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ladyshrike · 4 months ago

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The Four Times You Say His Full Name

Am I any good at writing? Not really. It's all over the place in my opinion, but I had to get this thought out one way or another.

The four times you called him by his full name.

This first time you called him "Kenji" instead of a nickname, was back in LA. You were working a wedding up in Griffith Park, a beautiful little affair under the strawberry moon. It's all the witchy vibes you adore, a little wedding mixed with a baby shower, good vibes, blessings and tides. They'd offered you some food, which you wouldn't turn down as a known foodie, and that was when you got the call.

Ken had been riding home from the party in the hills and crashed his bike. He wasn't too far from Griffith, that had been the good part of taking this job, and he's been taken to Silver lake, a quick drive from the park. The couple is understanding, eventually becoming good friends with her later on, but that's a story for another time. She's racing through the streets, down the hills and to the hospital. They hadn't given you much information, just that he'd crashed and where he was. And when you get there, you ask the charge nurse for him, only to feel his arms throw themselves around your shoulders, a slightly pointed chin resting atop your head. You immediately smell the alcohol, and it's almost instant that a rage fills your chest.

"Babe! Baby! Sweetcakes~"

It takes everything, and you mean everything, not to implode then and there. You look at the nurse in front of you and take small controlled breaths.

"Is he free to go home?"

He was, having been checked over and kept under observation for two hours before they called her. According to her it's just some bad scrapes and bruises, no contusions or anything super bad, he had actually been wearing his helmet at least, just not his jacket. His bike is totaled, helmet cracked, it really is surprising that he didn't have a concussion at the very least, but through even your anger and worry, you're glad he's ok.

You drive him home, and the way there is silent. He'd sensed something was up the way you were being so cold with him, pushing his hand off your thigh, turning your head when he tried to kiss your lips, avoiding eye contact with you. And when you guys get to your shared home, and you help him in, is it the only time since the hospital that you look him in the eyes.

He sees it immediately. That rage that's practically sobering for him. The hurt. Disappointment.

It's not the only time he's ever done this, and he's not particularly tempted to tell you those two words he just knows would just set you off even if it were true.

"Mina, emergency vital check."

The floating AI robot scans him as she stands there for a moment, looking over him herself. The tension so palpable, if she chose to raise a hand at him in her frustration, she could very well slap him with it. But that wasn't her. She was the sweetest thing, practically a Disney princess, so the anger in her eyes is surprising, and new.

"He has two deep road rash injuries, and a large scrape down his side that isn't as bad as the other two. No fractures and no concussion. I suggest monitoring for any latent signs."

"Get him hooked up to a banana bag, then look up flights to Japan."

He shouldn't try to joke, or anything, but the soft scoff leaves his lips before he could stop it.

"Japan? We goin-"

"We, are not going anywhere. I'm going home to see my dad. Maybe we'll talk. Maybe we won't."

His small smile falls, a slight wince given when the IV is put in.

"Is something...is he ok?"

You shoot him a look because you know he's smart enough to understand what you were saying. You didn't want to say it, but you were done. With the empty promises, the lies, the hospital visits. You were done with it.

"Sabine-"

"Kenji, I'm done, ok? I've had it."

And there it is. He thought his parents splitting up was the worst pain, but seeing you stand at the doorway, teary eyed in anger and barely breathing steady, it shatters his heart because he can see it. You are done.

"I only ever asked you for two things. Two. And I am grateful you can at least follow one. I'll give you that, you have never cheated on me and I thank you for that. But if you constantly break this one? Constantly do this shit? How do I know that'll last?"

"H-hey, hold on-"

"No, I am done. I love you. I love your mom. You two are...the only people I consider myself close to here, but I cannot deal with this anymore. I can't deal with thinking one day I'm gonna get a call and have to identify your corpse instead of picking you up from an ER."

"It's just a couple scratches, I'm fine-"

He's done it now. He's said it.

"Forget it."

She grabs her wallet, and just her wallet. It's the only thing in her bag that she's bought herself as her bag had been a gift from him. She heads out and he tries to follow her, not able to get to her before she's speeding out of the driveway. She feels like a hypocrite, because while she isn't drunk, she is speeding like she's a NASCAR driver, and in a residential no less. She doesn't care to look at the time when she arrives at the airport, hoping to find at least one flight outbound to Japan soon. The car can stay in the parking structure for all she cares at this point, he would get a call to pick it up at the end of the month, if she decides not to come back. Her phone vibrates incessantly in her pocket for a bit, even as she's paying for the ticket she's managed to snag so last minute. Her passport is always in her wallet, so she doesn't particularly worry about how she'd get there without it. She turns her phone off, and soon enough, she's on the plane, watching LAX turn into a massive black splotch with dozens of tiny lights speckled across it in almost neat lines, as the plane departs. She's glad for the little privacy her seat offers her in first class. It's a long flight, the seats recline into a bed and everyone has their headphones on, so she isn't particularly worried that they'll hear her already quiet broken sobs.

By the end of the month, your mind is made up. You'd started accepting his calls sometime in the middle of his season. You know you shouldn't have been watching the games, it would only make the hurt worse, but it was better than ignoring him completely. And that wasn't really possible when you get notifications about him on all your social media, all which say he's in a slump and you are nowhere to be seen at his games. Everyday since you'd left, there had been a voicemail. Apologies, checking in messages, more apologies, declarations of love, and to your utmost surprise, a recording of his introduction at an AA meeting. That one particularly stuck with her. Everyday, roughly at 8 pm, a call and a voicemail with his introduction.

Maybe that was why you started taking his calls. Maybe that was why his game was getting better, back to what he usually is at. His averages get better and you, for the most part, find your anger having dissipated. By the end of the month, you're hesitantly standing in his living room as he tries to clean up the bit of clutter he had around. His shirt rides up a little and you see it. The slight scarring from the massive scrape down his side. Your lips quivers and he stops completely, dead in his tracks. He's startled by the sight of those huge wet tears that build in your eyes and his arms are around you instantly, tightly wound to prove he was ok. That he was still there. He was safe.

You cry again that night, held in his arms. He misses the game the next day. He has his thirty day chip to show you after all, and he doesn't want to leave your side to make up for lost time. He swears a promise not to do it ever again. Drink and ride he means. He isn't an alcoholic, and the AA meetings were necessary to get his license back, but he wanted her to see he regretted his decisions wholeheartedly.

The second time you said his full name was at your wedding. A year from the date he proposed to you, rather clichely you'd admit, at your monthly trip to Disneyland. The team had won a game, they were given a PR trip to Disneyland and she was an annual pass holder. She met them there, and during the cavalcade with them, he stepped off as they got to the castle, where she stood watching, and he popped the question, on one knee with a simple little ring she had spotted in a jewelry store. The team, having been in on it, cheering them on when she tearfully said yes.

Now she stands at the alter, in a gorgeous dress that fits her like a glove, his mother as her maid of Honor, and her dad as his best man because let's be honest, he thought of him as a son at this point, the way his mom thought of her as her own daughter in the time they'd all known each other, and the ceremony is relatively small, less than fifty guests, very intimate.

It's during her vows, her promises to him and vice versa that she says it. Beautifully charming smile on those lovely glossy lips of hers.

"I, Sabine Baji, take you, Kenji Sato, as my husband. Through sickness and in health, through the good times and the bad, till death do us part."

It's the sweet and short of her vows, tearfully said as her emotions run rampant. The rest of the night spent energetically celebrating.

The third time is a little more...non PG.

It's off season, he's been training here and there, enjoying some time off in their big house up in the hills. She's spending the weekend babysitting between gigs and she's been...quiet. Maybe it was the fact that she was around them so often. Maybe, it was the fact that her friends just had a little one she was watching currently, that clung to her so jealously when Kenji came around for a cuddle too. Maybe she was ovulating. The exact cause of this scenario was a blur to her really. She just recalled, well, he recalled and told her it was how it went down. Swears by it that she, as the family was driving away with the baby, fast asleep curled up in a hoodie it wouldn't let go or give back, that she looked up at him and said it.

"Kenji." It's the first time in a long time that she says his name, so he worries maybe he did something wrong again without noticing, but the look in your eyes in determined, is heated...pleading. "I want a baby."

The night didn't end for you two there. You both lost count somewhere after three, overstimulated and yet continuing like bunnies in heat. You blame the baby fever, and maybe the wine during lunch, but the venture is fruitful two months later, when four pink lines, two on each stick, and the word 'Pregnant' in bold on the digital test are laid before you two on the bathroom counter.

The same counter he would quickly have you laying against as he spread your thighs open wider, held you closer, got a little rougher with his thrusts, aiming to make the baby in you twins, according to him. Something not fruitful, unfortunately for him, but enjoyable at least.

And that takes us to the fourth and perhaps not final time you ever say his name.

Seven months later, you feel like a ship. The little peanut, you two so kindly nicknamed the baby while looking for a name, kicking around, shifting about, giving you some of the most ravenous cravings you'd ever had. Braxton Hicks, you came to be brutally informed of when waking in the middle of the night in a labor scare, had finally died off.

Or so you had thought.

When the first stab of pain shot through your side, you'd simply grimaced and sighed, shifting on the couch during the somewhat humid autumn day. You had decided to stay the Halloween weekend in, instead of going to a party while you felt like a boat. Kenji immediately notes the discomfort and tries to help.

"You want your little heart ice pack?"

You shake your head, yawning softly because yeah, it hurt, but you were too tired. You just wanted to go to sleep already.

"Ngh...no...just wanna go sleep already...come with me?"

How could he say no? He takes your hand when you ask for help getting up, and you both feel it. The sudden rush of water on your legs, his slippers. Your face is beet red and he's confused for all of two seconds before he's scrambling for the "go" bag. A Dodger duffle bag that the team's wives/significant others had decorated for them. He'd filled it with extra clothes for them, babies first outfits, washed in baby detergent, and a picture of his mom and her dad, both who couldn't be there today. You groan in annoyance because that was your favorite rug now covered in amniotic fluid, and now you would probably stain the carseats because you were not about to try and change your pants in active labor.

(Kenji had that covered, gingerly pulling your panties and pants off and helping you out new ones on, after cleaning you up with a damp towel after all. Kiss to your belly and all.)

You say it, however, sixteen hours into active labor. Minutes before midnight, almost Halloween day, like your baby wanted to share a birthday with you, which you would never mind as long as you get to hold her. It's when a particularly sharp labor pain hits that you yell it, gripping his hand so tightly you swear you hear his hand crack.

It's angry, and pained, and you swear, just after saying his full government name, that you would make him feel how this felt. No amount of epidural helped this pain, no amount of Lamaze Breathing or doulas helped prepare her or take this pain any better. She'd find a way for him to carry and birth the next one even if she'd have to become a mad scientist. She isn't good with pain already and this isn't helping.

"Kenji Sato! You are having the next one, got I-ngh!!!GOT IT?!"

He just about passed out when they announce you're crowning, because for some gods forsaken reason, he decides to look beyond the blue sheet. It's a horror he will never forget, and he swears he won't put you through another round of whatever your anatomy was doing to push yours and his little princess out of you.

And then she's there.

She's in your arms first, he's busy gathering his emotions as they cut the umbilical cord for him, and you need the first few minutes of skin to skin with her before she has to get cleaned up and given her first dose of vaccines. He holds her after, eyes bleary with tears as he does so so gingerly. He doesn't want to hurt her, doesn't want to accidentally harm her tiny little fragile body. She's a perfect amalgamation of you two. His eyes, a grayish blue, but the rest, he will happily and readily proudly admit, is all your looks. Tousled full head of soft pinky fuschia hair, eyebrows to match, rosy cheeks and little pouty lips. He swears, on everything he loves, she smiles when he is told to do skin to skin with her as well. When she curls into his warmth while you are cleaned up by the nurses. And when you two are able to take her home, when you are given the all clear and she passes her car seat test, and you three are finally back in your house, settling her down in her side sleeper by your bed, it's clear that the few times you use his full name can be bad, but most of them?

They're worth it.

#kenji sato #kenji x reader #ken sato #ultraman rising #ultraman #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato smut #technically

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flippinpancakes64 · 3 months ago

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Hello, I absolutely love your work. iv re read your stuff so many times that it's getting concerning.

Can I request the cullens x artist reader who made a painting of them I just think that would be cute

The Cullens with an Artist! Reader

Thank you?!?! I suggest seeking mental help for rereading my bad stories tho

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

We all know that he is an artist too

He made Bella a whole song on the piano

As someone who can play the piano, that’s not easy

So he definitely loves that you’re also artistic

For you, he’s a muse

I mean, how could he not be

Literally the definition of perfect

So obvs you sketch him a lot

When he finds an almost finished painting one day of him, he is floored

He can never seem to wrap his mind around the fact that you are just as obsessed with him as he is with you

He hangs it up

Even if it’s not finished

If you insist on finishing it, he will begrudgingly take it down and give it back

But as soon as it’s done it’s all his

Alice:

She’s also an artist

But more with fashion

And design

She’s not so well-versed with the classical arts like painting or sketching

So she always loves seeing your paintings

She’s a coexistence girly

She loves to just be doing something while you’re painting

You know just sort of existing in the same space at the same time

The day you give her the painting, she is so surprised

It was so difficult for you to hide this from her

Especially with her gift

She absolutely loves it

She hangs it in the main room of the Cullen house

She wants absolutely everyone to see it and acknowledge how talented her s/o is

Jasper:

He loves the arts

They’re relaxing to him

Some of his favorite classes he’s ever taken in all of the schools they’ve been at have been art classes

He’s not good by any means, but he loves it anyway

Art dates with him are a must

He would love that tiktok trend where you and your partner trade paintings every couple of minutes

Never misses an opportunity to tell you that he loves your work

He honestly almost started crying when you showed him your painting of him

You made him look so happy, so peaceful

He’s used to being perceived as a monster

Definitely hangs it up

But only in his room

He wants to be the only one to see it

Rosalie:

She’s more of a technical, sciencey person

Not to say she doesn’t like art

Just that she doesn’t necessarily enjoy making it

She can definitely appreciate good work tho

And she loves everything you make

She buys you new supplies all of the time

If just one pen ran out of ink in your favorite set, she would buy you a whole new set

When you give her that first painting though, she’s obsessed

She wants at least 20 more by tomorrow

But actually, she knows that she’s beautiful

But something about the way you capture her is just so different she loves it

Emmett:

He’s not an art person either

He’s a bit of a meathead

But he can appreciate art

Probably not as deeply as other people can

But he know when it looks good

And he genuinely thinks you’re the best artist ever

He will gladly put all of your little doodles in the clear pockets of his binders

And hang them on his locker

When you give him the painting of him he’s actually dumbfounded

Like awestruck

What do you mean the best artist in the world just made a painting of him?

Get ready to be cuddled for the rest of the night

Esme:

Resident artist

We already knew that tho

I’m pretty sure it’s said that she’s the one who made the grad cap piece?

Idk

Either way she loves art

Pottery dates, painting picnics, date nights at the art museum

She loves it

So if you were to ever paint her and give it to her?

Yeah she’s gonna start crying

She just loves art, she loves you, and you put them together and she’s so in love

She hangs it in the main room

It doesn’t matter if the colors clash

And it’s never coming down

Carlisle:

Another appreciater of the arts

I mean, he probably knew Da Vinci on a personal level this guy is so old

So it’s no shock

Whenever he’s home and hanging out with you, he loves to watch you paint or draw

Especially if he’s doing some paperwork

I just feel like he would like the company while he’s working

Now I don’t see Carlisle as the type of guy to necessarily enjoy pictures or paintings of himself

The only portraits he has in his office are either him in a crowd or family photos

So when you give him a portrait of himself, he’s a little shocked at first

He doesn’t want to seem narcissistic, but damn you made him look good

He hangs it up in your shared bedroom

Even though he knows he will likely never have guests who would see it, he wants to make sure it’s hidden

He just doesn’t want people to think he’s vain

But he secretly loves it so much

Vampire! Bella:

I think I’ve talked about it before but this girl would have loved deviantart

Rip Bella you would have loved fan art of your favorite characters

But she totally had an artsy phase

I don’t think she’s necessarily good or bad

She just prefers to look at art rather than make it

So that’s where you come in

She loves just watching you work

Every once in a while she paints with you

But she always feels inferior when she looks at what you made vs what she made

So she usually just sticks to admiring

The first time you give her a portrait of herself, she doesn’t even know what to do

She’s still getting used to actually perceiving herself as beautiful

And then you capture her like she’s a goddess?

She needs to lie down

She loves it tho

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 years ago

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Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

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osakhee · 4 days ago

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never enough, virgin!wonbin x reader

! endurance training, handjob, overstimulation, edging, slight dacryphilia

note : FINALLY something is done with the virgin wonbin thoughts ive been having for a week ..... 🙂‍↕️

"can i please at least be inside just once?"

"nope. not until you can hold it better."

"you always say that... i've done well the last time, when will it be enough?"

"it will never be enough. not until i say so."

wonbin lays back on his seat with a pout. he's glad the bus is mostly empty so no one can catch a glimpse of your conversation. you both sit at the far back of the bus, away from all the people going home at this hour. wonbin looks outside the window just to be met with the heavy droplets that pour outside, and he turns his head to look at you. he's still sulking, and the serious glare you throw at him makes his heart jump in his chest.

wonbin is your classmate. actually, he's more than that, but you like the "classmate" title, even though the boy doesn't think the same. he'd rather call your relationship "friends with benefits but he's the only one getting benefits". when at school, wonbin is all talk about how good he's in bed, he laughs at his male friends for being virgins at their age. he has the pretty face to make anyone believe his words, but little do they know he actually turns into a puddle when you get your hands on him. you wanted to see for yourself how good he is, he's handsome, and since he said he fucks well, why not? but when you dragged him behind the lockers, wonbin turned into a blushing mess, he didn't even know where to put his hands when you kissed him. he was moaning in your mouth in no time, so hard in his pants he felt like he could burst only from your lips that left his to pepper kisses on his jaw. he begged you not to tell anyone, so instead, you exposed you plan to him. he loses his virginity, and you get to fuck him and with him.

wonbin had no idea at first that fucking with him would mean hours of playing with his cock and nipples, jerking him off so slowly it would make his thighs tremble everytime your fingertips touched his skin. you asked him to keep the count, but he can't recall how many times you made him cum anymore. each time, he would be a shaky and whiny mess, he'd beg you to finally give him what he wants. you always promised it for next time, and thinking of the reward of being inside of you always made him harder than ever.

but now it's been weeks since you started to play with him. wonbin is over at your home almost everyday, and he's never getting his way. the way you would taunt him to reveal his little secret always made him comply and fall to his knees so you could stick your thumb in his mouth until he's drooling all over it.

the bus that's taking you and wonbin home finally reaches your stop, and you take the boy's hand to get down. to anyone, you would probably look like a cute couple walking back from school together. but the grip you have on wonbin's wrist and the tension he's feeling all over his body say otherwise. he can already feel the warmth painting his cheeks red and the anticipation building in his lower stomach. you both walk in silence until you reach your apartment. when the door opens, wonbin doesn't even wait for you, he gets inside and walk straight to you room. he wouldn't want to mess up his routine. you take your time, put down your jacket and bag before joining him.

wonbin sits on your bed with large puppy eyes, he's still upset at how harsh you were to him on the bus. he can't tell you how much it turns him on, or you'll have another reason to mess with his head, his secrets getting heavier each time you see each other. you walk to the bed and let your hand travels his face, from his jaw to his pretty lips, your fingers mess with his hair. you tug on his locks lightly to make his head fall back and give you a prettier view of his neck, his smooth skin almost perfect under your hungry lips. wonbin sighs heavily at the contact of your warm mouth, he grips the sheets in his hands, his legs rub together to get some frictions on his clothed dick.

you get away from his skin and push him down on the bed, his back gently hitting the blanket. wonbin knows what's next. his hands reach the hem of his shirt before taking it off, he then hurriedly opens his pants to get rid of any clothes that stops his cock from finally breathing. he doesn't care being naked in front of you anymore, he's used to your eyes burning his body when you look at him. wonbin takes a deep breath when he slides his underwear down, his already red and leaking dick hitting his stomach. you sit next to him and watch it twitch with anticipation, wonbin is almost moaning just from your warm presence next to him.

"are you ready?"

"if i do well, can i finally fuck you next time?"

"depends on how long you last today."

wonbin rests his head on the bed, his chest heaves with his sharp breaths. you let your fingers travel his faintly toned stomach and wonbin already squirm under your touch, shivers covering his whole body. your nails graze his skin down his thighs, his cock drips some more precum when you get so close to it. you could watch him for hours and drive him crazy, your hands massaging his inner thighs enough to have him cum untouched. with one finger, you draw slow circles on his lower stomach, going all the way up his length and rubbing his slit, his arousal quickly coating your finger. you lay next to wonbin and wrap your hand around his dick, your mouth finds one of his nipple and you suck eagerly on it.

the boy on your bed is already a moaning mess, his back arches on the sheets and his hips buck into your hand to get any kind of friction, but you stay completely still, only giving attention to his chest. your tongue twirls around his hardened pink bud, it makes wonbin cry out your name. he claws at the bed desperately for more, and after one more kiss on his chest, you sit up next to him again. you finally give attention to his cock that's calling for you, and stroke him at a dangerously slow pace. wonbin tries to steady his breath as much as he can, his eyes closed and concentrated on the pleasure you give him.

it doesn't take long to break him apart though. once you start paying more attention to his leaking tip, his hips jerk up constantly in your hand and you have to pin him down. the cries that come out of his throat are broken by your name rolling on his tongue over and over again. the way his thighs are shaking when you pick up the pace tell you everything you need to know. you give wonbin one more stroke before letting go of his dick. his knuckles turn white from how hard he's holding the covers under him, his cock twitches desperately. you rub your thumb on his slit and wonbin's back arches again on the bed.

"stop moving so much, that's how you get tired so fast."

"p-please.... give me m-more..."

"you will cum so fast thought."

"i won't i-i swear i won't please keep g-going..."

you want to believe wonbin's weak promise and you wrap your hand again around his length. you watch him close his eyes again and put all his willpower in stilling his hips for you. you give him lazy strokes again, your hand covered in the sticky precum that keeps rolling down his cock. you rest your other hand on his thigh and he jumps in your touch, his lips parting in a silent moan. for a while, only the wet sound of your palm around his dick and his heavy breathing can be heard in your room.

since you started your little training with wonbin, he never really got better, he would always cum awkwardly fast especially if you started teasing him. he lasted longer the last few times though, and you couldn't wait to have him inside of you and feel him filling your insides after a few thrusts. you loved watching him cry out your name each time he ended up fucking your fist, his hips desperately bucking up to meet your hand after you edged him for hours so he can finally gets the sweet release he's begging for.

every once in a while, you leave wonbin's cock to watch him from your place, you sit crossed legged on your bed and smile at the boy's desperation. his black hair stick to his forehead and his chest shines with a thin coat of sweat, his hands weakly rest next to him as he got tired from holding the sheets so tightly. beads of precum form on his slit and roll down his cock or drop on his lower stomach. it stains your bed, it makes your hand sticky and wet, and it gives shivers to wonbin each time you blow on his dick with a chuckle.

it's always when wonbin is the less ready that you start to jerk him off again, you barely listens to him as he speaks about his day so his mind would focus on anything but his throbbing cock. you grip his dick out of nowhere and hear his breath catch in his throat. his thoughts get lost in the pleasure, unable to form a single word but the desperate "please" that escapes his lips over and over again. you pout at his sensitivity and you tighten your grip around him, your palm very slowly making its way up and down.

"are you close already?"

"mmhh... p-please..."

"can you hold it a little longer? just a little."

"i'm n-not... not sure... it's s-so..."

"just a little more, i know you can do it."

wonbin hides his face in the sheets when you quicken your pace, his hips buck up again in your hand and you instantly let go of his cock. wonbin's head jerks up to look at you with a pleading whine, only for his head to drop back when you flatten your hand on his tip. his back arches and his hands find their way in his hair to push away the strands that cover his eyes. your palm rubs the sensitive head of his cock, wonbin's breath gets more erratic and louder. you give him a few pumps and check your phone that sat next to you on the bed. he's actually handling it well, probably the best he has done yet, but it's still not enough for you. you just want to make sure he could last when fucking you, you're just helping out! you feel wonbin's dick pulse in your hand and you stop all your movements again to squeeze it. his voice breaks into a high pitched cry, the tears that had been filling his eyes finally flowing down his cheeks. it's always been your favorite sight, he's such a wreck when you get your hands on him and he's never been more beautiful to you. you massage his thighs and from the way his cock throbs constantly, you can tell he's so close just a touch could make him burst.

"p-please... i'm gonna- i w-wanna cum please... i n-need to cum s-so bad..."

"hmm... you've done well... but it's not enough you know that."

when you start stroking him again, you see his head dig into the mattress and deep in the blanket, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his parted lips let every moan escape his throat. you can't tell if his cheeks glisten because of the sweat or because of his tears that roll down his face and down his neck.

"you know wonbin... i might just let you fuck me next time..."

"a-ah please... i-i'm cumming p-please i'm c-cumming..!"

you jerk him off faster and watch the ropes of hot and thick fluid hit your fingers and his tensed stomach, you make sure to grip his tip through his orgasm that has his thighs shaking. his hips stutters in your fist until he weakly shoots one last drop of cum on your hand. wonbin tries to get away from you and your teasing hand that keeps playing with his sensitive cock, he turns to the side and burry his whines in the sheets, he can't control the desperate thrusts of his hips until you finally let go of him. you check your phone again while wonbin catches his breath, he sniffles audibly when he finally sits up next to you. you look at his messed up face and push away gently a few strands of hair that stick to his forehead, your hand then resting on his cheek so you can wipe away his tears. wonbin looks at you with shining hopeful eyes that could make you melt.

"did i- did i do well? d-did i hold it long enough?"

"you know it's never enough to me... but you did well, i might actually let you inside me next time. you'll do well this time too, right?"

wonbin's cock weakly twitches at your words and the smile he gives you have you burning inside. maybe he could actually hold it when he fucks you. you couldn't wait.

im crazy wonbin is all ive been thinking about for the past few days im CRAZYYYYYY thank you cee for supporting me through the wonbin breakdown

#riize smut #wonbin smut

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ghost-in-the-hall · 1 year ago

Text

Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Part IV

Happy Halloween everyone!! I'm so happy I get to share this all with you today, I was really hoping to get out an update for Halloween 😂😂 I hope you all enjoy, I love reading everyone's comments, thank you so much!! If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!!

WARNINGS: None, a fluffy evening with III

Thank you as always to @spookyghostjelly for beta reading, you're amazing and I love you so much ❤️❤️❤️

Part III - Part V

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stuck close to II's side as you made your way up to the front of the store. Who you assumed was IV peeked out behind III's shoulder, the taller man ushering him to the front. "He's very excited to meet you, he's just a bit nervous." II chuckles. "He has a tendency to get a bit worked up but I promise he's very nice." You step closer to him, a shy smile on your face. He bends down slightly, bringing his face a lot closer to yours as you lock eyes. His gaze was a lot softer than the others but still gave you that same warm feeling in your chest as he studied you.

"It's nice to finally meet you." He smiles, a cheerful tone in his voice. "You guys were right, she is really pretty." What followed IV's statement was a mix of throats being cleared, eyes being averted, and Vessel quickly trying to change the subject.

"I see the two of you got a lot done already, what else do you need help with?" You giggle at their flustered states.

"It's nice to meet you too, IV. Everything just needs to be put away, III's been a very big help." He straightens up proudly at your compliment. You sat on the counter, the four of them rotating to keep you company while the others worked.

"I told you, you just take it easy tonight. We'll handle it." Vessel chuckles as you complain for what must have been the millionth time about how you should be helping.

"Well if you all insist on doing this at least let me cook you dinner." You counter.

"Maybe I'll take you up on that." He smirks slightly before going to help the others. Noticing you were alone prompted IV to jog over.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" He asks sweetly. You move over, patting the spot next to you. He hops up with ease, even sitting down he still towered over you. "Your store's very organized." He comments, looking out to the other three as they worked, his heels bumping off the counter as he swung his feet slightly.

"Thank you, I try to run a neat ship." You giggle.

"I'm sorry if calling you pretty earlier made you uncomfortable." He shoots you an apologetic and almost bashful expression.

"It's okay." You smile, nudging his shoulder slightly. "I'm happy you finally came by, now I've officially met the whole crew." You joke causing IV to laugh. The four of them finished up quickly, before you knew it you found yourself smiling at the whirlwind of energy that filled your apartment.

"You need any help?" III asks as he leans against the counter.

"You've done more than enough, just relax." The two of you exchange a soft smile. "Also, thank you for fixing me up earlier." You return your focus to what you were cooking, hoping III wouldn't notice your slightly flustered appearance.

"No problem. How's the hand?" He asks as he holds out his own, wanting to examine it himself.

"Barely even feel it." Your breath freezes in your lungs as his fingers ghost over your skin. You glance up at him through your lashes. His blue eyes focused intently on the bandage he was readjusting. His gaze slowly trails up your arm to your face, your heart beginning to hammer in your chest.

"You have something just," he points to the spot on his own face. You attempt to wipe it away a couple times before he chuckles. "Would it be alright if I got it?" You nod. III's warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb slowly dragged across your skin. "There… beautiful." You couldn't help but blush, your expression causing III to breathe out a laugh as his eyes crinkle in a smile. You jumped slightly as the timer on the stove went off. III reluctantly pulled his hand away, you trailed after his touch, already missing the warmth he provided. "I'll let them know the food's done." He says before disappearing into the other room. It was nice having company for once. Instead of you having dinner alone, your dining room was filled with excited conversations and loud laughter. As you cleaned up that night you almost didn't want them to leave.

"Thank you for having all of us for dinner, that was very sweet of you." Vessel says kindly.

"It's the least I could do after all the work you guys did today." You smile.

"We're happy to help. You've been nothing but kind since I met you. If there's anyone we'd want to help, it would be you."

"This apartment hasn't been this lively in a long time," you muse with a hum. "It was a really nice change."

"Well… I have a feeling that this," he vaguely motions to your apartment. "Is going to be happening a lot more often." He laughs as he starts to head out of the kitchen.

"Vessel?" He pauses. "Did you ever figure out why you think we were fated to meet each other?"

He shakes his head with a small smirk, "no, but I'm starting to get a pretty good idea." You trailed behind him as he re-enters your living room, the hushed whispers of the other three coming to a halt immediately. Vessel eyes them all with a knowing expression. "Alright, we should probably get out of your way. (Y/N), I will see you tomorrow." He bows his head slightly as he heads for the door. II and IV both say their goodbyes and follow him outside, leaving you alone with III.

"I'll be right down." He calls after them. III towered over you in the doorway, looking down at you with intoxicatingly beautiful blue eyes. He leans down to bring him almost face level with you, his forearm resting against the wall as he leaned in close. "Can I take you somewhere tomorrow night? Just you and me?" Despite how confident he was coming off you could hear the slight nervous tremor in his voice.

"What did you have in mind?" Excitement radiates off of him at your response.

"There's a drive-in I saw the other night, it looks like they have some sort of monster movie marathon tomorrow night… I think we'd have fun." You hear II call for him from outside.

“I’d love to go.” His hand slips into yours, tugging you the slightest bit closer. His thumb ran over your knuckles as his gaze trapped you in place.

“Goodnight, doll.” He smiles before suddenly pulling away. “Quit your yelling, I’m coming!” He calls down the stairs to an annoyed II. You couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off your face as you watched them drive away. You grew nervous as the end of your shift ticked closer. Vessel and III slipped into the store right before closing as usual, III giving you a casual wink but not saying a single word. As they both stood at the counter his eyes kept meeting yours, a flustered smile finding its way to your face. The bell rings as Vessel exits the store, III quickly leaning in to whisper something to you. “I’ll be back in about an hour.” He says with a smile before hurrying out after Vessel. You wrapped your jacket tightly around you as you stood outside in the brisk night air. His truck rumbled up in front of you, he immediately jumped out to greet you.

“Hey III.” He sweeps you into a tight hug.

“You ready?” He asks excitedly. You nod in response, he takes your hand as he opens the passenger door of the truck for you, helping you inside. The worn leather seat shook in time with the truck's engine, the cab lit up in a soft yellow glow from the radio. III slid into the driver's seat, his eyes flashing to you as a soft smile lit up his features. He noticed you rubbing your arms, still looking perfectly content despite the weather.

“I brought a blanket in case you get cold, the heat in the truck doesn’t work that well, but I promise I’ll keep you warm.” He chuckles, your cheeks immediately growing warm at the statement. He fiddled with the temperature in the truck for a moment, nothing really changing before he gave up. He groans in annoyance, pausing to think of a solution. He looks over at you, eyes trailing over your much smaller form. He holds one side of his jacket open, beckoning you closer with his free hand. You slid closer to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you into his warmth. "There, how's that?"

"This is fine." You stutter out, trying your best to hide your flustered state. You found yourself relaxing into him, his thumb rubbing your shoulder languidly, both of your eyes trained on the road ahead of you as you wound through the collage of vibrantly colored leaves. "Thank you for asking me to come with you." You suddenly pipe up.

"Thank you for coming with me." He responds softly. "I was honestly a bit worried to ask you."

"What? Why?" You ask in a tone of disbelief, a small laugh lacing its way into your words as you slowly start to relax.

"Some random man in a mask comes up and asks you to spend time alone with him-"

"Well you're not some random man in a mask, III." You cut him off, both of you sharing a laugh. You lean your head on his shoulder, "besides, I enjoy your company… it's just nice to have someone that I want to spend time with, I guess." You glance up at him with a coy smile.

"Well if it's any consolation, I think you're pretty great and I want to spend time with you too." You giggle as you feel him nudge your side. You pulled into the drive-in, the teenager in charge of admission was too interested in their cellphone to pay much mind to the man in the mask before them.

"You're all set, man." They wave the two of you through as they take the cash, not bothering to look up from the screen. You pulled in to find the lot nearly empty, a few cars sporadically parked as far away from each other as possible.

"Lucky us, we get a private showing." You say in a giddy tone.

"I'm sorry I can't go get you popcorn, Vessel already didn't want me coming to somewhere so public as it is." You were about to assure him that it was fine, if anything you could always run over to the concession stand to get the snacks, but III never gave you the chance. "Excuse me, doll." He leans over your lap to retrieve something from the floor, his face hovering centimeters from yours, you pressed yourself back into the seat. You weren't uncomfortable being this close to him, but the warmth from his body, the smell of his cologne, you were having trouble thinking. He grabs a backpack from the floor of the truck, setting it in his lap before pulling out various snacks you had witnessed him purchase earlier in the day from your store. You can't help but smile as he lines up each kind on the dashboard. "I wasn't sure what kind of candy you liked so I grabbed a few different ones."

"You're so sweet, thank you." Your eyes meet his, making you feel like all the air has been sucked from your lungs.

"I just wanted to make sure you had a good time." He explains softly. He reaches out, carefully taking your hand in his.

"How could I not? I'm here with you." The night was perfectly still around you. The faint crackling of the truck's old radio and the slight chill from its sputtering heater were lost to you at the moment. The only thing that mattered in your mind was III; how warm his hand felt wrapped around yours, how your heart fluttered in your chest as his attention dropped to your lips. His head dipped slightly, his warm breath pushing through the mask to fan over your skin, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of the black fabric. You squeezed his hand, letting him know that, whatever was about to happen here, you welcomed it. He hooked a finger into his mask, beginning to pull it away from his face when the speakers suddenly blared to life, startling you apart. Your hand pulled away from his, folding then neatly in your lap as both of you stared straight ahead at the screen. "I'm sorry-"

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make things weird-"

"You didn't." Both of you fell silent at your reassurance.

"Can I still hold you? It's nice having you close." He admits bashfully. You nod, leaning into his side. He rests his cheek on the top of your head, his arm sliding back around your shoulders. The two of you sat completely engrossed through every movie; holding his hand in yours as the intense music swelled, giggling at the cheesy yet adorable special effects of 1930's cinema, the evening culminating with you struggling to stay awake as you cuddled into III's chest on the ride home. You sat up and stretched with a groan as you pulled around the back of the store. III's gaze darted anywhere besides you as he fidgeted with his seatbelt. "I had a really nice night with you." He smiles.

"I did too." Your hand slips into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Maybe, next time, I can plan something." His eyes finally meet yours.

"Next time?" You could hear the excitement laced in his tone. "Yeah, that sounds great." The two of you sat there for a little while longer, neither of you knowing what to say, his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles.

"I should probably head in." You say reluctantly. "Goodnight, III."

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." He responds. As you go to get out he gives your hand one final squeeze, bringing your attention back to him. "Wait, can you… this is going to sound really strange, but can you close your eyes?" You nod, keeping your hand in his as you allow your eyes to slide shut. You heard the soft shuffling of fabric before a warm pair of lips pressed themselves to your cheek. The kiss was very brief, you barely had time to process what had happened before it was over. But, it still managed to leave you feeling so warm. A flustered giggle fell from your lips as you finally registered the kiss, squeezing III's hand. "You can open them." You turn to find him smiling under his mask, memorizing the adorable expression on your face. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." You let your eyes wander over his face one last time before getting out of the truck. You jogged up the stairs, fighting with your keys for a moment before managing to unlock the door. You wave down to him as he pulls away. You lean against the door with a sigh as it shuts behind you, absolutely giddy over the fact you could still feel III's lips lingering in your skin. Thinking of the night with him your mind wandered back to the time you had spent with II, the soft glances and hushed conversations that caused your heart to thrum with anticipation. How you currently found a spark between you and both of these men. Groaning, you card your hands through your hair as you shuffle deeper into your apartment. There was nothing you could do but wait to see what tomorrow would bring.

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