#and yes i am honest with all these people and believe me if someone wanted monogamy i would fucking JUMP at it

[aq2003]

series 3 is so frustrating because there is like a shining core of pure diamond underneath the problems . like conceptually it rocks so incredibly hard. but the problems

[ghastbutlikegay]

dudes ive hit a point with The Horrors:tm: where im unable to convince myself that any of my friends actually like me

[reidrum]

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. 

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy. 

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch,  you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point. 

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured. 

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere. 

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

[chaoticwriting]

THE FATHER 2

Part 1

After the last incident, Danny totally expects the public to be afraid of him or even persecute him for killing the Joker. He did kill in front of a live stream after all. What he doesn't expect is the public giving their full support to him. Almost every single news media paints him in a good light, saying he is just protecting his children and bringing up all his previous charity.

However, there is one big problem Danny doesn't foresee. Danny doesn't even know about the problem because his children are the one that are suffering from it.

-Gotham Academy-

Emma: *Slamming her phone on the table* For the love of god, stop making thirst trap of my dad. He is too old for some of you (He is 20).

Becky: I know right. This is like the sixth thirst trap video that I see of dad.

Carl: I hate this so much. My crush just accepted my confession but on the condition I will introduce her to dad.

Larry: And you agree?

Carl: What? No! Of course not.

Emma: Ugghhh, this is the worst. Maybe we should ask Uncle Tucker to remove all of Dad's thirst trap online. I'm so done with this.

Larry: I don't know. This is the first time girls decide to talk to me voluntarily. I really am enjoying this attention.

Carl: You're happy now until one of the girls decides to confess to you and just as you thought because she likes you, it is because she has a crush on dad.

Larry: I know you just experienced it but you don't need to curse me like that.

Carl: Hmph.

Larry: Hey, has anyone seen Colin? I haven't seen him since last night.

Becky: *Whispersing* Don't you hear? Colin got shot after he went to patrol the night before yesterday. Dad grounds him cause he tries to sneak out injured last night.

Carl: Oof. Colin really doesn't learn does he? Dad has super sense. He literally can't sneak out.

Larry: Yeah. I don't even know why he wants to be a vigilante so much. I guess he is just kind of something. Couldn't be me to be honest.

Emma: Of course he is not like you. You are not even capable of waking up by yourself in the morning.

*Riiiinngggg*

Becky: Well that is our break then. Let's go to class.

Larry: Eh, it's not like Miss Brown gonna scold me if I am a little late anyway. She has been trying to get Dad's number from me for a while now.

Carl: Does dad even have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Hell, a partner? I never saw him gone on a date once so far.

Emma: Chances are probably super low. Like to say he is dense is an understatement. A woman tried to flirt with him once but he just replied to all the flirting with the straightest face possible.

The rest: *Giggles*

-Gotham Libraries-

Contrary to what his kids have been believing in, he actually knows when someone is flirting with him. It's just that he takes note from the dense anime protagonist and uses it in daily life whenever he is not interested in a person flirting with him. Which is like daily.

But here is the problem. He can respond to a flirt very easily. He learns a lot of that from when he was dating Sam. But he never actually flirts with someone first. And he isn't sure just how to approach the problem.

Having decided that he has stayed long enough, Danny picks a random book from the space section and brings it to the checkout table.

Danny: Hey Barbara.

Barbara: Hey Danny. Borrowing another book?

Danny: Yeah. I just finished the previous one last night. It is a good book. Thanks for the recommendation.

Barbara: You're welcome. How's the kids doing? Still causing trouble for you?

Danny: It's the same shenanigans everyday. Going to lectures, doing paperwork, taking care of the kids. What about you?

Barbara: It's the same with me. Barely any people come to the library these days. Usually it's only either you or my friends.

Danny: Oh. Errmm, Barbara.

Barbara: Yes?

Danny: Would you be free this weekend?

Barbara: Are you asking me on a date?

Danny: Depends. If it is, what would you say?

Barbara: Hmmm, let me think.

Danny fidgets as Barbara taps her finger on the counter. Barbara loves to tease Danny since he is so cute when he is nervous.

Barbara: I think I am free this weekend. So I am available for a date.

Danny's face beams a smile as he hears that.

Danny: So is that a yes?

Barbara: What do you think, big guy?

Danny: Then I will come pick you up at your apartment then?

Barbara: Come pick me up at my dad's house. I will be ready at 5.

Danny: Okay. Have a good day.

Barbara: You too.

Danny then walks out of the library, skipping a little. He has been gathering courage to ask Barbara out on a date for a long time now. They first met when Danny first borrowed a book from a library. It's nothing crazy. Just interaction between two people. But after meeting up a few more times, Danny realizes that he might have a crush on her. After getting convinced by Tucker and Sam, Danny decided that today is the day he asks her out. And he succeeded.

Now, it is just to make sure that the date goes well.

-Clocktower-

Batman: That's it for tonight. Everyone returns back to the cave.

Black Bat/Spoiler/Red Robin: Roger.

Oracle: Hey, B. Can I have a day off this weekend?

Batman: Why?

Oracle: I have a date that night.

Spoiler: You are dating someone?

Oracle: It's not official yet. He only just asks me out on a date this morning.

Batman: Yes. Keep your comms up. In case a breakout happens your way.

Oracle: Okay.

Red Robin: Who are you going on a date with?

Oracle: Danny.

Spoiler: As in that Danny?

Oracle: Yes.

Spoiler: Oh wow! You work fast. How do you know him?

Oracle: He always comes to the library to borrow books. I met him long before he became famous so it is not so hard to talk with him.

Black Bat: Is he nice?

Oracle: He is very nice. It's very hard to even make him mad. The only time I remember him being in a slightly bad mood is at Christmas. He doesn't like it apparently. Wait, Hood is entering the line.

Red Hood: Oracle, you betray me!

Oracle: Tough luck loser. How do you know anyway?

Red Robin: I told him just now.

Red Hood: Yeah! You dare ask him out on a date first before me? I will remember this.

Oracle: He is the one that actually asks me out. We are going on an official date this weekend. I'll take a very nice picture of us together so that you can see from afar.

Red Hood: But your status still isn't official yet. I still have a chance.

Oracle: Over my dead body.

Red Hood: Oh, I will.

Spoiler: Errr, guys. What is happening?

Red Robin: They have a bet on who will get to date Danny first. Apparently Hood gets a massive crush on this guy after what happens in the livestream. Oracle gets the news and they quarrel a little bit. After that I propose a competition between the two.

Spoiler: But both of you don't know that Oracle is already close with Danny. Girl, that's dirty.

Oracle: All is fair in love and war.

Batman: What is his background?

Red Robin: As far as I can see, he is pretty clean. There is even what I suspect some vigilante works that he might have done because he is related to the disbandment of GIW that were supported by both his parents and his godfather. But after some digging into the old GIW files, there are traces of Danny and his friends helping the local ghost hero fighting either other ghosts or the agents themselves. There was also the unexplained money that he suddenly had early on in his career as CEO but so far, it doesn't seem like anything bad.

Robin: Hmmm.

Red Robin: What is it brat?

Robin: I feel like his face is very familiar.

Batman: Explain.

Robin: I need to confirm this with mother. But I am fairly certain that his ancestors have connections with the Al Ghul.

Red Robin: As in blood related?

Robin: No. But there is a book that mother finds about a man who has a very similar appearance to him. The book tells the tale of a kind immortal who spends his lives helping others while learning stuff from them.

Spoiler: A cult of assassins teach young children to be kind?

Robin: Shut it, Brown. I am not finished. The part of the story that interests me is the tale called The Beheader of Demon.

Spoiler: I take it back. That sounds like something a cult of assassins will teach young children.

Robin: The tale tells a story of the immortal meeting a demon who kills people just to find immortality. When the demon finds out that the immortal is well, immortal, he pursues the immortal, trying to kill him and forces the immortal to give away his immortality to him.

Red Robin: What happened next?

Robin: The Demon's head is severed and the Demon's subordinates run away bringing the Demon's body to the pool of revival.

Spoiler: So is this a true story?

Robin: Mother confirms it is a true story. I do not know whether he is a true immortal or not. However, I do know that his ancestors or maybe even him, is good enough to beat grandfather even if he has backup.

Red Hood: What about the other tales?

Robin: There is nothing of note. Some mention of the immortal's supernatural ability, like summoning the dead or the ability to move mountains and divert rivers.

Red Robin: That is not something to take note of?

Robin: No. Because in those stories, the only consistent thing about him is that he is kind. Never harm someone unless provoked.

Batman: Compile all the tales into a file. Red Robin, lists out all the possible powers of target.

Oracle: Oh wow. My date is now a target. How could this get better?

Red Hood: If he is really dangerous, I volunteer to stalk monitor them while they are on the date.

Oracle & Batman: No!

Red Hood: Tsk! Party pooper.

Batman: Red Robin and Spoiler, follow them. Priority is keeping Oracle safe.

Red Robin & Spoiler: *High five* Let's go.

Oracle: Ugghhh, you all better don't mess with my date. Or else I'll make sure you regret it.

Part 3

[mrscarpenter]

BED CHEM

Jacaerys Velaryon x Dornish!reader

Summary: The Prince gets send to gain a powerful alliance that the house targaryen has wanted for a long period of time, and he stumbles upon you. A gorgeous dornish queen.

Includes/warnings: dornish!reader this is probably horribly written so thats a warning in itself, not proof read but i believe Y/N has been used on multiple occasions. Did not give reader a description other than female & dark black curls. There is an age gap in this (reader is 16, jacaerys is 19, but it is never actually mentioned) like i said, not proof read, if you see any spelling errors feel free to point them out!

🪐notes: idk much abt the dornish, especially not in this timeline/au so please ignore any mistakes. Jace is not engaged to baela in this. :)

from my short & sweet collection

You were standing in the hall of your castle in SunSpear. Waiting for the arrival of the prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the iron throne and prince of DragonStone. Or he would be, had King Aegon Targaryen not usurped the iron throne.

The weather in Dorne was always exceptionally hot, so you wore a sheer gown. One thing about the Dornish was that you were not ashamed of anything, especially not what the gods had given you. The dress was a dark blue, with red and gold detailing, your long black curls hanging loosely over your shoulders.

Once you saw the prince arrive, you stood up straighter, clearing your throat silently, allowing a faked smug expression to fall upon your face.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, to what is the pleasure of your presence owed?”

It was all a different environment to what he was used to at DragonStone. The strong breeze of hot air, the lack of thick winter-like clothing, the more exposed body, the tanned skin... it was all such a strange sight to a prince accustomed to the cold. He bowed gently towards the young Queen of Dorne, and looked at her dress. He admired the work that her seamstresses had to do to look so good on her.

“A pleasure indeed, my lady. May we chat inside? It is quite hot here, I confess.”

you nod curtly. “Of course. i am afraid i am in a bit of a hurry though, many important matters to attend.” You point out a hand, allowing him to walk beside you as you walk up the steps into the castle.

Jacaerys follows you, watching the way you walk and the environment surrounding the palace. The hot air, the sun, the tanned skin.

He looks over at you, trying to figure out more about the queen of Dorne. “You are quite young, my lady. Not that I'm much older, but tell me what's it like being queen so young?”

“I am quite used to it. I have been Dorne’s ruler since i was 6 summers old. The Dornish are respectable people, and very direct. It hasn’t always been easy, but it felt natural.” You spoke.

Jacaerys nodded as you walked, thinking it was somewhat impressive someone that young could ever rule. He smiled slightly at your comment.

“I can see the directness in you already, if you'll forgive my boldness. You don't seem like you're the type of woman to beat around the bush, are you?”

Jacaerys was trying to figure you out, as any man with an interest in women would do. He walked beside you as you both spoke, trying to gauge his chances.

after a few seconds you speak up “No, i indeed am not. And i do not expect anyone else to either, if i step on anyone’s toes with my words, they are not company i should keep.”

That comment made Jacaerys smile, appreciating your honest nature. He couldn't deny how attractive blunt honesty was, especially in a place where everyone was so used to keeping secrets and making alliances all the time. “So you speak plainly?”

He knew women with bluntness often became some of the most interesting ones. And a queen, with an attitude like that, made a very intriguing proposition. As curious as your boldness made him, he couldn't deny his physical interests.

That dress... Gods...

You bring him out of his thoughts with your reply. “Yes i speak plainly, and so should you, Prince Jacaerys.” You spoke softly, almost gentle-like. It was very refreshing.

Jacaerys took a long look at your body, his eyes slowly glancing at the details of your dress. The way the skirt of the dress swayed with your movements and how the gown itself left little to the imagination. The way your curly locks dangled and moved. The way your skin shone with the sun's blessing...

His gaze finally returned to your face, the soft features combined with the dark eyes and long wavy hair. He couldn't deny what was crossing his mind right now. Your blunt nature, combined with the way you looked, was certainly making him wish for things.

He couldn't help himself, as he took another look at you, before finally speaking. “That must come in handy for a queen like you, my lady. You're much less... complicated than one would expect from a ruler.”

Jacaerys approached one step closer, his eyes still locked on yours.

“If I may ask, are you married or betrothed by any chance?”

Your blunt words, your direct manner, and your pretty face only encouraged his desires. And it seemed the prince was rather blunt with his intentions as well.

Your eyes locked with his, as he asked the question you were certain was coming.

Of course, he must be interested in some deal. Just like any man, the prince wouldn't be able to simply let a beautiful young queen pass by.

You took a moment to think, wondering what to share.. or perhaps hide. "No, my prince. I am unmarried."

The corner of Jacaerys' mouth curled into a small, cocky smile. "Oh, is that so?"

A hint of teasing was clear in his voice, his eyes still looking for something in yours.

"Well, I suppose that does have some upsides."

He took another step closer, until he was at an arm's distance. The young prince could smell the scent of the air in Dorne, the sun-kissed skin, and the expensive perfumes of a queen. "Tell me, how might a man catch the interest of the queen of Dorne?"

The prince's voice had the tone of teasing, making your eyebrow raise slightly. His sudden proximity also caught you slightly off guard, his physical interests becoming very clear to you.

You couldn't deny how handsome he was. And you guessed perhaps you could use a bit of fun, considering you were unmarried and in your youthful prime.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, his eyes burning a hole through your face. "Hm... What are you offering? Your family is at war, are they not? your visit is political.”

The prince let out a quiet chuckle, letting his eyes wander over your body for a moment.

The dress was certainly eye-catching, the way it hugged your curves, allowing his imagination to let loose...

The words you spoke only made his eyes find their way back to your own, and the smirk he had on his face only grew.

"Is the possibility of a political alliance enough to catch your interest, my lady?"

You watched the prince's eyes as they caressed your body, the boldness in his gaze, and the clear interest that you knew was there. You knew how to take advantage of an opportunity..

"Depends on what kind of a deal you're suggesting, my prince." There was an undeniable flirtation in your voice, your own subtle way of teasing him.

The prince didn't hide the smirk that spread across his face after that statement. His hand slowly reached over to your waist, his touch feeling the silky fabric of your dress.

"Would a marriage perhaps suffice?"

Your dress, as thin as it already was, provided no barrier against his touch. You could feel each stroke of his fingers, his thumb moving in circular motions against the thin fabric.

The marriage proposal was expected, but it seemed the prince had a more hands-on approach in mind.

You kept a straight face, not to give away how your mind was beginning to wander with the possibility of a marriage. "What would I gain? And what would you expect in return?"

He didn't let your serious expression stop his hands from wandering over the silk of your gown, his hand moving across your waist and down your side. "You would gain protection, support, and a powerful alliance."

"And I would gain..." He leaned closer, his breath against your skin, "A gorgeous Dornish queen as a wife..."

Your heart began to race as his words and his hand continued it's exploration of your side, the anticipation of where those hands might end up was growing.

The prince's proximity and the way he slowly looked at you, expecting some kind of reaction. You stayed firm, holding back the subtle reaction you felt with his words.

"Hm... We might have a deal, my prince."

And with that, his lips ended on yours.

Requested by: @avatar4life

explore post. masterlist.

please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. <3

© mrscarpenter, 2024.

[sarahreesbrennan]

Are all the themes in “in other lands” supposed to be a commentary on something? Or do you just like writing sex scenes between minors, age gaps, and reverse misogyny?

Genuine question.

Ohhh, my dear anon, I don't believe this is a genuine question.

But it does bring up something I've been meaning to talk about. So I'll take the bait.

Firstly. Yes, my work contains a commentary on the world around us. I wonder what I could be doing with the child soldiers being sexually active in their teens (people hook up right after battles), and the age gap relationship ending in the younger one being too mature for the elder. What could I possibly have been attempting when I said 'how absurd gender roles are, when projected onto people we haven't been accustomed by our own society to see that way'? I wasn't being subtle, that's for sure.

Secondly. Yes I do enjoy writing! I think I should, it's my life's work. Am I titillated by my own writing, no - though I think it's fine to be. The sex scenes of In Other Lands aren't especially titillating, to be honest. It is interesting to me how often people sneer at women for writing romance and sex scenes, having 'book boyfriends,' insinuating women writers fancy their own characters. Women having too much immoral fun! Whereas men clearly write about sex for high literary purposes.

… I have to say from my experience of women and men's writing, I haven't found that to be true.

I’m not in this to have an internet argument. Mostly people use bad faith takes to poke at others from the other side of a screen for kicks. But I do know some truly internalise the attitude that writing certain things is wrong, that anyone who makes mistakes must be shunned as impure, and that is a deeply Victorian and restrictive attitude that guarantees unhappiness.

I've become increasingly troubled by the very binary and extreme ways of thinking I see arising on the internet. They come naturally from people being in echo chambers, becoming hostile to differing opinions, and the age-old conundrum of wanting to be good, fearing you aren't, and making the futile effort to be free of sin. It makes me think of Tennyson, who when travelling through Ireland at the time of the Great Famine, said nobody should talk about the 'Irish distress' to him and insisted the window shades of his carriage be shut as he went from castle to castle. So he wouldn't see the bodies. But that didn't make the bodies cease to be.

In Les Mis, Victor Hugo explores why someone might steal, what that means about them and their circumstances, and who they might be - and explores why someone else is made terribly unhappy, and endangers others, through their own too rigid adherence to judgement and condemnation without pity. The story understands both Jean Valjean the thief and Javert the policeman. Javert’s way of thinking is the one that inevitably leads to tragedy.

Depiction isn't endorsement. Depiction is discussion.

Many of my loved ones have had widely varying relationships to and experience of sex (including 'none'). They've felt all different types of ways about it. If writing about them is not permissible, I close them out. I'd much rather a dialogue be open than closed.

I do understand the urge to write what seems right to others. I've been brain-poisoned that way myself. I used to worry so much about my female characters doing the wrong things, because then they'd be justly hated! Then I noted which of my writer friends had people love their female characters the most - and it was the one who wrote their female characters as screwing up massively, making rash and sometimes wrong decisions. Who wrote them as people. Because that's what people do. That's what feels true to readers.

I want my characters to feel true to readers. I want my characters to react in messy ways to imperfect situations. I love fantasy, I love wild action and I love deep thought, and I want to engage. That's what In Other Lands is about. That's even more what Long Live Evil is about. That sexy lady who sashays in to have sexy sex with the hero - what is her deal? Someone who tricks and lies to others - why are they doing that, how did they get so skilled at it? What makes one person cruelly judgemental, and another ignore all boundaries? What makes Carmen Maria Machado describe ‘fictional queer villains’ as ‘by far the most interesting characters’? What irritates people about women having a great time? What attracts us to power, to fiction, and to transgression?

I don’t know the answers to all those questions, but I know I want to explore them. And I know one more thing.

If the moral thing to do is shut people out and shut people up? Count me among the villains.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

[milfsloverblog]

Secret Benefits (part 8)

sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x Fem!reader

A/N: Apologies for the two months radio silence, I had to go for a little grippy sock vacation. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the angst, the comfort and FINALLY…. Nah, I can’t spoil you. You’ll have to read it. Enjoy, and don’t forget to reblog if you do! <3

After Larissa’s admission, the silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, like the air itself might crack under the weight of it. You hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, though the ticking clock told you it had only been minutes. Larissa sat beside you, her posture impeccable as always, but her fingers betrayed her composure—they fidgeted ever so slightly, twisting the hem of her sleeve in a way you’d never seen before.

You were still clutching the blanket she’d given you, your knuckles white around the edges. The warmth it provided didn’t quite reach your chest, where a strange hollowness had taken root.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your voice quieter than you intended. The words felt insufficient, but they were all you had.

Larissa turned her head toward you, her silver hair catching the dim light. There was something guarded in her eyes, something she wasn’t ready to say. “You don’t need to thank me,” she replied softly. “I just… needed to be here.”

The honesty in her words startled you. She’d been nothing but composed since the moment you met her, a fortress of calm and control. But tonight, cracks were starting to show. The revelation of her secret had thrown you both into uncharted territory, and you weren’t sure either of you knew the way forward.

“I still can’t believe it,” you admitted, shaking your head as if that might somehow make it all make sense. “The shifting, the man—you—”

“Me,” Larissa said, her lips quirking into a wry, almost self-deprecating smile. “All of it, I’m afraid.”

Your chest tightened at the sound of her voice, that same warm lilt you’d come to recognize, but now layered with vulnerability. It was like hearing a familiar song played in a minor key—comforting and disarming all at once.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Larissa hesitated. Her gaze dropped to her hands, now folded neatly in her lap. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me differently,” she said, her voice steady but low. “I didn’t want to risk…” She trailed off, the unspoken words hanging between you like a fog.

“Risk what?”

“Risk losing whatever fragile connection we’d managed to build. I wasn’t supposed to get so attached. We weren’t supposed, remember?” she said remembering your initial agreement, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve spent so long hiding who I am—what I am—that the idea of showing you felt… impossible.”

Her confession hit you like a wave, the weight of it sinking into your skin. For all her strength, all her poise, Larissa carried a fear you recognized all too well: the fear of being truly seen and rejected for it.

“I don’t think of you any differently,” you said before you could stop yourself. The words spilled out, shaky but honest.

Larissa looked up, her blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t?”

You shook your head. “I mean, it’s a lot to process, obviously. But you’re still… you. And you saved me, Larissa. Twice, now. I can’t ignore that.”

Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly, and you saw a glimmer of relief in her expression. “I’ve had to make difficult choices to keep my secret,” she said. “I don’t expect you to understand all of it, but I want you to know—I’ve only ever tried to protect the people I care about.”

“Is that what I am?” you asked before you could think better of it.

Larissa blinked, caught off guard by the question. Her lips parted, and for a moment, you thought she might deflect. But then she nodded, a small, deliberate motion. “Yes,” she said simply. “You are.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy. It was the first time in a long time that someone had claimed you as theirs, even in such a quiet way. You weren’t sure what to do with it.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice shaking slightly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Larissa replied. “Just… stay.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you saw the weight she carried—not just the secret of her ability, but the responsibility she felt for everyone around her. It was etched into the lines of her face, the faint tension in her jaw, the way her hands never quite stilled.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, and the words felt truer than anything you’d said in a long time.

Larissa’s expression softened, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The air in the room felt lighter, less charged, as though some unspoken barrier had finally been breached.

“Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The quiet that followed was different now—less heavy, more companionable. The silence between you felt alive, not oppressive as it had moments before. Larissa's gaze lingered on you, and you found yourself unable to look away. It was disarming, the way her eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies of emotions—uncertainty, hope, and something warmer, more tender, that you couldn’t quite name.

You set the blanket aside, letting the warmth of the moment pull you forward, closer to her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice steady, though you noticed the faintest tremor in her hand as she smoothed her skirt.

“Why did you stay here tonight?” you asked, your heart thundering in your chest. “Was it really just to check on me?”

Her lips parted as though to answer immediately, but she hesitated. For the first time, she didn’t seem to know the right thing to say. “I… I needed to make sure you were safe,” she said carefully, but her gaze betrayed her. There was more.

“And?” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.

“And,” she continued, her words catching slightly, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone after what happened. I knew you’d push me away if I asked to stay, so I didn’t ask. I just… stayed.”

Your chest ached at the raw vulnerability in her voice. Larissa, the ever-composed, ever-controlled woman you thought you knew, was letting you see her without the walls she usually kept so firmly in place.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, though a part of you was grateful she had.

“I did,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I care about you, more than I can explain. And after last night…” She shook her head, as if trying to push the memory of it away. “I needed to make sure you knew that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and electric, as if the entire room was waiting for you to respond. But no words came. Instead, you leaned forward, the impulse almost unconscious, and placed a hand over hers.

“Thank you,” you murmured, though the words felt so small compared to everything she’d done.

Her hand trembled beneath yours, but she didn’t pull away. Her gaze flicked down to where your fingers rested over hers, then back to your face. The way she looked at you was almost unbearable—like she was afraid this moment might shatter if she breathed too deeply.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Then don’t say anything,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was you, or maybe it was her. But suddenly, the space between you was gone. Her lips brushed against yours, tentative and feather-light, as though testing the waters.

The kiss was brief, but it sent a jolt through your entire body. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, wide and unsure.

“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in again, pressing your lips to hers with more certainty this time. She responded immediately, her hand moving to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Her other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathing heavily. Her fingers lingered on your face, tracing soft patterns against your skin as though committing the moment to memory.

“I’ve wanted to do that for longer than I care to admit,” Larissa said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“So have I,” you admitted, your cheeks warming under her gaze.

The vulnerability between you now was almost overwhelming, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like something to fear. It felt like a bridge—a connection neither of you had expected but both of you desperately needed.

Larissa pulled you into her arms, holding you close, her chin resting lightly on the top of your head. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of her embrace. The steady rise and fall of her breathing was a balm to your racing thoughts, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I don’t want to rush you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If this is too much, too soon—”

“It’s not,” you interrupted, pulling back just enough to look at her. “It’s not too much. I just… I need to figure out what this means.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she nodded. “We’ll figure it out together,” she said, her voice steady but warm.

You believed her.

————————————————————————

Taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @witchesmortuary @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi i @i-love-nerdy-stuff @jasperobsidian-blog @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

[amiaclone]

Oh hello! I love the way you write, could you write something like the reader is pregnant by player 333 and he protects her no matter what in the games,ty ✨️

YES IVE BEEN WAITING FOR PLAYER 333

Soo since this is basically just Junhee I’m gonna add a bit more to the plot if you don’t mind!

You were in the first games like Gi hun you didn’t win although you escaped after you lost at one of the games (let’s say marbles) was living with Gi hun for a good while then moved out etc met Lee Myung gi (player 333) got you pregnant did the scam etc anyways you wanted to help Gi hun but not get involved but Front man kidnapped you anyways for fun and well….here you are

Since I like Junhee I don’t wanna erase her so she’s like a spy or sm 😔 a whole different plot but interesting still

Anyways here it is!

Lee Myung Gi x Fem! Reader

You sighed in annoyance as your ex came to bother you about if you were okay or needed anything the usual

You didn’t even wanna be here but be with him? No way!

You won’t lie you *did* need help in a place like this but with him? No way!

“Do you need my extra milk? A place like this isn’t fit for someone like you! Bla bla bla” that’s all he ever said

Myung gi and you used to be one of those lovey dovey couples who you’d think would get married or something…..it could of happened if he didn’t end up with you losing your money and ghosting you

For the money? Meh you didn’t care as Gi hun managed to pay off your debts but ghosting? That was cold you called almost everyday and received little knowledge……yeah he deserves what’s coming to him

Currently it was after red light green light and he was bothering you about a new thing!

“You played these games before and never told me?”

You rolled your eyes “Yeah cause telling someone I was kidnapped and forced to play children games and could die is so believable”

He shook his head “Yeah well things like this aren’t just things you can forget about! How did you leave why did you go back-“

You turned to him rather harshly “Not that it concerns you but I don’t wanna be here just as much as anyone else” you sighed staring at your stomach for a bit your child could die here…..you could die here was it really worth it?

He noticed and stood firm “Well I’ll protect you” you gave him a small glare

“How am I supposed to know I can trust you?”

He shook his head “Don’t be stubborn y/n in your condition if the majority votes to stay….your chances are very slim”

You sighed looking up at the roof “Fine. But don’t think this means I have forgotten anything”

He sighed smiling that you’d agree maybe this is a chance to finally make things up with you?

Cue to the six legged pentathlon

You teamed with Gi hun followed by your ex who’s been following you around the whole time like a lost puppy except the puppy is preventing anything from even looking at or touching said person aka you

So far you agreed to do Jegi as it seemed the easiest

“Don’t you think it’d be dangerous-“

“I’m doing it”

Luckily we barely lived even though In ho/Player 001 nearly screwed it over for us and you all headed out

Once again Myung Gi stood by your side you even cheered with him for passing it he smiled

Oh wait your still supposed to be mad at him you quickly erased that smile with a frown

“Well thanks for protecting me i suppose you’ve been nice…”

“Nice enough for me to finally show you I’m sorry?”

“No”

He mentally groaned he knew he messed up but he really did miss you ghosting you was a big regret but he didn’t want you getting involved because people were trying to kill him!

Well atleast you’re nice enough to try tolerating that’s a start…

Cue to mingle

You haven’t seen Myung for almost the whole game and to be honest you were getting kinda worried you were with Gi hun and the team you formed back in six legged pentathlon

The new number was seven you grabbed onto Junhee a kind girl who told you in secret she was a spy for the government (Cool plot might use it for an oc) who you’ve bonded with the whole time you were here

You ran but someone fell you think it was Young Mi? Anyways just as the door was about to close *He* walked in

Ah typical Myung gi smiled staring at everyone specifically you as he expected to be seen as a hero

Why were you kinda relieved to see him?

Which you agreed he did technically save your lifes you empathised heavily with Hyun Ju banging on the door crying for Young Mi it gave you flashbacks of the first games you didn’t lose anyone typically close you can recall but still a sad time..

Anyways Hyun Ju blamed Myung gi while Myung gi defended himself and begged any of us to agree with him which you did

“I’m sorry about Young mi Hyun Ju but he’s got a point we all would have died”

Myung gi seemed relieved and when you were all walking out walked up to you “Thank you for defending me does this mean we can talk? Oh! Watch your step”

He points at the wall when you were a good distance from it you rolled your eyes

“This doesn’t change anything I just agreed with you cause you were right”

Before he could say anything the last round started

It said 2 and he immediately grabbed you before you could even comprehend who it was luckily he found a random door barely and slammed it shut breathing heavily

“Thanks” is all you could mutter heavily breathing

He smiled

“As long as I’m here I’ll protect you”

And why did you feel comforted by that….

I loved this one smmmm we need more Myung gi fanfics! Hope you likeddd it

[utilitymonstermash]

In California due to prison over crowding and a policy called realignment, many sentences are now served in county jail. Recently I came across this very funny jail memoir in The Newsweek.

On race:

I knew that I had to join the Peckerwoods, a notorious white supremacist gang. But I am by birth half-Jewish. I have a Jewish last name too, so I was fearful.

My plan was to pretend I was German since my last name is Yiddish, so pretty similar sounding. It's probably not politically correct to say this, but I also don't look like a stereotypical Jewish person, at least in the eyes of neo-Nazis.

I also think my image played into it. They saw a crackhead from Skid Row who weighed 130 pounds and just didn't connect that with a Jewish guy. So I got away with it. They believed I was just a German-American. They had no suspicion whatsoever.

For about three or four weeks, I played along. But I soon realized there was no need to. I never heard anything really racist or antisemitic.

There was another man named Lou. He was probably 50 years old, and every day, he would get a different meal than everyone else—a special meal in a blue box—and people lined up to buy it.

I was curious. I looked in the garbage and saw there was Hebrew lettering on this blue box so I knew Lou was probably Jewish. I asked Lou if he was, and he said yes, that's why he gets the kosher meal.

I said: "I'm Jewish too, actually." He didn't really care. I said I had told the shot caller—a kind of gang leader—and all the guys that I was German when I came in, and now I'm thinking about getting the kosher meal.

I asked what he thought the consequences would be of revealing that I was Jewish. He said: "Oh, well, they're not going to care that you're Jewish, but they are going to care that you lied. So, I would just go talk to the shot caller privately and work this out."

I expected a very violent repercussion for lying. There are violent repercussions for everything, from not washing your hands after using the bathroom to getting caught sharing food with another race.

I talked to the shot caller. He was pretty angry that I lied, but at the same time, he said: "Listen, I'm half Armenian. I'm not even fully white. We don't really care. These are just the rules and we have to follow them.

"As the shot caller, if it gets out that I'm not enforcing these rules, I'll get stabbed on the yard.

"You lied. You got to come clean to all the boys, and it's not a big deal. Just when you get the kosher meal, make sure that white guys get preference over buying it. If no one white wants to buy the meal, then you can sell it to the other races."

On managerialism:

Violence is highly organized in the California prison system. I was in county jail, but it's just as bad as prison, if not worse.

If you get into an altercation with someone, you're not allowed to fight them. You have to go to your shot caller, and he has to go to his shot caller, and the shot callers must decide whether you're allowed to fight in a very controlled environment.

[...]

I had to fight people for breaking very stupid rules, such as sharing food with a Black person—a rule that I think is ridiculous. To be honest, my shot caller thought it was ridiculous too. He told me personally that he shared food with Black people all the time; he just had to keep it secret.

[...]

It's Kafkaesque; there's some kind of bureaucratic overwatch going on and you don't even know if it exists or not, but you just have to follow these dumb rules.

A shot caller is your gang leader in jail. This is not the leader of the entire gang but the leader in your pod, meaning your dorm.

Every gang has a shot caller, and then that jail has a head shot caller, and then the whole prison system has a single shot caller somewhere at the top that is this Wizard of Oz-type overlord who no one ever really sees but somehow enforces the rules.

On yarmulke:

I'm not a practicing Jew; I never was, and no one in my family really is. But when you get the kosher meal, they also give you a yarmulke for some reason.

When the other inmates saw the yarmulke, they were mesmerized by this magical Jewish hat. The people who ran the world wore these hats, they thought, and now they were around one in a jail cell.

The Mexican shot caller would request to wear it when he gambled to bring him financial luck. This started sort of a buzz in the jail, and eventually, lots of people were requesting to wear it. Even neo-Nazis requested to wear it when they were gambling.

I asked them to treat it with respect, not because I am religious, but I thought: "My ancestors were religious. Don't be disrespectful."

The amount of respect they had for this yarmulke was actually disturbing; the fact that a Nazi with swastika tattoos would be so polite about a Jewish yarmulke.

On tolerance towards the Jews:

Once it came out that I was Jewish, I experienced zero antisemitic hate. It was more of a fascination. A lot of these people had never met a Jewish person. They pictured Jewish people as owning banks and companies and potentially even the jail.

So when they saw this Skid Row homeless addict who was Jewish, a lot of light bulbs went off about their preconceived ideas. Immediately, they asked: "What are you doing here? Can't you make a phone call? Don't you know a lawyer?"

I said: "No, I'm Jewish. My dad was a heroin addict carpenter. Not all Jews are what you think they are."

It opened up a lot of playful conversations with these people. They were fascinated with the concept that Jews were lawyers, so I started getting a lot of requests to consult people on their cases.

I had to tell them: "Listen, I'm a carpenter crackhead homeless guy. I'm not a lawyer."

They didn't care; they wanted to go over their cases with me. There was almost some soft antisemitism, but it mostly was playful and fanciful obsession and inquiry. They thought I had mystical powers.

[...]

I have stayed in touch with some of the people in jail. Not all white people were Nazis. In fact, a small minority identified as neo-Nazis; most just identified as Peckerwoods. I've kept in touch with both.

On demographics as destiny:

I talked to Lou about it, and he said that there used to be some problems for Jews, but in the end, the white gangs have such low numbers that they don't really care. They needed people.

[petew21-blog]

Stop the bullying

Aiden was your typical straight bro, just lifting and pumping his body with his bro in the campus gym and in the afternoons playing football. He still couldn't let go of his high school ways of bullying people, so he tormented them even here in college.

How could people let him? Well he was a jock and a very favourite nephew of the dean and everytime a problem occured, the dean very efficiently solved it by punishing the other student. Efficient right?

That was until Aiden and Tom tormeneted yet another one of his gay classmates just right outside of the parking lot by beating him right next to one of the cars. What Aiden didn't know was that a very well known stoner was sitting on the other side.

Trevor was incredibly stoned, but not that much to save one of his fellow classmates. He entered the scene slightly confused what was happening

Trevor:"You guys would mind stopping this shit? It's interrupting my meditating session"

Aiden:"Get lost stoner or you're next"

Trevor:"I don't want to be rude, but I have to warn you. If you won't stop, I'll have to stop you myself" Trevor took of his beanie threw it on the ground and carefully placed the lit joint next to it

Aiden:"Just shut the fuck up already" and threw a punch at Trevor. Trevor only smiled and didn't even flinch. Maybe it was because of the fact that he knew the ounch would go right through him and it would be the needed thing to let him possess Aiden. Trevor got sucked in right in front of the other two guys. It took him a while to position himself

He woke up to the the sight of schocked Thomas and the poor gay fella on the ground trying to cover himself

Trevor positioned his cap on the head. "Ahh, you guys just left the gym right? Man, he reeks so much." and sniffed his new armpits obssesively. Then he took off his shirt, throwing it next to the gay guy and just examined his new torso. Smiling and touching his new chest and abs. That's when his eyes widened as he saw the joint on the ground slowly burning away. "Oh no. Can't let it go to waste!"

Thomas just kept staring with his mouth wide open.

Trevor leaned closer to Thomas and started talking:"I'm not sure you understand the situation that'sd happening here right now Thomas. But if you don't want this guy on the ground to take your body next, I suggest you keep your motuh shut about all of this and run away"

Thomas looked back only once as he was running away from his friend, or was he somewhere in there still? He might never know

Trevor reached out his hand to the guy on the ground:"It's safe now, man. Promise that this arm won't hurt you anymore."

The guy hesistated but than took his hand. He stood up, painfully grunting and holding his stomach.

Trevor inhaled the smoke from the joint and asked the guy:"So... what's your name man? You're ok?"

"I'm Martin, I... I think I am ok. So... Are you...? Who are you?"

"Well my name is Trevor, or Aiden now, I guess. haha. And don't worry I won't possess you. It's a power I use only when I think it's helping others, or.... when I need to get some confiscated weed. You wouldn't believe how much the police has stashed. And how ripped some of them are haha"

Martin was checking out Aiden's body as Trevor was enjoying his smoking, getting in the mood more rapidly than he was used to in his own body. Martin noticed the beanie lying on the ground. He tried to reach it but it was still painful. Trevor noticed and grabbed it himself

"Haha, I think Aiden will have a much needed style change. Gone are the days of the jock, in with the chill"

"So... Trevor? You can actually make other people possess someone?"

"Yes, sir. Who do you have in mind? I would be very happy to let you pick someone, but... morally I would be happier if it would be someone not very honest."

"Well... there is this girl in my class, Samantha and she is a total bitch. Just like Aiden. Would you let me possess her?"

Trevor:"Samantha? You wanna possess a girl? But I thought you were gay, man."

Martin:"Yeah, well that's the thing. Her boyfriend is Marc, the quarterback. And I had a crush on him since forever. I don't care if I am a girl or a boy. As long as I am with him."

Trevor:"Well, as you wish sir"

vv

Trevor did as he promised and than went on as his day would normally go. Not like he had anything planned anyway. His phone kept buzzing about Aiden's football pracitce, but he didn't care. His destination now was the locla skatepark. To Trevor, the swap meant a few things: he now had a stable flow of cash, he was hotter, he was fitter and he didn't have to worry about his future anymore

When Trevor finished with his skating he got the courage to enter Aiden's home. He was welcomed by Aiden's girlfriend who he then went on to have a very wild sex in the bed. Trevor didn't mind that she was a girl, just one of the few perks of being a bisexual. You get a much bigger dating pool.

Trevor let his new girlfriend sleep next to him and right as he was in the bed, he proceeded to lit up another of his joints he grabbed on the way.

Naked, high on weed and exploring his body. Enjoying the hard dick in his hand. Inhalimg the musk in his armpits. He couldn't get enough. He kept jerking off, thrusting his hips while caressing the muscles with the joint in his hands. So tight and compact. Everything was his now. The whole world was

The girlfriend woke up, schocked about the stateshe found him. Still jerking and smoking weed. She kept shouting about something but Trevor only heard himself saying:"Close the door behind you when you're leaving" and still kept jerking off.

And as she left, he unleashed streams of cum and shot up right up to his face. "Damn, Aiden. You cum a lot. I love this"

The months went by and the ex-straight ex-jock ex-bully was no a very newly transformed stoner, skater, but still maintaining his beatiful muscularity, bisexual man, who now kept dating and screwing a few women and men. Who knows how Aiden's feeling right now, right? Maybe he would enjoy the fuck that his body is high right now fucking a beautiful girl. Maybe he wouldn't really enjoy that his body had a huge dick in his ass. Who knows

Another story request from the inbox: Hey love your work! Thoughts on having a tough straight college jock getting possessed by a bisexual stoner/skater, enjoying his musk & muscles and becoming a laid back weed smoking himbo?

[amirasainz]

Hi loves, if you want more drivers and wags drabbles, don't be shy to request something!

I hope you'll like this one. I will also add a masterlist soon! Please send some requests(can be only driver, drivers and wags or Sainz family), I need some inspiration!

(Wish me luck, I am writing a physics exam tomorrow)

-XoXo

Chaos before her arrival

Chaos. Everywhere at the grid was chaos. People are running left and right. Mercedes mechanics carrying flower bouquets in their garage. McLaren bringing an extra princess like sofa in theirs. Ferrari has three personal chefs at the motorhome.

One might think the royal family is coming to the grand prix. But one wouldn't be so wrong. In fact, Amira Sainz, the paddock princess and littlest sister of Carlos Sainz, was attending her first GP after the winter break.

With staying in Colombia for filming the 3rd season of Narcos, babygirl didn't have a lot of time to attend her big brothers GPs.

On one hand, Carlos was thankful that his baby sister wasn't surrounded by the drivers and their crazy girlfriends.

I mean, can you believe the audacity from Lily and Alex to go shopping with his baby sister because:" Baby, you look so warm, let's get you some shorter clothes to cool you off"(Alex) and "Baby, I saw this really cute handbag for 30k and it reminded me of you. Let's go get it!We can be all matchy-matchy" (Lily)

Or George and Carmen with their "Sweetheart you have to come to London with us. We can have our own tea party the mansion from Downtown Abby and wear our Tommy Hilfiger clothes and...."

Or Pierre and Kika and their "good hearted" invitation to Portugal because, apparently, babygirl is looking too pale. So she has to spend the whole winter break in a villa with only one bedroom (ups) and a private beach with them. Obviously!

But the worst of them all were Charles and Alex. Carlos can't even think about it. The last time his sister came to visit the grid, Charles had the audacity to give her a sparkling pink La Ferrari. And if that wasn't enough, he and Alexandra had to drive her around the city (let's be honest, our girl can't drive. But that's OK, cause she is pretty) with her sitting in Alex lap to "get the full driving experience cherie"

So, as you can see, Carlos wasn't very happy to have his sister attending a GP with these demons around her. His poor angel, nearly getting eaten alive by those monsters (is he dramatic? Yes. Does Carlos care? Absolutely not!)

But Carlos heart, mind and soul hurt the whole time she was in Colombia. What do mean his darling sister isn't by his side or by their family. She's just a baby! What if someone robbed her? Or her car gets stuck? Or worse, she has to go buy things with her OWN money?!

No, Carlos couldn't live with that thought either. So either way, their wasn't really a good solution to his problem.

When he saw all the teams acting crazy, decorating their garages, how his sister likes them and cleaning EVERYTHING, his blood was boiling. His baby, darling sister is staying in HIS team garage, on HIS half. (I'm looking at you, Charles and Alexandra)

However, the last straw for him was when he saw all the wags waiting by the entrance for Amira. They stood at the entrance like hinters waiting for their prey.

Oh Carlos could feel the grey hairs growing

And Amira? During the whole fiasco, babygirl was in the spa getting ready for her exhausting day. Looking pretty the whole time and watching the race IS pretty exhausting. Our poor babygirl🥺

@stinkyjax @khaylin27 @xoscar03

[brucewaynehater101]

I have a vent fic wip that I may or may not finish so I just need to tell someone that I am...feeling so many things all the time about the consequences of the 16th birthday but...

primarily, right now, at this moment. without Robin/Bruce, Tim thought he would lose Dick and everyone else he knew through Robin. and then a little bit later when he quit for Jack, he got radio silence for Months until he became a potential victim, and even then it was just Cass stopping in to give the message and be like "I'll watch you to keep you safe 👁️👁️ ok bye" and he had actual Proof that without Robin, he would lose everyone.

and then. Dick "you're my equal (even tho I'm drastically changing your life without your knowledge or permission), you're my closest ally (even tho you don't even have a name to go out in the field to assist me as backup), I need you (even tho, as mentioned, I made a huge decision without your input because I didn't need it because I know best actually)" Grayson.

skipping over the fact that Dick didn't even have the time to say "you're fired" or anything resembling that, when Tim lost "Robin" to Damian, he felt like he lost everything else too. it didn't matter what Dick said about "equals" or "allies" or "needing". he already had Concrete Proof that it was all false. cheap words that are easily disproven do nothing in this situation, Dichard!

(disclaimer: I love and respect Dick Grayson, I just also think Dick Stopped Existing as soon as he made Damian his Robin for the most pathetic stupid illogical risky-ass excuse he could ever give for making anyone Robin (or a vigilante in general). "because he'll kill someone again". who the fuck says that?? who thinks "oh no oh god oh fuck this kid is gonna go off the rails he's gonna kill someone, I need to Put Him In A Place Of Power Over Oblivious Innocent Untrained People Who Are Expecting A Kind And Empathetic Hero To Save Them" hUH???? ok sorry, I just wanted to rant about what Tim "losing Robin" meant)

I agree with ya. Dick Grayson is fantastic, but it seems weird that he nuked his entire relationship with Tim (a very strong one that other fans have referred to them as "The Brothers") for the new kid.

Yes, Damian is a ten year old traumatized kid who just lost the dad he didn't really have the chance to get to know. Yes, Damian needed guidance, boundaries, and compassion.

But DC spent so much time and effort building up Tim and Dick's rapport only to obliterate it once the "blood son" came in (I also love Damian. This is not hate on the kid. This is confused commentary on DC's choices). It's just a strange idea, but that's also why it hurts so much when Dick does that to Tim.

Then you tie in Tim losing Robin by Dick to Tim's experiences before? Fuck. You are so right for that.

As far as the RR run, Dick could've handled Tim believing Bruce a bit better. I don't necessarily blame him for that one. I get why he wasn't supportive in the way Tim wanted, even though I would've chosen differently for my siblings.

Dick taking Robin, though? That was fucked up. I, honest to the gods, do not see how that was a justified course of action. I can understand his perspective, but it's still not okay. At all.

There's your very adequate analysis:

Robin, for Tim, is his tie to his loved ones. He has proof (twice) that without it, he does not have access to the people he cares about and his support system.

Dick said a lot of pretty words about "equals," but his actions were precisely contradictory to his "intentions."

Tim has had Robin taken from him before or had to give it up. He chose to go back despite this. He obviously feels strongly about being Robin

Damian has not proven, at this point, to be trustworthy as a vigilante (someone in power without oversight). He has instead shown use of excessive force

This isn't even going into the way he found out. That's just an extra layer.

The way Tim has repeated lost and regained Robin (even after RR) as well as his title as Red ROBIN are, to me, a sign that he's still trying to hold on. It's my belief that he would have moved onto a new title, like his predecessors, if it hadn't constantly been an unsure role.

His start was rocky as hell due to Bruce not initially wanting it. Tim had to prove himself and put himself into the costume.

He "quit" twice before it was taken from him in a traumatic way (nothing like being instilled with the fear that the position you've held for four years can suddenly be yanked out from under you without warning)

Damian and Jason both vehemently protested to him being Robin

It would make sense if all of these factors combined to Tim's unwillingness or inability to just let Robin go, especially when we factor in his reason to be Robin. Since Bruce never really gets "better" and continually falls back into bad habits, Tim needs to maintain his task of pulling Bruce back from the edge. We could also throw Jean Paul into this to further how Tim is forced to play as the barrier between a grown adult and their desire to harm others in the name of good.

So, Tim's time as Robin is marked by consistent instability while contrasted with his inherent position as Bruce's leash and the batfam fixer. While the other Robins did have times of doubt, the predecessors of Tim did not have the pervasive role insecurity with regards to Robin.

They had their big moment at the end and some smaller moments in-between, but not quite on the continous scale of Tim. Tim had three big moments and was still sucked back into Robin when Damian quit.

To be Robin is to earn Bruce's love and the ability to be part of the Wayne family. To lose Robin is the risk of losing that (at least to the perspectives of the Robins if not 100% the reality).

I'm not sure I'm articulating this accurately. Regardless, no wonder Tim clutches the title of Robin with bleeding hands no matter how much it cuts him and costs him.

[whotfelsewantedtobelynnyx]

Chat, I regret to inform you that I have added a new hyperfixation…so…

Agatha All Along Incorrect Quotes!

Alice: Hold the fuck up.

Also Alice, crawling into Lilia’s lap: It’s me. I’m the fuck up. Hold me.

Rio: I have an idea!

Jen: No murder.

Rio, sighing petulantly: I no longer have an idea.

Lilia: I have a bad feeling about this…

Agatha: What do you mean?

Alice: Don’t you ever get that little voice in the back of your head that tells you if something is going to get you in trouble?

Agatha: No.

Jen: That actually explains so much.

Lilia: As far back as I can remember, I’ve always had this little voice in my head telling me to “live it up today, because there’s not gonna be a lot of tomorrows”.

Agatha: You do realize there’s medication designed to get rid of those kinds of voices, right?

Teen: A bird flew in through my window and I’m trying to befriend it.

*later*

Agatha: Why don’t you quit bothering me and go talk to your bird friend?

Teen: Matthew and I are not speaking at the moment.

*the coven, huddling together behind a makeshift shelter to shield themselves from repeated gunshots*

Alice, hastily shoving the others behind her so she can return fire: Agatha, do you have any idea who would want to shoot you?!

Agatha, squashed between Jen and Rio: Many people want to shoot me. I take great pride in that!

Jen, glaring at the group as she hands over bail money:

Alice, tapping her shoulder: What about Teen?

Jen, glaring more: I’ve got to bail him out too? Where’s Agatha?

Teen: No one called her. We used Lilia’s phone call to call Alice and Rio’s to call you. Then Rio used my phone call to vote for American Idol.

Rio: :)

Jen: Rio isn’t answering her phone.

Agatha: Here, I’ll try.

Jen: Alice and I have tried six times each, what makes you think that-

Rio, picking up on the first ring: Hey, sweetheart.

Agatha: The ends always justify the means!

Jen: Do you know who said that?

Agatha: Was it Oprah or someone nice and great like that?

Jen: It was Machiavelli. A decidedly non-Oprah like person.

Jen: I bet you didn’t even finish the thing I asked you to get done!

Agatha: For your information, I most certainly did! Got it done last night!

Teen, whispering to Agatha: You didn’t get it done, did you?

Agatha, whispering back: I don’t even know what she’s talking about.

Lilia: I am at a loss for words!

Teen, glancing at the camera like his mom like he’s on The Office: Despite being lost for words, Lilia yelled at us for the next 45 minutes.

Agatha, carrying Señor Scratchy out of the room:

Señor Scratchy: *snuggles under her chin*

Agatha, kissing his head: You are being punished. Please stop being adorable. I love you.

Teen: I got a trampoline tent for summer sleepovers!

Jen, whispering to the other adult witches: …think of all the sex.

Alice: There are two types of people.

Rio: If you wanted to eat someone, you could put a fire under it and slowly roast them :)

Lilia: …three. Three types of people.

Jen, cautiously: I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before, but…Teen, you are a little crazy.

Teen: Aren’t we all a little crazy here, Jen?

Jen: No, I mean you’re aging-ballerina, child-chess-prodigy, professional magician kind of crazy.

Teen: It’s my mom’s fault. You know, we come from a Jewish family, but she used to tell me the reason Santa didn’t come was because my room was too dirty.

Rio: I’ve come looking for trouble. And if I can’t find trouble, I WILL create some.

Alice: Do you trust me?

Lilia, smiling proudly at her: Yes.

Alice, who has been completely panicking: Wait, what? Why?!

Agatha, awkwardly glancing around for help: Er…Alice, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know what to say to people who are crying. So I’m just gonna hope that the tone of my voice makes you think I do, okay, sweetie?

Alice, sniffling: …thanks, Agatha.

Agatha, patting her on the back with a bit too much enthusiasm: No problem, kid.

Lilia: I told Agatha about it weeks ago!

Teen: She WHAT?

Agatha: What??? Lilia says insane shit all the time, how was I supposed to know this one was true?!

Lilia: Bank accounts are a sham created by the shadow government!

Agatha: SEE?!

BONUS:

Wanda, watching from the afterlife: so…when exactly do kids grow out of that whole emo, rebellious stage?

Lorna, shrugging: I don’t know. Alice is still in it.

[strayrockette]

The Dragon & The Griffon

Where The Path Leads-A Taste

Masterlist Next Chapter

a/n: I didn't think I would be coming back with a story and to be completely honest, I fully believed my creative drive had been zapped. However, @mysticalpandora gave me a challenge and it somehow led me here???? I'm gonna roll with it. My list of unfinished drafts is growing, but I am determined to finish at least 1 WIP.

If anyone is interested in where this ride goes, DM me and ask to be tagged. Like & Reblog if you enjoyed the read! And comment your thoughts if you have any. I enjoy reading them!!

Her purple eyes glitter with quiet contemplation. She is calm, composed, absolutely beautiful, he thinks to himself. His calculative and appraising eyes take stock of this daring girl no woman that stands before him, and deep within him is a hunger for a hunt.

The Na-Baron had yet to come across someone who could stand so still within his presence.

This excites him. This may be a season of true satiation. A thrill of a hunt that lasted far beyond his arena kills. Far beyond the meager missions, his uncle sends him on to create distance from his people’s adoration and praise. A reminder that he is yet to be The Baron.

His uncle was not immune to his potential. He held a guarded edge around him when he was near. If it was true fear, or anticipation for his succession was unclear. One could say both.

“If you should use my gifts to aid in your fight, I will have my answer.” She stares directly into his eyes. Her jaw is relaxed and she pulls her lips into a teasing smile, “Worry not, Na-Baron, I can take no for an answer.”

He bares his black teeth in a mock smile, his answer comes in a raspy deep lull, “The answer has already been decided for us, little dragon”

He looks at the two deep ebony daggers that sit neatly in the box she had placed on the high table in the corner of the room, its sharpened blades glowing in the dim light of his changing rooms near the arena. The excited screams of his people chanting his name break the silence.

The tip of the dagger's, curve near its end. All along the blade is an engraving of silhouettes, tiny dragons flapping their wings. He realizes the engravings are shining silver.

He knows no one in the boxed seatings would be able to tell what the engravings were but he almost purrs outwardly in delight. A silent claim from his little dragon. He wonders if she realizes just what game she’s playing.

“Yes, however..” She pauses, her eyes drop to her clasped hands, her fingertips tapping against each other, a sign of nervousness, he notes. As if hearing his observation she stops and rearranges her hands so they are clasped behind her. “While this arrangement was decided before we were born, I want it to be known that I am not unwilling to be your wife or have you as my husband”

She pauses once more. He can practically hear her thinking with the way her eyes furrow and her lips pursed in consideration of the words she says. Because words have meaning and none of it should be spent on idle chit-chat or false pretenses.

A rare oddity that most others fail to recognize. He wonders if her words are hiding who she is. If beneath her elegant and calm demeanor lies something weaker. Something inside him wants to see her unravel.

“If we are to go into this arrangement, I would like for us to go into it as equal partners. Your fight becomes my fight, and mine becomes yours.” She moves to the side to dip her fingers into the bowl of black oil. The servant who holds it cowers away, as if afraid to be associated with her candor.

She’s gathered too much, it drips onto the floor as she nears him slowly. Her eyes are entranced with his, determination clear within her purple irises. One step. There is no hesitation as she smears her hand over her mouth and down her neck. Two steps. The oil leaves a trace of four fingerprints along the path. Three steps. She reaches out to his chest. Her fingers hovered over his skin. He can feel the heat radiating from a single hand. His blue eyes hunger for more but he remains still. His mocking smile turns into amusement. My little dragon is brave, he thinks with pride.

She pouts as a thought crosses her mind, “No one would see it.” She doesn’t realize she has said this aloud. He watches with rapid anticipation, his body grows taut as he wills himself not to move. He waits and waits and watches as she comes to a decision, her cheeks red and eyes mischievous. She gathers courage and motivation with quick movements, and her hands are suddenly on him. Trailing the top of his chest, then to his neck, finally, they nestle comfortably on either side of his face. She tugs gently, urging him to bend to her level and he allows it, purely for the entertainment.

His face is level with hers, his eyes are on her face, studying the curve of her nose, the red in her cheeks, the plumpness of her lips, and the giddy look in her violet eyes. He wants her to make eye contact. He wants her to see the monster inside him and fear for her life. He wants to see her calm demeanor slip. For her teasing tone to melt into cries of terror. It's all he knows. And he admires hates how she has yet to cower before him. But she is too busy studying the right of his cheek where her lips will claim him for all to see. She leans and presses a kiss to his aching skin.

He tightens his mouth and remains still, it would do no good to ravage her before their nuptials.

She pulls away and continues her statement, “Even if it has been decided, the fact remains that I choose you to be faithful to, to be by my side. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. In life and in death, my soul will always seek you amongst the billions of stars and galaxies that separate us.”

He wants to snarl and bite. A part of him cannot comprehend what she is saying and he is angry. He glares, his large hands coming up to wrap around her wrists and he pulls them away from him. His skin is left wanting and his heart is enraged. It’s beating so fast and erratically and his thoughts cannot settle between slitting her throat and slamming her into a wall to be consumed by him.

“What silly nonsense you speak, little dragon. Whether I pick up the blades or not and use them in the arena, is no answer. Whether by choice or by force, you have been sold to my family for me to use as I please. You are my pet. My little dragon. Nothing more, nothing less.” As he speaks his voice gravels with rage. He knows nothing else other than the white hot boiling blood beneath his skin. Whether in pleasure or pain, there is no difference. “You are naive”

He finishes his growl with a sneer. She stumbles and her maids rush to catch her from behind. I pushed him too far, she concludes. She holds in a sigh and holds her head higher. Her chin juts out and her eyes gleam. A thought crosses her mind and a fire burns within, “If I’m so naive, then my dearest husband-to-be, it is YOUR duty to protect me.”

She cares not for his comment about being sold to House Harkonnen. In the grand plan of all things, it is the least of her worries.

He’s turned away from her and the servants, who hid quietly in the corner, rush to put his armor on. He merely grunts and clicks his tongue, “Be gone little dragon, before you find a knife in your throat”

She wants to scoff but thinks better of it. She’s gotten away with too much in the short time she burst into his changing room to accost him with her offer. She steels herself and with a quick glance at his muscled back. She wonders if she’d ever be able to get through that thick bald skull of his.

She turns and leaves, and her two maids follow dutifully. Her lips glitter with the black oil. Her four fingerprints running down to her chest is a statement in itself. The matching handprint and kiss on his skin are enough to get her message to all with eyes.

She’s sunk her claws into him and no one would tear her from him. She’s seen too much. Knows too much. Suffered too much to give up now.

No Bene gesserite, no Emperor, no Baron, and no Atreides would rip them apart. She would die faithfully, clinging onto hope, clinging onto a path with the most resistance to prove a point.

A dragon does not kneel…

it conquers.

Edited: 8/18/24

[sunkifye]

don’t kiss me under the mistletoe

pairing— non idol nishimura riki x female reader

genre— enemies to lovers, high school au

synopsis— it was the biggest (holiday) party of the year, so it was no surprise that you saw your enemy, who also happens to be your ex-crush, there. you just weren’t expecting to see him under the mistletoe next to you.

featuring— minji from newjeans

warnings— cursing, kissing, partying, riki is honestly really mean (im sorry!!)

word count— 3.1k

author’s note— merry christmas to those who celebrate! and happy holidays!!

“I seriously can’t believe they’re dating,” minji, your best friend, whispered into your ear.

“really? I saw it coming,” you shrugged before taking a sip of your drink.

“what?! how?? they’re literally best friends,” minji asked, pouring fruit punch into a plastic cup.

“that’s exactly why I saw it coming,” you explained.

“I guess so,” minji agreed. “they’re totally gonna be the it couple of the year aren’t they?”

“for sure”

“ugh I’m so jealous” minji complained.

“me too,” you sighed. “I wish I had a-”

someone had aggressively bumped into your shoulder, launching you forward towards minji.

“excuse you!” you yelled out at the person who bumped into you.

“who? me?” a familiar voice asked.

you looked up to see the culprit standing before you, nishimura riki.

“yes you nishimura! do you seriously have no manners?” you scolded the boy just to receive an eye roll from him.

“to be honest,” he said, taking a step closer to you. “I don’t really care.”

oh how he made your blood boil.

he began to walk away from you, but after taking two steps he turned back around.

“oh and I forgot to mention,” he said, looking down at you. “you should probably stop daydreaming about things that’ll never happen…”

“because you’ll never get a boyfriend,” riki said with a smirk on his face before finally walking away from you.

oh he’s really done it now.

you started to march towards riki just for minji to put her hand on your shoulder and pull you back.

“just let him go,” minji said with a sigh.

“no way! I’m not letting him get away with saying that to me,” you replied, ripping minji’s hand off of your shoulder before beginning to walk after riki once more.

“nishimura!” you shout at the boy. “who do you think you are?!”

“better than you,” he says, turning his head around to look at you.

“well, news flash! you aren’t,” you yell at him. he scoffs as he turns his head back around and continues to walk away from you.

“don’t walk away from me!” you shouted, quickening your pace so you could catch up to him.

“why? do you want my attention or something?” he asked, smirking as he turned around to face you.

“ugh as if,” you grumbled, furrowing your eyebrows.

“as if!” riki said in a high-pitched voice, mocking you.

he lets out a laugh before walking away, but now he’s walking backwards just so he could look at you.

“you should really be nicer to people,” you reply, following him once more.

“I am nice!” he defends himself, placing his hand over his heart, pretending to be offended by your words.

“yeah right,” you say, rolling you eyes.

“just not to you,” he adds, continuing to walk backwards—which in all honesty, was a really bad idea.

since riki was facing you and not looking at where he was going, he bumped into a small table that was placed up against the wall in the hallway. the sudden movement of the table made a glass vase, which had a bouquet of white roses in it, fall over and onto the floor.

CRASH!

the vase had shattered on the floor, leaving the roses in a puddle of water on the ground, surrounded by shards of glass.

“look at what you did!” riki blamed you, pointing to the mess on the floor.

“what I did?! look at what you did!” you retorted, “this is your fault. if you were looking where you were going then maybe you wouldn’t have caused this mess!”

“well maybe if you weren’t annoying me then I wouldn’t have-”

“well maybe if you weren’t annoying me first-”

“well maybe if you hadn’t showed up to this party then none of this wouldn’t have happened!” riki spat out at you.

“what…” you mumbled in utter confusion.

“you shouldn’t even be here. these parties aren’t for people like you,” he stated, looking down at you.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“you’re a loser y/n! you always have been and you always will be,” riki stated coldly.

your eyes widened at his words. you knew he was mean, but to say something like that? you stood there looking at him, not able to fathom the fact that you once had a crush on the boy standing before you.

you were in your second year of middle school when you developed feelings for your first crush, nishimura riki. he was friends with some boys in the higher grades and was quite popular among the students in your grade. you began to crush on him a week after school had started since he sat next to you in history class. your feelings for him grew as school went on because you saw him everyday and you even had to do a project with him once.

it was the middle of the school year—about february—when a girl you were kinda friends with told you to confess to riki, telling you that he would totally go out with you and that you would have a boyfriend for valentine’s day. you, being young and naive, trusted the girl’s words and decided to tell riki how you felt.

big mistake.

it was lunchtime and you entered the cafeteria, looking around for riki’s table. you found him in almost an instant, especially with how loud his friends were. you walked up to his table and with a sudden rush of confidence you tapped on his shoulder.

“huh?” he uttered, turning his head around to face you.

“hi,” you said quietly.

“hi?” he repeated, scrunching up his eyebrows.

“riki, I really really like you,” you blurted out, causing riki to raise his eyebrows. his friends were biting their lips and covering their mouths, trying to hold back their laughter, which you failed to notice.

“and- and I was wondering if you would go out with me,” you added, looking at him with hope in your eyes. he turned his head, looking around the cafeteria, then looking at his friends, before setting his gaze back on you.

“who are you again?” he asked, genuinely confused. his friends continued to try to hold back their laughter, which they were failing at miserably. you ignored them as you kept your eyes on riki.

“I’m y/n, we have history together,” you said, hoping he would remember you. “you sit next to me… a-and we did a project together a few weeks ago,” you added, just for him to furrow his eyebrows once more.

“I don’t recall,” riki said before turning his attention away from you as he began to eat his lunch. you stood next to the table, dumbfounded as you watched him eat his sandwich. suddenly, he stopped eating and turned to you again.

“why are you still here?” riki asked in a rude tone. you honestly couldn’t comprehend anything that was happening in that moment, but you decided to speak anyway.

“I-I thought-” you stuttered.

“listen, uh… what’s your name? y/n or something, right? whatever it doesn’t matter,” riki said, looking up at you. “I don’t like you, alright? and I’d never go out with you.”

hearing his words felt like a knife just stabbed you in the heart. he seriously couldn’t have rejected you a little nicer? out of embarrassment, you turned away and quickly ran out of the cafeteria. as you left, you heard riki’s obnoxious friends burst out in laughter.

“wow riki, look at you!” one of his friends cheered.

“who does she think she is?” another one of his friends asked in between laughs.

“I know right, what a weirdo,” riki laughed. your eyes welled up with tears as you ran to the closest bathroom.

ever since that day, riki started to tease you in any way possible: making fun of you in class, calling you names, bringing up how you had a crush on him, and when his friends were around, he would be extra irritable towards you.

that was the first and last time you were confessing to someone ever again.

you turned away from riki, careful not to step in any shards of glass, and walked away from him. you felt tears begin to well up in your eyes.

“no no no! don’t cry!” you told yourself as you fanned your face, hoping to stop the tears from falling. you had to get out of here. you had to find minji.

you pushed past people in the crowded house, trying to find your best friend. luckily for you, she was standing where you last left her, by the drink table.

“y/n!! there you are! I thought you left me for good,” minji half-joked as you ran up to her.

“I wanna go home,” you muttered, making minji’s cheerful expression change into one of worry.

“what happened?” she asked you, looking deep into your glassy eyes. you opened your mouth to say something but no words came out.

“Y/N! WAIT!” you heard a voice yell. you turn around to see riki pushing past people, making his way towards you.

you turn back around to face minji. you didn’t even need to tell her what happened because after seeing riki, she already knew.

minji was about to say something when you walked away from her, wanting to get as far away from riki as possible.

you made your way through the living room, trying to get to the front door. as you squeezed past people you heard riki’s faint voice calling after you. you walked faster, stumbling as you bumped into the upperclassmen that were crowded by the couch. you saw the front door down the hallway.

“it’s the final stretch,” you thought as you approached the doorway that connected the living room with the hallway. but before you could step out of the living room, you felt a hand grasp your wrist, tugging you backwards. you turn around, stopping in your tracks when you see that riki is the one holding onto your wrist.

“y/n-” riki said, breathing heavily.

“what?!” you snap, ripping your wrist out of his hand.

“uhm…” he uttered quietly. you rolled your eyes before turning around and trying to walk away.

he grabbed your wrist again.

“don’t go,” riki begged. you spun around to face him and he looked kinda…upset?

“why? you said that you didn’t want me here just a second ago,” you protested. he let go of your arm.

“I-” riki started before getting cut off by someone yelling.

“LOOK WHO’S UNDER THE MISTLETOE!” you heard an obnoxious voice shout.

you examined your surroundings, trying to figure out who just screamed, but instead you saw a bunch of eyes on you. by instinct, you tilted your head up, shifting your gaze to the ceiling above you. there hung the festive plant from the top of the doorway you were standing under. shit.

you averted your gaze away from the mistletoe and instead locked eyes with riki, who for some reason, looked very calm about this situation. you on the other hand—felt like you’ve completely lost your mind.

“KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” people started to chant.

you turned towards the hallway, hoping to run away from this horrid position, but there was a crowd of people blocking your way. instead, you turn the other way. maybe you can leave through the living room? wrong. there were even more teens standing in a crowd next to you, you couldn’t even see into the living room with how many people were gathered there. you had no chance of escaping this.

“so…” you heard riki mumble. you turn your head to look at him.

“so?” you repeat, furrowing your eyebrows. he doesn’t elaborate.

you sigh before deciding to speak up.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” you scream at the top of your lungs, causing the crowd to stop chanting.

“you all are out of your mind if you think I’m going to kiss him,” you say, emphasizing the word “him” in an offended voice.

“but you guys are under the mistletoe! you have to kiss!” someone yells, breaking the crowd’s silence.

“yeah!” another voice shouts, “you can’t break a tradition!”

the crowd cheers, beginning to chant, “KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” once more.

you glance at riki, whose expression is unreadable. you stare into his eyes as you fiddle with your fingers, trying to think of something, anything, to get out of this situation.

suddenly, you felt pressure on the back of your head, pushing you forward.

the last thing you saw was a hand behind riki’s head, pushing him towards you, before your lips collided into his.

there was no way in hell you were kissing nishimura riki right now. what kinda sick dream nightmare is this?! you know your past self would be ecstatic to know you were kissing your first ever crush, your “dream man.” how disgusting.

you felt your face heat up with every second that your lips were against his. was it from anger? embarrassment? or from the feelings you still had for him since middle school? the feelings that you shoved deep down into your heart, ignoring them since he rejected you that one day.

the kiss felt like it lasted forever, when in reality, it was just a small peck that was over in seconds.

you stared at riki with wide eyes after pulling away from the forced kiss. after locking eyes with him for a split second, you immediately turn away and start to run towards the front door, squeezing past the people who were blocking your way.

you push open the door and breathlessly stumble outside into the cold. you deeply inhale through your nose, taking in the sense of freedom, before exhaling through your mouth as you slowly walk down the snow covered driveway.

“I have to call minji,” you thought to yourself. you reach down into your bag just to realize that you didn’t have your bag with you—or your coat for that matter. well now what? you needed minji to drive you home and you needed your stuff that you left inside. you shivered at the thought of entering the house again—or maybe it was because it was below freezing out and you had no jacket on? you couldn’t really tell.

just then, you heard the front door creak open. you turned around in hopes of seeing your best friend there, holding your things, and ready to drive you home. but no. it was him. seriously, out of all people it had to be him?!

you watched riki close the door behind him before jogging down the driveway.

“y/n can we talk?” he panted as he approached you.

“talk? there’s nothing to talk about,” you protested.

“well actually there is, we literally just ki-”

“can we just forget about it?”

“what?”

“forget that it happened, okay?” you demanded, wanting nothing more than to just go home and lock yourself in your bedroom.

“what if I don’t want to forget about it?”

“huh?” you mutter, making riki go silent.

“why…?” you ask, in an almost inaudible voice.

“please don’t make me say it,” he begs, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

“say what?” you reply with genuine confusion. he takes a slow, deep breath before answering.

“I really like you y/n and I have for a while.”

what. the. actual. fuck.

“that…doesn’t make any sense,” you ramble,“why- then why did you reject me back then?”

“I wanted to impress my friends and if I rejected you… I thought that maybe they would think I was cool,” riki admitted shyly.

“that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” you snapped.

“I know I know, but please let me-”

“don’t you think you're a bit too late?” you asked coldly, causing his face to fall.

“I…” he mumbled before stopping himself.

“can you please give me a second chance?” riki pleaded, his eyes glassy.

“why should I? you never even gave me a first chance,” you retort while crossing your arms.

“I know, I messed up badly and I really regret that,” he confessed in a shaky voice, “I'm so sorry y/n. I really am.”

the logical part of you wants to scoff at his words, reject him, give him a taste of his own medicine. but the other part of you consists of the feelings you have for him; the feelings you’ve been ignoring for years, not wanting to accept the fact that you were still infatuated by your first crush. you wanted to be with him. you always have.

“I can’t forgive myself for making you hate me but-”

“hate you? I don’t hate you,” you replied as you tugged on the end of the sleeve of your sweater, making it cover your bare hand.

“wait, what?” riki said with a glint of hope in his eyes.

“I hate that I still like you,” you admitted softly, with a small smile appearing on your face.

your words made his face light up in an instant, his bright eyes looked like they held galaxies in them.

you shifted your gaze from his eyes to his lips, which felt so warm and soft against yours a few minutes ago. now they were cracked and more of a purple color due to the chilly weather, but you still wanted to kiss them nonetheless.

you look into riki’s eyes again before taking a hesitant step towards him, your feet crunching on the snow beneath you. it seemed like he was able to read your mind because he copied your actions, taking a step towards you. leaving barely an inch in between the two of you, riki cupped your face with his hands as he pulled you in for a kiss. you leaned into him, deepening the kiss. it felt so good to finally be able to embrace your feelings for him.

after you both pull away, you notice small white specs falling onto riki’s hair. you tilt your head up and look at the sky just to see snow dancing down from the flurries above you. you look back at riki, both of you wearing cheesy smiles on your faces due to the sudden snowfall. he pulls you into a tight hug, resting his chin on your shoulder. you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, embracing his warmth.

“promise me you won’t push me away ever again,” you say almost inaudibly, speaking into his skin as you hug him tighter.

“I promise,” riki replies, laughing lightly.

“and don’t be so stupid!” you scold him half-jokingly, making him laugh even harder.

note : the more I continued writing this, the more I hated it. I feel like the ending is really rushed so I’m very sorry 😭 I feel like I could’ve done better but I wanted to write something and have it up in time for xmas. ANYWHO, thanks for reading and I’ll be back to updating chapters for rage quit. and once again happy holidays!!