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alygator77 · 5 months ago

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❖ cursed by color — satoru’s new look ❖

❀ summary. satoru gojo faces a challenge no amount of cursed energy can prepare him for—his daughter’s makeover. with pigtails, polish, and plenty of giggles, satoru finds himself utterly powerless to resist her antics.

❀ contents. pure fluff. pre-established relationship. you're both sorcerers. domesticity. satoru being the best girl dad.

❀ wc. 2.7k

As you push the front door open, the first thing you hear is giggles. Not just any giggles—those giggles. The kind that signals trouble or, more likely, your husband being roped into something ridiculous by your daughter. Toeing off your shoes as you walk in, you turn the corner, curious to find out what mischief is happening now.

And there, you are met with Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer in the world, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table—completely at the mercy of your daughter.

“Hold still, Daddy! You’re gonna mess it up!” she scolds with all the authority a four-year-old can muster.

“I’m trying,” Satoru whines, his head tipped back against the couch. “But I’m starting to think I’ll be stuck like this forever.”

Biting your lip, you suppress a laugh as you step further into the room.

“Oh, and what’s going on here?”

Satoru’s head swivels toward you, a grin instantly spreading across his face.

“Ah, my love, you’re just in time to witness history in the making. I’m being upgraded.”

Your eyebrow raises as you take in the sight of him—each finger covered in glittery pink nail polish.

“Upgraded, huh? Looks more like a full-on makeover.”

Proud of her work—your daughter beams up at you.

“Mommy, look! Daddy said the glitter makes him super strong!”

“Did he now?” you glance at Satoru with a smirk. “How much stronger are we talkin’ here?”

“Like, a million times stronger!” she declares with a big smile, capping the nail polish bottle like a professional. “All done!”

Satoru lifts his hands, admiring the sparkling polish with a mock serious expression.

“I’m practically invincible now.”

Ah, but—your daughter, isn’t done. Jumping up with excitement, her eyes gleam with a new idea.

“Daddy! Daddy! Now I’m gonna do your hair!”

Satoru freezes in panic, eyes darting between you and your daughter.

“Uh, my hair? I’m pretty sure it’s perfect as is, don’t you think?”

But before he can protest, your daughter has already dashed off to grab her hair accessories.

“y/n! Help! I’m being held hostage by a tiny tyrant,” he pleads, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes.

But you just grin, crossing your arms.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of stopping her. Besides, I’d love to see what she comes up with.”

“Traitor…” Satoru mutters under his breath as your daughter returns moments later with a plastic comb and a handful of colorful hair ties.

“Sit still, Daddy!” she demands, climbing onto his lap and tugging at his snowy white hair with enthusiasm.

Satoru winces but stays obediently still, his lips twitching between a grimace and a grin.

“Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of ruining your masterpiece.” He flinches as she accidentally tugs a bit too hard. “Ouch. Careful, sweetheart. Daddy needs to keep some of his hair please.”

Too engrossed in her ‘hairstylist’ role to notice his plea, your daughter starts gathering little sections of his hair, combing it carefully, and securing them with bright pink and purple hair ties—the pigtails are uneven, sticking out at odd angles, but she works with such determination—her little tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

“There!” she announces, standing back up to admire her work. “Now you look perfect, Daddy!”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of resignation and amusement.

“Perfect, huh?”

Stepping closer, you pretend to give his new look a serious evaluation—his hair is pulled into several lopsided pigtails, each one accented by colorful clips and ties.

“Hmm, I don’t know... It’s close, but I think something’s missing sweetheart.”

Satoru narrows his eyes at you suspiciously.

“What do you mean, ‘something’s missing’?”

Giving him a playful grin, you pretend to study his face before snapping your fingers.

“Ah, I’ve got it. Makeup. A look like this just isn’t complete without some makeup.”

Satoru’s eyes widen in horror as your daughter gasps excitedly.

“You’re right Mommy!”

“No, no, no—” Satoru starts to protest, but your daughter is already darting toward your room, her giggles echoing through the house as she searches for your makeup bag. He drops his head back against the couch, groaning. “y/n, why would you do this to me? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

You plop down next to him on the floor and tap his nose teasingly.

“You’ve handled curses. You can handle a four-year-old stylist. Stay strong.”

“Don’t worry, Daddy!” your daughter chimes in, running back as she triumphantly holds your makeup bag. “You’re gonna look soooo cute!”

Satoru lets out a resigned sigh, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Alright. Do your worst, kiddo.”

As your daughter starts unpacking the makeup bag, he mutters under his breath to you.

“Just so you know, I expect full compensation for this. Something involving chocolate cake.”

Chuckling, you reach out for his hand and interlock your fingers—offering him a comforting squeeze.

“Oh, you’ll get cake. Maybe a crown too, after this.”

“Great,” he sighs dramatically, “I’ll take the cake in exchange for my dignity.”

Your daughter, too focused to even notice your banter, pulls out a tube of bright pink lipstick.

“Okay, Daddy, pucker up!”

Sighing dramatically again, he puckers his lips for your daughter, who eagerly leans in to apply the lipstick with far more enthusiasm than precision—half of the lipstick ends up on his upper lip, and the other half, somewhere closer to his chin.

“Beautiful!” your daughter announces proudly, standing back to admire her work.

Satoru tries to glance down at his lips, his eyebrow quirking up.

“Beautiful, huh? Uh… should I be concerned that I can’t feel where half of this is?”

You cover your mouth, trying not to burst out laughing.

“It’s very... abstract.”

Before Satoru can comment, your daughter is already moving on—she pulls out the blush, her face scrunched in concentration as she starts swirling it onto his cheeks. The rosy color quickly turns into something more akin to a deep flush.

“Um, I think you’re using too much—” Satoru tries to say, but your daughter shushes him with a stern hand wave.

“Shhhh, Daddy! I’m the artist, remember?”

She dabs even more blush on his nose for good measure, and you cover your mouth again— trying to stifle your laughter as Satoru glares at you through squinted eyes.

“y/n, this feels personal.”

“Oh, not at all,” you exhale—grinning, “but I’ll admit, it’s a great look.”

Your daughter continues, switching to mascara—she fumbles with the tube for a second, and Satoru tenses, his eyes growing wide as she holds it up like a delicate weapon.

“Now for your eyes, Daddy!”

He blinks, sitting up a little straighter, and your daughter, eager to get closer, stands up on Satoru’s lap—wobbling slightly for balance. But as she leans in, her footing slips, and she topples forward, the mascara wand making a beeline for his face.

“Whoa—wait!” Satoru blurts out, instinctively pulling back, catching her mid-fall just before the brush nearly pokes him in the eye. He holds her steady as the brush grazes his cheek instead.

“Jeez, kiddo,” he chuckles, but there’s a hint of relief in his voice. “Let's not get too close with that thing. I still need my vision for exorcising curses.”

As he pats her head gently, your daughter giggles, scrambling back up—completely unfazed by her near-miss. She quickly regains her balance, waving the mascara wand again with renewed enthusiasm.

“Oops, sorry, Daddy! I’ll be more careful this time!” and without skipping a beat, she leans in for another attempt while Satoru sighs in playful resignation—a grin curling upon his lips.

“Okay, artist, but one smudge and I’m calling a redo. I have standards, y’know.”

You pull your knees into your chest—watching them with adoration.

“Hmm, I thought Infinity was supposed to block all external threats,” you grin, raising an eyebrow. “Guess it’s no match for a determined toddler, huh?”

Satoru laughs softly, watching your daughter carefully swipe the mascara across his lashes. As his gaze lingers on her, his smile softens—his voice lowering as the playful banter fades, leaving behind something more heartfelt.

“Mm, well… infinity can handle most things, but when it comes to her?” he glances up at you, a gaze full of warmth and affection as his voice dips lower—he offers you a small shrug. “And you? I’m powerless.”

Warmth floods your chest as you see the love in his eyes—it’s moments like this where he’s just Satoru—not the strongest sorcerer, but the man who adores you—the man who would do anything for his two girls.

“Well,” you murmur, a small smile curling up your lip, “powerless looks good on you.”

You hold his gaze—an unspoken intimacy in the air, and your daughter, blissfully unaware of the tender moment, finishes her masterpiece with a triumphant flourish.

“All done, Daddy! Now you look soooo pretty!”

Satoru blinks a few times, adjusting to the feel of the mascara on his lashes.

“Oh yeah? Am I ready for a night out?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, still holding onto that playful grin.

“Forget the night out—you’re ready for a photoshoot,” you quip, quickly snapping a picture of him before he can react.

The moment the camera clicks, Satoru’s eyes widen, and his grin falters.

“Wait—did you just...?” His tone turns from amused to mock-horrified as he realizes what you’ve done. “Oh no, no, no. Give me that phone, y/n.”

You hold the phone up just out of his reach, smirking.

“What, you don’t want the world to see the ‘prettiest’ sorcerer in all his glory?”

Satoru lunges toward you, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“You’re not keeping that!” he declares, and before you know it, he’s trying to snatch the phone from your hand.

You squeal, spinning away from him as you clutch the phone tightly to your chest.

“Oh, come on! This is gold!”

Satoru reaches out, his hands grabbing at your waist as he tries to get closer.

“Nope, delete it!” he insists, laughing as he playfully wrestles you for the phone.

You twist away again, giggling as you evade his attempts, dancing just out of his reach.

“Oh, but it’s too good to delete! You’ll thank me later when this becomes your new profile picture.”

“Like hell I will!” Satoru laughs, lunging again, this time managing to grab your wrist. He tugs you closer, using his free hand to reach for the phone. “Come on, y/n, hand it over. No one needs to see me with pigtails and mascara.”

You’re both laughing now, the playfulness escalating as you try to wiggle free from his grasp.

“But you look stunning! This could be your big modeling break!”

Just as Satoru tries to make another move for the phone, you hear an excited giggle from behind you—before either of you can react, your daughter’s voice rings out.

“Dog pile on Daddy!”

Satoru lets out an exaggerated groan as your daughter climbs onto his back, clinging to his shoulders with her little arms.

“Ahhh! No, not you too!” he cries dramatically, the grin never leaving his face.

Your daughter bounces excitedly on his back, giggling as she tightens her grip around his neck.

“Mommy! You too! Dog pile on Daddy!”

You can’t resist the pure chaos unfolding in front of you—the joy in her laughter pulling you in.

“You asked for it ‘toru,” with a grin, and a playful lunge, you tackle Satoru to the floor, landing on top of him with a light thud.

Satoru stumbles under the weight of both his girls, dramatically flopping onto the floor as if utterly defeated.

“Ahh! Nooo! I’m down! I’m down!” he cries, laughing so hard his eyes squeezed shut.

Your daughter squeals with joy, her laughter infectious as she bounces on his chest.

“We got him, Mommy! We got him!”

“Yeah, you did,” Satoru groans, still laughing as he reaches up to dramatically shield his face with one hand. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

The three of you are laughing uncontrollably now, tangled together on the floor in a mess of arms and legs. Satoru—still pinned beneath you and your daughter—finally rolls over onto his back, pulling you both into his chest as he catches his breath.

“Looks like you’re officially outnumbered, Satoru,” you tease, holding your phone up to show off the photo of him—his hair a colorful mess of pigtails and clips, his lips bright pink, and his cheeks dusted heavily with blush.

Satoru’s eyes widen in mock horror when he sees the picture.

“Betrayed by my own family... I should’ve seen this coming.”

Before you can respond, your daughter leans in to look at the picture, her eyes lighting up as she gasps.

“Daddy! You’re soooo pretty!” she declares with an enthusiastic smile.

Satoru’s faux horror softens immediately as he laughs, pulling her into a hug.

“Pretty, huh? Well, I guess if my favorite artist says so, then it must be true.”

“Guess you’re not just the strongest anymore—pretty’s your new title,” you grin, propping yourself up on your elbow as you rest your chin in your hand.

Satoru narrows his eyes playfully at you, but there’s a mischievous glint forming in his gaze—grinning, he leans back as if an idea has just struck him. His voice drops to a teasing murmur as he turns to your daughter.

“But you know...” he begins slyly, his grin growing wider, “since my little artist did such a great job on me, maybe it’s Mommy’s turn next.”

You shoot him a look, instantly suspicious.

“Oh, don’t you dare.”

Satoru’s smirk deepens, clearly reveling in your mock hesitation. He pulls your daughter closer, his hand gently running through her hair, adding a touch of tenderness to his playful plotting.

“It’s only fair, right, princess?” he asks conspiratorially, glancing down at her with that warm, affectionate look that always gets her excited. “I say it’s time for Mommy to get the full makeover treatment.”

She gasps, clapping her hands together in delight.

“Yes! Mommy’s turn! I can make you look soooo pretty, Mommy!”

You sit up, laughing nervously as she squeals—your hands up in a surrender.

“Wait, wait, maybe we should—”

But it’s too late—your daughter is running towards the nail polish, and Satoru leans back on his elbows as he watchers her go—looking far too pleased with himself.

“Looks like you’re not getting out of this one,” he says smugly. “You’re in good hands,” he continues, nodding toward your daughter as she eagerly collects nail polish and clips. “She’s a pro—you’ll look ‘soooo pretty,’ just like me.”

You groan in mock defeat but smile nonetheless.

“Oh great, the prettiest sorcerer title will soon belong to me.”

Satoru sits up, chuckling softly as he glances over at you. His eyes find yours and the world seems to slow—his expression softening in that way that always makes your heart flutter.

“You’ve always had that title,” he murmurs, with a tender smile. “No contest.”

A warmth creeps up your face as his gaze holds yours—you can feel the sincerity in the way he looks at you, like you’ve always been his everything.

Reaching over, he gently brushes his knee against yours in a simple but affectionate gesture.

“I love you, you know that?”

His voice carries the weight of those words, and you lean in—unable to stop yourself from pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath you.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I love you too.”

Satoru sighs lightly, the sound barely more than a breath as his arm wraps around you—drawing you closer against him. His hand moves in slow, soothing motions along your arm, his thumb tracing soft circles over your skin.

Together, you sit in peaceful contentment—like nothing in the world could disrupt this moment—wrapped up in the easy warmth of each other’s presence as your daughter hums happily in the background, carefully arranging her colorful collection of nail polishes and hair clips.

Satoru’s voice, barely above a whisper, breaks the quiet but not the peace.

“As long as I have you two,” he murmurs, “there’s no curse I can’t handle.”

a/n. yeah... fuck ch 271. i needed some satoru comfort so here you guys go :')

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entitled-fangirl · 7 months ago

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I promise everything.

Cregan Stark x Targaryen!wife!reader

Summary: the two have been married for months. When attending Aegon and Helaena’s wedding, the reader becomes self conscious on why they don’t have children yet.

Warnings: talks of sex

Masterlist

………………………………

Cregan cracked open the door slowly as he walked in, "My love, are you…"

His question died off from his lips as his eyes took in what laid in the room.

His wife, the younger twin of Aegon II, stood tall as her handmaiden finished tying the dress she wore. A noble blue hue to it, a perfect symbol of house Stark at a Targaryen wedding. The color did something to him inside.

She managed eye contact with him through the mirror and frowned, "Am I what?"

He bit his lip for a moment with a furrowed brow before doing a small shrug, "Uh. It's alright. Take your time."

She smiled and let out a soft laugh.

The handmaiden was soon finished and excused herself.

Y/n turned around to finally look fully at Cregan. Her eyes moved up and down his body, "You look rather dashing."

Now far from the north, Cregan had to abandon his fur cloak, leaving him in his dark tunic, blue surcoat and the Wolf sigil embroidered across the chest. Now his broad shoulders were quite displayed, as well as his fit physique that was usually up to imagination. He smiled at her, "And you…"

Her brows pulled together for just a moment, "What?" She turned to the mirror, "Is something amiss?"

He quickly held his hands up to reassure her, "No, my dear. I only meant that… I… I am utterly speechless is all."

She looked back to him with a grin, "Ah. And here I thought you wouldn't like it."

"You believed I wouldn't?" He asked as he rested his hands on her hips. "How could I not enjoy the sight of my wife dressed as a wolf in the midst of dragons?"

She chuckled as her hands moved to his chest, "I am entirely a wolf now, Cregan."

He grinned widely, "That's the best part." He leaned in a trailed kisses down her jaw, "Perhaps I'll get to enjoy you dressed in nothing by the end of the night."

…

Due to the convenience of having the two Targaryen siblings marrying themselves, the entire family fit at the high table, Y/n and Cregan towards the end.

Next to her younger brother Aemond, the two quiet siblings whispered to one another in discussion, including Cregan when he wasn't distracted by the over-the-top atmosphere.

Aemond was a fair brother to her, closer now during this age than her own twin or sister had ever been. "I suppose you're now stuck horse-riding without me around?"

The two had once shared in their lack of dragon. When Aemond claimed Vhagar, he made a vow to not abandon his sister so quickly in her endeavors, letting her ride Vhagar with him when she had needed outside of the keep.

The North had nothing of the sort, and leaving had been hard.

She nodded, "Yes, but Cregan gifted me the most wonderful horse. We ride quite often, weather permitting."

Aemond hummed, "You'll have to take a break from riding soon, I'd wager."

She frowned, "Why ever would I do that?"

"It's not healthy to do while with child."

"Well," she bit back sarcasm, "I am not with child. I have time."

"You've been married for nearly eleven moons. Most are with child by the third."

"I am not most, am I, brother?"

Noticing her bitter tone, he hummed and changed topics. He leaned over to look to Cregan, "My lord, do tell me what horse you've gifted my sister."

Cregan's expression immediately brightened at the topic of something he knew quite well, "A fjord horse. Not a runner by any means but a reliable one when…"

She zoned out from there, staring absent-mindedly at the dance floor.

Perhaps Aemond was right. Should she be with child by now?

Had she done something wrong? What if she was unable to have children? Would Cregan abandon her?

She looked to Aegon and Helaena dancing. Smiling at one another.

What if her own siblings had children before she did? How weak of a Targaryen does that make her?

"Admiring the dancing?" Cregan's voice suddenly murmured near her.

She turned her head to him, seeing his worried expression studying her.

How long had their conversation been over and she'd just been staring off in the distance?

"Is everything alright, my girl?"

She smoothed a hair back behind her ear, "I'm only lost in thought is all."

He grunted in acknowledgement. "A dangerous place to be." He tilted his head, "Wanna talk about it?'

"Not really."

He nodded but made no motion to move. He knew her quite well by now and knew she would soon-

"Why am I not with child?"

He knew she'd state her thoughts, but he didn't consider it to be that one. He frowned, "I don't suppose I have an answer."

She leaned back as the next song started, "Do you think less of me for it?"

His head tilted again like a dog hearing an uncomfortable tone, "Do I… No. No, I do not."

"I just don't understand why then."

"Darling, the gods will grant a child to us when they deem the time fit. Please do not let a thought like this ruin the celebration."

She nodded and sniffled lightly, pushing back the tears in her waterline. "You're right. What a foolish thing to stress over."

He let out a content sigh, happy with her answer. When silence loomed over the two, he watched Aegon and Helaena dance. A thought popped into the Northerner's head, and he leaned towards her again, "Perhaps we can imagine no time has passed at all."

Her face turned contemplative, "How so?"

"Perhaps," he whispered, "Tonight can be just like our wedding night."

"I'm listening."

But Cregan Stark is a man of action. He stood abruptly and held out his hand. "May I have the honor of a dance with my perfect wife?"

She grinned, trying to ignore the stares of her family and the people. She whispered, "You hate to dance."

"Aye, but I love to please you more."

Her cheeks flushed, but she took his hand and let him lead her to the floor as the next song started.

As a high lord, Cregan had been taught all of the dances. But he was no real dancer. He preferred the dance of battle than one in a ballroom. How he managed to get by for one and twenty years with only a single dance with his wife, he's unsure of. He only hoped not to embarrass her this second time.

His steps were heavy compared to her light ones. His moves, though carefully calculated, were clumsy compared to her precise ones done without a second thought. His eyes had to double check every step and move. He was sure she did it with her eyes closed.

Though nervous, a smile was plain and broad across his features.

She could feel his nerves radiate off of him in comforting waves, a reassurance to her that he would face his greatest fears for her. Not dragon fire. A dance floor. And he did so happily.

When the dance finished, he couldn't stop himself and planted a heavy kiss to her lips. He didn't care who saw. This was his wife. She was his, and he was hers.

"Let us retire," she panted against his lips.

His grin continued. "Yes, my lady."

…

Once away from the crowd, their lips moved in tandem, pausing against various pillars and walls to breathe each other in.

"Please put a child in me, Cregan."

He let out a loud groan against her lips at her words. "I will," he whispered.

He tried to move his mouth back to hers and she pulled hers away, making him chase hers. He let out a breathy plea, "I will."

Her fingers came up, her thumb brushing over his bottom lip, "Promise me?"

"I promise. I'll do whatever it takes, my girl. I'll give you a baby, I promise." He leaned in, only to be denied her again. His voice softened, "I promise everything."

She leaned in just a bit, "Take me like you did on our wedding night."

He picked her up, slamming their chamber door behind him.

…

Needless to say, about nine months later, a babe laid in Cregan's arms as he sat next to his exhausted wife.

There never was a Stark who forgot an oath.

………………………………….

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn, @thorins-queen-of-erebor

#fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones x y/n #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon #cregan stark x you #cregan stark #cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark fanfic #cregan x reader #creagan stark #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x targaryen!reader

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lovingjingyuan · 9 months ago

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I wonder: How would hsr boys react to someone trying to take pics up ur skirt? This is an unhinged thought that I’ve thought to long, please cure this weird thinking.

Characters: Avneturine, Jing Yuan, Blade, Sunday, Boothill

Aventurine

When Aventurine caught sight of a creepy man attempting to take inappropriate photos under your skirt while you were dress shopping for clothes, he was appalled and disgusted.

“Check this green dress out. It’s like the color of an aventurine. I think it would look dashing on you” He threw in a little wink with his words, while deliberately trying to divert your attention away from the unsettling situation.

With a reassuring smile he added, “this one's on me, spend freely.” He presented you with the beautiful dress on a hanger, while planning on taking you to the evening ball hosted by the IPC for the executives.

Oh but he makes sure in the background he discreetly makes sure to contact someone from the IPC technology department to delete every piece of data, wiping everything off that creepy man’s phone. He also arranged a few of his IPC bodyguards, instructing them to follow that man so he can deal with him ‘personally’ later.

Jing Yuan

(Husband♡) Jing Yuan is a gentleman. He doesn’t want to concern you with these, wanting to save you the embarrassment and tainting your mind of peace. What truly astonishes him is the fact one of his very own staff members working at the Seat of Divine Foresight is involved in such despicable behavior. Towards his lover too!

“Ahem ahem,” he clears her throat, catching your attention. “Love, could you spare a moment and help me sort out these files?”

As you approach him he slickly wraps an arm around your waist pulling you into his embrace. He just can’t bear the thought of anyone seeing you in such a vulnerable way. Anyone that’s not him :( he loves his darling too much for anyone to be ogling at you.

Without any sort of explanation he sat you down on his chair and covered your lap in a blanket. You’re confused and puzzled by his random action but he’s fuming in anger under his facade smile.

He’s determined to address this issue in the most “legal” way possible. If he could.

Bladie!!!

He would either glare intensely at the point to the point the creepy man would delete the picture out of sheer intimidation. Orrrrr, Blade might just go over and greet them with his sword. As simple as that 🤷‍♀️

His glare alone is a death sentence, especially when he’s protecting his beloved. He loves you very much; just has a hard time expressing it!

Sunday

How could anyone commit such sinful and absurd acts, escapilly towards his beloved! He frowns upon any lewd or disrespectful behavior. Sunday would be absolutely speechless and consumed by fuming rage and disgust, staring at your offender.

Regaining his composer, he approaches you with a mask smile hiding the intense emotions he felt, “Just a moment,” he says, glancing at you. “We mustn’t be late for our outing my dear,” He extends one hand out for your hand. Despite his calm demeanor, his other hand clenched tightly behind his back.

He averts his gaze directed towards the man behind you. “Please report to the BloodHound they will like to meet with you,” he says, his voice with strained restraints.

Sunday hurriedly leads you away. Although Sunday may be a forgiving priest he had limits which that man crossed. He;s immensely disappointed that something like this would occur in Penacony’s dreamscape where everyone is supposed to be and feel relaxed in the hands of The Family. And he’s more upset it occurred to his beloved.

Boothill

he will confront and make a scene cause you're his darling.

Boothill wants to spit out the most profound language but his system won't let him. seeing a man taking pictures of his darling? Fudge no! unacceptable!

"Muddle Fuger, what are you doing?" he tries cussing out the creepy man startling the man with their phone under your skirt.

"Son of a nice lady! What the heck are you doing to my girl?!" He makes a big scene, causing the man to panic because everyone turns their attention to this scene.

he's ready to whip out his revolver and protect his darling. Maybe after this he would take off his hat and put it behind your bum to cover you up as you two walk back from the embarrassing situation.

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

I finally finished exams! blah blah blah. I'm bored af summer and I've been play wuwa! I love PGR Roland so I played cause it's from Kuro games. And omg Geshu Lin!!! He looks like Jing Yuan thats why I like him.

Avneturine Rant: Also I can't help this but I'm becoming obssed with Avneturine. I showed my friend an edit of him. she said he's so fine cause she like white blonde men. I'm starting to fall so inlove with him now! Same level of love with Jing Yuan. I can't Aveneturine is too charming. Didn't like him much at first but god his backstory and that mini anaimation how could I be so Blind! Same situtaion with Jing Yuan.

Also gonna update now

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #jing yuan #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #yandere jing yuan #hsr sunday #hsr sunday x reader #hsr blade #boothill #hsr boothill #boothill hsr #honkai star rail boothill #boothill x reader #hsr blade x reader #hsr aventurine #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x reader

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

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the birthday boy

- fushiguro megumi x reader

your boyfriend is indifferent towards his own special day, but with you, he actually finds it worth celebrating

genre/warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff with a teeny weeny dash of angst

notes: loosely based on this fanart. pls just give my boi back gege you awful one-eyed cat how could you hold him hostage even on his birthday

listen to: sakura koi by mosawo don't mind me i just get all soft for this poor boy *sigh*

general masterlist

Megumi never really liked birthdays—his own birthdays, specifically.

"Come on, Megumi... just what is it that you want for your present?" you pleaded, pursing your lips together as you faced your boyfriend. "I don't want to give you a surprise only to find out it's not something you'd enjoy!"

However, ever since Gojo went and took him in, ever since he began attending Jujutsu High, and ever since he started dating you, to his chagrin, everyone started making a big fuss over it.

With the straightest face ever, he glanced at you and muttered, "I'm telling you, you can get me whatever."

"That's not an answer!"

"Seriously, you can pick anything. I'm good with anything."

You huffed in exasperation. "You're so unbelievably uncooperative, sheesh."

"On the contrary, I think I'm being quite amiable," he deadpanned. "You don't have to think about it that hard."

In a way, you should've expected this. Your boyfriend was never one who made a big deal over anything, and he probably meant it when he said that he was good with whatever. Your soft boy was just wired that way.

Meanwhile, to Megumi, his birthday was more of a remainder of good old days he spent with his kind sister and Gojo—when times were much more simpler. When Tsumiki was still alive and well. Call him an emo, but he was just feeling bittersweet.

Tsumiki would craft him this makeshift party hat, and Gojo would get him an overly sweet birthday cake with an even more over-the-top frostings. They'd join in singing him happy birthday, and Gojo's singing would be intentionally and especially awful while at it.

But now that he thought back to it, he kind of missed those times.

You threw him a narrowed-eyed look. "Forget it, I half-expected this anyway—" but then, suddenly struck by an idea, you exclaimed, "—oh! Wait, I know!"

Your enthusiastic exclamation caught his attention, and he silently observed as you furiously tapped away on your phone, scouring Google for standard gift ideas for boyfriends.

For the next half-hour, you continuously sought his feedback on each of suggestions. However, Megumi only nodded or agreed with evident disinterest, which didn't really answer your question at all.

“You’re seriously going to be like this, huh?” you sighed, frowning in total indignation, but in your boyfriend’s eyes, you were the height of absolute cuteness.

As you grumbled inwardly about how dull he was, Megumi wore a small smile. Truthfully, if asked, his ideal birthday would revolve around spending time with you. You didn't have to lose your head over this.

Needless to say, you were still trying to make it an event to remember. And Megumi knew, because you were so obvious it was giving him secondhand embarrassment.

"Itadori! I'm telling you—" you were rebuking a sheepish Yuji on broad daylight regarding which color for balloons to be placed in the class on the day of his birthday. Earlier, he saw you and Nobara huddled together, talking about cakes and pastries, then also animatedly discussing with Inumaki, Panda and Maki, pulling out all the stops for a celebration plan without missing a beat.

Megumi could only facepalm at your attempt to maintain secrecy—in which you were failing miserably, almost as if you hadn't really made an effort at all.

"Isn’t it nice, Megumi?" suddenly Gojo slid beside him, with a stupid grin on his face. "Someone who exclusively goes this far for you, hmm?"

"It's embarrassing..."

"Ha! Don't be shy," Gojo barked, leaving him with a friendly pat in the back before stalking away with a snicker, and Megumi wasn't the least bit amused. He was certain that at least, Yuji and Nobara would tease the heck out of him after all was said and done due to your antics.

Even so, he didn't have the heart to stop you, appreciating your well-meaning efforts. He felt somewhat soft too inside, as he didn't expect that there would be someone who cared about this way too much like you did. Just it felt strange—

—because last he remembered, the only person who was hellbent on making his birthday a nice memory was Tsumiki.

. . .

So you were organizing a surprise party for him alongside others. Megumi already knew that, he had anticipated it and frankly, he didn’t actually expect much, but when he actually stepped into the classroom and was greeted with a literal bang, confetti, colorful banners, balloons, and a crowd of well-wishers, he was floored.

“Fushiguro! Happy birthday!”

“Look happier a little, would you?!”

“Look! Look! We got you a cake!”

Yuji and Panda almost hugged him—but before he could, Megumi shoved them away, Nobara handed him a paper bag tied with a pretty bow with a cool smile—believing her gift to be the best, Inumaki gave his hand a shake, and Maki wished him only the best.

All of this was within his expectations. He knows, and yet…

"Hey, Megumi! Smile!" your voice stood out the most, along with your widest smile, beaming and gesturing towards the camera as you were about to take a group picture.

Megumi swore his heart skipped a beat. His pretty, sweet girlfriend. Your affections reached him, and it dampened the hardness that he always carried inside his heart. In that fleeting moment, he felt you were radiant, just like the sun.

Then he turned his gaze and found the person he knew he could never thank enough in this lifetime. Gojo, for the first time in a while, wasn't the clown he made himself to be for his sake. Standing with crossed arms, he quietly watched over him, nodding towards the camera as well with a meaningful smile.

Megumi felt warm, he felt loved, and he wouldn’t admit it, but this might be the best day of his life—surrounded by you and his friends like this. And he actually felt more than just that, but no words could do it justice, because nothing could have ever captured the overwhelming fullness inside his chest.

Tsumiki... You see... I'm doing well, you know?

Later, after all festivities are done, you managed to pull him into a secluded corner of the dorms to give him your one-of-a-kind gift, while fidgeting nervously.

"What is it?" he questioned, gaze squarely fixed on you. "At this point, there's no need for you to be this nervous. Nothing could've surprised me any more than Panda's giant panda earlier."

You laughed, recalling how he nearly got squashed by the life-sized stuffed panda earlier, but then you averted your gaze, feeling your face flush and turning into the cutest shade of pink.

"Well! To be fair, it was because you were so uncooperative when I asked what you wanted for your gift! And since I have gotten you the cake, I figured it'll be fun if you want to play this game..."

You huffed, and Megumi simply blinked in confusion when you handed him five pieces of papers—tickets? He turned them over to find the words "Free Pass" written on each one.

"Sooo you can use each ticket to ask me to do anything! Anything at all, be it me dancing to the worst song you can think of, or whatever!" your cheeks were burning so hard, but your resolute gaze kept him captivated as you continued, "So yeah, you get five free passes to make me do things I wouldn't normally do."

Lips pursed, eyes sparkling, cheeks ablaze. All in all, you were irresistibly adorable that Megumi had this overwhelming urge to scoop you up and put you inside his pocket if he could.

And really, free passes? Did you not consider the numerous exploitable loopholes he could subject you to?

"Okay, here, I want to use my first ticket."

"Huh! Already? What is it?"

He chuckled then, his lips tugging into the warmest of smiles, and you felt your heart soar, seeing that rare carefree expression on him.

"I want to kiss you."

#fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader fluff #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #fushiguro megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi x y/n #jjk #megumi fluff

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earthchica · 4 months ago

Text

Right My Wrongs

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: You and Terry had a good co-parenting relationship until he started dating a woman named Olivia who disrupted that dynamic.

warning: ANGST, toxic behavior, foul language, heartbreak, mention of fwb, mention of unexpected pregnancy, complicated situation, co-parenting, six-year-old daughter, name calling &, etc.

note: I was a little nervous about posting this, but here we go. Terry is an asshole in this; I'm sorry, lol. Part 2 will be out tomorrow; please let me know what you think.

series masterlist

You woke up suddenly to the sound of loud, urgent banging on your front door.

You glanced down at your daughter, still peacefully sleeping beside you.

You recall her coming into your bedroom because she had a bad dream.

With a weary groan, you glanced at the clock: it was almost midnight, and another knock reverberated at the front door.

You hurriedly got up, wrapped your robe around yourself, and slipped on your slippers to dash downstairs to the door.

Before opening the door, you looked through the peephole and saw that it was Terry.

He looked very upset; you immediately swung the door open and greeted him with a comforting expression.

"Terry... hey. Is everything alright?" you asked with a furrowed brow, your eyes filled with concern.

He looked up from his position and took a moment to meet your gaze before coming inside.

"She kicked me out." Terry expressed with irritation in his tone.

Oh, that bitch...Olivia.

You didn't know what Terry saw in her. She constantly causes him pain and breaks his heart, leaving you to mend the fragments every single time.

You have longed to express your true feelings to Terry and reveal the love nestled within your heart.

However, you knew it might never happen because Terry never gave you the impression that he saw you that way.

You and Terry were just friends, but your friendship blossomed into something sexual, leading to a complicated entanglement.

One night of unprotected sex resulted in an unexpected pregnancy.

You told Terry the news immediately, and he promised to be there for you and the baby.

Six years later, you two are raising a sweet, beautiful little girl named Jasmine.

She was a great mix of both of you: she inherited your beautiful nose and almond-shaped eyes while having her father's smile and eye color.

You and Terry maintained a strong friendship and a healthy co-parenting relationship until now.

He wasn't the man you once knew; she was transforming him into someone unrecognizable.

It was alarming you more than you'd like.

"Fuck, man. I give her everything she wants, and she always ends up fucking me over. What the fuck did I do to deserve this bullshit" Terry uttered, taking deliberate steps as he advanced toward the inviting comfort of the living room.

You let out a deep sigh, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders, before gently closing the door behind you.

Slowly, you approached him on the couch, ready to offer your comforting presence.

"You did nothing wrong, Terry. She doesn't deserve you; you deserve so much better. Like, for real, T... when will you wake up and see that?" you asked, placing your hand on his shoulder.

"I know....I know....It's just..." he says, his gaze intense as he looks at you with those piercing eyes.

"You love her?" You asked with a frustrated sigh.

"I do. I wish I didn't. I wish I could hate her, but I can't," Terry confessed.

"I'm sorry, Terry, but this isn't love. Love shouldn't hurt and leave you heartbroken. You deserve someone who makes you happy, makes you feel loved, and allows you to be yourself. Does she do that for you?" You asked.

With a deep breath, he shook his head. "No, she doesn't. Maybe you're right. I'm done dealing with her bullshit." He then offered a slight smile in your direction.

"Thanks, baby girl. I'm grateful to have such a great friend like you to lean on. Thanks for dealing with me and bullshit," He says, pulling you into a comforting hug.

"Yup! Let me get you some blankets," you said, quickly getting up to go to the hallway closet.

"Mommy?" You heard the sweet, melodic sound of your daughter's voice echoing from the top of the stairs.

Jasmine descended the stairs, wearing her cute bonnet and rubbing her eyes sleepily.

She looks at you first before turning to Terry, a slight smile growing on her face.

"Daddy!" She rushed over to him and hugged him, which caused Terry to burst into laughter.

"Hey, princess," he whispers softly, leaning in to gently kiss her forehead.

"Hi...daddy! What are you doing here?" she asked curiously, laying her head on his chest.

"What? Aren't you happy to see me?" he asked, a playful glint in his eye as he lightly tickled her side, causing her to erupt into a fit of giggles.

"No," she said emphatically, shaking her head.

"I'm always genuinely happy to see you," she explained with a warm smile, her words clear and sincere.

She was six years old, and always so sweet and expressive when she spoke her thoughts.

"I know, princess, and I'm always happy to see you. Your mom is letting me stay here, right?"

"Really? Mommy, is Daddy really staying over?" She asked, turning her gaze toward you.

"Yeah, sweetie. Just for the night. Now come on, let-" Jasmine excitedly interrupted you.

"Yayyy! Come on...daddy." She tightly grasps his large hand with her delicate, tiny fingers and eagerly pulls him into your bedroom.

You were about to intervene but decided to let it go because you were too tired to make a fuss.

You entered the bedroom to find Jasmine already asleep, cuddled into Terry's chest while his arm caressed her.

"I'm sorry. I hope this is okay. I can leave and sleep on the couch," he said with a tired expression.

"No, we don't want to wake her again. It's fine. Just get some sleep," you said with a yawn, getting into bed and trying to get comfortable in the blankets.

It was morning, and you woke up to find Jasmine sleeping on your arm, but Terry was not there.

You heard your phone ding; look to see that exact text. You were beyond pissed off.

Terry: Good morning! I'm sorry I left you and Jazzy like that. Liv called me, and we talked about everything. We're good again.

You didn't even reply to his text; you were in such disbelief at how he was so pussy whipped over this girl.

You knew you shouldn't be surprised; it was nothing new. Maybe you thought your words would finally reach him, and he would wake up.

You were so wrong.

It's been a few weeks since then, and you were coming to his place to pick up Jasmine after her week with him.

You exited the car and walked to buzz yourself into his apartment building.

You arrived at the fourth floor and knocked on his door. It slowly swung open, and Terry stood on the other side.

His face contorted in irritation, but just as quickly, a sense of ease washed over him when he saw it was you. "Hey, you!"

"Hi," You said coldly, pushing your way into his apartment, catching him off guard.

"Uh...how are you?" Terry asked as he closed the front door, then proceeded to follow you into the inviting living room.

"Good! Where's jazzy?" You responded with a brief answer, glancing around the room in search of your daughter.

"She's taking a nap. You good?" Terry asked, gazing at you with a touch of worry.

"Yup," you replied with a forced smile, concealing your true feelings.

You mistook the sound for Jasmine, but it was actually Olivia, which made you angry.

Terry had previously agreed not to have Olivia over when your daughter stayed with him.

This was it, you were fucking done.

Olivia enthusiastically greets Terry with a sloppy kiss, leaving a glossy on his lips before shooting you an irritated glance.

"Terry, what the hell is she doing here?" With arms crossed and a furious glare, you demanded his answer.

"I'm his girlfriend; I have every right to be," She explains, giving you a little attitude.

"Trick, I'm not fucking talking to you. I'm talking to Terry, the father of my child. Why don't you go, and make some tea while the grown-ups talk, okay?" You said with an intimidating gaze.

"Whatever, Terry will set you straight," She replied, rolling her eyes before heading into the kitchen to make some tea.

Terry gazed at you with a hint of irritation etched on his face and then spoke the words.

"What the fuck was that? You didn't have to talk to her like that," He asked with a frown.

"Why did you have this girl here...around my child when we agreed not to do that."

"It just happened; it's not a big deal. Olivia wanted to meet her, and I know I should've told you. I apologize," Terry said with a shrug.

"I don't give a rat's fucking ass...If she wants to meet her, you come to me first with this. Now go behind my back." You said with a look of intense anger etched on your face.

"Damn, woman. I fucking apologized, can you let it go? This shit ain't that serious," Terry sighed with frustration.

"It is fucking serious, Terry. This bitch got you so pussy whipped; you have lost who you are, your morals, and respect," You yelled, catching him completely off guard.

"What did you call her say?"

"You heard me. You are with a narcissistic, egotistical, manipulative ass bitch who doesn't treat you the way you deserve to be treated. She's changed you to fit her fantasy, and you're too fucking stupid to see it."

"Look...I don't appreciate you coming in here and talking-"

"I'm not done talking. You never seem to listen to me. This thing you think is love between you and her is not Terry. The man I once knew wouldn't tolerate this disrespect," You said, frustrated, uncrossing your arms.

"Look....It's none of your fucking business. You're just my baby mama," Terry said, clenching his jaw.

"Fuck you! You sure did make it my fucking business when you kept running your black ass to me whenever she did something wrong, but you know what? You're right. I'm nothing more than just your baby mama."

You found yourself overwhelmed with emotion, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to continue speaking.

"So I'm done with this; I'm done with you. I'm done being the shoulder you cry on, I'm so fucking done being in love with you and knowing I can't have you. I've been wasting my fucking time dreaming about us being a real family. I don't know why I thought you would wake up and see what's right in front of you. I guess that's my own damn fault," you cried.

Terry's heart dropped at your words, and emotion quickly washed over him.

His eyes were outstretched as he uttered your name and approached you, but Olivia stopped him.

"Let her go," Olivia said, wrapping her arms around his waist. You shake your head, rushing to get your daughter from another room.

She was napping, you are glad she didn't hear the yelling coming from the living room.

As you hurriedly gathered Jasmine's belongings, you couldn't help but overhear Terry and Olivia's arguing.

You swiftly picked her up gently without wasting any time and left the room.

Terry sat on the couch, his face in his hands, while Olivia was nowhere to be found, but you didn't care.

His eyes met yours, filled with a deep sense of regret. "I'm sorry...baby girl. I fucked up...I made Olivia leave. Don't leave, Let's talk, please,"

"No...I'm done, Terry. I made up my mind...Our communication will be strictly only about Jasmine, nothing more. Now let me go." You said that in a calmer tone of voice.

He didn't even put up a fight, which hurt a little. You stepped out of the door, making your way down the hall.

You exited the apartment building and went to your car. After securing Jasmine in her car seat, you closed the car door.

You got into the car, started the engine, and drove away with tears in your eyes.

You need to do this for your own well-being.

You couldn't be consumed by stress related to him and the current situation.

It's time to shift your focus towards prioritizing what is most beneficial for you.

It's been a month since you disconnected from Terry and his relationship issues, and you felt a weight lifted off your shoulders.

You still allow him to spend time with his daughter every other week, even after what he said to you.

You were not going to be the type of baby mother to raise hell and prevent him from seeing his child.

Terry was waiting for you to arrive at your house. He knew he had fucked up pretty badly by hurting you and disrespecting you.

His best friend and the mother of his child, out of all people in the world.

You both struggled to communicate feelings, so he was confused and surprised when you revealed your love.

He wasn't sure if he felt the same, but he was determined to apologize and make things right with you.

You were driving home just after dropping Jasmine off at your parents.

You needed some time to yourself, but it seemed like that wasn't going to happen.

You roll your eyes when you see Terry sitting on your porch with a bouquet of flowers.

"What are you doing here, Terry?" You asked, walking towards him with a frown.

"I wanted to check on you, but you haven't answered my calls. I was a little worried. Where's Jazzy?" He inquired, rising from the porch steps."

"She's fine, I'm fine. She's at my parents' house, and you can go now," you explained shortly.

"Baby girl, please don't be like that. I fucked up, I know, and I'm sorry for the way I've been treating you. I broke up with Oliva...she's gone, out of the fucking picture. You were right; you were always right. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," He speaks with genuine sincerity.

You let out a deep sigh and raised your eyes to the sky, feeling a mix of emotions.

"I forgive you, Terry, but...I meant every word I said. I'm done. It's just too painful for me. I'll be cordial with you when Jasmine is around, but outside of that, I'm done."

"I will respect that. I just have to ask why you didn't say anything before," he said, curious.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Terry. All that matters is raising Jazzy," you said coldly.

Terry looks down at the ground, disappointed with himself with an understanding nod.

Before walking away, he handed you the bouquet of your favorite flowers and whispered, "I'm sorry," once more.

You took a deep breath as you walked to the front door. "It's for the best," you thought to yourself.

#rebel ridge #aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x black reader #black fem reader #black!fem!reader #terry richmond x reader #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond angst #terry richmond fic #aaron pierre x black reader

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wholoveseggs · 1 month ago

Note

Hey girly, my favorite fic of yours is “Madness” I absolutely adore jealous Elijah(and all my boys for that matter) I would like to request something smutty were reader is making Elijah jealous and than he demands to be shown some respect *wink* *wink*. I know you wrote a few fics like this but I L O V E that trope and I would like to see more if you have any ideas.

thankssss in advance, sending lots of hugs to you 🫶🏻

Chaos

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A punk-themed night out with the Mikaelsons reveals a side of Elijah you’ve never seen before... and a chance to push boundaries neither of you ever expected.

♡♡ Hello darling @hiddledede-heddlededo!! I adore exploring Elijah's wild, dominant side… so why not throw him into a setting that lets him fully unleash it?? ~ ♡♡

7.8k words - Warnings: smutt, Kol being a flirt, Klaus rocking a mohawk, Rebekah is only going so she can snack on a punk rocker, Elijah taking what he wants, mosh-pits, dom!Elijah, oral sex (f!receiving), little but of butt stuff (also f!receiving), a dash of sir kink, riding, blood drinking, commanding Elijah && lots of punk / metal vibes ...

I'll be tagging ya'll in the comments from now on... because tumblr is not built for tagging lots of users... if you want off the tag list just shoot me a DM!!! (I won't be offended ~xo)

The compound was alive with chaos. Heavy guitar riffs and screaming vocals blasted through the speakers, shaking the walls as you carefully applied your eyeliner at Rebekah's vanity. The faint scent of whiskey lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of nail polish and the distinct musk of leather jackets piled in the corner.

Rebekah was rifling through her closet, tossing clothes haphazardly over her shoulder in search of something remotely punk or goth. A pair of fishnets flew through the air and landed on the bed.

"Rebekah, what are you doing?" you asked, pausing to set the eyeliner down and stand up.

"I can't find anything!" she wailed, slamming the closet doors shut with an air of theatrical defeat.

"Don't worry," you said, picking up the fishnets and smoothing them out with a small laugh. "I have a dress for you that matches the theme perfectly. But you should definitely wear these. They're sexy."

Rebekah snatched them up with a dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank you, darling. You're a lifesaver."

"Of course," you replied, flashing her a quick smile before turning back to the vanity. You picked through her cluttered makeup stash. "Do you have any dark lipstick? Deep red or black would be perfect."

Rebekah nodded, rummaging through a pile of scattered tubes as Kol came bursting through the door. He was a sight to behold. Decked out in all black, with ripped jeans, spiked bracelets glinting on his wrists, and combat boots that looked like they could survive a war. In one hand, he balanced a bottle of bourbon, while the other clutched a portable speaker blaring screeching guitar riffs.

"Are you ready?" he asked, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Almost. We're still deciding on outfits," you replied, laughing as he flung himself onto Rebekah's bed like a rockstar who'd just survived a long set.

Kol took a swig from the bourbon before offering it to you. "Liquid courage, darling?"

You hesitated for only a second before taking the bottle, pretending his playful charm wasn’t contagious. "Thanks, Kol," you said, the burn of the whiskey warming your throat.

He leaned back, plucking the eyeliner pencil you’d left on the vanity and spinning it between his fingers. "I remember when ladies used to color their eyes with coal and berries. Fashion has certainly changed," he mused, his tone light but teasing.

"Want to try it?" you asked.

"Why not?" Kol grinned mischievously.

You stepped closer, grabbing his chin gently. As you leaned in to line his eyes, you couldn’t help but laugh at the boyish excitement glinting in his dark irises. You tried to push thoughts of someone else’s dark, brooding gaze out of your mind.

As you finished lining Kol’s eyes, you smudged the edges just enough to give him a grungy, rebellious look. He turned to the mirror, tilting his head this way and that before flashing you a devilish grin.

"I must say, you’ve outdone yourself, darling," he said, striking a dramatic pose. "Do I look devastatingly handsome? Or perhaps... devastatingly misunderstood?"

"You look ridiculous," you said, laughing as you swatted his arm. "But it’s perfect for tonight."

Kol leaned back on the bed, his grin turning wicked. "Speaking of tonight, are you hoping to catch anyone’s eye? Or just hoping a certain someone finally notices how ravishing you look?"

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don’t play coy with me," Kol said, wagging a finger. "You know exactly who I mean. A certain noble brother of mine who prefers brooding in corners over having any fun."

Your cheeks burned, and you turned back to the vanity, pretending to busy yourself with your makeup. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Kol let out a bark of laughter, swinging his legs off the bed and walking over to lean against the vanity beside you. "Come now, love. I see the way you look at Elijah… Like he hung the stars themselves. It’s positively nauseating."

You shot him a glare through the mirror. "Kol, drop it."

"Why should I?" he asked with a wicked grin. "It’s not like you’re being subtle about it. Though, I’ll admit, my dear brother could use someone to rattle that insufferable composure of his."

Rebekah breezed into the room, holding up a slinky black silk dress. "This the one you were talking about?"

You nodded, relieved for the distraction. "Yep. That one will look killer."

"Fantastic." She smiled, grabbing the bourbon from Kol and taking a swig.

You grabbed the black fishnet top and red leather mini skirt from the bed and held them up. "Kol, if you’re going to hang around, at least turn around while I change."

He smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. "As you wish, my modest little dove," He spun on his heel, facing the wall.

You rolled your eyes and disappeared into the walk-in closet. Once you were safely inside, you pressed your forehead against the wall, a groan escaping your lips. Of all the people to notice your attraction to Elijah, why did it have to be Kol?

You slipped off your shirt, replacing it with the fishnet top. The sheer fabric clung to your skin, and the bra underneath added just the right amount of daring to the look. As you wiggled into the red leather mini skirt, Kol’s voice broke through your focus.

"Elijah, though," he mused aloud, clearly unable to keep quiet. "He’d probably combust at the sight of you in a skirt like that. All that decorum? Poof. Gone."

You rolled your eyes, listening to Rebekah giggle as you tugged your skirt into place, the material hugging your hips snugly. "Kol, do you ever shut up?"

"Not when there’s fun to be had," he quipped. "Though, if I’m being honest, I might have to lend Elijah a hand tonight. He could use the push."

You groaned, reaching for your knee-high black boots. "Kol, whatever you’re scheming, just stop. Please."

"Darling, I would never scheme," he said, the exaggerated indignation in his voice making it clear he was lying.

After zipping up the boots and smoothing down your skirt, you turned toward him. "Alright, you can look now."

Kol spun around, and his eyes swept over you with a dramatic flourish. He let out a low whistle, his grin widening. "Well, well. Someone looks ravishing. Don't you think, sister?"

"Oh, yes." Rebekah laughed. "That outfit is positively sinful."

"I don't know," you said, biting back a smirk. "Do you think it's too much?"

Kol’s grin softened into something almost mischievously kind. "Darling, let me give you some advice: Elijah may act like he’s above all this chaos, but trust me, he notices. And he cares more than you think."

You frowned, checking yourself out one last time in the mirror, fiddling with a tube of lipstick. "He doesn’t even like this kind of thing. We have nothing in common, Kol. Why would he ever-"

"Please," Kol interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Elijah is the king of pretending not to care while secretly caring far too much. The trick is pulling him out of his little bubble. Tonight, my dear, you’ve got the perfect opportunity."

Your heart fluttered at the thought, but you quickly shoved it down. "Kol, you’re ridiculous."

"And you’re in denial," he shot back, winking as he plucked the lipstick from your hands and held it up. "Now, are we going with the deep red or black? Because trust me, Elijah won’t be able to take his eyes off you either way."

You snatched the lipstick back with a huff, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re smitten," Kol said, his grin widening. "Now hurry up, or we’ll be late for the party. I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

As he sauntered out of the room, the sound of his laughter trailing behind him, you let out a shaky breath. Maybe Kol was right. Maybe tonight wasn’t just about wild music and dancing. Maybe it was your chance to show Elijah a side of yourself he’d never noticed before.

The thought sent a thrill through you, and you turned back to the mirror with renewed determination.

"Deep red it is," you murmured to yourself, a small smile playing on your lips.

You and Rebekah sat on the plush couch in the living room, passing a half-empty bottle of whiskey back and forth as the pounding music from Kol’s speaker vibrated through the walls. The anticipation of the night buzzed in the air, matching the light, happy buzz from the alcohol warming your veins.

"I cannot wait for tonight," Rebekah said, leaning back against the couch, her fishnet-clad legs stretched out in front of her. "It’s been ages since we’ve gone out like this."

You nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I can't remember the last time I went to a real party," you admitted.

The heavy thud of boots descending the stairs announced the arrival of Kol and Klaus. They entered the room like they were walking onto a stage, heads held high and swaggering grins on their faces. Klaus had his hair gelled up into a perfect mohawk. He was dressed in ripped jeans, chains, and a leather jacket adorned with pins. "How do I look?" he asked, spreading his arms wide.

"Ridiculous," Kol replied, but the pride shining in his eyes was undeniable.

Rebekah laughed, rising to her feet and twirling in a circle. Her black dress clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination, and the fishnets underneath made her legs look a mile long. "Well, what about me?"

"These headbangers will eat you alive," Klaus said, winking as he tossed her a leather jacket.

She caught it with ease, slipping it on and grinning at her brothers. "I plan on eating them, actually," she purred.

Kol flopped onto the couch beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. "What’s this? Are you two already tipsy? We haven’t even left yet!"

"Don’t worry about us," Rebekah said with a smirk. "We can handle ourselves better than you."

Kol opened his mouth to retort, but the conversation was cut short by the sound of Elijah clearing his throat from the doorway. The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at him.

Elijah stood there, his usual tailored suit in place, his tie perfectly knotted. His brow furrowed slightly as his gaze swept across the group, lingering briefly on Klaus’s mohawk, Kol’s eyeliner, and finally, the whiskey bottle in your hand.

"Well," he said, folding his arms, "I see you’ve all fully embraced the theme."

Klaus shrugged, tossing a casual grin in his brother's direction. "We’ve got to blend in, don’t we? Showing up out of place wouldn’t do."

"Of course," Elijah replied, his eyes never leaving yours. Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you took a quick sip from the bottle, hoping the alcohol would calm your racing heart.

"You should come with us, Elijah," Kol said, flashing a mischievous grin.

"Absolutely not," Elijah replied without hesitation, his tone calm but firm. His gaze shifted to Klaus’s mohawk, a flicker of disapproval crossing his features. "I think it’s clear I’m not suited for... whatever this is."

Kol clapped a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Oh, come now, brother. Where’s your sense of adventure? A little music, a little chaos. It might even loosen that tie of yours."

Elijah’s expression didn’t change, and he didn't miss a beat as he responded, "No, thank you."

You felt a pang of disappointment as his eyes moved away from you. He wasn't interested. Of course he wasn't. You took another sip of whiskey, trying not to dwell on the sting.

"Fine, if that's what you really want," Kol said, shrugging as he rose from the couch. He reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet, a teasing smile on his lips. "The rest of us are off to find trouble. If you change your mind, you're welcome to join."

Klaus and Rebekah fell into step behind him as the four of you made your way toward the door. You paused briefly, looking back at Elijah. Your eyes met for a brief moment, and his expression softened slightly. He gave you a small, reassuring smile, and a spark of hope flared inside you.

Maybe Kol was right. Maybe you just needed to give him a reason. You stopped in the doorway, turning back to face him, a flurry of emotions swirling in your chest.

"It won't be the same without you," you said softly.

Elijah looked at you for a long moment, his expression shifting from conflict to quiet resolve. He sighed, stepping toward you, and his voice was soft when he spoke, "Perhaps a night out wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."

"That's the spirit!" Kol cheered, his grin widening.

Elijah rolled his eyes, but you could see the small, affectionate smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He glanced down at your outfit, his gaze sweeping across you. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile as his eyes met yours.

Elijah’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before looking away. He cleared his throat and straightened, the composed mask slipping back into place. "If I’m to join you, I should dress appropriately," he said, his tone carrying its usual calm authority.

"Meet us outside when you're ready," Kol called as Elijah disappeared up the stairs.

"Wonder what he'll come up with," Klaus said, an amused smirk curling his lips.

"An all black suit?" Rebekah mused, her lips twisting into a playful grin.

"A turtleneck and sunglasses?" Klaus added, chuckling at the image.

Minutes later, Elijah came strolling out of the compound wearing a long sleeve black shirt, dark jeans and black leather jacket. His hair was still slicked back, but there was a slight messiness to it. As if he'd ruffled his fingers through his hair, but still wanted to maintain some level of control.

"What do you think?" he asked, turning to face the group.

Klaus let out a snort of amusement. "You look almost... approachable. It’s unsettling."

You walked over to Elijah, feeling a small spark of bravery as you reached up and messed up his hair a bit more, causing it to fall into his eyes. "There. Now you're perfect," you said with a soft smile.

Elijah raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling. "Perfect for what?"

You shrugged. "Whatever you want," you replied.

His gaze drifted over your face, landing on your lips. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were standing. You could smell the faint scent of his cologne, see the soft stubble along his jaw, feel the warmth radiating off his body. You were tempted to reach out and touch him, but you pulled back instead.

"So, are we ready?" Kol asked, breaking the tension.

You stepped back from Elijah, your heart racing. "Definitely."

The party was held in a massive warehouse, its towering ceilings lost in shadow and its walls covered in glowing graffiti under blacklights. Purple and blue lights flickered in rhythm with the pounding music, casting the packed crowd into a surreal, shifting glow. The scent of sweat and alcohol lingered in the air, mingling with the haze of fog and cigarette smoke.

Kol was a force of nature, pushing through the throng and carving a path to the center of the floor. He turned to face you and the others, raising his voice over the roar of the crowd. "What do you say? Shall we make our presence known?"

You nodded and let him drag you forward, laughing as the music grew louder and the bodies closed around you. Soon, you were swept up in the chaos. Your heart pounded in time with the bass, the rhythm coursing through your veins.

Elijah watched you disappear into the crowd, he let out a sigh.

"Having second thoughts, brother?" Klaus asked, a teasing smirk on his lips.

"Something like that," Elijah muttered, his gaze sweeping across the room. Everyone was slamming into each other, acting animalistic as they moved to whatever chaotic, screaming vocals were currently blasting through the speakers. He didn't understand how anyone could enjoy something like this.

Rebekah looped her arm through his and tugged him toward the makeshift bar. "Come on. I'm sure we can find a drink to your liking," she said, dragging him along.

Elijah let out a huff, allowing himself to be dragged across the room.

Rebekah's smile widened as she flagged down the bartender. "Two shots, please."

Elijah looked up at the rafters above them, wondering what he'd gotten himself into. "What exactly are we drinking?"

"Tequila," Rebekah said, placing two shot glasses on the counter. She picked one up, and held it out to him. "Bottoms up."

Elijah let out a resigned sigh and reached for the glass. "Fine. Bottoms up," he said, tapping his glass against hers.

The liquor burned his throat, but it did nothing to loosen the tension in his body. He felt the weight of a dozen gazes on him, the whispers and stares following him wherever he went.

"This place is crawling with vampires," he murmured, scanning the room.

"I know," Rebekah said, tossing back the last of her whiskey. "You worried for our human friend? Because you know she's safe as long as we're around."

Elijah glanced in the direction where he'd last seen you, and found the spot empty. A twinge of worry ran through him, and he leaned forward, raising his voice. "Where is she?"

"Relax," Rebekah said, laughing. "She's with Kol, he won't let anything happen to her."

Elijah felt his jaw tense. The thought of you being alone with Kol, in this crowd, filled him with a mixture of apprehension and jealousy. He shook his head, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Rebekah raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter? Worried about Kol? Or is there someone else on your mind?"

Elijah looked at her sharply. "No. Why would you say that?"

"Because you want her all to yourself," Klaus chimed in, ordering two drinks. One for himself and one for a heavily tattooed blonde that had been eyeing him for the past five minutes.

"I do not," Elijah insisted.

Rebekah scoffed. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. Just admit it, you like her. That's why you came tonight."

"I came because Kol was relentless and I had no choice," Elijah snapped.

Klaus snorted, turning to his sister. "What Elijah really means to say is 'I can't let Kol steal the girl I'm so obviously in love with,'" he said.

"I am not in love with anyone," Elijah insisted, ignoring the fact that his eyes were still searching for you in the crowd.

"Right," Klaus said, a smug smirk curling his lips. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Why don't you just tell her how you feel? Unless, of course, you're afraid she'll reject you. I wouldn't blame her. Who would ever want a boring stick-in-the-mud like you?"

Elijah gave Klaus a look that could have frozen hell, but his brother simply laughed, winking at the tattooed blonde.

"What do you think darling? Should my brother try his luck or continue to pine from a distance?" Klaus asked the blonde.

She leaned over the bar, her gaze sweeping over him. "I say he should try his luck," she purred, her fingers playing with the edge of Klaus' leather jacket. "But he looks too uptight. A few drinks might loosen him up."

"I am not uptight," Elijah protested, his eyes narrowing.

Klaus grinned, pulling the blonde closer. "Maybe we should show him how it's done," he murmured.

"I think that's a great idea," she said, her lips inches from his.

Elijah rolled his eyes, looking away from them as they started to make out. Rebekah let out a laugh and grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the dance floor.

"Yuck, let's get out of here," she said, weaving through the crowd.

He allowed himself to be dragged across the floor, his gaze landing on a familiar figure. You were dancing with Kol, your hands in the air, hips swaying to the music. Elijah couldn't look away.

Kol leaned in and said something to you. You laughed, shaking your head. Elijah felt a rush of envy, the sensation foreign and uncomfortable. Kol's hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer. You didn't resist, a small smile playing on your lips. Elijah gritted his teeth.

"Looks like Kol has stolen your girl," Rebekah said, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"She's not mine," Elijah replied, his eyes fixed on the pair.

Kol pulled you closer, his lips brushing your ear. The music changed, and the tempo increased, the lights flashing faster. The press of bodies forcing you closer together and Elijah lost sight of you. He could feel his temper rising, a strange sense of possessiveness overcoming him.

Rebekah smirked, shaking her head. "Go. Show her you can be fun, too," she said, giving him a nudge.

He hesitated, torn between his own anxieties and desire.Perhaps it was time to step out of his comfort zone, time to take a risk. Elijah swallowed, steeling his nerves. He could do this. He could show you that he wasn't some stuffy, uptight, boring old vampire. That he would fit in at a place like this.

Elijah looked back at his sister, who now had her arms wrapped around the neck of a man who had more pericings than skin. She was whispering something in his ear, and a grin spread across his face. She flashed Elijah a wink before vanishing into the crowd with the pierced man. It seemed everyone was getting a taste of the party tonight. Everyone but him.

The song changed, a pulsing beat thudding through the speakers. He caught sight of you and Kol just as the crowd surged, everyone around him began to thrash and he realised he was in the midst of a mosh pit.

His senses were overwhelmed, the press of bodies, the screaming music, the flashing lights. His instinct was to fight his way free, but the urge to see you, to have you see him, was stronger. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, ignoring the elbows that collided with his ribs, the fists that struck his shoulder, the shoves and kicks from all sides. The chaos, the strobing lights, the deafening music, all of it swirled around him as he pressed on.

He saw you, a few feet away, your back pressed against Kol's chest, your arms in the air, head tilted back. A flash of heat rushed through him, and he pushed harder, shoving past the crowd. Kol saw him coming first, and he smiled, keeping his eyes on Elijah as he kissed your neck.

You let out a gasp, twisting to look at Kol. You were laughing, pushing on his chest. Elijah was close enough to hear your words. "You're an ass!"

"Oh, come on," Kol teased, his arms still tight around your waist. "Don't pretend you don't like it."

Your face was flushed, and you opened your mouth to respond, but the words died on your lips when you spotted Elijah. He stood a few feet away, his expression a mixture of anger and concern. Your gaze drifted over him, taking in his ruffled hair, his dark, smoldering eyes, the way his leather jacket hugged his muscular frame.

Kol's grin widened. "See something you like?" he purred, his voice carrying a teasing note.

Elijah ignored him, his eyes locked on yours. The tempo surged, bodies colliding in wild abandon. A rush of adrenaline flooded Elijah’s senses, and before he could second-guess himself, he reached for your hand. His grip was firm, but his touch sent an unexpected jolt through you, grounding you in the chaos.

"Elijah?" you called over the music, your voice laced with surprise.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled you into the fray, his movements uncharacteristically reckless. The crowd surged around you, a wave of bodies slamming and thrashing, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you free of it. But instead, Elijah stayed, his grip on your hand steady as he moved with you, matching the rhythm of the music.

Your laughter rang out as you realized what he was doing. Elijah Mikaelson. Always composed. Always in control….Was letting go. He moved with you, his usually precise steps turning wild as the music took over. The press of the crowd pushed you closer together, the heat of his body mingling with the fevered energy of the room.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point, his hands found your waist. He steadied you as the pit surged again, his strength grounding you as you danced together, the frenzy building with each beat. His touch burned through the thin fabric of your top, and when you looked up, his eyes locked with yours.

The chaos seemed to dissolve into nothingness, the lights and music fading to a distant echo as the world narrowed to the two of you. You were breathing hard, your heart pounding, and you wondered if he could hear it, feel it.

As if sensing your thoughts, his hand moved from your waist to the base of your neck. His touch was gentle but firm as he pulled your mouth to his. The kiss was searing, a jolt of heat and desire rushing through you. He tasted of tequila and sin, his lips soft but demanding.

Your hands moved to his chest, the fabric of his shirt warm under your touch. You pressed closer, losing yourself in the kiss. The world blurred at the edges, but for the first time that night, you felt entirely clear.

When the kiss broke, the roar of the crowd and the chaos came rushing back. Elijah's chest was heaving, his breath hot against your cheek. Your hands slid down his arms, your fingers tangling with his. He lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting yours. You were both flushed and breathless, the weight of the moment hanging heavy between you.

The song changed, and someone behind him slammed into his back, shoving him against you. Your mouths met again, the kiss hungry and desperate, a need rising between the two of you. He pushed you backwards until you felt the cool, rough concrete against your back. His hand cradled the back of your head as his tongue traced the seam of your lips.

"Elijah," you moaned, parting your lips to let him in, your hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned, the sound deep and primal, vibrating out of him and into you. You kissed him back, pouring every ounce of longing and need into it, until you were both breathless.

When you finally broke apart, your eyes were wide, your lips swollen and red. You couldn't speak, the intensity of the moment rendering you speechless.

Elijah's hands lingered on your hips, his gaze holding yours. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

You swallowed, your heart pounding, and nodded. "Yes," you breathed, a slow, nervous smile spreading across your lips.

His hands tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. There was a flicker of hunger in his eyes, but it was tempered by something softer, more tender. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "Let's go home."

The two of you stumbled out of the warehouse, Elijah's hand gripping yours tightly. You couldn't stop smiling, the night still swirling in a haze around you. You passed Kol, who was surrounded by two women and a man, all of whom were practically drooling over him. He flashed you a wink as the four of them made their way to a dark corner.

The night air was a relief after the stifling heat of the warehouse, steam rising from your skin as you made your way down the street. You walked side-by-side, shoulders brushing, the silence between you thick with anticipation. You stole a glance at Elijah, his profile sharp in the glow of the streetlamps, and you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach. You couldn't wait to see where the night would take you.

As the door to Elijah's room clicked shut, a sense of apprehension and nervousness fell over you. You'd never been in his room before, and the thought of being alone with him filled you with a mixture of exhilaration and apprehension.

You glanced around, taking in the neatly organized bookshelves, the leather couch and the large bed. Not a speck of dust, not a single sock or shirt lying about. You had expected nothing less from him.

You walked over to his bed, running your fingers across the smooth, soft comforter. Elijah stood a few feet away, watching you, his hands resting loosely at his sides, nervously twitching as he tried to maintain his composure.

"Are you alright?" you asked, turning to face him.

He nodded, swallowing. "I'm fine," he replied, his tone flat.

You could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his jaw was clenched. He was nervous, you realized. Nervous about being alone with you, about crossing this invisible line between friends and... whatever this was.

You stepped toward him, placing a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating rapidly. "Elijah," you said softly.

His eyes met yours, the uncertainty clear in their dark depths. You gave him a reassuring smile, letting your hand slide up his chest, until it rested against his neck. You could feel the muscles there tighten, the slight tremor that ran through him as you leaned in.

Your lips brushed his, a whisper of a kiss, and then his mouth was on yours, the kiss deep and intense. He guided you over to his couch, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. Your legs straddled him, and his hands ran along the smooth expanse of your thighs, gripping your hips as the kiss intensified.

A low, rumbling growl rose up in his chest, his desire for you clear in the way his lips claimed yours, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, the way his fingers dug into your soft skin. You always suspected he had it in him, a wild, rough passion that lay beneath the cool exterior. Now, as his hands roamed over your body, as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, you knew it was true.

You wanted him to know that you liked it. You wanted him to know that he could be rough, that you would never break. That you could take everything he had to give.

"Don't hold back," you whispered against his lips.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours. "Are you sure?"

"I trust you," you murmured, your hand cupping his face.

"I could hurt you," he breathed, his voice strained.

You smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "You won't."

He studied you for a moment, and then a mischievous smirk curled his lips. He reached down, hooking his arms under your legs and standing. You let out a yelp of surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you over to the bed.

He placed you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a thrill run through you, anticipation coiling in the pit of your stomach. You watched as he stripped off his shirt, tossing it aside. You drank in the sight of his toned torso, the light sheen of sweat glistening across his chest, the flex of his muscles as he leaned down, his lips finding yours again.

"Stay here, just like this. I'll be right back," he said, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Where are you going?" you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Trust me, it will be worth it," he said, giving you a wink before slipping out of the room.

You settled back against the pillows, closing your eyes. Your mind was racing, replaying the events of the night, at first Kol's attempt at seduction and then Elijah's. A slow, content smile spread across your face. You could certainly get used to this.

A few moments later, you heard the door open and close. You opened your eyes, sitting up. Elijah had Kol's portable speaker in one hand and his phone in the other. You raised an eyebrow at him, confused.

"What are you doing?" you asked, watching as he set the speaker on the bedside table.

"Music," he replied, a playful grin tugging at his lips. He tapped the screen and a loud metal song began to play. "I confess, I've become a bit of a fan."

"Oh yeah?" you asked, amused.

He nodded, moving towards you. He climbed onto the bed, crawling up your body until he was hovering over you. "Mmhmm," he murmured, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. "It has a certain appeal. It's raw... primal. Much like what I'd like to do to you right now."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly. Your fingers threaded into his hair, bringing his mouth to yours. The kiss was rough, his lips and tongue demanding, his hands sliding under your shirt, pushing the fabric up and over your head. He tossed the shirt aside, his mouth moving to your neck, kissing and biting, leaving a trail of marks across your collarbone.

"Are you going to be my good girl?" he purred, his breath hot against your skin.

You moaned, arching into him. "Yes," you gasped, your fingers gripping his hair.

"Yes, what?" he asked, nipping at your jaw.

"Yes, sir," you breathed, your mind reeling at the newfound authority in his tone.

"Good," he murmured, his hands moving to your thighs. He pushed your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist. He groaned, his gaze drinking in the sight of your panties. "Such a pretty, little, soaked, innocent thing," he murmured.

You swallowed, a flush creeping up your cheeks. He looked up at you, his gaze intense, a hint of a smirk curling his lips. He moved down your body, his mouth pressing a line of hot, wet kisses across your abdomen, his fingers tracing circles on the insides of your thighs.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he said, his voice rough with need.

You felt the heat of his breath against the fabric of your panties, and you shifted, lifting your hips, a soft whimper escaping your lips. You felt him smirk against your thigh, his hands hooking under your legs and gripping your hips, his fingertips digging into the flesh.

He pulled your panties down, tossing them aside. You heard the music change, a deep, thrumming beat filling the room, a bass-heavy song that you knew well. Elijah grinned, his tongue dragging along your slit, his gaze locking with yours. You gasped, your hips bucking against his mouth. He chuckled, the sound sending a rush of heat through you.

"Fuck," you moaned, your fingers threading into his hair.

He hummed, his tongue delving deeper, lapping at the slickness of your arousal, his fingers digging into your hips. You arched into him, panting, lost in the sensation of his mouth on you, his tongue working expertly. He sucked your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

The song changed again, and he pulled back slightly, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He smirked, his thumb pressing against your swollen, aching clit. You let out a breathy moan, writhing beneath him.

"Do you like that, sweetheart?" he purred, rubbing small, slow circles around the sensitive bud.

You bit your lip, nodding. "Y-yes," you stammered.

"Good girl," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Now, come sit on my lap," he ordered.

You blinked, taken aback. You had no idea he was into this kind of thing, and you had to admit, it was a pleasant surprise. You watched as he sat back, unbuckling his belt, his cock straining against his pants. He undid the button and zipper, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free his erection.

You swallowed, staring at his impressive length. He smirked, his gaze fixed on yours as he gestured for you to join him. You moved towards him, and he gripped your arm, his grip firm but not painful, pulling you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs.

You let out a shaky breath, bracing your hands on his shoulders. He smiled, his hands coming to rest on your hips. "Where has that wild thing from the mosh pit gone, hm?" he murmured, a hint of challenge in his voice.

You swallowed, your face warm. "Right here," you replied, rolling your hips, rubbing yourself along the length of his cock.

He groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. "Show me," he growled, his dark eyes flashing with hunger.

You shifted, reaching between the two of you and grasping his length. He let out a sharp hiss as you lined him up with your entrance, sinking down, taking him inch by inch, until you were fully seated. You both groaned, your forehead resting against his, your hands gripping his shoulders.

He took in the sight of your tits spilling from the low-cut bra you wore, the music playing, the sweat glistening on your skin. Something primal rose up in him. He gripped your hips, pulling you up and then slamming you back down, using his strength to set the pace. You moaned, your walls fluttering around him, his mouth pressed against your pulse, nipping at the delicate skin of your neck.

His grip was tight, his fingers bruising, and you found yourself wondering what he would think if you asked him to hold you down. To pin you under him and have his wicked way with you. If he would think less of you. Or perhaps if that's something he enjoyed, a new revelation to discover together.

Your slick began dripping down onto his balls, making you feel wet and messy. You could barely breathe, and you felt as though your entire body was on fire. You couldn't hold yourself back anymore, and a pathetic little cry escaped you.

Elijah's hands squeezed your ass, and he pulled you closer to him, so that his chest was pressed against yours.

"Look at me." He whispered, his lips brushing over your ear.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you stared into his deep, dark eyes. He smiled, his hands sliding up your back. He unclasped your bra, tugging the straps off your arms, tossing the bra aside. His lips immediately latched onto one of your breasts, his tongue swirling around the nipple.

The song changed again, the drumbeat surging around you, your hips moving to the rhythm. You cried out, throwing your head back as an orgasm began to build low in your belly, your walls tightening around his cock.

"Fuck," you cursed, clinging to him, your hips rocking desperately. You were close, the pressure mounting, your legs trembling. He growled, his lips still at your breast, his teeth grazing your nipple.

"You're not allowed to come, sweetheart. Not yet. I decide when," he groaned, his voice low and commanding.

A whine escaped you, your nails digging into his shoulder blades, a mixture of pleasure and frustration welling up within you. He smirked, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, nipping at your bottom lip. He licked the salt from your skin, his hands grasping the globes of your ass, guiding your movement, setting a slow, deliberate pace.

One of his hands moved between your cheeks, his fingers teasing your puckered hole. You let out a soft moan, and he smiled, watching your face contort in pleasure.

"Does that feel good, darling?" he asked, his tone gentle.

You nodded, unable to speak, your whole body tingling. This dominant side of him was something you'd only imagined in your wildest dreams, but even then, it seemed to pale in comparison. He was everything you'd hoped for and more.

He hummed, pushing a finger into you, pumping it slowly. You let out a desperate gasp, burying your face against his shoulder, grinding into his finger. Your breath was coming fast and shallow, your heart racing, and you realized you were dangerously close to the edge.

"Elijah," you whimpered, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, your toes curling.

"Hmm?" he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe.

"Please, please, please, I can't- I'm gonna-" you babbled, your whole body shuddering.

He shushed you, kissing the top of your head. "It's okay, just try and hold on a little longer," he murmured.

You shook your head, unable to form a coherent thought. You were so wound up, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. All you could focus on was the feeling of his finger and cock, stretching you, filling you. You needed more.

Suddenly, he thrust into you, deeply and slowly, dragging himself out. It was maddening. You clenched around him, arching your back, moaning into his ear. He chuckled, repeating the motion, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. The music surged around you, the bass beating in time with your racing heart.

"E-Elijaah!" you cried, your walls fluttering around his length.

He chuckled at your desperation, his lips ghosting over your own, nipping at your bottom lip. "That's my girl," he murmured.

You moaned, his tongue darting into your mouth, silencing any retort you may have had. Everything snapped into place, all the tension and frustration of the night's events coming to a climax. You exploded, your body trembling, writhing, your orgasm crashing over you, drowning out everything else.

The intensity of your release shocked you. This was by far the most erotic thing you'd ever experienced. You were entirely his, wrung out, writhing on his cock, completely at his mercy. He watched you with an expression of pure satisfaction and awe, a smug grin curling his lips as he fucked into you, his rhythmic movements never stopping.

When the waves of pleasure finally receded, you collapsed against him, panting and spent. He cradled you, gently lowering you onto your back, covering your sweat-slicked body with his own. His weight pressed you into the mattress, his hips grinding into you. He kissed you, his mouth hot and demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs.

The music drowned out the filthy sounds of your bodies colliding, your moans and whimpers lost in the din of the bass. Your fingers gripped his biceps, your nails digging into his flesh. He grunted, leaning in and biting at your lip, his tongue darting past your parted lips. He kissed you fiercely, devouring you until your lungs burned for air.

You broke the kiss, inhaling sharply, trying to catch your breath. His vampiric nature was peeking through, fueled by his passions. You could feel his predatory gaze roaming over your exposed flesh, his gums bloody from where his fangs had nicked his own skin in a heated moment.

You moaned, watching his hips rise and fall, feeling the slap of his skin against your own. This rough, relentless fucking was everything you'd craved and more. You tilted your head up, offering your throat, arching into him. He flashed you a wicked, fanged smirk, his breath fanning over your neck, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Such a beautiful, sweet thing," he purred, taking your earlobe between his teeth. "Are you offering yourself to me, darling?"

Your lips curled into a smile as you breathed, "Yes."

Without warning, Elijah buried his fangs into the soft skin of your throat. A yelp tore from your lips, the shock mingling with the sensations his cock and fangs induced. His hands tightened on your ass, spreading you open, his hips picking up speed. The slight pain of his bite only heightened your pleasure.

"Oh, yes, yes! Fuck, yes!" you moaned, loud and unabashed, lost to the sensation, completely at his mercy.

Elijah sucked in a deep, guttural breath, his throat working as he drained a few mouthfuls of your blood. You dug your nails into his skin, grinding your hips up and into him, desperate to feel more. He growled low in his throat, his fangs sharp and tearing, his hips pounding into you, your name a frantic whisper falling from his lips.

A white-hot wave of heat flooded you, starting at the crown of your head and rushing down your body, between your legs and spreading up through your stomach and chest. The feeling was so intense that you fell off the edge, orgasm slamming into you. You cried out, trembling beneath him, your hips jerking wildly. He let out a sharp gasp, his whole body stiffening, his cock twitching as he came inside you, filling you with his cum.

A string of curses left your lips as you fell from your peak, Elijah gently licked at the puncture wounds on your throat, his fangs receding. You closed your eyes, taking a few steadying breaths, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

There were no words that could fully encapsulate the way you were feeling, so instead, you hugged him tightly to you, hoping he would understand.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, brushing the hair from your face. You smiled, trailing your fingertips over the taut muscles of his biceps. He hummed, looking down at you with a content, satisfied expression.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with genuine concern.

You nodded, your breath still coming in shallow gasps. "I think you’ve just ruined me for anyone else."

His eyes darkened, the faintest flicker of possessiveness returning. "Good," he said simply, making you chuckle.

The sound of the music still thudded softly in the background, but the world outside the two of you felt distant, inconsequential. Elijah shifted, his hands smoothing over your sides as he cradled you against him, kissing and nipping along your neck and jaw.

"Where have you been hiding this side of you?" you teased, your voice soft but playful.

Elijah chuckled, giving you a lopsided grin. "Darling, that's just the tip of the iceberg."

Your eyes widened, a nervous heat spreading across your cheeks. "Oh?" you inquired, your mind already racing at the implications.

He nodded, a dark glint in his eyes. "Mmhmm."

"So, I should probably delete Kol's number, huh?" you asked, teasing.

Elijah's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He leaned in, resting his weight on his forearm, his lips a hair's breadth away from yours.

"Most definitely," he murmured, claiming your lips in a heated, passionate kiss.

Needless to say, you had no complaints.

I'll be tagging ya'll in the comments from now on... because tumblr is not built for tagging lots of users... if you want off the tag list just shoot me a DM!!! (I won't be offended ~xo)

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yamujiburo · 6 months ago

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Hello, I’ve always been impressed by your design decisions so I wanted to ask: are there any Pokemon or trainers that have really spoken to you design-wise? Not necessarily your favorite, but left a strong impression on you.

Hope the rest of your day goes well! ^^

Aw thanks so much! I love character design, it was my first passion before storyboarding actually

Here's my faves:

RYME!!!! They nailed that older gen rapper look. Backwards cap, sequins, lots of gold and a puffy jacket! Also I'm not quite sure this is the intention with her shoes but they kinda look like grillz which is sick. I'm a sucker for a limited palette so the black, gold with turquoise accents in her nails, mic, earrings and eyes spoke to me. Also OF COURSE her hair (you're gonna se this pattern for the next two LOL). Making her locks look like a skeleton??? Genius. I love the hand bone for the front and the hip bone for the back. Literally one of the coolest trainer designs pokemon's ever given us.

GRANT! Just an immediately readable design. Oh, he looks like a rock climber, must be a rock type gym leader. Simple fit, I love a sleek black top. The carabiner, climber straps and chalk holder add a little more complexity to the design but not too much. It's a smart choice with how wild his hair is. I feel like if you do too much in the fit AND the hair, you risk your design feeling overdesigned and busy. I love that his hair is meant to look like a rock/cliffs with the holds! The holds add a nice dash of color without being too much.

AMARYS <3 It's the fact that she's in uniform but still has a design that immediately caught my eye. But to her being in uniform, I find it really cool that the other Elite 4 members really alter theirs or have accessories that make the uniforms feel like their own or really different but Amarys doesn't really. It goes to show how rigid she is and gives you the impression that she's a very "follow the rules" kind of person. Her main accessory seems to be her boots which just LOOK heavy, and sleek and look like they have bolts in them. It really makes her design feel bottom heavy and grounded which I feel is appropriate for a steel type trainer. Now, hair. Look at her hair. SO GOOD. I loveeee that pokemon is utilizing black hairstyles like this. Her hair being screws that kinda resemble banto knots is so CUTE. The could have left her hair at that but the braid across her forehead adds a nice asymmetrical aspect to her design. It's so cool that it mirrors her pocketwatch chain, creating a focal point on the school crest. And lastly her glasses! Super cute, I think it's cool that it gives the illusion of bottom lashes which makes her eyes feel a little more droopy or sad than they really are. It just really brings her facial features all together and helps sell her personality.

#ask yam

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hometoursandotherstuff · 14 days ago

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I can't believe that I just found one of my all-time favorite houses still on the market. I love this 1889 Gothic Victorian in Milwaukee, WI. 3bds, 2.5ba, 2,869 sq ft, $415k. It's been so lovingly cared for w/just the right dash of funkiness. It's perfect. Take a look at it, if you haven't seen it before, you're gonna fall in love with it.

Aren't the entrance doors and porch grand? And, they're in such good condition. Look at the original light fixture.

Perfect original railings, stick floor, and a cheery peachy wall color.

The sitting room has a lovely corner fireplace and pocket doors.

Isn't this amazing? There are rotating windows up there on the next floor. What a great 2 story living room with a soaring fireplace. And, that's a curved arch ceiling, too, with a medieval chandelier.

I love that they kept the original floors. This room could be another sitting room or whatever. It would make a fabulous plant room or art studio.

I love what they did with the kitchen. Look at how adorable it is. They made the baker's rack out of pipes, and the island is an industrial salvage piece. You can also see the way they made a bathroom sink, on the left.

LOVE the mismatched cabinets and the worn counter.

Look at the industrial piece that they fitted the ovens into. How cool is that? My favorite thing is the lighting- See what they did? Every fixture is subtly different, yet matching. I love this house so much, I could cry.

This home is soooo creative. Look at the tall cabinet next to the fridge, made from 2 different ones. And, the stove top has a wood counter and shelf around it.

Back door to the yard.

Here's that vintage powder room off the kitchen. Such creative elements and a pocket door.

They made this table with what looks like bricks or wooden blocks and topped it with a piece of glass. The owners are so clever, and this is a lovely dining room.

Check out the primary bedroom suite.

I don't know if they knocked the wall down to make a bath, or if it was an alcove, but I love how they made it look industrial, like an old gothic factory.

On this floor, they have a separate apt. with a bedroom, laundry and kitchen.

Recognize the rotating window from down in the sitting room?

Look at this big bath. They sure made the bathrooms spacious.

There's a finished attic with another bath.

Nice clean basement has potential and the heating unit looks new.

Lovely fenced in patio and gardens.

There's also a side garden. It's a lot of house for under $450k.

4,791 sq ft lot and there's a nice park nearby. The new Zillow listing didn't show the photos that I recalled, but I found them.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3402-W-Saint-Paul-Ave-Milwaukee-WI-53208/40470662_zpid/

#gothic victorian homes #victorian homes #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour #homes under $450k

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 8 months ago

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Cold-hearted Wolf

Tags: Angst, fluff, arranged marriage, eventual smut, cregan is repressed and mean at first, then falls for the reader.

Master list

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Martell princess reader

All fiction, the reader is a made-up character. Im a long-time reader, but first-time writer.

Chapter 1 - Every decision Cregan Stark made was with a heavy sense of duty to his people. And this union, this upcoming wedding with the Martell girl, was no different. In his mind, you were just a pretty decoration, spoiled by the sun and riches of Dorne.

The skies over Winterfell were gray. The Martells of Dorne had arrived, bringing with them a warmth that was foreign to the North.

Cregan Stark was a formidable figure, trained to rule and fight from a young age. Past generations of Starks ran in his veins. Every decision he made was with a heavy sense of duty to his people. And this union, this upcoming wedding with the Martell girl, was no different. He saw it as a political move. In his mind, you were just a pretty decoration, spoiled by the sun and riches of Dorne.

You, on the other hand, were a bright-eyed girl. Though you have been trained in combat since a young age, as per Dornish custom, you had always been drawn to beauty – not war. The tales of the dashing Northern warrior had you intrigued. Since your announced engagement, you had imagined him with the ice of the North in his eyes and a heroic presence. And as the two of you finally met, you weren't disappointed. He was every bit the man of your dreams.

"You're as handsome as they say, my Lord," you offered with a smile and a bow, your voice tinged with genuine admiration.

Cregan simply nodded, taking you in. You were dressed in a gown the color of a sunset, your bare shoulders and collarbone a bit too revealing by Northern standards, and he could see the goosebumps lining your skin.

You began to second guess your wardrobe as you felt yourself shiver. Your maids tried to warn you of the exposed dress, however, you had told them that it would all be worth it once he sees your beauty.

You overheard a snicker come from the crowd. One of Cregan’s men, unable to resist, whispered loudly, "Looks like the sun forgot a few places."

You blushed as Cregan turned to give the man a deadly look, and the man's smirk instantly dropped.

Cregan’s icy grey eyes fixed on you again. "It's quite cold in the North, princess.”

You chuckled nervously. ”Yes, my lord. I seem to have forgotten.”

Instead of reciprocating your attempt at a joke, he took off the wolf hide around his shoulder and wrapped it around you. You accepted the warmth with gratitude.

“Perhaps in time, you'll learn to dress as befits the wife of a Stark." Was all he offered.

The words landed as a sharp jab. Your smile dropped as you looked down at yourself. You had tried, tried so hard to look beautiful for him, to make a good impression. Instead, you felt the weight of his disappointment.

The ceremony that followed was quite somber. Cregan was stoic. He did his duty, saying the words, making the vows, as did you. But there was a distance between the two of you. As the festivities went on, and the music played, he had not called upon you once to accompany him to the floor.

As you sat, your excitement slowly faded. You felt out of place. And as the night went on, you couldn't help but wonder if this marriage of convenience would ever know genuine affection.

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

On the morning after his wedding, Cregan woke up to an unusual sound – he could have sworn he heard footsteps echoing outside his window. The chill air from the cracked open window mixed in with the fire in the hearth as he rose from his bed of furs. He looked to his side and stirred when he didn't see his bride's sleeping form beside him.

His loyal dog stirred beside the bed. "Easy, Grey," Cregan whispered, his hand soothingly running through the thick fur of his pet, who settled back down.

A glance out the window revealed a figure descending the roofs of Winterfell. As Cregan squinted against the early morning sun, he saw a figure in tight riding leathers, hair escaping from the hood in a braid. The figure turned to assess the distance to the ground, and beneath the hood, he recognized your distinct features. Unaware of his gaze, you scaled down the tower.

Panic briefly gripped Cregan at the thought of you falling. However, as you maneuvered with ease, his concern turned to curiosity. "Where are you going, princess?" He asked no one in particular.

Quickly dressing and concealing his identity with a hood, Cregan descended the stairs of the castle, avoiding working servents to sneak into the barn.

In the quiet darkness of the barn, Cregan spoke softly to his horse, Storm, as he saddled him. He clicked his tongue, guiding the horse as he followed you out of the castle.

Amidst the early morning silence of Winterfell, Cregan spotted you again, tossing a rope around one of the gate's stone columns. With a graceful swing, you scaled the wall before landing nimbly outside the castle grounds.

Cregan urged his horse onward, determined to follow your path.

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

Having successfully snuck out of the castle (your gymnastics instructor was right in saying you would someday need the skill), you now stood behind a railing, quietly overlooking the jeweller at work in his shop.

Yesterday, the same jeweler had gifted you a stunning silver bracelet, crafted to resemble a viper wrapped around your hand. It occupied your thoughts pretty much the whole night, lighting the desire for a matching one for your other hand. Your early morning escapade confirmed the jeweler's location, and here he was—the handsome man, strands of grey hair falling on his forehead as he worked.

"What are you doing?" A voice whispered behind you.

You gasped, jumping to face Cregan, who leaned against the window with an air of anger, clad in riding leathers, his hood hiding part of his face. His eyes roamed over you in suspicion.

You blinked in surprise to meet his gaze. "My lord," you said, questioning. "Did you follow me?"

Raising a single brow, Cregan responded, "Merely concerned over my wife's reputation, what with the sneaking out of castle grounds, out of our marriage bed, no less, in the break of dawn."

Noting the harshness in his words, you retorted. "I don't see why there has to be an issue, given that everyone in Winterfell knows I belong to you anyway."

Something stirred within him at your words, and he took a couple of steps forward, backing you against the railing.

"That's right," he murmured, his voice low so as to not get you two caught. "It will be good you remembered it as well. Do you often sneak away into strange men’s homes?"

You, over your haze since last night, were unimpressed, maintaining your composure, responded, "Should I be alarmed by your sudden interest in me?"

Cregan, feeling oddly aggressive, leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "Alarmed or not, wife, I am the one who will leave a lasting mark on you."

Your heart sped up, and you felt an odd warmth in the pit of your stomach where his hand lay. You were a princess, after all. No one had ever spoken to you in such a commanding tone before.

You let him pull you through the window, and the two of you took his horse to find your way back to the castle. Neither spoke during the ride.

#house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #hotd fanfic #cregan stark #cregan x you #angst #fluff #eventual smut #cregan stark x reader

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pomefioredove · 8 months ago

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hi dove! since you want requests, here’s one!

could i please have "are you cake? 'cause i want a piece of that." with lilia? maybe he’s trying to learn some slang to understand the youngsters more and decides to use it on his s/o?

but that’s just an idea, feel free to do whatever you like with the prompt! <3

I've gotten the most lilia requests from these prompts than anything else hehe... I see you guys

summary: "are you cake? 'cause i want a piece of that" type of post: short fic characters: lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, established relationship, short (more lilia content later dw), not proofread a part of this event

"Are you cake? 'Cause I want a piece of that,"

The reaction is immediate. You look at him from over your shoulder with a mystified expression, as if he had started speaking in tongues (which he does, sometimes).

It's enough to make him break character and giggle.

"Who taught you that?" you ask, turning to face him fully. "Cater again?"

Lilia tsks, waving his finger in your face. "I figured this one out all on my own. I'm not senile yet, you know,"

You roll your eyes and start walking down the hall, which he takes as a delicious invitation to tease you more.

He simply can't resist when it comes to you, and you know it.

Oh, you know him far too well.

"Aw... you didn't like it? Not even a little?" he feigns a pout, trailing alongside you. "I thought it was rather charming. Dashing, even! So much more colorful than the lines we had in my day..."

"Now I'm afraid to ask what those were," you sigh, though you're smiling.

He laughs again, amused by your attempt at acting annoyed. "I suppose I can spare you the burden of knowing. Shall I try another contemporary one?"

"Is it going to be corny?"

He smiles deviously. "Afraid so. I'm saving all my good ones for tonight, after all,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

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goodeapple · 2 months ago

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blue snowflakes (modern hotd, xmas edition ... daddy!aemond x oc)

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC) but there's no overt incest in this one, you're welcome, normies

warnings : MDNI. ngl, this one is fluffy and tender as FUCK (too much christmas cheer me thinks). however, unprotected sex, sexual use of the word "daddy", Aemond's usual breeding kink, and way too many bad dad jokes lie ahead.

word count : 6,000+

note : merry christmas and happy holidays to all you lovely people. ty for such an amazing year. here's a little thank you from me to you. xx

7:10. He finishes up a report that isn't expected until the first, the tap of his fingers anxiously loud on the keyboard. 7:15. He stokes the wood in the fireplace, warming his hands in front of the flames, his leg bouncing with restless energy. 7:28. He drains his whiskey glass and the burn licks down his throat before raging into his belly.

They should be here by now. Aemond does not freak out. That's not who he is- the grip he holds on his emotions never waivers. But as the time ticks and tocks on and he remains alone in his flat, his nerves start to sizzle until they singe.

At 7:48, a frenzied knock on the door has Aemond moving across the floor in four long strides.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, the roads were God awful, took us an hour to get down Main." Ysilla stands shivering as he rips it open. She stomps her Uggs for almost dramatic effect, the ice sticking to the boots melting in the warmth of the hallway. Aemond releases a slow and steady breath, the tight fist of anxiety in his chest loosening. The little thing holding strong to Ysilla's gloved hand is a marshmallow puff of bubblegum pink goosefeather down, her jacket done up to her muff covered ears.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Dany shrieks, uncaring of the obvious chill that polishes the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose into a cherry red glow. She releases her mother's hand, dashing forward before almost immediately tumbling over her own feet and eating it in the foyer.

Aemond catches his daughter without blinking, hauling her onto his hip and pressing a strong kiss into her temple. "Hello, my little dragon." A piece of him notches into place and suddenly, his eyes are brighter and his posture less stiff, his head clear and heart beating fonder. His beautiful Daenerys.

He gestures Ysilla in and she nods her thanks, unravelling her spun scarf from her neck and toeing off her soaked shoes. Her own cheeks are burnt from the cold, her fine, fawn skin accepting the rosiness like an expensive blush.

"You drove?" He asks his ex, his tone sharper than he wishes but he still means it. It's fucking gnarly outside and she decided tonight of all nights was the one to take a joyride?

Ysilla rolls her eyes, moving down the hall to the front room, speaking to him over her shoulder. "Yes, Aemond, we drove. I know how to do that."

He thought he fucked that attitude out of her a long time ago, but they haven't been together in awhile. Things change.

"Where the hell is Erryk?" He sets Dany onto her feet, half listening and humming as his daughter rattles off every thought that pops into her head, leaving behind her a trail of winter wear she peels off that is every color of the pastel rainbow.

Ysilla sniffs, her eyes roaming critically over his decorations. His assistant picked them out, and it's like she can smell it.

"It's Christmas, Aemond, I gave him the week off."

Aemond doesn't growl but it's quite close. "I don't pay him to take a week off, Ysilla, I pay him to make sure my girls get to where they need to be safely."

The glare she pins him with is colder than the wind howling outside. Aemond winces. He knows better than to let that shit slip. Ysilla will take a chunk out of him for saying things like that in front of Daenerys. It gives her false hope that Mummy and Daddy are getting back together, Aemond. She'd said. That had fucking stung. That was right after they separated, the echo of her loss (in their bed, in their flat, in his life) still disorienting him. His days blurred into one long line of droll goings until he at last got to see Dany again.

"What's done is done, Aemond. I apologized for being late. Now drop it."

She uses her mum tone and it's effective as all hell. Aemond bites his tongue and waves his metaphorical white flag, rubbing at the back of his neck briskly. Ysilla exhales deeply and lets the defensive line of her shoulders drop. She rummages through her bag, a Birkin he bought her for their first anniversary, and pulls out a long white envelope.

"She wrote a note to Santa that neither you or I are to read, alright? We're supposed to leave it by the fireplace, next to Santa's cookies, and not peek. Right, Dany love?" Ysilla recites, tossing the sealed note onto the kitchen counter. Dany nods, bobblehead like, and smiles her big missmatched grin, baby teeth missing like blacked out windows in a building. Aemond chuckles, nodding seriously when his daughter shoots him a barbed look.

"Daddy, it's important! We can't forget, okay?!"

"Of course, Princess, don't fret. Daddy will make sure all goes well." Aemond ducks down to lock gazes with his daughter, wanting to ensure that she knows her feelings are heard. Ysilla laughs, so softly he almost misses it. She claps her hands once and father and daughter's eyes lock onto her intently.

"Okay my love, are you all set? You have Frostfire and your letter is safe. Your Angelina Ballerina jammies are in your pack and so is blankie. Are we missing anything?" Ysilla picks at nonexistent lint at the cuff of her cashmere sweater, her fingers twitching along the fine fabric. Aemond gets it- this part is the worst, without fail.

"Mumma, stay." Dany whispers, moving forward to clutch at Ysilla's sleeve with tiny, pleading fingers. His ex sighs and the sound rattles from her throat as it moves past the dense ball of emotion there.

"Baby girl, come now, I'll see you next week. We'll go to Nana and Grandpa's and ring in the new year together. All of your cousins will be there too. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Dany keeps quiet, her chin drooping down to her chest, her midnight sprigs of bouncing curls curtaining her face from her parents. Ysilla settles on her knees, shrinking down in order to keep her daughter's focus.

"And you're spending Christmas with Daddy. And Auntie Helaena told me she'll be here with you tomorrow. And so will- oh rūs, don't cry, it's okay." She coos, swiping away her daughter's tears with gentle thumbs.

Aemond swallows thickly, squatting behind Dany and shrugging her out of her Bluey backpack. He bought it for her last month, going against the agreement he'd made with Silla to not buy her any presents so close to the holiday but shit, he couldn't help himself. She's his only baby- and it's not like he's expecting to have another with anyone any time soon.

Dany sniffles, her voice gentler than a baby bird's chirp. "But but Mummy, you'll be alone."

Between Ysilla's eyebrows crease and she blinks rapidly, the whites of her eyes illuminating with tears. Aemond wants to reach out, squeeze her hand, her knee, cup her cheek… but he doesn't do any of that. He isn't allowed to anymore.

"I'll be okay, sweet pea. Mummy promises." Ysilla presses their foreheads together, dusting butterfly kisses all over her girl's face. Within seconds, Dany's weeping turns to giggles, to full belly laughter after Ysilla starts to press obnoxious wet smooches anywhere she can reach. The sunshine smile that bursts over Ysilla's face steals Aemond's breath away.

"Bye baby."

"Bye baby." Dany parrots back, smothering herself into her mother's neck, her tiny arms lassoing around her tightly. Ysilla squeezes her back just as fiercely, refusing to be the first to break away. Dany finally relents, fists rubbing at her eyes, before shuffling to the couch to sit. Ysilla's legs shake as she stands and Aemond ghosts a hand over the small of her back in a quiet comfort.

The parents take their cue to give their daughter some space and start to work their way out of the room.

"You know I don't mind if you stay. Not going to be doing much but lounging around and eating too much sugary shit. You can have your old bedroom back. I'll even clear out a drawer for you." He can be funny when he wants to be, all earlier unpleasantries forgiven and forgotten. Ysilla lets him lift her spirits, her wobbly grin the best Christmas gift he could ask for.

"The sock drawer was never the issue, Aem… it was the hair care drawer." He snorts as she giggles, tickled pink by her own joke. They reach the front door and he imagines the feeling he gets here is similar to greeting the edge of the plank.

"Anyways, I have a hot date with a bubble bath and a bottle of Myrish rum- I can't cancel that again." It's not the best excuse, especially because her eyes are still glassy with emotion, but Aemond won't take a mile from his given inch.

Ysilla turns to face him after throwing one last look down the hall. An eyelash has drifted to freckle her cheekbone, the bat of her lashes no doubt stirring it loose and Aemond doesn't think before he cradles her cheek, his thumb sweeping it away. He drops his hand as quickly as he'd raised it, the warmth flowing from her skin too enticing to trust himself with.

She hesitates then, for a moment, before tiptoeing up and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. She braces her palm on the curve of his bicep and she squeezes at the muscle, and he presses into her as close as she'll allow. Her voice is softer than snowfall at his ear. "Merry Christmas, Aemond."

He turns his head just so, and he brushes his lips at her temple, the same way he'd greeted Dany. His words from before echo like the groaning ghost of Christmas past. His girls. "Merry Christmas, Sill."

He holds the door for her, watching her walk out of his life yet again and definitely doesn't get an eyeful of her ass as she goes.

He shuts and bolts it, and how pathetic is it that he has to dig his nails into the doorframe to stop from chasing after her and giving his best Love, Actually airport reunion kiss in the elevator. He thumps his forehead against the wood. He wonders if he'll stop loving her sometime soon, because three years apart has done fuck all for healing his broken heart and it sucks. Aemond stops feeling sorry for himself long enough to look back into the flat. Dany stands alone at the end of the hallway, Frostfire, her ratty stuffed dragon she's had since birth, clutched by the wing in her fist and swinging by her side. Her giant ice blue eyes pierce through him, and the sad small frown on her lips matches his. God, this never gets any easier.

"Come on, baby girl." His daughter tucks her hand into his as he leads them to the sterling white marble kitchen.

He makes it good, special he hopes. They press shapes into the sugar cookie dough, and then frost the somewhat recognizable snowflakes once they've baked and cooled. He makes her cocoa, begrudgingly adding more marshmallows after being suckered by her pouting face, but he doesn't truly mind. There's not one memory he has of doing any of this with his dad, and he'll be damned if Daenerys ever thinks for even one moment that he wouldn't want to be anywhere rather than right here, with her. He'd give her a cereal bowl of marshmallows if he didn't know that she'd puke them back up after her sugar rush would fizzle out.

They crash onto the couch eventually, the sun long since set, the view from this high up making all of the far and distant lights twinkle like gleaming stars.

They're watching a movie, the one with the bratty kid who gets left behind by his family when they leave for Paris. It makes Aemond's mind hit the snooze button but Dany giggles every time one of the Wet Bandits gets hurt, so he relents and just enjoys having her here with him.

A tepid knock at the door is nearly lost to him, a particularly gusty wind shaking the triple pane windows something awful, but it sounds again and Aemond frowns. He's not expecting anyone, certainly not on Christmas Eve. He wraps the throw blanket tighter around Dany as he leaves their nest, and jogs down the hall.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming." He says, loud enough to quiet the knocker from sounding again. He doesn't bother with the peephole, unlatching the deadbolt and pulling the door open with more than a little annoyance.

Ysilla stands stockstill, doing her best to place first in a snowman lookalike contest, so many white specks of snow littering her dark strands that she nearly matches Aemond's icy coloring.

"I tried, there's no way I can drive back home in that. Had to leave my car on the street, snow's too thick to get through."

"Jesus, Sill, you're like a fuckin' ice cube." Aemond all but yanks her inside, wincing at the freezing sting of her skin.

"Want me to call you an Uber?" That's the last fucking thing he wants, but he'd move mountains for her, even if it's in the direction opposite of him.

Ysilla shakes her head in the negative, her teeth chattering so hard that the clinking sounds like it hurts. "I tried- nothing's available. Not even with surge pricing, fuck's sake."

Aemond falls silent, grabbing a towel from the linen closet and pressing it into her trembling hands. She gives him an appreciative look and starts to dry her damp hair.

"Mummy stay?" Tink tink tink, like a bell, Daenerys' voice floats down the hall, her head hanging over the edge of the couch to stare at her parents with a marvelously mischievous smile.

Ysilla glances up at him, apprehension bright in her lavender eyes. He's still so close, he can smell the jasmine misted over her skin. Their sheets used to be soaked in it, a calling card she'd leave him with anytime she had to travel. He misses her so much, it makes his teeth ache, so who is he to question a Christmas miracle?

"Mummy stay." Aemond declares, stepping behind Ysilla to tug her coat off. He's selfish in his chivalry and he lets his thumbs trail down her arms as he undresses her, and he'd pay good money to know if her shiver is from the cold or his touch.

Dany jumps to her feet, bouncing on the couch and screaming at the top of her lungs, "Yay! Mummy stays, Mummy stays!"

Aemond pulls the glass doors shut on the fireplace, watching drowsily as the glowing embers snuff out to a chilly charcoal grey. It's late, close to midnight, time lost somewhere between Elf and The Polar Express. He stands, wincing as his knees crack and pop and goes to sit on the arm of the couch.

Enjoying the quiet, he gazes upon his girls. Wrapped up in each other, Ysilla and Dany are passed out and have been for at least an hour. After he'd gotten some food in Sill, he'd all but tucked the girls in together, listening to Dany happy chitter until she finally knocked out, sprawled on her mother's chest and nestled into her father's side.

Not wanting to wake her but knowing her back will thank him for it later, Aemond shakes Ysilla's ankle gently. She stirs, blinking slow and heavy before she spots him, and Aemond has to swallow past the lump in his throat. That look had gotten them into trouble many times before- in the back of a limo on the way to an art gala, on a beach lounger while they holidayed on the Orange Shore, when they first toured this flat and he decided they should christen the kitchen island. Good times.

Let's put her to bed. He mouths, not ready to break the stillness of the moment. Ysilla nods, flexing her arms around their sleeping child and starts to untangle their legs.

Aemond rises, hovering over them and tucking his hands into Dany's armpits to lift her into his chest. She's getting too big. She's got to stop growing before Aemond has a mental breakdown over dating and prom dresses while she's still in nursery school.

"Mumma, Daddy…" She's still asleep, her lashes fanning over her rosy cheeks and hair a moppy mess. Aemond rubs her back and Ysilla trails along next to him, brushing their daughter's curls out of her face.

"Sleep now, my angel. It's almost Christmas. And when you wake up, Santa will have visited and left you something special."

"And read my letter?"

"And read your letter." Ysilla promises, pressing a lovely kiss to her forehead. She stays behind in the doorway, letting Aemond clear the pink frilly bed of a million stuffed animals before sliding Dany beneath the sheets. He clicks on her firefly nightlight and tucks Frostfire in beside her.

"Sweet dreams, dōna hāedar." He's not a crier but he feels the salty sting in his nose. She's his one constant, his daughter, his heir. He'll never be more thankful for Ysilla than when she ignored her lawyer's advice and decided to split 50/50 custody. Losing her nearly killed him, if his daughter would've been lost to him too? Aemond's not sure he could've survived. He departs after a few more peaceful moments, clicking her door shut softly behind him.

He stretches, a pleased groan escaping him as he heads back to the living room. The couch is empty and in a brief moment of dumbstruck panic, he wonders if Ysilla seized her opportunity and left. He knows she's happy to be here with Dany, but he also accepts that she's not happy to be here with him.

The faucet flipping on in the kitchen snuffs out his dread and he follows the sound like it's a siren song. Ysilla washes their mugs methodically, her too long sleeves rolled up to her elbows. He'd given her one of his hoodies to dethaw in, and the emerald tone against her complexion makes him hungry. She finishes, turning the cups upside down on the drying rack before she towels off her hands. The smile she wears when she catches sight of him may be small, but it's genuine.

"Hey."

Aemond grins, a puppy given attention, his metaphorical tail wagging wildly. "Hey. Sad you missed out on your rum soaked bubble bath?"

Ysilla snorts, rolling her eyes at him good naturedly. "No, not at all. This was… nice. This was all very nice." She swallows hard, rolling down her sleeves so that they dip past her fingers again. "I enjoyed every second of it."

"So did I. It was like old times."

Ysilla grins, leaning her elbows on the counter. The only light in the whole flat is from the Christmas tree, the soft gold gleam painting the room alive with merriment.

"We practically lived on that couch when Dany was born, you remember?"

Aemond smirks, relishing in the memory. He treads into the kitchen, closing the distance between them as naturally as he can.

"It was closer to the food. And more spacious than the bedroom. It was an easy choice."

Ysilla laughs at his recollection, an easy laugh that he always celebrated getting out of her. He hopes Dany will laugh like her, be joyous like her. Aemond doesn't have much of that gene to pass on.

"You look good, Aemond." She gives him an up/down, and there's not enough light in here to tell if she's blushing. He gives her one back, taking his time on her legs and the curve of her thighs before the rest of her frame is swallowed up by his clothes.

"You do too, Sill."

She huffs, pinning him with a faux annoyed glare. "Are you going to agree with everything I say?"

"Oh absolutely." Aemond deadpans, leaning in closer before giving her his cheekiest grin.

Ysilla cranes her head back so she can keep their eyes connected, but she ends up breaking first, staring at something above him with a somewhat startled look.

"Mistletoe…" She trails off, almost too quiet to catch. Aemond looks above him and sighs.

"New assistant decorated. She has a thing for the doorman that lets her in here. Maybe she was trying to get lucky."

He dismisses the hovering green foliage as quick as he'd noticed it but when he looks back to Ysilla, she's still staring. Transfixed, eyes twinkling.

"Isn't it bad luck? To not…" He wonders if she can't bring herself to voice it aloud. To not kiss? Before tonight, they've barely been in the same room for more than thirty minutes in the last three years. Slipping each other the tongue is most likely a step way past their invisible boundary.

Aemond steps closer and they're toe to toe. Ysilla's eyes snap to his and the gulp she takes is damn near audible. He wraps a stray curl behind her ear, hand drifting over to cup the soft edge of her cheek. He presses his thumb under her chin, making her raise her lips to nearly brush against his. He stares into her eyes, the drip of the faucet thunderous, and bends down. He kisses her forehead, eyes closed and his nose burrowing into her fringe, committing her floral pheromone to his memory. He stays there, listening to the labored breaths rise and fall in her chest, and soaks in the moment.

He has to leave because if he doesn't, he'll start something he's not sure Ysilla will be able to stomach in the bright light of day. Like pulling teeth, he steps back, purposefully (shamefully) avoiding her beseeching eyes. He mumbles a goodnight, lips burning and craving another taste as he turns to exit.

He's spun back around by a firm hand twisting him by his sweater. Ysilla yanks him down to her level, his back pressing into the counter, and she slides her lips over his. A puppet on a string for her and her alone, Aemond's arms circle round her waist and he crushes her to him. It's as good as their first- no, better. He knows every spot that makes her sigh, she can find each nerve to set him off. It's as easy as breathing, when they're together and he lets himself enjoy it all.

Ysilla breaks away and she's breathing much harder than she was before. "Now that's a proper kiss." She whispers and he feels her lips perk up in a silly little grin that he doesn't see, because his mouth finds hers again and he loses himself in her.

He lifts her and she goes gracefully into his arms, winding her legs around his waist. He needs to get them somewhere they could go horizontal, wishful thinking and all that. He guides them to the couch, throwing himself down on it and pulling her in as close as space will permit. She settles on his lap, her leggings and his joggers doing nothing to conceal the massive hard-on that spells out her name.

"And what do you want for Christmas this year, little girl?" Swiss, gouda, cheddar. The line is so cheesy but Aemond feels inspired by the holiday fair. That, and he's been bricked since she put on his clothes. He wants to get her naked as soon as possible and if he can fast track that by way of a stupid joke that's right up her alley, he can live with that.

She nibbles at his earlobe before slithering her tongue up the shell of his ear. Her lips tickle the cartilage as she whispers and it makes him shiver. "I really want to make a joke about Santa's sack right now."

"Christ, Ysilla." Aemond groans, letting an exasperated laugh bubble out of his chest. This is so his fault.

"You know I'm funny." She cradles his face, angling his head to the side so that she can lick and bite at his neck.

"Maybe. But what I do know for sure… is that you're the most stunning woman I've ever been blessed to see. And you are a magnificent mother to our daughter. And you were a phenomenal partner to me…" Aemond braces himself, a glutton for punishment. "And I fucked that up royally, didn't I?"

He feels Ysilla frown and she straightens, sliding back to sit on his knees rather than on his dick. "Aemond, you know that's not what happened."

He hmms noncommittally, mourning the route that they both steered away from. Sex over feelings is usually a no brainer for any man but this is a conversation that he needs to have. And from the way Ysilla's eyes dim down to a sad hue, it's one she needs to have too.

"We're not together right now because I couldn't, how did you phrase it? 'Get my head out of my ass and straighten out my priorities'? Yeah, you hit the nail on the head there, baby. It was my fault."

"That wasn't fair to you. I could've tried harder. I was so stressed after Dany was born, I didn't feel like myself. Didn't start feeling like myself again until nearly a year ago." She picks up his hand and she cradles it between both of her own, stroking at the rough rise of his knuckles.

"If you're feeling like yourself again, does that mean you're seeing someone?"

Ysilla looks like she wants to hit him and Aemond thinks he should let her.

"Of course not, why would you even ask that?"

"You seem happier as of late- or, at least that's what Dany says. Couldn't help but think it might be because of someone new." The thought makes him want to chew glass but he has to ask. He's got to prepare himself for another year of the only girl in his life being a pint-sized princess that demands he plays pony anytime they go to the park.

"We're separated, Aem. Not divorced." She rolls her eyes and the expression she aims at him spells out duh.

"You're a catch, Sill. Any fucker would be lucky to have you. Plus, it's been three years. I wouldn't be angry if you explored something new." Liar, liar.

"Yeah, three years where I was focusing on what was best for me and Dany. And that certainly wasn't a new lover."

Aemond wants to dance a fucking jig in absolute glee but he suppresses it. "So… no one?"

"No one." Ysilla looks at him like she's afraid to ask the next question. "You?"

"There's no one but you. Never has been." The words flow out of him as if they'd lived on the tip of his tongue his whole life.

She exhales, a long, heavy breath of relief before the most brilliant smile blooms on her mouth. Aemond feels lighter than a fucking feather, his own smile pulling tightly at his lips before they find their way back to one another, licking and lapping into each others' mouths.

He rolls his hips up, selfish in his desire, and rubs his entire shaft up the hot line of her clothed snatch.

Ysilla tsks, biting his lip and wagging her finger in his face. "Un-uh, wrap it up, big boy."

"Thought you liked it when I go raw." He squeezes her hips, his thumbs tugging at the edge of her waistband. He dips below the elastic, stroking the hot, smooth skin over her hip bones. She rocks forward, a gasp slipping from her mouth as her covered center brushes at his tented cock. "You always came harder when I didn't wear a rubber."

She doesn't deny it, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him back to her mouth. Between kisses, she whispers, "Proof of that is dreaming of sugar plum fairies as we speak."

Aemond hums around her tongue, pulling away to kiss across her jaw. "Y'know, only children always end up weird."

Ysilla scoffs, leaning away and raising a fine dark brow at him.

"I'm kidding." Aemond smiles, brash and bright, pressing an apologetic peck to her chin.

"No you're not." She groans, widening her thighs as he starts to pull her leggings down. His heart is beating so fast, he can feel his pulse jumping in his neck. His hands worship the skin he bares, stroking her fine, supple softness. He gets her pants past her knees before he loses his patience and decides that's good enough.

He shoves past his waistband, palming at his stiff shaft before pulling himself free. His cock springs up, weeping head finding her silk covered hole like a dart to a bullseye. His clever fingers hook around the crotch of her panties, pulling them to the side, his knuckles dragging across her wet lips like a ghost of a kiss. He will be eating out at some point tonight, lord willing.

"You're right, I'm not… I want a boy." He slips the tip inside of her, just enough to get a taste of the warmth of her pussy.

Their eyes lock and they don't break as Ysilla sinks down onto every rigid inch of his prick. Aemond's jaw drops, stupid to the pleasure of her steaming, slick cunt wrapping around him in such an embrace. It takes her a minute, wincing and whimpering as she goes until finally they're flush, thigh to thigh.

"That's my girl, takin' it all." Aemond croons, palm finding the back of her neck and thumb stroking just under her hairline. That lights her fire, Ysilla gyrating in smooth figure eights, finding a rhythm that has both of them biting their lips to keep from shouting.

"Fucckkkk, I missed this." Ysilla pants, head thrown back in absolute ecstasy. She doesn't skip a beat, riding his cock like she'd never left it. "I missed you. You feel so good, holy hell."

Aemond spreads his knees further apart, letting her spread herself out, reaching deeper in her than before as a result. Ysilla bounces in his lap, the lights on the tree behind her haloing her into something festively angelic. She's some divine dream and Aemond will kill any man who dares to wake him.

A sharp, high whine brays from Ysilla's throat and Aemond's hand slaps over her mouth roughly.

"Easy sweetheart, you can't wake Dany up."

Ysilla moves her head back, Aemond's hand slipping away until she ducks forward and swallows two of his fingers. The wet, wiggly muscle of her tongue slides over his digits sloppily, soaking them in her saliva and reminding him exactly how she used to win every fight they would have. She sucks once more, letting him feel the strong flex of her mouth before she pulls off.

"Then put something in my mouth to shut me up."

He kisses her, long and hard, before retreating and whispering at her swelling lips. "I'm not pulling out of this pussy, Silli girl."

Ysilla's breath stutters, hips hitching as he shifts just right, her channel fluttering around him in tempo with her heartbeat.

"Mmmmm, then shove my face into a pillow so I can scream for you."

The way Aemond maneuvers her without pulling out is honestly impressive. Face down, ass up, he manages to rid her of her leggings and knickers, baring all of her silky skin for him to gaze upon. She's got a phenomenal ass, backshots with her used to drive him mad.

Taking full advantage of their new position, he sets a brutal pace, sliding in harsh and deep, his grip on her hips unyielding. When he pulls out, he lets himself miss the mark, gliding his cock between her puffy folds, his slit slithering up to kiss her clit.

Ysilla gasps for air, pushing away the pillow she'd been smothering herself with. "That's it, that's it, yeah. Pound my pussy, Daddy."

It's been a long time since they've played this game but without fail, Aemond's cock jerks in interest and his mouth floods with saliva. He's famished, he's fucking starving, and they only thing that can satiate him is the woman he made a mother.

"Mmmm, this all for daddy? Makin' a mess on my lap, leavin' a puddle on my couch?" His voice has dropped, the rumble of it pulsing from his chest. His thrusts hit harder, punishing in a way that's similar to a spank on the rear.

"Yes, fuck, I've been wet since I put your hoodie on." Speaking of, she's still wearing it, the Oldtown High logo on the back faded and peeling. Aemond pushes it up to her shoulders until it bunches at the back of her neck. His big hands span the curve of her ribs until he finds himself a handful of her tits and kneads the heavy flesh.

He can't fuck her like he wants to when their baby is sleeping in the next room, but he gets as close as he can.

"Your body wants me, love. Couldn't pull out even if I fuckin' wanted to." He strokes at her belly, caressing the place she'd grown their girl. "I think she wants one more." He plants a kiss between her shoulder blades, her skin fucking blistering with heat.

"Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck!" She throws her ass back on him, fucking him in earnest until she can't abuse that spongy spot inside of her any longer. She freezes, muscles trembling and fists clenching, the poor throw pillow being shredded by her teeth, until her body goes lax, and the vice grip around Aemond's cock loosens.

His balls draw up, the edge of his spine burning in need, and he curses with gritted teeth. "Christ, Sill, tell me to pull out. Tell me baby, make me." She's the only one that gets to see him like this- unraveled at the seams and flying apart, unable to control himself when presented with the object of all of his fantasies.

"Mmmm no, so warm," she slurs, her cheek smushed against the couch cushion. She wiggles back against him, a sinful invitation to grab hold and let go. "Fill me up, Aem. Give me your load, come on."

"Fuck yesss." He hisses, obeying as commanded, pistoning in and out of her pretty cunt before he's a goner, grunting as he cums deep in her greedy womb.

He slouches on top of her bonelessly, the aftershocks stinging through his entire lower half, his breaths choppy and uneven until the wave retreats, and the feeling comes back to his toes. He slumps to his side, rolling off of her, yanking up his joggers and tossing a throw over Ysilla's alluring backside.

His wife props her head up on her hand, staring at him with a sated, sleepy expression.

"Santa came early this year."

Aemond doesn't react except to say, "If that's a cum joke, I'm kicking you out."

She breathes out a laugh, shoving at his shoulder. "No you perv, I meant my Christmas wish. It came true."

Aemond smiles, every bit of him happy to sink into the couch while watching her talk.

"Care to share?"

Ysilla blushes, as if she didn't just get creampied.

"I wished for a really good orgasm, preferably with my baby daddy." She plays footsie with him, looping her ankle around his calf and ushering him closer. "Also, I wished for multiple. As many as he's willing to give me. Just so you know."

He kisses her because he can and because he missed doing so. He lurches forward until she's underneath him, their hands going to the other's shirts and ridding them of the suffocating material.

"Ho ho ho, baby mama."

They both keep their word and don't read the letter, tossing it into the lit fire the next morning before Dany stumbles out and screeches Happy Christmas! to her poor, sleep deprived parents.

The flames eat the careful, crooked scrawl in seconds but the words seem to have manifested to life as Dany watches her mother and father blush every time they bump into one another.

Dear Mr. Claus,

I know I wrote you a letter last week but I have changed my mind. Please tell your elves to forget the dolly. What I truly want is for my Mummy and Daddy to be back together. They smile more when they're together, and I do too. This is my one Christmas wish and I will be very very very sad if it does not come true, so please try real hard, okay? Okay. Thanks alot alot. I wish you the best of luck with everything!

PS: If you happen to have a spare dolly in your bag, I won't say no to it.

Love,

Daenerys Aemma Targaryen

rūs . baby

dōna hāedar . sweet girl

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