#has NO idea how much in love with him she is
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All Too Well ⥃ modern!Aemond Targaryen
Summary: a reunion with your ex boyfriend at his mom’s Christmas party shouldn’t end with limbs tangled under a christmas tree, should it?
Warnings: 18+ mdni! Mentions of toxic relationships, Aemond goes to therapy, smut, angst, p in v, oral (F receiving), breeding, secret relationships, alcohol, arguments, drunk sex!!! English is not my first language<3
Word count: 4.3k+
A/n: soooo this happened lol and ALSO THANK YOU TO THE ANON WHO GAVE ME THIS IDEA!!! I hope you enjoy this!! Comments & reblogs are more than appreciated💕💕
I don’t have a taglist so please follow and turn on notifications for @peachysunrizefics <3
Tension surprisingly is not high tonight despite the entire family being present. Perhaps the three glasses of mulled wine Aegon has thrust into your hand are doing the magic at keeping you sane — or perhaps you are too busy trying to escape the dark gaze of your ex-boyfriend.
It is… something to say the least; Alicent’s party is always extravagant, beautiful, and cozy. She outdoes herself each year by going above and beyond to prepare the eve with the most delicious meals and new drinks, terrifyingly expensive gifts, and last but not least, decorating the mansion with the most eye-catching milestones in every corner — probably Aegon’s doing — and a Christmas tree in every room.
You take a long sip from your glass, humming as the spices in the wine hit your tongue, Aegon’s sigh making you roll your eyes in annoyance.
“What?” You hiss, glaring at him as he shrugs and leans on the wall behind you, “It was your brilliant idea to join your family, not mine.”
“Yeah, but you’re sulking worse than me, and no one here has traumatized ya before,” he whispers, pouting as he takes a long swig from his glass, giving you a small yet quick smile.
You sneer at him, recalling every single pain a certain member of this family has put you through. All the tears and screams you shed for him on the bathroom floor, the days you called in sick because you had cried your energy out the night before, the hours you had to spend with Aegon with a fake smile plastered on your face because he could not know anything about your broken heart.
After all, it all happened due to the forced secrecy.
“Right,” you scoff, finishing your drink in one sip before looking at Aegon’s family conversing, only one person keeping himself invisible in the shadows, “That’s why you told me your… brother won’t be here.”
“That has nothing to do with trauma, dumbass,” Aegon says, walking to the long dining table in front of you to grab a bottle of wine and pour a generous amount in his glass, “It’s not like my brother has any interest in you, he is just a fucking sociopath, and a bit fucking weird but ‘s all.”
“Let’s not talk about him,” you exhale sharply, trying to ignore your friend’s point, yet again, the lack of knowledge on what has really happened between you and his younger brother. How could he when Aemond tried his hardest to keep you his secret, a forbidden captive to pour his deranged love into?
You loved him, and he did too! His love was everything you could ever imagine; it was pure, lovely, so warm and world consuming. But then something shifted in him, he wanted you in his corner of the world, tucked away from every eye.
It all started with subtle hints you tried to ignore; you were fine with being his forbidden romance, his lover in the shadows and you knew all too well why he wanted you kept in the dark. He was so in love, so smitten with the way you smelt, the way your lips curled in a smile, your messy hair on the hotel’s soft pillow.
Your eyes wander around the room, finding Aemond’s eye already on you, his gaze sending shivers down your spine. His eye still weakens your knees; his stare is enough to make your throat dry and your hands tremble. There is not much to do especially when you are used to being the subject of his unwavering attention — most of the time, you would blush and swoon over how he wouldn’t take his eye off you when you both lay on the bed together, but it equally unnerved you how he used to act in front of other people as if he could not care less about your existence, and when he did he was scaring off other men, not allowing them even to have a normal conversation with you.
You avert your eyes back to your glass before you move towards the dining table to grab something to eat and keep your mind from thinking about him and ultimately ruining your night. The spicy taste of Alicent’s cheese twist distracts you for a little, and you can find the strength to look back at Aegon and ignore the piercing gaze of his younger brother.
“This tastes good, your Mum is an amazing cook,” you say, taking another one to stuff your mouth with, and washing it down with a freshly poured wine from your glass.
“Yeah, as if she doesn’t have a whole ass kitchen staff ready downstairs,” he chuckles and steals a bite from your twist, making a gagging sound at the taste, “Holy fuck, how can you eat this crap? It feels like I’ve dumped an entire jalapeno down my throat. Aemond is the same, he can never go without adding kilos of pepper to his food.”
“Stop, Aegon,” you hiss at him, shaking your head as you pinch your friend’s side, “How many times have I told you not to mention him in front of me?”
“Many fucking times,” he groans and leans on his elbows on the table, “I don’t get why you are so defensive about him. He’s a good kid!”
“He forgot my birthday and took you and your family on a fucking trip, so yes, I don’t want to think about him,” you tell him, sighing loudly before leaning back on the wall behind you, “Besides, he always treats me like a piece of trash!”
“He does that to everyone! You’re not different, lemme tell you that,” You know Aegon wants to make you feel better, you know that, but when he utters those words, you can not help but think about how much that statement is true; Aemond treated you like another person who did not deserve him in public while he hated everyone who breathed the same air as you. It was confusing, it was heartbreaking.
You glance back at the spot where you last saw him, only to find him finishing another shot of whiskey, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looks down at his shoes with disdain written all over his face. He looks troubled, his mind is probably racing with a hundred thoughts; you know him too well, all those nights spent in his arms only to listen to his soft murmurs about his family that would always lead to him telling you how much he appreciates and adores you, but can’t let anyone see you being in a relationship with him.
Perhaps it was the duality between obsession and indifference that drove you apart.
With another sigh, you leave Aegon to let him go socialize with his family, smirking when he glares at you with a scowl on his face. But you need to get out of this place and hide somewhere because the more you spend in this huge hall, the more the walls get closer.
You do not spare him another glance before you walk out of the hall and upstairs, going to the closest bathroom to have a minute for yourself away from him, in hopes of pushing his thoughts out of your head. You can feel the intensity of his stare as he watches you leave, his eye not once leaving your silhouette as you try to hide yourself from him.
You slam the door shut as soon as you step inside the bathroom, chest heaving with each breath; seeing him was enough damage, but to feel him yearning from across the room is worse. You want nothing more than to vanish from this place and never be seen again, but you can’t, and it pains you deeply because you need to walk out of this door with your head held high and act all happy and comfortable while you are bothered by Aemond’s presence immensely.
You put your glass down on the edge of the bathroom sink before you turn on the water and splash some on your face, not caring if you have ruined your makeup or not. The coldness of the water eases your mind a bit, helping you gather your thoughts, but it is not enough, nor were the drinks you took earlier. When it comes to him, nothing is enough to take the edge off.
Looking at yourself in the mirror reminds you of how much you miss having his arms wrapped around you when you were getting ready to leave his apartment or the hotel room, at that moment nothing seemed so out of place, but it all came crashing down because of the two worlds he created and danced around them for too long.
Shaking your head slightly, you take a long and deep breath before grabbing your glass again and leaving the bathroom. You had no wish to go back downstairs, not anymore at least. With one last breath, you close the door before you and march towards another staircase leading to a sitting room you always loved to spend time in when Alicent would invite you over.
Without looking inside the room you open the door and walk inside, making sure to close it with little to no sound, but when you turn around and look up, you find Aemond there, standing in front of the large windows of the room with a glass of whiskey in his hands.
“I–I’m sorry, I’ll leave—”
“Hey-no, no!” he cuts you off quickly, his good eye wide in surprise and fear before he gestures for you to sit, “Don’t, I mean… you don’t have to leave.”
“I don’t wanna disturb you,” you huff nervously, your grip tightening around your glass as you look at him with an equally shocked expression, “I’m so sorry I just—”
“Stay,” he says, and you can see how he swallows his words nervously, his walls crumbling slightly the longer he keeps looking at you, “The room is big enough for at least twenty people so… we’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure—” “Just make yourself at home,” he replies, giving you a small smile before he turns his back to you to stare out of the window, watching the snowfall.
You know he is waiting for you to approach and sit on the loveseat in front of the fireplace but you go and stand in front of the other window on the opposite side of the fireplace from where he is standing, sipping on your drink to distract yourself from thinking about him, which is nearly impossible because you can smell his bitter and cold cologne from here.
You glance at him, finding him nursing on his whiskey; it has been too long since you have seen him so put together and… beautiful. He is wearing an all-black outfit, dress pants, and a black long-sleeve shirt which he has undone the first button. His hair is neatly brushed and he has pulled his locks in his signature halfway-up way that brings his face out more.
You drag your eyes to his hands, clattered in simple silver rings, watching his fingers tap the metal against the glass before you see him turn his body in your direction slightly. His eye meets yours for a second, and suddenly you are the girl who would jump with joy with one of his texts, the girl who would love feeling him breathing her scent in — it terrifies you, the power he holds over you.
“This was a bad idea—” you say, shaking your head but before you get the chance to walk away he grabs your wrist firmly, pulling you back a bit, “Aemond…”
“Don’t leave,” his voice breaks a little, his thumb caressing your pulse point as he looks at you the way he used to do when he would ask you to stay at his place, not wanting you to leave him for even one second.
“We can’t do this again, Aemond,” you say, tears burning your eyes when you look at his face, your heart clenching when you find him in the same situation; teary-eyed and trembling, “We shouldn’t because I can’t go back to the place I was months before—”
“We don’t have to, just listen to what I have to say, okay?” he lets go of your hand, putting his glass on the table in front of the loveseat, “I didn’t have the chance to say anything, you… you cut me off so out of the blue—” “Out of the blue?” you ask, voice dripping with shock and anger, “Out of the fucking blue, Aemond? Ignoring me when we were with your siblings, acting as if I didn’t exist when we were somewhere that we could run into someone you knew! And-and,” you chuckle in sadness, wiping that one tear that slips your eye, “You kept me your little secret while you would tell me that I’m your world, I’m gonna show you off to everyone, you sounded like you were obsessed with me but you couldn’t even hold my hand in front of your brother!”
“Because I couldn’t stomach the idea of you leaving me!” He shouts back, dropping his hands to his sides as he huffs out an angry breath, “I-I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it, and it terrified me so I thought it would be best to—”
“To what? To plan a fucking trip on my birthday and ignore my texts and calls for a whole week? Yeah? Or maybe you thought it best to act like I was a nobody to you when I tried to hold your hand in front of your friends. Which one is it, Aemond?” you step closer to him, craning your neck to look into his eye better, “So? How did it feel when your worlds merged and you lost me? Oh, wait, you didn’t lose anything because you couldn’t care less about me—”
“I care!” he raises his voice a little, fisting his hands to keep himself composed and not touch you the way he likes, “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I-I went through the worst thing you can imagine after you left me—”
“Don’t put the blame on me when everything happened because of you and your obsession with keeping me “all to yourself” while you barely looked at me when others were present!”
“Stop! Stop, stop—” he finally reaches up and cups your face in his hands, pulling you in even closer as he leans down to look straight into your eyes, “You’re right, I fucked it up, I…I ruined everything because I didn’t know how to handle my feelings. That… That trip was spontaneous, and I never forgave myself for doing that to you. My head…it gets really messy sometimes and I feared I would ruin the only good thing that’s ever happened to me, and I did, I ruined it.”
“You can’t excuse your actions—”
“I’m not!” he brings your face closer to his until you are only one breath away, “I… I’m sorry, for what I did to you, and-and I am going to therapy… because I thought I might somehow redeem myself.”
“You can’t expect me to take you back, not after what you put me through,” you rest your hands on his, gently pulling them down, letting the tears fall freely on your cheeks.
It has been a long time since you held his hands in yours, and you can feel the itch in his skin as he tries to fight off the urge to wipe your tears. Maybe he has changed as he says, turned into a better man but you can not be sure, not after the hell you went through and managed to pull yourself together afterward.
“I’m not expecting you to take me back, but please know I deeply regret what I did, and I hope you give me another chance…”
You nod absentmindedly before dropping his hands and stepping away from him, walking towards the door as you try to muffle the sob that nearly escapes your throat, and with one last look at him, you open the door and leave the room.
Resting your back on the closed wooden door, you take a shaky breath, trying your best not to cry your eyes out in the hallway, but it is impossible; how can you not sob when you have been waiting to hear those words for so long? It does not matter if he is genuine or not, you just need to listen to him say he is sorry for what he did.
Now it feels like a weighted blanket has been lifted from you and you can breathe again.
Maybe he is sorry, maybe he is not, but there is something within you that makes your palms sweat. You bite your bottom lip, trying to shake the thoughts of him away, but the way he looked at you, how enamored he seemed… after all, many people close their eyes on logic when it comes to the person their heart is beating for.
It does not matter if you regret this the next day or not, you need to feel him, you need to know how it feels to be loved by him again; so with one last deep breath, you open the door and slam it shut before marching toward where Aemond is sitting — under the Christmas tree with a cigarette in his hand and an ashtray resting next to his hand.
“Wha–” you don’t let him finish, you kneel down in front of him and grab his face into your hands tightly, slamming your lips to his.
He moans, falling back on the ground with a soft thud as his free hand roams your back, feeling the soft silk fabric of your dress beneath his fingertips while he tries to find the ashtray with the other while never breaking the kiss.
“Mmm-are you sure?” he manages to ask between the kisses, finally putting out the cigarette. Now both of his hands come to rest on your waist, holding you close as he waits for you to answer.
“It doesn’t matter if it’ll be the last or the first of many, I just need to feel you,” you mumble against his lips before closing the gap again, letting the savory taste of your wine melt against his bitter whiskey and smoke.
The kiss is unlike anything you have shared before; it is passionate, late lovers reuniting, full of emotions that have been left unexplored yet so familiar and welcoming. It must be the alcohol in your system, but his hands on your body set your skin ablaze, and for the first time in a long time, you feel desperation in his movements.
He sits up quickly, his lips moving in sync with yours before he licks your bottom lip, asking for entrance and when you part your lips, he pushes his tongue in, tasting the wine from your mouth directly while his hands come up to rest on your back, one hand reaching to push the strap of your dress down, caressing the skin with such delicacy that it makes you melt beneath his touch.
He breaks the kiss, looking down at your face as both of you pant and cling to each other before he gently lifts you and switches your positions, lying you on the carpet next to the Christmas tree, humming in delight when you spread your legs to make room for him.
You reach up to pull him down again, lips sealing in another breathtaking kiss. He holds himself up by his elbows on either side of your head while he kisses you back, groaning when you wrap your legs around him and rock your hips up, rubbing your clothed core against his growing bulge.
He pulls back and trails his kisses down your jaw to the column of your throat, going lower with each kiss before he reaches your thighs. Aemond waits for you to give him the green light and when you nod he pushes your dress up to your hips, prepping your inner thighs with kisses and bites before he grabs the waistband of your underwear and pulls the fabric down dropping it to the side.
“Aemond…” you sigh when he wraps his fingers around your thighs and spreads them further, leaning in to lick a stripe from bottom to top, ignoring your shocked gasp as he starts feasting upon you — seems like you were not the only one who has been craving intimacy lately.
He flickers your clit with the tip of his tongue, his chin rubbing against your wet folds. He hums when he hears your little whines and sighs, spurring him on even more to go faster and drive you closer to your peak.
Your hand goes to his perfectly shaped hair, tangling your fingers in his soft luscious locks. He opens his mouth and sucks on your buzzing nerves, dizzying your brain and clouding your mind with each lewd sound he makes.
He loves the way you push his head down and rock your hips up; he deserves this, to be smothered with your scent and taste, and he would die a happy man if you kept squeezing your legs around his head.
With a newfound determination, he pushes his tongue inside you, thrusting the steady muscle in and out while he reaches to play with your clit with his thumb, drawing fast and firm circles as he brings you closer to the edge of the euphoria.
You moan his name loudly, throwing your head back as your lips fall apart and your body as well, shaking in his strong grip when you come on his face, gushing your juices out with a cry, mind going blank as you shut the world out and focus on the waves of ecstasy that rock your body.
Aemond wipes your release from his face with his sleeve, crawling on top of you with a soft look in his eye before he bends down and pecks your lips while he fiddles with his belt and pants, unzipping them and pushing them down to his thighs, sighing in relief as soon as his cock is free from the tightness of the fabric.
“You’re too far away,” you whine and reach for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and nodding quickly when he gives you a few seconds to rethink this, “I want you, please…”
“Don’t beg, sweet girl,” he whispers, lining up his cockhead with your entrance, gently rubbing it up and down to gather some of your wetness before he starts pushing in slowly, “ I’ll give it to you, you don’t need to beg for anything, ever.”
You missed him; the closeness, the proximity, the way his cock always fills you so deliciously. Now with his cock inside you fully, he pulls you in for a kiss, moving inside you with shallow thrusts while his lips steal the breath from your lungs.
He picks up his pace, his hips snapping to yours repeatedly, his cock reaching deep inside you. You arch your back, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt as you break the kiss suddenly and moan out loud. His hand goes down to your thigh, lifting it higher a bit so he can reach even deeper inside you, fucking you faster and rougher, pouring his regrets into each thrust and snap of his hips.
“Look at you,” he breathes, the hand that was holding your leg up comes to cup your cheek, forcing you to look into his eyes as he gazes down at you, “So beautiful, so so gorgeous, fuck—”
You gasp, thighs quivering on the side of his hips as he brings you closer to the edge, him not being far behind either. He looks down at you so… lovingly, as if he is trying to memorize every up and down and lines on your face, counting your lashes and carving the shape of your lips in his mind while his cock throbs inside you.
You both reach your orgasms together; it is warm and slow, a heat that comes from the deepest part of your core and spreads like wildfire inside you, the same applies to him. He shakes and groans your name in your ear, burying his face in your neck as he drops his weight on top of you, hips thrusting slowly as he comes inside you, filling you up with every ounce of his being.
Aemond raises a bit, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, looking down at you as if you hang the stars in his gloomy sky, and perhaps you do.
He finally pulls back, his soft cock slipping out of you with a wet sound and you watch him tuck himself back before he helps you up, handing you your underwear before he stands and holds his hand out for you.
Hesitantly, you take his hand and try to stand up on wobbly legs, but he is fast enough to steady you with his palm on your waist, tightening his grip on you when you bend down to pull your panties up, straightening your back before you look at him.
“I… Thank you.” is all you can say, giving him a small awkward smile before you step forward toward the door, but for the second time tonight, he grabs your wrist and threads his fingers through yours, leading you to the door himself, “What are you doing?”
“A second round never hurt anyone, right?” he asks hopefully, a small smile playing on his lips, “I can’t just let you go without giving you a proper orgasm on my bed.”
“Aemond, we can’t, what if someone sees us?” you ask, your heart beating so hard against your chest you can hear it in your ears, but Aemond doesn’t seem to care as he drags you toward the rooms upstairs, “Aemond!”
“Then let them see,” he shrugs and guides you on the stairs, and to your unfortunate luck Alicent and Aegon are coming downstairs, but Aemond pays them no mind as he leads you past them, ignoring Aegon’s shocked gasp and calls for his name.
Maybe he has changed, maybe.
#rue writes✍️#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#ewan mitchell x reader#hotd fic#aemond fanfiction#hotd smut
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Tim who has never been good at understanding the words of Shakespeare and Dickens.
He can understand metaphors and knows about philosophy, but he’s always struggle to truely grasp the tragedy and helplessness so may of them hold. The idea of someone being doomed from the start, by the author and the narrative or maybe just the world they were set in, just doesn’t really make sense to him.
Part of him knows it’s because he was born with a vintage silver spoon placed delicately in his hands, but there’s more to it than that.
See, most of the bad things that have happened to Tim have either been consequences of his own action or the fact that his friends and colleagues all have the same dangerous job.
To him it just makes sense that bad things will happen and so he can just… prepare for it. He can do what he can to fix it or move onto something else and push away his own feelings because what else is he supposed to do?
So, no, things like Hamlet and Dorian don’t really click for him
At least… until he thinks about Jason.
Born in poverty with a world surrounding him that would not bother to care or offer help to him purely because of how he looks of his parents.
A mother who loves him endlessly, only to fall into the drugs she tried to protect him from.
Finding out that mother didn’t even give birth to him, but the father that never showed anything other than distain and cruelty was still his own.
Being given Robin, hated by the first one for a time, only to die in the suit by the hands of a mad man all because his real mother sold him out.
Waking up in a coffin, digging himself out and roaming around catatonic and the only thoughts he can actually process is that he must be a ghost.
Being taken by a league of killers, lied to and trick and tormented into thing a perfect weapon.
Realise his mentor, who he once thought the father he deserved to have, has failed him and let his killer free because of something as fickle as a moral compass.
Seeing that mentor seemingly replace him with a perfect rich kid who doesn’t swear or complain or sneak off without permission from what he can tell.
Having no real friends in that time.
Having no one to trust because everyone had an ulterior motive. Everyone uses him.
And through out it all, even with all the hate and the bitterness and injustice he had been faced with, his first course of action is to make the home he first had and the only one he will ever have… safer.
To protect the kids like him from becoming statistics and killers, from the pain he felt and the false promises of the Batman.
Jason keeps honesty and integrity, even when no one else offers it to him in return.
Tim can’t understand Macbeth or Antigone or Othello, can’t see why someone would write something so morbid just to try and entertain.
But he can understand, or at least try to understand, Jason Todd.
Because that is someone who had actually been hurt for no reason. Someone who had been tormented by the universe, by fates and coincidence, with no real lesson being taught other than the world hates him.
Sure Jason has Roy and Biz and Artemis and Kori, but what about a brother?
Dick tried, he still does, but he fails Jason over and over by trying to make him ‘better’.
Damian doesn’t really care too much, not out of malice but there’s just not much of a connection between them.
Cass tries, but Jason is always awkward around her and that’s not his fault, you can’t hide a thing from her.
Duke liked Jason a lot, but again, the newest Bat is trying hard to find his place in the world of vigilantes and can’t quite find it in himself to be too close to Jason’s violence.
But Tim…
He’s morals have always been held together by the simple fact of ‘it’s not really that approved of’ and not much else. He won’t kill, but unlike the others he is happy to leave a Rouge in a sinking ship and not feel a hint of guilt.
He adores Jason’s Robin, he knows to some extent how much he lost with that, and now he knows that Jason might not need much more than a few good things.
Small things, nothing that will trick him into thinking the world is apologising because it won’t, but enough to show him that Tim thinks he’s still worth something.
Tim won’t try convince him to become a better person or to stop killing, he might ask him to be a bit more rational and probably won’t be able to stop himself from giving tips on how to run his business, but he wouldn’t ask for his violent brother to change.
Because unlike everyone else, Tim knows that violence exist for good reason.
If it keeps his Jason alive, Tim will gladly hold onto his blood soaked hand.
#batfam#bat family#dc comics#tim drake#batfamily#dc universe#dc#tim drake is red robin#tim drake is a menace#jason todd is a good brother#jason todd is red hood#jason todd#red hood#tim and jason#jason and tim#philosophical
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Soft Launch; Hard Launch - Quinn Hughes x ofc
gif from @kawhh
Title: Soft Launch; Hard Launch: A 500 Follower Celly
Author: Tory / @tkwrites
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (ofc)
Warnings: Though most of this is fluff, there is a really nasty comment left on a social media post and mentions of poor self body image.
Summary: 4 times Quinn soft launched his relationship with Sarah, and one time he did it for real.
Word Count: 2,900
Comments: The idea of writing a 4+1 fic for my 500 mark has been rolling around my head for a while, so when I hit 500 followers about a week ago, I thought I'd try my hand at it. Many thanks to @aloragrace and @captainlexaproluvr for looking over this piece and calming my fears about doing new things. I’ve never written in this format before, but I quite like the way this turned out. I’d love to know what you think!
I'm just bowled over and so excited! Thank you all so much. Knowing people enjoy my writing has been so fulfilling to me. I’ve wanted to write since I was about thirteen, but never had the guts to publish anything for people other than my friends to read. Now that I have and know that people like it, it feels a bit like I’m giving my little inner awkward teenager the best gift she could ever ask for. Thank you for your encouragement, kindness, and support! I can’t tell you how much it means to me.
If you did enjoy this Snapshot, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.
Soft Launch; Hard Launch: A 500 Follower Celly
A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot
1.
The first time Quinn put Sarah on his social media was after they got home from the family reunion. The Monday after she left, he was looking back through his photos while he waited for her to get off work. He found one from their beach day he’d completely forgotten he’d taken. Sarah was kneeling over a tide pool with a few of his cousins, pointing to something in the water, while they looked into her face with rapt attention.
Even though her face was mostly hidden from view, she looked beautiful in that casual way he loved so much. Her hair was up in a bun, and she was wearing a pair of denim shorts along with her orange swim top.
Do you mind if I put this on my stories? he asked later that night, once she'd texted that she’d arrived home safely and would call as soon as she changed.
“I don’t mind,” she told him after they said their initial hellos, caught up on each other's day, and he asked again. “I’m a little surprised this is the first photo you want to go with,” she admitted.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d want to go with something more…” she trailed off, unsure exactly how to phrase what she was thinking. She’d only glanced at it, but from what she remembered, the photo wasn’t anything special. It was from the tide pools, and though it fulfilled the mission of showing her without showing her whole face, she didn’t look excessively beautiful or anything. In fact, the first thing she’d zeroed in on were her stomach rolls. Echoes of girls calling her too fat to be with NHL superstar Quinn Hughes rang in her mind.
“I like it,” he defended before she could find the right words or slide down the slippery slope of body image woes. “You’re doing what you love.”
It melted something in her that he looked at that photo and saw her passion. “That’s really sweet, Quinn.”
“So it’s okay?”
How could she say no now? “Yeah. It’s okay.” She reminded herself she wouldn’t see any of the things people were saying about her unless she sought them out, which she had no intention of doing.
He put it up with nothing more than an orange heart in the corner as soon as they hung up from the FaceTime call.
Less than a minute later, Eunice raced into Sarah's room. She was so overly excited, she ran into the door jam, bouncing off of it before regaining her balance. She thrust her phone into Sarah's face. “Quinn put you on his stories!”
Glancing at the screen, Sarah smiled. “Yeah, he just asked me if he could put that photo up.”
“Oh my god. This is so dreamy,” she gushed, turning the phone back around to look at the picture again. “You look so pretty.”
2.
The second soft launch was on his main feed at the end of the summer, though he still didn’t show her face.
It wasn’t until they got home from Hawaii and all shared their photos that Quinn realized just how many pictures his mom had taken. He was used to her snapping pictures of them - it was a very common occurrence to look around at any given moment, especially on vacation, to find her brandishing a camera to document everything she could.
He’d never appreciated it more until he was looking through the shared album and saw all the moments his mom caught. There were photos of him and his brothers and him and Sarah once she got there. There was even a video of his and Luke’s shock at their girlfriends’ arrival.
His favorite picture she took was from the beach outside of their vacation rental. Anxious for a quiet moment together, Sarah pulled him outside to watch the sun set.
The rest of the family was inside, debating something about dinner. They had been on a kayak and hiking tour that day, and he was so tired, he was beyond caring. As long as some kind of food was provided, he’d be fine.
His mom must have walked out onto the back porch to snap the photo.
The sun, sinking into the ocean in front of them, turned them into shadow as Sarah leaned her head on his shoulder. It was the kind of photo people put in vacation advertisements, and when he’d seen it, he knew it had to be included in his end of summer review.
He uploaded it with a carousel of six other photos before captioning the post, One for the books.
After receiving sixty notifications in the first five minutes, most of them from people he didn’t know asking who the girl in the 5th photo was, he muted the app.
It wasn’t until he looked at the comments that evening and saw, I think this must be that fat bitch he was dating during the season. I was hoping they’d broken up since he didn’t stay in Vancouver this summer and she did, that he disabled comments all together.
He’d been so angry that someone who didn’t know either of them would say anything like that, he had drafted a reply before realizing he was about to engage in a reactionary argument with someone he didn't even know or have any emotional ties to. He wanted to correct them, but knew he should really get PR help to do that.
When they talked about social media for the first time in their relationship, Sarah explained how the comments from these so-called fans made her feel. Even though she knew they didn’t know her as a person and didn’t have any place in their relationship or lives, it was difficult not to let them get to her.
He knew the feeling well. He’d gone through the same thing when he accepted the captaincy. The pressure to perform had been so immense, it had turned him into a snappy, short-fused, irritable person until, at the advice of some other captains in the league, he started putting his phone down regularly.
3.
The third came when it was his turn to sit for a 32 Thoughts podcast episode with Elliott and Kyle, and they were shooting the breeze before the actual interview began.
“We missed you at dinner,” Elliott said, referencing a banquet that the league had hosted the night before for all players and press on site for the whirlwind pre-season media tour.
Without really thinking about it, Quinn found himself explaining, “my girlfriend's family lives here, so Jack and I had dinner with them last night.”
“She's not here?” Elliott asked.
“No, she has stuff going on back home so she couldn't be, but it was nice to see them.” Some players brought family to the media tour, but not many. It was a short stint, shorter than most road trips during the season, so most didn’t bother.
Their producer, Shanna, flashed a red light, letting them know it was time to start the formal interview. Kyle counted down, “three two and one,” before introducing Quinn and starting with the questions.
At the end of the recording, both Elliott and Shanna asked if he wanted them to cut his talk about his girlfriend and her family from the episode. Usually, they left those anecdotal conversations in, especially on the youtube videos, but this one was a bit more nuanced.
“I think it should be fine, but can I talk to her about it and get back to you?”
“Of course,” Shanna said, smiling. “It’s not slated to go up for a few weeks, so just let us know by the 17th.”
When he'd asked Sarah about it that night after arriving home, she seemed unconcerned.
“I think that's kind of up to you.” She knew from their FaceTime conversation the night before that Quinn, Jack and their agent had eaten at Rachel's house, so there was no risk of someone posting photos and making the connection they were with her family.
“I mean, people have been speculating you have a girlfriend, right?” she asked.
“Yeah.” It was more than speculation at this point - most people knew he had someone. They just didn’t know who she was.
“And people who found my instagram already know I’m from Nevada, so I don’t really see what the worry is.”
He’d expected her to be more worried about it, but now that she was responding to him with cool logic, he had to admit she had a point.
The next day, he messaged Elliott along with his agent to let them know they could keep the anecdote in the recording.
When it hit the airwaves, Sarah purposefully didn’t check any of the messages Eunice sent her for a few days. Eunice had taken it upon herself, and continued at Sarah’s request, to report big gossip to her so Sarah wasn’t tempted to go on the blogs or fan accounts.
Most responses were sort of victorious bragging, posting about connections with Sarah’s instagram “about me” section where she talked about being from Nevada, feeling that this interview proved them right.
4.
The fourth time wasn’t planned.
When Quinn got home from their first regular season road trip, the apartment was dark. It was past two in the morning, and Sarah had a therapy appointment at eight, so she hadn't waited up for him.
In his trek through the apartment, he paused by the dining room table. Until Sarah moved in, walking into the apartment after a road trip was often the worst part of the whole thing. He was always glad to be back in his own bed, but nothing seemed to exasperate his singleness more than coming home. Not only was he going from being surrounded by the team to being totally alone, he was coming home to an empty house. The combination of the two felt stiflingly lonely.
The mess of textbooks, highlighters, and notebooks left out on the dining room table was such proof of someone else living in the house, it made his chest feel full.
In a spur of the moment act, he snapped a picture of the dimly lit chaos and posted it to his Instagram stories. No caption, no explanation. Just the simple proof that he wasn't alone.
“Why did you put a picture of my books on your instagram?” she asked the next day after getting home from her appointment.
He shrugged, “I liked it.”
The season before, anytime she would study at his house, she would clean everything up, organizing it all back into her bag before going home or coming to bed.
Now, her books often stayed out on the dining room table on weekends. He offered to convert one of the spare bedrooms into an office for her, or let her use the office he had a computer in now, but she turned him down.
“I like studying out here,” she'd said, glancing up to look out of the windows. “If it bothers you, I can put everything away.”
“It doesn't bother me,” he'd said, leaning down to kiss her temple. “I just want you to be comfortable here.”
She had beamed at him and turned her head to brush her mouth over his.
5.
Quinn waited until the one year anniversary of the day he and Sarah met to officially announce their relationship.
He knew by that time that they could go the distance. He'd seen her through every month and every season and saw no major red flags. Not to mention the fact that everyone in his life liked her, and her family and friends seemed to like him.
Over the course of the year, he'd moved pictures he liked of Sarah and pictures he liked of them together into a favorites album he simply called S. So, in late January, he put together a post and sent it to his PR rep to look over. After they sent it back with some edits, he showed it to Sarah.
Sarah, who for her part, knew this was coming but wasn’t quite sure what to expect, was taken a bit off guard. She knew Quinn read a lot and was thoughtful with his words, but reading his simple summary of their relationship made her melt.
He’d included 5 pictures of her that were interspersed with 5 pictures of them together. The first photo was that perfect, golden hour sunset selfie. The rest were all photos she knew he loved. She’d seen some of them, and some of them, she hadn’t. There was a candid shot of her laughing with Jack and Luke that she hadn’t seen before as well as a picture she never knew he’d taken of her sitting at the dining room table with her laptop, looking pensively at the screen, fingers poised to type. There was the photo of them in front of their Christmas tree, and one of them laughing so hard, they were falling all over each other on a beach in Hawaii.
Under the photos, he’d simply written, The best year. and tagged her in the final photo - the dreamy picture Kaitlyn had taken of them under the mistletoe.
“Quinn,” she breathed, looking up to find him smiling expectantly at her.
“You like it?” he asked.
“I really like it,” she said, fighting back the tears that pushed at her eyes.
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”
He was ready for the world to know that not only was he taken, he was taken with her, and not afraid to say it, but he knew it would likely open up another door of criticism she’d never been exposed to before.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I’m ready.”
The fact that Quinn wanted the world to know, without a doubt, that she was the one he was with made her heart race.
They didn’t have to hide anymore. To her, it was the last, final cementing block in their relationship. It spoke of his faith in their future and his dedication to staying with her. He wouldn't put it out for the world to see if he had any doubts.
He posted it right before practice two days later so he could work the anxiety of it off.
When he got back to his locker an hour and a half later, he had 1,654 likes and over 200 comments. At first glance, they all seemed positive. Not that what random strangers thought of him meant much, but it was nice to know his fans were happy he was happy.
Bonus scene:
On the afternoon of the anniversary of their one year of meeting, Reece stopped Sarah as she walked into the building after work.
“I’ve got a delivery for you, Ms. Roberts,” he said, walking with her over to the security desk.
Before he’d even picked them up, Sarah knew it must be the large bouquet of flowers that were an absolute riot of color - purple and yellow, red and pink, white and green.
Quinn was out of town - playing in Toronto at that very moment, in fact - and she knew he must have sent them in place of being there in person.
“Thank you, Reece,” she said, accepting the flowers and a card from him before heading upstairs.
Trying to manage the vase, card, and her school bag, as well as press the button in the elevator, resulted in her accidentally slopping a large amount of water down her front. Thankfully, the large bouquet hid the spill from anyone else in the elevator, and she was the only one to get off on the top floor. Upon entering the apartment, she set the vase and card on the bar and went straight up to change.
It wasn’t until she wandered down to make dinner during the second intermission and saw the bright flowers that she remembered the card.
Her full name was on the envelope in someone else’s writing, and the front of the card was completely blank, so when she flipped it open, she was surprised to find Quinn’s handwriting filling most of it.
It’s been one year since I took refuge in the aquarium, only to stumble upon a beautiful woman giving a talk about octopus and took the chance to ask her out. Back then, I just thought she was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen. Now I know that not only is she beautiful, she’s smart, kind, supportive and so driven she inspires me to do better. I don’t like to think what my life would be like if she’d turned down my offer for lunch, or I didn’t get up the guts to talk to her. This time with her has been a whirlwind and the best year of my life.
I wrote this for the caption of the post that went up today, then realized the only person I really wanted to read it was you.
Happy one year of meeting, Sarah. I’m so glad you took a chance and went out with me even though I was more than a little awkward.
I love you.
Love,
Quinn
Moved to tears by his thoughtful words, Sarah snapped a picture of the flowers to put up on her stories, adding the caption, Love you, @_quinnhughes, before texting him.
I love you. I can’t believe it’s been a year. Here’s to a million more.
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WINTER LETTERS
SUMMARY: you will only find true love once in a lifetime. you claim to have seen it through the craft of art, but when you met the boy who laughed at your dad's jokes and waited for you in front of history class with a bag of cherries, love was marked differently for you. TAGS: friends to lovers, fluff, modern setting, slightly aged up characters, nerdy/popular history major jacaerys. corny, slight cliches. golden retriever boyfriend. based on this idea WORD COUNT: 3k
The music was loud to the point it vibrated against the wall in small rhythms, matching every beat of the sounds blasting through your record player. You hummed to the song playing, your right hand moving more delicately and intricately. A soft whine awoke you from the bubble you always created whenever you worked. In the figure of a small, one-year-old puppy sat Vermax who opened his mouth as he yawned, his nose twitching as a cute sneeze came upon him. You laughed softly, reaching down to cuddle the poor thing into your arms.
“I’m sorry buddy, mama has been mean to you huh?” you said as Vermax attempted to bite your fingers that now reached to ruffle the small ears of the golden retriever pup - his tailed waggled in annoyance. You swore you saw him frown. You feigned an offended gasp, “Oh my bad, I didn’t know the sir wanted attention.”
Vermax barked as he licked your face before resting his small head on your chest. It was a sign he wanted to stay by you. You grinned. Vermax was incredibly clingy and a needy dog, at times you thought Jacaerys - your now one-year boyfriend - influenced his behavior.
Your head tilted to the side, behind the canvas, onto the clock mounted on the wall. You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “You’re late.”
As you resumed to continue painting with a now snoring puppy on your lap, your phone rang. The flutter in your stomach made you grin, forgetting the small frustration that Jacaerys had not stopped by.
Before the words slipped out of your mouth, the rapid chatter of your boyfriend rang through your ear beautifully making you chuckle.
“I’m so sorry baby!!”
You heard panting and harsh heaving as he apologized before the sound of the slamming of a door. You figured he ran to his car after class was over. You shook your head in amusement, listening to the ramble of your never-ending chatty boyfriend.
He took a deep breath, “So, I meant to finish with the class before 4 but Professor Adams wanted to give us a surprise pop quiz before the finals next week! I swear that old lady wants to murder me! Can you believe she called on me five times in a roll attempting to embarrass me? Bad for her because I know the material, but couldn’t she call on fucking Lannister?!” Jacaerys rambled. You wondered how in the world did he talk so fast without breathing for air. You did not mind; in fact, it made your day whenever Jacaerys Velaryon spoke to you.
“Jace,” you said attempting to talk but your boyfriend was not done. Your mouth twitched, stifling a very heavy laugh now.
“Anyways! I’m sorry baby! I will be there soon! I hope Vermax wasn’t too much, I swear he likes you more than he likes me. But who can blame him? You’re amazing and beautiful. Kind. Did I say beautiful?” His chatter all landed in one breath.
You laughed hard, “Jacaerys breathe!”
Jacaerys paused before he took a big breath of air, “Seven hells… sorry. I did it again.”
“Apologizing for just telling me about your day? You must be insane now,” your fingers tangled themselves into the soft fur of Vermax as you continued, “I miss you. Vermax is okay, he slept all day and ate. He’s currently on my lap sleeping once again after throwing a tantrum of not being held. You are influencing him.”
Jacaerys laughed, “I didn’t! He just loves you as much as I do,” he paused, “Actually no, I love you more than he does, don’t let those big eyes of him fool you.”
The sound of your boyfriend’s voice echoed through your body, as if swimming, the waves relaxed you, floating through the deep waves. The grin never slipped.
“Drive safely Jace,” you said, “I miss you.”
The next words that came automatically had your heart jumping out of your chest like a rubber ball. You almost, almost, wanted to scream. You composed yourself.
“I will, I’m rushing to be yours soon, I love you.”
You released a small squeak, Jacaerys smiled smugly knowing you were blushing, the red staining your cheeks that began to hurt from all the smiling you held. He prided himself on such power, he was the only one who would ever make you swoon, and he swore to be the last.
“I love you more,” you squeaked, the heat of embarrassment overcoming the flatter as you cleared your throat to be heard as normal, “See you soon.”
Jacaerys chuckled, his laugh deep, “Bye my love.”
You hummed in response, knowing if you spoke another word, it would put you as a fool. You hung up after, your hand flying to your chest where you felt the rumble of your heart beating against your chest like hard slams against a drum. Get it together, you thought.
Vermax was awake now, his blue and green eyes shining bright as they eyed you. You felt judged by his stare. Even more so when he tilted his head to the side, his tongue licking his nose before continuing with his stare.
“What are you looking at you clingy baby? Your dad is silly! If you want to find a girlfriend Vermax, don’t be like your dad, your girlfriend will bite you,” you spoke to the child on your lap who continued to stare, his eyes holding a hinge of judgment, so you claimed, “I hate your dad.” You hmphed.
Vermax barked, his eyes rolling slightly. You gasped, a pout on your lips, “You traitor,” you picked him up before placing him on your bed where he laid his head on his paws as he stared.
You checked the clock on the wall if you calculated correctly, Jacaerys would be here in 20 minutes, which meant it gave you time to shower. You grimaced when you looked down to judge your state. You were wearing an old jumper, stained with paint everywhere, your hair was pulled back, held by a big hair clip. Quite frankly, you looked like a mess, but when you painted the outfit never mattered. You knew Jacaerys would never mind the way you looked, he never did, he would always receive you with a big smile that made his glasses slide up his nose and a kiss. A kiss that left you breathless every single time.
This time, however, you needed to change, so you rushed into a quick shower and a rapid change of clothes which was your boyfriend’s frat sweater and warm sweats as the weather was getting colder. Winter was here. By the time you finished combing your hair, the door locks being unlocked was heard and suddenly barking - excited barking. You rolled your eyes, of course, Vermax would make a ruckus over Jacaerys.
You applied lotion on your hands before hands wrapped around your waist, a low rumble was enough to make your knees weak. The power of Jacaerys Velaryon. You cursed inwardly. You feigned to be angry knowing it would not last more than ten seconds.
Jacaerys sighed into your neck, “I’ve missed you today.”
You hummed in acknowledgment, tapping his hands where they lay on your stomach.
Through the mirror you saw the way Jacaerys frowned, his bangs hanging over his eyes. You stifled a laugh.
“My love?” he attempted to coddle you, his voice softer, whinier, “Babe… I’m sorry! I should have called you earlier to let you know I was going to be home late.” His hands tightened around your waist when you showed no reaction; he began to press kisses on your neck. “Please don’t be mad,” he pouted.
You giggled, your body twitching as he pressed another kiss on your neck which tickled. He exhaled a breath of relief, “Don’t do that!”
You laughed, twisting around to meet him face to face, your hands wrapped around his neck as he leaned you against the bathroom sink. “Why not? I think it’s funny.”
“Not,” he said, his eyes shining with mischief, a smile on his face as he softly stared. The feeling returned then, the feeling of wanting to scream.
You nodded your head with certainty, a serious look on your face as you tried to hide the loud beating of your heart, “Oh yes.”
His eyes shifted to something dark, he licked his lips. Jacaerys scanned you, his eyes moving to trace the details of your face, memorizing every freckle, the shape of your eyes to the faint hue of his favorite color on your cheeks. His eyes stopped on your lips that were parted. His fingers dug into the sweater you wore, a sharp intake from his nose was all it took for you to know.
Jacaerys raised his eyebrow, the motion sending you into an immediate heart attack.
“Oh yeah? So do you think it will be funny if I,” he leaned towards you, a smirk on his lips as he saw you dazedly lean in, “… do this?” You were ready. Always ready. You needed it. The substance of his love and his dedication. You closed your eyes waiting for the flesh that melted against your lips, the taste of his cherry Chapstick. Jacaerys hummed, you felt his breath giving you a whiplash. He was so close. Suddenly he chuckled.
In a flash, you opened your eyes, and you saw your boyfriend leaning against the wall, a smirk on his lips. You growled in annoyance, jumping on him. A loud ‘oof!’ was heard.
“You evil!” you exclaimed as he held the flesh under your thighs to push you against him.
Laughing he looked up at you, “What? I think it’s funny,” he recalled the same words you gave him. Your eyes flashed with jest, “I hate you,” you pouted, your fingers into his small curls. You knew if he let his hair grow, the curls would be bigger erasing the flat of his hair.
“You know they say opposites attract,” his lips in a wide grin, “because I love you.”
Your face scrunched before groaning, “Ugh.”
Jacaerys raised his head to reach you, “Gimme kiss, I missed my girl.”
Your hands laid on his cheeks, a soft smile now rested on your lips, “You saw me this morning doofus.”
He peeked an eye open, before he whined, “Gimme a kissssssss.”
The explosions erupted, as it always did every single time you kissed Jacaerys Velaryon. His lips covered yours with such fire that left a tingling feeling after. You molded into his body as he did yours, your legs wrapped around his figure as it gave access to his hands that moved to rest on your back and another into the wet strands of your hair. A groan was heard as his hands pressed you closer. You smiled.
Jacaerys softly bit into your bottom lip before he smiled into the softness of your mouth, “I love you.”
To love Jacaerys felt easy for you, it was as if breathing. You loved everything about him, he was kind, patient, loving, a family man who fought for what he believed in, and he held such fire when it came to defending his family and loved ones. Cregan Stark once told you, “An angry Jacaerys is like watching a dragon feed on a sheep.”
You remembered how you looked at the tall man, you stared at him dumbly, “Cregan what the hell? How do you even know what a dragon looks like or how they hunt?”
Cregan only shrugged as he sipped on his beer, “Look, all I’m saying Jacaerys is scary. I feel for the people that cross him, shorty got fire.”
Jacaerys was very responsible, and calculative and walked with such confidence that made you wonder how in the hell you managed to grab his attention, but he claimed it was love at first sight. What you will never know was how Jacaerys admired you on the first day of orientation when you wrapped your hand around Alysanne, Cregan’s girlfriend, as you chatted about how excited you were to join the art club. He will never tell you how amazed and inspired he felt when he saw your artwork displayed in a gallery, your picture with a small introduction next to it was enough to send his head in a spiral. You were talented, quiet, and reserved, but you were also kind, as he often heard of a girl who helped the elderly in a local shelter that his family often helped out.
History was something he took pride upon, he loved to study, to learn of his ancestors, the history of his people, and the treasures lost but soon to one day be discovered. He took a lot of pride in his eagerness to expand his knowledge despite the person he looked like on the outside. Popular, rich, soon-to-be co-president of the frat house, a nerd? That was a contradiction, out of the status quo. However, he cared about nothing other than succeeding and making his family proud, the opinions of his family never made him hesitant or ashamed. He carried his last name with pride.
During the first year, Valyrian history was a class he excitedly enrolled in, and he almost broke his legs coming down steps to his seat when he saw you sitting in the second roll of the grand hall. He told the old gods how thankful he was to share a class with you. More he thanked the gods when the professor assigned a teammate project. There you sat, an awkward expression on your soft features, you looked around in anxiety, you knew no one and you had no idea how to approach someone new.
You jumped when a soft voice spoke from above you, “Do you want to be my partner?”
The book in your hands slipped as the stranger stood confidently, waiting for your response. Your cheeks became hot, “Uh… yeah., of course! I’d love to.” You cringed at the stutters and the disorganization of the spot where you sat. Jacaerys only smiled, though inside he was doing cartwheels.
“I’m Jacaerys Velaryon, first year,” he said as he smiled softly towards you. You organized your books, before eyeing his hand that reached for yours. You smiled politely as you gave your name.
“That’s a pretty name,” he said before he focused on the board as he listened intently. You blushed.
“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly, your face feeling like it was going to melt.
A friendship grew then, and in two weeks, you and Jacaerys became the biggest friends. You always thanked him for helping you with your history homework, but the only response you got was a shake of the head and a wave. He was more than happy to help you. Every Tuesday and Thursday in the mornings you met Jacaerys on the stairs to the main hall where the history lecture was held and in his hand was always a bag of cherries. Your favorite. The color stained your lips just as the color of your cheeks never left when you were beside him.
“Here,” you said one day before class. Jacaerys pushed his glasses up his head to hold his bangs back. His eyes rounded with confusion. You chuckled, “This is for you, as a thank you. You know… for being a good friend and helping me every single time.”
Jacaerys heart felt as if it was going to be heard by you, uncovering the deepest feelings he felt for you. In his hands now laid a handmade ceramic piece in the form of a dragon. The details were very defined, and he wondered how long it took you to finish, it looked professional, very rich in the colors, and you spent dedicated time crafting all the details onto the piece. He gasped as he saw the hidden message.
From you, comes the blood of the dragon.
His head snapped to meet you, his expression tender and appreciative, “Thank you, y/n.”
You smiled widely, your toes curling into the soles of your shoes as you beamed proudly, “You’re welcome Jace.”
The term ended but your friendship with the man you grew feelings for did not. In hidden messages, you showed your love through crafts, taking every technique, you learned in your studio classes to craft small things for the friend who held your heart. Jacaerys cherished those gifts more than his life, proudly showing it off that Cregan called him “Lovesick Romeo.”
Whether he kept the gifts or not, you will never know, but you hoped that he did, they were messages of your love for him.
During midterms, you jokingly mentioned his name sounded so ancient.
“I’m telling Mom you’re calling her old,” was all he said before he smiled when he saw you stop your giggles in fear. Rhaenyra adored you, often did she texted you a good morning and a wish for you to have the best day. To you, she was your other mother, and never did she let you call her Rhaenyra or Ms. Targaryen, nagging your ear off to be called mom.
“You know, as ancient as it sounds, it does look pretty in cursive,” your eyes shined with intrigue, Jacaerys knew already your small habits, the expressions you pulled whenever you switched moods. He knew that now you were about to tell him about art. He only leaned back on his chair, his arms crossed against his chest as he softly smiled, his full attention on you.
You grabbed your drawing pad and your bamboo brush; your small tube of black ink was uncapped as you excitedly showed him what you meant. He watched as you concentrated, your hair falling perfectly around your face, your eyes focused as the inner of your forehead creased and you frowned. He only watched you counting down the days for the perfect time to ask you the big question.
“Okay! Look!”
Jacaerys leaned over you, your hands touching sending your skin in goosebumps. You cleared your throat to show indifference. “Your name is beautiful,” you mentioned softly. Jacaerys locked eyes with you, his brown eyes so glassy that you saw your reflection through his. You gasped softly.
“You made it beautiful,’ he said, “Your writing is beautiful, are you learning that now?”
You were thankful he switched topics as you swore you almost puked from the overwhelming feelings that consumed you whole. “Yeah,” you cleared your throat once again, “Typography, though it’s in digital, is something about tracing different fonts and all that helps too and is effective in the real world.”
Jacaerys hummed, his long fingers tracing the ink on the paper, “Sounds cool.”
You smiled, “It’s very cool.”
You were finally done with finals, cheering softly into the softness of your pillow. Vermax jumped on you, his mouth nibbling on your hair, “Vermax,” you groaned when he pulled a little too hard, “You evil baby.”
A soft ‘roof,’ was heard before he flopped beside you to chew on his plushie Jacaerys had gotten him from Dragonstone.
You flopped on your stomach, your arms hugging the pillow closer to your face, your brain empty, enjoying the comfortable silence. Jacaerys was at his last final of the semester, he left for school after you did so you took the time to relax before going out later that night. Cregan and Alysanne along with Benjicot and a few other friends of Jacaerys invited you both to the bar to celebrate the end of the semester.
As you stared around the bedroom you noticed a shiny box hidden under the cabinet where you and Jacaerys stacked a collection of films and books. You raised an eyebrow, watching the box glimmer against the light of the room. “Huh.”
You stood up to approach the box you had never seen before. As you were about to open it, the phone rang making you jump in fright. “Seven fucking hells!”
Eyeing the box you answered the phone, “Hello?”
“Hi baby, sorry! Just a quick question before I head to the test hall. Mom invited us to the city for a family dinner and she asked if you were up for it. Joff has been whining her ear off how much he misses you,” Jacaerys spoke quickly and quietly, you knew he was outside the hall.
“Absolutely! Yeah, I’ll call her right now actually.”
“Okay, that’s all. I’ve gotta go, the professor is here, I’ll see you soon. I love you!”
You smiled, the hold on the phone tightened, “I love you so much more, good luck!”
The phone call was cut short, you prayed he did well, but you never doubted he would do terribly. Jacaerys was very much a nerd hidden behind the popularity of his name and the circle of friends he had. He loved his books more than anything, always eager to know more.
Your eyes went back to the box that tempted you to open, you clicked your tongue. Untying the ribbon, you lifted the hard lid off, your jaw dropping at the contents of the box. “What the -”
Inside the box held every piece of love you ever crafted for Jacaerys, every piece you made with a small sticky note with a date. Your eyes watered, he had kept it all. For two years, Jacaerys Velaryon kept every message you gave him, the small dragon you gifted him sat by his bedside with a picture of you and him. He claimed it was to keep you close whenever you went to work or class. The tears ran down your cheeks as you went over every piece, every painting, and sculpture, until you stopped at a note.
“Oh, my g-”
Jacaerys.
The piece of paper was old, the edges where it seemed to have been ripped off a book glared at you. The memories flooded upon you. You recalled how angry and sad you were when the paper you wrote his name in calligraphy disappeared from your drawing book. In your hands laid the same people you mourned over. On the bottom relied on a new message. A message that made you choke on the sob you released. One of full love and happiness.
February 8th, the day I began counting down the days I would ask her to be mine forever.
☆ jace nation taglist (open): @vividxpages @writtenapoiogy @smurfelle @number-0-iz @peri4stral @girlthatislost @agqrtz @thenotesapppoet ☆ natties angel list (open): @aemondvelaryon @fleurbies @yohanseyebrowmole
☆ slutcult/mooties: @mattnott @manhandlememando @bucksplum @housetargaryenloyalist @xxselenite @vee-mage @v3lary0ns @hxtd @eldrith @bryscorner @princessbellecerise
#𓇼 nattie's works#jacaerys velaryon#house of the dragon fanfiction#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys targaryen x reader#jacaerys valaryon x reader#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys x you#jacaerys x reader#— natties winter wonderland 🎄
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Okay, let's unpack this response here
TL;DR: 'weak and surface' level is exactly how I would describe prevs "obliteration". I'm not convinced THEY read the books. Or maybe they're just another TERF, considering that's how it reads. I completely disagree with Harry naming his kid after Snape. The ONLY explanation I can think for it is that JKR has no idea what love is (which is also cannon, as far as I'm concerned)
First: idk what book this person read, but Snape's obsession with Lily was creepy to the extreme. That their friendship started by him all but stalking her and Petunia should have been red flag #1. I mean, sure, he was a traumatized kid without friends, but that doesn't absolve him of his continued obsession. He literally stood outside the Gryffindor common room, refusing to leave, until she came out to talk.
And yeah, he did switch sides out of guilt. But he canonically didn't give a damn about Harry. If he was actually trying to protect the kid, he would have done more than bully and abuse (occlumency lessons anyone?) the kid. Teaching at Hogwarts was never about redemption. It was about staying out of Azkaban. (And Dumbledore's manipulation, but he's a whole 'nother can of worms)
Second: the books actually say that Snape was 'up to his nose in the dark arts'. He was an active participant. He didn't just 'hang out' with to-be-DE, he WAS one. He joined up of his own free will. He became Voldemort's RIGHT HAND. He didn't regret calling someone a mudbl***. He regretted that it was Lily.
And Snape CANONICALLY attacked the marauders just as much as they went after him. Just because they went after him first in that ONE memory, doesn't mean he didn't instigate too.
And let's talk about the werewolf incident for a minute because i am sick and tired of Snape Apologists using this as an excuse. That was NOT planned. That was a lapse of judgement on Sirius' part alone (yeah, fucked to hell and he is fully responsible for that). At the same time though, NO ONE MADE HIM GO. Snape was given a vague instruction and he was so focused on 'getting back' at the marauders that he put HIMSELF in danger. That is just as much on him as it is on Sirius.
Then the sexual assault? This is another common thing I see and it took me forever to figure out what it was even referring to. The pantsing? You cannot tell me he was the only one that happened to. If the levitating spell was really as popular as it's stated, this incident wasn't special. I'm willing to bet Snape did it to others too.
Third: Lupin not taking the wolfsbane. Yes, serious lapse in judgement. He also just saw Peter and Sirius on the map. The argument of it being criminal and a ticking time bomb is honestly werewolf prejudice and exactly why Remus has such a hard time finding a job in the first place. Way to go. You've discovered discrimination.
Fourth: Get McGonagall's name out of your fucking mouth. She is CANONICALLY shown NOT showing prejudice and treating EVERYONE by the same standards. And, did you forget that 'Moody' here was actually a death eater in disguise? No duh he's using cruel and unusual punishments??? Full of abusive teachers my ass.
Fifth: What do you mean the kids weren't scared for life? I do believe those CHILDREN will carry that trauma with them for the rest of their lives. Saying that it didn't break them is cruel and completely dismisses the VERY REAL pain and suffering that they went through. They are real heroes because they OVERCAME their trials. Not all of us out here in the real world are so lucky.
Lastly: yes, comparing CHILDREN who DID see the error of their ways to an ADULT who had to be CONNED into doing the right thing is laughable.
And saying Regulus accomplished nothing? Disgraceful. Of course it took a catalyst for him to change his ways thats how redemption arcs work.
If you made it this far, I hope you have a good day. Believe whatever you want, obvy I'm not going to change anyone's opinion. You can't MAKE a person understand. Still, it's nice to rant and remind myself how nice it is that I live in my own little corner of the fandom where I don't have to see this bullshit on my dash
okay, hold my drink *hands u cursed ancient goblet full of mead* i gotta talk my shit for a second.
ive been seeing a lot of severus snape love recently. and this is fine, obviously, y'all can love whomever you want. but. i need to rant or i will explode. if we're talking about canon. severus snape spends his adult years, seven books of it in fact, abusing children. and his excuse for this is the girl he loved (tho not enough not to join a group actively trying to exterminate her) fell for the hot jock instead of him (a tragedy indeed, i weep 4 him, i really do). and also she died, which, admittedly is very sad.
it is simply crazy 2 me 2 look at that and think *romance* or *genuine care and affection*. LIKE. fo real. snape calls her a slur in public, apologizes in private, hangs out with dudes who commit hate crimes against her friends (CANONICALLY, she says "you've been hanging out with that douchebag Mulciber, how could you do that after what he did to Mary???" this is not a direct quote but like, it's close enough). lame. loser behaviour.
"Oh but what about regulus" i can hear you say "he loves James potter but snape doesn't love lily???" well. idk. maybe. bit different tho, innit? due to james not being the demographic regulus is attacking (which doesn't make regulus a better person but does make the dynamic between him and james different). ALSO. Regulus chooses to turn against voldemort without hope for anything in return. snape doesn't seem to give a shit about voldemort, he's just sad he's not gonna get to bang lily evans. he switches sides for that reason alone. also doesn't care about what happens to her husband or her son which like. considering lily would be pretty fucking destroyed if they died. once again points to my whole, he doesn't really give a shit about her, theory. lame. loser. behaviour.
also. im sorry. I"M SORRY. but what snape does to neville? to hermione? to harry? gross. a grown ass man out here telling an eleven year old neville he's worthless or hermione she's ugly and annoying. or spilling harry's potion and refusing to grade him for it???????????????
reg and draco are children when we see them at peak suckage and therefore they feel like they can be redeemed much more compellingly (CAN be, not SHOULD be, not HAVE to be, just narratively i think they are easier to turn into interesting, sympathetic characters). but snape? snape grows up into a garbage adult. like he doesn't get better. and again, the only real excuse we're given is his obsession with lily. not very demure. not very cutesy.
ALSO. yall remember that time he got a destitute, struggling Remus Lupin fired from the best job he ever had just because he felt like it? remember that time snape weaponized Remus's lycanthropy and people's prejudice against him just cause. like. literally just cause??? his ego was bruised after the shrieking shack incident so he was like "get wrecked Lupin I'm going to tell everyone your secret so you will be forced back out onto the streets" DO YALL REMEMBER THAT BITCH ASS MOVE????????? THAT HE DID AS A FULL ADULT.
IN CONCLUSION, this is silly and, of course, like i said at the start, everyone can have their own thoughts and feelings about characters, but i simply needed to interject here on behalf of snape haters everywhere because i feel like so much of snape's shitty behaviour as an adult during a time when he was really under no duress and was very safe and cozy, is ignored. and my hater heart just cannot let that stand.
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⋆˙⟡ lacy, oh, lacy, matt sturniolo
ex!matt sturniolo x ex!fem reader
synopsis. in which your ex boyfriend matt gets a new girlfriend and you envy her.
warnings. angst, self comparison, ex!matt, jealousy.
word count. 700 words.
authors note. this is my fav song on guts :(
you were scrolling mindlessly through instagram, half-distracted by the show playing in the background, when it hits you like a punch in the gut.
matt’s name.
you almost swipe past it, the little blue checkmark drawing your attention before your brain has time to catch up. the first photo in the carousel is enough to make your chest tighten; matt’s unmistakable smile, wild and carefree, his arm slung casually around the waist of a girl who is undeniably beautiful.
she’s perfect in a way that feels cruel. her hair is shiny and soft, her skin glowing like she exists in some perpetually golden hour. she’s wearing a baby pink skirt and a white tank top, that made you second-guess every piece of clothing you ever owned. and matt—he’s looking at her like she’s the only thing that matters, his gaze full of that rare blend of comfort and adoration that used to be reserved for you.
your fingers hovered over the screen, but the curiosity wins. you click on her profile—never a good idea.
her name is lacy, a name as delicate and ethereal as she looks. her bio is full of cute emojis, and her feed is an endless stream of photos that make her seem both unreachable heartbreakingly real. there are candids of her laughing with friends, aesthetic shots of iced-lattes and sunsets, flawless photos of her, and of course, more pictures of her with matt.
each photo was a dagger.
you scroll further, unable to stop yourself. there’s a photo of her in a bikini that hugged her perfect body in all the right ways, standing on the beach, her arms wrapped around matt as he leans down to kiss her forehead. the stunning sunset in the background really setting the scene.
you hate her. you hate how easily she seems to slot into the life that used to be yours. you hate the way she seems so effortlessly happy, like she’s never had to sit in her room crying after seeing someone else post photos like this. most of all, you hate how much she reminds you of everything you’re not.
lacy was kind. you could tell by the way people commented under her posts, by the stories where she’s tagged with the captions like “the sweetest person alive” and “my literal angel.” she’s funny, too, with captions that actually made you laugh even though you resented her for it. and then there’s the way she looks at matt in every picture. it’s the kind of look you recognised because it used to be yours.
and matt—he’s happy. he looks like he’s found the thing he’s been searching for.
it feels like a slap in the face.
you tell yourself to stop. to close the app, put your phone down, and do literally anything else. but instead, you go back to his post, lingering on the comment section. the flood of heart emojis and “you two are perfect” messages like tiny arrows, each one reminding you that this is his life now.
he doesn’t think about you anymore.
the realisation hits harder than you expect. it’s not like you thought he was still pining for you, but seeing it laid out in front of you—proof that he’s moved on, that he’s happy—makes your stomach churn.
you close instagram and toss your phone onto your bed next to you, but the damage is done. lacy is burned into your mind now, an image you can’t shake. you think about her at random moments, comparing yourself to her in ways that feel pathetic but impossible to stop.
would matt have loved you more if you’d been more like her? if you’d laughed more or dressed better or been softer around the edges?
you hate how much you care.
it’s not just jealousy—it’s grief. for what you had with matt, for the person you were when you were with him. for the version of you that thought she was enough.
you try to tell yourself it’s just a passing feeling, that in a few days this ache will dull into something manageable. but tonight, it’s sharp and all-consuming, and it’s hard not to feel like lacy has taken more than matt from you.
she’s taken the version of yourself that felt loved.
and you can’t stop wondering if you’ll ever get her back.
#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo edit#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo angst#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo angst#matt sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x you
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Devil's Snare: Part. 11
Aemond Targaryen x reader
Description: Y/N is pregnant with Aemond's child. Of that she is certain. What she can't seem to figure out is how to tell him in the midst of a bloody war that has already cost them so much.
Previous part Dividers kindly provided by @zaldritzosrose
Writer's note: I literally can't apologise enough for the biggest hiatus of all time! I completely lost the ability to write at all and hated everything I did write. Then I met Ewan Mitchell and died for a bit, so finally I'm back resurrected. I have no idea if anyone will still want to read this story as it's been sooooo long but here's another part anyway. I said it would be the last but I've had to split it because of the length, so they'll be at least another one before I wrap it up. Thank you to all you lovely readers who made me want to finish this story xxx
Warnings: Female reader, mentions of vomiting for people with emetophobia, mix of fluff and angst, some suggestive content, a scene straight out of Star Wars Attack of the clones (Anidala for the win) Aemond being emotionally constipated but making up for it with grand gestures.
It was becoming increasingly difficult for Y/N to hide her condition from Aemond, who had become even more protective if that were possible. Under his ever perceptive eyes she had to make a concerted effort to conceal the waves of nausea that seemed to overcome her at the most inconvenient of moments. It had been a month since Y/N had first taken note of the absence of her womanly cycle and she could no longer prevaricate on the matter...she was pregnant with Aemond's child. At first she'd felt a pleasant warmth spread through her at the realisation, a spark of joy at the thought of seeing Aemond as a father. She'd even been excited to tell him as soon as she was certain of the fact, but each time she tried he seemed to be called away to an urgent council meeting or to scout the skies on Vhagar.
The perfect moment never presented itself as she'd hoped, allowing her anxieties to build and a new fear to rise up within her. As the war continued to consume Aemond's every waking hour, worsened by the splitting of the Blacks' cause into two fronts as Daemon pursued his own claim, Y/N feared Aemond would not be pleased with her news. After all, surely this was the worst possible time to bring a child into the world. They'd never even discussed children, and Y/N had no idea how her husband felt about becoming a father. Without his words to soothe her fears, Y/N grew more and more uneasy with her condition, particularly as she finally felt her stomach begin to swell. She feared for Aemond's reaction, for herself having heard many stories of the pains of chidlbirth. But mostly, she feared for the child she now carried. What would happen if Rhaenyra won the war. Would the child survive. Would any of them?
She was sure Aemond had noticed something was amiss by now by the way she constantly felt his gaze on her, following her every move, not unaware of the look of gentle concern his one eye held. Sleep regularly evaded her, evidenced by the dark hollows that now shaded her eyes. And Y/N had lost her appetite, plagued by bouts of sickness, which had her running to the nearest chamber pot. In the middle of the night, she regularly woke up in a sweat and had to prise Aemond's arms from her body, a difficult feat as he instinctively tightened his iron grip on her in his sleep. In a sense, she was lucky Aemond had normally already left their chambers by the time she felt the sharp tug in her abdomen that sent her running before the wretching started.
But she did miss him during the day when he was detained by the small council and their interactions were limited to stolen kisses and glimpses of one another in the gloomy halls of the Keep. It was selfish, she thought, to wish they could simply return to the way it had been before when they'd spent nearly all of their time together, whilst the war continued to loom over the Red Keep. But she sometimes she found herself longing for simpler times when they would spend hours sitting and talking together, when she was just his handmaiden and he a handsome Prince who'd deigned to grant her his attentions.
Y/N rested discreetly against a column just before the small council chamber. She'd hoped to at least catch a glimpse of her husband as the council dispersed for the morning, but even crossing the short distance from their chambers to this part of the Keep had tired her considerably, likely only a sign of the fatigue she should expect to experience in pregnancy. As the kingsguard opened the doors to the chambers and her eyes met Aemond's, she forgot her weary limbs and smiled as he immediately rushed to meet her. A few moments later, his arms were wrapped around her as he held her to him, spinning her before letting her down gently. He kept a light hold on her waist, grinning down at her.
"You've come to see your husband? I am glad of it. I was in need of seeing something beautiful."
Y/N blushed "I missed you." Aemond squeezed her waist gently, his expression sympathetic.
"I know. But once the war is won, we will always be together. I give you my word."
Y/N nodded, trying to push down her feelings of loneliness and her anxieties around the child she was now certain she carried. She hadn't realised she'd been staring steadfastly at the ground until Aemond tipped her chin up with a single elegant finger and pressed their lips together. The kiss was one of barely repressed hunger that spoke to Aemond's passion for her, she was glad had never seemed to dwindle. But she lightly pushed him away with a startled laugh, aware this was not the sort of kiss appropriate for members of the small council to see as they left the chamber.
"Not here, Aemond."
Aemond's gaze turned steely, his voice commanding.
"Yes, here."
And then he was kissing her again, just as feverishly as the first time, one large on the small of her back so she was pressed against him. Sighing and finding it increasingly difficult to care who saw them at the intoxicating feelingof Aemond's soft lips on hers, Y/N gave in fully and melted against Aemond. It was a cough that startled them both enough for the couple to break apart.
Aemond directed the full force of his icy gaze on Ser Criston Cole, an eyebrow raised expectantly.
"We have matters to discuss, my Prince."
To Y/N's slight disappointment, Aemond reluctantly released her, briefly pressing his lips to her forehead and whispering an apology before following the hand of the king back down the hall away from her.
Aemond rapped his fingers against the council table with irritation and barely repressed impatience. He felt he had only just won his wife back to him after his transgressions, and yet he was still separated from her, trapped for hours at a time within these same four walls. He understood that he was needed as the strongest sword in the Kingdom and the rider of Vhagar, and he did not intend to shirk his duty to his family in this war. But his eagerness to prove himself, his lust for vengeance, had both diminished as he was forced to bear witness first hand to the consequences of war. Now he wished to end the war as soon as possible, whatever this required of him. His hope that the war would soon come to an end was renewed by the estrangement of Rhaenyra and Daemon. Together, as a united front, they were stronger. Their separation had weakened both their claims and their stances in the war. Aemond was also aware of ravens passing between his mother and Rhaenyra each day, and he began to think it would not be long until Rhaenyra realised her cause was a hopeless one without Daemon and his dragon. Without Caraxes, she had no dragon to counter Vhagar. His uncle Daemon posed the greater threat. Each day brought news of the castles he had taken in the crown lands, and Aemond knew he would have to face his uncle soon to put an end to the war. Part of him relished the challenge, though he feared for his love and his family, should he fail.
"We will reconvene once I have had time to consider your arguments." Aemond realised he had let his mind wander as Aegon dismissed the small council, rising quickly to try and catch a moment with his wife before other matters inevitably called him away from her. He briefly considered running in the direction of their chambers, though he could not be certain to find her there. But was pleased to see his wife already waiting outside the council chamber for him, saving him the trouble. He felt incredulous of the sheepish smile she sent his way, as if she could believe even for a moment that he wouldn't always be pleased to see her. It was a false presumption he would have to remedy. Crossing the distance between them at lightning speed, he immediately took Y/N into his arms, her light giggle as he lifted her off her feet like a warming balm to his troubled mind. He refused to let go of her even once he'd placed her back down, running his hands up and down the dip in her waist. Having to spend so much time away from her side had made him miss her soft timidity and the rosy glow of her cheeks when she blushed. He was sure he had never seen a prettier sight, and he told her as much.
"I've missed you..."
It was difficult for Aemond to hear, to know she felt his absence so keenly. But he wished her to know it was not his desire to part from her side. He recalled expressing this to her when she'd rushed to his chambers to check on an injury he'd received in training. How he'd pulled her onto his knee and told her he always wanted her that close. He had meant it then and he was determined to finish what he had begun when he had slain Luke, to put an end to this war so Y/N would never have to doubt it again.
"I know. But once the war is won, we will always be together. I give you my word."
Though Y/N nodded, he could see the sadness her eyes held, the loneliness swimming in them, and he so desperately wanted to comfort her. Lightly tipping her chin up he pressed their lips together, trying to express with this kiss that he missed her too, that he loved her more than it was possible to say. Aemond felt himself groan in frustration as Y/N pushed him away with a laugh, despite the sweeteness of the sound to him.
"Not here, Aemond."
Was that all that concerned his wife? That people might see them? Aemond was a prince of the realm. They would just have to accept it as far as he was concerned or turn away if they did not. He wouldn't waste the precious few opportunities he had with Y/N of late worrying about tempering his affectation for her to meet the standards of others. And he would not allow her to feel any shame from the ardency kf his love for her either. He was resolute on this matter.
"Yes, here."
He captured her soft lips again before she could raise any other ridiculous objections about him expressing his love for her, trying to convince her with each brush of his lips against hers how little the opinion of others mattered. He was glad this did not seem to take long as she pressed herself closer to him and sighed against his lips. Aemond could barely repress his anger at Ser Criston when he interrupted their embrace with his ill timed cough, trying what little patience he had left.
But, much to Aemond's chagrin, the hand of the king was right, they had pressing matters to discuss that could not wait. If Rhaenyra would not cede her claim, then they had plans to take Rook's Rest. This did not make it any easier for him to walk away from his wife when he could so plainly see her disappointment as he stepped away from her.
Aemond cursed as he faltered slightly midstep, hurrying back to his chambers for the evening. Darkness had long since cloaked the Red Keep in it's cold embrace, but he'd had no chance to escape from his duties until the hour had grown far too late for him to reasonably hope to spend any time with his beloved wife. He opened the door to their chambers tentatively, his tread quiet, the silence within a clear sign that Y/N had already retired for the evening. Aemond smiled at the image of Y/N curled up on the chaise, the book she'd been reading now sprawled on the ground, as if she'd been trying to stay awake for him. His heart warmed at the gesture, realising this must be true. Stepping forward, he crossed the room in measured strides, determined not to wake her but to situate her more comfortably if he could. Gathering her up into his arms, he'd only taken a few steps towards placing her on the bed before she was blinking up at him with bleary eyes. Any residual sleepiness was quickly replaced by a look of panic Aemond couldn't understand as Y/N urgently patted his shoulder.
"Put me down. Quickly."
Confused and a little put out by the less than warm reception, Aemond nonetheless placed Y/N back on her feet. Not a moment later, she had wrenched herself from his grip entirely, doubling over and holding her mouth over her stomach. Alarmed, Aemond made to move towards Y/N only to be stopped in his tracks when she held a hand up to him.
"No don't, I'll be alright in a moment."
"If you are unwell, I shall call for a maestor."
Aemond was already moving towards the door, his own anxiety rising at the thought of his love being taken from him by some illness. Y/N's hand gripping his halted him once again as she weakly tugged him back towards her. "I'm not ill, Aemond."
Though Y/N had lowered her hand from her mouth and was now standing up straight, he was unconvinced by the greenish tinge of her pallor, frowning at her disregard for her health. It was not something he could so easily dismiss.
"I find that difficult to believe, my love."
Y/N closed her eyes, breathing deeply perhaps to fight off any remaining nausea.
Stepping closer to her and taking both her hands in his, Aemond lowered his voice to a gentle and encouraging whisper.
"Whatever is the matter, you can tell me my darling girl."
Y/N nodded, though her features only grew more pained and anxious by the second and he noted that she would not meet his eye though he tried to chase hers.
And then he felt his heart momentarily stop.
"I'm pregnant."
Y/N awoke with a start as she felt herself being lifted into the air, followed seconds later by a sharp pain shooting through her abdomen. Her brief confusion was short lived as she came to terms with two important facts. She'd fallen asleep in her attempt to wakt for Aemond to return..and now she was going to throw up on him.
That thought had her frantically attempting to pull away from him in a frenzy of flurries movement and urgent cries for him to put her down, leaving him looking more than a little perplexed and put out with her. As soon as she was placed upright, Y/N launched herself away from Aemond, clamping a hand over her mouth in a desperate attempt to push down the bile she could feel rising in her throat. She didn't want this to be the way he found out about her condition. By the grace of the Seven, her concerted effort to take deep breaths was reducing the overwhelming nausea that had washed over her, leaving behind the realisation that she'd have to explain her strange behaviour to her husband, who seemed seconds away from bolting from the room to fetch the nearest maester. That didn't make it any easier to reveal the truth, and just like every other time she'd attempted to share her secret with Aemond, she became tongue-tied and nervous about his reaction. But when he held her hands so gently, squeezing them encouragingly, and spoke to her so softly, she lost control of her speech entirely.
"I'm pregnant."
As soon as she blurted out her confession she regretted it, for every muscle in Aemond's body seemed to freeze as his mouth fell open...and though several seconds passed in agonising silence he said nothing, only staring at her, frozen in either shock or horror.
Ripping her hands from Aemond's hold, Y/N turned her back to him, covering her face with her hands and ineffectively pressing her palms against her eyes to staunch the flow of tears and her crushing dissapointment at her husband's reaction. It had been worse than she had even feared. Her soft sniffles must have broken the spell that had frozen Aemond in place as she soon heard his boots clicking against the cold marble floor as he moved around her, warm large hands wrapping around her own to prise them from her face. Y/N fought against his attempts, not wanting to see the look of disappointment on his face she was sure she'd find.
"Look at me, please." He did not sound angry at least, rather uncertain. Did he think she'd lied to him? Would he have rather she had?
Reluctantly allowing Aemond to pull her hands back down to her sides, she was surprised to see what looked much more like wonder than horror in Aemond's eye, an almost dreamlike expression on his handsome features.
"Are you quite certain?" Y/N heard a definite tremble in his voice, and she nodded simply in response, not understanding his sudden change in demeanour. When he said nothing still, the only change being the widening of his eye, she felt her heart break a little more.
"Are you very unhappy with me?"
Aemond looked like he'd had a bucket of ice water thrown on him and had been abruptly woken from a dream. Reaching for her again and cupping each side of her face, he gazed at her with the utmost tenderness.
"Unhappy with you? I have never been more happy. Hush, my love. Don't cry. I did not mean to make you feel as if I were unhappy."
Y/N shook Aemond's hands off her and turned away from him again. She imagined she must look petulant, but she still felt hurt. Aemond's words did not reflect the fact that only moments before he'd looked completely stricken, and she feared he was only trying to appease her now.
"You looked horrified. I know it isn't the best time to bring a child into the world and there are more important matters you must attend to..."
"Nothing matters more now than you and our child."
Aemond cut her off in her ramblings, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on her shoulder, though she remained turned away from him.
"I was surprised, but certainly not horrified. I've thought of you as a mother before when I saw you getting along so handsomly with my niece and nephew. I thought of you as the mother of my child. Even before we were married, the image was clear in my mind."
Aemond stroked a hand down her abdomen as if to convey the truth of his words, though her bump was still barely visible. Y/N twisted in his hold to face him, surprised by Aemond's admission. Seeming to sense an onslaught of questions, he continued before she could even pose one.
"I don't want you to worry about the war now. This is the happiest of news. This child...our child, is the greatest gift you could ever have given me and I will love them fiercely. I will not allow any harm to come to you or our child."
Y/N smiled, her heart warming as she observed that Aemond's one good eye glistened slightly. She could see now that she'd mistaken his reaction and nearly sighed with relief. But their shared happiness couldn't qwell her curiosity.
"You said you had thought about us having children together before."
Aemond quirked an eyebrow up at her train of thought.
"Yes." He answered, almost like a question.
Y/N swallowed thickly, thinking of how to ask her question.
"You never mentioned a wish to have children to me before. How long have you thought of it?"
Aemond's expression softened as he tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, grazing his knuckles along her cheek as he did so.
"If I'm understanding what I think your truly asking, then I'll simply tell you that as soon as I realised I loved you, I knew I wanted you to be my wife and the mother of my children. It's not a thought I had before you, everything I wish for my life begins and ends with you."
Cursing her heated cheeks, Y/N all but barrelled into Aemond, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her cheek into his doublet. Aemond responded to her embrace quickly, laughing at the suddeness of her actions, and began to stroke her hair softly.
Y/N was embroidering a blanket for the baby in the hazy afternoon light when Aemond bounded into their chambers grinning at her. She could tell he was brimming with excitement and had his hands curiosuly clasped behind him as if he were trying to conceal something from her view.
"I've brought you something, my love."
Y/N rose from her seat and tried to peer around him, but Aemond continuously thwarted her efforts until she finally agreed to close her eyes and hold her hands out.
Once the surprise object was placed into her hands she almost dropped it from the heat it exuded, almost as if it were a very large boiled egg. But eggs were never so tough and scaley...except for dragon eggs. She opened her eyes to meet Aemond's expectant look.
"I went to the Dragon pit this morning to choose an egg for our little dragon. This one was hatched by Dreamfyre. I thought it fitting since you and Helaena are so close." Y/N felt a burst of affection rise within her at Aemond's excitement, and this act of affection towards their unborn child. She knew that it was customary for a dragon egg to be placed in the cradle of a Targaryen prince or princess, but she also understood this tradition must have a special significance for Aemond whose dragon egg had failed to hatch. The corner of her lips lifted at the nickname Aemond had given their baby.
"Little dragon?"
Aemond's smile only widened. He knelt before her, placing his hands on either side of her waist and resting his cheek against her now noticeable bump.
"Yes, our little dragon. She'll be a fiersome dragon rider just like her father."
Y/N placed their child's dragon egg on the seat she'd just vacated. Each scale was tipped with a dark blue hue that almost blended in with it's coal black surface, ensuring that it unmistakably belonged to Helaena's dragon. She couldn't help but feel it was perfect, and she raised her hands to tangle them in Aemond's hair, running her fingers through the silver strands.
"A princess then?' Y/N asked, amused by his confidence.
Aemond nodded resolutely in her arms, tickling her abdomen as his eyepatch grazed across it.
"I am sure of it. A Targaryen princess with all the beauty and kindness of her mother."
Aemond had spent far longer than he truly had time for carefully selecting a dragon egg for his baby. It was an important tradition for his House, but to him it felt like more. He never wanted his child to feel like an outsider as he had done all his childhood with no dragon of his own. He was determined his child should never face the loneliness he had, the jeers from his own brother and cousins, that instead they should feel loved and secure, that they truly belonged.
Aemond had spoken to Y/N many times of Targaryen traditions, but he did not know until he placed the dragon egg in her hands if she would understand fully how much this simple tradition meant to him. But when she graced him with a resplendent smile, he immediately knew that somehow she did.
I want someone to spin me around like that. It just looks so fun! Also Ewan Mitchell is the nicest person ever and I briefly held his hand and I'm deceased aaaah
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#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#hotd#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd imagine#aemond one eye#prince aemond#aemond targaryen fanfiction#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen fluff
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Both the Princess and the Long Quiet are trapped in an abusive situation under the Narrator. He has created an intentional power difference between her and him, and shows preferential treatment of the latter over the other.
He uses the Long Quiet to do his dirty work. He gives him incomplete information about her so that he supposedly will treat her in a specific way he wants him to. He also, conditionally, praises him as somebody valuable - a Hero - and demonizes the Princess. He uses the Long Quiet as an extension of himself and his abuse of the Princess, because he can't directly affect her.
If he refuses to do the Narrator's bidding, he withdraws his praise, insults, gaslights and guilts, and tries to manipulate him in many more ways so that he'll act in the ways he wants him to.
Because of his position, he's much more likely to repeat the patterns of abuse because of fear / desire for / feeling entitled to absolute control after having a taste of it.
He can also break the pattern because he realizes the Princess is just as trapped as him, and that he wants to be kind, to be better.
The Narrator has trapped and isolated (and abandoned) the Princess without her knowledge from a distance. She has no idea who she is because she never had the chance to maker her own experience, and doesn't know where she is or why, or why she's alone.
He implicitely has left her surroundings hostile to her, telling her that she's at fault for her imprisonment. He uses another person to torment and abuse her. The same person is also her only chance to be free, and the only person who can understand her, because he's trapped in the same prison.
She's more likely to make the best out of a horrible situation. She can also try to control him, and / or become (understandably) cruel at her treatment by him and lash out. Sometimes out of proportion to the hurt against her because he's the only person present and she doesn't have healthy outlets.
Slay the Princess is a love story. It's also a story of two people in different positions of the same abusive situation, pitted against each other, and how they react to that. How they start and how they are treated shape their potential reactions.
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Keep A Leftover Light Burning
Pairing: joel miller x Ceramicist! reader
MINORS DNI WITH MY WORKS PLEASE !!
A/N: howdy howdy and welcome all now this is a very special fic for @burntheedges for the @pedrostories secret santa event!! I hope you like it and find it as fun as i did. I think this isnt a trope that we see very often, but after a healthy dose of tiktoks (and watching the scene from ghost again) this came into being. As always thank you to my beloveeeeeeed @carlynkurin for beta reading, and peace and love on the planet earth from me, xoxo Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!! tags: Ceramicist reader, smut, porn with plot, oral (f! receiving), publicish sex, strangers to lovers, lots of wet clay, joels arms require their own tag Word count: 3.4k Summary: Sarah forces joel to go take a day to himself, pushing him in the direction of your pottery studio. Despite calling yourself professional and priding yourself on your morals, you can’t help but… fantasize about the man in front of you.
Joel needs to take time for himself. He’s always on, always ready to go at the flip of a switch, never taking time to sit and breathe. Everyone knows how hard he works, and despite what he says, Sarah knows that he needs to do something calming. Something that doesn’t involve carving wood or going to the shooting range with Tommy on the off chance that both of them are free for long enough. So being the perfect daughter that she is, she enrolls him in a ceramics workshop that she had gone to once. It was a small studio, tucked away next to the Palace Theatre in downtown Georgetown, soft and quaint in the suburbs, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Sarah managed to get a hold of you over the phone and explain the situation, a smile threatening to creep onto your cheeks at the sheer amount of care she had for her father. You tell her not to worry about the price and that you would stay open for an extra hour next weekend just to get him in, a squeal on the other side is all the confirmation you need as you pencil it into your schedule.
Sunday rolls around and Joel… Well, he was being Joel. Stubborn and groaning as Sarah essentially pushes him out the door to make the drive up IH-35, complaining about “I build things for a living,” and “it’ll be a waste of time.” but Sarah is hearing none of it and one look from her has Joel slipping on his boots. In any other circumstance, he would have praised her for holding her ground, but right now he just sighs and gets into his truck realizing just how much of his stubbornness had rubbed off on her.
He ends up at the studio just before 5, the sun starting to dip under the horizon, casting beautiful pinks and oranges around the sky. He’s still bitching and moaning as he makes his way to the building, taking a deep breath as he steps inside. You barely even hear the jingle of the little bell above your door, too busy fighting with your sink: now clogged with clay from your last class with 3 kids under ten who didn't understand that when you told them not to dump clay inside the sink. You had meant it. “Fucking thing!” you groan, poking a paintbrush into the drain, hoping to get enough clay out of it so that it would run again.
Joel stares at you, half confused and half amused with the scene in front of him; your hair a mess, your apron covered in clay and paint, hacking into your sink in ways that he knows won't do you any good. He clears his throat after watching you struggle for about 30 seconds, stifling a smirk when you jump and look back at him. “Need some help? I’m s’possed to have a class now- my daughter-” he shakes his head at the idea of sharing the whole story again “Did I get the wrong time?”
You look absolutely mortified, dropping the paintbrush in the basin and giving the man in front of you a weak smile “No! No, I just got a little... occupied… you’re on time” You wipe your hands on the front of your apron, not even bothering to attempt to fix your hair, before walking over to greet him. Properly this time. “You must be Joel. Your daughter was very persuasive on the phone.”
Joel’s smirk shifts into a full-blown smile at the mention of Sarah, the pride he has for the girl shining through. “Yeah, she’s a good one.” he praises. Despite his reluctance to listen to her advice, he knows just how good her heart is, and how much she cares about him. I “Ain't sure what she told ya, and to be honest she hasn't told me what I'm s’possed to be doing here either”
You can't help but smile at his words, the pure adoration for his daughter combined with the slight nervousness in his voice was endearing in ways you weren’t sure how to describe. “No worries, I promise it isn’t anything scary.” You glance around the studio. Outside, the sky had begun to darken, the soft lighting of the different lamps inside the building casting the both of you in a warm glow. The glaze on the ceramics you had on display was a wide assortment of colors: intricately painted motifs, bright splashes of colors, silly cartoons, almost anything you could think of. You pick up a faded apron and hand it to him, watching him stretch as he puts it on. A brief flicker of guilt passes through you as you ogle him, but then you see the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt and the guilt gives way to something primitive.
He turns back around and you look away with a cough, a slight warmth creeping up your cheeks when he raises his brows at you. “Right um-” you stumble over your words, more unrefined than you would have liked to be “Sorry, sorry. We’ll start with choosing what you’ll want to make. I always recommend something easy, like a bowl or a spoon rest..” you pick up a pencil cup that had been painted to look like a pencil and a spoon rest that was a simple blue color, to show him “I already have the clay prepped so we can get started straight on th-”
Joel cuts you off as he glances around the studio, pointing at a lidded cookie jar “That one.” His words leave no room for argument but certainly bring questions up to the surface. “I'm gonna do that one.” You had been making ceramics for years, starting with air-dry clay in school, continuing to use the wheel throughout university, and eventually quitting your day job to start the studio. You knew the skill level it took to make a jar, the precision and technique to keep it balanced, and it just wasn’t a beginner project.
“I'm sorry, the cookie jar?” You try not to let your voice betray your disbelief. It wasn't that you lacked faith in the man in front of you, you made sure to be confident in all of your clients, it was simply an issue of skill. “I don't know if that’s the one for you to start out with, it’s a little advanced-”
But Joel was having none of it. If he was going to be forced to sit here and make something to “calm him down” then damn it it was going to be something that takes skill and effort. Something that he could bring home to Sarah and brag about slightly. Was it a little strange that he wanted to one-up his daughter and prove that he didn't need to be here? Maybe a little bit, but he didn't dwell on it. “Yes ma'am.” His voice is set in the decision. “I'm sure it can't be that bad, let me at it.”
Never one to truly tell people no, you simply nod and get the prepared clay out. It was soft and slippery, staining your hands a taupe color as you brought it to the wheel, plopping it down on the wheel, and pressing down on the sides to make sure it stuck. “Alright, so with the jar..” you gesture for him to take a seat in front of the wheel, moving to stand behind him “It’ll be a little bit more involved than something simple, but you're in good hands I promise.” Your words are soft, and frankly, you were excited. You didn't throw fun projects with clients as much as you’d like to anymore, focusing more on teaching the basics, so this was honestly a welcomed surprise. “We’ll just start with getting the basic shape of it, you’ll take your hands like this, and we’ll work it up.”
You sit on your stool behind him, usually, you’d be able to reach around and help with hand placement but good god was he broad. You adjust and readjust your position a few times, finding it oddly difficult to find the right mix between comfort and functionality, eventually ending up with your legs spread a little bit past their comfort level, so that you could lean over his shoulder and help him with the shaping. You squeeze some water onto his hands, moving them to cup the base of the clay and pop the wheel to life. His hands were big under your smaller ones, the roughness contrasting both the soft clay and your skin. You can't help but feel a twinge of something stirring inside you as you help him bring the clay up and down, your hands guiding his. Joel’s brows were knit together in concentration, both endearing and attractive as you watched him focus on the clay. The movements of his hands under yours were careful, almost hesitant, his eyes peeking back at you every so often for assurance.
Once the clay was at an appropriate size you moved your hands off of his, the wheel slowing to a stop. You swear that you see his hands twitch to stay under yours, but your mind might be playing tricks on you. “Now call me unartistic but this ain't really lookin’ like a cookie jar yet.” Joel raises his brows, a slight hint of teasing hidden in his southern drawl, and you can’t help but snort at the comment.
“I will not call you unartistic, it isn't supposed to look like a jar yet.” You hum and wipe your hands on your apron “We’ll do the lid to it later, but you have to actually make it into a bowl first.” your thumbs gently press down onto the center of the clay to form a soft dent. The wheel starts back up again slowly and you start to open the center up a little bit. “Right so now you just gotta take your thumbs like I did and- perfect!” Joel manages to press his fingers slowly against the clay, working it open, and god you wished that was you more than anything at that moment. You press on the sponge, the water dripping down his hand and onto the clay, almost sensually. Your eyes are locked on the way his thumb dips into the clay, the way the clay comes up onto his skin. Your mouth is dry, and you cough as you stand up, needing to take a deep breath and try to compose yourself.
“Everythin’ alright?” Joel's voice rings out from behind you as you move to take a drink of water, and you swear if his voice was just a tinge deeper, you would have choked right then and there. In the rush of getting up, your brain had ceased to realize that moving off the pedal would stop the wheel from turning.
You feel like an idiot. A stupid, hormonal, completely unprofessional idiot. You take a moment to scold yourself mentally before turning around to face him again. “Yeah, yes. Sorry I just realized how thirsty I was, I just needed water.” You move back to your stool behind him, halfway composed, and move to start the next step. If you'd been in front of him for one more second, you would have seen the knowing smile on his face. There was no denying the attraction between the two of you. Pressed up against each other, hands touching, dim light surrounding you both, it was inevitable. You move your hand to show him the right finger position “so you’ll want to take your middle and ring finger-” You press the two of yours inside of the bowl to give him an example and you swear he laughs a little bit.
“Oh, believe me, darlin” his voice rings out, big fingers expertly finding their way into the exact position. “I know all about this one.” You watch his fingers glide up and down the inside of the bowl, your hand on top of his, steadying his wrist. You bite at your lip, fingers shaking slightly on top of his. Your chest was pressed against his back and you could feel your nipples hardening. You were annoyingly turned on. This wasn’t normal for you, this wasn't something you do, get the hots for a client, but here you were. And with the way Joel's fingers were methodically moving over yours, you were begging that he felt the same way. “Wouldn’t mind showin’ ya all I know about it.” The want in his voice makes you clench subconsciously, your breath faltering for a second.
You hold your breath for a moment as if trying to make sure you hadn’t imagined his words in a haze of horniness, only to be broken out of that haze when he shifts and pushes his stool back, and turns around to face you. Both of your hands were covered in wet clay and your aprons were messy, neither of which stopped you from pressing your lips against his. You sigh against his mouth as your hand's fist in the fabric of his shirt, staining the fabric with readily drying clay. “I don't usually do this,” you murmur when you pull away for air, your lips swollen and red.
Joel just grins at your words “S’alright, honey,” his lips find their way to your jaw and move down to your neck, his nose nudging at the fabric of your shirt. “Don't gotta explain anything to me.” His voice is like molasses, smooth and syrupy, keeping you stuck on his every word. You let him move you around, the small wooden stools were less than ideal for either of you. In the mess of standing up and finding a table to bend over your shirt comes off and he groans at the sight of you, his hands grabbing at your waist, staining your skin with water. “Good god… sight for sore eyes…” You can't help but flush slightly at his comment, feeling more exposed while you stare at his fully clothed figure.
Joel picks up on it, his hands moving from your waist to his shirt and apron, a frustrated noise leaving his mouth when the knotted strings keep him from taking it off. “Let me,” you whisper, reaching around to undo the strings, the fabric of the apron sagging and then getting tossed to some other corner of the room. You stare at him. You couldn't not stare at him. At the hair covering his chest leading down to his belt, the soft yet strong features of his body, at his hand undoing his belt. Your own shorts had been removed, your hands moving to reach into his jeans until he stopped you, a pout and protest forming on your lips.
Joel just shakes his head at you, picking you up and setting you on a relatively clean table, his body wedged between your legs. “My momma raised me to be a gentleman,” he hums against your skin, kissing the tops of your breasts, nudging your nipples with his nose before giving each of them their own kisses “I didn't take ya to dinner, at least let me get my fill yeah?” Your back fully arched into his mouth as his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles were white. The feeling of his tongue flicking against the hardened bud had you moaning out in ways you had never imagined you would, and you swear you could feel him smirk even as he licked a stripe down the soft skin of your tummy.
His knees crack as he settles between your legs and the sight of him is so sinful you can't help but moan softly. He raises his brows at you, a warm chuckle leaving his mouth at the sound, his lips pressing against the inside of one of your thighs “Look that good?” His voice is laced with a gentle mocking as he presses another kiss, a hair's breadth away from your aching cunt “think I got the better view though.” You don't even have the time, nor the brainpower, to reply before his lips press against you, a groan vibrating against your skin as he tastes you. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had… could get damn addicted.”
Your lips are parted as his tongue swirls around your clit, your whines and moans spurring him on even further. “F-fuck joel-” you manage at some point, his broad shoulders keeping your thighs spread apart, despite how much they’d like to clamp around him. He was good at this and he knows that, moaning at the sound of his name on your lips, the words giving him a newfound energy. You feel his warm palms against your thighs keeping you spread open for him, and you almost whine when his tongue leaves your clit, only to cry out in ecstasy when his tongue prods at your pulsing hole. His nose is pressed up against your clit, giving you just the right amount of friction as he gathers your slick on his tongue, cycling between fucking it into you and laying it flat over your cunt. “Joel- joel oh fuck-” Your moans are frantic as he continues to send you closer and closer to that edge, his motions only getting faster as your hand fists in his hair. “Oh my god- fuck fuck fuuuuck-” your legs shake around his head, his hands keeping them apart as he works you through your orgasm, not stopping until you were spent and hazy, laying back on the table with shuddering breaths.
Your eyes were pressed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of your orgasm, only to peek open when you hear the clink of his belt. His mouth was covered in the sheen of your orgasm, a hungry look in his eyes as he spits into his hand and pulls his cock out. “Tasted like a damn dream,” he groans while he strokes himself. “Gonna remember this forever…” Your eyes are locked on the motions of his wrist, the steady pace, the pearly precum that was leaking from his tip. “Fuckin’ perfect… makin’ me feel like a damn teenager again.” You wait with bated breath as he continues to stroke himself, wiggling your hips in order to entice him.
“Joel,” your voice is soft, but so heavily full of need it was almost painful “Please… I want you.” If you were being honest, you thought that it would take more convincing, that you would have to ask more, but Joel was desperate, maybe more so than you were and so when he sinks his cock into your dripping cunt it was ecstasy for both of you. Your eyes fall shut again at the feel of him, the stretch so much but so good. “Oh my god…” you whine, pushing yourself onto him further, your breathing stuttering when one of his hands palms at your breast, the other one gripping your hip with so much strength you think it would leave a mark.
“That’s it…” he groans, slipping into you all the way. “Fuckin’ perfect pussy, like she was made for me.” His words are punctuated with shallow thrusts that fill you up again and again. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. The feeling of his hips pressing against yours is something you would never be able to get out of your memory.
You both lay there, bodies pressed against each other, his hips rocking into you slow and steadily, the dim lighting of the studio casting an ethereal glow over the scene. His hips move at a steady pace, keeping you full of him as the coarse hairs around him press against your clit with the right amount of friction. It doesn't take much time until he's panting on top of you, your lips pressed against each other's in a heated kiss as you feel him spill inside you.
“That was…” you were breathless, his chest still against yours, the rhythm of your hearts syncing up.
“Yeah…” He grins, pressing a kiss against your forehead gently. “I know I told ya I was a gentleman but, I really would like to see you again… of course no pressure if you don't want to or anything-”
You cut him off with a small laugh before he can keep going, nudging your head against his. “I want to, Joel.” You smile gently at him “Plus, you didn't finish the jar.” You grin, looking in the direction of the unfinished work of art he had started. “And then I have to fire it, then glaze it, then fire it again, then… well you get the point, I think I’ll be seeing you quite a few more times, Joel.”
A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free
READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. Silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.
DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist.
PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.
Thank you for reading, and free Palestine
#papaya writes <3#joel miller#joel tlou#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel x reader#joel the last of us#joel miller au#joel miller fic#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#pedrostoriesgift24#pedrostories#pedro characters#pedro pascal
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post-Milagro ficlet
I got an ask from a lovely anon a few days ago about *the* quote from Milagro: "Agent Scully is already in love." This is part of what will maybe turn out to be a larger WIP, or maybe not. It stands on its own for now. But who knows. Anon: thanks for the ask! I took a bit of a different turn with this, but I couldn't manage post-Milagro fic that didn't have some angst in it. tagging @today-in-fic
Agent Scully is already in love.
A look at the alarm clock tells her it’s 3 a.m. and she hasn’t managed to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. Every time she drifts off, the same thoughts jerk her awake again. She can still feel the hand around her heart, the horror and fear, the absolute certainty in her mind that this was it, she couldn’t fight this, nobody was gonna save her this time.
But she’s okay. She’s not even hurt. There’s even a decent chance that she’ll get the blood out of her clothes, even though she’s not sure she ever wants to wear them again. She’s okay, and yet she’s lying here wide awake at 3 a.m., the past few days replaying on a constant loop in her mind. She has no idea why she ever even talked to Padgett. Quite honestly, she has no idea why she did any of the things she did. She has no idea how she didn’t end up hurt or dead.
She knew the risks she was taking. Interacting with your own stalker—a really fucking terrible idea. But it’s only now that she’s truly afraid. Now that it’s over.
Mulder offered to stay with her. He would have let her stay at his apartment, but she had to get out of there, and he understood. A part of her wishes she’d have let him sleep on her couch the way he wanted. Having him close by might be a comfort now. Or it might not.
Agent Scully is already in love.
One more thing she can’t forget, no matter how hard she tries. Padgett was clearly not well, and she never should have listened to a word he said, but she did. She listened, and she heard things that were never meant to be spoken aloud.
And Mulder was there. Mulder heard. She turns her face into the pillow and squeezes her eyes closed. She doesn’t wanna hear it anymore. She doesn’t want those words.
If it weren’t for those words, maybe she could have let Mulder stay. Maybe it would have been okay.
Deep breaths, she tells herself. Breathe. Relax. Think about nothing. Think about puppies and nice hot baths and the smell of freshly baked cookies.
A hand around her heart, squeezing. She can’t move, the floor hard against her back, and she knows she’s dying, she can’t move, she can’t…
Fuck. She rolls onto her back and covers her eyes with her hands as if that could stop the images from flooding her tired mind.
Jolting back to consciousness, her body tight with fear and shock, and Mulder right there, Mulder with his worried eyes, Mulder’s arms around her holding her close, Mulder, Mulder, Mulder.
She wants Mulder. Oh god. She shouldn’t have sent him away when he dropped her off, when he asked whether she wanted him to come up.
She could call her mom.
She could deal with this on her own like a fucking adult who doesn’t need anyone to hold her hand every time she gets scared.
A tiny part of her brain reminds her that this was bad, that she has every right to be shaken up. But she wants her mind to be wrong about this. She just wants it to be over.
She wants Mulder.
Agent Scully is already in love.
Mulder is the last person she can call right now.
They have worked out a system a long time ago for when one of them can’t sleep. Call and let it ring once, then hang up. If the other one is awake enough to reach for the phone, they talk. Otherwise they let each other sleep. She could do that. He’d understand. Hell, he’s probably lying awake expecting her to call. Which makes her that much more determined not to do it.
The last digits she reads on her alarm clock before she drifts off into a restless slumber are 5:28.
At 7 a.m., her alarm rings. She feels terrible. Everyone would understand if she took a sick day. But then she’d sit here all day with her thoughts, with her memories, with nothing to distract her.
**
When she walks into the office, she doesn’t remember getting dressed, she doesn’t remember driving to work. She’s not sure whether she had breakfast or not. She’s not even entirely sure she’s awake.
“Scully!” Mulder sounds surprised, and she manages to lift her head high enough to look at him as he walks around the desk. He comes straight towards her to put his hands on her shoulders. “Scully, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I’m fine. Just. Didn’t sleep great.”
He doesn’t let go of her, just stands there biting his lip and giving her that soft look that makes her want to weep.
She doesn’t need this on top of everything. Maybe she should have stayed home after all. She’s so good at keeping her feelings locked away. Today, she barely has the strength to stand upright or formulate a single thought that isn’t Oh god, I’m so tired.
“Go home,” Mulder says. “I’ll drive you.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I need to… I just need to take my mind off things.”
A stranger’s fist inside her chest, forcing the life from her body, merciless, cold. Pain, panic.
Mulder squeezes her shoulders gently. “You shouldn’t be here. I didn’t expect you to come in. I’m sure neither did Skinner. Take a few days. You need rest.”
She shakes her head, regretting the movement as the room spins out of focus for a second. “What I need is to work.” What she needs is to know if Mulder knows. She knows her fear is safe with him. She doesn’t know about all the rest. She needs something to hold onto. Something stronger than the fear. “I’m not going home,” she tells him firmly.
He hesitates a long moment, an eternity. Finally, he nods. “Okay,” he says. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Mulder looks very unhappy, but she can’t do anything about that. She just needs… she just needs something to occupy her mind. Before she passes out on the floor and dreams of a hand around her heart, squeezing the life out of her.
**
“Hey, Scully?”
She blinks her eyes open, disoriented for a second. Her neck hurts and her head is spinning as she sits up. Mulder is standing in the doorway. She’s sitting behind the desk. Right. She wanted to check something. He went to… do something else that she doesn’t remember. “Sorry,” she says, and wipes drool from the corner of her mouth. Falling asleep at the desk is probably not the best way to convince him she’s okay to work. A quick look at her watch tells her she can’t have been out for more than ten minutes. “What is it?”
He waves a file in her direction. “I think we should check this out as quickly as possible,” he says.
“Oh.” She manages a nod. Do they have a case? She remembers talking about something earlier that they decided to dismiss. She can’t even recall what it was. But apparently they settled on something. “Yeah, absolutely.” She pauses, not sure whether she wants to ask. She really doesn’t want him to know that she completely zoned out on all of it. But then again, she can’t exactly do her work if she doesn’t know what they’re even working on. “What, uh. What is the case again? Sorry, I guess I’m a bit… distracted today.”
“Yeah.” He gives her a long look. “The haunted hotel, remember? And it’s just an hour and a half from here.”
“Oh!” she says, pretending to remember, deciding she can read whatever is in that folder on the way to… wherever it is they’re going. “Right. Yes. Okay. And you want us to go there right now?”
“Why not?” he says, shrugging. “No time like the present.”
“Good, yeah, okay.” She suppresses a yawn and tries not to shiver too obviously. She has reached the level of exhaustion where her whole body hurts and she feels like she’s running a fever.
“I’ll drive,” he says. She doesn’t argue.
**
Out of sheer stubbornness, she manages not to fall asleep in the car. She even manages to make conversation. Her speech is barely even slurred. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t notice.
Unfortunately, he put the file in the trunk of the car before she remembered to take it from him, but he’s telling her some ghost stories about the place while they drive, so she feels reasonably well-prepared.
“Here we are,” he says, pulling into the parking lot of an expensive-looking hotel that looks not even remotely like she imagined. But after all these years, she’s come to expect the unexpected.
“This is it?”
“Yup.” He smiles at her and gets out of the car. She follows, her legs heavy, but she gets them moving, gets them to carry her towards the entrance of the building.
The spacious foyer they walk into screams “I’m way out of your pay grade,” and she notices guests and staff who all look very happy and not at all like they’re being plagued by ghost sightings. Business seems to be going well. Which is also not what she expected from a place that is haunted enough for Mulder to open an X-file on it. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he says, and something in his voice makes her turn her head and study his profile carefully.
“Mulder, what aren’t you telling me?”
He stops and turns towards her with a sigh. “I may have done something rash and stupid, and please feel free to yell at me if I completely overstepped any boundaries here.”
“Oh god,” she says. “What did you do?”
“I, um.” He directs his gaze at the floor next to her feet and grimaces. “I may have gone to Skinner and told him we’re both taking the rest of the week off.”
“You…what?”
“And I may have called here and booked us a suite. For two nights. A… vacation, I guess.”
“Mulder…”
“Two bedrooms. And there are go ghosts here, don’t worry.” He pauses before he continues, his voice low and careful. “As long as we’re anywhere near the Hoover Building, you’ll work. I know it and you know it.”
“Mulder, seriously…”
“You need to sleep, Scully,” he says, finally meeting her eyes. “You’re dead on your feet. You can barely keep your eyes open.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. She’s so tired. So very, very tired. All she wants is a bed. All she wants is for her memories to leave her alone. All she wants is to sink against Mulder’s chest and cry with exhaustion and the emotional hangover from almost being murdered. Again. “…Okay.”
“Okay?” He looks so hopeful, so relieved. Another thing that almost makes her cry.
Agent Scully is already in love.
Shit. He makes it really hard for her to feel any other sort of way about him. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Good.”
She frowns. “What about all those stories you just told me about this place?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I kind of made them up.”
Her laughter turns into a yawn and he puts his arms around her shoulders as they get their key and find the elevator up to their floor. She leans against him, letting him hold her upright. Now that she’s given in to this, the prospect of lying down and closing her eyes seems so overwhelmingly wonderful.
“Oh no,” she says, suddenly remembering something.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I don’t have anything with me. No clothes, nothing.”
He laughs and pulls her tighter against him just as the elevator door opens and they step out. “I’m sorry. I honestly completely forgot about that.”
“Yeah.” She feels such a rush of fondness for him it makes her aching heart flutter in her chest. “I’m noticing you don’t have a bag with you either.”
“Well.” He lets go of her to open the door to their suite and lets her walk in ahead of him. “We’ll just have to spend the next couple of days in hotel robes.”
“Maybe we should go out and buy a few things,” she suggests.
“Or,” he says, “you go and lie down and I’ll go out and pick up a few things for us.”
“But—”
“Scully,” he interrupts. “Trust me. I think I can manage to find a pair of sweatpants and a couple of t-shirts for you that will fit.”
“Underwear,” she says and blushes.
“I can manage that too,” he says, and she’s too tired to feel embarrassed about anything right now.
Agent Scully is already in love.
“Mulder?”
“Yes?”
“You’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”
“That’s not difficult,” he says, “since I’m the only partner you’ve ever had. There’s not really that much competition.”
In lieu of an answer, she hugs him, pleased when he puts his arms around her in return. She doesn’t feel the hard floor against her back when he holds her, she doesn’t remember what it felt like when her vision went black and she felt herself dying.
She really wants to ask him if he knows who Padgett was talking about. If he believed it. But she won’t. Not right now. There’s time. And maybe she already knows the answer. Either way, it’s true. And she’s too weak to fight it.
“Thank you,” she says.
He pulls her closer and sighs against her hair. “I just want you to be okay,” he says softly.
“I will be,” she promises.
Agent Scully is already in love.
Whether it’s friendship or something else that he’s offering, she knows that whatever shape his feelings come in, she’s never been loved like this before. By anyone. And even with all the ghosts in her mind, she feels like she might finally get some sleep after all.
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CoD girlies (gender neutral), this one is for you. (but also Sam Wilson coded. anyway)
So. My mom was flying home and she had a stopover in The Big Fucking Airport in Chicago, I don't remember the name right now. The point is, she gets Chicago Pizza for me. And cheesecake.
And on the flight home, she is sat next to a military boy (boy is her designation, not mine. She's three weeks away from seventy, this is not a helpful description)
And she starts talking to him, because that is who my mother is, she finds out that he's coming home for the holidays and then he's getting stationed and such-and-such base.
At some point, because of who she is as a person, and because she had spent nearly two months Momming and Grandmothering as hard as she could and had not yet turned it down, she asks this young man if he is hungry. Is he hungry? Does he need food? She has pizza. Would he like the pizza? Oh, no, no it's okay! Take the pizza! it's fine!
He then reveals that this is the first food he's had all day (it's like 4pm) and my mom :0 and finds more food to give him. As they deplane she gives him $20 which is the last of her American cash. This is the end of the story
My mom. is so, so close to being the meddling matchmaker the sitcoms of my youth promised me she would be, and she drops the ball EVERY. TIME.
However, the point is now I can't stop thinking about this with the CoD boys. Maybe it's not even a few weeks before Christmas, maybe it's the day of due to bad luck or whatever idk idk doesn't matter
Honestly Ghost is objectively the funniest just because he'd be about two feet taller than her and she would absolutely not be intimidated by him. At some point she would share stories from before she retired and would say something about how she "had to take down a big boy like you once" and that "I told him it was a good thing my daughters weren't in town". I'm sorry he would be so fucking endeared by this. And he'd track her down somehow to say thanks or to pay her back and then obviously he gets invited in for baked goods and falls in love with you (me)
Gaz is so effortlessly charming. He asks if he can Venmo her money, and she has no idea what that is. Paypal? She doesn't have one. Her daughter does that, she's not very tech savvy, you know? She goes off on a tangent about having to use a typewriter to write papers in college. Gaz is undeterred--could he send it to this daughter and she could pass it on? Then again, maybe this is a teenager, and him having the number of a random teenager feels weird. He's out of time, they're deplaning. She's hard to keep track of, a short woman, but he's, well, Gaz. He spots her making for a car at the curb, the driver's door opening, and presumably the daughter getting out. Gaz makes a beeline for them. After a moment of confusion, you get introduced to Gaz, who tries to explain the situation while you're being yelled at by airport security and honked at by other drivers. It's not ideal--but he gets your number. He waits maybe an hour before texting you.
Soap is the hardest. My mom struggles so much with British accents so I think she'd get about half of what he says to start with. He'd call her bonnie (cos he's a charmer like that) and she wouldn't know what it means. I think she shows him a LOT of grandkid pictures and he's fully endeared by how she knows her oldest grandchild likes linkin park and slipknot while having no clue who they are. Soap is the one who tracks her to the pickup area and books it to your car so neither of you have to lift her luggage ("your mam said you have shoulder troubles, cannae let you make it worse, aye?"). Something something your hands brush as you reach for the same piece of luggage
Price would be a little awkward until she weasels his age out of him and then she realizes: ah! baby age! boy! (man's 40 max). I think he'd be better at getting her to talk, she's absolutely whipping out her phone (complaining about how it's old and doesn't have enough memory) and showing him pictures of the grandkids and a rundown of their hobbies and trash talking my sister's in-laws just a little. I can imagine her realizing he doesn't have a ride and volunteering you to drop him off at a hotel. You pull up to the curb and are like. Who the fuck is this man towering over my mother. He winds up in the front seat because his legs are longer and he turns so he can keep talking to your mom which is pretty sweet to be honest. You drop him off and it's not til you finally get home and start hauling luggage out that you realize he's left something in your car, maybe his phone or a watch, something important. And you heave a big sigh, haul all the luggage in, hug you mom, and trudge back to the car to drive back to the hotel. Or maybe your mom tells you to return it tomorrow, it's too late and it's raining. And the next afternoon she sends you to the hotel with fresh baked goods for him. He asks you out to lunch and suddenly it's 5 hours later and your mom thinks you're dead in a ditch somewhere because you haven't answered her texts. It's because you're too busy flirting.
#call of duty#reader insert#my stuff#simon riley x reader#kyle garrick x reader#john price x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#call of duty x reader#simon riley#john price#kyle garrick#johnny mactavish#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#johnny soap mactavish#christmas#holiday fic#is this anything#tbf doesn't have to be a military person#catch my mom doing this to jason todd#go forth and fic
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Yandere story idea:
A king of the middle age era is devastated by the death of his wife, the queen. She passed away after giving birth to their daughter. To everyone, including the royal court, this was just an arranged marriage but to the yandere king she was not only a partner in royal duty, but his love and best friend since childhood.
The king was in denial after her death, so much so that he even investigated and executed the royal doctor and midwives, as he believed that they plotted something against his wife and ended up killing her in her most painful and delicate moment. Although the king never despised the baby (N/A: this being the "reason" why the queen lost her life, and on top of that a princess of the middle ages, where women were considered inferior to men), he was so immersed in his pain and depression that he simply left her in the care of the servants; being negligent and absent with her.
The king attended to his royal duties, but after that day he would lock himself away in the mausoleum or in the chambers that had once been his beloved's. For seven long years he was rarely seen smiling clearly, and he was rarely near his daughter. He was never married or even interested in anyone; his daughter, on the other hand, was full of luxuries but very lonely. She only wanted her father to hold her, spend time with her, and tell her a just simple "I love you," but he only pushed her away and isolated himself in his dead wife's chambers.
She clearly missed her father, and that's where you/darling come in. You entered the castle to look for work as a maid and once you managed to get in, you were assigned as one of the maids for the little seven-year-old princess and you clearly saw what the situation was like between her and her father. It was clear that he loved her, but he was too deep in depression and the maids were bitter; this, along with the absence of the queen due to her death, how could it not make the little princess feel lonely and very sad? With this, you got closer to the princess and began to feel sympathy for her. At first the princess didn't trust you, but as you managed to convince her that you were good, the little princess began to trust you. It was heartbreaking to hear her talk about the isolation and neglect between her and her father.
The princess and you began to become closer, to the point that in your free time you would take her out to play in the garden, making the princess not only feel the affection she needed, but this even caught the attention of the king, who, interested in the news, decided to keep an eye on you.
It's been a while since the king heard his daughter laugh so excitedly, so he approaches to see what's going on. At that moment, he notices you for the first time. After seeing his daughter shyly hide behind you, the king realizes the damage that distancing himself from his daughter has done to him, and from now on he dedicates himself not only to getting closer to her, but to keeping an eye on you.
The king begins to spy on you and with that, he slowly comes out of his emotional confinement. He personally assigns you as his daughter's main maid, allowing you to accompany her in everything. He sees how you take care of her with enough affection (or at least sympathy), causing the princess to open up more with him. Slowly, the king falls in love with you and doesn't want you to leave him. This causes him to fall in love to the point of obsession, making him assign you as his personal maid (yes, apart from being the princess's main servant). The king slowly lets go of his deceased wife to become obsessed with you and keep you by his side with the excuse of taking care of his daughter, since she practically adores you.
#yandere#yandere oc#cw yandere#yandere love#yandere x you#platonic yandere#tw yandere#yandere male#yandere x reader#male yandere#yandere king#yandere oc x reader#yandere headcanons#yandere tendencies#yandere x darling#yandere aesthetic#yandere boy#yandere character#yandere community#yandere concept#yandere coping#yandere concepts#yandere core#yandere fanfiction#yandere imagine#yandere imagines#yandere male x reader#yandere irl#yandere oneshot#yanderecore
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The ninja only ever wear their gi unless necessary. Such as a super fancy event (dancing with your husband in a dance lesson), its their work uniform, or for undercover work.
So thats why I like to think they just don’t prefer modern clothing anymore, which then led me to think how they would react to wearing more ‘impractical’ clothing.
Kai wearing heels is something we all think he would be good at, but thats only after MONTHS of practice, and only because it was to better his balance. The second he has them on he’s trying to rip them off because feet are not supposed to bend like that. Bros stumbling, bumbling, and tumbling for weeks trying to figure how the work. And they ain’t normal heels either. They’re those tall thin ones, so maybe possibly he broke his ankle ten times. The problem was how he tried to act like he had it everything under control. As if he doesn’t need help picking up something heavy on the ground, or like he doesn’t need the walking stick Nya lovingly bought him. He did like showing them off though.
In some cultures, dresses can be incredibly heavy with the amount of fabric, jewels, diamonds whatever on them. When Nya has to go undercover at a wedding to protect the guy getting married, she had no idea a dress could weigh so much. That, plus the heels and jewellery, made it sooo much worse. She tripped multiple times, didn’t even attempt trying to use the stairs, and just sat in a chair in a corner near the guy she’s supposed to be protecting trying to resist the urge to itch her back.
Cole isn’t a small guy, but he isn’t super big in some areas either, so buying clothes in general that aren’t his gi is an impossible task unless he’s allowed to go tits out. Give him pants? It’s over the second he bends down. A small shirt? Just go shirtless at this point. A big shirt? Where are his arms. He even has massive feet, so its makes shoe shopping horrible for him because toes shouldn’t squish like what.
Zane…doesn’t like shirts. He’s fine with his gi tops because they’re easy to put on and off, they’re breathable, and they’re stylish. Give him any modern stay shirt that isn’t for some sort of uniform and he’s ripping it off and hissing in a fridge. However, Zane also dislikes purses. Any other bags are fine, but purses are just so annoying to him because either they’re too small or too big and in the way. The small straps also keeps getting into the little gaps on his body and its annoying.
Jay hates long socks and gloves. Long socks are such a pain to handle, he once had to stop a mission five times in the winter to pull them back up because God it doesn’t feel nice having them bunched up like that. He also hates gloves because electricity comes out of his damn hands, it causes this irritating sensation on his hands that gets worse until it almost hurts, so he takes them off and flings them at Lloyd’s face because he likes having free hands thank you.
Lloyd had a completely opposite problem to the ninja at first. He wouldn’t wear anything put his hoodies when he first became a ninja until he had to when he aged up. Ain’t no way did they have the money to buy Lloyd new clothes in the middle of a crisis. Then, later on, he would be very comfortable wearing any clothes as long as it’s considered some sort of uniform. Outside of that though, he hates anything with buttons on them. They’re so annoying to button up and then try unbutton and he has delicate hands okay, he doesn’t wanna mess them up more than they already are. He also has a hate love relationship with zippers because they’re fun to use but he may or may not haven’t accidentally broken the zip every time.
Is this me writing all this because i wore tall heels for the first time today? Yes it is.
#lego ninjago#ninjago#lloyd ninjago#nya ninjago#kai ninjago#cole ninjago#ninjago zane#ninjago jay#jay walker#lloyd garmadon#cole brookstone#kai smith#kai jiang#nya smith#nya jiang#zane julien#losers#ill add more later when i think of some#specially for morro#clothing#also for nyas i based that off of south asian clothing#like for weddings#im south asian right#and going to my first big wedding#i didn’t expect clothes to be so annoyingly heavy
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DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 1]
The first time Tim sees him, he is seven, standing by his Father's side, and bored out of his mind.
The 'party' is numbingly dull, full of adults, sparkling flutes of champagne, tiny sandwiches, and fake twinkling laughter. Tim doesn't understand how his parents find any of it interesting; in his opinion, nothing about just talking to people for hours and hours straight sounds as exciting as they make it look.
He wishes he could just go home already. Not that his time in the Drake estate gets any more exciting than bothering house elves or spending his day in the library, but it's still better than this.
Or, Tim thought so until he heard the unmistakable sound of glass shattering on the floor.
He turns around, and there are yelps and screams of surprise and angry swearing. It takes Tim a few seconds to realize what's going on - a few people are holding their hands to their faces, like trying to hide them, and he gets a glimpse of an elephant trunk peeking through the palms of one old lady.
And then, there's a sound of loud, delighted laughter ringing through the room, and the sound of footsteps, and-
"DANIEL!" Tim hears Mr. Masters, the host of the event, yell at the top of his lungs.
A moment later, Tim sees a boy zooming past him, elbowing the adults on his way to push through the crowd and still cackling like a madman. Tim doesn't get a good look at him, what with the boy running so fast he almost trips, but he does notice the messy black hair and the large, knitted blue sweater that looks too big on the boy's body.
"Daniel Jackson Fenton, come back this instant!" Mr. Masters calls again, his thunderous steps louder than all the yelling around them.
The boy doesn't even deign him with a look over his shoulder. Instead, he darts towards the nearest window, opens it with what seems to be practiced ease, and climbs on the windowsill. Only then does he look back to the chaos he created in the room full of respectable guests, and grins.
Tim blinks. He's never seen anyone smile like this, all teeth and mischief, and cheeky excitement.
"What, too old to catch me, Vlad?" He sticks his tongue at Mr. Masters, and just for a moment, Tim is scared the man is going to lunge at him. Yet, right as Mr. Masters gets close enough, the boy pushes off and jumps out the window, his laughter echoing through the night.
Mr. Masters looks like he is about to follow - and Tim is, for once, curious to see if he would - but stops himself short, only leaning out the window.
"Don't bother coming back, you little badger, you are grounded!" The man yells. The only response he gets is another fit of distant cackling from the gardens.
"That is sure a way to entertain the crowd," Father says quietly, and the tall, dark-skinned woman he's been talking to before the whole mess happened snorts a short laugh.
Tim looks back to the few people who are still sporting elephant trunks for their noses.
It's the first time he thinks a party full of adults in stuffy robes can be more fun than he expected.
—☆—☆—☆—
Some visuals for v i b e s
The room where the scene took place:
Tim's drawing after he was back home from the party (house elves helped):
[Picrew]
—☆—☆—☆—
I have the vaguest possible idea of where I'm going, but this is definitely going to be a multichapter thing.
A few notes I've got pinned down so far:
Drakes are a mostly pureblood family, not filthy rich and straight up focused on the whole purity thing, but keeping their reputation clean and nice, and their income stable. Both Jack and Janet have attended Hogwarts, and they were both Ravenclaws while they were at it. Janet might have some relation to Blacks, but it's so distant that she doesn't bother keeping it in mind.
Vladimir Masters is, technically, a pureblood wizard, but his family has been in England for only two or so generations. His grandma (who is still very much alive) came from Russia after falling madly in love with Vlad's grandpa (who is now deceased and, as the rumor goes, his wife had a hand in it). He also attended Hogwarts and has been a Ravenclaw in the same year as Madeline Fenton nee Walker. Hence, Daniel Fenton is his godson and, unofficially, as of right now, heir to Masters family.
[part 2 ->]
#im going to have f u n with this#danny phantom#dpxdc#dc x dp#tim drake#vlad masters#hp#dpxdcxhp#hogwarts au#cork writes#cork prompts#yes this is going to end up with dead tired ship#like all my prompts
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sonic movie 3 thoughts (spoilers below for. literally everything basically + these thoughts are very sporadic)
I cannot express into a fully comprehensive english sentence how much I love this movie. I'm not even kidding, I think it's one of my favourite movies... ever! it tops raggedy ann and andy, it tops nimona, it tops deadpool and wolverine, it tops the mario movie, and dare I say my sam and max spinterest may get drowned out because of this movie... I'm never leaving this fandom tho. I am chained here LMAOOO
I absolutely ADORED all the scenes with shadow and maria! the movies highlighted their relationship perfectly, and I loved how shadow and maria looked up at the stars instead of looking down on earth on the ark because well. yknow. points to the arc-shaped hole in the movie. when she died I kinda felt like that video of that hazbin hotel fan crying over angel dust but um! we don't need to talk about that ^_^
also I fucking HATED gerald. I know we're supposed to but like I wanted to punch through the movie screen and choke him istg HE PISSES ME OFFFFF RAAAAAAAAAAAH
ok. normal now I swear. the chao garden! I loved the chao garden, and when team sonic all wears those chao mascot heads 😭😭😭 THEY LOOKED SO STUPID (SLASH POS) I LOVE THEM
also they said. a lot of things a lot of times. half of the time I was telling my mum "THE FUNNY HEDGEHOG SAID THE THING!" even though she has no idea what the fuck I'm talking about LMAOOOO. especially when sonic said "ok hot topic" I know it was in the trailers but I did not expect a snapcube reference
THE MOON SCENE. I AM NOT KIDDING I HAD MY JAW WIDE OPEN. AND THEY ADDED LIVE AND LEARN??? YOU PESKY FILM MAKERS I THOUGHT THEY WEREN'T GONNA BE IN THE MOVIE BUT YOU GOT MEEE YOU GOT ME GOOOOOOD. that scene was genuinely majestic, when the sun rises over the two of them and then shadow grabs his hand and they go super??? hello??? do you want me to go crazy??? (spoiler alert: I went crazy)
eggman and shadows sacrifices did make me a little upset not gonna lie... stone didn't even get to say goodbye properly :(( please let stone enter his villian arc next movie I think he deserves one... at least we know shadows coming back!
speaking of the next movie, AMY AND METAL!!!! I was straight TWEAKING when amy revealed herself. movie amy looks so fucking awesome GRAAAAAAAAAAAH I WILL GO INSANE!!!!! who do you guys think is gonna voice her? for some reason I can't stop thinking of movie amy as british? london being in this movie has corrupted me.... the british are invading yet another territory: my mind.
overall, this movie was so so good and I absolutely cannot wait for the next one! sonic 4 here we come!!!
no, not you episode 3
#sonic movie 3 spoilers#sonic movie 3#sonic#sonic the hedgehog#shadow the hedgehog#knuckles the echidna#miles tails prower#gerald robotnik#eggman#GOD I AM ADDING TOO MANY TAGS (I will keep going)#sonadow#hehehe ok anyways#amy rose#metal sonic#stobotnik#JUST MAKE THEM CANON SEGA GOOD LORD
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I've been listening to a lot of Mötley Crüe lately to hopefully manifest me seeing them in Las Vegas next year. Came up with this while driving, which is how a lot of my ideas come to be recently. Word Count - 1.6k
"Come on please, I have no idea what they have planned and it's killing me." He was practically begging you at this point. You roll your eyes as you walk down the next aisle, stacking the next set of 'romantic comedies' that just came in.
"Eddie, it's your birthday, it's supposed to be a surprise. And can you please stop bugging me while I'm working?"
"Yeah yeah sure I'll stop bugging you" he grits his teeth, "if you tell me what they have planned."
You turn around fully facing him, pushing your glasses back up your nose, taking your voice down to a whisper. "Look I truly have no idea what the fuck they have planned so please stop asking. Just be grateful they're doing something with you and you're not spending your birthday alone." You turn back around, making your way to the 'horror' section.
"At least come with me-"
"I can't, I have my bookclub tonight. But come to my place and tell me all about your guys night tomorrow if you're not too hungover."
He huff's his breath up, his bangs moving in the process. "Thanks a lot."
"I'm sure you'll have a blast."
A strip club. A fucking strip club. As much as Eddie appreciated what his friends were doing this is not what he expected. All he wanted was a guy's night in playing D&D and watching movies but no, his friends had to go all out.
The worst part is it was 'dress up night', so the strippers would be in various costumes. His friends thought the better, dress up plus dancing ladies ; what more could anyone ask for?
After a few hours sitting in a booth a few drinks in, an announcement sounded over the DJ speakers ; "alright everyone we have a birthday in the house! We want to welcome our birthday boy in Booth 21 to come on up for a special dance!" As everyone roared with excitement Eddie blushed under the neon lights.
"Why are y'all doing this to me?"
Garth pushes him forward, "Because we love you, NOW GO!" Eddie reluctantly makes his way up and sits on the chair provided for him. He drums nervously on his knees waiting for the song to start.
The next dancer comes to take the stage, dressed in all red, devil horns, and a red laced mask. Her hair is curled, not one piece left undone. She steps into the spotlight, and Eddie swears time halts and he has to take breath in order to steady himself. He is mesmerized. She slowly makes her way over, putting her hands on both sides of the chair. She eyes him up and down smirking to herself and as her song begins to play ; taking control of the room.
Eddie feels like he's fallen under some sort of spell, like something he wrote out for a campaign. He's so enthralled he completely forgot he was in a room with other people. He watches every move she makes ; the way her hips sway, how she doesn't come too close but just enough to tease him, and the way she makes eye contact with him? Forget about it ; Eddie swears he's falling in love with her right then and there, even though this was his first interaction with the mystery woman.
And in the three minutes the song plays, Eddie is so thankful his friends took him out. He tries to memorize every detail of the devil, just in case he decides to come back another time. Maybe on his own? Maybe with buddies again? Who knows, but he just had to remember her. Particular details ran through his head ; the hair style, the color of her eyes, and while she moved her body up against his, he noticed a small birthmark on the left side of her body, ironically shaped like a heart right above her heart ; and be still his own heart. Right when the music fades and the crowd begins to cheer breaking him out of his headspace, she leans in to his ear and with a sultry voice whispers "happy birthday sweetheart" and it's right then and there Eddie could have been shot through the chest by an arrow and he would feel no pain.
His posse of course never let him see the end of it, with constant teasing as the night went on. One thing was for sure, he could not wait to tell you about his night in the morning.
Eddie couldn't wait, he was practically banging at your door at 9:00am. You reach for your glasses on the nightstand, pull your hair in a messy bun and make your way towards the front door. You look through the peephole and Eddie is waving.
"Ed, what the hell-"
"I gotta tell you about last night." He races in, high on adrenaline pacing your living room.
"Good morning to you too-" You shut the front door, "can I please make some coffee first? I'm exhausted."
"Bookclub ran late?"
"Something like that. Want a cup?"
"Sure, thanks." You sulk to the kitchen and make your coffee, wondering what the hell has Eddie all wound up. You make your way back, handing him his cup as he takes a seat on your couch. "Damn, what book are you ladies reading that has you staying up so late?"
"It's nothing. So tell me, how was your birthday?"
"Amazing, they took me to a strip club."
You swallow your coffee, hard. "Oh wow, what an event."
"You're telling me, it was incredible. Well at least, she was incredible."
"Oh god Eddie don't tell me you fell in love with a dancer-"
"You don't understand. There was just something about her, I-I know it sounds corny but it was like magic. I've never felt like that before." He looks around your living room, then reaching over and grabs your shoulders playfully, shaking you. "Am I going crazy?!"
You laugh, "I don't think so. I just find it hilarious that it's a fucking stripper you're talking about."
"Yeah, well-" Just as Eddie begins to move his arms something catches his eye.
A birthmark. On the left side of your body. In the shape of a heart. He looks into your eyes, the same color and sparkle that were under the mask. He looks at your hair, it's normally straight, why does it look curly and wavy?
All these small details come together in his head. He moves his hands off you and runs them through his own hair, piecing everything together.
"So yeah, uh-enough about me...how was...bookclub?"
"Oh god you don't wanna hear about my bookclub. Why-"
"No no, I do..want to hear....about the bookclub. Please tell me." He takes another sip of his coffee, staring at the birth mark.
You follow his eyes, "is there something on me?"
"Hm, no. Just....so, bookclub?"
"Oh you know, just another night of girl talk about a steamy romance novel and too much wine, just the norm." Eddie can't even think straight, all the events from last night come rushing to his head.
You ponder at him wondering if he's okay, "sweetheart are you alright? You're starting to worry me."
Sweetheart, a nickname normally used frequently but now it's different. He jolts up from your couch. "I gotta go. Dustin and I have...stuff-to do."
You're dismayed, just nodding your head. "Um okay, but if you need anything just let me know-"
"Yeah uh thanks. And thanks for uh the coffee and...talk."
He speedily exits your home, and you're left wondering if maybe just maybe...
Just a Few Hours Ago
You stand off stage looking out to the man sitting on the chair. Only to realize it was Eddie.
"Oh shit-"
"What's up girl? Everything okay?" Your co-worker, Jade, comes up behind you.
"I-I can't go out. You take my slot instead."
"What, why? I'm not on for another 20, why do you want to switch?" She signals to Cassie, the DJ, to hold off on the music. Cassie gives a thumbs up and waits.
"I know the guy sitting in the chair, he's one of my friends. I can't...dance for him."
"Why? He won't know it's you, we're all dressed up tonight."
"Yeah but it's just...awkward that I know and he...doesn't."
"Look, I understand where you're coming from but I think you should just do it. He won't know it's you, does he know you work here?"
"No no, he's here with his friends for his birthday," You watch him drum on his legs, probably nerves. "I wouldn't picture him as someone who would want to come out and do this but, there he is."
"So, give him the dance of his life. Something he'll never forget. Remember, you're not going out as yourself." You nodded your head, Jade was right. You signal back to Cassie to start your song when ready. You quietly thank Jade, take a deep breath and take the stage.
24 Hours Later
As you apply your lipstick looking in the mirror, your other coworker Bianca comes in. "Hey B! How was your daughter's band recital?"
She takes a seat next to you giving you a half hug. "It was great! She crushed her solo, I'm so proud of her."
"That's incredible. I can't wait to see the tape!"
"Oh before I forget, Pam wanted me to tell you you got a private dance at 10:30."
"Wait, really?" You ponder, turning around in the chair. "I haven't done a private dance in weeks."
"Guess someone really likes you because they asked for you specifically."
"Oh wow. Really? Okay then, thanks for the heads up."
"No problem, be safe!"
Once 10:30 rolls around you make your way to Room #2, opening the door and stopping dead in your tracks the moment you see who it is, casually lounging on the couch.
"Sup sweetheart?"
Quick Notes - Hope you enjoyed! :) Thank you for reading! Reblogs are much appreciated! Maybe Part 2? idk.
#Spotify#Stranger Things#Eddie Munson#Eddie Munson fanfic#Eddie Munson fluff#Eddie Munson x Reader#Eddie Munson blurb#Kierstyn Writes#Eddie Munson x You
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