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ughbrie · 10 days ago

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tethered | caleb

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- “Do you even realize,” he whispered, his voice low and uneven, “what you’re doing to me?��

You barely had a chance to respond before he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that left no room for hesitation. The kiss was deeper, more desperate than before, as if he needed it, needed you, to steady the chaos inside him. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place, making escape an impossibility—not that you wanted to.

“You don’t get it,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his grip on you tightened. “I'll never let you go. Not again. Not ever. Not after this.” His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever it costs.”

(Or... a continuation of Caleb's limited 5 star memory: 'Painful Signal'.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- caleb x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst, smut, & fluff

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 6.9k

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ- nsfw, mdni, dom!caleb, spoilers and references to caleb’s myth/lore (lucid dreams) and bond story (rain's embrace), continuation of caleb’s limited five star memory (painful signal), themes of depression and trauma, mentions of the explosion, mentions of death, angst (slight-ish), possessive and obsessive behavior, implied virginity loss (mc and caleb), breast play, oral sex, fingering, sex toys (is caleb’s bionic arm considered a sex toy?), marking (biting), dirty talk, penetration (p in v), rough sex, unprotected sex, size kink, creampie, overstimulation, and mentions of ownership.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- hiii, caleb finally urged me to post my first fanfic here, lol. when i played through his myth and five star memory, i couldn't help but feel that their interaction needed to be explored more. at first, i wanted to end this with just angst but i couldn't help it, i had to give caleb what he deserved after all. also english isn't my first language but i hope you enjoy!

"If that's what it takes to feel you, I'll accept it." he said, his voice steady but lined with an ache that made your heart clench.

The cold, unyielding touch of Caleb’s metal fingers sent a chill through your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of your hand. His grip was deliberate, almost tender, as though he feared you might vanish if he let go.

You studied his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the faint tension in his jaw. “But most of the time, I wish your pain could be lessened,” you murmured, your gaze drifting to the metal arm. A pang of guilt and sorrow surged within you, each thought of what he must have endured hitting like a blow. Images of him being in pain clawed at your mind.

You pulled your hand away, an instinctive retreat from the weight of it all. Caleb’s expression faltered, the fleeting moment of connection slipping from his grasp. His longing was palpable, but you couldn’t bear to stay still. Anger bubbled in your chest, white-hot and unforgiving.

“Is this the Fleet’s doing...?” you snapped, your voice trembling as fury replaced grief. “They won’t get away with this.”

The thought of what they had done to him—what they had stolen from him—burned in your veins. You turned sharply, ready to storm out, the resolve to confront his tormentors burning within you. But before you could reach the door, Caleb’s left arm shot out, his grip firm but careful, pulling you back into the solid wall of his chest.

"You think you can just... come and go as you please?" His voice rasped, low and raw. His hold tightened, and you felt the tremor in his body—the weight he carried, the pain he bore alone.

Caleb’s left arm anchored you against his chest with unrelenting force, his breath ghosting over your neck. “It’s even more painful,” he rasped, “when you take risks for my sake.”

His words carved through your anger, leaving only the hollow ache of understanding. "Is that so?" you whispered, your voice softer now, like a balm against the storm raging within him as you met his intense, stormy eyes.

Turning to face him, you let yourself fall into his fractured orbit, your arms slipping around his waist. You lunged forward, the force of your embrace tipping both of you against the edge of the hospital bed. The cool sheets crumpled beneath you, but the world outside ceased to exist. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your touch, but he didn’t resist.

"Then hold me, Caleb. Do it tightly. Use your right hand," you murmured, pressing your face into his chest. The plea hung in the air like a fragile doll wanting to be held.

His hesitation lasted only a moment before he obeyed, his arms closed around you—one warm, one cold, both unyielding. His bionic arm caged you as though it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

"You're the only one," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "who can ease my pain."

His grip told you everything his words could not: the fear of losing you again, the torment etched into his very being, and the solace he sought in your presence. As the machines hummed on, the pain and anger dulled, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.

You looked up at him, tears pooling in your eyes, threatening to spill over. The weight of your emotions clawed at your chest, raw and unrelenting. The memories of the explosion tore through you—flames consuming your home, the screams, the suffocating realization that Caleb and your grandmother were gone. And now here he was, alive but scarred, his very existence rewritten into something both familiar and foreign.

"I thought I lost you," your voice cracked, trembling under the strain of your confession. "For so long, I thought you were gone…" A tear slipped down your cheek, and you saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes—a storm of regret and longing that mirrored your own.

Caleb’s jaw tightened, and his hand—the bionic one—cupped your cheek with surprising gentleness. The cold metal was jarring against your skin, but there was a tenderness in the gesture that spoke of his desperation to keep you within reach.

"I never wanted to leave you, pip-squeak." he murmured, his voice strained. His thumb brushed away the tear trailing down your cheek. "It tore me apart."

His voice dropped, gravelly and harsh. "But knowing that there are people out there who’d use you, hurt you, for what you are—"

Your breath hitched, and the words struck like a hammer, cracking open wounds you thought had scarred over. "You don’t understand," you whispered, your fingers holding him tighter. "Losing you wasn’t just pain—it was like losing a piece of myself. And then to find you like this…"

Your gaze dropped to his bionic arm, the sharp edges glinting in the artificial light. "I can protect myself, you know, I would've preferred that you didn't have to go through all of this pain if it meant I had you by my side—"

His grip on you tightened, his other hand moving to cover yours, grounding you. "I understand you more than you think," he said darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Do you think I don’t remember the look on your face every time you put yourself in danger? Every time you thought someone else’s life was worth more than yours?"

You flinched at the ferocity in his tone, but his words wrapped around you like chains. "Caleb…" you began, but he cut you off.

"No," he said sharply, his bionic fingers brushing against the back of your neck. "You don’t get it. If someone hurt you—no, if they tried to take you from me—I’d bury the world if it meant keeping you safe."

A shiver coursed through you at the steel in his voice, the unspoken promise in his words. His lips pressed into a thin line as he searched your face, looking for a flicker of understanding—or perhaps forgiveness.

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks, and your voice broke as you asked, "But what about you, Caleb? What about the pain you carry? The things they did to you?" Your hand hesitated before resting on his bionic arm. "You can’t shoulder everything alone. You shouldn’t have to."

His gaze softened for a moment, the harsh edges of his demeanor cracking under the weight of your plea. "I don’t care about the pain, it doesn't even hurt anymore," he admitted, his voice low. "I’d endure it a thousand times over if it meant you’d never feel an ounce of it."

"But I feel it anyway," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing you like this, it's like they tore everything from me too."

Caleb’s breath hitched, his grip faltering for the first time. His forehead pressed against yours.

"I know pip-squeak, but I’m not going anywhere," he said finally, his voice a raw promise. "Never again. Even if I have to take you far away from this world, you’ll never lose me. Do you understand?"

The tears in your eyes blurred Caleb’s face as he held you tightly, the cold press of his bionic arm against your back a constant reminder of the lengths he had gone to. But as the emotions churned within you, they pulled loose a memory, vivid and sharp from one of your nights in Skyhaven after your reunion.

The rain had fallen in heavy sheets that night, soaking the park. You sat there, drenched despite your jacket, while Caleb loomed over you, holding an umbrella that shielded you both from the downpour. His presence was as overbearing as it was comforting, and the tension between you had been as thick as the storm clouds above.

"How long do you plan to lock me up this time?" you had asked, your voice sharp with frustration and resignation. "A month? A year? Or forever?"

Caleb didn’t flinch at the accusation, his expression calm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper—possessiveness, maybe even desperation. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, the rain hammering on the umbrella above.

"If every problem pulls me further away from you," he said quietly, his voice as steady as the storm around you, "then I’ll spend a lifetime searching for the answers."

You had stared at him, a mixture of anger and confusion twisting in your chest. "But until that final moment," he continued, his voice softening, "we’ll always be together."

His words had left you bristling, torn between disbelief and the undeniable sincerity in his tone. You’d wanted to push back, to defy the invisible chains he always seemed to wrap around you. "What if my friends and colleagues from the Association come looking for me?" you demanded, testing the limits of his resolve.

He laughed, the sound low and quiet, yet it sent a chill down your spine. His eyes had glinted with something unsettling, a mix of amusement and absolute certainty. "In that case," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "I’ll hold a funeral they can attend. So they’ll think you’re gone forever."

Before you could respond, he had gently extended his hand to you, palm up, waiting for you to take it. The rain fell harder around you, but beneath the umbrella, there was an unsettling kind of stillness. Hesitantly, you had reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and the tension in his shoulders had eased the moment you accepted his touch.

Now, standing here in this room with his arms wrapped tightly around you, the memory struck you like a bolt of lightning. You realized that Caleb had always been this way—possessive, protective, willing to go to unimaginable lengths to keep you safe. Even when you were children, when the world felt so much smaller, he had been the same. You remembered the time he locked you in the attic of your grandmother’s house to protect you from the neighborhood bullies.

It was in his nature—this fierce, unwavering obsession with keeping you close, even when it hurt you both. The realization was a heavy one, bittersweet in its clarity. Despite it all, Caleb hadn’t truly changed at all. He was still the boy you grew up with, who would do anything to shield you from harm, even if it meant breaking you to keep you safe.

Caleb’s arms tightened around you, bringing you back from your reverie, his embrace almost desperate as if holding you harder might stop the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But you didn’t speak. The silence stretched, heavy and palpable, and for the first time, Caleb’s confidence seemed to waver.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his voice laced with unease. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his intense gaze searching your face. “You’re… too quiet. Did I say something that—”

You didn’t let him finish. Acting on impulse, you reached up, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face. His words died in his throat as your lips pressed against his, soft but firm, silencing his uncertainty.

For a moment, Caleb froze, his breath catching as if he couldn’t quite process what was happening. Then, his right arm shifted slightly, careful not to press too hard against you, while his other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. The kiss deepened, his initial shock giving way to something raw and unspoken.

“Why did you...” he began as he pulled away slightly, his voice a whisper, but he didn’t finish the question. He didn’t need to. The answer was in the way you looked at him, your eyes still shimmering with tears.

“You’re here, alive.” you murmured, your voice unsteady. “I can't lose you again and regret not doing that sooner."

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, but the unease didn’t fully leave his eyes. “You’ll never lose me,” he said once again, his grip tightening as if to emphasize the point. “Not now, not ever. I won’t let it happen.”

You nodded and leaned in to kiss him again, but he frowned, his jaw hard. You paused, "What is it?"

Caleb’s gaze burned into yours, his resolve visibly trembling as if your kiss moments ago had shattered something fragile inside him. His grip tightened, anchoring you against him, while he cradled your face with a tenderness that stood at odds with the intensity in his eyes.

“Do you even realize,” he whispered, his voice low and uneven, “what you’re doing to me?”

His words were suffocating, wrapping around you like a second skin. You could see it—how deeply the thought of losing you terrified him, how far he was willing to go to keep you with him, even if it meant crossing every line.

“Caleb...” you murmured, your voice barely audible. But he silenced you with another kiss, softer this time but no less intense, as if trying to convince himself that you were still there, finally his, and no force in the world could take you away.

When he pulled back, his gaze bore into yours, unwavering. “I can't hold myself back,” he rasped, his voice trembling with conviction. "Not anymore."

“I’ve tried,” he continued, his voice raw and unsteady. “When we were younger... I’ve tried to give you space, to let you breathe, but with every second you were away from me, I felt like the world took it as a chance and ripped you away from me.”

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and shallow. “You’re all I have left. Do you understand that? If I lose you... there won’t be anything left of me.”

The intensity in his words sent a shiver through you, a mixture of fear and something far more complicated swirling in your chest. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“You’re mine,” he said, the possessiveness in his tone leaving no room for doubt. “No one else’s. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

Caleb’s gaze darkened, his restraint visibly unraveling as the tension between you swelled to its breaking point. Without warning, he surged forward, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss that left you breathless. His grip on you was firm, almost possessive, his bionic arm pulling you impossibly closer while his other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head.

His lips trailed away from yours, brushing down to the curve of your jaw and then to your neck, the sensation sending shivers to coarse through your entire body. His breath was warm against your skin, each touch of his lips a mix of desperation and barely-contained need. For a moment, it felt like he might lose himself entirely, his control slipping with every passing second.

But just as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck, he froze. His arms are still around you, not quite sure if he wanted to pull you closer or to push you away. He leaned his forehead against your shoulder, his breath heavy and uneven.

“I…” His voice was hoarse, trembling with the effort to hold himself back. “I need you to tell me if this is okay.” He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes burning with a dangerous mix of longing and uncertainty. “If you want me to stop, say it now. Please. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”

His control was slipping, but he was still giving you the choice. You smiled softly. Oh, Caleb.

You reached up, your fingers trembling as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing across his cheek. "It's okay," you whispered, your voice soft but firm. "I want this... I want you."

A quiet, broken sound escaped him, like a weight had been lifted from his chest, and before you could say another word, he leaned in again, this time more urgently, his lips claiming yours with a desperate intensity.

His lips moved down to your neck again, this time without hesitation, his kiss filled with a mixture of tenderness and something darker, more possessive. His breath was hot against your skin, and his control, once so fragile, seemed to finally break as he gave in to the overwhelming need to have you.

Caleb lifted you up by the waist, placing you gently on the narrow bed, his bionic arm carefully maneuvering you onto your back while his warm hand slid up the curve of your side.

You felt his gaze on you, dark with hunger and unbridled with lust. It wasn’t just the way his eyes lingered—it was the sheer intensity of it, as though you were his axis, the very thing that tethered his sanity that's currently on the brink of snapping. It sent a shiver down your spine, your body betraying you with a tremor you couldn’t suppress.

"I've always wanted to mark you, you know." he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "To leave something on you that everyone would see."

Leaning in, he began trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the slender column of your neck. His lips brushed over your racing pulse before he latched onto your throat, sucking and nipping until he left a vivid hickey blooming across your flesh.

As if satisfied by his work, he hummed, the sound reverberating through your skin. "Now, I can leave as many as I want."

Pulling back, he pressed a quick kiss on your jaw as his hands reached beneath your shirt, slipping past the material to meet the soft swell of your breasts covered by your bra.

You trembled, the cold metal of his right arm harsh against the warmth of your skin. Suddenly, his touch retreated as if seared, hyper aware of every reaction you've been making.

He asked, his voice low. "Are you alright?" Hesitant, he reached out with his right arm only to pull back and reach out with his left hand instead. He cradled your jaw, and you could feel the tremor of his fingers against your skin.

You covered his hand with your own, giving it a gentle squeeze as you gazed up at him with a reassuring smile. "Yes, Caleb," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I haven't done this before..."

Your words seemed to reassure the storm brewing within him, a desperate hunger that couldn't be sated. He crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth with a fervor that stole your breath away. His hands kneaded your breasts roughly through your shirt, his bionic fingers leaving faint indents on your skin as he groped and squeezed.

"It's alright, baby. I'll take care of you." he muttered in between.

He tore his mouth from yours, his breathing ragged as he stared down at you with wild, almost feral eyes. "You drive me crazy," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "I can't... I need..."

He couldn't seem to find the words, his mind too consumed with lust to form a coherent thought. Instead, he acted on instinct, his body moving on its own accord as he ripped your shirt off, you couldn't be bothered to react, your mind hazy. Your bra followed soon after, the flimsy material no match for his desperation.

You gasped as the cool air hit your bare skin, your nipples pebbling under his heated gaze. He groaned, before whispering to himself, "I can't believe you're real."

You wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but as he drank in the sight of you, you could see the way his eyes glinted with a primal hunger that sent a bolt of electricity straight to your skin.

"Caleb," you breathed, your voice heavy with want. "Please..."

Please what? You weren't sure, but you knew that you needed him. Needed to feel him, skin to skin, heart to heart. You needed him as much as he needed you.

He didn't need to be told twice, Caleb lowered his head, his mouth latching onto one of your hardened nipples. He suckled greedily, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud as his metal hand pinched and rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger.

Your back arched as you cried out, your fingers tangled in his hair. "Caleb—"

He lavished your breasts with attention, alternating between licks, nips and bites until your skin was flushed and aching with need. He looked up, his hot mouth still wrapped around one of your nipples, "Hmmm?" he hummed, his eyes dazed.

"P-Please... I need—"

His hips rocked against yours, stopping your train of thought, the rough fabric of his pants rubbing deliciously against your core. The layers of clothing separated you still, but you could feel the heat of him.

A low, deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against your sensitive skin. "Please, what?" he murmured, his voice a sinful purr as he nuzzled into valley between your breasts. "Come on, baby. Tell me what you need..."

You shook your head, heat creeping up your cheeks. "You're so—annoying. Y-You know what I want..."

Gently, he lifted your waist to swiftly pull your pants off, you barely got the chance to register the action, only to feel the cold air as it enveloped your bare legs.

As if sensing your surprise, you felt him smile against your skin before inching down. He placed a single, open-mouthed kiss on your navel before trailing his lips lower, his breath hot and heavy against your aching core. Your hips jerked, a needy mewl escaping your lips as you felt the first brush of his tongue against your clothed sex. He licked a slow, deliberate stripe over your folds, the damp fabric of your panties the only barrier between his mouth and your dripping flesh.

A low groan resonated from deep within his chest as he tasted you, the flavor of your arousal seeping through the thin material. “Fuck, baby…” he growled, his voice muffled against your sex. “I dreamed of this so many times, I can’t believe I’m finally tasting you for real..”

You closed your eyes, shuddering because of his words. Caleb had always been teasing and confident, but hearing him say those words when everything had been innocent and playful between the two of you ever since made your stomach clench.

Slowly, he peeled your panties off, tossing them carelessly to the side. Exposed and bare, he could see your glistening folds, swollen and practically weeping with need.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, his tone devoid of teasing or malice—just an honest observation, quiet and unfiltered.

You shivered. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, flicked back to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your heart skip. There was no judgment, no amusement—just an unwavering focus that left you feeling raw and exposed.

He reached forward with his left hand, his thumb pressing against the seam of your folds, and you felt the slick coating his digit as he swiped up, and there he started to circle your clit with heavy pressure.

"Fuck—" you whined, the foreign pleasure making you throw your head back.

Caleb chuckled, purring, "There, there...."

You could practically feel him smirking without even having to look at him and you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug off his face. But you'd do it another time, now you'd let him take his time with you.

Leaning down, Caleb left open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, his tongue a warm, wet brand against your sensitive skin.

"Spread out like a feast, just for me," he murmured, his voice a low, reverent rumble. He breathed hotly against your dripping slit, feeling your body jerk in anticipation. Slowly, teasingly, he dragged the flat of his tongue along your folds, a long, languid lick that had your hips bucking.

"Caleb..." you breathed, your body starting to squirm.

"Stay still." he ordered, his voice muffled.

You peered down and saw how tightly his hands gripped your thighs, you're sure he'd leave a bruise. He was holding you open, keeping you exposed to his ravenous mouth.

You felt his lips seal around your entrance as he sucked, his tongue pushed inside, delving deep, the slick muscle stroking your velvety walls with unhurried, sensual glides. Then, his lips found your clit once more, wrapping around the throbbing bud as he suckled gently, his tongue flicking against it with maddening slowness. You could practically feel it pulsing against his mouth, the evidence of your growing arousal impossible to ignore. He lapped at it, circled it, teased it mercilessly until it was swollen and straining.

You wanted more. Needed more.

You reached out, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging almost painfully as you ground your hips against his face, desperate for some much-needed friction. But he held you still, his strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you immobile.

Each pass of his tongue sent jolts of electricity zipping up your spine, your body arching and writhing in a futile attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure.

As you teetered on the brink, he pulled back, his chin glistening with your juices. Before you could voice your protest, he circled your entrance teasingly, the pad of his metal thumb tracing the swollen rim, dipping inside just barely before retreating again. Each brush against your sensitive flesh drew a breathy moan from your lips, your hips undulating helplessly, chasing his touch.

"I want to see you wrapped around my metal fingers..." he groaned, his voice a low, approving rumble. He eased a single finger inside your fluttering channel, the cool metal a delicious contrast to your scorching heat. Slowly, almost torturously, he pushed it deeper, inch by excruciating inch, until he was buried to the knuckle. He paused there, letting you adjust to the intrusion, feeling your silky walls clench around the digit.

With agonizing slowness, he began to move, pumping his finger in and out of your dripping sex. Each drag against your walls, each curl of his knuckle against that special spot deep inside, dragged a broken moan from your throat. He was relentless, his pace unhurried, determined to take you apart piece by piece until you were nothing but a writhing, wanton mess beneath him.

"Y-you're so tight," Caleb grunted, his finger pumping faster, harder, plunging into your soaked heat. "I love how you grip me like this." His words were punctuated by the lewd squelches of your arousal, your walls clenching desperately around the invading digit.

A second finger joined the first, stretching you wider, filling you fuller. He pumped them in tandem, in deep, rolling thrusts that had your back arching and your toes curling against the sheets. All the while, his thumb circled your clit, the rough pad rubbing against the sensitive bundle of nerves until it throbbed and pulsed with need.

"Ohh...!" you cried out as he curled his fingers just right, brushing against that special spot deep inside.

He groaned in approval, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating deliciously against your sensitive flesh. "That's it, baby... let me hear you," he encouraged, his voice a low, sinful purr.

"Caleb... hah... I can't... I'm close..." you gasped, your chest heaving with each ragged breath.

Caleb pulled back, he gazed up at you with hooded eyes. "Not yet, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. "I want you to come on my cock, nowhere else."

He sat back on his knees, his hands gripping your hips as he tugged your body towards him, positioning you at the edge of the bed. With one swift, powerful movement, he tore off his pants. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, and with a swift, impatient tug, he shucked them off, freeing his straining cock.

It bobbed before you, long and thick and so hard it curved slightly towards his stomach. The broad head was an angry red, the skin pulled taut and flushed, the slit in the tip dripping with the evidence of his arousal. Your mouth watered at the sight, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you imagined how he would finally feel inside you.

Caleb gripped himself, his left hand wrapping around the thick shaft, stroking it slowly, deliberately. "You want this, don't you, pip-squeak?" he growled, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, the tip catching on your swollen, slick folds. "You want me to fill this greedy little pussy until you're stretched wide and all mine?"

He rolled his hips, rubbing the underside of his shaft against your clit, the textured skin catching on the sensitive bundle of nerves until your vision nearly whited out from the intensity of it. Your hands flew to his shoulders, your nails digging into the hard muscle as you arched into him, your body crying out for more.

"Please, Caleb," you whimpered, your voice thin and reedy with need. "I want... I need..."

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice a low, commanding bark. "Tell me what you need, baby. Beg me for it."

Almost desperately, he added, "Please... please..."

Your stomach ached as he pressed harder, the head of his cock pushing insistently against your entrance, the crown popping inside your slick heat, stretching you around his girth. The sensation was exquisite, the promise of what was to come making your toes curl and your thighs tremble.

"I need your cock," you gasped out, your voice raw and desperate. "Please, Caleb... I need you inside me."

A dark, wicked grin split his face, his eyes glinting with a feral, hungry light. "That's my girl," he praised, his voice a low, sinful purr.

He leaned in, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your jaw, he whispered, "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight, until all you can feel is me, deep inside of you."

With that, he surged forward, the thick head of his cock splitting you open, sinking into your welcoming heat with a low groan that rumbled through his chest. Your back arched, your nails digging into his shoulders as you took him inside, your velvety walls stretching deliciously around his invading length. He didn't stop until he was buried to the hilt, his heavy balls nestled against your ass, his cock pulsing deep inside your core.

You gasped, "Oh..." The unfamiliar stretch made your thighs tremble.

Caleb paused, giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling of being so utterly filled, so completely stretched around his thick cock. He peppered your face with soft kisses, murmuring words of praise and encouragement against your skin.

"You feel incredible," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and restraint. "So tight and hot and perfect around me."

The uncomfortable stretch didn’t last long, your body slowly adjusting as the tension turned into something else entirely. The yearning grew, your thoughts clouded by need. Every second of stillness felt unbearable, the ache for him to move consuming you.

Hurriedly, you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation, “You can move now…”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to move. His hips pulled back, the drag of his length against your walls sent sparks of sensation crackling through your nerve endings. And then he pushed forward again, harder this time, his length plundering your depths with a newfound urgency.

A broken moan tumbled from your lips as he set a steady rhythm, each powerful thrust driving the breath from your lungs and stoking the heat building in your core. The pain began to recede, replaced by a pleasure so intense it bordered on overwhelming.

"Hah... C-Caleb-!"

"That's it, baby. You're taking me so well..."

Caleb could feel your body starting to relax, could feel your hips beginning to move in tandem with his. Emboldened, he increased his pace, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent as he chased his own release. The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by your needy moans and his grunts of exertion.

"Do you feel how big I am, pip-squeak?" he purred, flexing his hips to emphasize his point. "I'm so deep inside this sweet little pussy. Filling you up in a way no one else will ever be able to."

His hand slid down your body, your skin flushed and heated beneath his touch. He cupped your mound, his fingers brushing against where you were joined, feeling the way your lips stretched obscenely around his girth.

"I love seeing your tight little cunt so full," Caleb growled, his eyes glittering with a predatory light. "It's like this hungry little hole was made just for my cock."

"C-Caleb....!" you whined, lips parted open. His words made your skin hot and your brain go hay wire.

You could feel every rigid inch of him as he hilted inside you, his heavy balls nestling against your bottom. Your body had never felt so full, so deliciously stuffed. It was almost too much, the stretch pushing you to your limits, until you swore you could feel him in your throat.

He let out a choked groan, his breath hitching as he clung to the moment. "W-Wait," he stammered, his voice thick with need, "I need to feel more of you..."

Your body trembled under the weight of his words, a soft, helpless mewl escaping your lips. "M-More..?" you echoed, your voice barely audible, laced with vulnerability and the same yearning that reflected in his gaze.

Caleb pressed a wet kiss on your cheek and gripped your thighs, his large hands easily encircling your slender legs as he pushed them up and back, folding you nearly in half. He raised them high, draping them over his broad, muscular shoulders until your knees were pressed against your chest and your ankles crossed behind his neck.

Caleb leaned down, bracing his elbows on either side of your head as he pistoned in and out of your dripping sex. His hips slammed against yours, the new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each driving thrust.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours. You could taste yourself on him, the flavor of your arousal lingering on his lips and tongue as he explored your mouth. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands tightly as you kissed him back with a fervor that matched his own.

"That's it, baby," he panted against your lips, his voice rough and urgent. "Take my cock. Fuck, you're so deep like this. I can feel every inch of this tight little cunt squeezing me."

Caleb's mouth trailed hungry kisses along the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. He latched onto your shoulder, biting down until you cried out, your fingers scrabbling at his back. The sharp sting of his teeth piercing your flesh pushed you closer to the edge, your pleasure spiked with a hint of pain. Your sex rippled around him, the velvet walls squeezing his pistoning length as he fucked you with wild abandon.

"Caleb!" you keened, your head thrown back, your body bowing off the bed. "I'm going to... I'm going to come!"

"That's it, baby. Come for me," he urged, his hips slapping against yours with renewed fervor.

Your world exploded into a million pieces as your orgasm crashed over you, your sex clamping down around him like a vice. You cried out, seeing white. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red welts in their wake as you clung to him, anchored against the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm.

But even as you trembled and shuddered through the aftershocks, Caleb didn't stop. He continued to pound into you, his length plundering your walls as he chased his own release, the wet squelching sounds of your spasming cunt being fucked senseless echoing the walls. Your body knew the sensation was almost too much to bear, your sensitive flesh crying out for respite as he drove into you again and again.

"I can't... it's too much..." you whimpered, your voice thin and reedy as your trembling hands pushed weakly against his chest, though you lacked the strength to follow through.

"Shh, I've got you," Caleb murmured, his voice a mix of strained need and steadfast reassurance. He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to yours as his movements slowed slightly, yet his intensity didn’t waver. "I need to fill you up, baby," he whispered, his tone low and fervent. "I just need to... let me take care of you."

You whined softly, tears brimming in your eyes as the intensity of it all overwhelmed you, your toes curling. Caleb’s gaze softened, though the desperation lingering in his expression didn’t waver. He leaned in, brushing his lips tenderly against your damp cheeks, kissing your tears away as if to soothe the overwhelming sensations within you.

"I know it’s too much, b-baby," he murmured, his voice a mix of huskiness and gentle coaxing. "Just take it for me, yeah? You're doing so good for me..."

His hips slammed against yours, the rhythm growing almost sloppy now, driven by sheer desperation, yet each movement was still hard and fast, claiming you in every way. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing wet, possessive kisses along your jawline.

"You’re mine," he murmured, the words rough and trembling with unrestrained emotion. His voice dipped lower, almost a growl, as he repeated with fervent intensity, "Just mine. Finally mine."

You closed your eyes, your heart pounding as you wrapped your arms around his nape, pulling him closer, as if anchoring yourself to him. Your voice trembled, raw with emotion, as you whispered hoarsely, "I'm yours..."

The words seemed to shatter something within Caleb, unraveling the last threads of his restraint. Just hearing you say you were his was enough to push him to the brink, his entire being consumed by the overwhelming need to claim you.

"Fuck, I'm coming," he grunted, his hips slamming against yours one last time. "Here it comes, baby. Take it all."

You felt a sudden warmth spread through you as Caleb reached his peak, his release surging inside you in long, pulsing waves that left you breathless. The intimacy of the moment consumed you, your body trembling against his as you held onto him, feeling every shudder that rippled through his frame.

Caleb kissed you again, more gently this time, before he carefully lowered your legs from his shoulders, easing them down to rest on the mattress. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he feared breaking the fragile moment you shared. He collapsed beside you, catching himself on his elbows to keep from resting his weight on you accidentally.

The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of your breathing, mingling with Caleb’s. The air was warm, the atmosphere tender, as the fiery passion that had consumed you both finally ebbed into a calm serenity. His bionic arm rested protectively against your waist, his other hand brushing gentle circles along your shoulder as he held you close, your bodies tangled together.

“You okay?” Caleb’s voice was a low murmur, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke. There was a vulnerability in his tone that made your heart ache.

You nodded against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice tired but content. “What about you?”

He let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through you. “I should be asking you that, pip-squeak.” he replied, pressing a lingering kiss to your hair. “But... yeah. I’m good. Better than good.”

There was a pause, and then his bionic fingers moved, carefully tracing patterns against your skin. The coolness of the metal felt strangely soothing, a contrast to the warmth of his body. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, the edge of worry creeping into his voice.

You tilted your head to look at him, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “You didn’t hurt me,” you reassured him softly, meeting his eyes. “Not even for a second.”

He visibly relaxed, his shoulders easing as he pulled you even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin. “Good,” he said, the word more to himself than to you. “Because I’d never forgive myself if I did.”

For a while, the two of you simply stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth. Caleb’s fingers absently played with your hair, his touch grounding and soothing. He whispered small things now and then—how much he loved you, how he’d never let anything hurt you, how you were his whole world. You answered with quiet hums, your heart swelling with every word.

As exhaustion finally began to tug at you, you felt him shift, “Sleep,” he murmured, his voice a soft command. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 if you want to check out more of my writings, head on to here — masterlist.

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sturniolo04 · 2 months ago

Text

No Nut November M.S.

Bf!Matt x Gf!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

A/n: in honor of it being November 30 we’re not gonna talk about how I’m late to the party!

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

You and matt knew this was coming. you guys do it you every year and every year you two never get through the 30 days. Which brings you to now, November 1st.

"baby we have to make it the full 30 this year"

matt groans out to you as you are leaning on your tippy toes hugging him as he allows his palms to rest on your ass. The first not so smart move he made

"hey thats not my fault you couldnt keep it in your pants on day 26"

you retaliate as you huff out leaning your head back as matt rolls his eyes at the memory.

" okay yeah i know but seriously this year because the last thing I need is for Chris to rub it in my face that he has more self control sexually than me with Brynn"

he groans out as you giggle at his reaction.

"baby what do yu think of this outfit"

you state as you let in into the dressing room with you after putting on the outfit.

"it looks good"

matt simply states back to you admiring you as you check yourself out in the dressing room mirror. Matt had been already genuinely struggling with this whole no sex , no getting himself off even thing for the whole month, why? Simple he has a girlfriend that he cant keep his hands off of and keeping his hands off has proven to be his downfall each year.

"c'mere"

matt simply states needing something to relieve the pressure that he knew was building up. You turn to look at him as he carefully grabs your hand and pulls you over to him as you sit down on his lap, not thinking too much of it because he is your boyfriend right

"Matthewww"

you gasp quietly not trying to be too loud since you two were in the dressing room still. Looking at him giggling you ultimately feeling the problem.

"i knoww"

he groans out allowing his head to lean against the wall. of the dressing room.

"its only day 15 babe come on get up"

you giggle standing up off of his lap as he quickly places his hands over his lap.

"in a minute i have to wait for this to go away"

he groans out with his head still leaning back fluttering his eyes closed.

"how long is that going to take we are in the dressing room and we have to go home"

you ask knowing it takes him and his friend a good 20 minutes to get it together.

"i dont know it's starting to hurt"

he huffs out exhaling deeply looking up at you.

"just tuck it or something"

you giggle at yourself even having to say that sentence to him as he complies.

"Babyy go put some pants on"

you whine out realizing he must have taken his pajama pants off in the middle of the night probably getting hot to be only left in his calvin kleins. You were starting to feel on edge already which you tend to be in the morning.

"why"

matt smirks knowing exactly why as he begins to stretch to go take a shower.

"dude seriously the fuck you mean why"

you whine out.

"babe im going to take a shower so I don't need them on and I'm eventually not going to need these on either"

matt states referring to his underwear as your face flushes with a shade of pink as the mental image you just got immediately reaching for the pillow you were laying on screaming into it.

"Dude you need to handle that"

chris chuckles as matt finally makes his way out from his room only dressed in freshlove sweatpants.

"i cant"

matt huffs out looking down to see the problem area running a frustrated hand through his messy bed head from his nap.

" im fully convinced you get horny every hour of the day"

chris chuckles seeming to not have the same struggle as his older brother.

"well no shit dumb ass you and brynn like never made it to that base yet"

matt huffs crossing his arms.

"Matt Chris"

you shout coming downstairs from Nick's room running up to matt and jumping up in his arms.

"hey my love"

matt greets you as he catches you his palms landing on your ass as you were clothed in navy blue nike pro shorts and the corresponding fresh love hoodie that you swiped from him that match the sweatpants he was currently wearing.

" what are you guys talking about"

you question the pair as you rest your head on matt's shoulder.

"oh nothing just how your boyfriend gets horny every single hour of everyday"

chris laughs out as you look at matt with his check flushed with a deep shade of pink.

"shut the fuck up"

matt groans out as he leans down with you still in his arms.

"dont drop me"

you squeal out tightening your grip around his neck

“God i would never’

Matt groans out as your ass slightly rubs up against him.

“Oh my goodness Matthew”

You giggle leaning you head in the crook of his neck leaving a loving kiss on his shoulder.

“What movie are we watching love birds”

Nick asks as you all are in the living room having your normal Friday movie night.

“I have no clue we could watch back to the future or something”

Chris suggests as brynn his girlfriend sits down next to him with their designated blanket.

“That’s fine with me where is your lover”

Nick chuckles asking Matt.

“Right here I had to change into comfortable clothes”

You states sighing you walk into the common space closing the bathroom door behind you as you begin to walk over in your pajama shorts to take your spot next to your boyfriend on the couch.

“Do we need a blanket”

You ask Matt softly as he places a loving grip on you bare thigh as Nick and Chris bicker about what movie we should watch tonight. Matt secretly loves that you decided to wear your pajama shorts already feeling the sudden tightness in his plaid pajama pants from how perfect the bottoms showcase, your hips and ass.

“ baby’

You question him again when you didn’t get a response. Matt quickly shifts his gaze towards you to make eye contact snapping him out of what it looked like a moment of deep thought from what you could read from his given facial expression.

“ you Okay”

You ask as he lets out a deep sigh. Matt, finally, giving up and beginning to act on his intrusive thoughts, stand up from the couch, grabbing you by the waist and throwing you over his shoulder with his tattooed, arms tightly gripping your thighs

“ Matthewww where are we going”

You squeal out from the sudden action Play fully kicking your feet

“ chris’ you win I give up “

Matt quickly rushes out as he begins to walk towards his in your shared bedroom in the house. it was safe to say that you two decided not to put yourself through the November challenge ever again

Taglist

@mintsturniolo @wh0resstuff @emely9274 @ksturnz @spicymuffins03 @dirtylittleheart333 @stayingstromboli

#sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #girlypopsquad🩵#fluff #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets smut

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jetpackgeneratedcat · 3 months ago

Text

It took literal months, but I finished it!!

Top left: linked universe logo

The jojo's lu logo is sooooo detailed. It is one of the things I love about Jojo's asethetic with linked universe. The detail she adds brings so much life and information about the world of Linked Universe. Great example is all the embroidery on the chain's clothing. Let's you know about civilization, that an item may be magical, etc. It is difficult to keep small details in watercolor, but I think I caught most of the main details in the painting.

Middle left: Soulful legend

This was the fourth of the images I did for the painting, and the first image I really started to get into the painting. I think legend is my favorite to paint because he makes composition so easy. The red tunic adds an easy focal point. I did learn from this that I do not like masking fluid and likely won't use it again. It added to many hard edges that I wasn't intending. Very happy with the sky!

Bottom left: Evening snack

In this image, I liked the idea that wind and sky don't know what Ramen is because their worlds don't have enough space to produce wheat. So sky and wind are super excited about this new food, while legend has no idea why they are so hyped for noodles. I also liked the idea that four found a green pepper in the ramen as a topping and is a hater (this is from a note that jojo left somewhere saying that the chain will eat anything but four in the Manga does not like green peppers, idk where this note is to link it though....). I didn't end up drawing the Ramen noodles as it was just getting too small of a scale for me to be comfortable drawing the thin lines for the noodles in.

Bottom right: Testudo

I am very hyped in the future when we see more collaborative fighting with the chain and them working together effectively. I absolutely love the scene in shifting shadows part 3 where lenged and hyrule work together with the beam and hookshot.

Middle: Legends storage

This is a reference to one of jojo's earliest works where the chain goes to legends storage for him to pick up some gear. I love that scene and I tried to put as many references as I could. The one thing I need to figure out is how I want twilight to look. I can't wrap my head around it. Need to sit down and just try out a bunch of different faces for him. My Pinterest inspo for twilight is all over the place. I want twilight to look different from time because when Malon was trying to guess who was the descendent, she did not consider twilight (she looked at wars and wind (so I typically draw time, wind, and wars looking similar). For my own personal headcannon, twilight and time are very similar in their manner (the way the walk, stand, etc) and personality (their stubbornness (as seen in sunset pt3)) but not necessarily in looks.

Middle right: Boat boys

The first image I did. I like how the water turned out, but I will not be using masking fluid for the same reasons I noted earlier. I did trace the boat (i think this is the reference [L240632 Hornet Class. J. Arthur Dixon Ltd. Beken and Son]). I do regret not doing anything creative with the boat, but I just wanted to get into painting and needed some confidence by working directly from a reference. I also forgot that legend might not be so keen to be on a boat again based on a comment jojo left in 2022 or something. I think she mentioned something in a discord event back then about legend not too willing to be on a boat again. But that doesn't really matter, I put that boy in a boat whether he likes it or not lol.

Top right: Winter storm

Second image I did for this painting. I did trace most of the horse because I do not care to learn horse anatomy (ref. [Winter Save By David Stoecklein]) Favorite part about this is the lighting on the rope from the lantern. I think it turn out well.

Top middle: Heavy armour

Third image I did for the painting and the one I realized I need to spend more time painting people in neutral or back lite lighting. But for my first time I think it is good. I really want to see what jojo does with the armour sets! I like the idea that war's armour is clean and pristine while wild's armour is rusted and beaten from the calamity. In this painting I played with adding pink to the golden armour and I liked it. In the middle picture of the collage (legends storage), you can see i added pink to time's armour.

That's everything! ❤️

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ateezscupid · 10 days ago

Note

Idol Yeosang x reader smut Takes place after a fan meet where she has a tear in her clothing

─── 𝗡𝗗𝗔.

warnings ✩ FLUFF&SMUT, EVENTUAL SMUT!! fem!reader, soft dom!yeosang, sub!reader, idol au, there is a SHIT TON of sexual tension before anything actually happens, virgin!reader, fingering (f receiving), oral (f), unprotected sex, praise, light choking, relationship not established, idol x fan basically, YOU'LL GET A WARNING BEFORE THE SMUT HAPPENS.

word count ✩ 6,52k (i know i'm so sorry)

tags ✩ @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @desirehorizon @tangerineastronaut

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

NOTE !! Much longer than I had planned for it to be, but don't worry, there is smut. This has been in my drafts for well over a year. had to get it out the way, LOL.

After what felt like forever, you finally got the chance to meet Ateez at a fan-meet. You've seen so many videos of Atiny's reactions to seeing them in person, but nothing prepared you for the real thing. The moment you saw them, your heart skipped a beat, and your palms grew sticky with excitement. You had rehearsed what you'd say a hundred times in the mirror, but now, face-to-face with your favorite member, Yeosang, your mind had gone utterly blank.

You wanted to look pretty. You had picked out the perfect outfit weeks ago—a long-sleeve, off-white crop top, a short black pleated skirt, black sheer tights, black heels, and a small red shoulder bag as an accessory. You didn't think it was too much. It was a simple outfit! But as soon as you saw Yeosang standing there, his eyes scanning the room, you felt like you were dressed for a wedding, not a meet and greet.

As they went back to their seats and lines started forming, you held your little photocard book in your hands, eyes switching between the members. Your gaze was mostly spent on Yeosang. You felt like you were in a trance. Your heart was racing, but you had to snap out of it.

You took your time with each member, making friendly conversation and sharing brief but meaningful moments, yet Yeosang remained a blurry figure in the corner of your mind. The anticipation grew as the line inched closer to where he sat. His gentle smile and soft laughter from the interactions before yours echoed in your ears, fueling your nerves.

And finally, you were here. You sat across from him and smiled, sitting the book on the table. Yeosang looked up, and his eyes met yours, and for a split second, it felt like the entire room had stopped spinning. He was even more breathtaking in person. His smile grew wider as he took your book into his hands. The gentle way his fingers grazed the pages made your cheeks burn.

"H-Hi," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. Yeosang looked up from the book, his eyes meeting yours again, and you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body. He had the most mesmerizing smile, his eyes lighting up with genuine warmth.

"Your outfit looks great," he said, his voice as smooth as honey. It took you a second to realize he was referring to your outfit, and the compliment left you feeling flustered.

"Thank you! Um, I-I wanted--um,"

"Are those your photocards?" Yeosang asked, nodding at the book. You nodded, feeling your cheeks grow hotter. "You have quite a collection," he said with admiration, flipping through the pages. Your eyes followed his every move, watching as his thumb traced over the images of the members, pausing briefly at his own.

Some photocards had signatures from the other members. All but Yeosang's. Without being asked, he grabs the pen beside him and signs the empty card. You watched as the ink danced across the card, his signature neat and confident.

"Thank you." you smiled, trying to compose yourself. Yeosang's eyes looked up from the book, meeting yours again. There was something in his gaze that made you feel seen, like he was really looking at you, not just at a fan in line.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I noticed you've been eyeing me all night. Is there something you want to say?"

"I-I have-? I'm so sorry, this is like -- my first time going to one of these things so I just…I-I'm nervous. I didn't mean to stare," you stuttered, feeling your cheeks blaze with embarrassment. Yeosang chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"It's okay," he assured you, his voice still soft. "I don't mind. In fact, I'm flattered. But, tell me, which member is your favorite?"

"You," you blurted out without thinking, your eyes widening in horror. The words hung in the air for a beat too long before you could scramble to recover. "I mean, I like all of Ateez, but if I had to pick, I guess I've always had a soft spot for… you." Yeosang's smile grew into a full-blown grin, his eyes gleaming with delight.

He leaned in closer, and for a second, you thought he was going to tease you about it, but instead, he said, "You know, you're the first one to answer that question so honestly." His words sent a warm wave through you, and you couldn't help but blush even more.

You made a weird, stuttering noise, your face feeling hotter than a sunburn. "Re-really?"

Yeosang nodded, still smiling. "Really. Most fans are shy about it, but I like your honesty." He leaned back in his chair, giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. The silence grew heavier, and you felt your palms start to sweat.

You shudder, pushing your hair behind your ear. "T-That's--thank you. Or--you're welcome-? I-I don't know w-what to say."

Yeosang's grin softens, his eyes looking into yours. "No need to be nervous," he says gently. "I'm just as human as you are."

You nod. "Can I say something that's--I don't know, it may be corny.." you sniffle. "I always thought that if I went to these, the idol would get this big crush on me and they'd want me to meet them after to sign an NDA or something." You chuckle a bit after saying it and then pause.

Why. Why would you say that-?! Now he's going to think you're one of those crazy, obsessive fans! Panic starts to set in, but before you can apologize, Yeosang laughs. It's a light, airy sound that makes you feel less like you're about to hyperventilate.

"Where'd you get that from?" he asks, amusement dancing in his eyes. You shrug, trying to play it off.

"Just, you know, fan fantasies, fansites," you reply with a forced chuckle. "I-Is it not true-?"

He narrows his eyes, still grinning. "I can't say. It's an NDA after all." The mischief in his tone made you laugh, the tension in the air dissipating slightly. You felt a bit more at ease, the nervousness giving way to a genuine connection.

"Why do you ask? You had to have brought it up for a reason." he chuckled. "Did you want one? An NDA?"

You truly couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "N-No!" You blurt out, your heart racing. "It was just a random thought. I-I don't expect anything like that, I just--"

"Did you?" He teases, raising an eyebrow playfully. His eyes sparkle with humor, and for a moment, you forget where you are.

"I-I mean-" you glance around. Other people were getting up. Your time was ending quickly. "It was just a joke. A bad one."

Yeosang narrowed his eyes once more before tilting his head. "You're gonna be around here for a while, right? Maybe we can talk more after the fan-meet ends?" His question hung in the air, hopeful and casual, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your eyes widened. "R-Really?" You stuttered, trying to keep your voice from squeaking. He nodded, his smile never wavering. "H-How do I find you, I-"

"My number is on the back of the photocard." Yeosang said, handing the book back to you. You took it, your hands trembling slightly. He had actually given you his number? This had to be a dream.

But it wasn't. The fan-meet was real, and so was the warmth in his eyes as he spoke to you. You nodded, trying to keep your cool, even though your insides were doing somersaults. "Thank you," you managed to say, your voice a bit steadier.

It had been a few hours after the fan meet. You had been staring at his contact for the entire time. Should you text him? Was it really his number? You bit your lip, contemplating your options. You had his autograph and a promise of a conversation, but was it too much to hope for more? You decided to wait. The excitement of the fan meet was still buzzing through your veins, and you didn't want to ruin it with a potentially embarrassing text.

Then, your phone buzzed. You opened your messages and saw a text. From…Yeosang's number. "Hey. This is the girl from the fan-meet right?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly typed back, "Yes, it's me!" You couldn't believe it. He had actually reached out.

"I hope you're not too tired," Yeosang's message read. "But if you're still up for it, would you like to grab some ice cream?"

Your heart raced as you read the message. Yeosang was asking you out?! You reread the text, making sure it wasn't a typo or a prank. But as you looked at the screen, you saw the message was still there.

"Yes, I'd love to," you replied, trying to keep your excitement in check. You didn't want to come off too eager, but the thrill of his invitation was almost too much to handle.

"Great! There's a café not far from here that has amazing ice cream. Do you know where it is?" Yeosang's text was prompt as if he had been waiting for your response.

"No, but I can totally find it," you replied, feeling the butterflies in your stomach take flight. You quickly Googled the café's name and location, your fingers trembling with excitement. "I'll be there in 10 minutes!"

And in ten minutes, you had arrived. The cafe was empty besides for Yeosang and the barista. The walls were plastered with polaroids of past customers and a chalkboard menu that listed exotic flavors like matcha mint and honey lavender. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, but your heart was too busy doing somersaults to notice.

Yeosang sat at a corner booth, sipping from a cup, his eyes scanning over the room. When they met yours, he stood up with a smile, waving you over. "Hi," he said, his voice softer than you remembered. You couldn't believe that the same person who had been performing on stage earlier was now standing in front of you, in a simple white t-shirt and black jeans.

You took a deep breath, trying to play it cool, and slid into the booth across from him. "Hi," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. He laughed, a sound that made your heart flutter.

"You don't have to be so nervous," he said, setting down his coffee cup. "I'm just a person who likes ice cream."

You nodded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. "I know, I just…" You paused, searching for the right words. "This is all so surreal."

Yeosang leaned in slightly, his eyes holding yours. "I get it. But we're just two people sharing a sweet treat, okay?"

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. The tension in your shoulders eased a bit. You ordered your ice cream, going for the Homerun Ball—his favorite, you remembered from a past interview. Yeosang's eyes lit up when he saw your choice.

"Good call," he said, his smile widening. "It's my go-to when I'm stressed."

The barista brought over two dishes of ice cream. Yeosang's was the same as yours. You had chosen a more modest amount of chocolate filling, but the sight of his treat made you reconsider your choice. He noticed your gaze and chuckled.

"You can always ask for more later," he said, twirling a spoonful of ice cream in your direction. "You know, for research."

You laugh, feeling the nervousness dissipate. As you both dig into your Homerun Balls, the conversation starts to flow more naturally. Yeosang tells you about his favorite childhood memories with ice cream, and you share stories of your first Ateez concert, the thrill of the lights and the music, and how you felt when you saw them live for the first time. His eyes light up as he listens, and you feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence.

The café's soft jazz music plays in the background, and the occasional clinking of spoons against bowls fills the air. You take a moment to appreciate the quiet, intimate setting. The world outside seems to melt away, leaving only the two of you in this cozy little bubble.

"So, tell me more about your favorite member," Yeosang says, his spoon hovering over his ice cream. You feel a blush creep up your neck as you realize he's referring to himself.

"Well, he's really sweet. And kind. And talented," you start, your voice growing more confident as you speak. Yeosang nods, his eyes never leaving yours, making you feel as if you were the only person in the room. "But it's more than that. It's how he looks at the crowd when he performs, like he sees every single person, really sees them. It's like he's singing just for me."

You pause. That sounded a bit…sasaengy. "B-But, y'know, thousands of people. He's not only singing for me! Just, like, a metaphor or something." You laugh nervously, hoping he didn't think you were too crazy.

Yeosang nods, his eyes still on yours. "I know what you mean. That's why we do what we do. To make everyone in the crowd feel seen." He smiles warmly. "But, it's nice to hear that you feel connected."

"Yeah." you chuckle a bit. "He's also cute. No, I mean, you're all cute. It's just--it's your voice, Yeosang. It's soothing, and when you dance, it's like watching poetry in motion." You blush deeper, realizing you've probably said too much. But Yeosang just smiles, looking genuinely touched by your words.

"Thank you," he says, his voice sincere. "That means a lot to me."

You nod, taking a bite of your ice cream to hide your blushing cheeks. The sweetness of the chocolate is a welcome distraction from the heat in your face. As you savor the taste, Yeosang watches you, his gaze curious.

"Did you wanna ask more questions?" you giggle. "You're staring at me as if you wanted to ask me something else."

Yeosang's cheeks tinge pink. "Well, I was wondering if you had any questions about, you know, the industry or anything."

"Not really…" you say, trying to play it cool despite the excitement bubbling inside you. "But if it's okay, I've always wondered…what's the most challenging part of being an idol?"

Yeosang pauses for a moment, considering your question. He takes a bite of his ice cream, and you can see his mind working behind those beautiful eyes. "Hmm," he says, "I guess it's the constant pressure to be perfect. To perform, to look good, to make everyone happy. It's a lot to handle sometimes."

You nod, feeling a pang of empathy. You had never thought of it that way before. You had always seen idols as these untouchable beings who lived glamorous lives, but here he was, opening up about the challenges that came with it.

"Yeah, I can imagine that must be really tough," you say, your voice gentle. Yeosang nods, his eyes searching yours as if looking for understanding. "But you guys are all so amazing at what you do. It's easy to forget that you're human too."

He looks down at his ice cream for a moment before looking up and smiling. "Thanks for that," he says, his eyes warm. "It's nice to be reminded every once in a while."

"Of course." You reply, your eyes never leaving his. "I mean, it's just… I've been a fan for so long, and I've seen how hard you all work."

He just…smiles, his eyes examining your features, looking you up and down. "I don't mean to throw us off-topic, but you're very beautiful."

Your heart stops, and your spoon clatters against your bowl. Did he just…? "Yeosang," you whisper, trying to keep your cool. "I-I'm just a fan. I'm not--"

He holds up a hand to stop you. "You're not just a fan to me right now," he says, his voice earnest. "You're a person I've been enjoying getting to know."

If you weren't so paranoid of him being weirded out by you, you would've jumped across the table and pounced on him. But you managed to keep your cool, mostly. You felt your cheeks burning up like a furnace as you looked away, trying to compose yourself. "Really?" you murmured, feeling the heat of his gaze.

"Yes, really," he said, his voice a gentle caress. "You have this…glow about you. It's hard to ignore."

"A-And--you think--I'm beautiful-?" You had to repeat it to believe it. You felt like you were going to pass out.

"I do," Yeosang said, his voice firm but still gentle. "You're really attractive."

"Oh my god," you exhaled softly. The noise sounded too much like a moan, but you were so blanked out to even notice. You felt your cheeks burning up and your heart racing faster than ever. Was this really happening? Yeosang thinks you're beautiful?

"Thanks," you murmur, your eyes flickering up to meet his before darting away again. The room felt so much warmer, the air thick with unspoken tension. You took a bite of your ice cream to distract yourself, the coldness soothing your burning cheeks. The chocolate filled your mouth, but the sweetness was lost in the rush of your thoughts.

He was still looking at you and you fought with everything in you not to jump across the table and pounce on him. "I don't know what to say," you admitted, your voice shaking.

"It's fine." He turned around, grabbing a bag that you didn't notice before. He was reaching for something but you couldn't tell what it was. "I know it's a lot to take in. But I just wanted to tell you. You seem like someone special." He finally pulled out a piece of paper. He slid it toward you. It was face down.

No way this was what you thought it was.

Yeosang slid the paper closer to you, and you took it with trembling fingers. You couldn't believe what was happening. You looked up at him, and his expression was earnest, his eyes searching yours. "What's this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't say anything. He only smiled. You flipped it around and read it. It was an NDA.

An NDA.

A literal Non-Disclosure Agreement.

You stared at it blankly, your jaw hung. Was he serious? Your eyes shot up to meet his, and his expression didn't waver. The corners of his mouth twitched with a hint of mischief.

"If you don't want to, you don't have t-"

"OF COURSE I ACCEPT!?" You squealed before you could stop yourself. Yeosang's grin grew wider, the mischief in his eyes glittering like stars. He leaned back in his seat, looking more relaxed than you had ever seen him. "But why me?" you managed to ask, trying to keep the excitement from your voice.

"Like I said: you're really fucking pretty. You sat here and treated me like a human and not like some sort of object. And at the fan meet I thought you were really pretty. Plus, your sense of humor is…surprising." Yeosang said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "But let's keep this between us, okay?" He nodded towards the NDA.

"Uh huh, yeah," you nod, already digging through your bag trying to find a pen. You found one and signed the NDA as fast as you possibly could, your heart racing. Yeosang watched you with amusement, his smile never leaving his face.

"W-What now? I-I've never signed one of these before-"

"You go home with me." Yeosang said, his voice still low. You stared at him, the words echoing in your ears. He couldn't be serious, could he?

"Yeosang. I can't express how excited I am right now." You whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. He nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He stands and grabs his bag, leaving money on the table and holding his hand out for you to grab.

You took his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch, and allowed him to lead you out of the café into the cool evening air. The street outside was quieter than you had expected, with only a few people strolling by. You looked up at him, his height making you feel safe and protected. "Is this…are we really doing this?"

He nods and you wasted zero time hugging his arm, walking out with him as he guides you down the street. The cool night breeze brushing against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat coming from his side. "Yeah," he says, his voice low and calm. "This is happening."

You walk for a few minutes before Yeosang stops in front of a black sedan. The driver opens the door for you and you slip inside, Yeosang following closely. The car is plush and smells faintly of his cologne. You're pretty sure your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

As the car pulls away from the curb, Yeosang turns to you with a gentle smile. "I know this might seem weird," he says, "but I wanted to make sure you felt comfortable."

You nod, your heart racing a mile a minute. "I-I trust you," you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel. The NDA still felt like a weight in your pocket, a reminder of the surreal situation you've found yourself in.

Yeosang's smile grows a little wider, and he nods. "Good," he says, his eyes holding yours for a moment before looking away. You both sit in silence as the car drove back to his apartment. The anticipation is palpable, and your heart feels like it's going to explode. You've always dreamed of this moment, but you never thought it would be so…real.

When you both made it back to his apartment, he took his time with you. He allowed you to eat whatever you set your eyes on. You felt like a kid in a candy store, but with less sugar and more nervousness. Yeosang was a perfect host, making sure you felt comfortable and at ease. The apartment was sleek and modern, with a touch of personal taste that was unmistakably his. You noticed the little things—a book of poetry on the coffee table, a guitar in the corner of the living room, and a few stray polaroids that had escaped their frame and scattered across the floor.

While you were ransacking his kitchen, you heard him get up and walk in behind you, standing behind you and placing a hand on the counter. "Did you find what you wanted?" he asked, his voice warm and -- you were definitely staying the night.

You turned around, biting your lip, trying to hide your excitement. "I did, thanks." You said, trying to keep your voice steady. Yeosang's hand reached out to grab a water bottle from the fridge, his sleeve riding up slightly, revealing his toned forearm. You swallowed hard. "Do you want anything?"

He squints, opening the water bottle. You could tell he was fighting with himself. Whatever he wanted to say definitely wasn't family friendly. "You want me to be honest?" his eyes twinkling with mischief and you nod.

"You." Yeosang says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I want you."

SMUT BELOW THIS.

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn even hotter. You couldn't believe what you just heard. Your heart was pounding so loudly you could hear it in your ears. "Y-You do?" you stuttered, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Why do you think I gave you the NDA?" Yeosang stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. The tension in the room grew thicker, the air crackling with a new kind of electricity. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts.

"Y-Yes," you finally managed to say, your voice barely a whisper. "But I thought we were just having ice cream." Which was a goddamn lie. In all honesty, you had been fantasizing about his hand son your bare skin since the second you walked into the cafe.

Yeosang leaned in closer, his breath tickling your neck. "We can still have ice cream," he murmured, his hand reaching for the fridge again, pulling out another pint. "But I thought maybe we could have it in a more…comfortable setting." He nodded towards his bedroom.

"Yeosang," you breathe out his name, your voice trembling with a mix of excitement and nerves. You hadn't anticipated this happening so soon, but here you are, standing in his kitchen with the promise of a night beyond your wildest dreams. He smiles, his eyes never leaving yours as he opens the freezer door. The cold air from inside sends a shiver down your spine, or was it just his proximity?

"Yeah?"

You couldn't stop yourself. You inhaled sharply and pulled him into a kiss before he could react, his body stiffening for a moment before melting into it. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with a passion that sent your senses reeling. It was everything you had ever dreamed of and more, his lips soft yet firm, his scent intoxicating. You felt like you could stay there forever, lost in his embrace.

He grabs the underside of your legs and lifted you up, sitting you on the countertop. Your heart races as he kisses you deeper, his hands moving up to cradle your face. The coolness of the marble countertop is a stark contrast to the heat that's building between the two of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling his heart thumping against your chest.

Your fingers grasped at his shirt, pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. His hands roamed up your back, sending shivers down your spine. This was it—you were kissing Yeosang, your ultimate bias. The reality was so overwhelming, you could feel your knees go weak. He must've felt it too, because he tightened his grip, holding you firmly against the counter.

He grabbed the hem of your skirt and slid it up, his hands brushing against your skin and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped into his mouth, your eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again, lost in the feeling of his touch. He broke the kiss, panting slightly, and looked into your eyes.

He wrapped your legs around his waist and picked you up, walking toward his bedroom. He kicked the door open and threw you on the bed. You squealed, surprised by his sudden action, but also thrilled. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner, casting shadows across the bed. You looked up at him, your heart racing, as he took off his t-shirt.

He slid your skirt down your legs, revealing your black lace underwear. You had picked it out with the hope that he would see it tonight, but now that the moment was here, you felt a rush of nerves. Yeosang leaned over you, his eyes dark with desire as he kissed along your jawline and down to your neck. His touch was gentle but firm, leaving you trembling and craving more.

He grabbed your tights and ripped them apart. You were going to say something, but his lips found yours again, and your protest turned into a moan of pleasure. His kiss was hungry, as if he had been starving for this moment. His hands slid up your thighs, his thumbs tracing the edge of your panties. You felt yourself growing wetter by the second, your body begging for more.

You pulled away, panting heavily. "W-Wait," you said, trying to get your bearings. Yeosang stopped, his eyes searching yours for any signs of hesitation. You took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm good," you assured him, your voice shaky. "I just…I need to tell you something."

"What is it, baby?" Oh, that pet name had you wet. You had to force your brain to remember what you had to say.

"I'm…I'm a virgin," you whispered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. You had never talked about this with anyone before, let alone your idol.

"You are?" Yeosang's eyes searched yours, a hint of surprise in them. But instead of pulling away, his expression softened into something gentle, something reassuring. He took a step back, giving you space. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves. "We can take this slow."

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. The idea of being with him, of sharing this experience with your bias, was both thrilling and terrifying. "Thank you," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yeosang leaned down, kissing you softly. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he began to explore your body. His fingers traced the curves of your hips, slipping beneath your panties to tease your sensitive skin. You gasped as his thumb circled your clit, his movements slow and deliberate. The pleasure was almost unbearable, building within you like a crescendo of desire.

"O-Oh my god," you moan, immediately grabbing his wrist and pushing it closer, your eyes rolling back into your head. He chuckled against your mouth, his other hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple. The sensation was so intense, you felt your legs tremble and tighten around his waist.

"You're so sensitive," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "It's so sexy." He kissed along your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just behind your ear.

He started moving his thumb faster, and the sensation was too much. You could feel an orgasm building deep within you, your body tightening around him. "Yeosang," you gasped out his name, your nails digging into his skin. He seemed to understand what you needed, his touch growing more insistent.

He kissed down your body, leaving a trail of fire along your collarbone and between your breasts. You arched your back, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his mouth found your nipple. His tongue flicked and teased the sensitive bud, sending waves of pleasure straight to your core. Your legs tightened around his waist, urging him closer as you felt yourself getting wetter.

He then kissed down your stomach, moving even further until his mouth replaced his thumb. You gasped as he licked and sucked at your clit, the sensation so intense that you thought you might shatter. Your body was responding to him like a finely tuned instrument, each stroke of his tongue bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

He held your legs apart, his eyes meeting yours, watching for any sign of discomfort. You bit your lip, the pleasure building until it was all you could focus on. And then it crashed over you, your body shuddering as you climaxed. Yeosang didn't stop, though, continuing to flick and suck on your clit until you were writhing beneath him, begging for mercy. He made sure your legs were open, pushing his face deeper.

"Y-Yeo-Yeosang!" You grabbed a handful of his hair, feeling a finger prodding at your entrance. The sensation was too much, and your body clenched around it. "O-Oh my god," you whimpered, your voice tight with pleasure. His eyes flicked up to yours, his mouth curling into a smug smile before he added a second finger, stretching you gently. You felt yourself getting wetter, the slickness of your arousal making it easier for him to slide in and out of you.

"F-Fuck-" Not a single thought was running through your head. You had lost all coherence as Yeosang's tongue swirled around your clit and his fingers worked their magic inside you. It was as if your brain had melted away, leaving only pure, unadulterated pleasure in its wake. His eyes remained on yours, watching as you reached new heights, savoring every twitch and gasp that passed your lips.

You felt something bubbling in your stomach and you sat up, trying to form words. "Yeosang," you breathed. "I-I'm--"

You squealed and fell back, a large amount of liquid spilled out of you, your thighs instinctively closing around his head. He didn't stop. Instead, he let you squirt, fingering you even harder, his tongue pressing firmly against your clit as he lapped up the juices that were flowing like a river.

"O-Oh my fucking-" You couldn't even finish your sentence as Yeosang's mouth worked its magic, your body pulsing around his fingers.

He looked up at you, his eyes hooded with lust as you came again, even harder than before. He slowly pulled back, licking his lips as if savoring the taste of you. "You taste amazing," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

He pulls away, spreading your legs again and undoing his belt with shaky hands. You can see the outline of his erection through his pants, and you realize that you're not the only one affected by this. Yeosang's breathing is heavy, and his eyes are filled with a hunger that sends a thrill through your body.

"I'll be as gentle as can be, princess," he whispers, pulling his jeans off and kicking them aside. He pushed his boxers down, his cock springing free. You felt a brief moment of terror—it was bigger than you had ever seen. But his gentle smile and the tenderness in his eyes reassured you. He climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. You nod, feeling more ready than you ever have been for this moment. He kissed you again, his hand moving to position himself at your entrance. You feel the tip of him push against you, and you tense up, ready for the pain.

"Relax, baby." he pushed the tip inside and you grabbed his wrist once again, your nails digging into his skin. You felt a sharp pain, but he was right, it was only a pinch. He pushed in slowly, letting your body adjust to his size. You could feel him stretching you, filling you up. His eyes never left yours, his expression one of pure concentration and concern.

"Yeosang," you ran your fingers through his hair, trying to distract yourself from the pressure building inside of you. His eyes searched yours for any signs of discomfort, his own desire barely restrained. He pushed in further, and you gasped as you felt yourself stretching around him. The pain was intense but mixed with the overwhelming need for more.

"You're doing so good for me," he whispers, his voice thick with need as he continues to push inside you. You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan as your body adjusts to the new sensation. Finally, with one final push, he's all the way in, filling you completely.

He began thrusting, slow and steady, watching you intently as he did. You felt your body stretching to accommodate him, and the pain slowly began to recede, replaced by a deep, all-consuming pleasure. Each movement sent waves crashing through you, and you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your body eager to take all of him in.

You moaned his name, the sound echoing in the quiet room, and he responded by kissing you harder, his hips moving faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper with each thrust. You felt your muscles tightening around him, the tension building to an unbearable level.

You held onto him as tightly as you possibly could, your nails digging into his back as he pushed into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Yeosang's rhythm grew faster, his breathing more ragged, and you could feel his muscles tense with effort. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, calling you "baby" and "princess" in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

"You're so pretty, so tight," Yeosang murmured, his voice strained as he picked up the pace, his hips slapping against yours. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge again, your walls clenching around him. The pressure built and built until you couldn't take it anymore.

"I-I'm gonna cum again-" you cry out, refusing to let go of him. His face was shoved into your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he moaned, his thrusts growing more erratic. He kissed up your neck, finding your mouth again, his tongue slipping inside in a delicate dance with yours.

The closer you both got, the more passionate it felt, more loving than anything. Yeosang's thrusts grew stronger, and your body responded with a symphony of pleasure. You could feel his muscles tensing and his breaths getting shorter as he neared his climax. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, words of reassurance and passion that only added fuel to the fire burning between you.

"O-Oh my god, I love you," It slipped out. You didn't even notice that you said it. But his eyes widened, and he stopped for a moment, his cock still deep inside you. He stared at you for a second before kissing you again, his tongue pushing past your lips and exploring your mouth like it was a treasure.

"I love you too, baby." He whispered back, and your heart stopped. Did he just say that?

You felt tears prickling in your eyes as he started thrusting again, pushing you closer and closer. Yeosang's eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze only increasing as he felt your love. His movements grew more urgent, his breathing ragged as he neared his peak.

And finally, you came, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Yeosang groaned into your mouth, his own climax following closely behind, filling you up in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He held you tightly, his body shaking with the force of his release, his cock pulsing within you.

Neither of you let go. You both breathed heavily into each other's mouths, your hearts beating so loudly they could have drowned out the world outside. The room was a cocoon of heat and love, a space where only the two of you existed.

"You love me…?" you whispered, voice cracking. The words felt alien on your tongue, yet filled you with a warmth that was as surprising as it was overwhelming.

"I mean," he pants. "You said it first and I… yeah." He kisses you again, softer this time. "I've never felt this way about a fan before." His admission sends your heart soaring, and you realize you've been holding your breath.

"…So…what--what are…what is this-?" You stuttered, trying to make sense of his words. Your heart felt like it was going to explode from your chest.

Yeosang pulled out of you gently, his eyes still locked on yours. "This is us, baby," he murmured, stroking your cheek. "We're more than just a fan and an idol now."

303 notes · View notes

thisthatpinkvenom · 2 years ago

Text

IT'S SWEATPANTS SEASON, OH MY!

JOCK!SAN / BAND GEEK!FEM READER

⤏ Synopsis: Autumn has arrived; the season of pumpkin spice lattes, corn and—unfortunately for you—grey sweatpants. those pesky little things have attached themselves to your boyfriend's legs like glue, and you're having a hard time keeping your mind out of the gutter.

⤏ Genre(s): drabble*, fluff, humor(??), smut, smut, smut

⤏ Content: jock!San, band geek!fem reader (I know, I'm so original), you're referred to as "sweet potato" once—don't ask, just go with it, established relationship!au, college!au, non-idol!au

⤏ NSFW Warning(s): dry humping, unprotected piv (it's fiction, guysss. use your rubbers and stay safe!), creampie, just lots of build up because I'm down bad for a man in grey sweatpants 🙈

⤏ Note*: this content is completely fictional.

The mosaic of orange and yellow was striking below the dull blue clouds as the trees continued to shed their leaves. Your eyes swayed with the leaf you'd been watching descend its way patiently to the ground while you sat on the bench, shoulders jittering in the midst of the decreasing temperature. Your hands peeked out from the ends of your sleeves before rubbing together, the crisp morning air making your fingers tingle in the cold. You should've worn a thicker jacket, is what you mulled over in your head that you hadn't even noticed San until he enveloped his own padded jacket over you. The gust of warmth awoke you from your reverie and you hummed, meeting eyes with him when he lowered himself into a squat.

"You didn't have to come here," he said, a dimple indenting his cheek as he curled one corner of his mouth upward. After pulling the hood over your head, he tenderly brushed his thumb across your cheek. "I know you're not a morning person."

You struggled to fight a yawn until you decidedly gave in, white fog manifesting in your breath.

"I want to support you," you murmured. You were too busy blinking away your fatigue to notice how he looked on in nothing but fondness. Your conscience warped your thoughts when you scanned over the jacket engulfing your frame, your lips forming into a small pout. "Mm…aren't you going to be cold?"

San took a glance at his attire; he's only got a windbreaker left to keep him warm. Nonetheless, he shook his head and insisted he was used to practicing like this on the field. Despite wearing less than you and the flushed red on his nose and cheeks, you couldn't really tell if he felt the effect of the weather as much as you did. You couldn't fathom how he had the motivation to get up at the ass crack of dawn to run around with a ball, doing drills with his teammates while Coach Kim rapid-fired pointer after pointer without a stop to catch his breath. It truly was admirable how smiley he was at 7:00 a.m. without consuming any caffeine.

Coach Kim sauntered along the grass before he blew his whistle and commanded the team to group together. Your boyfriend looked over his shoulder before turning back to you, eyes squinting as the sun's orange glow began to blanket over the field.

"Well, gotta start soon," he observed. "Stay warm and if you're sleepy, just go back. I'm happy you're here but don't force yourself to stay. All right, Sweet Potato?"

You made a small noise of confirmation, unfazed by the odd affectionate nickname you had gotten used to over time. The heat of his palms skimmed over your ears as he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead before standing tall. But what you didn't anticipate—whoa—had really slapped you awake right then and there. For the mere five seconds you'd managed to capture a mental image, time felt as if it'd been stretched to hell when your boyfriend's crotch had leveled with your eyes. You hadn't realized the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and now that you've gotten a face full of…that, you're acutely aware.

You're shook to the core.

Your gaze trailed after his jogging figure, following the path up his long and toned legs to his cute little bu—okay, whoa! It's only 7:15 in the morning. You had no business indulging in these thoughts right now. Get it together.

Oh, he's facing your general direction now.

Are you staring at it too much? It's starting to feel a little warm, all of a sudden; it's the jacket, isn't it? Just how long is this going to take?

You're trapped on this bench. It hadn't even been 10 minutes since practice started and Coach Kim was rambling on about the importance of warming up while you're glued to your seat, pathetically staring at your boyfriend's dickprint while he seemingly had no idea. God, you felt like a perv. Even though he assured you that it was okay, you didn't want to just up and leave. This was a relationship built on give and take, and there were one too many times when he watched your concerts while knowing little to nothing about orchestral music.

You'll just suffer, then.

"Just fuck him."

"Lisa!" you chided, pushing three fingers against your friend's arm as she rolled her eyes.

"What?" She swirled her tongue around the glob of chocolate ice cream sitting on top of her waffle cone. "He's a hot, charming guy. Your own boyfriend makes you horny and that's supposed to be a problem now?"

"Oh, my gosh, I just…" you trailed off, eyes searching elsewhere for your thoughts. "I'm not used to being all"—you waved your hands disorientedly in front of you—"dirty…minded. He's the one who usually initiates it."

"Sex?"

"Everything physical, really," you clarified. "I just feel like if I start it, it's just going to be off—and awkward."

You sighed. "How am I going to get through this season?"

"Oh, yeah, the sweatpants; that's what's been making you a sex freak," Lisa recalled with an airy laugh. "Those things are like lingerie for guys. Especially the grey ones…oomf. 'Dicktoria's Secret' is real," she snorted.

You gave her a blank stare.

"Look, just be honest," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—which it was. "You really think any guy is gonna find it offensive that his girl's drooling over his bulge?"

"I wasn't drooling—"

"You will be."

"Oh, my gosh."

You weren't aware that having a footballer-boyfriend automatically signed you up for three months' worth of almost nothing but sweatpants. You also didn't know how many he had stashed in his wardrobe until now—it's good to know he didn't wear the same pair everyday. But this meant he had enough pairs to flaunt his dick outline in your face whenever you were together.

Not good for your cavewoman brain.

Fingers danced along your neck and you squirmed at the intrusion, meeting eyes with San's own with your face sporting a frown. The same fingers belonged to the arm lazing comfortably around your shoulders, both of you having snuggled together into mush on his couch while you binge-watched one of your favorite shows. You whined his name in annoyance when you're kicked out of your thoughts.

He chortled. "Sorry, I just—it's Buffy and you don't even seem that into it. Is everything okay?"

Let's see: it's a Friday night. His roommate, Mingi went to visit his parents for the weekend and you're all alone with your hot, charming boyfriend™ who's clearly gone commando under his sweats. And you're supposed to be watching Buffy slay vampires…how?

"Y-Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" you stammered.

He hummed in feigned ponder, and the knowing smirk surging its way onto his lips would've sent a churn in your belly if you'd actually caught sight of it.

"You know that my eyes are up here, right?"

Your eyes snapped up in panic, and silence was the only response you had sitting on your tongue. You wanted to hide in a cave, where you could wallow in embarrassment without disturbance. Your own boyfriend had just caught you ogling his crotch like a perv.

San tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, suppressing a smile at how you resembled a deer in headlights. "You thought I wouldn't notice?"

Your mouth was stuck in a battle between opening and closing as you desperately searched for the right words. With a defeated sigh, your face fell into the safety of your palms.

"This is so embarrassing," you groaned, words muffled against your hands.

"Hey," he laughed softly, grabbing your wrists in an attempt to retract your hands away from your face. "It's not a big deal"—you sighed when the light from the standing lamp washed into your eyes—"it's cute."

You gave him a funny look. "Cute," you stated, doubt laced in your tone.

"Yeah. Usually, I'm the one doing all the staring."

He scanned you up and down with a pondering pout on his lips, continuing on to ask, "It's the sweatpants, isn't it?"

"Do you have to state the obvious?" you whined.

"What? I just wanna make things clear, so I know what to wear for you," he teased. He shifted closer and smoothed a hand up your thigh. "I'll wear more for you."

If he felt the goosebumps on your skin, he didn't comment on them.

"You say it like it's lingerie," you quipped, recalling what Lisa said a few days ago. You're saying anything to distract yourself right now, but you crumbled easily whenever he touched you. And he knew it well, especially when his hand moved dangerously close to your pyjama shorts. You're not even sure if you were breathing.

"If it's gotten you like this, then I'd say it pretty much is."

He moved on to say, "I like it when you look at me like that."

Your expression was frozen. "Like what?"

San's eyes changed ever so slightly, his hand finally slipping between your squeezed thighs.

"Like you really want me."

Your thighs parted for him. "I…I do," you murmured.

"Oh, really? Where do you want me?"

"Where else?"

"I asked you first."

You made a quiet huff from your nose, looking down at his hand that's aching to pull your shorts down. "Inside"—you hesitated—"inside me. I-I would like it if we had sex…please?"

His lustful gaze turned softer, eyebrows raised high at your interesting way of words. While you, on the other hand, visibly grimaced. San found your eyes shutting tight and your nose scrunching up all too adorable, and without a doubt, he would've bitten your cheeks if he could.

With a chuffed smile, he hooked his fingers at the waistbands of your shorts and underwear, waiting for you to lift your hips. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's have the sex now."

You sulked at his incessant teasing, knowing well enough that he was purposefully expressing his words awkwardly. He laughed and assured you he would stop there, before grabbing your now half-naked body by the hips and having you straddle him. His fleece sweatpants were rough from the continuous use, giving you some nice sense of friction on your sensitive nub.

But above all that, you could feel the presence of his cock hiding beneath his pants, your pussy lips spreading the slightest on his erection. Your breath hitched as his hands made their way under your sweater, then your shirt; reposed comfortably at your hips as if they made home there. The pads of his fingers kneaded your skin as he looked up at you with expectant eyes.

"C'mon, get yourself off for me."

You waited with bated breath for nothing in particular—you'd just been momentarily distracted by his intense stare. Nodding too many times in the span of a second, you began to move your hips under the guide of his hands.

"Oh…"

There was a minor ache in your hips when he dug his fingers deeper in your skin, but you were too focused on the soft chafing of the fabric against your clit. It was getting you in the right place; so rough.

"Are you doing okay, Baby?"

You released an unstable sigh. "Y-Yeah."

He eyed the way your skin slightly folded with every move you made on his clothed cock, teeth pulling at his bottom lip. Your motions grew faster and more impatient as you yearned for his mouth against yours, falling forward before your lips touched his.

He pushed you down each time he pulled you forward, earning growingly unsteady breaths from you into his mouth. You nearly choked when he bucked his hips upward, soft moans having no chance to escape when each were engulfed by his lips. You continued to do nothing but mindlessly grind your clit on him, humping his clothed cock like you were in desperate heat.

You didn't have the mind to warn him at this moment, unable to hear anything but your own moans until you were reaching your impending climax. And soon with trembling thighs, you came. Your skin grew rampant with shivers while your mind went elsewhere for the bite of a second.

San finally spared some mercy, separating from you with a thin string of spit connecting your lips before he's splitting it with a lick from his tongue. Stealing a glance at the dark spot you left on his pants, he served you a lustful, lopsided smile.

"This is what you'll get if you're just a little more honest with me," he chuckled.

Your ears grew hot at the sight of your arousal leaving its mark, adjusting yourself with your hands on the backrest behind him. You waited a few beats to gather your words before you muttered, "Well…can I be honest with you right now?"

"Of course."

San waited with patient eyes, his stare nearly melting you into goo while he thumbed your skin again.

"I'd like to have the sex—with your penis inside me…please."

He didn't try at all to suppress amusement at how you'd poked fun at yourself, hearty laughter producing from the pit of his belly. The dimples in his cheeks emerged from hiding as he grinned and nodded while pushing his waistband down, just enough for his cock to free itself. When his laughter had settled, he pressed a peck on the tip of your nose.

"Whenever you're ready."

You grabbed the base of his cock and pressed the tip against your entrance, pausing for a moment until you began to slowly but surely, sink entirely down his length. The stretch always started as an odd pressure between your walls, but once they'd completely swallowed his dick whole, it always left you wanting more. It's a feeling you don't think you could ever give justice to, if you were ever asked to describe it. He was just so right for you.

Your body gave into him as he pulled you flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist like a tightened belt. His hushed groans were made only for you, and hearing them continuously by your ear sent shivers down your spine.

"So warm," he muttered under his breath. He slid his bum further down the couch with you in his grasp and spread his legs wider. And when he was sure of the angle, he rolled his hips to meet yours, finding a steady pace with the most agonizingly unyielding thrusts. With every slam of his hips, your moans rendered into off-key whimpers as you melted under his guidance.

It felt like you were experiencing the hottest temperatures of the summer; your cheeks were burning and at moments, you felt like pushing away just from the sheer heat of your bodies entangled together.

A cuss left your boyfriend's lips when you gnawed on his shoulder, the salty tang of sweat grazing your tongue. And as if he wasn't holding onto you tightly already, he pulled you even closer as his cock rammed relentlessly, his rhythm growing sloppy when he began reaching his peak.

Your back felt like it'd been bent beyond repair as his cum coated your walls, the familiar twitching of his cock presented inside you. But he didn't stop there, he wouldn't until you came as well. And with his jaw clenched, he fucked into you like you were his toy, white rings of his own orgasm spilling with every move and making way to stain his pants.

"C'mon, Baby," he grunted. "Cum, f-fuck—cum, fucking c-cum…"

And in a few more thrusts, all you saw were specks of white among darkness. Your pussy spared no consideration on his sensitive cock and clenched as you trembled, the string of swears leaving his lips going deaf on your ears. Your limbs fell limp to pure exhaustion, despite how much you wanted to just wrap them around him like you were a koala and he was the tree. You wanted to mark your kisses all over his face but not even your lips were functioning right now as you barely managed to muster out a "thank you".

It was clear that it took a moment for San to register what you'd said, before he let out a breathy laugh. Not because he found something funny, it was just one of those laughs you got when you felt so euphoric—like getting your balls drained until you were a moaning mess; that kind of euphoric.

He kissed the top of your head, looking ahead at the TV where Buffy was still slaying vampires as usual. His dick stayed inside you, soft and relaxed in your warmth, neither of you in any rush to clean up.

"Mm…remind me to buy more of these sweats."

#ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez drabbles #ateez imagines #choi san smut #ateez san smut #san smut #kpop smut

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 months ago

Text

Black love hearts

a/n this man’s existence is singlehandedly ruining my angel image. I will be burning in hell actually, thank you.

warning: good old roommates smut hahah… mention of cheating, alcohol consumption and my dignity being on the floor. Have fun.

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

The clock on the stove read 3 am, and the apartment was dim. A couple of over-the-island lights that had been left on and forgotten, softly illuminating the living room in a deep warm yellow. “That’s what I fucking told him”, iii giggles, throwing his head back over the sofa armrest. You two had been roommates for barely two months but the chemistry had been wild from the moment he opened the apartment door and found you standing there with a plushy duck that was one-third of your height. “And then what?”, you giggled biting your lip as you watched him.

“Told him to shove his dick back where it was”, iii shrugged, downing the last bit of wine still left in the bottle. Some might say it was pathetic to spend a Friday night like this but you two had no fucks left to give. “Honestly she looked like a cheap bitch to me anyway”, you scrunched up your nose, swirling the wine in your glass. “Oddly enough I feel free”, iii chuckled, running a hand over his face. The poor guy had been cheated on but you and the shower head had more chemistry than what you heard coming from iii’s room when they were together.

“You went on a date this week, how was it?”, he nodded your way, unscrewing another bottle before leaning over to refill your glass. “Uh you had to go and remind me of that”, you gagged up, shaking your head. “That fucking bad?”, iii snorted. “I mean… he was decent to look at but…”, you trailed off. “But…”, iii motioned for you to continue. “Promise me you won’t judge”, you gulped your wine down as iii made a cross over his heart with a cigarette. “I just wanted to fuck and he told me he could rub it out for me”, you mussed, grabbing the bottle from his hands. “Shit… bet you got real wet after hearing that”, iii shook his head. “Man are fucking lame”, you rolled your eyes, tipping the bottle over.

“I hear you, you know”, iii cleared his throat. “You agree that men are trash?”, you snorted, looking up at him. “No… well yes, but I wasn’t referring to that”, he turned to you, licking his lips. Only now did you realize how close you were. The thrifted leather sofa was a gem but for his long limbs and your body was way too small. “You struggled last night, huh”, he says it so casually but your body goes rigid. “Hey, I wasn’t listening just… you were at it for hours”, iii added only making your cheeks heat more. “I don’t know what you want me to…”, you shake your head feeling flustered, but iii is quick to cut you off, “Did you cum?”

You just stare at him, chest rising and falling as you watch him. Shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, that fresh blonde trim he had the other day still making your insides turn. You blink slowly before shaking your head. “I think I was too much in my head”, you whispered. “Would you like to cum?”, his question makes you let out a laugh before you see his dead serious face.

“Iii, we… we agreed that we wouldn’t”, you shook your head. “We don’t have to go all the way”, he says sitting up, before sniffing the cigarette out on the ashtray. “We have mutual…”, you muttered, letting out a sigh as iii slowly parted your legs reaching for your ankles before pressing a kiss against your leg, “friends… mutual friends”. “And that’s important because?”, he frowned, looking at you. It wasn’t really but you had thought about fucking him for weeks. Had done a decent job of talking yourself out of it. Until now…

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this”, he mussed, eyes on you the whole time. “I don’t want you to”, you muttered, shaking your head. “Spread them open, baby”, iii’s palms ran up your thighs. There wasn’t much left for the imagination. You had one of his shirts on that looked like a dress on you. The material bunched up against your waist to reveal pink panties with little black love hearts on them. “Cute”, iii smirked, “I didn’t know I was gonna get fucked tonight, okay”, you grunted. Iii chuckled, leaning over your body, hands digging into your hips as he bit the side of your thigh, “Who said I was judging?”, you could feel his breath on your skin sending a shiver down your back, “I’m admiring, baby”, he bit the waistband of your panties pulling it away from your skin before letting it snap back, making you gasp. “Iii”, you moaned, hand instantly moving to reach for his head.

“You ruined the material”, his fingers pressed against your heated center, your amped-up sexual arousal no doubt clear for him to see. “Just fuck me”, you pleaded, pushing against his fingers desperately. “I have a better plan”, iii smirked, hand already down his pants as he stroked his length. You watch him with hungry eyes, pulling his sweatpants off. Having to bite your lip to not whimper at the size of him in his palm. “Jesus, that’s a fucking cock”, you whined, “Good girl, you still remember what one looks like”, he chuckled making you grunt, “Asshole”. “You’re the one dripping down our sofa, love”, he mused, hovering over you. The word our alone making you arch your back. You feel him, slowly pushing against your walls the material of your panties the only barrier between you.

“Move it”, you whisper, finger moving to reach for your underwear only for iii to catch your wrist. “attagirl”, he mused, “i want to watch you gushing as I rub against you”, he whispered against your ear. Pushing the head of his cock against you entrance before slowly moving it up and down your folds. “Mean fucking asshole”, you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Maybe you could cum just from this”, iii mused, slowly rubbing against you as you buck your hips, following his movements.

“Please”, you moaned, “Just…”, “Just the tip?”, he muttered, “I can give you that”, pealing the side of your drenched underwear up, he let his cock slide beneath the material and your skin, both of you letting out a moan in unison as you rubbed against each other. “Iii”, you bucked your hips, trying to get as much friction as possible. He thrusted like that a couple more times. Lip between his teeth as he watched himself bulging in your underwear. “Fuck it”, he cursed pulled out, his fingers reached for the material. The sound of tearing fabric curing through the sound of heavy breathing, making you gasp.

“What did you…”, you lifted your head, “Made myself a fucking entrance”, he grunted, “hold onto the armrest, I don’t play nice”, you had barely managed to register his words before he thrusted into you. Giving you no time to adjust as he stretched you out, filling you in a way you had never felt before. “Oh fuck”, you cried out, nails digging into the leather, “my… faaa…”, one of your hands reached to brace yourself against his chest as he rutted into you. Firm grip on your hips no doubt leaving a delicious bruise there in the morning.

“So fucking warm and tight”, iii grunted between clenched teeth. Leaning down to spit against your pussy, making you throw your head back as he rubbed the extra wetness into your skin. “You’re the devil”, you panted feeling that warm bubble building in your stomach. “Was never against ruining good girls”, iii mused, hand snaking up your chest before clasping around your neck as he leaned in to kiss you. The feeling of his cock and the lack of oxygen driving you into an overdrive. “Good fucking pussy”, he groaned against your lips, the ruthless thrust making your body shake. “I’m…I”, you whimpered, toes curling as he hit just the right spot over and over and over again.

“Cum, baby, you earned it”, he mused, giving you yet another powerful thrust. Everything exploded around you. You felt him twitch inside you, the warmth of his release the final thing sending you over the edge. “Baby…fa”, you moaned, or probably screamed considering that iii’s hand clasped around your mouth. Wave after wave of his cum painting your walls. Thrust sloppy but enough to prolong your orgasm as it drowned you.

iii let himself fall against your chest, still mindful of his weight as he breathed heavily. “You were amazing”, he sighed between breaths. “I think I saw Jesus”, you whispered, making iii let out a lazy chuckle, “No, that was my dick”, you can’t help the laugh that slips past your lips, “You’re insane”. “I’m fucking hard, that’s what I am”, he grunts, giving another lazy thrust, making you whimper. “After that?”, you gasp, “I want you on all fours”, he whispers, biting at your neck. “Jesus have mercy”, you look up at the ceiling before turning to crash your lips again his once more.

#sleep token smut #sleep token x reader #sleep token imagine #sleep token x you #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token iii imagine #sleep token iii smut #sleep token iii x reader #sleep token iii fanfiction

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acid-ixx · 3 months ago

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Hello, Yael! Absolutely wonderful job as always with the newest chapter RAHHHH Since Tyler the Creator's album came out (around the same time the chapter dropped too!), now it hit me that his song 'Like Him' fits Y/N in the story. How Y/N seeks for Bruce and her family and grew to have resentment that any affiliation with them would leave her with a pit in the stomach.

In a way, Y/N chased after Bruce and her family who essentially treated her like a ghost as a kid, and now the ghosts of her past are chasing *her* when she grew up. Hopefully this ask didn't bother your day, I genuinely enjoy your works and they're all so thoughtfully written, remember to take care, and I will eagerly and patiently wait for your next chapter hihi!

YES!!! this is one of the songs centered around chapter 5 and 6, when i first listened to it, it's like giving off bruce and his neglected child vibes. the direction i originally wanted to go for was that you're unaware of your dad's existence, your mother wanting to protect you from the implication that you were never planned or wanted in the first place—

but with how the current chapters go, it's even more painful to know who your father is, sharing the nearly the same imagery of him and wishing to strip away every feature that shouts, "i bruce wayne's child!"

hell, the only reason you pestered your mother about your father's identity was because you see bruce everywhere, and start to piece the puzzle together that you're eerily similar to him.

yet living in the manor, what once was you chasing after the ghost of your idealization of your father, was now you chasing after the ghost of your past, your life with your mother, and wishing that you never knew who your father was in the first place. without any guidance, your self-image crumbles upon itself and it's there you come to the realization that you're slowly forgetting what your mother looks like; only pieces of her are left on your face to be nit-picked by you.

obsessively trying to keep the memories of her long gone through those daunting 13 years of living inside the manor.

you're more like bruce in so many other ways and you refuse that truth, sinking deeper into your own despair the same way bruce's past stubbornly festers deep inside his head; you truly are like him.

you used to be proud of the fact that you can pridefully call yourself bruce's child, now it's your very same face that ropes you into your demise.

— thank you anon for sending this in! there're so many other media references that i placed in my fanfic and you're one step ahead of me on this one. i wanted to create a playlist of my own song/media references centered around the series but there's just so many that i added that it might take time hehe.

#🧁... yael's misc.#yandere dc #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #yandere angst #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere batman #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n

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randomdragonfires · 5 months ago

Text

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Part Two

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him.

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader

WORD COUNT | 13.2k

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!

A/N | Not beta read. ;)

She sits at Aemond’s kitchen counter, her eyes wandering over the photographs sprawled out in front of her. Each image captures the haunting beauty of the ruins of Valyria, a place Aemond has been passionate about for ages due to his heritage. The smell of French toast wafts through the air, mixing with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He pours her a mug and slides it over to her.

Just for a second, the domesticity of it all makes her want to blush.

She has been seeing men, yes. Ever since she got to college, there have been no shortage of men who want to date her; but she has been hesitant about letting any of them close. Perhaps it is the idea of being touched once more, or the comfort she has grown for herself that she refuses to let anyone in - she does not know.

But not Aemond, seems like. He’s been her bedrock ever since she moved to Oldtown, and sometimes, he does little things that make her feel warm.

She has a hard time figuring out what it is, but it’s certainly not feelings. She’s had them before, for Daeron - it’s a lot more intense, usually.

This is easy. Too easy. It is easy to be attracted to Aemond, he’s got that about him. But he’s also Aemond - Daeron’s brother. It is quite messed up. It is easy to be infatuated, she feels. But she’s not quite ready to do anything about something so miniscule - especially given what he means to her.

It’s all a bit of fun, really. A mindless little crush. All of it goes away in time.

And there’s also the fact that he seems to like someone else, and not her.

Aemond moves gracefully around the kitchen, flipping slices of bread in a sizzling pan. His expression is animated as he recounts the details of his recent trip. "Valyria is everything I imagined and more," he said, his voice filled with awe. "The architecture, even in ruins… phenomenal.”

She picks up a photo showing a grand, crumbling archway, its intricate carvings still visible despite centuries of decay. "This is incredible," she murmurs, tracing a finger over the image. "Like walking through time.”

He smiles, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Exactly. Every piece of rubble, every shattered column… and the dragons… you can feel their presence, even now."

She looks up at him, curiosity piqued. "Did you find anything related to your family?"

"I did. There were symbols and inscriptions that matched the Targaryen coat of arms. There was this…” He turns quickly to rustle his hands through the photos, trying to find one that he probably intends to show her. When he spots it, he slides it to her by the fingertips. “This old stone tablet with the Targaryen dragon carved into it, still intact despite the centuries.”

"That's incredible. It must have been surreal to see it in person."

"It was," Aemond agrees, his voice tinged with reverence as he went back to the stove. "There were also ancient manuscripts, or what was left of them. The text was almost completely eroded, but you could still make out references to my ancestors. And there was a mural, faded and cracked, but you could see the dragons soaring over Valyria in them, with what we believe were the early Targaryens among them."

He placed the plate of French toast in front of her and sat down, his eyes glowing with excitement. "I even found a piece of what might have been a dragon egg, petrified but still recognizable.”

Wylde takes a bite of the French toast, savoring the warm, cinnamon flavor, but her mind was captivated by Aemond's discoveries. “How’d you end up making the trip? Thought it was closed for like… government reasons or something?”

“Right, so… Aegon-”

“That never ends well.”

The edge of his lips twinges upward and she clocks his faint smile. “He's the creative director of The Kingslander now.” She has heard of it. Aegon Targaryen was quite the flighty boy growing up, with little to no focus on anything low-key. He would always have an eye for anything creative and aesthetic though, and had a unique style. Alicent spotted an early opportunity for her eldest son, and had him intern at The Kingslander, one of the many magazines that Targaryen Consolidated owned. Soon enough, he had something to channel himself into, and it showed. From fashion photography to various directed photoshoots, he was in his element.

But at heart, Aegon was never meant for the desk lifestyle. So when Sara Snow - an archeology professor - tumbled into his life and told him she was to leave on an expedition for half a year, he took the opportunity to let loose and chase her across the globe. She had him enrolled into the documenting team so he wouldn’t be twiddling his thumbs, and he seems to have taken to it quite well.

‘So I’m like, into history now.’ She can clearly hear him say it. “I don’t know. He likes this girl, and he got access, so he invited me to go along because there may never be a chance again.”

“Sounds like such an Aegon thing to do,” she says wistfully as the last bits of her food disappear from the plate.

“What?”

“To put his heart on the line and take risks that involve going halfway across the globe to a restricted area for a girl.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“You wouldn’t do it?”

Aemond pauses, contemplating the question. "It's not that I wouldn't. It's just... different for me."

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Different how?"

“He’s so… out of control. I’d not prefer that.”

“Hm. Or perhaps you haven’t had your crazy grand romantic moment yet.” Red blooms over his cheeks as he faces away, taking her plate to dump it into the sink. “Speaking of. You mentioned you met someone months ago! I’ve been here for three months already and you’re yet to tell me anything!”

“It’s very casual.”

“Liar. You’d not be hiding her like your life depended on it if it was.”

“Hm.”

She stands up, gathering her books and bag, ready to go home. She begins to assemble all the photos, carefully placing them back into the box. As she reaches for the last few, her fingers brush against a small, delicate emerald locket she hadn't noticed earlier. She holds it up, admiring its intricate design.

"Is this from the expedition too?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.

Aemond turns, scratching the back of his neck as he answers, "No, that's a friend's. She was looking at the photos earlier." A faint blush creeps up his cheeks, but Wylde notices it immediately.

"And is this the same… friend that you're trying to hide from me?" she teases, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Perhaps," Aemond admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

She chuckles, and stores at the back of her mind the observation that whoever he’s seeing comes and goes to the flat, just like her. "Good taste in jewelry, I'll tell you that much. I like her already."

She walks up to him, wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug and planting a friendly kiss on his cheek. The tingling feeling is back again, but she ignores it like the plague.

"Food was good. One of these days you'll give Criston a run for his money," she jokes - to lower his tension or hers, she does not know.

Aemond mutters his thanks, his blush deepening. "Don't get your hopes up too high."

She strolls through the lively streets of Oldtown, her phone pressed to her ear. The scent of fresh pastries from a nearby café mingles with the distant hum of conversation, and the old world charm brightens up her day.

“Hey… been a while!” she says, her voice bright with genuine enthusiasm. “How’s everything at KLU?”

There’s a brief pause before Daeron’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Hi, yourself! Things are going great here. Campus is even more lively than I expected, classes are alright. How’s Oldtown treating you?”

You could have found out for yourself if you’d followed through with me, she thinks. She’s quick to kick her bitter thoughts to the curb though.

She glances around at the charming storefronts and the lively crowds. “It’s been a whirlwind. The courses are intense, but I’m getting used to the pace. I’m really enjoying the city - it’s everything I hoped it would be. So different from home, but in a good way. Aemond and I spend a lot of time together, so that’s nice.”

“Yeah, Oldtown is amazing,” Daeron agrees, his enthusiasm unwavering. “I remember going there to visit grandpa often as a kid.””

“Oh yeah!” Her curiosity gets the better of her, and her question tumbles out before she can stop herself. “How’re things with you and Floris?”

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line. She can almost hear Daeron shifting, his voice a bit more guarded when he replies. “Oh, Floris is… she’s doing well. She’s been really busy with her studies and all. It’s been a bit hectic for her, but she’s handling it. You know how she is - always on top of things.”

No, I don’t know how she is, actually.

Her brow furrows slightly as she walks past the café, where the smell of coffee and baked goods wafts out into the street. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something feels off to her. “That’s good to hear. But you sound a bit... dull. Everything okay?”

Daeron let out a nervous chuckle. “No, it’s nothing like that. We’ve just been caught up in our own worlds lately. It’s a lot to balance with everything going on. But she’s fine, really. We’re fine.”

He’s lying. She knows. She knows him like the back of her hand.

Arianne Martell approaches her in the distance, her bright smile unmistakable. She sighs into her phone, deciding to let the topic drop for now. “Hey, Daeron, I’ve got to go. Catch up later, yeah?”

“Okay, bye. And hey-”

“What?”

“I miss you.”

Much and more has happened between them, but she can’t help but smile all the same. “Me too. We’ll talk soon.”

Heart warmed by the fact that she can have a conversation with him again without wanting to pull his spun silver hair out, she picks up the pace to join Arianne.

They queue up at the cart, their conversation slipping into the familiar rhythm of college gossip. Arianne’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she leans closer. “You won’t believe what I heard about Margaery Tyrell. Apparently, she’s been sneaking off to meet with Lionel Hightower.”

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Margaery? Really? I thought she was with-”

Arianne nods enthusiastically. “Renly Baratheon, yes. But my brother saw him and Loras Tyrell making out at one of his parties.”

“Well. Fair enough.”

Arianne grins, clearly enjoying the drama. “Oh, it gets better. Apparently, they’ve been trying to get Cregan Stark to join them but he’s much too prudish for a threesome.”

“Prudish or just uncomfortable with them?”

“Who knows?”

As they walk past the cart, Wylde’s gaze drifts toward the window of a nearby restaurant. For a moment, she spots a familiar silhouette through the glass. She wants to think it’s Aemond, but it would be a reach to assume every tall man in a black hoodie is him.

But she spots Vhagar parked out front, and now she knows for sure.

Aemond is seated with his back to her, and she can tell by his posture that it's him. He’s accompanied by an obscured woman who gestures animatedly as she talks. They seem engrossed in deep conversation, and Aemond’s face is animated, his focus entirely on the woman before him.

Her curiosity is piqued, but she quickly refocuses on Arianne, who is now recounting the latest gossip involving the drama club’s lead actor.

It feels wrong to be peeking into Aemond's life like this.

Arianne’s laughter draws her attention back. “Anyway, I have a date with Arys tonight!”

“STOP! Really?”

“He finally asked me out, thank the Gods. Thought he was going to drag it out forever!”

She laughs, the earlier sight of Aemond slipping from her mind.

“Yeah so, you’ll come in and help me get ready?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They are sprawled on his plush leather couch, the glow from the laptop illuminating their surroundings. The soft hum of a wildlife documentary is heard, the narrator's voice a soothing backdrop to the scenes of the Sarnor savannah playing out on the screen. Bowls of snacks—popcorn and chocolate-covered almonds—are scattered around them, within easy reach.

She is nestled comfortably against Aemond’s side, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm is draped casually around her, fingers idly tracing patterns on her arm. They are so close, their bodies glued together that it’d be so easy to assume that they were a couple, rather than friends who’ve known each other their entire lives. Every so often, Aemond’s hand dips into the bowl of popcorn, bringing a few kernels to his mouth, while she picks at the chocolate almonds. She feels the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the warmth of his body seeping into hers.

As his fingers trace gentle patterns on her arm, she feels a shiver run through her. It’s a simple touch, yet it sends her heart racing. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact, every subtle shift in his posture. The way he holds her, casually yet protectively, makes her wonder if he feels the same way. Does he know how much these small gestures mean to her?

He’s just being friendly to a girl he’s known almost his entire life.

She steals a glance at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the laptop screen. His sharp features are softened in the dim light, and she notices the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates on the documentary. She resists the strange urge to smoothen out the lines on his face and help him calm down.

She sighs contentedly, but soon a dull ache begins to build at her temples. She shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the headache persists. She groans softly, bringing a hand to her forehead.

Aemond glances down at her, a look of concern crossing his features. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a headache,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and leaning further into him. “It’s been a long day.”

Without a word, Aemond begins to gently massage her scalp, his fingers working through her hair with practiced ease. His attention remains fixed on the laptop screen, but his touch is gentle and soothing, each movement easing the tension from her temples.

She feels a flutter in her chest, a familiar sensation she’s tried to ignore. The crush she has on Aemond, usually kept carefully in check, creeps up on her as he continues to massage her scalp. His touch is both comforting and intimate, sending shivers down her spine.

Hormones are a nasty little thing, she surmises as her mild feelings refuse to go away. How could they, when he’s holding her like this?

She feels the need to speak if only to calm herself down.

“Daeron and I spoke today.”

His hands stop immediately, and his face hardens as he looks down at her. She looks up to meet his gaze, and she refuses to think of how close she is to his lips. She won’t.

Perhaps she is a little attracted to him.

It’s natural, and honestly? An inevitability. He’s Aemond. Anyone with proper vision and a sound mind would be attracted to him. She’s just lucky that she knows him well enough to be part of his space.

It’s stupid and even a bit silly. She’ll be over it just fine.

She moves away from him, sitting facing him with crossed legs. “What did he say?” He asks, and she spots the defensiveness in his tone.

“Nothing to worry about, it was nice actually.” She smiles, still very fond of her long-time best friend. “We just caught up and he was telling me about KLU. He also said he had plans to visit here in the summer, so I’m quite excited!”

“And how can you be sure that he’s not going to let himself be pulled away again?”

“About that…” She sighs. Regardless of how messy their equation had been towards the end of school, she has grown back her affinity for the youngest Targaryen brother. She supposes all they needed was time. “I asked about him and Floris today, he seemed very hesitant with his answers.”

“Hm.” She hears the pop of each of his knuckles as he cracks them with a concentrated look on his face.

“I don’t know. I think he’s lying.”

“You’re sure?”

“I know him. I know him well, like the back of my hand. I know when he’s lying. He didn’t sound like himself. I worry for him.”

“It’s not your place to do anything until he asks for help.”

“But I didn’t even-”

“You know him and I know you. You’d trip over yourself trying to help him.”

Her shoulders slump as she realizes he’s right. It is in Daeron’s nature to come to her when he’s down, and it is in her nature to be there for him. She’s wired that way, truly. How can she not be, when she’s been that way for as long as she’s known him?

“I’d rather you not be hurt again. Daeron is… careless. He and Aegon never consider anything beyond the next ten minutes, and they leave a big mess in their wake.”

She smirks. “Are you using me as an excuse to take shots at your brothers?”

She sees the corner of his lips twitch, and she brings her hands together as she sighs once more. “I just… I’ve had time to get over the fact that we drifted apart. But it made me quite sad that he felt the need to lie to me and smooth things rather than actually tell me what’s going on, you know?”

“Happens.” His replies are curt and his disposition is rougher. She doesn’t know why, and she refuses to let it grow. “Nothing you can do about it,” he adds.

“Hm.”

The sounds of the documentary keep the room from being pin drop silent, and she gets off the sofa to go to the fridge. “We’ve run out of cheesecake.” She says, coming back to where she was sitting before.

“Yeah, I need to get more.”

“You could have gotten some when you went to Moonbloom a few days ago.”

Aemond’s nervousness was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him well. But to her, the subtle shifts were as clear as daylight. She noticed how his jaw tightened just a fraction, the way his eyes seemed to flicker with an almost invisible tension. His usually steady hands would still, fingers curling ever so slightly into his palms. He’d draw in a slow, controlled breath, his chest rising just a bit higher than usual.

“When did you see me?”

The eyebrow of his functional eye lifts just a little, almost as if he’s asking her how she knew. "I saw Vhagar parked outside. Figured nobody else had a bike that looked similar. Thought you may be with someone, so I didn’t want to intrude."

"Professor Rivers," he replies, his tone dangerously neutral. "I was working on my papers about the expedition, using them for my semester submission, and we bumped into each other."

"Oh, okay. Weird, isn’t it? To bump into professors outside of campus. Like people let out of their natural habitat."

"Hm. Perhaps." His cheeks take on a faint pink hue, and she can’t help but smile.

"Why are you blushing?" she asks, laughing heartily, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "You don’t have a crush on her or something, do you?"

"Gods, no," he replies quickly, the words almost too quick. It’s a lighthearted quip to her, nothing more, but the slight tilt in his tone lingers in her mind, a small seed of curiosity planted.

“I mean, she is pretty. I wouldn’t blame you.” She laughs, trying to tease him further and he disappointedly nods side to side.

A few hours go by as they continue to pass the time, but Aemond seems a little tense from thereon out. He’s quieter - if that’s even possible - and his responses, more measured. She notices the way he occasionally bites the inside of his cheek, a habit he has when something's bothering him. His fingers tap lightly against his knee in an uneven rhythm, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

When she asks him a question, he pauses just a moment longer than usual before answering, as if carefully choosing his words. The slight furrow in his brow, the way his gaze occasionally drifts to the floor, and the almost imperceptible sighs he lets out - they all speak of an unease that she spots effortlessly.

These are the times when she hates knowing the Targaryen children as well as she does.

She watches him closely, feeling a pang of guilt. He’s not the kind to take these things to heart usually, but something about her teasing seems to have unsettled him this time. She no longer feels welcome, and she knows he’d rather be left alone now and to find her when he’s ready for her again. She doesn’t like that it has to be this way, but giving him his space is the most she can do.

She stands abruptly, murmuring something about an early class in the morning and how she has to go. He immediately softens then, and stands idly with his hands in his pockets as she packs her bag.

She doesn’t like leaving him like this, but just as she moves to the door, she turns at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand, holding onto her wrist. With his other hand at the back of his neck, his look is almost sheepish. “Listen, sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable-”

“I’m sorry too. It wasn’t funny to tease about your professors. Didn’t realize you were quite touchy about it.”

“I’m not, just… I don’t know what happened.”

Her gaze is fixed at his strong hand holding hers, and she looks at it for too long before he notices it and drops it like hot coal. She misses the warmth of him immediately with a strange overwhelming feeling she cannot put into words. It’s not her silly little crush on him, it’s just a natural physical reaction, she tells herself.

She softens and melts immediately at his peculiar attempt to smooth things over with her, and it is heartwarming to her that he tries. “Aemond, it’s okay. You’re fine. If anything, I should apologize and I am sorry.”

“Neither of us should be apologizing, this is a non-issue.” He says, and she recognises the finality of his tone. There is no space for debate; and in all honesty, she doesn’t know why a throwaway statement became a big deal anyway.

“Okay.” As is her habit, she leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him on his warm cheek before saying bye. Tonight however, neither of them seem to want to leave each other as they continue to be glued to where they stand. She notices the ring on his finger and remembers Daeron, her mind racing to the conversation they had once more. Her mind travels to every word he said on their phone call, and the words rush out of her before she can help herself.

“You wouldn’t ever lie to me, would you?”

He sighs, leaning on the doorway with his hands folded into his chest. She cannot deny how effortlessly good he looks right then.

“I’d never hurt you.”

“Okay.” She absentmindedly nods as she repeats the words to herself and she bites her lip. She clutches onto her sling bag as she finally moves away.

She doesn't quite dwell on the fact that he promised not to hurt her but didn't exactly promise never to lie.

The thrum of music pulses through the packed house, every beat vibrating through her bones. She scans the crowd, trying to spot Arianne, but her friend has disappeared into the sea of bodies. She shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. The alcohol has dulled her senses just enough to make everything feel a little softer around the edges.

As she leans against the wall, Willas Tyrell saunters over, a confident smile playing on his lips. They’ve been eyeing each other all night, and now, with eight rounds of beer warming her veins, she feels bolder than usual.

"Hey, lost your friend?" he asks, his voice smooth and warm.

"Yeah, Arianne's somewhere in this madness," she replies, laughing lightly. "But it's not so bad. I found you."

He chuckles, taking a step closer. "Lucky me. What are you drinking?"

"Beer. Not my first choice, but it does the job."

"Well, if you're up for something better, I’ve got some whiskey upstairs," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Interested?"

She arches an eyebrow, feeling a thrill of excitement. "Whiskey, huh? That does sound tempting. Is that all on offer though?"

"Why don’t you come and find out?" he teases, holding out his hand.

Without hesitation, she takes it, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrap around hers. They weave through the crowded living room, climbing the stairs to a quieter part of the house. The music grows fainter, the air cooler, as they reach an empty room at the end of the hall.

He closes the door behind them, and she turns to face him, her heart pounding with anticipation. They are inches apart, the charged energy between them palpable.

"You know," she says, her voice low. "I've always thought you were kind of cute."

"Kind of cute?" he repeats, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I was hoping for more than 'kind of.'"

"Well, you might have to work for it," she challenges, stepping closer until their bodies are almost touching.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small flask, unscrewing the cap and offering it to her. "How about some of this?"

She takes a sip, the burn of the whiskey warming her insides and adding to the haze in her mind. She hands it back to him, their fingers brushing in the exchange, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Not bad," she says, licking her lips. "Maybe you do have good taste."

He laughs softly, his eyes darkening with desire. "Glad you think so. Now, where were we?"

"Right about here," she whispers, closing the distance between them.

He doesn't need any more encouragement. Willas cups her face with one hand, the other sliding around her waist as he pulls her in for a kiss. It is slow and deliberate at first, but quickly grows more intense, their mouths moving hungrily against each other. She can taste the faint hint of whiskey on his lips, mingling with the lingering taste of alcohol on her own.

Her hands roam over his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles through his shirt. He responds by sliding his fingers under the hem of her top, lifting it over her head and tossing it aside. His touch is electric, sending shivers down her spine as he deftly unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the floor.

"You’re full of surprises," she murmurs, her breath hitching as he kisses down her neck.

"You have no idea," he replies, his voice husky with need.

He pushes her onto the bed, the world around them narrowing to just the two of them. She lands on her back, looking up at him with a mixture of desire and haziness, the room spinning slightly around her. Willas hovers above her, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of her bare skin. He leans down, capturing her lips in another searing kiss, his hands exploring her body with a desperate urgency. She arches into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer.

Their kisses grow more frantic, each movement a testament to their mutual need. He trails his lips down her collarbone, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin, eliciting a gasp from her. His hands slide lower, brushing against her waist, before moving to undo the button of her jeans.

She’s caged between his strong arms, with nowhere to move. For a fleeting moment, the sensation is thrilling. But then, as Willas's hands slide lower, the room spins faster, and the walls seem to close in. Her breath catches in her throat, and she’s suddenly transported back to that night in school with Jason Lannister, his oppressive presence, the helplessness, the terror.

A cold sweat breaks out on her skin. The memory floods her mind: Jason's hands on her, her desperate attempts to push him away, the fear that froze her limbs. The room spins more violently now, and the warmth of Willas's body becomes suffocating.

"Stop," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

Willas doesn't hear her, his kisses growing more insistent. The panic rises in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Stop," she says again, louder this time, but it still feels like she’s shouting underwater.

Her heart races, and her vision blurs. She tries to push him away, her hands trembling. "Willas, stop," she says more firmly, her voice cracking.

This time, he hears her. He immediately pulls back, his eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but edged with worry.

She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't... I can't do this. I'm sorry."

He moves away quickly, giving her space. "Hey, it’s okay. It's okay," he reassures her, his tone soft and understanding. He sits beside her, not touching, giving her the room she needs.

She sits up, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. The room still feels like it's spinning, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess. Willas watches her with genuine concern, not pushing, just waiting.

After a few moments, he reaches for her discarded top and hands it to her along with her bra. "Here, put this on. Take your time."

"I'm so sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don’t apologize," he says softly. “You’re good, just breathe. You’re fine.”

She nods, focusing on her breathing, trying to regain control. The panic begins to ebb, replaced by a shaky calm. Willas stays beside her, offering quiet support.

"Thank you," she finally manages to say, looking at him with gratitude and a lingering hint of embarrassment.

"Anytime," he replies with a gentle smile. "Do you want me to call someone?”

“No, I… I think I’m gonna just… go.”

“Let me help you.”

“It’s okay. Can you just… I need a moment, if that’s okay. I’m so sorry if I ruined tonight for you.”

“You’re alright. I don’t feel good letting you go off alone like this though.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.”

She steps out of the house, the cool night air hitting her like a splash of cold water. The noise of the party fades behind her, replaced by the quieter sounds of the street. Scattered red cups and empty beer bottles litter the front yard, remnants of a night that feels distant and surreal now. A figure lies passed out on the lawn, oblivious to the world as others continue to mill about inside.

She walks to the corner of the pavement, her steps slow and unsteady. The streetlight above her makes the world feel too bright and too stark. She sits down, her knees drawn up to her chest, and tries to steady her breathing. The cool concrete is a small comfort, grounding her as she struggles to calm her racing heart.

With trembling hands, she pulls out her phone and dials Aemond’s number. The ringing seems to echo in her ears, each tone stretching into what feels like an eternity. Finally, the call connects, and she hears the distant, muffled sound of conversation.

“Aemond,” she says, her voice cracking and barely more than a whisper. “I—I need you. I’m… I’m outside Margaery Tyrell’s party.”

There’s a brief pause on the line. She hears the faint hum of a cheerful woman’s voice, laughter floating in the background. A pang of guilt hits her hard. She feels like an intruder, her mind racing as she realizes she might be interrupting something important.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her voice breaking. “I—I’m really sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t mean to interrupt… whoever you're with. I just— I’m so scared. Can you… can you come get me? Please?”

Her breathing comes in ragged bursts, her words tumbling out in a breathless, almost incoherent rush. The panic clawing at her chest makes it hard to focus, and the alcohol hasn’t worn off one bit.

“Wylde?” Aemond’s voice is suddenly urgent, cutting through her frantic apologies. There’s a concern in his tone that makes her stomach clench. Don’t move. I’ll be there soon. Just breathe, okay?”

She struggles to calm her racing heart, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, her voice trembling with desperation. “I’m really sorry… I just… I can’t… One minute we were kissing and the next I’m crying, I can't breathe...I-”

“Wylde, listen to me,” Aemond says firmly, but gently. “It’s okay. I’m on my way. Just stay where you are. I need you to breathe and stay calm. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

The call ends abruptly, and she is left in the cold night air, clutching her phone with shaking hands. Her breaths come out in shaky, uneven puffs as she tries to focus on Aemond’s calming words. The street feels both stark and surreal, the shadows around her stretching long and foreboding. She pulls her jacket tighter around her, trying to find comfort in its warmth while waiting for him to arrive.

As they arrive at his apartment, the familiar rumble of the motorbike fades as he turns the keys. Aemond helps her off the bike with a gentle but firm hand, guiding her carefully up the stairs and into his apartment. The door swings open to reveal a cozy space, bathed in the dim, warm glow of a few scattered lamps.

He holds onto her with one hand, using his free hand for everything else. Her head rests under his chin, and she can’t help but nuzzle herself into his neck and make herself at home as his warmth pervades her dulled senses.

He leads her inside and guides her to the bathroom. With a tender touch, he helps her sit on the edge of the tub. The gentle hum of the apartment and the soft rustling of his movements are a soothing backdrop to her foggy consciousness. He rummages through a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of water and painkillers.

“Here,” he says softly, handing her the water and pills. “You should take these. They’ll help with the headache.”

She nods weakly, managing to swallow the medication with a few sips of water. Her head feels heavy, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess, but the care in his voice and his steady presence offer a small measure of relief.

Aemond helps her to her feet and guides her to the bedroom. The room is dim, the only light coming from a small bedside lamp. He pulls out a clean pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts from a drawer. Gently, he helps her out of her clothes, the fabric of her dress feeling foreign against her skin as it’s removed. He helps her into the comfortable shorts and oversized t-shirt, the soft material a welcome contrast to the night’s chaos.

As he tucks her into bed, pulling the sheets up around her, he is both careful and attentive. She shifts under the covers, trying to get comfortable, but her eyes are heavy and her body feels weighed down by the evening’s events. She feels his warm lips on her forehead once more, and she reaches out to hold onto his wrist before he goes away.

“Stay. Please.” she murmurs, her voice barely audible as she begs.

Aemond’s gaze softens. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures her, settling down on the edge of the bed. He sits there for a moment, his hand gently stroking her hair, the motion soothing and familiar.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice wavering slightly. “I’m sorry for all this.”

She hears the faint ticking of a clock as her heartbeat calms down. The rustling of sheets as Aemond adjusts himself to join her. The warm golden glow of the bedside lamp. The warmth of her hand in his under the sheets. The feel of his thumb gently moving over her knuckles. The softness of his hands as he brushes off stray hairs off her face. The strength of it as he cradles her head like it’d break if he pressed further.

Aemond wakes in the middle of the night, his hand instinctively reaching out to the empty space beside him. The cool, undisturbed sheets where her warmth should be jolt him fully awake, a sudden surge of concern piercing through the remnants of his sleep. He sits up quickly, the room around him still cloaked in the deep shadows of night, and listens intently. The faint glow emanating from the kitchen draws his attention, a small beacon in the darkness.

He slips out of bed, his bare feet silent against the floor as he pads softly toward the light. Each step feels measured and deliberate, his senses heightened in the quiet stillness of the early morning. The corridor seems longer than usual, the dim light at the end creating an almost surreal atmosphere, as if he’s moving through a dream.

As he approaches the kitchen, the scene gradually comes into focus. She’s sitting at the counter, bathed in the soft, warm glow of the single dim yellow light over the countertop. The rest of the kitchen is enveloped in darkness, the contrast making her appear almost ethereal. Her presence is both comforting and concerning.

She’s wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of his shorts, her bare feet resting on the lower rung of the counter-height stool. The loose fabric drapes over her frame in a way that makes her look even smaller and more vulnerable. Her posture is slightly hunched, and she’s absently stirring the contents of a mug, the soft clinking of the spoon against the ceramic creating a gentle, rhythmic sound that fills the otherwise silent space.

He takes a moment to observe her, his heart aching at the sight. Her hair falls messily around her face, and her nose looks flared. She seems lost in thought, her eyes focused on the swirling liquid in the mug, as if trying to find answers in its depths. The tension in her shoulders is palpable, and he can see the strain of the night’s events weighing heavily on her.

He doesn’t yet know what’s happened. All he knows is that she’d been in a bad time once more, and it’s one too many times for someone as sensitive as she is. Her eyes are downcast, lost in thought, and she seems miles away, even though she’s right there in front of him.

Aemond watches her for a moment, noticing the way she grips the mug tightly, as if drawing strength from its warmth. Stepping into the light, he moves towards her with a quiet grace, not wanting to startle her. She looks up as he approaches, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and relief. He pulls out a stool beside her and sits down, their knees almost touching, creating an intimate, comforting space amidst the darkness.

“You should be sleeping,” he says softly, concern evident in his voice.

She lets out a small, tired sigh, her fingers tightening around the mug. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everything just… it feels too much.”

They sit in silence for a while, the atmosphere thick with unspoken emotions. She slowly sips from the mug—warm milk, he notices. His eyes wander to the honey bottle at the far end of the counter, suggesting she had been stirring it in when he came in. The soft clinking of the spoon against the mug fades into the background, replaced by the quiet, steady rhythm of their breathing.

His hand rests gently on her thigh, his fingers making slow, soothing movements that help to calm her. She feels the warmth and comfort of his touch, and instinctively, she settles her hand over his, drawing strength from the simple contact. Time seems to slow down, and they remain like this for a while, enveloped in the stillness of the moment.

He looks at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, and he remembers the first time he realized he had some sort of feelings for her - fleeting, if not definitive. Back in King's Landing, in her bedroom, he had been so close to her that he’d had half a mind to kiss her. But she had been so troubled, and he knew from seeing Aegon and Helaena, that no good comes from entering into anything when you're not quite yourself.

He thought he would ask her out when she came to Oldtown, imagining a fresh start in a new place. But by then, the distance had played its part.

His feelings, once intense in the way that only teenage introverts could experience, had started to dissolve, replaced by the new experiences and people that college inevitably brings into one's life. And then there was Alys. With Alys, there was no power play or domination that one would expect from a relationship with the age gap that they have - just two people who understood each other's interests and passions deeply, like no one else in their lives did. They were kindred spirits, and being with her felt easy and right. Alys was good to him, and their relationship felt solid and mature - regardless of how shaky the existence of it would seem to everyone around him.

Yet, as he sits here with her, he takes in her soft face, framed by her hair and lit up by the golden dim light. It is then that he realizes that his feelings - no matter how mild, how fleeting - never completely went away.

Finally, Aemond breaks the silence, his voice gentle and full of concern. “What happened?” he asks, his eyes searching hers for answers.

“I was at the party, and Will Tyrell and I were flirting.” His hand tightens over the smooth expanse of the skin of her thigh. “I’d had like… ten rounds of beer or something. One thing led to another and next thing I know, we’re making out in an empty room and…” She exhales with more effort than is required for her to live, and he encourages her to go on. “It just took me back to Jason Lannister for a moment and I started panicking. Couldn’t breathe for a moment there, really.”

“Hm.”

She leans her head down to be eye level with him, and she takes his hand in hers before she lets out a playful smile. “You’re like… my knight in a black motorcycle now, you know? Twice now I’ve had weird things happen to me at a party, and you've come to the rescue both times.”

“It’s not funny,” he says. He’d genuinely felt his heart stop when he heard her panicked voice over the phone at Alys’ house.

“It’s not. Sorry, I’m just grateful for you.”

Her hand leaves his to cradle his cheek. She’s the one who was found reeking of alcohol and vomit, and somehow he’s the one that needs comforting. “You’re always so serious, hm? So serious…” He grunts in response.

“Thank you. For being with me.”

He’s never been good with compliments, and this is a heavy one that he cannot wrap his mind around. He lets it wash over him like a calm evening breeze.

When her mug is empty and they come back to his bed, neither of them are in the right mindspace to wonder about how easily intimacy comes to them.

Instead, she chooses to watch him, his silhouette. She’s still tired and hazy from the alcohol, and given the moment they’ve just had and the complete darkness of his bedroom, she can’t help but say it.

“You’re pretty.”

He doesn’t react, so she feels emboldened enough to continue. “You have such pretty eyes too. I always thought about it, but you always hated talking about your eyes so I never quite bothered with telling you.”

“Hm.”

Her quiet knight on a black motorcycle.

How the fuck is she supposed to get over him now?

She wakes slowly, the world coming into focus as the soft light of morning filters through the blinds. She feels the warmth of Aemond’s chest against her back, his arm draped loosely around her waist. There’s a quiet comfort in the way they’re entangled, as if this is exactly where she’s meant to be. She’s still wearing his clothes - his t-shirt and shorts - and somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Her gaze drifts over to the bedside table, and she spots his reading glasses resting on top of a copy of Ten Thousand Ships. She thinks about how she never wants to see a table without his glasses again.

The thought lingers, surprising her with its intensity. She tries not to move, not wanting to break the spell of the moment, and instead lets her eyes take in the little details around the room.

The leather jacket hanging neatly on a hook behind the door catches her attention, standing out in what she could only describe as clinical cleanliness. The pale walls, the simplicity of the space - it’s all so Aemond. Everything is meticulously arranged, no clutter in sight, just like him. Every little thing in this room reflects who he is, and she finds herself memorizing it all, as if trying to hold onto this feeling for as long as she can.

Before her thoughts can go further, she hears him stir behind her, his voice low and groggy. “Morning,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

She turns her head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him. “Morning,” she replies softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Aemond tightens his arm around her waist, pulling her just a little closer, and she feels her heart swell with a warmth that she isn’t ready to let go of. This, right here, feels like everything she didn’t know she needed.

She shifts slightly in his arms, just enough to face him. There’s a comfortable silence between them, one that feels both familiar and new. She traces lazy circles on the back of his hand with her finger, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“This is nice.” she says with a playful grin, trying to keep things light despite the weight in her chest. “Girlfriend behavior. Waking up in your bed, wearing your clothes… I’m basically halfway there.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Is that so? You’re already planning our future together, then?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “We’d probably spend our weekends at bookstores and museums. You’d drag me to some obscure historical sites, and I’d make you try every new coffee shop in town while I move around taking photos.”

“Sounds terrible,” he deadpans, though the warmth in his eyes betrays him.

“Absolutely dreadful, the most boring couple ever.” She agrees, her tone just as teasing. “But, hey, I’d get to borrow your shirts all the time, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Aemond smirks, but his expression softens as he looks at her. “Are you alright?” His voice is gentle, laced with concern.

She nods, trying to brush it off with a smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He doesn’t let it go, though, his thumb brushing lightly against her side. “Really?”

Everywhere he touches, her heart seems to follow. It skips a beat at the sincerity in his eyes, and she feels the familiar tug of emotions she’s not quite ready to name. “I promise, Aemond. I’m fine.”

He studies her for a moment longer before finally nodding, though the worry doesn’t entirely leave his face. “Hm.”

She can’t help but laugh at his persistence, leaning in to kiss his cheek lightly. “I’m alright, I swear.”

She presses a hand to her forehead, feeling the dull ache settle behind her eyes. “I’ve got a slight headache,” she admits, her voice a little groggy. “And I could really use some food.”

Aemond nods, concern flickering across his face. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

They both slide out of bed, and she follows him to the bathroom where they keep spare toothbrushes for each other. It’s a simple, unspoken thing - having brushes at each other’s places because they often sleep over - but this is the first time she’s woken up with his arms around her. As she brushes her teeth beside him, the domesticity of it all makes her blush. It feels so natural, so easy, and yet there’s something about it that sends her heart racing.

After rinsing her mouth, she drinks a glass of water to ease the remnants of her headache before heading to the kitchen. She takes her usual place on one of the bar stools behind the counter, turning on the coffee machine. The sound of it humming to life is oddly soothing, and she watches as Aemond walks in, already rolling up the sleeves of his black sweatshirt to get started.

He pulls out the ingredients, his movements efficient and practiced. Wylde offers to help, and he nods her over without hesitation. As she steps closer, he lifts a small slice of cut avocado to her lips, eyes not moving away from the chopping board - habitual, it all seems habitual. She grunts, leaning in to eat it straight from his hand before taking over with slicing the bread.

They work together in comfortable silence, moving around each other with the ease of familiarity. Aemond cooks the eggs while she toasts the sourdough, and before long, they’re sitting at the counter with plates of food in front of them. The avocado is perfectly creamy, the eggs just the right amount of runny, the toast crisp and warm and her coffee is just right.

Then she remembers he found her a right mess last night, and he’s simply being nice to a friend who had a bad night.

She wonders if the girl he’s hiding from her is perfect for him. She wonders if she ever embarasses herself in front of him like she clearly did last night. She wonders if he’s made her toast. She wonders if she’s woken up to the warmth of his lean arms wrapped around her waist. She wonders-

“What’s on your mind?”

She nods from side to side, a reassuring smile that is convincing enough that he doesn’t push further.

They eat in peaceful silence, exchanging small smiles as they enjoy the meal. It’s a quiet moment, but there’s a warmth in it that neither of them can ignore. When they’re done, they clear the dishes together, and for a brief moment, she lets herself imagine that this is what it could be like - easy and comfortable.

She wanted to catch him by the shoulders. She wanted to hug him till it hurt and her feet left the ground. She wanted to tuck her head into his neck and breathe in the smell of him, bask in the warmth of him.

Choose me, choose me, choose me, choose-

She wants him.

Gods.

She says thank you and leaves instead.

The next few weeks pass in a series of moments - each one small and seemingly insignificant, yet all of them add up to something much larger in her heart. It’s as if the universe has conspired to put Aemond in her path at every turn, and with each encounter, she finds herself falling deeper into feelings she’s not quite ready to name.

In the university hallways, she always spots him first. He’s usually leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a book he seems completely absorbed in. The early morning light filters through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over him. She notices the way his hair catches the light, the soft strands glinting silver against the dark fabric of his jacket. He looks so focused, so utterly engrossed in whatever he’s reading, that she almost doesn’t want to interrupt. But then he glances up, meeting her eyes, and a small, rare smile pulls at his lips.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low and smooth.

“Morning,” she replies, feeling her own smile spreading as she walks over.

The rest of their walk is silent until their hands reach out to graze at each other for just a few moments before they go their separate ways.

A few days later, she finds herself in the library, hunting down a book for one of her Foundation of Art in Essos assignments. The place is quiet, the scent of old paper and ink filling the air, and she’s completely lost in the stacks when she hears a familiar voice.

“Looking for something?”

She turns to find Aemond standing just a few feet away, a small stack of books in his arms. His eyes flicker to the title in her hand, and she swears she sees a hint of amusement in them.

“Yeah, just…this one,” she says, holding up the book she’s just found.

He nods, stepping closer. “That’s a good one. You might also want to check out the one by Mallister - it gives a different perspective.”

She takes his word and joins him at his table. She lets herself blush and be bothered by their feet touching under the table occasionally.

In their one shared class, she finds herself sneaking glances at him more often than she’d like to admit. Aemond always sits a few rows ahead, his attention fixed on the professor. She watches the way he takes notes, his handwriting neat and precise, and the way he occasionally pushes his hair back when it falls into his eyes. It’s such a small thing, but it makes her smile every time.

One day, he catches her looking. Instead of brushing it off or ignoring her, he turns slightly in his seat and raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. She feels her cheeks heat up, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she raises her own eyebrow in response, a silent dare.

After class, they walk together, discussing the lecture and the points that stood out to them. Aemond’s insights are sharp and thoughtful, and she finds herself hanging on to every word he says. There’s something about the way he sees the world - so different from anyone else - that fascinates her.

Then again, he could tell her that the dragons have come back to life - and she’d find a way to believe that too.

Cafe Moonbloom - her favorite cafe at Oldtown - becomes another place where their paths cross. It’s a cozy spot, filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and soft, ambient music. She often comes here to study or relax, and more often than not, Aemond shows up too, as if drawn by the same comforting atmosphere.

One afternoon, she’s sitting at a corner table, sipping her usual lavender latte, when he walks in. He spots her immediately, and after ordering his drink, he joins her at the table without hesitation.

She smiles. Seems it’s all she’s capable of doing in his presence these days.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, each of them absorbed in their own work. But every now and then, she finds herself looking up, catching glimpses of him as he reads or types on his laptop.

At one point, he reaches across the table to take a sip of her drink, curiosity in his eyes. She lets him, laughing softly when he makes a face at the taste.

“Not a fan?” she teases.

“Too floral,” he replies, but there’s a warmth in his voice that makes her heart skip a beat.

“You say that each time.”

“That’s it,” she declares, looking over at Aemond, who’s deep into his notes. “We need a break. A real break.”

Aemond glances up, raising an eyebrow. They’re sitting in her flat, surrounded by textbooks and empty coffee cups. She closes her laptop with a decisive snap. “A break,” she repeats, leaning back against the couch and stretching her arms above her head. “We’ve been drowning in work for weeks. Let’s take a day off tomorrow and just… see the city. No papers, no studying. I can’t anymore.”

He considers her words for a moment, then slowly nods, a small smile forming on his lips. “Alright.”

When tomorrow comes, they’re on his motorbike - and she has no idea what he has planned.

The decision is made in a heartbeat. Aemond’s nod is all the confirmation she needs, and by morning, they’re zipping through the streets on his motorbike. The city blurs around them as the wind whips through her hair, the sound of the engine filling her ears. She clings to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, trusting him completely as they speed through the early morning light.

They weave through the streets, bypassing the usual morning traffic as the city slowly begins to wake up. The cool morning air carries the scent of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby river. Her excitement only grows as they approach the Honeywine, the river shimmering under the pale sunlight.

Finally, Aemond guides the bike down a quiet lane and comes to a stop near the edge of the river. She can see the Quill and Tankard ahead—a tall, timbered building leaning slightly southward, the dark wood exterior glowing in the morning light. The pub is nestled on an island in the middle of the Honeywine, connected to the rest of the city by an old plank bridge.

Aemond parks Vhagar, and they both dismount. She removes her helmet, her hair tousled and windswept, and follows Aemond as he leads the way to the bridge. The wooden planks creak slightly underfoot, adding to the charm of the place. She glances over the side, watching the water ripple below, the sound of the river soothing after their wild ride.

“You brought me to the Quill and Tankard?” she asks, her voice filled with pleasant surprise as they reach the other side of the bridge, her fingers brushing against his arm.

Aemond glances at her with a small, knowing smile. “Good spot to start,” he replies.

As they step inside, the warmth of the pub wraps around them like a cozy embrace. The common room is inviting, with wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and sunlight filtering through the tall, narrow windows. The smell of bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making her stomach growl in anticipation.

They find a table near the window, the perfect spot to enjoy the view of the river and the old apple trees outside. Aemond shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over the back of his chair, his movements casual but undeniably graceful. She follows suit, but can’t help but notice how effortlessly he commands the space around him.

When their breakfast arrives - thick slices of sourdough toast topped with peanut butter, peaches, and pomegranate, alongside a pot of rich, dark coffee—she sighs in contentment, her eyes sparkling as she glances at Aemond. “This is perfect,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

He nods, the corners of his lips lifting into a faint smile as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m glad,” he replies, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary. She thinks her heart actually skips a beat.

They eat slowly, savoring the food and the easy conversation that flows between them. Every now and then, their knees brush under the table, sending a little thrill through her that she tries to ignore, though the faint flush on her cheeks might give her away. Aemond seems to notice, a small, teasing smile playing at his lips whenever their eyes meet.

After they finish, they linger for a while longer, sipping the last of their coffee and enjoying the calm, the comfortable silence between them punctuated by the occasional shared glance and knowing smile. When it’s finally time to leave, she feels a reluctant tug in her chest. She doesn’t want the morning to end, but she knows they have the whole day ahead of them.

As they cross the old plank bridge again, she reaches out and takes Aemond’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. His skin is warm against hers, and she can’t help but notice how naturally their fingers intertwine. He glances at her, his expression softening as he squeezes back.

“Where to next?” she asks, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she tilts her head, her eyes searching for a clue.

Aemond smirks, his eye glinting with the hint of another surprise. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

When they finally arrive at the Starry Sept, she hops off the bike, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the towering structure before them. The sept stands like a sentinel over the city, its seven-pointed star gleaming in the sunlight.

“This is incredible,” she breathes, her excitement palpable as she hurries ahead, eager to explore. She glances back at Aemond, who trails behind with a small smile on his lips, his phone in hand as he quietly captures the moment—the soaring architecture, the play of light and shadow, and her own vibrant enthusiasm as she moves from one point of interest to the next.

She leads the way, her steps light as she marvels at the intricately carved statues and the colorful stained-glass windows that adorn the sept. Every now and then, she turns to share her excitement with him, her voice animated as she points out something new—a particularly beautiful mosaic, a hidden alcove, the way the sunlight pours through the windows, casting rainbows on the stone floor.

Aemond, as usual, is quieter, but she can see the way his gaze softens whenever he looks at her, how he pauses to take photos not just of the sept but of her too, capturing the way her eyes light up with each discovery. There’s something in his expression, a quiet contentment that makes her heart flutter whenever their eyes meet.

They wander deeper into the sept, through narrow corridors that twist and turn like a labyrinth, the ancient stones cool under their fingertips. She is in awe of the place, her footsteps echoing in the silence as they venture further inside.

When they reach a section that is clearly marked as restricted, she hesitates, looking at him with a raised brow. “Are we allowed in there?” she asks, a mix of curiosity and caution in her voice.

Aemond’s response is a single word, spoken with quiet confidence. “Otto.”

She laughs softly, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. “Of course. Should’ve guessed.”

With a smirk, he pushes open the heavy wooden door, leading them into a part of the sept that few ever see. The air here is different, almost sacred, and she feels a shiver of reverence as her fingers brush against the rough stone walls.

At one point, her foot catches on an uneven flagstone, and she stumbles, a startled gasp escaping her lips as she feels herself begin to fall. The world around her seems to tilt, the ancient stones rushing up to meet her, but before she can even process what’s happening, Aemond is there. He moves with a speed and grace that never ceases to amaze her, his strong arms enveloping her in a firm, protective embrace.

His hands settle on her waist, fingers splayed wide as if to shield her from the world itself. The sudden, intimate contact sends a jolt of electricity through her, making her pulse quicken and her breath hitch in her throat. For a moment, they are frozen like that, their bodies pressed close together, and all she can hear is the rapid pounding of her own heart.

Aemond’s chest is solid against her back, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, calming and steadying yet igniting something deep within her. His breath is warm and steady, ghosting across her ear in a way that sends shivers down her spine. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact—the way his fingertips press gently but possessively into her sides, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the subtle scent of leather and pine that clings to him.

She turns in his arms and for a moment, she thinks he might kiss her. The thought is dizzying, and she’s caught between hope and fear, between wanting to close her eyes and lean in, and wanting to pull back before everything changes. But then, almost as quickly as it began, the moment shifts. He blinks, the intensity in his gaze softening just a fraction, and she sees the flicker of restraint, the conscious decision as he takes a step back, putting a small but significant distance between them.

The loss of his warmth is immediate, almost jarring, and she feels the absence of his touch keenly, like a missing piece she hadn’t realized she was holding on to. He’s still close, still within reach, but the spell between them has broken, the moment passed, leaving behind a lingering sense of what might have been.

She gives him a small, grateful smile, though it feels a bit shaky, her heart still pounding in her chest. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice quieter than she intends, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile understanding they’ve just shared.

He nods, his lips curving into a faint smile, though there’s something in his expression that she can’t quite read, something that leaves her wondering if he’s as affected by the moment as she is. His hand drops from her waist, but not before his fingers trail lightly down her arm, a touch so fleeting it’s almost like an afterthought, yet it leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

Eventually, they reach a small, secluded courtyard, open to the sky and bathed in golden light. She lets out a soft sigh as she looks around, her eyes wide with wonder.

Something has shifted. This much they both know.

The ride back to her flat is quiet.

They’ve spent the entire day together, yet there’s a weight in the air between them, something that hangs in the silence. The Starry Sept, the Quill and Tankard, the moments that lingered just a little too long - all of it circles in her mind, and she wonders if he’s thinking about it too.

She holds onto him just a little tighter.

As they near her apartment, she breaks the silence with a light-hearted comment. “You know, if someone told me a month ago that I’d be exploring the Starry Sept with you, sneaking into restricted areas like we’re in some spy movie, I’d have laughed them off.”

Aemond chuckles softly, the sound almost drowned out by the bike’s engine. “Guess you’re more adventurous than you thought.”

She grins, resting her chin on his shoulder as she speaks into his ear. “Or maybe you’re just a bad influence. You and your… Otto connections.”

He smirks, though she can’t see it through his helmet. “I prefer ‘resourceful.’”

She laughs, a light, musical sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he can’t quite explain. “Resourceful, huh? I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need to get into a restricted section of the library.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re too serious,” she teases, nudging him gently with her knee. “You need to loosen up, Aemond. Enjoy life a little.”

“I enjoy life just fine,” he counters, though there’s a trace of defensiveness in his tone.

“Oh, really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you could use a bit more fun.” She tilts her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe that’s why we get along so well. I bring the fun, you bring the… brooding?”

“I do not brood,” he says, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

She raises an eyebrow. “You totally brood. It’s your thing. That, and being all mysterious and - ”

“And what?” he interrupts, genuinely curious now.

She pauses, the words hanging in the air between them as they finally pull up to her building. He turns off the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening. Slowly, she slips off her helmet, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders as she considers her next words carefully.

“And… thoughtful,” she finally says, her voice softer, more serious now. “You notice things about people. You’re observant, and you care. Even if you don’t always show it.”

Aemond is quiet for a moment, processing her words. He steps off the bike, standing close to her as she sits on the seat, their proximity making her heart race. His voice is low, almost vulnerable.

“More than you might think.”

There’s a moment of silence as they look at each other, the air between them thick. She bites her lip, her usual playfulness replaced by something deeper, more intense. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Aemond takes a step closer, his hands resting on either side of the bike, his body inches from hers. “You do?” he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

She nods, her eyes searching his, looking for the truth in his words. “Yeah. I do.”

Aemond’s eyes hold hers for a long moment, the violet of his iris darkening as his gaze drops to her lips, then back to her eyes. She can see the conflict there, the way he’s holding himself back, the tension in the air between them charged with tension every passing second.

She inhales deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the heat spreading through her body. Her fingers flex slightly, still gripping the edge of the seat, a lifeline to steady herself as she teeters on the edge of something she’s been avoiding for far too long.

He shifts closer, the space between them shrinking to almost nothing. His hands hover just above her thighs, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric of her dress. She can feel the roughness of his breath against her skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he fights the same battle she is.

Pull him in, or let him pull away.

And then he’s moving, slow, deliberate, one hand lifting to trace the line of her jaw. His thumb brushes over her bottom lip, the contact so light it sends a shiver down her spine. She parts her lips slightly, instinctively, her breath catching in her throat.

Aemond watches her, his gaze intent, burning, like he’s committing every detail to memory. Her flushed cheeks, the way her lashes flutter as she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, the way her breath hitches as his thumb drags down, grazing her chin.

She’s the one who leans in first, just enough for their noses to brush, for his breath to mingle with hers. “Aemond…” she murmurs, barely a whisper, a plea and a question all at once.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his hand slides to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he closes the distance between them. His lips meet hers in a kiss that starts slow, tentative, like he’s testing the waters, unsure of how far she’ll let him go.

But she’s not holding back, not now. Her hands move to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she pulls him closer, her lips parting to deepen the kiss. He responds in kind, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat as he presses against her, the kiss turning heated, urgent.

It’s not a gentle kiss, not after all the tension, the words, the stolen glances. It’s everything they’ve been holding back, all the frustration, the longing, the need crashing together in a tangle of lips and tongues and breathless gasps.

She shifts on the bike, her knees brushing against his thighs as she pulls him closer, needing more of him, needing to feel him everywhere. His hands slide to her waist, fingers digging in as he lifts her slightly, positioning her so she’s sitting on the very edge of the seat, her legs parting to make room for him.

Aemond steps between her thighs, his body pressing into hers, the kiss deepening as he takes control, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that leaves her dizzy. Her hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping tight, as if she’s afraid he might pull away, that this might be a dream she’ll wake up from.

But he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses closer, his hands roaming over her back, her sides, mapping out every curve, every inch of her that he’s been dreaming of touching. His mouth moves against hers with a desperation that matches her own, a need to make up for all the lost time, all the moments they could have had but didn’t.

She tilts her head back slightly, giving him better access as his lips move to her jaw, then down to her neck. He kisses a line down to the hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his clothed shoulders.

“Aemond,” she breathes out, her voice shaky, needy.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, intense, filled with something she’s never seen before. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice rough, barely controlled. “Tell me, and I will.”

“I thought you were seeing someone.”

“Tell me to stop.” The sentence holds no space for argument, almost as though he knows for certain that she wouldn’t stop him.

She couldn’t even if she wanted to.

Instead, she shakes her head, her fingers curling around the nape of his neck as she pulls him back to her, her lips finding his in a kiss that says everything she can’t put into words. She does not want to think, she simply wants to be.

The world falls away. There’s no more fear, no more doubt, no more holding back. It’s just them, tangled together in a mess of heated skin, breathless kisses, and a desperate need for more.

Time seems to slow down and speed up all at once, the kiss stretching on for what feels like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough. She feels like she’s drowning in him, in the way he tastes, the way he feels pressed against her, the way his hands hold her like she’s something precious, something he’s afraid to lose.

And when they finally pull apart, gasping for air, their foreheads resting together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, she realizes that this - whatever this is - was inevitable. They were always going to end up here, at this moment, with everything they’ve been holding back finally spilling over.

The streetlamp glows, the light flickering over them. The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of rain, though the clouds have long since parted to reveal a sky dotted with stars. They hear the occasional whoosh of a car passing on a nearby street, tires hissing against the damp pavement, the sound growing louder before fading into the distance. Somewhere nearby, a dog barks once, twice, before falling silent, leaving the night to its quiet.

The scent of the city surrounds them - a mix of wet asphalt, a hint of exhaust, and the faint, lingering aroma of coffee from the cafe on the corner. But there’s something else too, something she only just notices now - the subtle, clean scent of Aemond’s cologne, mingling with the smell of leather and the faintest hint of smoke, clinging to his clothes and skin. It’s comforting, grounding her in this moment, making it feel all the more real.

The soft thud of her heart is almost louder than the ambient noises around them, each beat echoing in her ears as she takes in the scene - the way Aemond’s hair catches the light, the way his eyes seem to reflect the stars above them, the way his breath mingles with hers in the small space between them.

You’re seeing someone else, she had said. He hadn’t disagreed.

She wants to reach out, to shake his shoulders, to demand that he tell her what this all means. She wants him to choose her, to see her in the way she sees him - more than just a fleeting moment, more than just this night. The urge is so strong it almost frightens her, this need to make him say it, to make him admit what they both know is simmering between them. But she holds back. She swallows the words before they can form, feeling them burn in her throat, a quiet ache that spreads through her chest.

She could ask him, right now, what this means for them, whether this is something real or just another moment that will fade with the dawn. But the fear of his answer, or worse, his silence, keeps her rooted in place. The thought of hearing him say that this is nothing, that they are nothing, is more than she can bear. So she says nothing.

Instead, she stays silent, feeling the weight of a barrier that she both wants to break and keep intact. Because asking him, forcing him to confront whatever this is, might ruin it. Might turn this into something complicated, something messy.

She’s not sure she’s ready for that. Not yet.

She decides, in that moment, that she would rather have him like this - halfway, uncertain, but here - than risk losing him entirely. So she bites her tongue, swallows her fear, and chooses to stay in the safety of their unspoken connection. It’s easier this way, she tells herself. Easier to take what he’s willing to give and leave the rest unspoken, untouched.

“This is real.” He nods.

She leans into the warmth of him, feeling the press of his hand on her thigh, the steady beat of his heart against her own, and lets herself have this.

For now, it’s enough.

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jaggedamethyst · 3 months ago

Text

trying...

pairing: bucky x reader (non gender specified)

content: bucky is dealing with trauma as a result of his time as the winter soldier, you accidentally get caught in the crossfire. (references to physical harm, mentions of violence, inferred ptsd symptoms and trauma, etc). also slight stucky if you squint bc i know theres fans out there.

notes: ive thought about trying to put this into words for so long, i hope it translates well. i may do a part two if the people want it. pls read the content warning above and steer away if this may trigger you.

word count: 1.8k

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

In recovering from the absolute torture that was Bucky’s life the last few years—there were few moments of solace. The worst being the slight feeling of peace before all of his progress abruptly drained back to zero… before he’d been reminded of a trigger.

Something would suddenly pop into his brain—betraying him—and he’d be forced to physically and metaphorically swat the idea away. The problem, though, was that this soldier was doing what any good one does, fighting. James Buchanan Barnes knew what it was to be a good man, a good soldier. But the Winter was more formidable than ever.

Whenever the opportunity presented itself, the assassin had to make an attempt at clawing its way out.

The attempts weren’t infrequent.

Bucky would sit by the window, unable to sleep. He would often be forced to watch the sunrise. Daybreak. He’d long committed the color of the sun meeting the skyline to his memory and with it the unfortunate feeling of his companion wanting to make an appearance.

Whenever he’d volunteer to build something. The screws, bolts, and nails would be shiny enough to reflect Bucky’s face back to him. An image he’d hate to observe, of course. All he could see in them was potential, though. Positive connotations escaped him in this instance because all he could see was an opportunity for destruction…natural wear and tear…oxidation. Like him, these pieces of metal existing just meant that there was a chance to become worn. To decay. To become something bad…rusted.

Numbers were the hardest to avoid and he realized just how often something can torment you when it becomes a thing you hate. One, nine, seventeen. Nine, seventeen, one. Seventeen, one, nine. In any order or occurrence these numbers seemed to follow him as close as his shadow—if not more so. He’d become particularly hateful towards one. The casual “one second,” “one moment,” and “I’ll call you back in one minute” seemed to linger in his brain for far too long.

Freight car. Attempts to get out more proved futile. No matter how far he tried to get away, the sound of rumbling would fill his ears. He knew the sound too well. Bucky knew the feeling of air leaving your lungs. He’d grown accustomed to the feeling of falling. He felt it every day.

The thing about falling is that when it occurs for long enough it almost feels normal. That slight weightless feeling and euphoria tricked Bucky the first time it happened. That was until he hit the ground. In experiencing one or more of his triggers every day, the feeling of weightlessness returned—so consistent that in a weird way, Bucky felt as if he’d won. He could no longer be shocked by the initial stomach drop if he continued to propel towards something nonexistent. He could no longer be surprised by the euphoria if the impact never came…if he never hit the ground. To him, if it happened so frequently that you were no longer taken aback, you’d beaten your triggers right?

He couldn’t be more wrong. He was terribly so.

If there was one thing Bucky learned and ignored in his various therapy sessions is that acting like something isn’t there is not…ideal. Having this being claw and tear at him left him with metaphorical lesions that he wasn’t tending to. People tried. There was never an interaction for which Steve wasn’t looking at his best friend with longing. Longing for the stoic and confident man he once knew. This person was a shell. Even with all the progress, he would never forget the one person he had left seeing him as nothing more than a mission. One only wonders how he’d feel to know that Bucky sees every day as one, a mission, an attempt to not crash the fuck out. (That was something new he learned, suited him for sure).

Again, people tried. Without even realizing it, you tried.

The day you met Bucky, he just seemed grumpy to you. “Valid,” you’d thought with a shrug. There wasn’t really much to not be grumpy about these days. Yet, you flashed him a smile that warmed his insides—and not in the usual evil entity trying to escape way.

In the darkest of days inside his mind, he found something to aspire towards just knowing you walked this planet.

You’d known each other for a while before it became anything serious; he was reasonably weary of getting close to anyone for fear of dragging them down with him. But, he promised he’d never hurt you—every time he uttered the phrase in passing you shrugged him off, reassuring him that you knew.

“James, we both know you wouldn’t hurt a bee—“ you stopped to point to him, his brow arched as you knew it’d be. “And I know that's not the phrase, okay! You’re an old man and you know all the platitudes.”

Bucky stood to meet you in the center of your shared apartment, “what does that have to do with you saying the phrase wrong?”

“My point,” you said, tapping his nose for emphasis, “is as I said.” You snaked your arms around him, “you wouldn’t hurt a bee.” You locked eyes with him, “because even if a bee was attacking you, swarming all around you, and wanting to hurt you…you still wouldn’t hurt it. You wouldn’t swat your hand or anything. Some may say that's just stupid…but I think it pretty much sums up the person you are. I know that. You know that.”

You pecked his lips and walked away.

Bucky was left speechless and almost teary-eyed by your analogy. But that was you, trying…without trying. He owed it to you to try, too.

The thing about that is, there was still so much for him to uncover. He had fallen for so long, he knew that. He’d been traumatized for so long without saying anything.

He had nightmares that only went away when he stopped sleeping altogether. It had been so long since he truly rested that he let himself forget about that inconvenience.

Tonight, he decided, was the night he would face his fears by being well-rested to take on the next day. He mumbled to himself, “One day at a time, right?” He slipped into bed with an excitement he hadn’t really expected. It wasn’t long before sleep overtook him.

_______________________

He woke suddenly to screams. A woman? The high-pitched and erratic yells made his head hurt worse than he’d ever experienced.

“What the hell is happening?”

He turned in bed to see you not there, which immediately made him spring into action. Calling your name and getting no response anywhere in the apartment was enough to make him want to cry. But the screams. They were coming from outside, not in.

He looked out the window to see if he could see what was going on and oh my gosh.

With no shoes, he ran. He felt as if the stairway was endless. The pain of the asphalt was nothing in comparison to the pit in his stomach as he ran directly towards it. Towards your car wrecked. Completely wrapped around a tree. How could this happen? The one time he’d gone to sleep.

Nobody was helping you. Your car literally sitting with you inside motionless. There was no time to think, he ripped the door off. He reached for you, pulling you from the car. He knew CPR but everything was escaping him, it seemed.

He pleaded and yelled for someone to help, realizing that your body was much more limp and cold than ideal right now. He repeated “no” more times than he’d ever in his life. He clung to you, squeezing you, praying for a miracle. But there was nobody. He clawed at anything; your clothes quickly became battered. He was so confused. His head met your chest, his attempt at trying to wish you back to life. Back to him. But the look in your eyes was so—wait. Not your eyes…

The “no, no, no” repeated again, without him even trying. He felt a scratching at him. A darkness enveloped him and his surroundings and his hand…

His hand was on someone's neck. No. A man.

He remembered this. His body working against itself to execute orders. His mind fighting within its own skull to erase the memories of James.

James

It repeated faintly in his mind, and yet as much as he grasped for it he couldn’t seem to reach it.

James

It was getting lower. He tried, he was trying. He felt it pounding at him. Suddenly, that familiar jolt. But rather than an electric current pulsing through his body in an attempt to disconnect him from reality, he’d finally have to face this one.

He was sleeping. No, he was dreaming. The voice inside his head, you, calling to him in a plea to stop. The James that would never hurt a bee, had hurt you.

He fell back quickly, feeling himself glossed over in sweat. He looked to you, speechless, bruises already forming on your arms. He clung to you, squeezing you.

Bucky sobbed immediately, reaching to console you. You moved back before even processing it. The flash of hurt in his eyes moved you, but your fear kept you at a distance.

“Did I,” he mumbled, “did I ch-“ he couldn’t get the word out.

You shook silently, eyes shifting to the bedpost that was now clearly disfigured…a set of fingers printed along it. His hands on someone's neck.

You were lucky, a split second and some scratching and you were able to get some distance between you. Even there, you didn’t feel settled. You witnessed your boyfriend, grasp what could’ve very easily been your neck and squeeze with an ease so unsettling that you had no choice but to try and stop him. Despite all the advice you heard to never wake someone this way, you knew he’d been hurting. You hit him, as hard as you could. He tried, he was trying. He felt it pounding at him.

“I am,” the man inhaled, “more sorry than I can ever begin to express to you. I don’t know what happened.” You observed him slowly rise to his feet, clearly drained. “I made you a promise. Who am I… if I can’t let that be true?”

Bucky moved silently and quickly, ignoring your voice calling out to him. Even in shock, you were trying. You tried.

Within minutes some people you recognized started to look you over—empathy in their eyes. You drowned out their medical talk, looking for Bucky, noticing he slipped out without a word.

People tried. He tried. But the scars of the Winter Soldier had become so big that they’d inadvertently grown. Like roots—weeds—they festered and spread to the ones he loved.

He didn’t know what to say to you, or if he could ever be with you ever again. But he watched from a distance, observing you be tended to like a fresh garden. The weeds seemed to dwindle. While still there, he knew that at the very least—he wasn’t contributing to your stunt growth. Without him, you could blossom into so much more.

(ps. sorry about the emotional scarring 💀)

- amethyst 💟

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #marvel #marvel mcu #angst #winter soldier #winter solider x reader #winter soldier x you #jaggedamethyst

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spamton-deactivated19970420 · 1 year ago

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i made a little hand-sewn beast based on everydayspamton's drawing & took it with me on a family roadtrip

if you'd like to make your own, i've included the [[FREE]] pattern & some rough steps below the cut, as well as an Educational Video

EDUCATIONAL VIDEO. THIS IS NATURAL SPAMFISH BEHAVIOR & IT IS NOT SCARED OR IN PAIN.

BEAST CRAFTING INSTRUCTIONS:

disclaimer: i'm an amateur & i've never tried making a pattern before, nor have i ever tried writing directions

materials you'll need:

sewing needle & pins

black thread & white thread

fabric in these colors - black, white, red, yellow, & pink

stuffing

(optional) a squeaker

notes:

for the thread, i suggest something thicker, like whats used for embroidery - i used two different thicknesses on mine, & i think the thicker one; (the black thread); stands out a lot nicer

for the fabric, i used craft felt. its nice because its cheap & malleable, but if you want something that can actually be washed & played with without disintegrating on you, don't use felt. different fabrics will have different results, though, & may not give you a clean-looking edge & lines

you can also just go nuts & use whatever colors of thread/fabric you want, make pattern alterations, whatever

if you make one, feel free to @ me, send an ask or DM me with it, i'd love to see!

^^^ here's the pattern!

now the actual steps?:

1.) download & print out the pattern - it should(?) fit normally across a regular sheet of printer paper. i don't have exact measurements, i eyeballed this whole thing & then lost the original pattern - (there's only a copy that i scanned & edited left on my computer. woops.)

2.) cut the pieces out. pin the patterns to the fabric color the instructions call for, & cut out the number you need for each

^^^ here's what you should end up with!

now the sewing! for this whole thing i used doubled-up thread & a 'running stitch', then went over it a secondary time with another running stitch to fill in the gaps. you could also try using a 'back stitch' (which i don't know how to do), but that might be tougher. the goal here is to give it an Outlined look, like a drawing

3.) with white thread, sew the pink & yellow eyes onto the glasses - pink is Left, yellow is Right. reference the image above if you're not sure!

4.) sew all the fins pieces together - on the black fin, use white thread; & on the white fins, use black thread. reference the pattern for the detailing. i made my own front fins 'wrong', but you don't really have worry too much about being exact

5.) overlap the Head pieces onto the Body pieces - making sure you have a Left and Right side! pin the heads to the bodies, & compare their lengths by holding them together to make sure you've got it right. sew the heads to the bodies using black thread. detail the head with black thread, & detail the body with white thread

6.) now that you've got the two sides of the body completed, you can hold them together to try to get even placement for the red cheeks. pin each cheek to each side, then sew them on with white thread

7.) using black thread, sew the pink glasses onto the Left side of the body, and the yellow glasses onto the Right side. they'll be slightly overlapping the cheeks

8.) with white thread, sew the front fins on to each side. NOTE: i put mine on wrong, & didn't realize until i was finished. for the 'right' placement on these (closer to the original drawing), reference the pattern, & not the images

you now have all your parts ready for assembly! for me, this is the hardest part. you'll need a bunch of pins - use the guidelines on the pattern and/or reference the below image to get the right placements

9.) pin in the back fin & the nose. leave some space on the bottom for stuffing when you start, & using black thread, sew together the nose & the fin unto the body - the fin should be sandwiched Between the two body halves

10.) pin in the tail fin. continue sewing down the back with the black thread, & sew the tail fin in - once again, it should be Between the two body halves

11.) pin in the back fin between the halves. continue with the black thread, sew along the tail & sew the back fin in - Stopping once its secured. you should have some good space still open on the belly

12.) time for stuffing. using something thin, but not sharp - like a chopstick or the back of a crochet hook - & push stuffing into the nose & tail portions. stuff the head about halfway. now, if you have a squeaker, put it into the widest part of the head, & stuff a little around it

13.) still using the black thread, sew the belly up a little more so its easier to keep the stuffing in, & then fill up the rest of the body. once fully stuffed, sew the remaining hole together

14.) congrats! you now have a spamfish. if you opted for a squeaker, squeak it thoroughly

don't worry if it's not exact, some individual variation is fun & makes your creature unique! mine has upside-down front fins with upside-down detail lines

here's the thing with some friends i had made a little bit before him. have fun with your beast!

i am not liable for any damage it causes to you or your property

#spamton #myart #spamfish #i made this thing&took pictures of the process to show my friends a few months back.i finished it a few days after thedailyspamton's post #i had already been making funny little fish&it was just the perfect timing!now i want to share the spamfish with others :)

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ronearoundblindly · 8 months ago

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Not In Front of the Fish...

Jake Jensen x roommate!Reader follow up to Watch the Fish (see previous or JJ Masterlist)

Summary: You've caught Jake doing something he shouldn't, but there's no reason you can't string him along...and along...and along until the line snaps.

Warnings for smut (many references to masturbation, protected sex), horrible puns (yes, hello, I'm Ro, welcome!), heavy innuendo, trolling this poor boi as hard as humanly possible, taking the lord's name in so much vain, kinda *aggressive* foreplay, aftercare, fluff, and whipped!Jake (deserves a warning because I sure as sh*t wasn't prepared 🫠).

Blame @bigtreefest...or thank Essie, ya know, whatevs! No beta, we die drowning in the fish tank. MINORS DNI. And yes, @whiskeytangofoxtrot555, the glasses stay on 🤭 Y'all may not realize this but I myself am an ultra-awkward nerd, so I identify with Jake's struggle and yet would absolutely, endlessly tease this mothaf**ka.

"Hey, Jakey. Whatcha doing?"

Well, thank fuck he's not still hard standing there with his metaphorical dick out, the last image from your laptop's screen seared into his eyeballs of some woman taking a load in her open mouth.

"Need me--" you steadily lick vanilla ice cream off a spoon, some caught at the corner of your wide open lips "--for anything?"

He stares. He stares so intently he almost falls over. Apparently, he's leaned into his staring.

"My help, perhaps?"

Your tongue rolls across the edge of the refilled spoon.

He thinks maybe he'll cry if you keep this up, but for the love of Christ, please keep this up.

"No," he squeaks. "Just..." Must you be wearing short-shorts? Is it essential that your tank top dip so low? "...saying 'hi.'"

His hand flings out in a wave, five fingers managing to point in eight different directions because he can't commit to any sort of normal human movement.

"So... Hi."

Some ice cream drips off the spoon down your chin and to your chest.

Jake is not here right now. Jake has died.

"Sure." You wipe up your mess and keep eating. "Sweet dreams, big guy. You look ready to hit the sack after a long...satisfying...shower." You let the spoon dangle from your mouth while brushing past him, which you have to do. You have to touch him because Jake can't fucking move for the life of him, and he swears to god you made your hand sweep across the front of his hip.

He jolts to follow the contact before overwriting his hind brain. His hand slaps the wall as he catches himself trying before collapsing into a begging puddle at your feet.

He should tell you. He'd rather die.

He should admit what he's done, admit what he wants to do, but when he stops pinching his eyes shut for strength, Jake turns to find you bent over in the doorway.

"Hello, sweethearts," you coo to the fish, "what would you like to do this evening? Maybe watch another movie?"

You wiggle your butt and make this happy sort of popping noise that Jake can't unhear.

Fuck, is this a thing he's gonna have to deal with now? Listening to you watching porn? His mind instinctively scans your room for a glimpse of any toy you may have left out. He's dying, yeah, but dying to know what they look like, if he's bigger than whatever you bury inside you now.

"Jake," you repeat in a breathy way that has him swallowing his tongue. You've stood back up, holding a bowl with oozing white liquid that teeters close to the edge as it melts.

His dick could top that off in jiffy if you'd like.

He coughs. "Yeah, uh, what?"

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Fuck me, every muscle, bone, and braincell in his body screams at once.

All he manages is an anatomically-correct impression of a fish. No sound comes up from his desperate lungs. He flees to his room.

He hears you shut your door just as he shoves down the shorts he threw on and grabs a squirt of lotion from the bottle nearby.

Too many images speed through his brain all at once, cum and cream, sex and porn, your open mouth, your presented ass, that peek of cheek beneath soft fabric, the shadow along the seam where the material ran right through your folds--probably, at least, he's filling in gaps wherever he pleases--and the breathy sounds of 'Jakey' 'need me' 'help you' 'satisfying,' and 'anything.'

"Fuck me," he growls out in earnest, sparing no trick to get himself off as fast as possible. Maybe if he's quick he won't learn exactly how hot he finds all this. He already relies on you as the voice in his head.

It's like you're right there on the floor with him, cupping his balls and whispering in his ear.

So hard for me, huh? So heavy and in need of attention. Why did you wait to fuck your fist, Jakey? Had to hear me? Think of this dick filling me better than any toy...

He gasps and groans, shoving his face into the nearest side of mattress to muffle the carnal sound.

It puts his ear right next to his discarded headphones.

"Daddy was so rude just then, huh? I know. He's shy. He'll come see you tomorrow. He just needs to be all alone in his bed when he's tired. I know, I know. It makes mommy sad, too. She doesn't like to be all alone, but that's why I have you. Look at the camera and wish daddy goodnight..."

Oh, fuuuuuuuuck me, Jake wails into his sheets when he hears the sound of you blowing a kiss through the speakers.

Poor thing doesn't know you're torturing him on purpose, but at least he came...with his bare knees aching on the hardwood floor of his room and the nosepiece of his glasses digging into his eye sockets as he buries his shame in his bed.

You suggest he have the fish in his room for a while, like shared custody, but then he knows you would have access to listen to him via the livestream.

If he tells you you have to mute it every time, you'll know he might not have. If he refuses to keep the feed up or the camera functioning, you'll be suspicious of why. If he says fucking anything against your very thoughtful and adorable idea, it'll be a cold day in hell since he will endure all forms of torture just to see your elated smile as the tank is finally setup between his closet and his bed across the room from his desk.

The keystrokes from his work are too faint for the camera's microphone, and he proceeds to wear headphones for music, take calls outside, and never touch himself in his own room for weeks. Ok fine, two, he makes it two weeks.

Deprived of hearing you, which he grew rather dependent on, and needing to inconspicuously lengthen his showers, Jake is a mess.

Why didn't he record anything? Why would he??? He was supposed to get himself together like a man and either ask you out or get the fuck over it.

He even watches (but mostly listens to) porn through his headphones without touching himself in an attempt to fade the memory, but then you show up at his door, asking to visit with the 'kiddos' and checking with the Marauders if 'daddy' is treating them well.

He's not gonna make it, man.

You settle on his bed to read for a while because why the fuck would he say 'no' to you, and this is the part that does Jake in the most: his sheets smell like you after and turning in his desk chair to find you accidentally asleep in his bed just... He can't.

He's unwell thinking about how sweet you are, how fucking horrible he's being by fantasizing about you this way, how if he just had the balls to crawl over to kiss you, he'd--but he doesn't. He just gets worse.

He gets real messed up horny one evening when you're out at some fancy event with friends.

You leave wearing this dress that practically had him on his knees the way it molded to you and yet draped so smoothly in places. He thinks of his mouth molded to you that closely and his body laying so smoothly over yours.

Damn it. He has to do something. He goes into your room, and it's not that bad, he just picks up a t-shirt, that's all. He's not the world's worst perv or anything. It's not underwear, for god's sake, but on a fluke (because he has no idea how long he was in there) he climaxes at the sound of you yelling 'I'm home' from the kitchen and scrambles to the bathroom with his gym shorts wrapped around his thighs, hand still catching spurts of cum as he for sure doesn't calm down, with milliseconds to spare.

Thank fucking god you're slower to climb the stairs in heels.

He takes it back. He is the world's worst perv.

Your t-shirt mysteriously disappears until he can sneak it back into your laundry.

He runs out of floss and absently searches your drawer for--oh my god.

OH. MY GOD.

That...is a large, veiny dildo you have there. Oh fuck.

Jake slams the drawer shut without thinking.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just...just gotta put floss on the grocery list."

"Use some of mine," you call out casually.

"It's fine!" His voice was too high and he answered too fast, but if he's not mistaken, you have now invited him to poke around in your things.

He feels slightly less pervy...and a hell of a lot hornier.

It reaches a point where coming in the shower isn't enough.

He falls asleep ok but wakes restless and craving friction. There's want and then there's need, and Jake fucking needs this or he'll never rest.

He goes on as quietly as possible, thinking that getting up, going to the bathroom, and turning on the exhaust fan will make far more noise than humping his sheets and biting his pillow.

The fish tank glows as usual at the foot of his bed.

Look away, kids, Jake thinks and immediately doesn't know whether to be sick or laugh. Daddy is gonna fucking die like this.

He knows it's pathetic. The entire thing has been pathetic from start to finish, but he's just too tired and too het up to care.

A few whines escape the insulation of his pillowcase. He misses the gentle patter of footsteps down the hall.

There's a soft knock followed by "Jake?"

God damn it. The one time he gives in, and he's already ruined it.

He tucks himself up into the band of his boxers which is not exactly subtle but can't be helped. Jake rolls out of his bed, finding his glasses in the dark to crack open the door with his body strategically behind it.

"Yeah, what's up?"

He can't make out a whole lot in the low light, but you don't say anything. Your arms are spread out to hang on either side of the frame, making your (again) very low-cut tank top his only focal point.

Well now he's sorta worried this has absolutely fuck-all to do with his problem. "Are you okay?"

"I...I thought..."

Your voice is soft and timid. It makes Jake want to wrap you in his arms, but he's still worried that you'll say you heard him and it's not okay and he's gross and this is all way, way out of line.

He holds his breath to better listen.

"I hoped you would have needed me by now."

What. Air rushes out of him like he's been tackled.

Sorry, WHAT?

"What?" the question finally falls out as he leans intensely again, shifting so the door doesn't slam in your face, his bare chest and lower half now visible as much as they can be. "You...what now??"

Your arms fall and you step forward. It looks to him like you move with trepidation, that your head is lowered in embarrassment, that somehow you're shy about your confession. Maybe you are, but only the tiniest amount compared to him.

"Tell me if I'm wrong, Jake." You slap one hand to his chest with a crinkling noise, and he swiftly moves to take the wrapped condom. "Tell me if you don't want this," you continue, lowering your voice and hand until your thumb grazes the exposed head of his cock.

Lightning strikes and super-charges his need.

"But if you don't th--"

He'll be damned if you finish that thought. Jake scoops your jaw into one big hand, angling you just-so, barreling you both into his door as it swings into his closet with a wobbling bang. He's clumsy and his grip goes everywhere to bully you flush with his body yet not drop your timely offering.

His kisses are feverish and sloppy. By the feel of you groping at his back and shoulders, you're not mad about it. He fumbles with the wrapper behind your back. It takes his attention away for a few seconds.

"I prepped for you," you whisper hoarsely. "I'm ready."

Jake has no legs at that point and takes you with him in a heap to the floor. While stripping away his boxers, he realizes his naked ass is high in the air of his room.

All he can see in his mind is fish pressed against the glass, staring, judging. Gah, not here.

He maneuvers into your hold again and says, "hang on," crawling to the hall runner so the 'children' won't see. No, he can't make it any further because his length is snuggled between your fucking thighs and somehow the hallway is a fucking mile long to your room. No, he's not immune to your whines from where your head is tucked in the crease of his neck.

Here's fine.

As gracefully as he can, Jake collapses onto you, collecting the noises he missed so much directly from the source.

For being made of such little fabric, your shorts are in his way, and he's genuinely annoyed to have to lift from you again, even though it's necessary to discard them and necessary to get the now-open condom rolled along his aching cock.

His glasses are already smeared from haphazardly exploring your skin. If Jake couldn't see before, he's all but blind now. The only garment close enough to try and clean them is your tank top, but he ignores it because it's still dark. He needs to feel you more than anything else in the world.

Lightly, your fingertips flicker down his abs and lead him to close the gap between you.

Jake groans as he lines himself up and easily notches into your welcoming heat. As aroused as you are, he still edges himself deeper and deeper in barely-controlled strokes, grabbing the railing at his side for leverage and stability.

He grunts instead of articulating how magnificent you feel. He moans instead of voicing what an utter blessing it is to finally fuck you. He gasps with the rolls of your hips because you taking control while beneath him just...unravels him.

This was too long coming, and he wasn't prepared.

Jake's apology for being fast to finish perches at the tip of his tongue when you cut off his words and the last of circulation to his brain.

You shake and pant, mewling 'yes' and his name, while your body squeezes him like a vice. He's being pumped to completion without moving another muscle, and, good fucking god, he has to hang on, falling to his forearm, keeping his open mouth hovering over yours.

Jake thinks maybe he just drowned and got brought back to life.

Right there, in his face are your precariously covered tits, nipples rock hard and taunting him. He doesn't care what his dick's doing anymore; he wrenches a strap down your chest and lavishes your plush flesh with attention.

Too long coming and in no way prepared... Neither were you.

Your hands brace his head, fingers buried in his short hair as you wiggle and hump at his semi-stiff cock inside you. Jake hisses in over-stimulation but doesn't stop you. He swears he will never, ever stop you.

His attentions on your breasts slow but he can't seem to let you go for a long time, long after your legs fall away from him, limp and twitching.

A pair of goodbye pecks is his parting gift before Jake nuzzles up the column of your neck and takes what little breath you've regained, curling his arms around you as his tongue curls with yours.

When he adjusts again, he realizes how sore he's getting from kneeling on the floor, and sits up to help you, too.

"Let me get--I'll just--"

Jake can almost reach a towel inside the bathroom from this position with his long arms, but he's sure to warm up the tap and trash the condom before returning to gently wipe you. He may have made a quick pass at his lenses in there as well.

You look dazed and delightfully sated, basking in the streak of light from the bathroom, leaning on your palms like you're on a beach somewhere.

"Fuck, you're stunning," he says without thought.

He...lingers a while to clean you up, overtly mapping these bits of you he hasn't seen yet.

"What took you so long?"

Jake tosses the towel up into the sink behind him and manhandles you into his arms.

"I might've ruined everything." He starts to lower you into your bed, but you don't release your arms from around his neck. "You could've kicked me out."

He's not going to argue. He won't say 'no' to you.

"Come here, you dork. You can't keep me waiting anymore."

Jake climbs into the cramped, cozy space with you, mentally noting that a bigger bed is definitely on the shopping list.

A/N: I am strategically leaving out my thoughts on the next morning for now because I'm just too excited, eeeee!

[Next part: Feed The Fish]

#jake jensen smut #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen fic

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