#everything has basically been open ended... Up to interpretation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flemingsfreckles · 3 months ago

Text

Drunk Dial Pt. 3

Read the rest of the series here

Warnings: mentions of sex, illusions to sex, cursing, verbal argument, basically Jessie and R yelling at each other for the majority of this chapter

WC: 3.4k

A/N: this is the end of this little series, i have a feeling some of you won’t be too happy with this being where i leave it, but this is sort of a left up to your interpretation ending… don’t forget some of you voted for this ;) (unknowingly, but you did)

You stood looking at yourself in the bathroom off of Haley’s bedroom. Across your body, a sleep shirt from some college, not one you attended and it wasn’t the familiar UCLA logo you had grown to know. On your bottom a pair of sleep shorts you didn’t recognize either. You had just woken up but you were ready to go home, you didn’t need to stay here, you felt out of place being here. That’s when you see your phone light up, Jessie’s face across it.

“Shit shit shit.” You scramble to grab your phone.

You quickly pop your head into Haley’s bedroom. “Uh, sorry, phone call, I should take this. It’s um, work.” You lied, she nodded and pointed out the door toward her living room.

Once the door is closed behind you, you take a deep breath and answer the call, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hey.” You whisper.

“Hey, why are you whispering?” Jessie’s tone immediately turned accusatory.

“Um, no reason.” You say, clearing your throat and trying to make the hush in your voice less obvious. It’s not like you could tell her where you were, she didn’t need to know the choices you made last night and how regretful you were about them this morning.

“Okay, well I’m on my way over, we need to talk. About last night, about the other night, we need to talk about all of it.”

“Um.” You frantically look around the living room, finding your sweatshirt that had been haphazardly thrown off last night, slipping it over your head. “I’m not home right now. So just give me a little bit.”

“Where are you? It’s 8 in the morning.” You could hear traffic in the background of Jessie’s call, an indication she was likely already on her way.

“No where, I can be there in like 30 minutes.” You hang up before she can ask you any more questions about your whereabouts. You open the bedroom door, Haley is now sitting up in bed, the covers pulled up around her body.

“Hey sorry, I um, I have to go, work calls.” You play it off with a smile and a shake of your cell phone.

“Oh no worries.” She waves a hand at you and gives you a polite smile.

My clothes?” You question the girl.

“Should still be out by the couch.”

“Right, thanks.” You hurry out toward the couch, grabbing the pile of clothes before heading back into the bathroom, quickly taking off the shirt and shorts you had been lent, putting your own jeans and shirt from the night before back on. You walk out of the bathroom, giving Haley another look. “I put the dirty ones in the basket.”

“Got it, thanks.” She gives you a nod. “Have a good rest of your day, I’ll text you. Good luck with, ya know, everything.”

“Thanks.” You give her a tightlipped smile before excusing yourself and heading out her bedroom door and down the hall out of her apartment. You hopped in your car, barely letting it turn on before you threw it in drive. Driving faster than you should have, you raced to your place, hoping somehow you would be able to beat Jessie there.

Your heart drops when you turn the corner toward the entryway of your building and there stands Jessie. You can see the expression on Jessie’s face turn sour, nearly a smile at the start before she examines you and she’s suddenly sporting a scowl. “So I guess that date must have been better than you lead on.” Jessie states as she looks you up and down once you’re a few feet from her.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Are you sure? You clearly went to see someone after you left me.” She gestures to your clothing, you suddenly wish you had spare clothes in the car, or you had worn Haley’s clothes home, you could’ve played it off that you had bought new ones, that Jessie just hasn’t seen them before. But you were wearing the clothes she had touched and seen last night, she knew. “I have a feeling it was her. You left me, for her, for someone you barely know.”

“Jessie, that’s not what happened.” You notice your voice raising, trying to defend yourself in an unfortunate situation.

“You sure? Because that’s how it feels and that’s what it fucking looks like.” Jessie raises her voice right back at you, something she had hardly done when the two of you were together, occasionally during an argument but the Canadian held her temper and emotions close most of the time. She waved a hand up and down reminding you that you were in fact still in your clothes from last night.

“Can we do this inside?” You look around at the pedestrian traffic that is passing by the two of you. A couple giving you looks as the two of you argued.

“Sure.” Jessie says, rolling her eyes but following you silently as you open the door to your building and walk to the elevator. The ride up is quiet, as is the walk down the hallway. Once inside your apartment you find your way to the dining room, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

“So we should talk about what happened, all of it.” You say, a twinge in annoyance in your voice.

“Where do you want to start?” Jessie says, propping herself against the wall, her arms crossed across her chest.

the way she stood, arms crossed in defense as if you were the only one in the wrong here, pissed you off. “Oh I don’t know Jessie. Maybe the part where you hid the fact that I told you my feelings when I was drunk? Or how when I left the next morning you told me you weren’t in love with me anymore, only for you drunkenly invited me out last night only to drop the bomb on me that you do in fact still love me? Or how you were trying to get me to take you home and fuck you last night? We have options Jessie, where do you want to start?”

“Where do I want to start?” She stares back at you, raising her voice slightly. “You’re the one who broke the no contact that we had agreed on in the first place calling me after you got stood up! You’re the one who hid these feelings and were too scared to tell me all this time. Then you confess them while you’re drunk, leaving me in a weird spot. I didn’t know what to do. Not to mention your little “gift” you gave me. I’m sorry for calling you yesterday if that’s what you want to hear. But coming yesterday and then pawning me off to Arnold was a shitty move.”

“I didn’t pawn you off, jez Jessie, I wanted to make sure you were safe! You were drunk, it wasn’t the right time for us to talk, or sort this out.” You throw your hands up at her, fists clenched in frustration.

“But it was the time for you to go fuck some girl you hardly know?!” Her cheeks were starting to turn the familiar red that you used to tease her for, you always thought she looked adorable with the slight blush, only now that blush that was caused by compliments or teasing comments was now being caused by the way she yelled at you.

“I didn’t fuck her!” You scream back, your hand coming down to hit the table. You had never yelled at Jessie like this, not when you argued or fought, not when you broke up, never.

Jessie scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” She’s still defensive in her tone but it’s quieter, almost as if she’s scared.

You immediately drop the anger from your voice. “Jessie I didn’t. I wasn’t in a good mood last night when I left the bar, I panicked, and I called her because I needed someone. I got to her place, and when she let me in, we watched a movie and talked and I broke down about you to her. I was hysterical, I didn’t know what to do.”

That was the truth. You had been embarrassed about it, you showed up to Haley’s door. You knew she was likely expecting sex, that you had called her for a late night hook up. Instead what she got was you at her doorstep, asking to talk.

You started off by apologizing for wasting her time on your date earlier that day. You told her you weren’t ready to commit to anything, and you should’ve realized that before trying to date again. She had been understanding, not making you feel any worse for what had happened. The two of you agreed friendship could be the path you take instead. The more you two talked the more you told her. You told her about Jessie, your past and your current feelings. She offered as good of advice as she could and when you cried about it, she comforted you, offering you to stay the night due to how late it was. You took her up on the offer for the couch, and also for the pair of old shorts and shirt to sleep in. You thought nothing of it, no one would know, it wouldn’t be a problem. You hadn’t expected Jessie to call you bright and early the next morning demanding to see you instantly.

“But you spent the night, you were there this morning, that’s why you were whispering.”

“On the couch! I spent the night on the couch!” You exclaim. “Jessie, I don’t know how to prove it, nothing happened between her and I, we didn’t even kiss. She was being a friend, that’s all I see myself being with her.”

“I find that so hard to believe!”

“We didn’t do anything, nothing!”

“Fine, let’s say you didn’t fuck her, did you go with the intention of fucking her? Did you plan to use her to get over me, to get me out of your head?”

Her question catches you off guard. “I-” you stutter, unsure of what to say and unsure of what your answer even should be. The truth was, you didn’t know. Maybe some tiny bit of you thought maybe you’d get laid, maybe some bit of you just wanted attention, the comfort of another body on yours, some part of you wanted someone to rant to, complain to. You just wanted someone.

Jessie clicks her tongue as you struggle to find the right words. “That’s all I need to know.” She nods slowly before starting to turn away from you.

“No Jessie, wait!” You stand up fast, knocking your chair out from behind you, creating a loud crash that has Jessie turning back to see what had happened. You leave the chair, climbing over it to make your way closer to her.

“No, because clearly you don’t know what you want, I can’t get involved with you again if you don’t know what you want.” She says walking away and towards the door.

“I know what I want.” You say as you walk after her, you couldn’t let her walk out of that door on you, you couldn’t lose her for a second time. You reach your hand out, catching hers stopping her in her tracks. She shakes her hand from your grip.

“I’m leaving.” Her hand turns the doorknob and as she steps out she turns back. “Call me once you have your head on straight and can actually talk with me.”

Being beyond frustrated your anger comes back and you shout at her as you watch her head down the hallway. “Fuck you Jessie, you invited yourself over, no warning, nothing, what if I wasn’t ready to talk?!”

She doesn’t answer, she doesn’t even turn back, doesn’t lift her head. She ignores you. The door to the stairs is swung open and her figure quickly disappears as she leaves out of your building.

“Fuck.” It wasn’t going to fix anything but shouting made it hurt less for the time being, so did the swift kick you gave to the door as you closed it.

That was your chance. That was your chance and you fucked it up.

You sent the rest of the afternoon spiraling, unsure of what to say, what to do, nothing felt right. You had cried, your eyes and head both still throbbing as a result. You spent a fair amount of time staring off at the wall, feeling numb to your surroundings. It wouldn’t change anything, you had the opportunity and you failed to win her back. When you tucked yourself into bed early, you tried everything in your power but to think of that brown eyes girl.

But you couldn’t get her out of your mind, she was in every thought, every emotion you had.

“This is so stupid.” The same words you had mumbled to yourself as you got out of your warm bed you repeated to yourself as you started walking. You were walking down the streets of Portland at quarter to midnight, not your brightest idea but you couldn’t stop thinking about her. You should’ve driven, probably safer and faster, but walking cleared your head and that’s what you needed, a clear head.

You walked yourself all the way to the doorstep of Jessie’s townhome, banging on the door. Raising your fist again to knock the door swings open and you nearly punch the Canadian.

“Sorry.”

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is raspy, a little deep, you realize you’ve probably woken her from a sleep. She steps onto the porch closing the door behind her.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave earlier. I should have never let you leave. I still want you Jessie, I was stupid before, so stupid to let you ever go, I should’ve fought for you, I should’ve figured something else out, I should’ve tried something else before we called it quits.” You confess to her.

“So what, are you still in love with me?” The silence between the two of you after she asked was painful, you could practically hear your own blood pumping through your body. You definitely hadn’t expected such a direct question right off the start with her, but at least you’d get straight to the point.

“Are you?” You stare blankly back at Jessie, throwing her own question in her face. The two of you stand eye to eye, neither of you answering.

“What did I tell you at the bar yesterday?” Jessie finally says.

Squinting at her you’re not sure if it’s a rhetorical question or if you should answer, you take the safer option and just reiterate what she told you drunkenly last night. “That you were, you still loved me, you were still in love with me, that you had been too scared to tell me.”

“Then there’s your answer.” Jessie says, as if you were supposed to have assumed that on your own.

The longer you stared at her face the more you felt your anger and frustration with her fade and replacing it was the overwhelming urge to complete her request from last night, push her softly inside the door, kiss her against the wall, lift her into your arms and make the blind walk to her bedroom that you knew so well, take her to bed, make her yours again. Easier said than done and you knew taking her to bed would just complicate the already confusing situation the two of you were in.

“Then you know my answer too Jess.” The nickname slips out of your mouth, it wasn’t something you had called her in a long time. “I don’t know how to prove it, but please just trust me, nothing happened between me and that girl, nothing, Jessie I love you too much to do that.”

Bringing her hand up, she lets her fingers run through her hair before she pulls at the bottom of her sleep shirt. She releases a sigh and looks at the ground.

“So what does that mean for us?” She looks up at you, her brown eyes have a small glisten to them from the moon above both of your heads. You missed her eyes. You missed how she’d wink at you across a crowded room and your stomach would flutter, how she’d look up at you when you came to the side of the pitch to say hello after a game, how she’d steal glances at you when you sat snuggled into the couch. Those eyes made you feel seen in a way no one had before.

“What do you think it means?” You knew what you wanted it to mean, but you didn’t know if she felt the same.

“God some things never change do they?” Jessie fights back a smile as she looks at you with a small shake of her head.

“What does that mean?” You feel yourself starting to get defensive, your tone changing.

“You, the indecisiveness, you could never make choices when we were together. You could never pick a movie, never could pick a board game to play, never pick a restaurant, you never wanted to be the one to make the call, you could never pick anything.”

“I picked you Jessie. And I’d still pick you, everyday.” That was the truth, that was what you had been trying to say to her all along. She was your person, she was it for you, you just hoped she’d feel the same.

“If you’re actually choosing me then do it, pick me and tell me what you want to do, don’t put this on me, make a damn decision for once.” Jessie’s tone had shifted, less angry, less frustrated, it was soft and almost needy as if she was begging you.

“I’m not saying we're dating or that we even go on dates, or hook up, or anything. I’m also not saying we will ever go back to dating, we didn’t work the first time, who’s to say we would now, but I want to try, with you because I still love you, I’ve never stopped loving you. So maybe we start with removing that no contact plan we had? We talk again, we text again, you know, baby steps?” You feel yourself hold your breath when you finish speaking, as if you’re scared you’ve made a poor choice, that she’ll be mad at your proposal.

“Baby steps.” She gives a slow nod of her head, looking you up and down. “Okay, yeah, we can do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll uh, I’ll text you then.” You can feel the happiness blossoming in your chest.

“Sounds good, get home safe.” Jessie says before turning back to her door. You practically skip down the stairs and down the street all the way back to your home, feeling elated that you might have a chance to finally fix what you had broken months ago.

Jessie turned back, resting against the door, eyes closed. She perked up at the sound of footsteps coming in her direction, straightening up and blinking her eyes quickly as she made out the figure coming toward her.

“You alright? Who was that?” Jessie’s eyes fell on the dark haired girl standing in front of her who was wearing her old grey UCLA shirt that she had always let you borrow and a pair of her boxers. Jessie didn’t know her well, she hardly remembered her name as she stood looking at the woman. The dark red hickey that she had sucked into the unknown girl’s neck just hours ago was peeking out of the collar. Jessie knew there were a lot more hiding under her shirt as well. A wave of guilt flashed through her body, she had just been trying to get even. She hadn’t realized she’d woken her by leaving the bed, she had barely heard the knocking on the door.

Jessie shook her head at the girl. “No one. Wrong house number. You can go back to bed, I’ll be there in a second.”

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #jessie fleming blurb #canwnt x reader

209 notes · View notes

s-brant · 2 years ago

Text

Little Dragon

In a the aftermath of a fight sparked by the feud between him and her brother, Lucerys, Aemond and his wife are now trying to fix things between them. (or judas part three)

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, knife play, choking, spitting in mouth, strong language, yandere (so basically canon) aemond, and some of the language used to describe past sex acts could be interpreted as dub-con, but everything is consensual.

Married life is not what she thought it would be.

Everyone told her their days would be spent in honeymoon-induced bliss that seems as though it will never end for the first year or so of marriage, but that wasn't their experience at all. When they weren't fucking, which was about all they did together, Aemond and Y/N were typically fighting for the first four months of being wed to one another. There were good moments, though. They bonded over shared interests that appeared the longer they lived in close proximity, and he began to open himself up to her little by little. It wasn't nearly as much as she wanted, but he still offered her more than he did most other people.

It was evident in the little things, such as how he would feel comfortable enough to take off his eyepatch at certain times when alone in her presence or how he would always, no matter how far apart they were when they fell asleep in his spacious bed, end up with an arm around her by the time they woke. But, then, there were the times when the wall between them would come down again and she was left wondering if her husband would ever speak freely in her presence.

As of late, it seems they are leaning more on the side of fighting rather than fucking.

Her temper has been running hotter than usual, so when she heard of an incident in the training yard between Aemond and Lucerys, who is visiting alongside Rhaenyra after a close call with Viserys' health that thankfully ended without complication, she was out for blood.

"Have you no shame, husband?" she asked as she walked after him, chasing and herding him in the direction of their shared chambers after having to watch her brother be tended to by the maesters. "I asked you to not harm him, and you ignored me at the first opportunity presented to you!"

This led to a screaming match that ended in him storming off to fly on Vhagar for the better half of the night before coming back to their chambers—soaking wet from the rain—ripping the sheets off of her, hiking her shift up around her waist, and fucking her until she was babbling and incoherent for him. It was a vicious fight masked by the actions of lust and passion. Her nails broke skin open on his pale back while his hand squeezed down around her delicate throat, providing her a heady little head rush that made the pleasure of his cock gliding in and out of her intensify.

The rainwater dripped off of him and onto her, turning the mattress damp beneath their writhing bodies. Not that either of them minded. By the time they finished, she was on the verge of passing out again and didn't do much other than sigh as he lifted her into his arms to move her around before setting her back down on the bed. Come morning, she found herself alone, but the bed was not cold or damp. Her side of the mattress was covered with a warm fur hide that had been draped atop the divan, and she couldn't help but smile to herself at that before she remembered their argument.

Aemond was never a cruel husband. If anything, he was the opposite. Their arguments did not mean he mistreated his lady. Yes, they would fight and fuck like animals, but, at the end of the day, she was his. In a world where he was granted nothing, not even a dragon's egg in the cradle as his siblings were, the Maiden had blessed him with her. Every other girl or woman balked in his presence, but not Y/N. She and Vhagar were the only things he ever had to himself, and he would never mistreat either of his dragons.

Hence, the fur hide.

As angry with each other as they were and, he knew, would continue to be on the morrow, his face softened when he came back from the bathing room to find her curled up in fetal position and shivering in her sleep from the wet sheets. She hardly stirred as he lifted her up, one arm under her bent knees and the other holding firm around her naked back, and walked over to the divan to fetch the warm fur hide. It took little effort for him to hold her as he picked it up and spread it out atop the bed, then set her down. It took him searching the room to find another blanket to cover her with, but, once he did, he sighed to himself at the sight of her and tried to resist the urge to reach down to brush her hair out of her face. What had she done to him?

He had little trouble falling asleep on the damp sheets and left early before she woke to avoid the consequences of the things they said to each other the previous night.

Since this morning, they haven't crossed paths much at all. For she was spending what little time she had left of their visit with her mother and brother, trying to conceal the turmoil within her caused by her marriage and, well...

"Are you certain, mother?" Y/N asked. "It is so soon, and I have only missed one of my courses thus far. It was just last month's, I am certain it will come again soon. I always feel sick to my stomach before my blood comes, and I have felt that way for days."

What she didn't want to tell her mother was that she already knew. Deep down, she knew the answer, yet she was too stubborn in their ongoing argument to want to admit to herself. Or him.

Rhaenyra smiled softly at her from where she braided her hair for her, something she would continue to insist on doing for her only daughter no matter how old she grew, and said, "Feeling sick to your stomach is an indication that you may be with child as well. Considering that you told me you missed one of your courses and you winced when Lucerys hugged you too hard upon our arrival"—It was true. When Luc threw his arms around her in a tight embrace, she couldn't help but grimace at the tenderness she felt in her breasts upon impact against him. And, the previous night, with Aemond, her nipples were uncharacteristically sensitive whenever he made contact with them, though she did not say that to her mother—"I do not think it out of the realm of possibility, my love...You should tell Aemond what you suspect."

Having told the handmaidens to leave them to their own devices, they did not have to bother with concealing their conversation from eavesdroppers by speaking in Valyrian. They simply sat together and spoke openly, and honestly, and Y/N was glad for it. It was the type of open communication she found difficult with Aemond due to his closed-off nature. It wasn't for lack of trying, either. She knew he tried as much as she did, but they both have too sensitive of tempers to get very far with civil discussion. Once they misunderstand one another's intentions, they lose control and allow emotion to guide them, not logic. Then, the truly hurtful things are said in the heat of the moment that neither of them means.

Since leaving her mother's rooms, she has wandered around the keep aimlessly to avoid the argument that will reignite once she sees Aemond again. So, she goes to the one place she knew she could flee to to clear her head. The Weirwood tree she once had a tendency to read under.

Yet when she finally sits down and settles into place with her back against the thick trunk, all she can think of is her husband. Although infuriated with him for the training yard incident in which he injured Lucerys, she cannot help but imagine what it would be like. She pictures him with a tiny, newly-born babe in his arms and feels her knees weaken at the thought. Then, her mind conjures images of their child a few years down the line, resting their head on his shoulder with their silver hair falling down his back to blend in with his. He may be perceived as an unfeeling man by most, but she knows he will be a decent father. A better one than her grandsire was to him, she's sure.

As fond as she is of him in the safety of her mind, hearing his voice out of the silence causes her to turn still.

"I thought I might find you here."

There's a brief moment of hesitation before she lifts her gaze to find his eye fixed on her quite intensely. After last night, she cannot blame him. They were two seconds from brawling one another in their chambers before he walked away to blow off steam by flying Vhagar late into the night, and what happened after he returned wasn't much less aggressive than the argument they engaged in hours prior. It did little to solve anything other than stifle their remaining anger.

"You were not there when I woke," she says without greeting him.

The unforgiving tone she takes with him tells him everything he needs to know. Despite their passionate, near-feral fucking last night, she has yet to forgive him for "accidentally" injuring Lucerys. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn't have taunted the younger man as they practiced in the training yard together, nor should he have let his retort turn him blind with anger, but it's too late to change that now. All he can do is try to navigate the rough tides of her temper in the aftermath, still shocked that he even cares. Never once would he have thought that he'd be so willing to bend himself to the will of his lady wife when he first spoke of betrothals with his mother years ago.

He doesn't dare to step any closer to her, though. Instead, he holds his hands behind his back and tilts his head as he looks down upon her face in the buttery daylight, fighting the admiration felt in the center of his chest at the sight of her silver hair glowing in the sun. Although he's trying to get back in her good graces, he still refrains from surrendering all of himself to her in order to do so. Sometimes it scares him; the urge he has to allow her to render him pathetic and subservient.

It confused him this morning when he fled to find his mother and sister breaking their fast together. Luckily for him, Helaena was leaving at the very moment he entered, leaving him alone with his mother in the privacy of her secluded rooms.

He paced back and forth in front of where she sat at the table, too distracted by his neurotic movements and ranting to indulge in her poached egg.

"You did not prepare me for this, mother," he said, not with any malice or anger, but honesty. When it came to his mother, he could never find it in himself to be anything but gentle with her. "She is driving me to madness."

A frown crossed Queen Alicent's face at this.

"You know I wanted to betroth you to one of the Baratheon daughters. Y/N may not be a good match for you, but it's far too late for a change of—"

He didn't even need to say a word. No, she was silenced by the look cast in her direction. His features hardened into a mask of impenetrable force and threat as if daring her, his own mother, to finish that sentence before he remembered himself and averted his gaze to the ground. Still, it was too late. She saw everything he fought to keep hidden beneath the surface every time he was in public in the presence of his wife.

"Oh," she said softly.

This wasn't something she thought she had to prepare him for, but he was right. She hadn't properly prepared him for it. Considering her own experiences with marriage, as well as most other royals and aristocrats who wed people for power or alliance, the thought never crossed her mind. But based on the look on his face and the embarrassment that now shows in his flushed cheeks, it should have.

"Aemond," Alicent said, her voice a quiet push of air before speaking up a bit more clearly to ask him, "Do you mean to tell me that you truly love her? Is that what this is about?"

The lack of response and refusal to make eye contact with her spoke every word he refused to say aloud. He simply stared off at the ground as if in amazement, wondering to himself how he ended up there. Although part of it felt wrong, wrong in the sense that he swore to never let his guard down around anyone, least of all the sister of the bastard that maimed him, there was so much of it that felt right. Though he would never have spoken of such crass things in the presence of his mother, he kept thinking back to the previous night—to how every touch, every thrust, every kiss felt so inherently right that he couldn't imagine himself wanting to galavant the Street of Silk as his older brother had. No, he wanted her. He wanted her in a way that consumed him, in a way that scared him, and it crept up on him slowly but surely in the months following the wedding ceremonies.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "We do nothing but argue and...perform our marital duties to produce an heir...yet I find"—The words eluded him at first. Never having spoken about his emotions out loud to many people in his life, he found it difficult to articulate, but to get the advice he sought, he had to—"I cannot bear the thought of her being angry with me."

Those were the types of thoughts that chased him on his aimless stroll, ignoring every member of court who attempted to greet the sullen prince with a wary smile or pleasant few words. They chased him all the way here, to where he walked unconsciously and found the object of his incessant infatuation sitting beneath the tree.

Snapping himself out of the haze of his memories, Aemond straightens his shoulders and offers as explanation, "I left because I did not wish to fight with you again. I needed time to think." He shrugs. "I took a walk."

This silences her for a moment. But it's just that, a moment, before she's summoning the nerve to retort back at him with a snarky tone, "And what did this time to think do for you? Have you realized how much shame you've brought me as a result of your actions yesterday?" Her face then softens, as does her voice. "Everyone saw. It's all that the servants are talking about. Everyone either pities me or thinks I am weak for marrying someone who hurts my own kin."

Although his raging temper and unrelenting pride urge him to say something equally as aggressive back, he wills himself to remain silent and mindful of every word that may leave his mouth. The self-control it takes to restrain himself is immeasurable, but all he hears when he closes his eyes are the words of advice his mother gave earlier.

"I don't blame you for holding a grudge against Lucerys," she said, "but, she is your wife. If she asked you not to harm her brother, the honorable thing to do would be to listen."

His body stiffened at this. At the thought of letting anyone or anything tell him what he can and cannot do, but when he voiced such concerns, he was shut down.

"A wife is meant to obey her husband, yes, but if what you've come here to tell me is true, you must treat your marriage differently." Her eyes never once left him, nor did the intensity in them recede. "In order to receive obedience and respect, you must be willing to give it. Love is a fickle thing, Aemond. If you do not nurture it, it will become resentment."

There's a beat of silence between him and Y/N, then—

"I came here to tell you it will not happen again. I swear this to you."

That was the last thing she expected to hear. Not technically an apology, but, she supposes it's the closest she's ever gotten to one from him. Most of their fights end in them making up after sex or from the healing touch of time gone by. This is a first for them. They're both typically too stubborn to admit defeat, yet here he is.

Her brows furrow at him as if in confusion.

"You will not make any attempts to harm my brother again? Either of my brothers, for that matter."

He nods. Just once.

"Unless he makes the first move, I will not touch him," Aemond says slowly, hating every second of it but forcing himself to proceed for the sake of following his mother's advice. More importantly, for the sake of preventing any resentment from growing between them. "Or Jacaerys. You have my word."

And even though it's the outcome she longed for the whole time, she can't help but feel infuriated with him. How dare he be so...kind. How dare he give her a reason to genuinely admire him in favor of using their near-constant disagreements as reason to keep him at a comfortable distance? She never wanted to account for the fact that he may be more to her than a tolerated presence. She never wanted him to hold such power over her, and still...

Y/N takes in a deep breath, the low-cut neckline of her dress accentuating the rise and fall of her breasts, and looks up at him. What she finds in his gaze is pure honesty.

"Well, good." She chews at the inside of her lip for a second, unsure of how to proceed in light of these unforeseen circumstances. "Thank you for your understanding. I won't forget this kindness."

With that, he turns to leave, assuming she'd like to be left alone after everything they said and did to one another last night. He takes all of three steps before he's halted by the sound of her voice.

"Where are you going?"

He slowly turns back around to face her again and takes note of the hopeful glint in her eyes that he's never seen before. Strange...

"Do you not wish me to leave?"

No, she thinks, I do not wish you to leave. I wish to spend all day and night with you. If I could live beneath your skin, I would.

The obsessive nature of her thoughts startles her a little, but she tries not to judge herself too harshly. After all, she just got confirmation from the maesters after breakfast that she is, in fact, with child as Rhaenyra suspected, and the fluctuation of hormones tends to cause heightened emotions, so it makes sense. Not to mention, there's an added layer of intimacy that makes her feel closer to him now that she knows. A part of him lives within her. It's not something she takes lightly despite her initial trepidation surrounding the idea of childbirth in the weeks after their wedding ceremonies.

Y/N takes her time in responding, allowing herself the opportunity to stand from where she rested on the thick root of the Weirwood tree. Her palms flatten against the back of her dress to dust the dirt off, and it isn't until she's done so that she looks up at him again.

"I did not say that," she says matter of factly. "I was curious what you're doing today because I want to spend time with you. That is unless you have prior commitments to attend to..."

The speed with which he utters, "I don't," verges on the type of embarrassment severe enough to make him flee and hide, but he doesn't. He instead focuses on the fact that she actually wants to be around him after the fight they had, far too preoccupied to think about how pathetic it is that all he has to do today is mope around the Red Keep over her. Although they've had passion and fondness for one another in the months that have passed since they married, this is the first time he's ever felt truly wanted by her in a way other than that of carnal desire.

He prays the overwhelming relief hasn't reached his face by the time he elaborates, "I was only going to see Vhagar. She gets quite restless when she hasn't seen me, so I make a point to visit her every day even if we do not fly." There's a dip of silence. His face softens. "Come see her with me, then. I realize you two haven't been properly introduced."

The only times she got relatively close to Vhagar were when flying beneath her on Vermithor and when she and Aemond arrived at the keep at the same time those months ago before their betrothal. Unfortunately, she hadn't been lucky enough to know Vhagar's last rider, Laena Velaryon. Her father was wed to her, yes, but she never once met Daemon until her funeral at Driftmark, and that very night was when Aemond claimed the ancient war dragon for himself. So, in her eyes, Vhagar has always been intrinsically entwined with her husband.

She smiles at him, saying softly, "Okay."

The journey to the place outside the palace walls where Vhagar rests, too big for being kept inside the dragon pit as the other dragons are, is not too strenuous. Aemond made sure to show her the quicker route to the unoccupied land where they once held Queen Aemma's funeral rather than taking her through the streets of King's Landing, preventing her from being exposed to the indecent things that occur in plain daylight. Not that she hasn't done such things with him before, but for the people of the city to see their future queen anywhere near that type of behavior is not ideal.

The earth is soft beneath her feet as she hikes up the rolling hills with her hand grasped in Aemond's. His hold on her is strong, never allowing a chance for her to trip and fall or slip out of his clutches now that he so clearly has her full attention. A gentle wind blows strands of hair back from her face to cool her amidst the typically sweltering summer air. Back in the city, it's hotter due to the palace walls and droves of people, but, here, it's open and free. It's no wonder that Vhagar prefers to reside out where she can roam as opposed to the confined field outside the Dragonpit where she can hardly fit.

She hears her before she sees her, but once they come up over the crest of the hill, it isn't long before she sees the great beast lounging on the grass in the valley between the rolling hills. A Dragonpit of her own making, Y/N supposes. The closer they get to her, the more enchanted she becomes with the creature. Out of the corner of his remaining eye, Aemond notes the look of awe on her face as they come to a stop roughly ten feet away.

"Nyke maghatan ñuha ābrazȳrys kesīr naejot rhaenagon ao," he says loudly to be heard by her over the sounds of the wind and sea not far off from where they stand. I brought my wife here to meet you. "Sagon sȳz naejot zirȳla." Be kind to her.

The elderly dragon huffs out a sharp breath that Y/N can feel the warmth of reaching her face despite the decent space between them. Apparently, that's her cue, because Aemond is now looking at her expectantly and egging her on, daring her to do what no one else would. No one but them. It's part of what thrills him about their marriage. This is why Targaryen weds Targaryen, he thinks to himself. How else would they share this simple pleasure if she weren't also the blood of the dragon? Vhagar would tolerate her presence, sure, but not in the way she does with those of her own kind.

Having tamed the Bronze Fury herself and knowing her husband's dragon will obey his commands to be kind to her, she takes a few steps forward until she's close enough to reach her hand out and allow her to smell it. The scaled creature's nostrils flare out to inhale and catalog her rider's wife for the first time, but she's surprised at what she finds lingering in the scent. There's a bit of him in there. To her, his scent is the most alluring, the most comfortable since she's been claimed by him, so when she notices his scent clinging to Y/N's, her head tilts a little to get closer.

She sees a certain understanding in the beast's eyes despite the fact that they've never been properly introduced until now. Vhagar looks upon her with a reverence no one but Aemond and her previous riders have received. Your womb shelters a little dragon. You carry him inside of you.

Vhagar dips her head down and nudges her nose against the princess's belly, which, as of right now, is not showing any obvious sign of her delicate condition. This action doesn't seem to stick out to Aemond—thank the Gods—it seems to surprise him. To see his two dragons coexisting and displaying affection for one another is a magical thing, and it's something he will never forget. Not even when he's old and frail and can no longer patrol the skies on her.

The sweet gesture brings a chuckle out of Y/N's throat.

"Iksā sepār iā dōna riña, issi ao daor?" she says, reaching up to rub along the massive bridge of her nose. You are just a sweet girl, are you not? "Issa sȳz naejot rhaenagon ao, Vhagar. Ñuha valzȳrys ēza ivestretan nyke sīr olvie nūmāzma ao." It is good to meet you, Vhagar. My husband has told me so much about you.

Though Y/N cannot see it, Aemond smiles slightly behind her. He tries to fight it, but it's impossible. His lips curl up into a grin against his will at the sight of his wife and his dragon cozying up together much like a mother and child. And though Vhagar is old enough to be a grandmother many times over, she, for reasons Y/N has yet to reveal to him, decides to play the role of the child in this instance.

Before he can wipe the smile from his face, she turns to look at him with her eyes widened in wonder.

"She's beautiful." She then turns back to face her. "Iksā gevie, dōna riña." You are beautiful, sweet girl.

"Are you ready to ride with us? You must climb up first. I will sit behind you."

This time, when she turns around to look at him, her gaze does not stray.

"Are you jesting?"

He just shakes his head, smug at the sign of her hesitation after trying to present herself as bravely as possible to his beloved beast. Silver hair cascades over her shoulders and shimmers, even under a cloudy sky, enough so that he has a hard time finding words in the wake of his longing for her.

"I do not jest about dragons," he says with a sadistic look in his eye. If he were being honest, he'd admit that he hardly jests about anything, least of all Vhagar. "But if you are craven, then I do not mind escorting you back to the keep."

That shocked expression of hers shifts into one of amusement.

"I claimed Vermithor when I was two and ten years old, the same year you claimed her, when he was a wild dragon living in the mountain caverns on Dragonstone. Does that sound like the actions of someone who is craven?"

He inclines his head in the direction of Vhagar as though to say, "Prove it."

It takes no less than five seconds for her to spin around and march right up to the side of the dragon, grabbing the rungs of the rope ladder slung over her back to allow small beings like them to scale the massive creature. The skirt of her dress blows in the wind enough to expose her legs to him but not to expose her entirely as she climbs, thanking the Gods that she opted for a pair of riding boots instead of the heels she wore with her dress originally. Once she has reached the saddle, she feels the rope ladder jolt with movement far below and swings her leg over to straddle the dragon. And when she looks down, she sees Aemond climbing up after her.

The feeling of his hard, lean body settling into place behind her stirs a sudden pulse of arousal in the pit of her abdomen. This is very new to her—marriage, sex, intimacy. To feel her husband's hands grip her hips to tug her into him, her ass pressing against his crotch without an inch of space to spare, is a welcomed but scandalous thing. Still, it pleases her. Even though she was taught to guard her heart and body fiercely from men growing up, she feels safe with him. Riding on any dragon other than Vermithor or Caraxes would be stressful, hence her hesitation when he asked her to ride with him, but now that she's up here, she is at ease. For nothing can frighten her with Aemond at her side.

His lips brush her ear as he reaches around her waist to put his hands over hers on the handles of the saddle and asks, "Are you ready, my lady?"

She turns to look at him and nods.

"Yes."

The grip of his hands over hers tightens, and he shouts, "Sōvēs!" Fly.

Beneath them, the creature they sit on begins to move, a deep rumble purring in the back of her throat as she moves from her lounging position upon the grass and gets a running start to take off. The flapping of her wings is loud enough to stifle the crashing of the waves against the land, isolating them from everything that surrounds them until all she can hear is her husband's voice giving Vhagar commands in Valyrian. The strength of the arms wrapped around her brings her mind back to memories of last night—his biceps flexing as he pinned her hands above her head and rutted into her, groaning at the feeling of tight cunt clamping down around him.

With another flap of her wings and push off the ground from her sturdy legs, they take off. Wind blows cold against her face where it comes in from the shore they swiftly fly over, and Vhagar swoops down to dip her clawed feet into the ocean water, sending up a spray of water that mists over them. The temperature draws a sharp gasp from Y/N's throat. Water soaks her intricately braided hair and the fabric of her dress, both of which things she spent time picking out only to have them tarnished. But, she thinks as she feels Aemond's body jolting from his laughter behind her, she does not truly care.

She laughs with him after a few seconds of processing the surprise, allowing her head to tip back onto his shoulder with the wind plastering her damp hair to her skin. Aemond's hands have since left hers to use the reins to steer Vhagar, but his arms remain tucked around her waist even as he does so. They turn around to fly back in the direction of the city and soar far higher above the ground than they had the sea. Although he does not usually push Vhagar to fly this way for a quick rush of adrenaline due to his care for the old girl, he does today. He knows better than anyone that a person only gets to have their first ride upon Visenya's dragon once in their lives, so he figures it might as well be as exciting for her as it was for him.

He remembers that moment like it was yesterday. The warmth of the fire curling in the back of her throat when he tried to mount her at first and got off with a warning, the stinging abrasion from gripping the reins and saddle for dear life to keep from falling to his death, and the joy of that freshly made bond between him and Vhagar. It isn't too different from what he feels with Y/N now at the beginning of their marriage. A visceral connection that takes hold deep in his soul and refuses to untether from it.

The view from above King's Landing is beautiful to her. With the waves crashing against the cliffs alongside the Red Keep and the clouds converging not far above their heads, she thinks to herself that it would make a fine painting someday and makes sure to save the image in the back of her mind for it.

It isn't until they feel the first drops of rainfall, accompanied by a booming roll of thunder, that Aemond commands Vhagar to return to the hills where she previously rested. The ground itself trembles with her landing, dirt kicking up from beneath the grass where her clawed feet dig into the earth. Although they are damp from the ocean water that sprayed up on them, the rain that is coming down now is fierce. It could chill them to the bone if they remained up in the sky, and while Aemond does not mind, he surely will not subject his lady to such a thing. It matters not that she rides her own dragon, sometimes in the teeth-chattering cold of rainy skies. She is his wife and shall be treated accordingly.

The two of them are quick to climb down the rope ladder as droplets of rain come down harder and harder as the seconds pass, and the moment her feet hit the ground, they both hurry beneath one of Vhagar's outstretched, membranous wings to take shelter from the storm until they can walk back to the city.

Her hand is grabbing onto Aemond's arm for support, allowing him to swing her around under the shade provided by his dragon's wing, and she smiles so brightly, he's shocked it has yet to blind his other eye. Their bodies collide with a soft thump—his arms around her waist, her hands bracing against them—that leaves them both a little breathless. Her chest rises when his falls in a push and pull like that of the tides they flew over in the long span of seconds that pass while they stare at one another.

It's the internal aftermath of this heated stare that sends them rushing forward into a kiss.

His hands hold her face with a sense of ownership too confident to deny, and she allows his tongue to invade her mouth when she feels him lick at her closed lips as if in request. And the moment is quite easy for her to become lost in. Between him kissing her like that and the adrenaline pumping through her from the ride on dragonback, she almost misses how they move together, feet stumbling to lead them further beneath the cover of Vhagar's massive wing so as to not be seen should anyone venture out here. The implication of this action turns her blood hot with desire.

He doesn't want to be seen—he bites down on her lower lip and takes a breath before coming back for more—he wants me—one of his hands slides around the back of her neck to keep her locked into the messy kiss while the other slides down the front of her dress—he has me. Gods, he has me.

The hand descending the front of her body undoes the clasps of her coat with a deft touch so few men ever accomplish until it comes loose around her torso, leaving her to shimmy it down from her shoulders while he tugs at the sleeves to get them off. His other hand drops to catch it, never missing a beat, and tosses it down on the ground presumably for her to lay upon. As if she cares about a little dirt or rain.

Aemond breaks the kiss by a fraction of an inch to whisper the question into her mouth between panting breaths, "Will you have me?" and it's by far the most restraint he has shown in initiating physical intimacy with her. Last night he had stormed in and fucked her like it was a challenge, like she was something to be conquered and broken and willed into submission. This, however, is a far cry from that. It's almost...gentle. That is if anything he does can be considered gentle.

The unspoken continuation of that question is, Will you have me after last night? After everything? And in answer, she kisses him harder and reaches for the buckle of his belt. It is weighed down by the weight of the fine sword and knife he carries in two sheaths attached on either side, but once she gets him free of it, it troubles her no longer. It simply clatters to the ground beside her discarded coat without another thought given to it.

What happens from here on is hazy to her in the way most distant memories are, but the difference is that she finds it hazy as she experiences it, not due to the passing of time. It's likely a combination of everything she's endured for the past forty-eight hours, the knowledge of her pregnancy weighing down upon her shoulders, and the feral lust felt for Aemond deep within her, but there's something about it that addles her brain similarly to when she drinks a cup of wine.

Somehow, they end up on the ground together with him slotted between the legs she opened so willingly for him and her pinned beneath the weight of his body. Her dress is not cut in half as it was on her wedding night seeing that they have to return to the Red Keep on foot. The skirts are pulled up though, and his lips leave kisses along her cleavage as he ruts his clothed cock against her. Feeling how hard he is, feeling what she alone does to him, brings pulsations of need to her already aching cunt.

That was another thing that surprised her about marriage. How little time it takes for him to arouse her beyond reason. Whenever she pleased herself, she had to work to get herself wet enough to lubricate the movement of her fingers, but he gets it done in a matter of seconds. All he has done is kiss her and shed her coat from her body and here she is.

It takes him a despicable amount of time to undo his trousers and shove them down his legs, so much so that she cannot help but move her hips up against nothing and whine, "Kostilus, valzȳrys." Please, husband.

And, fuck, if he claims that sight isn't what it takes to urge him on quicker through the act of undressing, he's a fool and a liar.

Aemond balances his weight on the forearms pressing onto the ground on either side of her when he finally nudges at her entrance with his tip and, once he feels it slip inside of her, presses his hips forward until they are flush with the back of her thighs. At the same time that he groans, she gasps. The blunt edges of her fingernails dig into his shoulders enough that he can feel it through his clothing. Her jaw goes slack at the indescribable feeling of his cock filling her, buried deep enough that she thinks she can feel him in her belly, and she allows her head to tilt back onto her coat as she looks up into his eyes.

He can hardly keep control of himself when she looks at him like that. There's a part of him that wants to pin her arms above her head and take her the way he had last night, but the softness in her gaze gives him pause. It soothes him. Seeing her look upon his face like that makes him take it slower with her, drawing back and thrusting back in at a relaxed pace that is more of a sensuous grinding than it is outright fucking. It's tender, caring, and much different than any time they've done this in the past. While he isn't always rough with her, he also isn't as sensual and sweet as he is now. No, this is new. Wholly new.

He leans down the rest of the way to kiss her, allowing half the weight of his body to keep her in place now that there's no space left between them. The only time he halts their exploration of each other's mouths is to whisper in a hushed slur of strung together words, "Mmm, taking it so well—"

The praise is punctuated with a hard returning thrust. He felt her walls squeezing around his cock from the sound of his voice alone, and there was little he could do to prevent himself from succumbing to what his cunt-struck excuse for a brain wanted him to do. He is, in every other situation, a man who takes pride in his intelligence and well-nurtured education as a member of the royal family, but all of that is scattered to the winds when he's inside of her. Aegon would tease him mercilessly if he were to ever discover that his brother's sole weakness is, despite Aemond's refusal to discuss the topic with him, his wife's pretty cunt.

Y/N wraps her arms around his shoulders and keeps him trapped in the little prison of her own making as she is being ravished by him. The familiar sensation of pleasure building in the pit of her stomach draws a moan out of her, and he can't help but make it harder and faster. But through the haze of this intense gratification, she sees his face above hers and is reminded of the previous night. When they'd taken their anger out on each other as a result of their fight. As a result of what he did to her sweet brother.

Her features harden at the thought, the soft smile vanishing as she takes thrust after thrust with little gasps that escape without her permission, and she can almost sense the fiery spirit that lives within her—the sleeping dragon—rising from its slumber in response to the anger. Suddenly, she remembers who she is. She is the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon. She is not so easily placated.

The leg that is wrapped around his hip is used to help her flip him onto his back along with the force of her hips pressing up against his and the hands she placed on his shoulders. Her hands remain there for the first moment she spends perched on top of him like this, gripping hard to give her leverage while she begins to ride him. The surprise is evident in his remaining eye, but he does not stop her or make any discomfort known. If anything, he likes it a little too much. To see her like this...

She takes him even deeper than before with this new change in position. Every time her hips come down on his, the broad tip of his cock brushes the sweet spot inside of her and sparks a kind of pleasure far more overwhelming than the kind she gets when he rubs the overly sensitive nub at the top of her folds. He reaches for her hips reflexively once he realizes why she moved him so suddenly, but she shakes her head and pins his arms down by the wrists above his.

In response to this, there's a strange war that is waged in his mind.

Part of him isn't sure what to think, another part wants to take back control and gain the upper hand as any good fighter would, and the other...Well, the other part is the one currently in control. It's the part of him that cannot think about anything save for the sight and feeling of her fucking him, trembling and moaning like a wanton whore. It isn't long before this haze wears off and he begins to come to his senses though. The wrists pinned against the ground push back against the hands holding them captive as though to test her strength, readying to break free in order for him to pull out and flip her over onto her hands and knees.

He can already feel the words on the tip of his tongue, "If you want to behave like a whore, I will treat you like one."

But he doesn't get to say them. Apparently, his wife is already one step ahead of him, and when she witnessed the muscles in his arms flexing in preparation to take back control, she made her move. All he heard was the sound of steel sliding against steel, the knife that he hadn't thought twice of allowing to fall to the ground being ripped from its scabbard, before the sharp tip of the blade is pointed at his throat. One of her hands keeps holding his wrists down even though they both know he could break free if he pleases while the other is wrapped around the hilt of the blade.

He would open his mouth to speak, but he knows he'll get cut if he does, so he just stares up at her with an incredulous expression.

"Swear on your life," she says, moaning before speaking again from the feeling of cock sliding into her. Her breaths are shallow, her chest heaving, as she cants her hips and rides him harder. "Swear you won't hurt them again. If you don't, I shall let this pierce your throat, and we can be finished with this feud."

Her body leans down enough that her chest brushes his with every exchange of air exhaled and inhaled in the limited space between their mouths.

She croons, "Is it not enough they gave me to you? If you are owed a debt"—another moan—"is it not now paid? It is not an eye for an eye but believe me when I say the idea of you defiling me is worse to my dear brother than being maimed."

The stirring sensation within him begins to crescendo as a result of her brutal pace and everything she says. At this point, his brain is no longer in control of him. The ecstasy he feels is too great for him to string together a coherent thought outside of variations of, "She is utterly divine, she is perfect, she is—"

Once again, he finds himself thinking that this is why it had to be her. This is why it had to be someone as wild as him. All it takes to frighten most other women from noble birth is a sharply edged sentence or harsh glare, but she is the type of person to hold a blade to his throat while performing the most intimate act of devotion that exists, and if being driven to that degree of madness by your feelings for a person isn't love, then he doesn't know what love is.

"Did you never think about it?" Based on the look in his eye, he hadn't considered what she just said to him, and it makes her smirk. "Your distaste for him must not run as deep as you claim if you have never taken pleasure in being the one to claim his sister." She laughs quietly. "They all thought you would be cruel, that you'd be a selfish husband who'd use me to warm your bed and nothing else"—his cock twitches in her—"Little do they know, you are the one they should be worried for. No one is near to witness what I may do to you, and here you are. Trapped beneath me with your own knife to your throat and your cock inside me."

Gods help him. Every word she says is fuel to the fire. What a filthy mouth.

At last, she pulls the tip of the knife back an inch or so to allow him to speak without cutting himself, and he never breaks eye contact with her throughout the process. Not once. All it takes is her raising a brow to spur him into speaking the words she wants to hear. And once the words leave his mouth, she knows they are binding. Unlike his older brother, she knows Aemond to be a man of his word, and if he swears something to her, she can trust him.

"I swear," Aemond says, breathless, although his features are set with a harsh rage to counteract the softness in his voice. "I will not hurt them."

They're both interrupted by their own need to suck down breaths of air to compensate for the exertions of their bodies, but he still refuses to look away. He refuses to surrender and let her think she has frightened him despite his willingness to abide by the promise she requested and allow her to think she's the one in control. And now that he's sworn this to her, she taunts him for the fun of it.

"What do you think Sir Criston would say if he saw his best swordsman in such a vulnerable position?" She makes a tsk sound. "I think he would be quite disappointed to see how you let your—"

In a movement strong and swift enough that she cannot process it until it is done, Aemond twists the knife out of her grasp and has her on her back in a matter of seconds. The blade is pressed to her neck, not quite cutting but pressing in just enough for her to feel the threat of it there, and her throat bobs against the sharp side of the blade when he forces her mouth open with his fingers pressing on her soft cheeks.

He says, only warning her once, "Never say another man's name when I am fucking you," and does not hesitate before spitting in her mouth.

The same fingers that pressed on her cheeks to force her mouth open force it shut again, clamping down over her kiss-swollen lips to make her swallow his spit, and once he sees her do so, he tosses the knife aside and devotes his full attention to worshipping her. His lips smear against hers in a sloppy kiss to match the haphazard, pounding strokes he makes into her now that he can feel himself getting close. With every sharp thrust, she cries out and holds tighter onto him to keep him close.

Aemond continually hits that perfect spot within her and never lets up, groaning and trying his hardest not to come before she does. She is close. He can feel it in how her cunt spasms around him, clenching and unclenching in the way it always does before she is sent over the edge. All she needs is a few more thrusts, so he brings his arms down to rest on either side of her head and cages her in so all she can see is him and him alone, forced to look upon his face as she finds her peak.

"Ossēninna mirre vala qilōni māzigon rȳ īlva. Mirre vala ao qogralbar tolie than nyke morghūlilza. Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke," he says in the language of their ancestors because he does not know if he can be so honest in the common tongue. Valyrian provides an added privacy that is a comfort to them both. His voice is a low hum that runs along her skin like a tender caress, and that is all it takes for her to come undone, hearing what he said over and over in her mind. I will kill any man who comes between us. If you fuck anyone else, they will die. You belong to me.

Y/N's jaw falls open in a gape as it hits her, harsh and unforgiving in its brutality but plentiful in its euphoria. The rush is unlike any other climax she has had with him in the past likely due to everything that preceded it. Although she has thoroughly enjoyed every time she's been with him before, this is on a different dimensional scale. Hearing him say that she belongs to him, that he's willing to kill any man who poses a threat to their marriage...to think that she has brought the great Aemond Targaryen to his knees is intoxicating.

The feeling of her cunt clamping down around his cock like a vice brings him to his end much quicker than he anticipated, and he groans as he spills into her.

All he can think to himself is that he is lucky. He is lucky to have a wife that he formed a connection with, lucky to have a wife that makes him feel things he didn't know he could feel. It's difficult to imagine being bound by blood to anyone but her. Whenever he passes by noble married couples, he can't help but feel pity for them. They do not know what it is to love a person with every part of their soul, even the part that hates them.

Aemond and Y/N are panting for air with their foreheads pressed together once they've begun to come down from their respective climaxes, and she cannot do anything but hold onto him as her heart rate begins to slow down again. She can see in the way he looks at her that it was different for him this time too, that he could feel what she felt between them, and to think that it doesn't scare him off...

He collapses onto her chest with a tired sigh and allows her to cradle his head against her, her hand stroking his hair in a soothing pattern that lulls him into a state of peace.

The flames burning in the fireplace crackle and surge when the servant tending to them for the night adds another log, then bows her head toward where Aemond sits before exiting their rooms. From the room over, he can hear Y/N humming to herself as she prepares herself for a night of rest. They were both so thoroughly worn out from their prior exertions that they slept together beneath the cover of Vhagar's wing for the better part of an hour before heading back to the Red Keep.

Shockingly, neither of them felt the need to talk about what they experienced this afternoon. There was no overly-emotional profession of feelings or official conversation about what shifted between them, but they both recognized it to themselves. By the time they returned, Queen Alicent had already been looking for them for an hour, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head at the sight of them walking through the halls together with stifled laughter and rain-soaked clothes.

It was when they reached the staircase she was walking down that Aemond met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. That was all the confirmation she received on the state of her youngest child's marriage before they disappeared to clean off and ready themselves for dinner, which they managed to drag themselves out to share with Alicent and Helaena as per the former's request. And when the queen watched them interact at dinner, she couldn't help but smile to herself as she sipped her wine.

Now, it's late at night, and Y/N is brushing out the long strands of silver hair that cascade down her shoulders. The only item of clothing covering her is a thin chemise, and as she sets the brush down on the table beside her, her eyes are drawn to her stomach. A tentative hand slides down the front of it, keeping the white fabric flat against her body, and rubs the imperceptibly small bump residing there that she blamed on natural weight gain or bloating.

Deep down, she supposes she already knew. She can already pinpoint the time she thinks did it—when he woke her up with his head between her thighs before fucking her right there. It was early in the morning before any servants would come knocking, and she was still half-asleep when he spent his seed in her. As she fell back to sleep with his release dripping from her sensitive cunt, she recalls feeling the large palm of his hand settling over her belly to keep her back pressed to his chest. It was almost as if he knew too.

This morning, she couldn't imagine telling him what the maesters confirmed, but now...

She walks out past the bed to the main area of the room where they spend their time either reading, drinking, or talking before it is time to sleep. Her footfalls are quieter than usual, yet he can still hear her approaching from behind, and when she leans down with her arms wrapping around his shoulders to kiss his cheek, he does not flinch in alarm. All he does is offer a hum of approval, eye fluttering shut in appreciation of his wife's gentle touch.

There's a short pause during which she stands and wrings her hands in front of her where he cannot see, then moves around to the front of the chair and sits on his lap. Her legs are bent over the arm of the chair with her side pressed to his chest and her arm draped over his shoulders.

"Aemond?"

He turns his attention from where it had been fixed on the fire onto her. No verbal response is granted to her, but she knows from months of living alongside him that this is his way of telling her to say whatever it is that's on her mind.

Her next exhale trembles a little.

"Um," she stammers, unsure of how to break the news other than coming right out and saying it. "I went to see the maesters this morning..." Her bottom lip is drawn between her teeth as she tries to summon the courage to say it. "Iksan lēda riña." I am with child.

The typically harsh stare set on her face softens with these few words. Just like that, her nerves dissolve into nothing, and she is left to wonder how she had been so scared to tell him this morning. Of course, his reaction would be a pleasant one. He is nothing if not a duty-driven man. Providing his family with more potential heirs is a cause for celebration, even as a second son. Another way to fulfill his duty with his lawful wife, unlike Aegon who has fathered bastards with common whores and neglected his wife. And now that he has discovered a new side to his relationship with her, the idea of her bearing his children is sentimental in a way he hadn't expected it to be in the past.

Aemond's lips curl into a slight smile, his face leaning forward through the space between them to brush her nose with his. The hand not placed against her back comes down to rest upon the barely-there swell of her belly that serves as the only physical evidence of this good news.

"I know."

Her body still atop his. Seconds later, she tries to move to stand up only to be stopped by his strong arms holding her in place.

"You know?" she asks, face flushed with heat.

The emotion present on her face, he notices, is embarrassment. Whatever for, he does not know, but he's quick to settle her down once he notices. His fingers tuck her hair behind her ear, combing through it the same way hers had done with his when he collapsed onto her after their passionate coupling. A wry chuckle escapes him at her shock.

He says, "Did you think I had not noticed when you missed your blood? We share a bed, ñuha jorrāelagon"—My love. Her heart may have skipped a beat—"I would be stupid if I had not known."

Her mind is sent reeling from this.

She missed her blood at the beginning of the last moon, and she would be due for her next bleeding any day now if she were not with child, so...has he known this whole time? Wait, no. More importantly, he cares enough to make note of things like that? He may have said it as though it was obvious, as though every husband would notice, but he is far different from most of the men in this city. She is willing to bet an absurd sum of coin that her grandsire Viserys never paid such attention to the queen, nor does Aegon to Helaena.

He and his brother have vastly different marriages. For one, Aegon and Helaena live separately. She and Aemond do not. They have only consummated their marriage out of necessity for the sake of continuing the bloodline, meanwhile, she has not needed to take Aemond to bed every night. She simply wanted to. And that is the difference. That is the thing she had yet to realize in her denial of his feelings for her. They were wed for the sake of unifying their families, yes, but it is not a marriage that subsists solely on duty. At least, not anymore.

Y/N looks at him like she does not believe he is real.

"You"—she shakes her head as if to dispel her disorganized thoughts and allow her to speak with clarity—"I did not know you paid attention to me that closely."

He is countering back in a matter of seconds, running the tips of his fingers up and down the length of her back, "Nyke daor dohaeragon nykēla." I cannot help myself.

The crackling of the flames not far from where she is perched atop his lap fills the gaps of silence left between them. It allows her to consider the past day or so with the care she was not capable of in the midst of her anger. It was difficult to navigate, and she feels terrible for her brother, but she thinks it may have been a necessary hardship for them to overcome as husband and wife. The issue of their families would not have been settled with them ignoring it as they used to and pushing aside their feelings for the sake of the marriage. It had to be faced at some point, and now that it has, she feels lighter. The weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

Her hand then drops to rest atop the one he has placed over her belly, and she looks down at their entwined fingers with a tender smile blooming on her face.

"Nyke pendagon se rūs iksis riña," she says. I think the babe is a girl. "Skoros gaomagon ao pendagon, valzȳrys?" What do you think, husband?

A/N: let me know what you think :) thanks for reading

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravena, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, and @shintax-error.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

skele-bunny · 3 months ago

Text

Water Dew my beloved....

I personally interpret him as an accidental summon after Delta. Papa Terzo simply forgot to close the portal fast enough and it pulled something out. This small, hissing ghoul that just like Delta couldn't move their legs and just kept shrieking before Alpha came into view and calmed them down.

Pretty, long black hair that seemed blue that matched with equally black horns. Oceanic eyes with the soft blue, and gloss like bubbles, scales underneath their eyes with bioluminescence freckles and streaks. Just the prettiest thing Alpha's ever laid eyes on.

Come to learn his name is Dewdrop, just this quiet water ghoul that peeks around corners and waits his turn to speak. He's kept around as an extra should anything happen to Delta, so they get to see his true personality when he gets to practice with them. All smiles, bouncing, and happily moving in time with them.

Hidden behind the curtain and assigned miscellaneous chores while he waits; Tailoring is his main. If you look at a lot of Era 3's pictures, those uniforms are WACKED man... Barely fits, too big, too wide, too tight, etc. Dew doesn't have a lot of material or equipment but he does a damn good job. He's wearing one of Pebble's only spare uniforms so if he needs it, he'll wear Delta's next while fixing the original issue.

While they do soundchecks he'll clean up the bus, or get the care station ready with waters, basically anything stagehands/techs or Papa asks him to do. He doesn't mind it, really! Enjoys being in his own world while listening to his mates play.

Although quiet, still viscous. He just let himself get comfortable as the pits have always been him fighting, he doesn't see why he needs to fight now. Has absolutely helped rid of "problems" while touring, because after all, who expects the small and quiet one? He's more talkative and interactive on the road rather than the abbey, and keeps getting nicknames as their good luck charm.

The ONE time Dew got sick and couldn't be backstage for them, it seemed like everything went to shit. Delta twisted his ankle, their equipment got wet, the bass kick ended up with a hole in it, even Papa's mic cutting out more than twice. Just so... Much.

Silently had a "comforter" role. The one to intervene arguments, calming the aggressor down. Curled up against sides, sitting on laps, whispering how amazing they did if they feel they didn't do enough. Being the one to give affection and just make everything better.

Loved singing for them when asked. Delta had the same trance and effect, but even he preferred Dew. It was usually after a restless night he'd be tucked away in his bunk with the curtain open. Just slowly caressing over his own tail as he eases nerves with his voice, eventually giving them sleep they couldn't find before.

Something something Dew who has such a big personality change. But still the quiet angelfish he's always been

#I'll ramble more later if it's wanted LMAO #the band ghost #ghost band #rabrev writing #dewdrop ghoul

112 notes · View notes

i-heart-hxh · 5 months ago

Note

I just want to say I appreciate you for staying positive about killugon. Admittedly, I’ve given up on them. Maybe it’s too many angsty fanfics or metas I’ve seen that basically make it seem like they’ll never be close again but it’s nice to see some people still going strong with this ship! Hopefully one day I can enjoy this ship again the way I used to. Currently everything I read about them in fandom just depresses me.

Hi anon!

I'm sad to hear the negativity has gotten to you to this degree! It actually surprises me how much the fandom seems to think what happened between them can't be fixed. I've been into HxH for almost 8 years now and as time has gone on and I've revisited the series and analyzed it deeply and discussed it with others, I've only grown more certain that things between them will be okay--assuming Togashi can reach that point in the series. And right now is a great time to be hopeful about the future of HxH, with Togashi working so actively on the series the past few months.

Sooo many of the messages in my inbox amount to "Is there really hope? Are Gon and Killua really going to reunite and reconcile? Or is their relationship hopelessly broken?" so even though I feel like a bit of a broken record addressing this topic so much, it seems like it's a topic people really want addressed, so here's some more of my thoughts. (Trying to make my answers on this topic at least a little different each time even if some repetition is inevitable...!)

Here's this post I made of some of the reasons I anticipate a Gon and Killua reunion and fixing their relationship. And here's this eye-opening analysis post of the separation, yet again, which also offers hope.

So much of HxH is about second chances. It's about how love and human connections transform people and make life worth living, no matter how painful and difficult it may be. At the end of Chimera Ant Arc, Meruem and Komugi (who are, by the way, absolutely parallels for Gon and Killua) find their meaning for living in each other, and decide to stay together even knowing the only way they can be together is in the afterlife. If you trace back this scene to all the factors and character moments that made it possible, it goes all the way back to Gon extending kindness to Killua and changing his life. I believe Gon and Killua are on a path wherein they will ultimately find their meaning in each other and vow to stay together again (albeit without the dying part).

Gon and Killua are the protagonists of the series, and they are emblematic of the themes of HxH. Looking at the themes of HxH and the worldview it presents, it doesn't make sense for Gon and Killua to experience this horrible traumatic incident as the young teens they are, then never ever get to fix and resolve it even though they're both clearly upset to have to leave each other and they definitely have more to say to each other. Why show them feeling dissatisfied and unhappy to separate if they'll never get a chance to fix things and be happy together again? Do you really think that's the direction Togashi wants to go in, with the focus of the series and the repeated emphasis on how the hope we can find in a cruel, painful world rests in the connections we have with the people around us?

It's meaningful that they make each other so happy and transformed each others' lives. It's meaningful that even now in merch and artwork and such, they're portrayed as a pair. It's meaningful that a huge chunk of the audience so desperately wants to see them together again, and I'm certain Togashi is well aware of that. These two are at the heart of what makes HxH so wonderful and moving.

It's okay to take a break from the ship if it's not bringing you joy. Sometimes I get frustrated by takes and interpretations I see about it, too, trust me. Ultimately, it's here for you whenever you want to revisit it, and there are plenty of fanworks with happy endings and reconciliation between them if you need something to tide you over until canon hopefully resolves things between them. But do what feels right for yourself--it's okay to focus on something fluffier and less complex if that's what you need for now. I hope eventually you can come to see it with more hope, as I have lots of hope for their future--and I don't think it's unwarranted at all. 💖

#hxh #hunter x hunter #gon #killua #killugon #gonkillu #asks #my posts #anonymous

82 notes · View notes

fave-fix · 5 months ago

Text

i don't think yura will die.

i've seen a lot of speculation in the pafl fandom that yura's gonna die at the end of the series. while i can certainly see why people think thie, i personally disagree heavily with the theory. why? well, haha. let's justr say. my autism.

0. context

yura is consistently referred to in the series as the sun. this is important to state outright because it's basically the basis of this entire theory.

[image ID: a screenshot of a lyric from false disposition. it reads "Your smile is brighter than the most relentless sun." end ID.]

the other main lyric usage i'll be talking about is the word "dawn" - specifically in the context of this lyric.

[image ID: a screenshot of a lyric from parties are for losers. it reads "The party ends at the break of dawn". end ID.]

with this established, let's get into it!

i. 100 epitaphs

100 epitaphs is a song mainly about sanya's relationship with grief, as well as her relationships with yura and sergei. it illustrates how she's come to accept losing people - and, at the end, how she refuses to accept losing yura in particular.

that's my interpretation of it, at least, and i think i'm correct on it. in the last chorus, she states "i will not read your lousy epitaph", and talks about being willing to [perhaps metaphorically?] injure both yura and herself in order for him to "breathe some more". it's clear that she's drawn a line in the sand here.

not only this, but in the song, sanya explicitly states that she believes she can save yura if he will just let her:

[image ID: a screenshot of lyrics from 100 epitaphs. it reads: "Loose compromise/Where the sun won't set as long as I can set the stage". end ID.]

the sun setting refers to yura's death. as long as she can influence what happens next in the story - which she will, since she'll be going with yura on the mission to save katya - she can keep him safe.

at least, that's what she believes. it's what i believe too, but i'm sure one line from 100 epitaphs isn't enough to convince everybody - which brings me to my next point.

ii. message lost

"wait, what? what does message lost have to do with anything? it's about nikita's dying thoughts!"

true. but i think it has insight onto yura's eventual fate, too.

[image ID: a screenshot of a lyric from message lost. it reads "dawn can't break when the sun has burned to a crisp". end ID.]

in the pafl story doc, ferry states that this line refers to how nikita's lost everything that makes him happy. but taking it out of that context, don't the two main nouns in this lyric sound familiar?

that's right - "sun" and "dawn". the two that i pointed out at the beginning.

taking those nouns to mean what they do in parties are for losers and false disposition/100 epitaphs, this line could be interpreted as "the party can't end if yura's dead". which doesn't make much sense, does it? but if you think of "the party" as a metaphor for the series itself - parties are for losers - it seems to support my theory. the series can't end if yura's dead.

and yeah, i know this might be a bit of a stretch.

real quick, i'd like to go over the rest of message lost as well. it's no secret that yura and nikita are intended as paralells of each other, after all.

the song is, in essence, about nikita's pathetic life, and his relationship with the woman who loved him more than anything. and there's a specific passage from the doc i'd like to point out:

"By the end of it all, Nikita is overwhelmed with regret. While he may not have loved Nadya the same way she’d loved him, maybe, if he had tried opening up to her, their lives would have turned out differently."

i think it's possible that yura's life will turn out the way nikita's could have had he been less of an asshole. after all, they were hit by the same bullet, but yura was only nicked, while nikita was killed.

iii. the mill

okay. yes, this is an olya song. however. i think it's specifically intended to be applicable to sanya as well. the false disposition melody, for example, as well as the parallels between sergei/olya and yura/sanya's relationships. also, these lines from the mill:

[image ID: screenshots of lyrics from the mill. the first reads "I'll draw a circle in the sand", the second reads "No more circles left to find". end ID.]

seem to be intentionally called back to in 100 epitaphs:

[image ID: a screenshot of a lyric from 100 epitaphs. it reads "Another circle drawn". end ID.]

but even if i'm wrong on this one, i do think there are lyrics of the mill that are applicable to my theory.

[image ID: a screenshot of lyrics from the mill. they read "There has to be some hope that's/Just out of sight".]

[image ID: a screenshot of a lyric from the mill. it reads "Right through the arc of breaking dawn".]

[image ID: a screenshot of a lyric from the mill. it reads "The pink arc of breaking dawn,". end ID.]

[image ID: a screenshot of a lyric from the mill. it reads "The sun will rise". end ID.]

we make it through the pink breaking dawn. there is hope. the sun will rise.

i think that last line is especially insightful. the sun will rise. yura will live. it'll be okay.

iii. conclusion

yura's not gonna die at the end of the series. it'd make no sense for him to do so. and also i would cry a lot.

thank you for reading my pretentious meta analysis. sorry if it was incomprehensible. i am Not Fucking Normal about this man or this series

#fave-fix/txt #pafl #parties are for losers #yura beletsky #meta #analysis #theory #pafl theory #any comments would be much appreciated #id love to discuss this further

57 notes · View notes

gamerwoo · 1 year ago

Text

Hyunjin: Age-Restricted (Part Eighteen)

Characters: Hyunjin x female reader (ft other skz members)

Genre/warnings: nanny!reader, ex-porn star/neighbor!hyunjin, generally inexperienced and painfully shy virgin!reader, fluff, humor, mentions of porn and sex work, hyunjin is stupid in love and also has a thing for tall girls (it doesn't necessarily say reader is taller than him but he does beg her to wear heels so interpret that how you want), hyunjin is very much not straight, lots and lots of flirting and teasing, mentions of kinks and stuff but no smut happens sorry <;3 (minors dni!!!)

Word count: 6,074

Summary: You think it’s luck when the new family you nanny for is so stupid rich that they rent you a fancy new apartment just so you can live closer to them. You think it’s luck when the guy across the hall is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your entire life and makes an effort to talk to you. But that’s just about where your luck runs out, because Hyunjin is more out of your league than you could ever imagine, and you’re just some hopeless virgin who never had good luck in the first place.

Previous | Next | Series Masterlist

He knew you’d have questions. Hyunjin expected nothing less, but you made sure to tell him you were curious but would only ask questions if he was comfortable with it. Considering you found out everything about him when he’d ended things, you never really got a chance to ask him anything. But he was 100% okay with answering any question you had, and he planned on being fully open and honest.

That first night that Hyunjin apologized, he was fully prepared to go home alone, but you told him he could stay. Even if you were mad still, you missed him. And that was where your questioning started.

“So then how did you get into porn?” was your first question, and it was the one he expected to be first.

He had gone to his apartment to change into clothes to sleep in, and the two of you were laying in your bed, inhumanly close. You missed each other and he didn’t know how to tell you that he still didn’t feel close enough even with your entire body on top of his without sounding weird.

“Changbin,” he stated simply.

“So you both got into porn when he said he was gonna do it?” you assumed.

He nodded, “I also really needed money, aaaaand I was basically going nowhere. I really liked art and I wanted to be an artist, but getting into that industry is fucking hard, so I just…went for porn. It was pretty easy for anyone to get into, anyway – at least in that area of Vegas. There were so many sleazeballs looking for amateurs.”

“So how’d it go in the beginning?”

“Honestly, shockingly well,” he scoffed. “I don’t mean to, like, sound like I’m bragging, but I kind of took off almost instantly. Directors and producers and shit were saying I just had the perfect face and a good body, and everyone wanted to have me in their videos. It was actually really overwhelming, but I needed all the money I could get so I just ran with it.”

“That actually sounds kind of terrifying,” you nodded.

“Oh, I think you would’ve gone into shock and died,” he nodded along with you.

You narrowed your eyes at him and he just grinned.

“Anyway,” you stated.

“Anyway,” he laughed.

“What about Changbin?”

“He was only a little salty that I was getting more jobs than him, but he worked his way up there. Plus, I paid most of our rent so he couldn’t complain that much.”

You suddenly realized something, letting out a gasp, “Wait, were you the mutual friend that got him and Kit together?”

“Yup.”

“What happened?!” you squealed.

“‘Kay, so as I said, I got popular fast. I caught the attention of bigger producers and directors who worked with bigger names. Big names like…”

“Kat Valentyne,” you finished, saying her name with pizazz and doing spirit fingers to really sell her porn name.

He laughed and rolled his eyes, his laugh making you shake as you laid face-down on top of him, “She’s been a big name almost since she started. Word got out to the people she went to school with that she got hot and was in porn, so it got spread around along with old photos of her, so it kinda made headlines online.

“But anyway, I got cast in a scene opposite her, and I knew–”

“Hang on a minute,” you interrupted him, and that was when he realized what he’d just given away. “So you mean to tell me that you fucked Kit?”

He was quick to point a finger at you and look you dead in the eyes, “I never had feelings for her and I still don’t. Never will.”

“No, Hyunjin–” you sighed and shook your head. “You’re telling me that you were mad that she only flirted with me and looked at me a certain way, but you already had sex with her?! That’s not even fair!”

All he did in response was roll his eyes before continuing, “Anyway, so I knew Changbin had a fat fucking crush on her since forever, so I figured I’d throw his name out there. I showed her a couple photos of him and she thought he was cute aaaaand yeah. Rest is history.”

“I still can’t believe you got mad when you had sex with Kit…” you mumbled.

“Are you even upset that I had sex with her or just that I got jealous over her?”

“I know it was your job,” you scoffed, waving away his concern. “I trust you. I mean, she’s also dating your best friend.”

“I also just don’t want to date her,” he added.

“But how come you get to fuck her, but god forbid she look at me the wrong way?” you huffed.

“I think it’s suddenly bedtime,” he told you before he pulled the covers up over your head, and then rolled over on top of you.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” you squealed between laughs.

“Can’t hear you, goodnight!”

Hyunjin wanted to do the proper thing: take you on a fancy date. And what better way to do that than using your ex-boss’ certificate to go to that fancy restaurant? It seemed like a very fitting way to celebrate the two of you making up.

Unfortunately, the only fancy thing you owned was your old prom dresses, so that meant shopping.

As far as you could tell, Hyunjin would be an expert at fancy. While you mostly ever saw him in t-shirts and sweatshirts – you had still seen him in other clothes like jeans, button-ups, and such – they were always expensive. So he must’ve owned fancy clothing, right? He must’ve known what rich people considered acceptable since clearly the dude was loaded.

You were pretty sure you’d never seen someone look so goddamn good in just some black jeans and a baggy button-up shirt with one half tucked in, but Hyunjin was just another level. You were wondering if he was even human, actually. Maybe he was actually an android or something.

“You’re staring,” he noted as you watched him brush through his dark hair before leaving the apartment.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

He just laughed, eyes turning into crescent moons.

You missed his smile.

While you were browsing through clothes at a store you felt far too out of place in, Hyunjin mentioned, “Pick out whatever you like. I’ll cover it.”

“Um, no?” you turned around to tell him. “You’re already paying for my apartment – which, by the way, still stop.”

“I can afford it, don’t worry about it,” he promised, waving the worry away.

Which then sparked more questions about him.

“Did you just make a ton of money back then?” you wondered.

He shrugged, “More than most. I did save most of it, but– …Actually, we’ll talk more in the car. I gotta take you somewhere for you to get it.”

“Get what?”

“It.”

You made a face at him and rolled your eyes before going back to looking at dresses, “So, uh…what’s considered…fancy?”

“Do you want form fitting or more flowy?” he asked as he started perusing the racks as well.

“Do you also want to pay for my shapewear?” you asked sarcastically.

He shrugged, “If you think you need it, I’ll buy whatever you want.”

You frowned, obviously not happy with his answer. But again, he grinned back at you.

Dress and shoes acquired, you were back in Hyunjin’s car, driving to an unknown location. All he’d said was, “I’m gonna show you something.”

You didn’t plan on getting shoes, but Hyunjin was quick to ask after picking out a dress if you had any shoes for the occasion. You’d said something about wanting to find just a cute pair of flats, but Hyunjin turned to face you with wide eyes.

“Please wear heels,” he begged, clinging onto your arms for dear life.

“I never wear heels,” you told him. “I’ll be too tall.”

“No you won’t,” he stated very seriously. “Wear. Heels.”

You did end up getting a pair of heels that you were totally not persuaded to get due to the fact you were very positive that Hyunjin found it hot when you were taller. As if he wouldn’t have bought them for you anyway because he liked how you looked in them. If the way he eyed you up and down and almost drooled on the marbled floor was any indication.

“Soooo,” Hyunjin began, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh, “have you ever noticed anything in my apartment?”

“Are we talking about the mirrors?” you asked.

“You need to get past the mirrors, baby.”

“So that’s a no. What was I supposed to notice?”

He chuckled, “Maybe something on the walls…?”

“Art!” you gasped, recalling the times you’d been over and noticed that large canvases were always evenly spaced across the walls of the hallway, and a few were put in his living room and his kitchen.

He nodded, “Very good. What about the art?”

“It’s…there!” you pointed out, much less enthusiastically. “It’s on the walls!”

Thank god he was stopped at a stop sign because he looked at you with an unamused look for a painfully long time.

“Hyunjin, when have I ever had time to sit in your apartment and look at the art?” you asked him, trying to prove a point. “We were usually in your bedroom, and even when we were on the couch, we were cuddling and watching something or laying down and watching something, or we weren’t even watching anything because we were doing other things!”

He scoffed with a wide smile and asked, “You can’t even say making out? You have to say ‘other things’?”

“What about the art, Hyunjin?” you asked sharply, wanting him to move on from the route he was about to take.

After a bit of laughing, Hyunjin replied, “Most of the art has the same signature.”

“That’s so interesting,” you deadpanned, still not getting it.

You also weren’t paying attention to where he was driving, but he finally pulled into a lot outside of what looked like another apartment building. He put the car in park and pulled out the key before he looked at you again. Again, he was unamused.

He eyed you up and down before noting, “You’ve gotten more sassy, huh?”

“I’m not trying to be, I just don’t understand!”

“Come on, babydoll,” he patted your thigh before he got out of the car. “I’ll show you.”

He took you into the building and into an elevator. You noted that he stuck a silver key from his keyring into a keyhole in the elevator, turned it, and pressed the button for the top floor. You and Hyunjin waited side-by-side at the back of the elevator. He was on his phone while you were watching the numbers on the LED screen above the doors.

“Have you talked to Kit or Changbin?” you asked him.

“They know everything,” he nodded, still not looking up from his phone. He assumed you were asking because you wanted to know if they were caught up. “I told them after you fell asleep last night.”

“After I was suffocated,” you corrected.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he scoffed, finally looking at you to smirk.

“Oh, says you of all people.”

“Touché.”

Finally, the elevator dinged, and the doors opened. The top floor seemed to be a penthouse, but it was all open space with large windows all on the back wall. The rest of the walls were exposed brick and covered in half-finished and fully-finished paintings. Scattered around the space were easels that either held canvases, white stained drapes, or nothing at all. There were a handful of stools around the area, and lots of art supplies. There were two large desks on either side of the room, with more art supplies and sketchbooks and canvases.

“Since we’re being completely open and honest now,” Hyunjin smiled at you, gesturing with an arm to the space while he guided you in with the other around your waist, “welcome to my studio. This is how I’ve made so much money.”

You looked at him, eyes bugging out of your head, “What, you’re some huge artist?”

He pointed at a painting that seemed to be finished, leaning up against the wall as it stood on the floor.

“There’s the signature. On most of the ones at home.”

You walked over and bent down to get a closer look. It looked mostly like a bunch of scribbles, but you could make out a large S and a large H.

“No offense, but what does it say?” you ask. “There’s no S in your name.”

“Sam Hyun,” he replied. “When I lived in Vegas, I went by Sam Hwang, and my name is Hyunjin. I combined the two.”

You turned around to face him again, head tilting slightly to one side as you studied him, “You actually do look like a Sam…”

He shrugged, “Thanks, I think.”

“It’s a good thing. Sam’s not an ugly name, y’know? You could’ve been something ugly like…Frank. Or you could’ve been a Kyle.”

He gave you a strangle look as he chuckled, “What’s wrong with Kyle? It’s a common name, no?”

“Kyle itself is a red flag,” you stated knowingly.

“Would you still love me if my name was Bartholomew?” he asked suddenly with a giggle.

“Fuck no,” you replied immediately.

“Just take a fucking guess what Changbin almost made his stage name.”

You gasped, “You’re kidding.”

“He’s so fucking lucky we went back to Vegas for our first auditions because he met one of my old buddies names Xavior and thought his name sounded cool, so he used that as his stage name instead. But he was dead set on Batholomew.”

“Why?” you asked with a disgusted face.

“His mind works in mysterious ways,” he shrugged.

“So…Kat Valentyne and Xavior…something?” you asked.

“Xavior Chang,” he scoffed. “He couldn’t come up with a second name but he didn’t want to copy me and use just one – even though I told him I didn’t think he was copying me, but whatever. But honestly, after the movie with him and Kit, she kept slipping up and calling him Binnie so now that’s basically all he’s known as now.”

You nodded slowly as you started to look around the large space. Hyunjin just stood and watched you, hands in his pockets.

“So…how did you come up with Sam Hyun?” you wondered. “Why not just use your name?”

“Because I was in porn and I was afraid of ever being connected back to it,” he explained. “Anyone could google my stage name and find out my real one. With being an artist, I wanted absolutely everything to be separated from what I was doing during the day. Nobody had a face to the art, either. Sam Hyun is untraceable. As far as anyone knows, Sam Hyun is my real name. Separate from Hwang Hyunjin, and therefore, separate from Jin.”

“So…you’re like Banksy.”

“Yeah, like Banksy.”

“So how’d it happen, then? The switch between porn and art?”

“I was doing art at the same time, but more as a hobby. I kind of gave up when it never took off. But one day, out of nowhere, I got really lucky. Something I made got noticed at a show by some big name and they offered a lot more than it should’ve been worth, honestly,” he laughed like he still couldn’t believe it. “That just kinda…put my name on the map, I guess. And once I had that break, I left the industry and focused full-time on this.”

A small smile broke on your face as you looked at him, “That’s kinda sweet. You get to do the thing you actually love.”

He nodded, “I got very lucky. Still am very lucky.” he added the last part with a warm, happy half-smile at you, just looking at you with the most lovesick expression anyone had ever seen.

You started looking around again, wandering between easels and canvases, looking around at everything Hyunjin had made. You never knew he could draw, but fuck, was he talented. It was mostly people and a handful of scenery pieces thrown in there, but everything you saw was so insanely good.

You hadn’t noticed Hyunjin had wandered over behind you as you studied a seemingly random couple he’d drawn, their bodies filled in with a watercolor sunset, until he softly asked, “Do you wanna see something?”

You looked at him to silently say you were paying attention to whatever he wanted to show you, and he guided you over to an easel that was covered by a white drape. It was obvious that there was a large canvas underneath, but you weren’t going to uncover anything that was covered. That would be rude.

Hyunjin reached up to gently pull the sheet off so as to not knock over the painting. Your mouth fell open as your eyes widened in awe, seeing the portrait of you and Hyunjin. It was done in the same exact style as the piece you were just looking at – just the messy-on-purpose black outline from the shoulders up, and being filled in with warm tones that blended together – but this was very clearly supposed to be you and Hyunjin staring deeply at each other. Your lips were only inches apart as one of his hands cupped your cheek, looking at you with his signature smirk, but even in a picture, he was able to capture the way he looked at you like you were the entire universe. And you looked back at him in a way that very much mimicked how you looked at the piece: in pure awe. Your eyes were wide and your lips were parted, your hand holding lightly onto his arm just a couple inches down from his wrist. The colors used to fill in your bodies were similar to the first painting but the reds, yellows, and oranges were put in different spots. It was somehow more pleasing, but maybe you were being biased.

“The one you were just looking at was based off of this,” Hyunjin explained to you softly. “I made this one a while ago, but when things got…really shitty between us, I tried to replicate it to sell it. As you could probably tell, I gave up. Wasn’t as good as the original.”

“Holy shit, Hyunjin,” you breathed, unable to take your eyes off of it.

“If you think this is insane, you should see my most recent sketchbook,” he chuckled. “You’d probably think I’m a psycho.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you realized what he’d said before, looking back at him, “Were you going to sell this?”

He scoffed, “Absolutely not. I was gonna keep it, but I like the style of it and thought it would sell well. But this is priceless – even if it’s half a self portrait.”

You frowned at him and lightly whacked him in the stomach, making him laugh, “You’re literally a God, you freak.”

“Yeah, well,” he sighed as he draped an arm casually around your shoulder, “you really are your own biggest critic. Drawing myself took the longest fucking time.”

“You definitely look at me like that,” you promised, pointing at him on the portrait. “And I definitely look lost all the time like that.”

“You’re not lost,” he scoffed again, rolling his eyes. “I’m literally right there.”

You started laughing, “That was stupid cheesy.”

“The cheese gets worse, don’t worry,” he promised with a smirk as he started to lead you over to one of the tables. He brought you to a closed sketchbook that looked much less beat-up than the other ones. “This is my newer sketchbook. I got it a little bit before I met you, actually.”

He gently pushed you forward to stand at the table and open it. You flipped it open and started going through it slowly, seeing him use different mediums to make different things. It was mostly people – people you’d never seen before, but a couple that you’d seen at The Brooke. But after about 5 pages, you flipped the next page to see you, holding a moving box. It was a charcoal sketch from your thighs up, and it was only somewhat shaded. But it was very clearly you, laughing as you carried the cardboard box.

The next page was you again, but from the side, and only from your shoulders up. Your expression was neutral and you seemed to be looking at something. The next page was, again, you, smiling with your eyes closed. The next page was you, and the next, and the next, and the next.

“I like to draw people that I see,” he explained. “Clearly, I saw you once and couldn’t get you out of my head. I’ve drawn you a lot since I’ve met you.”

You kept flipping, and every single page was you. But then you got to the last few sketches in the book, and you only looked sad. You looked disheveled or upset. There was even one of you with tears on your cheeks with your eyes casted down.

“I kinda never stopped drawing you,” he admitted quietly. “Even when I was mad at you, I still thought about you all the time.”

There were a couple drawings of you scattered in the sad ones where you looked happy again, and it tugged at your heart. Even when you were both upset, Hyunjin seemed to still think of you when you were happy, like he wanted to see it again.

The last 10 pages or so were still blank, so you closed the sketchbook again and turned to face Hyunjin, cheeks feeling hot from seeing how often he drew you. He could tell you were flustered and grinned widely at you.

“I’m pretty cute, huh?” he asked with a modest shrug.

“How come I never knew you could draw?” you asked him, poking his chest with your finger.

“Changbin and Kit have seen me doodle on stuff here and there, but they don’t know about all this,” he explained. “This is top secret. Nobody knows about it because I don’t want there being any possible ties between Sam Hyun and Jin, y’know? They’re both me, but nobody else knows they are. I want to make sure it stays that way. But since we’re working on honesty, I figured you’d be a good first person to tell.”

You nodded, “I won’t say a word.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t,” he promised with a mischievous grin before he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

You’d never seen Hyunjin dress up before, but boy did he dress up. There was a lot of black, but a lot of chains and silver and mesh. Everything just looked expensive and extravagant, and despite having Hyunjin help you pick out what to wear earlier that day, you somehow felt severely underdressed beside him.

Despite that, the way Hyunjin looked at you made you feel like the best looking person at the restaurant. When you first got dressed and you were doing your makeup in his bathroom, he was sitting on the counter by where your makeup was spread out, going between looking at his phone and glancing up at you with a soft smile.

But when you put on the heels, he was gone. His eyes only left you so he could drive, but he kept stealing glances. He looked at you probably the way you looked at him. Like you were God and had descended down in front of him. You weren’t even sure if you’d make it to the restaurant because you were almost positive there were a couple times he almost passed out.

“You’re oddly quiet now,” Hyunjin mused as he looked over the menu with you – he had to help you with some things because you’d never had a lot of the food they offered. It was all fancy stuff with big words.

You glanced away from the words that didn’t even seem like real words to look at him, “What do you mean?”

“You’ve rambled off so many questions today and now you’re dead silent,” he chuckled. “Feeling okay?”

You felt your cheeks warm a bit as you mumbled, “I’m not gonna ask those questions out in public, Hyunjin.”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes, “Oh, as if anyone is listening to us. They’re all talking about business and nannies and vacations and shit that’s important to rich people. Dates are meant for talking to get to know each other. You should feel comfortable asking me anything.”

You knew he was right about dates being made for getting to know each other, but you still felt nervous to ask questions about sex and porn where people might hear it. What if some rich person overheard and thought you were weird and got you kicked out?

It took a couple minutes of silent internal encouragement, but you finally asked in almost a whisper, “What…kind did you do…?”

His laugh was louder than your words but nobody seemed to notice, “Both. Gay and straight. Does that bother you?”

You shrugged like he told you it was a little cloudy outside, “Not really. I mean, unless you prefer guys, in which case, that would make me kinda insecure probably.”

“My preference is you, dummy,” he told you with a playful smile.

“I meant…sex-wise,” your voice got quieter on the last word, which made Hyunjin laugh again.

“No preference there.”

“Okay, maybe this is a dumb question–”

“No dumb questions.”

“Sure. How did you, like…not fall in love with every single person? I get it’s mostly acting and stuff but that’s some serious acting. I would be convinced everyone actually loved me and cared about me and would catch feelings everyday.”

“I learned how to separate my feelings from my work,” he explained. “To me, sex was just sex, and my feelings were basically shut off when I was doing it. But that was only when I was working. It’s different with you.”

“We’ve never…done that,” you reminded him.

“I mean with everything else. We’ve done other stuff. Unless you forgot about that when we were mad at each other,” he smirked.

“Trust me, Hyun, I remember,” you promised.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his smirk growing and making you feel things you did not want to feel in the middle of a restaurant full of a bunch of important and rich people. “Because I don’t mind jogging your memory.”

Despite the first conversation at the restaurant, the rest of the date was the most romantic experience you’d ever had. You were starting to learn that despite Hyunjin’s line of work and claiming he could turn off his feelings, he was a true hopeless romantic – not that you didn’t know before, but now it was painfully obvious. He ordered for you, held open doors for you, and asked a lot of questions about you. The two of you had already caught up on new happenings since you last spoke, but now Hyunjin was asking you questions about your future. What field were you going to look for a job in? Have you considered going to school for something? How did you get into nannying in the first place? Did that mean you wanted kids?

You learned more about him, other than just his previous job. You learned more about his friendship with Changbin, his life in Las Vegas, and everything outside and in between. How he got out of the industry and how he found himself living at The Brooke and befriending the two bellhops who worked the night shift. More about his early life pre-porn and even some stories from his life while he was in that industry, but about stuff that was separate from it.

You felt like the whole time, his eyes never left yours. You weren’t even sure if he ever looked down while eating his food to see what he was picking up with his utensils, but his plate was cleared by the end of the date.

To be fair, you weren’t sure of many things because Hyunjin kept refilling your wine glass whenever it was empty. He got some fancy bottle brought to the table in an ice bucket and while it was meant to share, you weren’t sure if he had any of it or if you’d drank the whole thing. You saw him with a glass but then you were too lost in his eyes to notice much else. When his stare got too much and you felt nervous like you had to look away, you looked down at your own food instead of focusing on whatever he was doing.

Back in the car, Hyunjin drove with a hand on your thigh and the other on the wheel. Despite your tipsy state and him teasing you about forgetting the things you’d done together, he was being a complete gentleman. The most he’d done was just then as his warm palm rested on the exposed skin of your leg.

“I have a follow-up question,” you announced suddenly between Hyunjin humming along with the music.

“Yes, angel?”

“Can you elaborate on the ‘sex without feelings’ thing?” you asked.

He chuckled and glanced at you, “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Just now. Just going over stuff in my head, y’know?”

“How much wine have you had, my love?” he continued to laugh.

“Whatever you didn’t drink, I did,” you stated surely.

After his laughter had died down, though, he replied, “The people I worked with, I never had romantic feelings for. When I was starting out, it happened a couple times until I learned. I had a couple…situationships, I suppose during my time in the industry, and I didn’t try to disassociate from my feelings because obviously they were supposed to be relationships. But with them, it always felt like they were trying so hard to make it like a scene that I just auto-blocked it all out anyway. It kinda sucked.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you looked over at Hyunjin, “That doesn’t happen now, right?”

“Absolutely not, angel,” he looked back at you with a soft smile before looking back at the road. “With you, everything is so much better than any sex I’ve ever had. Feelings really do make it. I actually get turned on and everything feels more intense. It just feels… I don’t know how to explain it other than everything is better because there’s feelings. I can’t not feel things for you, _____.”

“Awww,” you giggled as your cheeks began to warm. “Shut the fuck up, you’re too cute.”

“Not to say,” he quickly added, “if you did want to do anything a little…raunchier in the future, that I would hate it. I think in that case, it would be okay because the feelings are still there. It was just with those people, they made it seem like they only saw me as Jin and not Hyunjin, if that makes sense.”

You nodded, “No, I get that. That does make me feel better, though."

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence for another moment until you thought of another question, shyly asking, "So, um…what’re you…into…?”

You could see the smirk growing on his face as the streetlamps flooded through the windshield as he drove, “I’ll do just about anything if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But what are you personally into?” you pressed curiously, though you were sure Hyunjin would be able to tell how flustered you were. “Like, if you didn’t have to worry about your partner.”

“Hair pulling,” was his immediate response. “I love having my hair pulled.”

You eyed his hair as it currently was. He kept it on the long-ish side and it was almost always half-up. Even in the one video of his you saw, his hair was at his shoulders.

“Yeah, that math adds up,” you nodded. “I think you like dirty talking, too.”

He let out a laugh as he glanced between you and the road, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You were smiling, too, because of his laugh as you replied, “You would always talk a lot to me. You’re just really vocal.”

“You react well when I do talk to you,” he pointed out before he leaned over toward you, his lips almost brushing your ear. “You like the dirty talk, _____.”

A shiver went down your spine as he pulled away, and you were pretty sure Hyunjin noticed from the way his smirk widened and his chest quickly rose and fell like he scoffed. But he didn’t say anything about it, and you were too shy to confirm or deny. So he went back to quietly humming along to his music.

Both Felix and Jeongin were behind the counter when you and Hyunjin returned back to The Brooke. When you left that evening, it was only Jeongin who was punching in for work and making a comment about how dolled up the two of you were. When you came strolling into the empty lobby with your hands intertwined, Felix’s jaw was just about on the floor as Jeongin started smirking.

“Nice to see the two of you still look presentable,” the younger boy noted. “I thought for sure Hyunjin was gonna pounce at some point.”

“I don’t blame him,” Felix choked out a laugh as he started to regain his composure. “Either of you. You both look incredible.”

Your face had already been warm from the wine and Hyunjin’s compliments, but Felix made it feel hotter, “Thanks.”

“What’s the occasion?” he wondered.

“Make up date,” Hyunjin stated, stopping at the front desk to chat with them. “We went somewhere nice for free, thanks to _____’s asshole ex-bosses.”

Jeongin nodded, “You love to see it.”

“Now,” Hyunjin released your hand to place his hands on your shoulders, “I need to get this one to bed since she drank almost an entire bottle of wine by herself.”

“You kept pouring!” you insisted.

“But you kept drinking,” he countered with a playful grin.

“You can’t start gaslighting her when you just got back together,” Jeongin told him with a sigh and a shake of his head.

“But it’s official now,” Hyunjin pointed out with a wide grin that made his eyes crinkle.

Felix nodded in understanding, “Oh, then it’s totally okay now.”

“See ya later, guys!” he chirped as he turned you and started leading you toward the elevators.

“Don’t be too loud, please!” Jeongin laughed after the two of you. “I don’t feel like getting a ton of noise complaints tonight!”

That’s where your mind was, actually. Hyunjin had done this big gesture for you. He made an entire day out of it, too. He brought you to his gallery and showed you all of the art he made, and half of it was of you. He brought you shopping and got you expensive clothes and accessories for the fancy date he brought you on. This all must’ve been leading up to him taking your virginity now, right? Hyunjin definitely seemed like the type of person who wanted to make that something big and romantic and special. You half expected to go into his apartment and see rose petals leading to his bed.

Even if it wasn’t that far, he’d probably want to do something, right?

But instead, he stopped with you outside your apartment. You looked up at him in confusion, “Are we staying at my place?”

“You are,” he chuckled.

“What?”

“_____, it’s our first date,” he explained, still laughing softly at your confusion. “I’m doing things traditionally. It seems right. So you sleep here, I sleep over there, and I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

You pouted but mumbled an, “Okay…”

Did you feel disappointed? Kind of. But did you also feel relieved? A little bit. You were pretty sure you were wearing some ugly cotton thong you’d gotten at the department store, anyway.

Hyunjin kissed your pouting lips, which brought a small smile to your face as he beamed back at you, “Goodnight, _____.”

“Goodnight, Hyunjin,” you replied before turning to unlock your door.

And once you were inside, you had to call your friends to tell them everything.

————✧♡✧————-

tag list (italics are unable to tag): @hyuneyeon @ack-aashi @rindomo @ihopeitrainstonight @castledy @broken-glowsticks @smollquokka @yeetfellx @fwess @zoe8stay @fleeingreality @might-be-a-rat @sluttysohn @eliserbt2001 @catskpop @diamondsvts @minaamhh @jaspriv @sankyg @straydhampir @hyunsungbased @7miroh @animefreak2112 @junsjuly @drrramaaaqweeen @accalus @bakedlilgoonie @So-Pe07 @drugerlime @shmooooo @hwangshoneycake @notmebutyouu @vampjin0 @stay-berry @kiribirien @beombeomlovesme @lockeansonder @jisungsbff01 @ppiri-bahng @hyunniethepooh @peachessandhoney @kpopssuregi @moondustmemories @artistic-rendition @lolli4me @s-u-n-z-e @levislifeline @certifiedmarkleetrash @simpxxstan @second0325 @linosjureumi @kyaa-q @hrtsforhyun @amaranthjimin [be added to the taglist by filling out this form!]

#k-labels #hyunjin #stray kids #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #stray kids au #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenario #stray kids fic #stray kids series #stray kids x reader #hyunjin au #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin fic #hyunjin x reader

362 notes · View notes

queerfandomtrifecta · 1 year ago

Text

S2 is driving me nuts like anytime I try and find any sort of semblance of a tangible theme it’s just not there.

I thought it was gonna be learning how to heal from trauma correctly, because Ed’s whole Kraken era is a bad coping mechanism and we got what felt like this massive narrative plant in e1 with Frenchie saying there’s a box in his mind where he puts all the awful things and he never opens it.

Nope. Not that. Never addressed and everyone just gets over everything because “not moving on is worse”.

I thought it was gonna be atonement/apology/forgiveness, because of Stede’s “I think I hurt him pretty bad” and Izzy’s “you and me did this to him” and all the messed up ways Ed tortured the crew and everything he did to Izzy.

Nope. Ed forgives Stede after one(1) conversation and watching Buttons turn into a seagull. Influencer non-apology from Ed to the crew is just accepted by most of them. No apology to Izzy that takes accountability, but somehow a massive apology from Izzy, who has a long track record of already apologizing correctly so it’s not an arc, on his deathbed for something that had been resolved several episodes back in multiple ways and was barely even believable to begin with.

Identity in terms of being what you’re expected to be vs being happy was a massive theme in s1 but that was such a mess in s2. Like we sort of have that with Ed but not really. He threw away his leathers, then got them back. Stede is apparently trying to become a more effective captain, and aside from the fact that s1 already established his different way of doing things was what made him that already and that I’d never have known it if I hadn’t read it in an interview, he leaves piracy completely at the end of s2 so that very very forced arc for him doesn’t even play out.

The only actual arc that happened in s2 was for Izzy. He got a redemption arc, he suffered, he saved everyone, he was accepted seemingly as the leader of his new found family. It was done so well in episodes 1-4 for him. It gets hazy after that and ends in a way that doesn’t even make basic storytelling sense. He had to die for Ed to be truly free?? We wrapped that up multiple episodes ago. Ed hasn’t struggled with the “consequences” of Izzy pushing him to be Blackbeard since the end of s2e3, and we don’t even see that happening anymore in s2 at all. Izzy isn’t “feeding the darkness”. He actively tries to stop it in e1 and DOES in e2. If Jenkins hadn’t said in interviews what Izzy’s death was supposed to represent, it wouldn’t have been interpreted that way at all. And if you’re having to explain it because it’s not clear in the text, you’ve done a bad job conveying your story.

#ofmd spoilers #ofmd #ofmd season 2 #izzy hands #ofmd season 2 spoilers #ed teach #stede bonnet #ofmd critique #ofmd critical #david jenkins

178 notes · View notes

softknightt · 3 months ago

Text

I saw a post here where someone thought that Bobby's friends are nice, and that's totally okay because Company is a musical very open to interpretation. But I can't agree at all. Like, I wouldn't say that they are horrible friends, but at the same time, I think they care about Bobby because of the stuff Bobby does for them. Just bear with me.

In the song "What Would We Do Without You?", Bobby's friends list all the reasons they like to have Bobby around: Someone to talk to, someone who brings them flowers, helps them when they are sick, helps with the kids, etc. Basically, someone who is safe and is ALWAYS THERE for everything. But them you get the the end of the song, and nobody plays their instruments when Bobby's play his Kazzo.

Okay, they were playing in pairs, but at least all of them could have played their instruments. It would be a reminder that, despite Bobby not being in a relationship, they are there for him. BUT THEY DIDN'T. This, in my mind, indicates that while Bobby is there for them (which we see throughout the musical in different scenes), they aren't there for him, and he is alone.

Then, in general, throughout the entire play, the characters try to live through Bobby because Bobby represents the pleasure of the single life they don't have anymore. In "Have I Got a Girl For You" Bobby's male friends talk about what THEY would want in a girl, they try to introduce Bobby to girls THEY fantasize about, but can't have because they are in a relationship already. Also, in different parts, the male characters show some sort of envy bc Bobby is single.

The woman in the play projects a lot on Bobby. In "Poor Baby" they think of Bobby as someone completely alone without THEM to take care of him, they baby him, but not in a good way. They say he HAS to have a woman, but in the same song, they seem to think that the girls Bobby goes out with aren't good enough for him. It's almost like they are jealous of the woman he goes out with, bc they see Bobby as "their pet" or think of Bobby as "they guy they wanted their husbands to be like".

All of them opine a lot about Bobby's life. Sometimes they think Bobby should be alone, and not marry. Other times they say Bobby should marry. It's their opinion, but the opinion they give doesn't come from a place of "thinking about Bobby", they come from a place of "projecting their want/thoughts of the moment". Despite being the main character in the play, Bobby is just a side character in their narrative.

Then, we have being alive, and Bobby hiding from his friends/not showing up at his birthday. I think his fight with Joanne, and the fact that she wanted to cheat her husband with Bobby, but not really divorce opened his eyes to the fact that she (and all his friends) has been using him to compensate for something in their marriages (like the alcoholic friend wanting Bobby to drink, or his wife who is in a diet wanting Bobby to eat bc she can't, and so on).

I think that fight also got him to realize that he wanted someone to take care of/to take care of him, and understand the dichotomy of a relationship (which he has been observing throughout the play). Joanne made him stop creating unreal expectations about relationships, she kicked the door and got Bobby to look at the ugly parts of a relationship as much as the good ones. So, in being alive, he admits the truth to himself and opens himself up to the possibility of being hurt by a relationship and, becomes alive bc of it.

BUT he didn't show up at his surprise party when his friends were there, and he FUCKING SMILED when he was alone. So, what I gather, is that Bobby also realizes that whatever decision he makes regarding relationships (being alone or not), he has to stop trying to attend to his friend's expectations or wishes for him. And he has to make his own decision, without caring about what they think about it because it's his LIFE, and not THEIRS. And he can't live FOR THEM.

Anyway, so that' why I don't think they are very good friends. They aren't bad, either. They are just too caught up in their lives, and they end up projecting on Bobby and making things even more difficult for him simply because they do not understand Bobby, but they seem to believe they know what is best for him or what he wants (which changes throughout the play).

#company 2006 #company musical #stephen sondheim #bobby company #musicals #musical theatre

47 notes · View notes

maythedreadwolftakeyou · 4 months ago

Note

Hiii, do you have any tips for drafting out embroidery patterns? I've got one in mind, but drafting it out and color picking is so nerve-wracking!!

[Hi!!!! this got kinda really long so I'm gonna crop it under a read more. And I honestly don't have any real training/instruction in fiber arts so this is just how I do things, and probably others do them very differently!]

Haha so my fandom embroideries are VERY different from my non-fandom personal pieces in this respect. For non-fandom things i just kind of throw myself in like WAHOO FREEFORM LETS GO and go for a kind of messy colorful approach that ends up as things like this:

Versus my fandom stuff is way more structured and designed to fill space, be very precise, etc. So for those I do go in with a digital mock up of the design I make in photoshop, that I then color in, and then as my last step translate to thread colors.

For my Dragon Age series. this has been because I'm specifically trying to mimic the stained-glass style of art you see in parts of the game like the dialogue wheels, some icons, windows, etc. The icons in particular were really easy to copy into embroidery because they already come in handy circles:

This is mostly because I have desperately wanted to pick up stained glass work as a hobby for like 6 years now. As in once every 3-6 months I put everything I'd need to start doing it into an online shopping cart and look at the price total and then sadly close the window because I just don't actually have any space I could do it in (I live in a 2bed apartment so i have no garage or yard or anywhere it wouldn't make everything else a mess or be a hazard). The day after one of those events I impulse bought and completed a floral embroidery kit from the craft store and kinda was like... ok, well, I did this once how hard can it be to use this medium to mimic the hobby I wish I could be doing? Plus, it's only like 60 cents per color! I can afford that! So I took the first design I wanted to do, the romance icon, and basically redrew it sloppily in photoshop, then freehand-copied the design onto fabric and stitched it the next day:

I learned a lot from this piece and changed my approach a little. Here you can see I tried shading in the parallel direction to my thread, which looked messy and added texture, so now I shade horizontally to my thread direction instead.

But it gave me a basic approach for turning the Tarot cards or DA Keep tiles (or any other art!) into embroidery patterns, which I couldn't copy as directly into this really smooth stained-glass style. There's a basic process I follow when doing these conversions that generally follows the same order, which I'll go through below.

STEP 1: SHAPES

The first thing I do is pick the shape of my display frame which is usually a circle, but could be an oval or rectangle too, since I hang the finished pieces on my wall to have nice way to show them off. I like to fill the whole space so knowing the size and shape of what I want the finished project to look like is a good goal for me. Since I am doing fandom pieces I want to be recognizable, I do stick pretty close to the "original" character design/art, but you can absolutely change as much as you want and freehand draw your own interpretation instead. If you're doing original art just substitute the below composition notes with "sketch out roughly what you want it to look like". I personally do my pattern drafting digitally as I find it easier, but you can do this part by hand too.

First, I keep the reference image I'm working off of open next to me while I work, and draw in the shape of my frame (here, a circle). If I'm adding in the little border to be fancy, I add a second inner circle. I keep these as their own top layer so I always know I'm working within the final "frame" and don't spend time designing any section that will fall outside it. Then I will take copies of the reference image and knock the layers down to 25-50% opacity, and start moving them around underneath the 'frame' layer until I like the way their positioning looks as a composition. Sometimes elements of a card I want to include don't all fit in, so I'll chop the section out and add an additional layer to throw in (like the background circle things in the Hermit design below). Or I'll just freehand things like adding much bigger diamonds behind Solas in my Hierophant design because I did NOT want to do 1000 tiny ones. Then once I'm satisfied with the general composition, I'll use the plain ol circular brush tool to trace out the major shapes of each element. I try to keep in mind that I can't go too small, and curvy lines are more difficult to fill in than straight ones. I usually do a rough messy version first, make it mostly transparent, and then a cleaner and more precise one over that.

(you can see parts of the rough one on the left and the fully 'cleaned up' on the right for the Hierophant design)

Now: depending on what you are doing next with the pattern, this might be where you stop and start coloring. If you are planning to freehand your design or just trace it onto fabric (or even print it onto fabric here), there's no need to do more than this kind of lineart! However, if you are working digitally and want to create a scalable vector so you can print it at different sizes, you can use the pen tool in photoshop to trace your design and make a "work path" of the lineart. However, another note: THIS PART IS VERY FRUSTRATING AND TEDIOUS BECAUSE THE PEN TOOL WAS CREATED BY THE DEVIL TO TORMENT US. It is so so so easy to accidentally delete a line or even the whole path and not notice later on. Ask me how I know 😭 Anyway I'm not going to include a pen tool tutorial because I don't even know how to use it well and have to google or watch videos every other time I try to use it. But if you can muddle through it gets you some really clean lines that eventually look like this:

With the work path selected, you can select the brush tool/size/color and use the "stroke path" option to create lineart of the vector. Then you can save this as a transparent png file for use at different sizes and for printing and it looks so nice and clean! one of the big benefits to this is that you get really fine lines that are easier to be precise with stitching on. This is extra perfect if you are printing the design directly onto your fabric (which you can do with an at-home inkjet printer for designs under 8inches wide, as long as you stick a piece of stabilizer on the back of your fabric and cut it down to printer sheet size--this is what I do and can make another post about that process if people want haha), or if you are printing onto transfer paper like you can buy at craft stores.

This is where I end the lineart for my designs. After I have this, I move on to the next phase, which is...

STEP 2: COLOR

For interpreting my designs into thread, I start by thinking of it as flat colors first. You can't "shade" as easily with threads as you can with things like paint or brushes in digital art (though you can A Little, which I will get into), so to start color planning I pick the "main" color each section will be in the piece.

For the existing icons this was simple--I kept the same sections as the original designs, so for each I just color picked or eyeballed the color in photoshop and colored it in (but you could do this on paper with pencils, markers, whatever as well--they don't need to match your threads exactly and usually won't, it's just to give you an easy reference to follow as you go). For the tarot cards which were more complicated in coloration, I just did my best and went with what looked good next to each other, even if it was a little off the original art. It will be off more later anyway when you have to pick threads so don't stress it too much honestly. I will often make layers with different color options and turn them on/off for direct comparison to try to determine what I think looks best as well, like below where I was debating between more blue/desaturated for the background or brighter colors.

I do wanna note I have regrets about the color selection, shapes, or shading in EVERY SINGLE ONE of my finished pieces. But no one else ever comments or probably even notices! One aspect of this hobby is just learning to be satisfied with what you've made and using what you learned to get closer to your preferences next time. I'm only going back and redoing some of my designs' colors because I want to make it easier for others to choose on the patterns I sell, more than I care for just for myself. Also since I'm doing this lineart/stained glass looking approach where I go over the distinct shapes with black thread at the end, it means I get these clear delineations between sections you might not necessarily have in your own pieces, and that's ok.

Ok right. Now while shading/coloring in detail is hard with thread, you CAN make whats essentially dithered gradients. "Dithering" in the concept of art means using 2 (or more) colors to give the impression of a third color, or to gently scale between the existing binary rather than a hard line. Think of it like blocky pixel art or gameboy game images. If you're doing needlepainting, you use really small stitches close together to get this effect, which translates to "smaller pixes"--if you look at the jellyfish in my first photos that's a very messy casual version of that. If you want a better example, I recommend looking at @ammocharis 's pieces like these in her pinned post, which are truly amazing! I simply do not have the patience myself 😂 For my stained glass style, I work only in very long straight stitches, so I can only shade in one direction and have to be a little more precise with it.

So for shading, I think about in each section which direction my threads might go. Then perpendicular to that direction I pick which side will be the light one and which the darker one. Sometimes I color this in on my pattern mockup, but sometimes I don't! Or I'll only do it for certain sections to make sure I don't forget. Like for my Tower design I only colored it as flats, and waited until I selected threads to decide how the shading would go. I am currently working on a smaller, simplified version of my Hierophant design and I did add shading digitally for that one just for fun. But it's not as important as having the flat color version you can use to quick-reference how you want your design to go while you're stitching. You might also notice I don't actually color my gold--I just throw in a stock image of gold foil for that layer so I can't confuse it with any of my yellow thread sections.

Here's a close up where you can kind of see what I mean by the "dithered" effect between colors--some are more obvious (like the red on the far left or middle orange) and others pretty subtle (dark grey to dark red on the wolf face):

Now, while I use single layers of satin stitches for this, and just alternate thread colors increasing/decreasing as I go, you can accomplish the same thing with short overlapping stitches like with needlepainting, or with clusters of french knots, or whatever else. But in GENERAL you are going to be able to trick people into seeing gradients out of dithering best when you are using the same type of stitch for that whole area. So if I was using multiple stitch types like having french knots, daisy chains, ladder stitching or whatever else for some sections, I would keep those to contrasting areas/colors. A fantastic example of using different layered types of stitching to create more intricate color/texture in an embroidery would be these incredible tarot card depictions by @hattedhedgehog, which I like even better than my own embroideries. Here's his take on the Tower card as well for comparison to mine (I'm so in love with it!!!).

But anyway, at this phase, your design is actually still digital--the above is just to explain how it translates later in the process. The next step is...

STEP 3: THREAD SELECTION

I will admit here I am not great at this part. I am constantly second guessing my thread colors, and can spend over an entire hour in the thread aisle at the craft store agonizing over choices. Really, I think this is just one of those things that takes practice and you get better at it over time. What I have had the best luck with is actually printing out a reference photo of my design/the original artwork and taking it with me. If you already have threads you can do this part at home too, but DMC alone has over 500 colors and I definitely don't even own half that so I like to torture myself by looking at them all together on the thread racks. Plus Anchor and Artiste and whatever other brands there are out there. One approach is to just sit there and pick out what you want for each section and line it all up together on top of your printout. Or in the case of my Tower I laid a bunch of options out on top of my template in the hoop to guess how they'd look in the frame.

For me since I am also doing this dither shading thing, I also need 2-3 colors per sections depending on its size. Sometimes it's easy and the threads have a color just a little darker or lighter right next to them in the numerical lineup! Other times, there is no good match, or it looks too far away to shade nicely, or I want one to be a warmer or cooler tone than the other... which means a lot of standing and fretting to myself over it. I actually take a lot of photos at this stage because it can be easier to see how they will look in the end from a photo than in person to me? Idk why. Plus then after they get scrambled in my bag I remember wtf order I meant for them to go in later. But as long as you're not preventing other customers from shopping themselves, you can spend as long as you want staring at thread in the embroidery aisle and they won't kick you out unless it's closing time, so take your time.

Now, IN THEORY, you can sort of combine steps 2 and 3 by color-selecting from your threads and using that to color in the design. However I have tried this and it led to mixed success because the photoshop eyedropper brush simply isn't actually that exact (in my experience, it desaturates compared to what we actually see). And because then you have to have the threads on hand while you're coloring... which means you might buy ones you don't end up using if you don't like them. So I prefer to just use this as a refinement step where I pick threads based on the design colors, then will re-color the design a second time to match those threads more closely to be sure I like the effect.

I've even used this as a tool when I needed to adjust my color choices mid-project, by digitally coloring over over my WIP:

Or here's a design (but I haven't posted the finished piece yet bc it's a gift so shhh) I made with certain color tones initially, but after buying thread I re-did the color mockup to be more vibrant, because I liked those threads better in the store:

Once you have your thread, you can make yourself a little reference chart with the colors you intend noted on the sections you want them, like below:

(note: i didn't end up sticking to these colors because I ended up dying my own thread for several sections. And then forgot I made this entirely and picked new ones because I put the project down for a year between design and stitching. Sigh).

Or for my Solas pattern I did this in a really detailed way, which i am sorry but i have redacted because... i have it for sale now and don't wanna just give that away haha. But if you buy the pattern from my shop this is one of the files you'd get with it, for ease of reference. I do also include a text-only list of them as well.

Now I don't go to this much trouble for all my designs, just the ones I put up for sale (or plan to). You can also just make a text list of your color plans if you want. Though for fun I also have been using my scrap thread to make these little "color palette" keyrings for my finished pieces, so if I ever remake them or update their patterns I will know what the original colors were, plus I can compare what i used to other threads if I wanna change part of the design up. This step is absolutely not necessary and I'm just doing it because I'm selling the patterns now, but they are kinda fun to look at.

And don't forget.. if you start a section in a certain color and decide you don't like it, you can just cut the threads and pull them out! I did that with my original hierophant piece actually. I had an entirely different color for one row of diamonds i thought just clashed way too much with the others, so I used photoshop to paint over it with some alternate options until I found one I liked better. Then I cut away all the old threads and put in the new color. It can be a little harder to fill a piece the second time since the fabric will have stretched out a little, but as long as you're using a good stabilizer it usually doesn't move too much.

You can also just make test swatches on spare fabric to test before you add them to your real piece. I wish I'd done this for some color transitions that didn't end up looking the way I wanted, but I am simply too lazy most of the time. My exception is usually for metallic, satin, or sparkly threads, because I want to know how they feel while embroidering. But if you're really worried about a certain color or shade it's a good thing to remember you can just do.

SO yep, that's my general process for drafting patterns. I start with the shapes/design, then do my flat color version, then I pick my threads. Makes it sound easy and short when phrased like that :) But I can honestly spend 8-10 hours just on making the lineart and coloring it in. If I was better at art, probably this would be less, but I'm working with what I've got (not much) 😂 I think all aspects of this are also something that gets easier over time, but it will probably never look as bad as you worry when you start out. I think all my pieces look awkward and rough right up until I do the finishing steps and move them to the display frame sometimes.

I hope this was helpful and answered your questions!! Feel free to post/share your WIPs to ask for feedback or advice ever too :) I've only ever had people in the embroidery community on tumblr be encouraging and helpful to me, and I'm happy to answer any questions myself when I can or if parts of this were confusing

#ramblings #my stuff #my embroidery #embroidery #dragon age embroidery #calicostorms #oh god tumblr changed the alignment of all my images so theyre all huge now great #WELL I keep tryign to rearrage them to be on the same line and it is NOT working so. thats how they will look i geuss #this is gonna annoy me all night... thats what i get for expectign a Functional Website though

29 notes · View notes