she started to have a significant international impact. That’s when she met Lewis. She had traced most of her career, she had a name, and so did he, and maybe that was the first thing that brought them closer: the fact that it seemed as if everyone was attentively watching over them not because they wanted to appreciate the work they put on, but because they needed them to do something wrong, anything wrong, just so this wrongdoing could be talked about more than the rights.

It was hard. 

And having Lewis there to share this burden made it a bit lighter. 

Having him there to love her, and recognize her more than anyone ever would, was heartwarming. Being someone else’s first pick felt amazing. And though the ups and downs of their careers existed, they always faced it together. Just like they shared their victories together too. That’s why it felt so wrong not having him on her Musical ending show. He shared the struggles of her waking up early, and going late to bed just so she could grab each emotion needed, and memorize all the lines. She was the leading actress. The main start. Yet, she missed having him be illuminated by her light. 

Truth is, Yn felt sad without Lewis, not that her happiness depended on him showing up, but they had created those small traditions. He would always be on the final stops of her shows. She would always make it to his most expected races. 

As the saying goes, a dream you dream by yourself is just a dream, but a shared one is a reality.  It’s hard to create a reality while in a long-distance, or mostly long-distance, relationship. You gotta be ten times more attentive and understanding. So when Lewis told her he had to make it to an interview before preparing for his race weekend without even waiting for her response, it did not feel like an understanding relationship, he, for the first time, did not seem attentive. And that hurt.

“But, love, why can’t you reschedule your interview for Friday after free practice? Or maybe even Saturday after qualy?” Yn asked, a pout on her lips, while Lewis was finishing packing his suitcase. 

He sighed, “You know very well the rush after those two, Yn.”

Fair enough, “Well, then do it online! That way you could do it right before my play, and then come to the Teather after. It’s not that far from our house, you sure can make it.” She was full of solutions, to a problem that felt like Lewis himself created.

When his eyes found hers, determination written all over it, he didn’t even have to open his lips and tell her an audible “no”, she already knew, so she tried to practice healthy communication. “Look, Lew, it’s just that this is our last stop and they were okay with it being in London when most of the time it happens somewhere in the USA. You know how this city is important to me, and this play, it’s just- I can’t help but feel like you’ve been lacking in terms of support lately.”

The British finally stopped packing, dropping his shirt inside the suitcase, and leaving with a quick glance towards Yn, mumbling how he didn’t want to fight. 

“But I want you to fight with me. Fight for me!” She trailed behind him, stopping at the entrance of the kitchen. 

“Well, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Yn!” he snapped, and before he could apologize or backtrack she nodded, leaving the room. Love should never feel forced. She shouldn’t have to ask for it. 

The door slammed behind her as she made her way to the Teather to bury her head in work, sweat the hurt away, dance, and sing until the energy made her feel comfort. 

“Yn?” one of her colleagues asked, snapping Yn out of her memories. “They’re calling us for one last rehearsal before the show.”

She nodded and glanced at her phone, hoping to see a message, either an apology or a good luck one, anything that showed that he remembered, but there was nothing. Her shoulders slumped lightly and she made her way to the stage, the audience still deserved the best ending show, she deserved the best ending show. 

So that was exactly what happened: Yn shined along with the whole crew. They sang, danced, smiled, and even cried after the curtains opened to an outstanding ovation from the audience. That’s when Yn’s eyes found his, right on the front row, a bouquet of flowers on his seat, one of his shy grins, while he stood clapping the most beautiful performance he had ever seen Yn deliver.

Lewis was there.

Lewis wasn’t in an interview on the other side of the world.

He was standing there.

Smiling.

Clapping.

Proudly watching. 

And when her lips quirked up slightly he nodded as if knowing they still had to talk, but for now, he took the right decision.

When the curtains closed again and Yn made the walk to her dressing room, she wasn’t surprised to find Lewis there, “hey,” she said, closing the door behind her and staying glued to the wooden.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Lewis started. “Look, I’m-”

“Can we save all the headaches and solutions for when we get home?” She suggested, still a bit breathless from the play. “That is if you’re coming home tonight. Or are you flying to do the interview late?” 

There was a  sad smile on Lewis's plush lips, “I’m home, with you.” 

A breath of fresh air got into Lewis’ lungs when he noticed her shoulders relax with the news. She was relieved he would be home. She was happy to have him around. It wasn’t too late. 

“And I agree on saving the deep talk to when we get home, but I want to say I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t support you or love you enough to reschedule and work my way around my things. You’re my treasure, love. And I’ve been lacking lately, I’ve been stressed, and with my head all over the place, but I’ll get better. I promise,” and a Hamilton promise would always come true. You could count on that. 

Yn bit her lips, trying to hold back the tears, but they fell around her face like waterfalls just the same, and Lewis was in front of her in the blink of an eye, fingers brushing the wet splotches, lips kissing her delicate skin. 

“I’m sorry, I am so so sorry,” he whispered painly.

“I was so terrified we were about to get on a dead-end road. That you would stop showing up for my plays, and-”

“Sweetheart, breathe,” he held her face between his soft palms and Yn tried to even her breath with his. “I’m here, I’m always going to be here. You have my endless support and undying love, you can count on that.” He was a runner, one of the fastest drivers on the grid, but he could never run away from her and what she made him feel. What he could do was beat the phantom of miscommunication to the finishing line, get there first, say he’s sorry before it’s too late, and work so that this ghost won’t ever bother their relationship again. 

Yn nodded, gulping a bit more of air, and finally crashing her body on his in a tight hug. Lewis kissed her hair and found her lips with his, tasting their own tears and love. Yn mumbled how sorry she was for not being patient enough, and Lewis shook his head, kissing her again.

“I’m the sorry one, and I’m gonna make it up to it,” he explained. 

Yn arched her brows, looking into his honey eyes, “I know just the way you can express how sorry you are,” she smirked, undoing the bow for her white dress and making it cascade around her ankles. 

And Lewis did exactly that. 

He whispered apologies and love promises in her ear, the sound of a symphony with her body banging against the door. That was their private play. Their favorite one. 

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hiii!! I hope you guys liked it! I hope your Friday is amazing! Don't forget to reblog and leave me a comment if you can, it means a lot and it usually inspires me to write more *mwah*

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[guyfieriii]

Sad Girl

This piece is dedicated to the lovely @randomchick546 for this ask. Thank you so so much for patiently waiting! This is so long overdue, I just hope its worth the wait and I did your prompt justice!

Be prepared for a bucket full of angst and then some.

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes

You’re embossed with memories of his touch, his lips. 

It’s jarring — just how often your mind hurtles to a place, a moment, a memory you’ve shared. You walk by the smoke shop, half a mile out of your usual route to campus just to breathe it in. Wafts of tobacco, spice, and a lingering sweetness — you’re right back there with him. 

“Something on your mind, love?” 

Fuck. 

He sounds so genuine in his concern, the truth almost slips out.

You’re leaving tomorrow, John.

“I — Nothing.” There’s this constant pressure that’s settled deep within your chest — it tightens ever so slightly. It coils around and travels upwards, burning your throat like bile. Unspoken truths, veiled emotions. It obturates your mind and you bite back the impulse to succumb to the cacoethes. The strain of it makes you ache.  

It’s better than the alternative. 

You wonder if you’ve left as much of a lasting effect on him, as he has on you. You must have. Why else would he come back? 

He’s gone, often for months at a time, but every time he comes back home, he goes searching for you. 

It’s always the same. 

Can I see you? Let me see you. 

You make the obligatory half-assed attempt at resisting his call. It’s a pasquinade. A pitiful farce you undergo to make yourself feel better. Make you feel less desperate. Which you are. 

Desperate to stay away for self-preservation and yet desperate for another moment back in his arms. 

You’re pulled taut, being ushered by the opacity of pure need and want. It’s thick and it clings. 

So you dither for a moment, pretend to pause before saying yes. 

As if you haven’t been counting the days. 

He must, too. Why else would he come back? 

In all likelihood, it’s just another form of casuistry you’ve contrived as a balm for that ache. 

Wishful thinking. 

Laughable. Arbitrary. 

Yes, John. 

Always, John. 

You think back to the moment you met him. It wasn’t happenstance. Not the kind of meet-cute you see in films and hear about in songs. 

This isn’t that kind of story. 

It was utterly manufactured. From the second you laid eyes on him. He was seated at the far end of the bar, staring into a half-empty glass clasped firmly in his grip. He looked at it as though it was his only place of solace. 

Until he met you.

He seemed lost, but his posture betrayed him — rigid, attentive, in absolute cognizance of his surroundings. 

It’s a fragmentary attempt, then, to try and find relief. 

You stare. You assess. You memorize. For a moment too long, perhaps. 

There’s a pulse in his shoulder, as he lifts his glass to his lips. As though he notices you out of peripherals.

A revelation that doesn’t come to you quickly enough, and suddenly you’re caught. He looks at you, brow raised in a silent question. Shame and embarrassment creep up your chest and you’re left speechless, caught red-handed in your voyeuristic tendencies. 

What he does next, is unexpected. 

He raises his glass to you, a whisper of a smile beneath his moustache. It’s a gesture you reciprocate. 

Moments pass and neither of you looks away. It’s unnerving, being the subject of unremitting attention. A pharisaic thought coming from you, regardless, it’s somehow agitating and euphoric in equal measures. 

You’re hyperaware of his gaze on you, everything else in the background seems to meld into a kaleidoscope of cobalt and azure. 

Neither of you makes an attempt to move and eventually the spell breaks and he turns away. 

You have no right to feel as disappointed as you do. 

A precursor, really, for what’s to come. 

You see him again, the two of you still seated at opposite ends of the bar. A sea of people between you, painfully present yet quite inconsequential. There are friends commemorating something or the other, couples locked in intimate conversations, some closer than others, and a few singles, out on the prowl. Then there’s you and him. 

Your silent exchange resumes. You raise your glasses in unspoken cheers, locked eyes, fighting the urge to stand and cross this trodden path to the other side. 

You try and imagine it — his voice. 

The way it would eclipse you, weighted, full of husk and honeyed, it would cling to your memory. The way it would carry through the room, cut through the sea of noise in succinct clarity. It would set you alight, much like his gaze. 

You don’t mind it. 

You’d prefer it. The burn — a similar way to the scotch he just bought you.

The bartender had placed the glass down promptly just as you took your seat. 

“From the gentleman down the bar.” He said. 

Somehow, without looking, you knew. 

You couldn’t know for certain, of course. Not unless you crossed the distance between you and him. It’s an enticing prospect, but you hold back. 

So does he. 

A week goes by, the two of you are locked in a battle for consistency. The only meaningful exchange that happens, is the swap of your drinks. A scotch for you, a gin and tonic for him. You almost laughed at the near-comical look he pulled when you bought him one, but he drank it all, nevertheless. 

It started out as engaging, almost tantalizing, given that both of you were clearly holding back. A little tease. Some back and forth. No words are spoken, yet a conversation is held. His measured cadences are all conveyed in a single look, and you’re left wanting for more. 

A clear sign, if there ever was one. 

Eventually, you’ve had enough. Your impatience gets the better of you, however, you can’t be the one to make the first move. So you wait. You wait at the threshold of the pub, unwilling to cross it, watching him from afar. Trying to find that same impatience that one could wring out of you within him. 

Wishful thinking. 

You walk around the block once, twice, before taking another quick glance to see him still at the bar. You watch the late-night traffic pass by in a haze of taillights just to pass the time. 

An hour goes by, and you’re worried you’ve miscalculated. By the looks of it, he seems to be leisurely enjoying a drink, and you’re the fool who’s freezing out in the cold to prove a point. The late autumn chill sets deep within your bones and you almost cave in just for the warmth but you persevere, and your tenacity is rewarded. 

“I missed you in there.” His voice is just as you had imagined it. 

It does burn. 

You wait a breath before turning around to see him, nonchalant, leaning against the brick wall of the pub. He has a knowing smile on his face like he’s known what you’ve been up to all this time. 

“Been waiting out here for long, love?” He deftly lights a cigar, taking in a short puff, smoke wafting out from the cusp of his lips in quick bursts. 

“I—” You had words planned. Intricately thought out, in an effort to be clever. In an effort to impress. You blame the academic in you, you’re always out to galvanize your way onto someone’s memory through the sheer virtuosity of your intellect. So, you prepare and agonize over every interaction. 

He did it without even trying. 

“Yes.” There’s something about him, something within the way he looks at you that you don’t even bother with a lie. 

“Like to make a man wait, do you?” He takes a step forward, unyielding in his gaze.

“In some cases. It’s not like you were itching to make a move.” You challenge back, your heart thrumming in your chest, your breath quickening as he takes another step forth. 

“I was biding my time.” He says, simply. 

“For what?” You counter. 

“Wanted to see if I—” He’s inches away from you now, the scent of him engulfs you — firewood smoke, vanilla, and spice. You wonder if he tastes the same. 

“Yes?” You rasp, mouth suddenly dry. You run your tongue across your bottom lip, as your gaze falls on his, the cigar still clutched between his teeth. 

“Does it matter?” He asks in a way that seems redundant. Like he already knows the answer. 

“Not really.” You whisper and he smiles. 

“Can I see you, darling?”

A year has passed. His effect on you remains the same. Some kind of trance in a form of limbo. Forever stuck between the rapture that comes with having captured John’s attention the way you have, and the longing in the time that holds in between. There is no moderation, only extremes. 

“Can I see you, darling?” He asks again.

No, John. I don’t like it when you go away.

“Yes, John.” 

It’s a prison of your own making, because he was nothing if not upfront about his situation. The moment the two of you realized you wanted this to be more than a one-night thing he had been straightforward about his circumstances. 

“I’ll be gone for long stretches, darling. Is that something—”

“You worry too much, John. What’s that they say about absences and hearts?”

He looks pleased and you’re elated. 

The longest he had been away at a stretch was eight weeks. The first two went by fairly quickly. 

You were still in a state of bliss after an entire week spent with him. All your time was split evenly in between classes and John. You’d often go to a class with his shirt on, the smell of him clinging to you. 

The same shirt now hangs in your closet. It doesn’t smell like him anymore.

Your limbs ached and your mind was left reeling after a week of sleep deprivation and sex, but you revelled in it. All that remained was lasting proof of your time with him — something to cling on to. 

The third and fourth week, that feeling had subsided and your memory of him faltered. Late at night you’d lay in bed, hands nestled between your thighs as you desperately rummaged through memories of your time with him. If your imagination did its work right, his hands would replace yours. You could feel the weight of his body, the shape of him, the warmth. His voice in your ear, breathless, wanting. 

“Tell me how bad you want it, darling. Fuckin’ tell me an’ I’ll give it to ya.”

It still burned. 

Even when he’s not there.

The last stretch of the time spent in his absence was pure agony. You try find a substitute, nothing perfect but something to pass the time. 

All in vain. 

Any hands that aren’t his just make the lack of them all the more apparent. John’s hands, you feel, were made for you — to mold and shape and caress. Ruin, even. 

His absence transforms the ruin into absolution. 

Any seeming imitation just adds insult to injury, no matter who it is. You’re left desiring, more than you were before. A feeling that once simmered beneath the surface would surge through, impossible to ignore. 

Your skin itches, trying its hardest to grasp at the remnants of his touch, but the slate is practically wiped clean. All you can do is wait. Patiently, as far as outward expressions go. You’re composed for John’s benefit. Indifferent, almost. 

Cool. Calm. Collected. 

Or perhaps—

“Do you think about me when you’re away?”

There’s a pause. A slight hitch in his breath. His cock still sheathed deep within you, brows furrowing in confusion as though he might have misheard what you said. 

You instantly wish you could take it back. It’s a meaningless question anyway, one uttered in a moment of mind-numbing bliss as walls crumbled down and you faltered. You forgot the carefully constructed façade you maintained. Just long enough for a transitory spill of some truth. 

It’s freeing — you want to keep going, but you can’t. You feel it bubble beneath the surface, pressing outward and up. You turn away — you have to. The prying look that shadows his expression threatens to wring you out of every thought you’ve ever had. You’d spill them all. Open, like a faucet. What would flow through is months of hunger, ache. Enduring an itch that never fucking subsides. You’d confess to it all — on your knees. Every sin. Every passing iniquity. 

And hope for absolution. 

Wishful fucking thinking. 

His fingers grasp your chin in a firm hold. Not bruising, not even one that ushers you to look back at him. Just firm. Like he’s allowing you to continue, asking for more rather than demand it. 

You’re a creature of habit. 

You concede. 

You’re met with a fierce look, accusation lay plain like a chrisom shading his eyes. It doesn’t frighten you. You’re exhilarated, now that the shame has passed. 

What you said, it cannot be undone. You’ve forced his hand, drawn out a reaction. 

He must confess as well. 

He must—

“What do you want me to tell you?” He whispers harshly. 

“John—“ You begin,

His hips jerk forward — forceful, emphatic. Like he’s trying to make his question sink in deeper.

“Fuck— John, I—” You barely gasp out, lungs burning under the pressure of this sudden change. You’re breathless, quivering, and oh so ready. You’re primed — because this is it. It takes every ounce of self-control you have not to make your gratification too apparent. 

You sense it. His confession. It’s what you’ve spent months wondering, finally coming to light. 

His thrusts are unforgivable, deep and hard. The kind that reverberate up your spine and make your teeth shatter. 

“Think about nothin’ else but you, my darling.” His chuckle is humourless and disbelieving like he can’t fathom how you’ve managed to yield this confession out of him.

Makes it feel like an accomplishment all the more. 

You don’t even bother to hide your grin. 

“You’re a fuckin’ menace, y’know that?” His lips are at your ear, your entire frame now eclipsed by his. Your hands find purchase across his shoulders, wide, rippling with tense musculature as he presses himself into you, every inch of skin between the two of you aligned. The warmth that rolls off him has you nearly feverish. 

Your fingers trace constellations of gunshot wounds that embellish the broad expanse of his back. Had you more timed you’d have counted them all, asked for the story behind each one. Ease the memory, perhaps with a kiss. He’d indulge you, you’re sure of it. 

You might not have been before, but now—

“Get off on it, don’t ya?” The timing of his words is immaculate — your cunt spasming around his cock in synchronicity with every twitch his as he spills himself into you. You come undone, once again with a shivered moan and a breathy chorus of ‘Yes, John’. 

“That’s fucking right. Just like that.“ He murmurs appreciatively, tracing your collarbone with a delicate swipe of his tongue. “So good for me.”

He’s showered you with praise before, even with repetition. He’s told you how well you take him. He’s confessed to how good he feels buried in you. It’s evident with how he remains within — till he softens, just encased in your warmth like he’s meant to be there. He’ll taste you like a man starved and declare he’d die a happy man buried between your legs. You’ve heard it before. 

For a little while, it had lost its novelty. 

But now—

You’re invigorated in this new achievement of yours, in this latest revelation. You’re not the only one who suffers. 

He aches, too. 

There is something to be said about this feeling of solidarity. Knowing you’re not alone somehow serves as a balm. You’re apart and it’s torturous, but he feels it too. 

Or— 

Or maybe it’s just your ego that likes being stroked. 

If you were to go off of the near perverse triumph you feel right now, you’d bet on the latter. 

“I’ll send you off with a little present.” You say. “Since you miss me so much.”

“Mm? What’s that?” He husks lazily, placid oases gleaming back at you. It’s painfully intimate — this moment. You want to let the time still, with the two of you under this canopy of bliss and deepened confessions. You want to let the words sink in and let the seconds pass slower. 

They don’t. 

“Get your phone, John.” 

“Sending a soldier off with a little photo, are you?”

“Not a photo. No.” 

That gets this attention. 

He fucks you again as a way of thanks, and as the hours dwindle to the early morning and you lay enveloped in each other's arms, you remind him of it. 

It’s not how you expect it to go. It’s gentle, almost loving. He takes his time with you, prolongs every action, savours every response. He treats this gift like a genuine one, unwrapping you with care and precision. 

Or maybe that’s just the army man in him. 

He follows your lead for most of it, save for one request he makes at the end. 

“Say it.”

“What, John?”

“Say you’ll miss me.”

You pause. He falters for a moment, unsure.

But still--

“I’ll miss you.”

It hurts that he looks surprised. 

You see him again, two months later. He says it’s different. He says he’s staying longer this time. 

“Spend it with me?” He asks. 

He asks. 

You’d think after all this time he’d know better. 

You brace yourself not to answer too quickly and give yourself away. Barring the one time, there haven’t been any clandestine confessions made between the two of you.  

It’s a gift — more time. A thing that only existed in the confines of your imagination now dares to turn into a reality. 

You almost don’t believe it. It’s too good to be true. 

You’re too used to missing him, it’s made you wary of the alternative. 

You just can’t help yourself. 

“Don’t you have other people to see, John?”

There’s an unmistakable clench in his jaw when he sharply turns away as if you slapped him. You wait with bated breath for the pin to drop, for a crack in the armour. You’d spend all this added time just trying to chisel at fissures that form — they have in the past only to close too soon. 

And now—

You hurt him. If only he’d admit it. 

“Rather see you, is all.”

It’s a statement. Blank. Matter of fact. It might assuage most people, but you aren’t most people. They aren’t the ones who get attached in an untenable situation. They don’t keep a distance as a form of self-preservation, definitely not as unsuccessfully as yourself at any rate. They would see Captain Price for the man he is — dutiful. Unattainable. Larger than life, even. They’d be pleased with his unvarnished reasoning and take what they are given with a smile. 

So do you. 

It’s just not real. 

You’re a glutton for agony. It’s like you’re hardwired to seek it. Persistence is second nature — even when you set yourself up for circumstances that are less than ideal, you’ll see your way through to the end.

You fuck. Relentlessly. Despite having the extra time on hand, both you and he act like it’s a dwindling commodity. 

You try to find your chance in between the heated touches, the whines, and the moans. Your name is a song perpetually at the cusp of his lips — at times a form of supplication in a chorale of many others. 

“Please, love.”

“Jus’ like that. Fuckin’ take it.”

“So pretty. So perfect.”

“That’s it, darling.”

His touch remains impenitent — hard, rough, relentless. 

His voice is a take dragging across a pebbled path — textured, heavy. It travels down your skin in a shroud of his warm breath. 

The words caress, but his voice—

Burns.  

It’s only his words that at the outlier. The striking contrast of white along a canvas of red. 

That’s how you picture it. 

They never cease, even when it’s you and him, breathless, coming down from a high. You’re spent, covered in a sheen of sweat. Limbs tingling from the exertion. Your eyes are heavy with sleep. The slight movement of his chest, the even timed up and down of his breathing are practically soporific. 

However, you maintain your wits long enough to find a moment’s interlude, just to say—

“John, I’m—”

Sorry. 

Too late. There’s nothing to chisel at, no gap slither past. 

“Shhh. Don’t.”

You know better than to make another attempt. 

Feigned apathy, then. For the remainder of the time. 

It’s somehow harder now and you’re not sure why. It’s not as if you haven’t perfected the art of quiet disappointment. Perhaps it’s because you’ve seen past the rubble, and into the man. You’ve experienced a slice of that torturous ‘what if?’. Maybe now, the evident reality of your situation isn’t that easy to ignore. 

When he leaves, as he always does you come to a decision. Since you can’t possibly ask for more, it’s the to cut your losses. You move on. You’ve memorized and cataloged enough of him to simmer the pain. You won’t be sad. It’ll be fine. You’ll be good. 

You’ll be—

“Can I see you, love? Just tonight.”

“Yes, John.”

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Dear Rafal:

As some spirit swans shapeshifter angel possession thingy do you create souls and ship them off to the real world?

I have a case where I know someone very well and he just seems to be very similar to you. (cough cough)

Also if Rhian was a girl (or some genderbend AU) would you let me be her gf?

Rafal: [peers down at you from the sky through slitted eyes] I'm not a "thingy" as you claim. Nor am I possessed, and if you'd like to see a man possessed, turn no further than downwards, at my aging mirror image. He's bound to die eventually and I doubt he'll be joining me. [He grins.]

As for your query, the answer is no. Not currently. When I did involve myself in... low, earthly affairs, every mortal soul I had a part in creating was apparently deficient in some way or another. Always, it was: [said in a mocking tone] this one's imbued with an excess of "spite" or "hubris," that one is just plagued with "instability," and a third was impacted by a so-called "disregard for its own species" and a "malcontent temperament"—why should I care?

Amid those general issues, the few souls of mine that had been placed in the Woods were reported to be "cursed," what we call our failed projects, those who can't descend to the Woods and live "ordinary lives." They had to be reworked by my colleagues, who discovered that many of those restless mortals held unconscious, fully-formed vendettas against pirates, Seers, and blond men. Don't ask.

All of my creations have been scrapped thus far, including a potential distant relative I devised for my Stymphs: the razor-beaked, flesh-eating sparrow. It was marvelous, and I'm sure my living students would've found it just lovely. Unfortunately, Heaven didn't approve of my vision for a new and greater Woods, which is pointless, seeing as the Blue Forest is already populated with killer, puffball rabbits. My Woods would've been built upon cautionary tales, to whittle away at the simpletons who believe that as long as they're Good, they "deserve the world" as they're constantly told. The Evers were always entitled as they always received the benefit of the doubt automatically, a privilege my Nevers will never live to get for themselves. It's why they must take what the world deprives them of, which I can understand to an extent. [resentment creeps into his voice.] After all, I nearly got what I wanted, only for it to slip through my fingers. So, instead, my Nevers are trapped with a daft leader and just languish under a losing streak, as far as I can tell.

Besides, my title isn't "guardian angel." Heaven wanted to assign me to a post as a patron of travelers and physicians, but I declined, and took up record-keeping duties since, for the time being, I don't wish to see anyone. I'm not content with menial tasks, but there haven't been any other offerings worth my time, aside from staging a coup, whether it be a coup d'état or coup de grâce for a certain someone, well... I haven't decided yet.

However, I do hope that my brother's still around when the Second Coming rolls around. I'd be all too satisfied to see the dire look on his face as he trembles when I tap him on the shoulder. Then, I'd drag him to a punishment equal to his worldly crimes in whichever circle of Hell happens to be his final destination, all while the rest of the apocalypse roars around us... Something to look forward to, I suppose. The other angels tell me not to be so sure, or that I won't want justice by that point. But however long it takes, I'll be here. Waiting for my moment in that dying sun.

[Rafal likes to think he's moved past earthly proceedings, but in reality, he's still probably bitter, begrudging, and unforgiving (so far), and would prefer to think of himself as beyond trifles like mortal lives that aren't his. He probably just needs time to settle and accept his death. Eventually, he'll reform further though, and grow into his Goodness.]

Rafal: Who is this case of yours? [You don't have to elaborate if you don't want to.]

Do whatever you'd like with Rhian. I'm not his protector any longer, and he’s more than capable of "defending" himself. Just let me take his soul once he dies, and we'll have a deal. [He extends a hand pulsing with sorcery to you to shake.] A contractually-sealed deal.

[blue-slxt]

First Ride

*Request: Girl I saw that you do alot of request so can you do a virgin!lo'ak , like first time and Dom!reader talk to him through it . Because I have a BIG soft spot for sub!loa'k. Like he doesn't what to do , and he can't control himself blah blah.*

I honestly think this is so cute. I hope I did it Justice. All characters are aged up.

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Smut under the cut.

“You look so tense” you giggle at Lo’ak’s blushing face looking up at you.

“Shut up. You know why.” His eyes avoided yours. He was adorable. You and Lo’ak hadn’t been dating each other for very long, but you were able to pick up on a lot of little details that told you all you needed to know. He was a virgin. It was in the way his face flushed when your fingers would linger at the knot around his waist or how his tail would stiffen when your lips would graze the shell of his ears. It was delicious. Everything about the innocent way his eyes would gaze up at you straddling his hips made you want to ruin him.

You leaned down to place a kiss on his lips. “Lo’ak, I want you.”

“Yeah? I mean are you sure?”

“Mhmm” you hum while tracing your fingers over his collar bone.

“B-but—” he starts but you place a finger to his lips to stop him. “It’s okay. Just follow my lead.” He swallows the lump forming in his throat and nods his head at you.

You raise your hips just enough to be able to untie your loincloth and maneuver out of the fabric. Lo’ak does the same shifting his hips under you. He was already incredibly hard just from making out with you. Your eyebrows raise seeing how his full length laid against your abdomen and the tip rested just below your navel. Heat pools in your core and you have to bite your lip to resist the urge to jump him right now.

You give him a couple of firm, steady strokes while you reposition yourself in his lap. Lo’ak watches you attentively with heavy breaths. “Relax, ma love.” Your free hand cups his face and turns his attention back to your face. “Just be here with me, okay?” he nods at you with parted lips and a trance-like gaze in his eyes.

You line up his tip with your impatiently waiting hole and slowly sink your hips down on him. His face screws in pleasure feeling the squeeze of your walls around him. His head falls forward to rest his forehead against yours and a moan jumps from your mouth feeling the way he stretches you to your limit when he bottoms out. His arms fold around your waist and the twitch of his hips ruts his tip against your cervix. You suck in a sharp breath and look at him. “Easy, baby.”

Lo’ak doesn’t hear your words already starting to buck his hips up into you at a wild, unsteady rhythm. Your hand reaches around to grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back to look at you. His movements halt when he sees you, but you can still feel how his cock jumped inside of you when you pulled his hair. “Mawey. Slow, long strokes. Like this.” You slowly raise your hips until only his tip is left inside and you carefully sit back down and watch how his eyes roll. Soon, he starts to slowly roll his hips up into you to match your steady movements. “Mmmf…yess…just like that. That’s so good…” your words are breathy. It’s killing you to not pound him into you until he begs for mercy, but the way he presses into that perfect spot makes it worth it.

“Touch me…” You move his hands to guide his grip from your hips to your ass and he groans feeling the plush skin in his hands. You rest your hands on his shoulders to give yourself more leverage. “A little harder now.” You pick up your pace on top of him and the way his thrusts meet your movements has your walls clenching around him. The way his tip is punching your cervix has you choking on a moan. “Haah…s-shit Lo’ak…Just like that!” Your head falls back reveling in the feeling of being filled by him.

Lo’ak watches how your back arches, your hips rise and fall, your bouncing breasts, and your fucked out face. It’s driving him insane.

“Fuck Lo’ak, I’m going to cum!” your hips fall on him with more force trying to chase your high.

Lo’ak can’t hold it off anymore. “Shit, me too.”

“Yes! Yes! Cum inside of me. Give it to me, baby, please!”

His abs tense when he spills his cum deep into your wet cunt that was still bouncing on top of him trying to swallow every drop. The feeling of his cum inside of you pushes you over the edge and you throw your arms around his neck and hold him close. His breathing is staggered from all the stimulation.

You look him in the eye and kiss his forehead. “You did such a good job.”

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

Would you be able to do another Alicent Hightower x fem reader headcanon/imagine? Maybe where the reader is a targaryen/velaryon but enjoys fighting/hunter instead of normal “lady” things?? I’m not great at coming up with prompts so srry if it’s bad, but there’s a lack of Alicent content and I really need some. Thanks!

-🐢

Title: Green With Envy

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,482

Summary: Y/n Velaryon is the best of both of her siblings. She’s a cunning warrior and skilled in fighting like Ser Laenor, and is one of the best dragon riders in all the Seven Kingdoms, like Lady Laena. Alicent would be a fool not to notice this.

Warnings: Anxiety, mostly. Alicent’s riddled with it.

Author’s Note: It’s a short one but I loved the idea of it, nonetheless. I hope you enjoy!

(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)

“Cousin Y/n. Walk with me. I wish to hear about the years we’ve been apart.”

Alicent could feel her face twist momentarily into a frown against her will as she watched Y/n and a pregnant Rhaenyra leave the room, arm-in-arm, behind her wine cup.

Between the chaos of Vemond Velaryon’s death and the King’s wish for a family dinner, Alicent hasn’t had her usual warrior to stand by her side. Y/n had been reuniting with her nieces and nephews and allowing her mother to dote on her. Alicent couldn’t feel envy from this. Princess Rhaenys lost two of her children in a short span of time, and she would no doubt want to spend her days in King’s Landing beside her last living child.

No, what truly thrusted envy into Alicent’s heart was Rhaenyra, once again taking whatever she wanted without ever facing the consequences. Surely, the princess wasn’t stupid enough to take Y/n away from Alicent as well as everything else. Nothing will take the Queen’s sword shield from her. Nothing.

Y/n has done the impossible. She fought all odds and survived her birth. She claimed the Bronze Fury, Vermithor when she was only ten years old. She rose to the ranks of knighthood even though she was a woman. She put herself in the King’s court and swore fealty to the Queen... She even stole that queen’s heart.

Ser Y/n Velaryon is a perfect mixture of both her brother and sister, therefore a storm, not even her father could tame. And like any storm her family avoids, she swallows up and takes what she wants without mercy. But like many storms, Y/n is also forgiving and gentle, proving the fruits of her labor is well worth her knighthood. She believes in faith and justice, much like a true knight often portrayed in a little girl’s fantasy.

If Alicent was still a little girl, she would have considered Y/n the knight of her fantasy. Now a woman grown, she looks at Y/n and sees so much more. Y/n is more than just the Maiden or the Father. She is the Warrior as well, all of them reincarnated into this woman to tempt the Queen Consort.

Y/n was a powerful ally to the Greens, which made Alicent all the more concerned at the thought of Rhaenyra stealing her away. Should the Blacks want to take her sworn shield, Alicent would be sure to make their efforts a living hell.

These thoughts kept her awake for most of the night, waiting anxiously for her sworn shield’s return. A knock suppresses her door, and the Queen bids whoever was there to enter. Ser Y/n marches in, her helmet under her arm as she dutifully bows her head to Alicent, “Your Grace.”

“What did Princess Rhaenyra want from you?” Was the first thing Alicent could find within herself to ask, standing from her chair by the hearth.

Y/n smiled slightly as she raised her head, “She wanted to know how my days in court have been. She congratulated me when I told her how I was your sworn shield.”

Suspicious and on edge, Alicent clasped her hands together so as not to pick her nails, “That’s all you spoke of?”

“We talked about the baby for the most part. She’s very confident it’s a girl.”

The Queen forces herself to relax, unwinding her hands to lean on the back of the chair. Alicent takes a deep breath, watching the flames dance in the hearth, “I see.”

She hears Y/n’s armor as the female knight takes slow steps forward, and with each step comes the beating of Alicent’s heart, pounding in her ears, “Your Grace, I fear I have news from my mother that may concern you if you mind me telling.”

Her heart sinks before Alicent forces herself to remain undeterred, briefly nodding her head in her shield’s direction, “Please do.”

“She spoke of my father and his health and then mentioned a letter he had sent to her before he sustained his injury. As you well know, with Laenor and Laena dead... Lord Corlys no longer has an heir to Driftmark until Prince Lucerys comes of age. His legacy is dwindling... and so he wishes me to go home and marry the son of a Sealord of Braavos.”

The crackling of the fire fills the room and drowns out the silence. Alicent’s eyes finally move to meet Y/n’s gaze as her stomach drops with dread, “... What?”

Y/n’s sigh was heavy, internal mourning shadowing her features as her eyes dance over Alicent’s, “I am Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys’ last living child... and I am unwed and childless.”

“But you’re a knight!”

A scowl takes its place on the knight’s lips as she spoke ill of her father, “Not even Lord Corlys believes that my vows ring true because of my sex.”

Alicent scoffs in disbelief, turning around and drawing closer to the fire as her nails finally rise to her mouth. Her fingers shake against her lips, her teeth desperately wanting to tear at the skin around her nails, desperate to feel the familiar sting to relieve the stress of her troubles. It was as she feared. The Blacks wanted Y/n, as powerful as she is, with her dragon and her lust for battle. Rhaenyra, yet again, wants to take everything as hers knowing that there is no one able to tell her ‘no’. The princess wants nothing but to cause Alicent pain, as she always has. Even when they were girls, lovesick and innocent of the world, Rhaenyra did as she pleased and gave Alicent grief for worrying so much about her public figure. Either Rhaenyra was blind to life’s expectations of her as a woman, or she just didn’t care and wanted to fly her dragon with Alicent at her back. It was stupid, wishful thinking at the time, and even after all these years, Rhaenyra seems determined to prove her point by taking whoever she wants whenever she wants.

And yet, Alicent also couldn’t help but think of this small betrayal as a political move. House Velaryon was, by all accounts, loyal to Rhaenyra and her succession to the Iron Throne, through her marriage to Laenor and Corlys’ ambition for power. If the Sea Snake felt threatened by the Greens in any way, he would want his daughter removed from her service to Queen Alicent. Rhaenyra might have been aware of this prior to her arrival at the Capitol and could have wanted to persuade her cousin Y/n to the Blacks.

This hardens Alicent’s heart, her back straightening until she’s the regal queen the public believes her to be, her fingers falling from her lips to draw to her sides. Remembering her station and place in this world, Alicent’s persona becomes stern and confident, unlike the young lady she once was, full of crippling anxiety. Turning away from the hearth, Alicent points her gaze back to Y/n.

The change in her posture must have been obvious as Y/n slowly straightens to attention, watching her carefully as Alicent stepped closer. The Queen took several steps until she was close enough to feel Y/n’s breath on her forehead, then proceeded to lift a hand to rest on her sworn shield’s chest plate. With determination and authority, Alicent spoke as clearly as possible, “You are sworn to me. You made your vows to me. As your Queen, I forbid it. I forbid you from leaving King’s Landing. I pray for your father’s recovery... only so that I can tell him this myself.”

Her hand trails further up until it rests on the side of Y/n’s face, and finally, the knight relaxes against Alicent’s touch, shoulders slouching in relief as if she was worried the Queen would obey her father’s wishes. In a small whisper, Y/n nods to Alicent, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Alicent nods sternly despite the hammering of her heart and her wish to smile. Instead, she pulls away, immediately missing the feel of Y/n’s flesh against her skin, but refused to show it. Clasping her hands together to keep them from touching Y/n again, Alicent lifts her chin high, “Tomorrow, I wish to meet Vermithor officially. You must introduce me.”

Y/n’s eyes widen in shock and Alicent can’t entirely blame her for the surprise. She didn’t know what came over her, but Alicent didn’t dare take it back. She was always wary about dragons, even as a girl. She always refused a ride when Rhaenyra offered to take her on Syrax, yet to Alicent, this felt entirely different. Y/n is not Rhaenyra, and Alicent always feels the need to be a part of Y/n’s life, in every way she can be. Knowing her sworn shield to be a dragon rider didn’t bother Alicent like she thought it would, and perhaps that’s how she knew she was in love with Y/n.

Her sworn knight smiled widely, her eyes gleaming against the flames of the hearth, cheeks warm as she bowed, “As you command, My Queen.”

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Please leave your support and if you want a request, send a raven and leave it in the ask box!

[ell-alexanderarnold]

Escapism.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 (𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭)

A break up mess between Trent and Y/n.

Angst

Warnings! : This fic contains cursing, mentions of light drugs*and cheating+ sad Trent, lots of crying 😀

Note: Last part!! This was my first ever series so I want to say thank you all for your support💌 I hope I did the end justice xx

———————————————————————

Your day at work was exhausting. Too many meetings and annoying co-workers, you couldn’t wait to get home. The traffic was heavy and you started to get more tired minute by minute but finally you approached your home, crashing on the sofa the very second you entered the door.

As you prepared your outfit tomorrow’s work day, you found a familiar sweater. It was that sweater, the one you had on the night you found out.

….

At this point you had been waiting for too long, the hours kept passing and he never came home. You thought that it’s probably best to go to sleep but suddenly you heard the door open and a big sigh came out from the man who entered the living room.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried all night” You wondered as he sat down beside you. He remained silent and just stared down at the floor, you got closer to him and stroke your hands through his locs.

“Talk to me baby” You whispered.

“I’m just tired, that’s all” He answered and gave you a weak smile, he got up from the couch making his way upstairs. After about 5 minutes you heard the shower running, and a notification from his phone that he left on the couch. You picked up the phone wondered who texted him at this hour.

Isabella: You forgot your training top here, can I leave it tomorrow when she’s at work?

Your heart froze, you couldn’t move. You just stared at the name Isabella, who is she?

You heard Trent coming downstairs and you immediately closed his phone and kept your head down, fiddling with your fingers as he sat down beside you.

“Which movie?” He said, usually you get excited when he says that but now you felt nothing, absolutely nothing. You couldn’t help but ask

“Who’s Isabella?”

“What”

“Trent who is Isabella?” You asked him again as you looked at him and your eyes began to water up but you didn’t want to assume the worst but you did, you almost already knew by the look on his face.

“I don’t know” Trent claimed.

”Why are you lying?” You accused.

“Y/n seriously I don’t know!” He bellowed.

“Well, have fun getting your fucking training top back tomorrow” You snapped and your voice cracked. You quickly got up from the couch and ran up the stairs.

“Fuck, Y/n it’s not like that!” He yelled and followed after you but you locked yourself in the bathroom.

….

You stared at the sweater for a minute and the memories flooded back. Of course you stayed with him after he cheated, he was all you knew. But eventually he broke up with you and you was left alone, it began with a loving relationship. Praises, compliments and it developed to a toxic relationship, only talking to each other when there was an argument and he’d make it up by sex. You still miss the relationship you had but not what it became. Could you go back to it? Yet you didn’t know, you had to find out soon.

————

The weekend came closer and you worked until 4pm. You had to get home to get ready for your dinner with Trent. You didn’t expect much happening, just a small talk about your relationship but it was bigger then a small talk. It would decide if it was worth staying with him after everything he’d done. If you two could go back to square one again, you weren’t sure.

You spent about an hour doing your makeup and picked an outfit, something about getting ready was one of your favourite things. At least it was when you were together with Trent. He would sit and watch you in your chair whilst you did your makeup and not saying a single word. He just smiled and afterwards he would tell you that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world and that you would always be his. But now things have changed. A memory came back from the night you met him the first time since your break up. “I’m not yours anymore” You remember saying to him and you remembered that he didn’t respond to it. Maybe you hurt him with those words, maybe not. It seems like he can’t forget what you two had apart from the arguments and that one time he cheated. He cried out to you, said he was sorry that he fucked up the relationship. You had to know more.

Trent: Could you be a little bit slower please?

“Shit” You cursed as you realised that he was outside and you weren’t even ready yet, you panicked and didn’t want him to wait too long, so you texted him back.

You: Sorry I’m late, you can come inside if you want

You didn’t know why you invited him to come inside but you heard the doorbell and you were just applying on mascara so you shouted

“Come in!”

You heard the door open and you saw Trent in the back of your makeup mirror, he looked around your apartment.

“Your apartment huh? It looks nice” He said as he entered your room.

“Thank… you” You struggled as you were still trying to apply mascara with your shaky hand, you didn’t feel nervous but you deeply inside you knew you were.

When you were done with your makeup you went up from your chair and stormed past Trent to go to your bathroom to remove the excess mascara from your eyelids.

”You don’t need to stress, you know” Trent assured, watching you storming around your apartment getting ready.

“I’m not stressing” You replied as you walked into your closet picking some shoes for the night.

By the time you were done, you found Trent sitting on your sofa waiting patiently.

“So I’m ready now” You told him with a smile on your face. He looked up at you and gave you a smile back.

“You look beautiful Y/n” Said Trent but his smile quickly turned to a worried expression and furrowed brows.

“Y/n I thought you stopped?”

“Stopped what?” You implored not knowing what he was talking about until he pointed at the pills laying on the kitchen counter. You turned around and looked at them, you must have forgotten to clean up after last week.

“I’m worried about you” He revealed as he got closer to you.

“I told you not to worry about it Trent, I’m okay” You lied, you felt a lump in your throat, you didn’t want to cry in front of him again but the tears came anyway.

“But I am worried. Please can’t you just talk to me, why are you doing this?” Trent questioned.

“I think you already know the answer Trent” You cried.

“Oh Y/n please don’t start this, I’ve told you a hundred times it was a mistake yet you still fucking bring it up” Trent slammed and now he knew that he fucked up. He knew he was one of the reasons. He held his hands behind his head and tried to prevent the tears from coming, but they streamed down his face like a waterfall.

“Fuck” He cursed and he couldn’t stop crying and you didn’t know what do to either. You let him cry for a moment until you made your way to him and tried to comfort him but he turned away. He needed to be alone you thought so you left him by the sofa and went to your bedroom.

-

There was no dinner this night. There was only arguing and crying, the same old bullshit. Crazy how it only takes 5 minutes before you two start picking at each other, but it wasn’t always like this, once upon a time there was no arguments, no secrets only your love to each other mattered. How things change or should we say how people change? Trent changed, you changed. Your whole relationship changed, and you couldn’t stop it, you blame yourself for it everyday. There’s no escape from the thought but at the end of the day there is an escape. An escape from reality and you found out, your escape from everything was him, it was Trent.

You were lying in your bed, dress still on and your makeup was already gone from all crying. You felt so miserable and empty. The fact that the one man who one time could take all your pain and anxiety away with just one kiss or a couple of words was in the room next to you and it only made it worse. He couldn’t kiss you or take your pain away because it was him who caused this. The pain, the emptiness, it was all him.

You heard a knock on your bedroom door. He was still here and you really thought he left after the chaos.

“Can I come in?” A familiar voice said, he entered your room and sat down by the edge of the bed.

“I thought you left” You mumbled and rubbed your eyes.

“I couldn’t” Trent said and you turned to face him.

“I hope you know that I still care about you Y/n” He spoke up.

”I know you do Trent” You sighed, meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry I put you trough fucking hell” He uttered, referring to what you said to him last week and it made you laugh.

“Mm” You hummed.

“I’m really sorry for everything I put you through” He whispered.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you T, I really want to but it’s scary and I’m afraid to let you in again” You confessed. You have forgiven him so easy before but you weren’t sure you could forgive him now.

“Please, let me help you Y/n, I miss what we had and I’ve been so lost without you, so lost and I don’t know what to do” Trent blubbered and took your hand in his.

“Can I ask you one thing Trent?” You said.

“Are you still with her?”

“No, she wasn’t you and she’ll never be.”

Your brain was telling one thing and your heart another. It was so complicated, not even a calculator could work this out. You two had to work it out piece by piece and of course it was going to hurt. But maybe it will ease the pain also, by searching for where it went wrong. Mistakes, unsolved conflicts. Perhaps this was the start of something new? Only you and Trent could find out.

“I still love you Y/n and I believe in us” He cried, and you found him not telling the truth.

“B-but you said we weren’t working” You sobbed.

“Yes but I was fucking wrong, can’t you see?” Trent wept.

“Y/n look at me” Trent voiced. You looked at him, his eyes were filled with tears that kept pouring down his cheeks and it hurt you seeing him like this, the fact that he cried because of you made your heart shattered a little more then it already have. You took your hands and dried his tears off his cheeks.

“Can you hold me? Like you used to when there was no arguments, no secrets, just our love” You sighed and he held you in his arms, a hiccup came out from you and it made him chuckle. Immediately it felt like he was the missing piece of puzzle in your heart and that you were home. Trent was home to you and have always been and will always be…

escapism

/ɪˈskeɪpɪz(ə)m/

noun

the tendency to seek distraction and relief from unpleasant realities, especially by seeking entertainment or engaging in fantasy.

———————————————————————

Let me know what you thought about this series 💓

[21stcenturygworl]

A Blank Dance Card

Arthur Morgan x (female) Reader, Regency AU 💕

For the Valentine Gift Exchange by @rdrevents! Written for @starlight-starwrites. Thank you for the great prompts, Star! I hope I did them justice.

This is so extremely campy, but I had great fun writing it. I hope y'all have great fun reading it too!

.✧.

One of the joys of being a debutante on the marriage market is finally, finally being able to indulge in the gossip firsthand. Previous seasons, you had to wring every last drop of information out of your friends, who one by one were swooped off their feet by gentlemen looking to win their hearts. Now, you can huddle together with the other girls, whispering and giggling amongst yourselves as you steal glances at the eligible bachelors at Lady Coulston's ball.

You’re quite some years older than most debutantes of this season. It was your mother’s decision, mostly (your father had just told her, “Yes, dear. As you wish, dear. Anything you want, dear.”). She didn’t want you to be married off too young, instead wanting you to become a well-rounded young lady first through travel and further education. You had protested initially, terrified of ending up a spinster, but your mother had promised that she wouldn’t make you wait that long.

You still feel like a spinster between all the younger girls, though.

The ball hosted by Lady Coulston is a grand affair, with the walls adorned with intricate tapestries and richly painted scenes. The floors are marble (Italian marble, she had pointed out to your mother), polished to a glossy sheen, and the ceiling is painted with beautiful frescoes. Walking across the marble floor already has your heels click with a satisfying sound, and you can only imagine what it would be like to walk through this ballroom by yourself.

Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, adding a touch of opulence to the room. Music fills the air, with the strains of a string quartet and a harpsichord playing romantic melodies. Many guests have taken to the dance floor. They twirl across the marble to the melody of the music, the dancers becoming a blur of colours, beautiful fabrics catching the light of the chandeliers above.

Unlike them, however, you have nobody to dance with.

Not a single eligible bachelor has approached you all night. Occasionally one would approach your little group of debutantes, but always to ask one of the other girls to dance, or to make a turn around the room together.

The paper of your dance card is a plain, stark white. Blank.

It’s mortifying, almost. But at least Lady Coulston’s pastry chefs make your attendance worth it. You take solace in the delectable cannolis that nobody else seems to have noticed. Lady Coulston must really like Italy.

.✧.

Arthur doesn’t want to be here.

He hadn’t even wanted to travel across the pond in the first place, and neither did John. But Dutch had insisted that for the adoption process to be finalised, they had to come with him to London. “We’ll head back immediately after,” his now-father promised them.

Apparently in England, “immediately after” means a month or two later.

So here he is, standing in Lady Coulston's ballroom, trying to blend in with the crowd. Arthur had heard stories about the balls, and he’s received countless instructions for how to behave, but he still feels terribly out of place. The grandeur of the room is intimidating and almost suffocating to a young man like Arthur, who spent years sleeping under the stars on windswept prairies.

It’s almost inconceivable to watch Dutch, the same man who had once told Arthur that he was done with the upper class, working his charm on the guests at the ball. It's almost unfathomable that this is the same man who had spent so much of his time in America swindling the wealthy, and yet here he is, a Baron of all things. Arthur is silently hoping that Dutch will turn and give him a sly wink and tell him “It was all just a scheme!”, but it never happens.

Dutch had deemed John too young to attend a ball, meaning Arthur is now stuck by Dutch’s side as he speaks to a Lord and Lady Gardner, who are both hanging onto every word he says as he tells them about his exploits in the American West.

“I will say, I was tempted to stay there,” Dutch says, gesturing vaguely as he speaks. “It’s a very different land from here. A land full of opportunities. The people here in England do not have the spine to take risks the way those in America do.” He pauses, as if reminiscing. “And all the unspoiled nature… By God, Lord and Lady Gardner, it was unlike anything I have ever seen before. Beyond beautiful.”

“My, I can hardly imagine it!” Lady Gardner says, wearing a giddy smile. “It all seems so far away. Perhaps we should visit too someday, dear? It would be so nice to travel a little again, just like we used to when we were younger…”

“Perhaps,” Lord Gardner says, smiling a little uncomfortably. “But perhaps we should first make sure our daughter is married before we do.”

Lady Gardner puts a reassuring hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, dear.” Turning to Dutch and Arthur, she asks, “Have you met our daughter yet? It’s her first season on the marriage market this year. Very exciting.”

Dutch smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Very exciting indeed. I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of making her acquaintance yet.”

“Let me see, where is she…” Lady Gardner peers across the ballroom, then lets out a little “Oh!” before she begins calling to her daughter.

.✧.

You whip around from where you stand next to one of the many refreshments tables, halfway stuffing a cannoli in your mouth.

“Dearest!” your mother calls out to you, waving you over with an excited smile. Oh, this is mortifying. You try to swallow the cannoli quickly before other people notice, but it’s already too late. At least you didn’t get any crumbs or cream on your dress this time.

Quickly you compose yourself before striding over to the little gathering, weaving through the crowd. When you reach them, you realise that the men your parents are speaking to are the Baron of Whitchurch, and one of his recently-adopted sons.

Now here is where the gossip comes into play. You had heard many a scandalous story of how Lord Van der Linde (whose family weren’t even English aristocrats to begin with!) had run off to America for nearly a decade. When he finally returned, he brought back two orphans with him who he had adopted and made the heirs to his titles and estates. The legality of it was dubious at best, and immediately a new scandal was born. The future Baron of Whitchurch would be a man with not a single drop of aristocratic blood.

Nobody had told you that the future Baron of Whitchurch was also incredibly handsome.

Your mother is your saving grace, because only when she speaks to introduce you, do you realise that you’ve been staring. You quickly avert your gaze and curtsy with your head inclined. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Straightening out, you remember your manners and ask, “Are you enjoying tonight’s festivities?”

“We certainly are, thank you kindly for asking,” Lord Van der Linde says. “This is my son, Arthur.”

Arthur. You like that name. It suits him perfectly, highlighting the impressive stature of his broad shoulders and tall frame. Yet, despite the impressive physicality, there is something gentle about him, something that you can't quite put your finger on. After a moment's thought, you realise it’s his eyes; the way they seem to reflect an inner kindness, a beautiful shade of blue.

“This is the first time Arthur is attending a ball,” your mother tells you with a low voice, as if it’s a secret. (It’s really not.) “Why don’t you take him for a turn around the room? I’m sure there’s lots you two can talk about.”

You and Arthur unintentionally share a look, and you seem to reach the same conclusion as him: We have nothing to talk about.

You muster up an almost-convincing smile as you take a step forward. "Shall we take a turn around the room, Mr Van der Linde?" you ask, feeling a bit strange at the formal words coming out of your mouth. Arthur nods, then seems to remember himself and offers you his arm.

.✧.

The two of you walk in silence for a few moments, strolling along the perimeter of the impossibly large ballroom, until Arthur finally speaks. "Erm… Apologies for my lack of conversation skills, Miss Gardner," he says, his voice a bit awkward. He’s suddenly terribly aware of how different his accent is from yours, and the realisation only serves to make him speak quieter. "I… I ain’t used to being at a ball like this, and I'm not sure what to say."

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. Arthur feels his chest tighten. “It’s alright,” you say, your gloved hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “I can only imagine how strange all of this must be for you, Mr Van der Linde.”

A nervous chuckle escapes him. “Strange is an understatement.” He pauses, considering his words, and then carefully says, “I… I prefer Mr Morgan, actually. Dutch— I mean, Lord Van der Linde only really became a father figure to me when I was already a young man.”

You nod, seeming to understand his reluctance. Or at least pretend to. "I'm sure that's true for many adopted children," you say, voice gentle and sympathetic. You smile at him in an attempt to offer some levity. "How are you enjoying your time in England so far? It must be very different from what you’re used to. Especially the weather, I would guess.”

Arthur returns the smile as his nerves slip away. You’re trying your best to be warm and welcoming to him. Though it is at the behest of your mother, it’s still more than he can say about the other people at the ball — who have mostly stared at him while whispering amongst themselves. "It is," he says, "The weather too, I s’pose. But mostly the people, and the, uh… way of life.” He looks around the room, taking in the elegant décor and the finely-dressed people. "It's all certainly an experience. I ain’t ever seen anythin’ like this before. I wasn’t… raised in high society."

“Well,” you begin as you mull over his words for a moment. You then flash him a wide smile. “You’re going to have lots to learn and catch up on before you become the Baron of Whitchurch.”

Arthur feels his heart skip a beat, and he swallows thickly. “I’m afraid so,” he says.

“I’m sure you’re up for the task, Mr Morgan. I believe in you.”

Despite the rather disappointing start of the evening, Arthur now suddenly doesn't want it to end anymore. He finds himself liking the way you hold onto his arm, speaking with him and making him feel like he's the most important person in the world right now. You're so, so beautiful, too. Half of your hair is pinned up, the loose sections cascading down your back like a waterfall of silk. The bodice of your dress fits snugly around your chest, the skirts flowing gracefully with every step you take. You feel like someone so far out of reach for him, yet you’re right here next to him.

He blinks when he realises he’s been staring at you. He’s grateful when he sees that you’ve been looking elsewhere — but your expression is wistful. You’re watching the people on the dance floor twirl about and laugh giddily amongst themselves.

“I hope I’m not takin’ up too much of your time, Miss Gardner,” Arthur says, and you look back at him. “I’m sure there’s another gentleman waitin’ for your attention.”

You shake your head, a sad smile gracing your features. “I’m afraid not, Mr Morgan. Nobody’s asked me to dance, tonight.” You show your dance card with your free hand, and Arthur sees that it’s empty. “I fear I may not be as tempting as the younger ladies,” you say with a hollow chuckle. “But it’s alright. I’m enjoying myself here with you.”

Arthur's heart twinges at your words and he finds himself wanting to say something comforting, but he's not sure what. All these fools wouldn’t want to ask a beauty like you to dance with them? Anger bubbles in his chest, but he quickly pushes it down. It’s a completely stupid and hopeless task, but he knows what he has to do. Mustering up every ounce of courage in his body, he clears his throat and then asks, “Miss Gardner, would you do me the honour of dancin’ with me?”

You look up at him, almost as if you can't believe your ears. Your eyes light up and you smile, a brilliant and genuine smile that makes Arthur's heart flutter. "It would be my pleasure, Mr Morgan," you say, before curtsying gracefully.

He takes your hand in his and leads you to the dance floor as the music changes, and the musicians begin to play a waltz. Arthur holds you — as he learned during his lessons — and though his steps are a little awkward and stiff, you’re most certainly dancing together. As you start twirling around the room, Arthur finds himself mesmerised by you. He had thought you beautiful before, but now, as he watches you spin around and laugh with him, he's certain that you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

How tempted he is to lean forward and kiss you.

It’s not the right way to do things, though. Not here, not now. Not with a woman of your standing. So he spends the rest of the night with you. Dancing, talking, and even laughing together. And when the evening draws to a close, and your parents have called you to tell you that it’s time to take the carriage home, Arthur takes your hand and presses a kiss to your gloved fingers.

“Miss Gardner, before you go,” he begins. He straightens out, still holding your hand. “May I… may I call on you tomorrow afternoon?” he asks, stumbling over his words a little.

You look at him adoringly, cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink as you smile and nod. “Yes. Yes, you may.” You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giddy smile. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Mr Morgan. Good night.”

[plutojester]

See what I don't like about most Misa rewrites is that they remove the foundation of her character by proposing her infatuation with Kira/Light was some kind of long con, that she's secretly an independent girlboss waiting to stab him in the back, when that part of her character is what I found so interesting in the first place.

I think she generally has more depth than people give her credit for. Yes she's kind of a dizz but it's not as simple a her being comically dumb. She is aware that Light is only using her, but hopes that she will rise from being convenient to being genuinely important in his eyes. (There's also the fact that she sometimes deliberately uses that airheaded bubbly girl persona people expect of her to achieve her ends.) It's less that Misa is stupid or naive and more that she's desperate.

I feel like she has a very low sense of self worth underneath her somewhat diva exterior and likely feels very isolated. Or that's what could have been at the core of her character if the writers cared more. Personally I think Misa should have had an arc about gradually confronting that her attachment to Light is a dead end, that she put him on a pedestal because in her eyes he brought the murderer of her parents to justice. She should have come to realize that even if she can't fully eradicate her attachment to him, she needs to cut ties with Light because he's entirely toxic to her (what direction she takes morally after this is your pick)

I also believe she should have played a key role in his downfall as a result of that because what greater dramatic irony could there be than the guy with the God complex being destroyed by the one person who once genuinely did rever him as a godlike entity

[gredandforgeweatherby]

Coven

Prologue

Summary: Meet Sadie Greene

WC: 960

Warnings: Mention of someone burning? Not sure if that counts. Other than that, nothing.

Authors Note: I am once again obsessed with AHS seeing as it is AHS season. No Kyle yet, just Sadie's introduction, but I promise he's worth the wait. Probably a bit rushed and not the best writing I hope you enjoy. <3!

Sadie Greene had been at Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies for two years. The Academy welcomed her shortly after her high school graduation when they caught wind of a principal “Spontaneously Combust After Handing Student Her Diploma.” Was it her best moment? No. But, did Sadie regret it? Also no. She thought that bastard deserved it after the shit he was accused of. So, just nine days after her high school graduation, she was taken to Miss Robichaux’s with a very vague explanation as to what was going on and left there. 

As she walked in, the first thing she noticed was how quiet it was. The large mansion was seemingly deserted, with not a single soul in sight. She could only hear the sound of her footsteps as she poked her head into the various rooms surrounding the entryway. As she made her way into a large sitting room, the clearing of a throat caused her to quickly turn. Standing there was a young woman, most likely in her early thirties, with blonde hair and a polite smile on her face.

“Hello,” she began, “I’m Cordelia Foxx, the headmistress of Miss Robichaux's. You’re Miss Greene, I presume?” She asked Sadie, waiting for her confirmation, although she felt like Cordelia already knew, seeing as they were seemingly the only two people in the mansion. After nodding briefly Cordelia continued. “I’m sure this is all confusing to you, and if you will follow me I will explain it all to you. You can leave your bags here, if you like. Our concierge will get them.” With that, Cordelia turned and walked towards the grand staircase, veering off towards the right. Sadie quickly looked at her bags on the floor, then followed Cordelia. When she made her way into the room– which turned out to be an office– she found Cordelia standing behind the desk. Motioning her hand towards the chair on the opposite side of the desk, she beckoned Sadie to take a seat.

“So,” the headmistress said, “to begin, I would like to know what your mother told you before you came here.” Folding her hands on the desk, she looked at Sadie expectantly. Sadie matched her gaze before speaking. 

“She said I’m a witch.” She sighed. “Didn’t say much other than that, it’s gone in and out of the women in our family for generations. Some get it, some don’t. My mom thought it had died out completely because it hadn’t shown up in the last four generations before me. But obviously, well,” She paused, motioning to herself with her hands while raising her left eyebrow, “it didn’t.” She dropped her gaze to the floor when she finished, trying to look anywhere other than at the woman in front of her, whose gaze seemed to have turned from expectant to inquisitory.

“Sadie, I want you to know that coming here is not a punishment, even if you think it is.” She leaned forward a bit, unfolding her hands to lightly lay one of hers closer to the girl, gaining her attention. Sadie looked back up at her before speaking again. “Our kind is dying out–we have been for a while. Fewer and fewer young women are learning about their powers. The lucky ones go through life not finding out ever, while the less fortunate experience events not so unlike yours. Coming here is not to punish you for what you did, it’s to teach you how to harness and control your powers. We need to hide, because too many of us have met nasty ends from being caught by humans.” 

Sadie looked back at her. “You know, he deserved it. And it’s not like I killed him, his hand is just a bit disfigured. You should have heard the accusations. I mean, I couldn’t let him get away without punishment, and it’s not like the justice system would do anything. Most he’d get would be a slap on the wrist.” She slouched slightly in her chair, mumbling the last bit of her tangent to herself, waiting for Cordelia to speak again.

“I’m sure he did deserve it, but what you did is dangerous. How everything managed to get cleaned up is beyond me, but you need to be careful. A slip up like that in the wrong place or around the wrong people and it could be you burning, only this time you’re hanging by your wrists and being doused in gasoline.” 

Sadie swallowed, just now only feeling slightly scared by her outburst at graduation. Understanding her need to control her powers, she looked up at Cordelia once again.

“How am I gonna control it?”

Cordelia flashed her polite smile again before speaking. “Well, staying here is a good start. Of course, I can’t make you stay, and seeing as you’re eighteen neither can your mother, but if you choose to stay it would be in your benefit. Here, you will learn how to harness your current power, and any others that may appear, in a safe and controlled environment. That way, once you leave these four walls, you won’t have to worry about your powers going rouge.” She paused for a second, allowing Sadie to take in what she told her. “If you would like to stay, I’ll show you to your room.”

Avoiding Cordelia’s expectant gaze, Sadie hurriedly thought over everything in her head, knowing it would be in her best interest to stay. She looked up at Cordelia before nodding. “I want to stay.”

Cordelia flashed her a smile before leading her out of her office and up towards her room.

@divineruler

[rosesloveletters]

Happy Birthday, Erika! 🎈🥳 

Just another gift set for an amazing girl — @ajokeformur-ray — whom I am lucky enough to call “sister”. I hope your birthday is magical, darling, but if not, then we’ll just have to make September even more magical to make up for it. I hope you like everything contained within this post, but if not, I am always happy to make something else. Your physical gifts will be waiting for you when you arrive in September so we can do an in-person gift exchange for the first time!! I’m SO EXCITED to see you again and to give you lots and lots of hugs🥹🫂 

I love you so very much and I miss you TONS! Our holiday cannot get here fast enough!! I’m still counting down the days until you’re here with me again -- I think we’re down to only 43 days now? Damn, time moves fast... all the more reason to give you all the love while you’re here with me❤️🫂

Happiest of birthdays to you, darling. Year 26 will be kind to you (or else) 😂❤️

First, a handwritten letter from me: 

Second, some fics:

Timeless // Erika x Arthur Fleck/Joker

summary: You reflect back on this past academic year and remind yourself why you chose this specific, very important path. // ‘You needed each other and you needed time; good thing, then, this love was timeless.’

THIS is the song that inspired this fic✨💜

word count: 2,110

Another year, come and gone, but it never happened as easily as it was said. You’d had to fight your way out of the dark this time, as you had so many times before, and by the time you emerged into the daylight it didn’t feel so much like a reward as it should have. They say that when one had to go to war for what they want, reaping the rewards was hardly the justice or benefit that one deserves and now you knew how true that seemed to be. It wasn’t meant to come easily to you, if that were the case, would it even have been worth doing? Perhaps you didn’t know the answer, or if you did, you were disinclined to speak it into existence, but that did not matter in the here and now. It was finished for another year. You had the time to heal, to lick your wounds and prepare yourself for the next battle. The time for self-recognition would come and when it did, hopefully you would feel whole enough to put it into words.

You sipped your coffee at the kitchen table that your lover had made you. You felt so small and insignificant during these quiet moments, but it wasn’t a bad thing – if you could only merely exist, then exist here. These four walls transcended time; the only things which grounded you to this era were the distant, grainy hum of the record player as its’ current tune twisted and wreathed about the apartment and Arthur’s warm hand over top of yours, his thumb tracing your slightly protruding knuckles.

It was calm in the aftermath, but you and your lover both knew how much and how long and how hard you had had to fight to achieve even this. This single moment that you treasured so much, would soon be tucked away in the lockbox beneath your bed of all the other times just like this one. You kept them all for a rainy day, to remind yourself of what all of this was about, but most days it seemed that the sun never shined and the rain poured down in sheets.

It was never meant to be like this. You were supposed to want this, arguably more than you wanted him because if you didn’t then how were you ever supposed to succeed? How would you show to him how important he was to you if you couldn’t even do this? Your love language was acts of service and this would be the greatest act of love you had ever given a person; it had to be perfect.

It had to be one of those fairy-tale moments that most of us spend our whole lives trying to recreate, but you had to capture this one. Your castle was crumbling to the ground and instead of relying on your prince to build it back up from the ground, you would straighten your crown and get to work. Was it even worth it anymore if you couldn’t do it alone?

“I’m proud of you,” Arthur whispered, cutting through the fog in your mind, reaching out of your hand to pull you to the surface of the water so you wouldn’t drown in the self-doubt, “you always manage to get it just right. I know you can’t see it, but I do.”

The smallest of smiles graced your lips, but his words meant more than just a simple acknowledgement. They were the reason. The reason you clung to, why you dragged yourself out of bed every morning at 5am even when you were exhausted to the point of collapse, why you sat at your desk for hours, day after day, fighting for the girl of the rest of your life who didn’t really know what she was in for, but whom you advocated for each day because she would get there. She would appreciate all this someday, even if this version of you thought about quitting every hour on the hour.

“Thank you,” you replied to him, “you see what I go through. You know that none of it is easy, but I’d put myself through hell every day for you and I wouldn’t even complain.”

The ‘not complaining’ part might not have been entirely true, but you knew he knew what you meant and the smile of acknowledgement on his face told you that he did. He saw you in the trenches every day, he brought you liters of coffee and snacks so you wouldn’t go without. He would drape a blanket around your shoulders if you seemed cold or he would bring in a box fan if you were too hot. He’d encourage you to take small breaks here or there so your eyes did not become strained from looking at your screen for long periods. His job was just as important as yours, though he would’ve argued his was much more important because, after all, your wellbeing was far more important to him than most else.

You’d had the courage to stick to your studies for yet another year, but the last several months had not been kind to you and you were holding your breath for when you might finally catch a break. You had struggled through dozens of doctors’ appointments, seeking out a clear path for recovery from your anxiety that hopefully did not include medication. You had also gotten a wicked-looking infection in your pinky toe that took a month before you saw any healing going on. As if your studies weren’t enough to deal with, everything else that had piled on to you in the last month or two almost made you collapse, but you would carry that weight if it meant you might have another chance to achieve your dream occupation.

You could hold on a little longer, but the fall was tempting, especially knowing that Arthur would always be there to catch you.

How you had managed to bring this year of university to as natural of a close seemed like you had defied all possible logic, but it was over. You finally caught up. This leg of the race was over and you could pause to catch your breath before the next one.

Despite how crazy things had gotten there at the finish line, Arthur was there for you, cheering you on from the sidelines the same way he had done every year prior to this one. While you were trying to work out the best possible method of treatment for your anxiety, when the doctors had you trying medication, Arthur let you stand in the kitchen with him and take your meds at the same time as he did. He was aware of how terrified you were to do this and he would have done everything in his power to make this easier on you. If sharing in a routine as domestic as this helped your nerves even slightly, he’d have done it in a heartbeat. He always paused, waiting until you were ready before he tilted his head back and swallowed his own pills, followed by a sip of water to wash them down.

When you were too afraid to look at your swollen, blood-blistered toe to check if it was healing properly, Arthur had guided you into your small bathroom, sat you down and taken your foot carefully in his lap to have a closer look. He cleaned and rebandaged you, offering small, murmured words of comfort while you kept your eyes on his face rather than on the injury.

He had always known exactly what to do and how to handle it, even and especially when you didn’t. This was why he was your guide and for this reason alone, you gave all that you were. You would have given him the entire world, but he did not want the world when he had his dream girl right here with him now. He wanted his talented, intelligent, steadfast, loving, considerate, sweet girl, Erika, and there would be nothing that could ever stand in his way of having you, even yourself.

The tides of self-sabotage came crashing against your shores every once in a while, but Arthur’s soothing words and presence could calm the most violent of oceans, even wading out into the open water up to his neck, because he wasn’t afraid of drowning in your love. He knew what it felt like worry you were not good enough for someone and he knew enough that he did not ever want you to feel that way too. He would do everything he could to spare you from the worst of what he felt, even if he could not save you from it, he could share the weight of that burden. He was not letting you go through this alone. It wasn’t like him to abandon anyone, least of all his most beloved one.

“I know you’ll have to do all this again in a few months’ time,” Arthur whispered to you now, “and I’ll be here. Even if it’s hard…especially if it’s hard. I’m not going anywhere; I promise you that. I love you, Erika.”

His words comforted you, blanketed your mind in a warm embrace and almost brought tears to your eyes if you’d had any left to cry. No matter how many times the world broke you, Arthur always picked up the pieces and put you back together.

He was the reason you had picked this career path anyway and you would remember it every step of the way. It could be done because you had the strength of love on your side. You would pick yourself up again, over and over, let yourself be washed out to sea, treading water until Arthur came to rescue you. He would always be there to give you his hand and guide you back to shore.  

It wasn’t because he thought you couldn’t do it alone, but because he didn’t want you to do it alone. There would be plenty of times in life when you would find yourself alone, but not now, not if he could help it. He had every reason to stick around and show you how beautiful life could be, even though it rained every day in your world. If it rained, he would be your sunshine. He would be the light in your darkness and would save you from the side of yourself which threatened that you weren’t good enough for him, because you were.

He did not know how he had been lucky enough to capture a heart like yours, but he treasured your love as the greatest gift he had ever received. There was nothing he would not have done for his beloved and he was determined to show that to you as often as he could, so that you might remember on days when the sun never shined that he was there and would break through your storm clouds and let the light in.

You both missed the simpler times, when you had fallen so deeply, madly and irreversibly in love all those years ago, but what you had now was even more than you’d imagined back then. You had years on your younger selves now and much more wisdom about what you wanted and hoped for and dreamed of, but much more importantly…you had each other.

Even if you didn’t have it all figured out yet, you did not need to. You had more time and many more years with each other to do that. For now, you were safe to carry on as you were, taking it all a day at a time, sometimes even an hour at a time, because that was all you needed.

It hit you, all at once, that you would have loved him in any timeline, whether you were his Erika as you were now, or if you had been a young, Victorian girl and he a foot servant. Or perhaps you might have been a quiet girl, reading in the school cafeteria during the 80s and he a strong, independent, older student who played the part of dungeons and dragons game master on the weekends and also played guitar.

Yours and Arthurs was the kind of love that surpassed the timeline your physical forms occupied. You would always know this one as yours, but had it been another, you would have found him and loved him.

You needed that much, at least, because in order to keep going, you needed him the same way you needed air.

You needed each other and you needed time; good thing, then, this love was timeless.

Aftermath // Erika x Henry Jekyll (parental) - Mary Reilly & Edward Hyde (mentioned)

summary: By now, you are used to your parents taking a step back while you focus on your studies, but it never gets any easier. // You and your Father fall into a routine, once again, and it all begins to make a bit more sense. 

word count: 1,515

In the aftermath, there was nothing except numbness. An overwhelming sense of emptiness filled you and you were uncertain how long it was going to take to recover, or even if you would be able to this time.

It had always happened this way and, even still, you worried. How could it not be anxiety-inducing to feel like you had everyone on your side at the start, then fight your way through university only to cross the finish line and feel like no one was there waiting to congratulate you. It wasn’t true, however, except that some of your most important people seemed to be nonexistent now: your parents.

You knew it wasn’t true; your parents would never abandon you. Then why did it always feel like they had done just that?

It was a part of you now, the sense of not belonging anywhere that you tried so desperately to fit in, and you were used to this. You got so overwhelmed by your studies that you isolated yourself from your loved ones until it was over and then, then, you could slowly allow yourself to return to them. You took after your Father in this way, even though he never would have wanted that for you. He wanted to serve as a guide for you throughout your studies, but he did not want you to push your family away until you felt like you deserved them.

You always deserved your Father, your Mama and your Papa, no matter the outcome for your studies or anything similar. You did not have to earn your right to them. They were always there, silently waiting in the wings until you would come to acknowledge that.

You could see the light at the end of the tunnel and even though this particular year of university had more than metaphorically kicked you in the ass, you were relieved to have made it through and were taking your time in preparing for the next one. It would be unlike any other because now you were going to have to draw on previous years’ knowledge and information to understand the upcoming one. You would be responsible for revisions of last year’s work, condensing it down to manageable, bite-sized pieces so you could rely on what you had already done to guide you through the next maze.

An overwhelming sense of dread was hitting you now and you were already fearful of what the next year might bring. The previous year had already been too much at once and you needed something to ground you and keep you focused on the future, rather than on the past.

This was why you always, always turned to your Father for help.

Once you had officially eased back into daily life with your parents by your side, you were able to reconnect with who you were. You worked alongside your Mama during the mornings, then you would find your Father camped out in his study or in the library and he would lend a hand with your studies or simply allow you to work with him in silence. Your nights were reserved for your Papa and all the delightful chaos and titillating tidbits he would bring, but for now, you needed your Father.

Your studies had to come first because your future depended on it.

For this reason did you find yourself nestled into your usual spot in the library, surrounded by a sea of papers, while your Father quietly did the same at his own workspace. You were hard at work on revisions and notetaking, keeping your head down and your eyes focused on what you were doing. If you allowed yourself to relax for even a second, you feared you would lose focus and stop entirely and your future could not afford to suffer simply because you did not feel like working right now.

Your Father peeked at you past the open books he had on his own desk. He scrawled handwritten notes in his notebook – never would he have felt comfortable writing in the margins of his beloved textbooks like your Papa so often did (he was going to find a way to end that once and for all, but we all know that Edward Hyde worked for no one except himself.)

His face softened as he regarded you from afar, taking pleasure knowing that your work ethic had come from him. He only worried that you would overwork yourself in the same ways that he had and that it would begin to take its toll in the very same way. He worried, like all good fathers did, and he wanted you to know that you were doing just fine and that you did not need to overthink yourself into a rut like he was prone to do.

“Erika,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb you, but also because he wanted to gently get your attention shifted from your studies and onto him. When you looked up from your papers, he began, “I want you to know…that I am proud of all the work that you have done. And, even more than that, I am proud of you.”

You let the words sink in and settle beneath your skin. It felt good to be complimented by your Father. It felt like all of this would be worth it, then, all the struggles and hardships and battles and cries…it meant something beyond all of that because you would never have achieved all that you had if you were not a part of who your parents were. You could not have continued to work as well as keep up with your studies if you did not have your Mama’s perseverance and determination. You could not have achieved such perfect marks and maintained lengthy hours of study if you did not have your Father’s work ethic and knack for comprehending difficult concepts. And, you could not have continued to push forward through all of the difficulty and strife had you not possessed your Papa’s stubbornness not to give up despite when perhaps any other person would have.

You were your own person, but in turn, you were made up of little pieces of who they were and that made you Erika. You were a beautiful, intelligent, strong, independent, caring, devoted and inspirational young woman and you made your parents proud every step of the way, even during times when you felt you had done the complete opposite.

“Thank you, Father,” you responded to him and you smiled, perhaps the realest one you had offered him in quite some time and this sentiment was not lost on him. Not much escaped your Father’s attention, especially when it came to his beloved daughter whom he loved more than himself.

You were his greatest work, his greatest masterpiece and the person he was most proud of in the world. He would have done anything and everything he could for you, letting you know every step of the way how proud he was of the woman you were growing into. He would be there now and forever and on your graduation day, whenever that came, he would be standing there knowing that he had seen you through this from the very beginning. It might not have seemed like much from an outsider’s perspective, but to him, it meant more than the world to witness his daughter chasing her future and, one day, it would be in the palm of her hand. He had faith in her abilities, even when she questioned whether she could do it. He always knew that if anyone could achieve this seemingly impossible dream, it was her.

There was nothing she could not do if she set her sights on it and kept persevering. It was only a matter of time before she was moving on to the next phase of her lifelong journey and he wanted to do everything in his power to stand by her and watch her reap the benefits of her hard work. He would gently remind her throughout all this that she deserved these positive things and that it might be difficult, but nothing was more worth her time than her future and for that he was proud to know she agreed.

He got up from his chair and approached her, leaning over her shoulder to assess her work. He was proud of how much she had accomplished so far and he smiled at her, making sure she knew he was pleased. You might have expected him to turn away, then, but no. He gently brought his arms around your shoulders and embraced you.

It had been a long time since he had hugged you properly and as you leaned into him, all-consumed by this sudden display of affection and emotion, you let two tears slide down your cheeks. You were happy now, right where you needed to be. Your parents had not abandoned you. They were right here, always a part of you no matter where you went and you still had so many places yet to go.  

Third, a poem I wrote: 

A Universal Cosmic Collision

God didn’t make us sisters because we would have been too powerful together but everything I’ve done since I met you is a love letter to the person I wanted to be whom I will never get to know — sweep me under the rug, that’s the thing about letting go: I won’t know the girl who never existed but to you I hold fast, tight-fisted, because I know a good thing when I’ve got it even if I didn’t to begin with, I’ll admit that I’m a bit overwhelmed by you. Calling someone “sister” isn’t something I’m used to, but if I was to bestow that honor upon anyone, In every lifetime, in every universal cosmic collision, you would be my most beloved one.

I never knew how much better life could be until you showed me.

I hope you like your online gifts, darling! I am so grateful to know you and to be able to celebrate you like this💗🫂 Please let me know if I can make anything else for you, dear. I love you so so so much and I cannot wait to hug you again in a little over a month! I am wishing you the very happiest of birthdays today and I hope you know that even though today is a very special day, that you make every single day of mine special just by being a part of it. I love you💗💗