#i used to always think that i would rather be lied to than for someone to say something that’d hurt me

[bcacstuff]

Great article with Caitriona.

‘I’m Impossibly Excited About What Happens Next’ – Caitriona Balfe Looks Ahead to Life After Outlander

https://www.mindfood.com/article/caitriona-balfe-looks-ahead-to-life-after-outlander/

When you don’t know what the norm is – and in many ways actress Caitriona Balfe admits she doesn’t – it’s difficult to subscribe to it. Yet, perhaps that’s what makes the Irish actress Caitriona Balfe so endearing.

Caitriona Balfe is a wonder. She is impeccably beautiful, has style, talent and a warm, courteous persona, as well as the ability to excel at whatever she pursues. She is someone who retains charm and humility despite operating for over two decades across industries that have beaten those qualities out of more than a few who’ve gone before her.

In terms of the Caitriona Balfe that we see this summer, this is the woman who has won a legion of devoted fans during her dedication – now almost a decade – to hit time-travelling show Outlander. However, as the drama faces its final curtain, the Irish beauty – who has already reinvented herself once, having excelled on the catwalk in a previous incarnation – can’t wait to see what lies ahead.  “I look back and my modelling days seem a lifetime ago,” she begins, “and really, despite the success I had, it was a period in which I was never really settled or content. The fashion industry is so unstable, so volatile, so fickle. I was never in a place where I thought I had it totally worked out; yet the grounding it gave me was invaluable, if nothing else, by virtue of the fact it was so tough!”

Her time on the runway began with Chanel, before Balfe was photographed for the likes of Givenchy, D&G, Moschino, Alberta Ferretti and Louis Vuitton. Regarded as one of the most in-demand models in her prime, across a three-year period from 2001 to 2004 she walked in more than 250 shows. “Fashion, for me, was always about storytelling, with a real emphasis on expression and imagination. It offered me a way to express myself not just in clothes, but through mood, personality and even environment. It all meant moving into acting was, I guess, a natural progression.”

Yet the freedom to use fashion as a medium for so much else rarely falls on the models themselves. “You’re constantly told ‘no’, or ‘you’re not right for this’, or ‘you don’t fit into that particular mould’,” she offers. “It really teaches you resilience, to not take things personally and to keep pushing forward.”

Credit: Photo by Matt Baron/Shutterstock

New Direction

Having endured such creative short-changing, Balfe may have been forgiven for wanting to sink back into the shadows and pursue a new career that held rather more autonomy… which makes the fact she made a beeline for TV and film producers a little baffling. “Acting challenges me on a different level, emotionally and intellectually,” the star admits. “It’s where I find true fulfilment, being able to move into another person’s head and tell their story. For me, modelling was always a stepping stone, not the final destination.”

Scouted at the age of 18 while studying acting at the Dublin Institute of Technology, the tenacious teen joined Ford Models and was offered the opportunity to move to Paris, one she happily accepted as travel hadn’t been a luxury her parents could afford while raising their large Irish Catholic family.

Though she never made it to the ranks of supermodel status – “I would never have wanted that label anyway” – her worth comfortably kept her in the upper echelons of the modelling fraternity. It was only towards the end when she was largely hired for commercial catalogue shoots, that tedium began to set in and a new adventure beckoned. “I think you know when you’re done… in any industry or part of your life. And I think as soon as you realise you’ve activated that emotion, it nags and nags at you to do something about it. In the end, to be finished is a relief.”

One thing the 45-year-old retains from those days, however, is an exuding, radiating, luminous beauty. And she, unequivocally, appreciates fashion – indeed loves it now for the fact it’s a passion, not a profession, albeit is relieved to leave the towering stilettos behind. “Listen, I still love a beautiful outfit! I mean, who doesn’t love to dress up and feel amazing in something well-made and stylish? But honestly, as I’ve gotten older, comfort has become much more important.

“When you’ve spent hours on the runway or at photoshoots in heels, corsets or tight-fitting clothes, you really come to appreciate a great pair of trainers… or soft, oversized sweaters. These days, I’m much more about blending style with practicality. It’s all about balance. Comfort, for me, doesn’t mean sacrificing style; it just means I’m not willing to suffer for fashion like I might have in the past!”

Towards the end of the noughties Balfe found herself in New York. Aged 29 she was already feeling the scrutiny that comes with being a model approaching their third decade, and so she made the move to Los Angeles with a plan to return to drama training. By Hollywood standards she was a late starter, but her catwalk grace, confidence and strong work ethic meant she was soon landing roles, albeit minor ones – fans of the actress can catch a glimpse of her in both J.J. Abrams’s Super 8 and the sartorial masterpiece that is The Devil Wears Prada.

Credit: Photo by Action Press/Shutterstock

Good fortune

She may have suspected she would spend the next few years steadily progressing through auditions and the uncertainty of work, in much the same way as she had in her later years in fashion, however just as the fear started to set in, Balfe struck gold. Of course, with all the gracious humility she carries with her, she didn’t even know it at the time.

The nugget was a television series based around Claire Fraser, a former World War II nurse in Scotland who is cast back into the mid-18th century and ends up joining a raggedy band of rebel Highlanders – an unusual concept to say the least. Furthermore, Balfe’s was one of hundreds of audition tapes that landed on the casting agent’s desk. However, land the role she did, and now as filming commences for the eighth and final series of Outlander, it’s hard to imagine anyone else in the lead role – a woman who is fierce but authentic, a kind healer who is devoted to the rough and ready clansman, Jamie (played by Scottish heartthrob, Sam Heughan).

Claire and Jamie’s romance has overcome many obstacles across several time zones, and Balfe is grateful to have occupied such an intimate role with someone she considers a close friend. “When Sam and I first started this journey, we had no idea it would go on this long. Now, we’ve been through so much together – professionally and personally. It’s been a real joy, but we’ve also learned to step back a bit off-camera. We used to spend more time together, but now we know when to take a breather. You have to, or else you’ll go mad!”

With a long season seven concluding in January, the Outlander epic will close out within the next 18 months, taking the episode total to 101. “Right now, I don’t know how the story ends. I’ve resisted finding out. Sam knows and likes to hold it over me, but I think it’s more fun not knowing. It keeps me in the moment as Claire.”

Perhaps what makes the Outlander journey easier to leave behind is the fact Balfe has been driven and exemplary on several side projects. The first, and arguably most important, has been in becoming a mother in August of 2021. Given the devotion of the Outlander fanbase and the general hysteria that surrounds celebrity, Balfe and her husband, music producer Tony McGill, have decided to not reveal their son’s name. In fact, the entire pregnancy was shrouded in secrecy, despite the actress filming the sixth season of the drama while pregnant.

Irish Roots

Her other most notable work outside of the hit show was arguably in Kenneth Branagh’s Academy Award-winning film Belfast, for which Balfe was nominated for Best Supporting Actress. Touching, honest and genuinely moving, Belfast brings to life those who were so intimately affected by Northern Ireland’s infamous ‘troubles’. Semi-biographical and set in 1969, the film focuses on Buddy, a charming and lively nine-year-old, played by Jude Hill. Balfe plays Buddy’s Ma, a homely Protestant woman who is bound to the city she lives in. As tensions begin to rise, this once peaceful Belfast street becomes dangerous and deeply polarised. Ma is ferocious and formidable in her love for her family. “Growing up in Dublin, I felt such a pure connection to the issues people faced for so many decades in Ireland. The conflict rages on, but these days it is verbal, and that’s much more preferable to the violence and the terror that permeated so much of when we were young.”

When casting the film, Branagh was keen to enlist actors who had a personal connection to the content. Belfast native Jamie Dornan plays Pa; the mother of Dame Judi Dench (who plays Granny) was from Dublin.

However it is Balfe who has the most visceral childhood memories. In the years following Balfe’s birth in 1979, her family moved to Tedavnet, a rural village in Ireland near the Northern Irish border. Her father had an enviable job as a police sergeant while her mother tended their brood of five biological and two adopted children. Checkpoints, bomb scares and gun-wielding soldiers, therefore, were simply normal parts of her childhood landscape.

Despite the turbulence of childhood, the star has nothing but fondness for her home country. “Ireland will always be home for me, no matter where I am or how far I’ve travelled. There’s something deeply grounding about coming back – it centres me in a way nowhere else can. I think it’s a combination of the people, the land, the familiarity. I love the energy and sense of community you find in Ireland; it’s unique,” she says.

“When I get the chance to visit, I relish the simple pleasures – whether it’s sharing a cup of good coffee with family, a quiet morning surrounded by the countryside, or just walking around the place where I grew up. It’s these little moments that remind me of my roots and they always bring me back to a place of calm and balance amidst the craziness of life and work.”

Despite not snagging a statuette for her performance, Belfast made evident the talent and promise Balfe possesses. And moving forward, the pursuit of new projects and bigger experiences has even led the actress to sit in the director’s chair, having taken on the role of Executive Producer for an episode in season seven of Outlander. “It was terrifying,” she laughs, “I won’t lie! However, it’s always been something I’ve wanted to try. On a show like that, we are a family. There’s such a sense of trust and that made it easier for me to step into the role. Sam and I joke that we’ve been through it all at this point, so nothing really surprises us, and we permit ourselves to make mistakes, and to learn as we progress.”

It’s that sense of grounded excitement that makes Balfe a gift of grace amongst so many who bulldoze their way into the picture. “I’m at the point where stepping back seems the wrong thing to do. A bit like leaving the fashion world, I think I’ll know when the time is right; but in my head, I am impossibly excited about what happens next.”

Caitriona Balfe’s Career Highlights

Outlander

The historical drama television series is based on the Outlander novel series by Diana Gabaldon. Balfe plays a nurse A nurse in World War II who mysteriously goes back in time to Scotland in 1743. There, she meets a Highland warrior and gets drawn into an epic rebellion.

Belfast

The Oscar-winning film by director and writer Kenneth Branagh is about a young boy and his working-class Belfast family’s experience in the tumultuous late 1960s.

Money Monster

Balfe starred in the American crime thriller, Money Monster, about a financial TV host Lee Gates [played by George Clonney] and his producer Patty [played by Julia Roberts] who are put in an extreme situation when an irate investor takes them and their crew as hostage.

Modelling

After being scouted by Ford Models age 18, Balfe modelled for 10 years, including three years on the catwalks in Paris.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can’t stop thinking the tall horror men of homicipher. I’m like 5ft something, so I know damn well these men tower over me…am I discovering something? Maybe 👀👀👀but I know I ain’t alone. TRUE STORY: Also there was this guy that came into my place of work moths ago with his family and he was TALL, bending down to get through the doorframe TALL but he was lovely.

So how do I imagine these boy would react if they see that you’re clearly ogling them for how tall they were.

Mr crawling

Given the fact that you’ve only seen him stand once, it was enough to have your jaw dropping to the floor. He was taller than the fucking doorway that he had to manoeuvre himself under it, and suddenly you’ve forgotten that you were being kidnapped by Mr Stitch, too intrigued by his height and now understanding why he had lied to you about his ability to stand.

He thought he would scare you but in fact made you feel the complete opposite, you loved how tall he was and you couldn’t get it out of your head, even when he’s back on his hands and knees to comfort you. The illusion had worn off and now you wanted to see him tall all the time, but you didn’t want to pressure him into doing so unless he felt comfortable.

‘You’re tall, really tall.’ You said in awe as Mr crawling coddled you against his chest.

‘Scared?’ He asked as though he was fearing your answer, which broke your heart as you nuzzled your face against his shoulder in an attempt of comfort.

‘No, handsome.’ You replied as Mr Crawling made chirps and purrs of happiness as he held you closer to him.

While he’s still not fond on standing to his full height, the fear of his intimating stature would chase you away one day embedded in his heavily, he would find some comfort in knowing that you loved his tall stature and love you even more for not forcing him to do something he clearly was uncomfortable with; preferring to shower him in kisses and remind him that whether he’s standing or on his hands and knees you loved him regardless.

Mr silvair

The man can feel your eyes on his back constantly. He knows he’s taller than most but the way you looked and admired his full height like you wouldn’t be able to anymore.

He wonders whether this was something only you seemed to have or whether other humans also felt possessed by the need to gawk at people above a certain height. Or was it just you that has this particular expression upon seeing his tall stature in general.

He would take notes of how his height seemingly did something to you that then triggered a chemical reaction within your brain to make you find his height appealing and possibly a requirement in finding your perfect romantic partner.

Or more specifically people of similar height to Mr Silvair himself or anyone close enough to his height to qualify. Mr Silvair soon deduced that you liked the domineering presence of someone much bigger than you, someone who’s able to drag you wherever as though you were nothing but weightless to them, almost like a ragdoll.

He’d soon find that this is in most cases considered a kink amongst you humans who found the height difference between partner rather erotic.

Mr Scarletella

Finds your content ogling of him flattering and thinks that it means that you were finally, finally reciprocating his obsession with you for your own obsession with him.

He’s another one who takes note of how you like how tall he is in comparison to you, always looking at him whenever he was entering the room, eyes widening when you see him having to bed down to get through the doorway, and your eyes never leave him even as he’s walking towards you; seemingly getting taller with each step until he’s in front of you and you’re looking at him in awe and hitched breath.

He’s obsessed with your expression each and every time and uses his height to his advantage. Such as doing things like putting his hand above your head and on the wall, looking down at you with those obsessive eyes of his as his smile seemed to widen upon hearing your breath hitch and eyes widen once more.

His height continued to elicit a reaction out of you that Mr Scarletella loved and adored and wanted to see more of in the future.

Mr Hood

Finds your constant ogling of his height interesting.

He didn’t know why you were so surprised he’s this tall, he’s been with you this entire time and it was only recently did your mind seemed to inform you of your Incredibly stark height difference, and bam! Suddenly he’s the subject of your constant staring and ogling as though it would be the last thing you did.

It was humorous to say the least and will earn you some head pats and cheek caresses that has you leaning towards his comforting and gentle touches.

It wasn’t something that you hide from him as half of the time you didn’t realise you were doing it until Mr Hood pointed it out with curiosity, meanwhile your left flustered as your mind held certain thoughts towards his legs, thighs and large hands.

Poor Mr Hood, he understood to some extent but after a certain point it’s better to explain to him that you find his height rather appealing to you in more ways than one.

[fandom-fae]

feeling SO conflicted about the concept of lies. 

[nicksolemnlyswears]

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

pairing: aegon targaryen x targaryen!reader

word count: ~1.6k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of murder and death of a child, surprisingly i thinks there isn't any cursing or smut, maybe next time ;) just good old sad aegon

a/n: this is my first time ever writing for HoTD or GoT for that matter. please be kind to me. i tried to use appropriate wording for the time period. i'm somewhat successful but i have work ahead of me to become a pro.

i felt so enraged when alicent walked out on her grieving son to go fuck around with cole. what the fuck is your problem? i always gave her the benefit of the doubt but this episode just proves what a terrible mother she is. i figured the only person fit to comfort my baby boy aegon is someone raised by rhaenyras gentle heart.

lowkey want to make a throuple out of reader, aegon, and helaena. readers gonna be a little psychologist lol. she'd hold their hands and force them to kumbaya haha but obviously they'd be like this cant work without you. maybe they'll follow aegon the conqueror and have her as a second wife but idk would anyone be interested in that? i'm rambling. enjoy!

Helaena’s Turn

STAY WITH US

The cold stone of the Red Keep kept you company as you strode through its halls. The breeze of the night offered you comfort and aided your mind to forget the terrible events that have plagued the Keep.

And yet, despite your energies being depleted, you can't seem to find rest. Loss weighs you down and spirals you into a depth of overbearing thoughts, making sleep a mere idea.

The Red Keep, the place you once called home, has become your prison. For weeks, you were not allowed out of your chambers, and for a short time afterward, a guard followed you wherever you went.

It has all changed, though. The death of the King's son has diverted all of the guard's forces to find the culprit. The priority is to search for the monster that gruesomely and cruelly decapitated a child while he slept rather than to watch over a harmless Princess who is simply not on their side.

As a result, you're now free to roam the castle, granted there are eyes all around. You wouldn't be able to step foot outside the castle if you tried, and any suspicious activity would immediately be reported to the Hand of the King.

For an unknown reason, your feet guide you to the King's chambers, where indiscernible, muffled sounds come from. You look around and find that the guard meant to protect the King is absent. It's worrisome. You stand in the middle of the stone hallway, your hands clasped, as you make a decision.

While your loyalty lies with the Blacks, you cannot stand and watch more of your family be killed, including the Usurper. Daemon has always been 'kind' in mentioning that your gentle heart will cause your death. You'd argue it's an honorable way to go.

You slip through the ajar door quietly, getting closer to the sound. There is destruction across the room. The Old Valyria model your grandfather worked on for most of his life is scattered on the floor, beyond salvation. Goblets and spilled wine, thrown in a fit of rage, decorate the walls.

It is only when a sharp gasp and a shuddering breath echo around the room that you recognize the sounds you heard outside. They are cries.

You release a breath of relief. No one is in danger, although it does not signify someone is not hurting. You peak further into the room and debate on your next course of action. If the mess inside the chambers and the lack of guards mean anything, it's that the King would like to be alone.

But you know Aegon. You grew up with him. He's not one to reach out for help until it's too late. You make a haste decision. Aegon will not grieve alone tonight.

You know what that's like. Your brother, Lucerys, was murdered not too long ago, and you had no choice but to mourn alone. The Hand of the King locked you in your chambers, afraid your temper would lead you to do something drastic. It's the most horrid thing you've ever endured.

How you wished for Rhaenyra, or anyone for that matter, to hold you while you cried. A maid would've sufficed, but no one was allowed entry into your chambers.

Aegon sits by the fireplace, his head hung low, as he cries for his dead son. It might not have looked like it, but Aegon deeply cared for the boy. He wished to be better than his father ever was, and he was succeeding.

Until two days ago.

You've witnessed firsthand the blanket of sorrow that has covered the Red Keep, spent many hours by Haelena's side, offering her your shoulder, and never realized the King would need the same.

Why is Aegon alone? He should not have to go through this by himself. You expected he would have surrounded himself with his men and countless bottles of wine or sought refuge in Helaena's arms since they shared the same grief.

A heartbreaking cry snaps you out of your thoughts—his whole body trembles from loss. Aegon gasps for air to aid his burning lungs, yet he can't control the tears that track down his cheeks and the raking breaths that course through his body and limit his breathing.

He does not know what to make of himself. His fingers shake as he fumbles with the ring on his finger—the one with the dragon crest. Aegon doesn't know what to make of himself. He's never endured this sort of loss.

His sobs are the ones of a man who lost a part of himself. Jaehaerys, his legacy, has gone too soon. Aegon spent time with the boy the morning before his death, doting on him like Viserys never did to him.

He's so lost in his grief that Aegon doesn't hear when you stumble upon a piece of cast from the model. Being careful with your steps, you reach Aegon's side and place a hand on his shoulder.

Alarmed, he turns to face the person who disturbs him, only to find you—you who have been keeping the Hightower siblings together despite belonging to the other side.

"Leave me be," he sniffs, staring back into the fire. He wonders if that's how his son's pyre looked earlier that day.

You kneel on the floor, settling between his legs to cup his cheeks in your palms. Wide, glossy lilac eyes stare back as they fill with more tears.

As his tears fall, you wipe them away. It's enough to make Aegon crumble in your arms, releasing louder cries and questions that will forever remain unanswered.

It's so easy to let go when you know someone is there to catch you.

Aegon fists your dress like a child would to its mother. You rub his back soothingly, holding him as tightly as you're able. You press a kiss to the side of his head, whispering calming words.

Aegon never wanted to be king, yet the moment he tries to fulfill his duty the moment he tries to be a proper king, he is rewarded by his son being brutally taken from him.

It's not a fair world. The Gods have never been kind to him, and he's afraid he'll only ever live a life of torment.

Now, more than ever, he doesn't want to be King. It is a mere reminder of how heavy the crown truly is. It's a shackle meant to keep him in place while others act upon his name while he pays for the consequences.

"Jaehaerys was a bright soul. I am sorry this has happened. You should've never had to experience this pain," you whisper in his ear. No parent should experience the death of their child. It is a sad reality the Targaryens have experienced all too well.

Aegon nods in agreement, and only when he's calm enough to speak does he tear himself away from your embrace. He instantly misses your warmth and the smell of roses in your hair.

"Why are you comforting me when you should be celebrating my demise?" His waterline is stained red, just like the tip of his nose, and he's never looked more innocent than in that moment.

You tilt your head sadly, that same emotion reflected in your eyes. "I do not celebrate the loss of innocents, especially one that has gone too soon. I also do not particularly like the notion of someone I hold dear grieving alone."

"You did," he sniffs. He remembers hearing your cries that night; the whole Red Keep could. You cried and screamed the entire night until you fell asleep from exhaustion and starvation.

Otto prohibited them from coming to you. Haelena tried, but he dismissed the idea with the false notion that you'd hurt her in your grief. Otto confuses you with your parentage. Unlike them, you're kind and gentle and wouldn't dare hurt anyone.

"Which is how I know I would never wish it upon my worst enemy." You brush your fingers through his blonde hair, tucking the messy strands behind his ears.

"Is that what I am to you? An enemy?" He asks, disgruntled.

"No," you answer immediately, your hands coming down to rest upon his chest. His breathing has calmed since you first saw him. "At least, not yet."

His lilac eyes bore into hers in search of the truth; shyly, you hold onto his gaze with nothing to hide except your intentions to help. Sighing, he closes his eyes and bumps his forehead against yours. Aegon will take what he can get. There's seemingly no one else to help him deal with his emotions.

"Stay," he pleads, holding onto the hand that's placed on his chest. This is the most at peace he's felt in a while. He wishes to savor it for a moment longer.

"For as long as you need, my King," you reply, closing your eyes.

"Aegon," he says. He refuses to be reminded of what lies outside his bed chambers. For just a moment, he wishes to simply be Aegon.

"Aegon," you respond, correcting yourself. He squeezes your hand appreciatively, tucking your head on his neck.

He keeps you in his arms until late hours in the night, recounting memories he shared with Jaehaerys. The pain is real and raw, and he won't be well for a long time, but for this night, Aegon will seek solace in your embrace, where he knows he won't be judged or be seen as a burden.

In your arms, he's not Aegon' the Magnanimous.' He's not seen as careless or reckless or the lesser child of Alicent Hightower.

He's Aegon.

helaena’s part has been posted! HELAENA’S TURN

Final part! STAY WITH US

that’s it! it’s sweet and short. i just wanted to have someone comfort aegon like he deserves. during that scene i wished i could jump into t he screen and hug him. it’s all so tragic.

i wish i could do the same with haelena. my girl needs to be coddled. fuck alicent. fuck otto. most importantly fuck criston cole.

if you enjoyed this one shot please don’t forget to like or comment and if you want more of it feel free to let me know! i don’t bite (unless you want me to)!

[foldingfittedsheets]

A basic human skill that people usually lock down around the age of three or four is impulse control. To conceptualize an action and it’s consequences before taking it. Maybe considering how that action affects other people. We then refine it through most of our childhood.

When I was a teenager my hold on this ability became… tenuous. I became a volatile and dangerous creature.

It’s probably not unique to me, but I had a perfect storm in terms of mental upsets. I had just mastered enough basic social skills, so I finally had a strong group of friends when my dad suddenly needed to move for work. Ripped away from my support network, blooming with hormones, I was dragged to Arizona. I was always a child of forests and mist and suddenly everything was hot, dry, and extremely pointy and aggressive.

Additionally to being abruptly transplanted I found myself an object of affection in a way I’d never been before. Lonely and desperate to make friends the only people who wanted to spend time with me had romantic designs. I just wanted to figure out my shit but I had a baby lesbian flirting with increasing aggression in art, a soft boy making heart eyes at me in biology, a senior nerd asking if I wanted to play Halo at his house and could he hold my hand?

Reader, I snapped. I didn’t want this romantic attention but I also didn’t want to be alone. My brain coped the only way it knew how, by simply cutting out decision making. Any action was the right action to take.

It started with the boy in biology. I’d stolen his pencil out of mischief and to my overwhelming fury instead of trying to steal it back he just softened his eyes and chucked me gently under my chin, a gesture so overtly sweet and romantic that I saw red.

I stabbed him with his own pencil.

I honestly and truly have no memory of it. It happened as fast as a snake striking and I was instantly filled with terrified remorse. Unfortunately that manifested as psychotic giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t know why- I’m so sorry!” I said, while hysterically laughing. I ended up having lodged some graphite in his palm and had to tweeze it out with my nails while apologizing furiously. (It’s very important to note here that he forgave me and we’re still friends)

That was weird, I thought. Why didn’t I think before I stabbed someone?

The next event was equally catastrophic, and I had even less reason to do it. In gym with two girls I was tentatively befriending, we were warming up running laps. I started racing one of them. At breakneck speed we were sprinting around the gym.

This time, there was a blip of thought before I fucked up. I should get the other girl! I have no idea why or what the plan was but I turned on a swivel and body checked the other girl. We both fell down in immense pain. I think that’s the moment I broke my tailbone. Her knees were horribly bruised and she looked at me in bewildered pain. “Why did you do that?!”

I had no idea. I apologized and helped her up, both of us hobbling like newborn horses, bruised and hurting.

By this time there’d been enough social upheavals that I was reduced to spending time with some girls I had nothing in common with and low key disliked. Sat at a table listening to this girl talk about how she wanted to be a stripper when she grew up I thought, You’d better put the cap on before you throw it.

I then chucked my empty water bottle directly at her face. It bounced off her forehead with a bop! that would have made a sound mixer weep at its perfection.

All eyes turned to me is startlement. I stared back at her, stunned by my own action, just as confused as everyone else at the table as to why I’d done that. One of the girls to my right said, “Were you trying to hit that fly?”

“Yes!” I lied, “I’m sorry, I thought I could hit the fly!”

Everyone laughed at my antics and I joined in rather than admit I had just chucked something at her for no reason.

Things did start to improve after that. I solidified a friendship with the girl I’d raced (who I developed a massive crush on and ten years later would go on to date). My outbursts turned more whimsical rather than aggressive. Like accosting a girl leaving the cafeteria to look deeply into her eyes and say with great compassion, “It’s going to be alright.”

My new friend and I snuck into the van that delivered our cafeterias baked goods and lay giggling in the back. When I’d impulsively hopped in she’d joined me and made it a game.

After a year in Arizona I broke down crying to my mother, an act of great desperation, and we ended up moving back home. My impulse control returned to normal teenage levels and life resumed in a happier state of mind.

[stonerfromlesbos]

✦ all mine. | billie eilish

✦ warnings: strap usage (r!receving), breeding kink, cheating (r! has a boyfriend), !fuckboy billie, hair pulling, rough sex, !brat reader, !brat tamer billie, choking, spanking…

✦ summary: you had an new cute bf, he was awesome… but what you could do when you’re horny and all you can think about is how you miss the roughness of your ex fling?

✦ heavily inspired by ‘if you’re gonna lie, do it in my bed’ by @drunkinyourbenz

it was known that billie was no good for you, all your friends hated her… but you couldn’t help but come back everytime. she was a bitch? yes, but she fucked you like no one else.

you would always come back to her, until she started lying, you fucking hated it. she could fuck millions of girls, but you would rather hear the truth then her bullshit lies. what she thought of you? she’s really that sure that you will believe that shit? that you are that dumb?

well, you got tired of it, and you moved on. you’re dating an awesome man, who would always put you in first place and treated you like an princess… too much to be honest.

you would touch yourself remembering all the things billie used to do with you, the way she fucked you like you were her fucking toy, she was the type of rough you always needed. her voice calling you an ‘needy slut’ would soak your underwear by itself.

he was incredible, but not the way you needed him to be. he was always afraid of hurting you, literally the opposite of billie. she would spank you for hours just to slam her fake cock on your walls after.

you didn’t wanted to admit how much you missed her, and how you missed the way she fucked you.

your boyfriend wasn’t in your apartment tonight and it was 10pm, so you decided to stalk billie’s snapchat because why not? well, you were seeing each story until you saw one picture of her in the mirror.. she was wearing an tank top and some baggy jeans, you could clearly see the bulge of her strap in her pants. you clicked accidentally in ‘reply’

your heart started racing as you dropped your phone with your shaky hands… when you grabbed it off the ground you stare the message on your screen ‘reply sent.’

you tried to delete it because you literally texted her ‘w 29:!2@’

but she had seen it, maybe she was staring at her chats? because it was damn too fast. You could feel your heart racing as she started typing…

“stalkin’ me, huh? ru missing me babe?”

you could see her damn cocky smirk across the screen, you were truly fucked.

“no, i have a boyfriend, stop that.”

she had seen your message, after more than 15 minutes you stopped waiting for a reply, until she sent you a video.

she had recorded a tiktok with the same outfit she was wearing in the picture, but now showing her face… and what a fucking beautiful face.

you started to pay attention to the lyrics of the song she was lip syncing and it made you blush heavily.

“You like the way I fuck 'cause I get rough”

“You told me your new man don't make you nut”

“that's a damn shame.”

“You come here, I'll knock your pussy out the damn frame”

“come over.” thats all you could type, she quickly replied “omw.”

you could help but feel guilty for your poor boyfriend, but you needed to fuck, needed to fuck with someone who knew how to fuck you.

You heard her knocking on your door, as you quickly rush to open it for her. You were wearing an baby tee that you knew she loved, with some baggy sweatpants. you opened the door for her, eyeing her up and down.

“hey” she says entering your apartment, and looking at the new things you and your boyfriend had bought.

“hi…” you speak almost quietly as she turns around to stare at you with her hungry blue eyes.

“i still don’t get why you ghosted me just to call me back months after.” she says in a cocky tone, smirking as she stared at you.

“because you’re a fuckin’ liar, i hate that” her gaze on you was more than intense, as she softly giggled.

“you really do? why you asked me to come over then?” she said smirking and getting closer to you.

“to fuck me, thats all you can do apparently.” you say with a raspy tone, slightly teasing her but keeping your composure.

“are you sure? because i think all you can do is beg for me to fuck you… don’t you feel bad about your boyfriend?” she says with the same smirk in her face

“wow, you’re still the same bitch.” you start to lose control, trying to not think about your boyfriend.

“and you’re still the same needy slut.” she said with her smirk even bigger this time, you just grab her arm and lead her to your bedroom, tired of her bullshit

“shut the fuck up and do what you came here to do.” you say closing your bedroom door as she justs stares at you

“who tf you think you’re talkin’ to?” she always got pissed off when you told her to shut up, and you knew that damn well.

“should i be scared of you? you’re pathetic billie, you came to my house in less then 5 minutes after i ghosted you for months and im the needy slut?” you say with an cocky smirk on your face, giggling sarcastically

“stop actin’ like a fuckin’ brat.” she says taking a deep breath, she loved when you teased her, it just gave her an excuse to destroy you even more.

“or what?” you tease her more, wanting her to lose control and do what she does best, you could feel her getting closer to you and grabbing your neck with one hand while she stared at you with her half lided blue eyes, it honestly made your body shiver.

“shut the fuck up or i will make sure your cute boyfriend sees all the bruises im gonna let on you.” she wasn’t smirking anymore, she was being so fucking serious, you couldn’t help but do what she deeply wanted you to do.

“bet you can’t do that even if you wanted to.” as you says that billie’s eyes darkened, she slapped your face as her other hand was squeezing your neck even tighter. searching permission in your face, as you smirked and made her even more excited to ruin you.

“stop being a fuckin’ brat. on the bed, now.” she says letting go of your neck as you obediently sit on the corner of the bed. as she got in front of you, and you unbuckled her belt seeing the bulge of her strap as she stared at you. your eyes widened in fear as her pants were on the ground, it was an new one, much bigger than the one she had before.

“are you scared now babydoll?” she says chuckling with the same smirk on her face

“billie im not used to this big...” you said pathetically looking up at her with your dolly big eyes, knowing that after what you did, she would make sure to pound the shit out of you.

“you’re going to fuckin’ take what i give you, understand?” she says looking down at you. she lowered herself to grab an little pot with an white substance in it, quickly she holded her on strap putting it inside a hole on the tip of her cock… you quickly realized that it wasn’t an normal strap, it was the kind of that could cum.

“gon’ make such a mess of that pretty face of yours.” she says grabbing your hands and making an messy ponytail with her own hands, your hands started to go up to her hips as you looked at her with your puppy eyes.

“open up for me baby.. good girl” she says as you open your mouth for her faux cock. she starts quickly to pound your throat as your both hands are on her hips, trying to push her away as you just gag on it.

“fuckin’ take it, i dont care if its too big.” her pace even speeds as you’re almost throwing up, she slow down, letting you do the job instead.. she was gently caressing your hair as you were sucking her cock… she suddenly take it out your mouth, you just stare at her with an confused face.

“put your tongue out and look at me.” she says grabbing her faux cock and pressing an little button on the bottom of the strap.. quickly her strap started to gush loads of cum on your face, you couldn’t help but smile still with your tongue out, staring deeply at her eyes.

“such a slut, do you enjoy having my cum all over you huh?” you nod your head as she gaves you another slap on the cheek “swallow it and answer me.” you quickly swallow all of her liquid that was on your mouth.

“i do..” you look up at her, wiping the sticky liquid off your face with your own mattress getting up from the corner of the bed as she looks at you confused. you took her belt that was on the floor, with it on your hands you go towards her again.

“what you’re doing?” she says with an smirk as her hands go down on both of your sides grabbing your hips tightly, pulling you closer to her.

“let me have some fun rn, okay?” you say grabbing both of her wrists, tying it up on her back as you pushed her to lay on the bed.

“god i missed you so much.” billie says as you start striping your clothes off, you were left only in panties as you crawl towards her, straddling her sides and feeling the pressure of her strap against your clothed dripping clothed cunt.

“i missed you more.” you say starting to grind on her cock, rubbing it against your throbbing clit.

“fuckin’ sit on it.” she demands but you laugh on her face.

“needy are we?” you say in a mocking tone, you knew she was fucking pissed with you and it was a damn privilege that she let you take control for even an minute after all you said. billie was experienced in this, and she untied herself with no effort.

“i was going to let you fuckin’ ride me, but you need to be a brat all the time… so you will be fucked like a brat.” she switched your places quickly, she got off the bed adjusting her strap.

“face down, ass up.” that was her favorite position, and you fucking loved it too. you quickly obey her, grabbing the sheets in antecipation.

“what an fucking pathetic slut, minutes ago you were teasing me now you’re afraid?” she giggles mocking you as billie put your underwear to the side, slamming her cock inside of you without any warning, you were left with your mouth open and your eyes rolling back as she started to pound your poor pussy.

your face is buried in the sheets by now, as your moans turns almost into screams of pleasure. she pounded you roughly as she played with your clit… and with the other hand, she would spank the shit out of your ass.

“can’t tease me now, huh? pathetic slut.”

she said as the hand who was smacking your ass goes up to grab a fistful of hair, pulling your head back.

“fucking tell me what you’re.” her pace speeded up even more, she wanted to make even more hard to you to answer.

“i-im’ a pa- mhm.. pathetic s-slut mh~” her hand goes down to your neck as she starts to pound you even deeper, her fingers on your chin as you try to suck in it, but you couldn’t let your mouth closed when she was fucking you that good.

you were getting close, and she could feel your walls tightening around her cock.

“cum.” she says with an raspy demanding voice, as you reached the edge. your legs were shaking as she pounded you in a slow pace, letting you ride through your orgasm.

“lay on the bed babe.” she says with an more soft voice, contrasting with the way she was treating you before. you lay on the bed with your stomach up as she climbs on top of you, putting your leg on her shoulder.. and after that you knew that this night was going to be long. she was going deep and slow low, taking her time to hit your g spot.

“gonna’ cum inside of you and make you a fuckin’ mama.” she says looking deeply at your eyes as you push her into an kiss, the kiss was needy and slow. while her tongue was exploring your mouth, her pace speeded up making you moan in the middle of the kiss.

“mhm fuckin’ f-fill me up… p-please.” it was all she needed to hear, she pounded into you roughly and deep, as one of her hands were on your neck, choking you.

she quickly decided to give some attention to your poor tits, billie sucked on your nipples while she was still pounding your pussy.

“gonna fill you up until your tits spill milk, mamas’” she says getting breathless, pouding you in an pace that you thought was impossible to achieve.

“bet your boyfriend can’t get you like this mamas’… gonna fuckin’ steal you from him and make you my baby mama.” she says looking at your eyes and seeing them rolling back as she continues to hit your g spot with no mercy.

“u’ close mamas?” she asked you grabbing your tits and pounding you even faster.

“mh- c-c-close mhm~” you couldn’t even think, she was fucking your brains out.

“you get so dumb on my cock” she said smirking as your walls tightened against her faux cock, her pace slowed down as you rided though your orgasm.

her hand gone down your tits to her own strap, pressing the same button before. and quickly gushing her cum inside of you, she pounded on you a few more times before pulling it out. billie took a moment to stare at your cunt dripping her cum from inside, she smirked proudly.

“you’re so pretty when i fuck your brains out of u.” she says caressing your left cheek and laying on your side on the bed.

you instantly lay on her chest waiting for her to wrap her arms around you.. but she doesn’t do that, she gets off the bed instead. you stared at her with confusion.

“break up with him and after that we can cuddle.” she says taking her pants and belt, putting it on again as she brushes her hair with her fingers, she puts her shoes on and starts to make her way out your room.

“if he asks about all these bruises, tell him who fuck you like you deserve.” she winked at you smirking cockily as she leaves your bedroom, making her way out your apartment. you quickly realized that you were literally all bruised.

“fuck.”

HOPE YALL LIKE THIS..

yes i couldn’t decide and did both of them

[endless-ineffabilities]

backhand stroke (18+)

tennis coach!Aemond x tennis player!reader

Rivals on and off the court, things come to a head between the two when Aemond crosses the line and sabotages the reader's relationship.

themes : challengers inspired, Art Donaldson is featured <3, a lot of cussing, smut!!! (minors dn fckin i), the reader and Aemond hate each other (but if they hate each other why are they fcking), reader may or may not be a cheating bastard, Aemond has a glass eye + he calls the reader ace

a/n : initially I was about to write a fic where Aemond and the reader are actual rivals themselves, but quickly remembered how tennis works 💀 so in this one, Aemond is a coach and reader is a player 🎾

word count : 8k ▪︎ masterlist

The Westeros Open is the biggest and most prestigious tennis tournament in the country. 

Anyone who wants to be someone in the sport aims to qualify for it. 

For you, it is everything. You have devoted your entire life to tennis. It started as something that stemmed from your parents' neglect. Rich folks who signed their young daughter up for extensive tennis lessons just so they can be free of her and galivant off to wherever. 

You had sat there, staring at your shiny, brand-new white tennis shoes. Holding your unused top-of-the-line racket. Hair kept away from your face with a headband that still smelled like the store. 

Mostly left alone by your family, you gathered your strength, and dragged your weak eight-year-old legs across the tennis court day in and day out. 

Through the years, you found yourself. You found home, and you gave everything you had to make sure you would never lose it.

As luck would have it, you found romance along the way in Art Donaldson, who became your coach after your previous one decided to quit. He used to be a player, until he fell out of love with the game, and chose to coach up and coming players instead. 

You had been wary of getting involved with him, but eventually you couldn’t resist. He turned out to be the perfect boyfriend - caring, sweet, attentive to your every need. He became your partner in both tennis and in life. Truly, you couldn’t want for anything else.

You shouldn’t. 

So why does it feel like there is something missing?

And why is that void one that only Aemond Targaryen can fill?

The gigantic poster propped up in the inner courtyard of the country club lets everyone know that your next qualifying match in the Westeros Open is against none other than Helaena Targaryen. 

Your image looms up to around twenty feet, with Helaena’s lithe figure on the other side. The perfectionist in you can’t help but scrutinise the details in your expression and your form. Was that really what you looked like mid-serve? You laugh dryly, feeling silly at your misdirected concern.

You like Helaena, and she’s always been cordial to you outside of your matches. The issue lies with her more brash and calculating brother and coach. 

Something - or rather someone - shuffles behind you. Close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on attention. 

"I wish I could say that you look good up there, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Think of the devil and he shall appear. You don't have to turn around to know who it is. 

Aemond fucking Targaryen. Once at his prime, known for his freely expressing his passion and rage on the court, earning him the title 'the bad boy of tennis'. It was this drive, this relentlessness, that propelled his game. Unfortunately, it also served to be his downfall. After a few years as the sport's #1 male player, his career came to an end after an off-court altercation with an opponent that took his eye.

Now he is the coach of one of your top rivals and upcoming match opponent, his sister Helaena. 

Which is why it should come as no surprise to you that he has made it his mission to get under your skin, with all his unwarranted flirty remarks, constant staring, and how he tirelessly interacts with everything you post on social media. 

It used to be tame, by his standards anyway, with things like, ‘You need to work on that backhand’ or ‘I’m guessing Donaldson doesn’t train you well enough.’

But then the messages took a different turn. You once posted a picture of you in a fancy, revealing gown when you attended the annual gala, and he responded with, ‘It’s easy to see that all your training has paid off, ace.’

You chocked it all up to playful aggression. He’s just trying to get you to lower your guard, and distract you. You knew better than to look too much into the apparent interest he gives you. 

He is notorious for being a playboy, after all. Dirty blonde hair perfectly tousled, designer tracksuits he wears with such snobbishness, a presence that can command an entire room. You’ve grown to heavily dislike the seemingly permanent smug sneer on his lips, and how he sometimes treats others like they’re nothing but gum stuck on the soles of his fancy tennis shoes.

A handsome rogue who possesses a lot of talent and who is aware of his status as a hot commodity can be dangerous indeed. If he can say that Helaena Targaryen’s best opponent is nothing but another notch on his bedpost, then he will never let that live down. 

More importantly, you are already spoken for. Aemond knows this - not that he cares - but whatever he thinks about your relationship doesn’t matter. 

“Aemond.” You don’t turn to face him, continuing to scrutinise the gigantic poster. “Is that the best you got?”

He shrugs, positioning himself right in your line of sight, clearly demanding more attention. “You don’t just look good. You look good enough to fucking eat, ace. Too bad about the shitty attitude.”

Hot then cold, nice then nasty. Aemond will never change. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I thought I told you not to call me that. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else training your sister? She’s gonna need it.”

He steps closer, invading your space. You look him directly in the eye like you’re squaring up with an opponent. This has always been your dynamic. Neither one backing down, neither one ever really dealing a blow. 

Just constant dizzying electricity. 

Sooner or later, it will all come to a head. Whether it will be your fault or his, the jury is still out on that. 

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” he patronises, his deep blue almost violet eye sparkling. On the opposite was his glass eye, only adding to his intimidating nature. He hadn’t opted for one that resembled his real eye, but rather a hazy white apparatus, making him appear ghoulish, almost ghostlike. Nestled in his left eye socket, framed by a faded maroon gash, it made him look every bit like the charismatic rogue of tennis that he is known to be. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere receiving instruction from Donaldson? Not that you’ll get much out of it.”

“Art and I are on top of our training, not that it’s any of your damn business. You should concern yourself with your sister’s game.” 

“If only that were actually true, ace, but unfortunately I believe that your sweet Art wastes too much of his fucking time being on top of you.”

“Fuck off, Targaryen,” you respond, trying to push the allure of his scent out of your mind. Pungent cologne and cigarette smoke, a blend that you’ve come to associate only with him. “Stay out of my business, and quit messaging me.”

“You like how we talk.”

“Trust me, I don’t.”

“Does Donaldson know?” Fully aware that Art has never had a liking for him, he knows that will hit a nerve. 

Your face falls, like you’ve been caught in the act. Even though you've done nothing wrong. Occasionally caving in and responding to Aemond’s messages surely isn’t crossing the line. What started out as a couple of offhand fuck offs from your end turned into actually sharing private jokes about the other matches and training and - heavens forbid - small talk about the goddamn weather. 

You’ve come to know that his favourite colour is green. Not the neon of a tennis ball, but a bluish-tinted pine. 

Not that it matters. 

Encounters such as this one also don’t mean anything. Never mind however much you find him attractive. Who wouldn’t? You have eyes, and you’re only human. Nothing more to it. 

Never mind how, some nights, in what can only be construed as momentary states of delirium, you have imagined him in Art’s place. 

Never mind just how much he gets under your skin, like no one else can, and how you can’t admit to yourself that you might actually like it.

Oh, you might actually be making yourself sick at all these thoughts. 

“There’s nothing for him to know.” You step to the side, indicating that you want to walk away. But he has you cornered and you both know it. 

He smirks, “Keep telling yourself that, ace. But you can’t deny - ” He steps close again. He suddenly tilts your face toward him with one hand, but you shake your head and his fingers lose their hold. “ - this. Us.”

Damn him. And damn the shiver that just ran up your spine. 

You stand still, entranced by the look he’s giving you. Trick or not, Aemond sure does have a way of looking at you as if he sees you for who you really are. Not the tennis prodigy. Not the public personality. You remain a shell of that broken kid that poured everything she had into this sport, much like he had, only to come out the other end still not whole, still searching for something inexplicably out of reach. And he sees just that - just you.

You feel like Art holds you up on a pedestal, not seeing the flaws that make you who you are. But you’ve always been happy to play the perfect girlfriend. 

Until Aemond. 

But he’s too much. Too forward, too brash, too intoxicating. You can never know what he’s going to do next. You can’t like him. You have to be certain that you don’t.

But then again… love and hate have always been two sides of the same coin.

He whispers, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you, “Match point, ace.”

Match point. You could have him. He could have you. He makes it evident that the next move is all yours. “Don’t go out of bounds, Targaryen,” you warn him lowly. 

“What if I want to?”

You have him. He has you.

And you… have Art. 

Clearing your throat, and your head, you finally step back. His head snaps up to follow you, disappointment evident on his face. 

“See you around, Targaryen.” You spin on your heel, walking away, immediately feeling lighter. Emptier, feeling like your body begs to drift closer to him, two equal magnets. 

“Ace,” he calls to you, walking after you when you don’t turn around. “Wait a second,” he reappears right in front of you, effectively halting your stride.

You grumble hastily, “God, you really have a space issue, don’t you, Aemond?”

“Meet me in the courtyard gardens,” he says, a new intensity lacing his voice, “tonight. After dinner. Or whenever you can. Just - ”

“No.”

“Come on, ace.” His tone is insistent, with no trace of his usual bravado and cockiness. “I think… I need to tell you something.”

Part of you wants to cave in, and just agree to whatever it is that he’s proposing, but that nagging voice in the back of your mind is adamant that it would not be right. What would Art think? But what if Aemond truly just wants to tell you something?

“So tell me now.”

His jaw clenches hard, and you can’t help but admire the taut edges of his face. “No, I want to do this, just you and me. When we’ll be alone - ”

“Aemond - ” you start to shake your head, trying hard to come up with a refusal that he will actually register. 

“Donaldson doesn’t need to know,” he almost pleads. “This is between you and me, ace. You just have to hear me out.”

You take a deep breath, unable to understand just what it is he means. “If it’s something I have to hide from my boyfriend, then it’s not gonna happen. You have to see just how messed up that is, Targaryen.”

Either he can’t hear you, or he just does not want to accept your response. “I’ll wait for you. Right around midnight then, ace? Should give you plenty of time to sneak out.”

Before you can say no, again, he hastily plants a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, in surprise and perhaps pleasure at the softness of his lips, and when you open them once more, he is no longer flooding your space. 

You spy him entering a set of glass doors, leaving you there stunned.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Aemond kicks at another pebble, the sound momentarily breaking the silence in the gardens.

He’d checked his watch just seconds before, the face of it spitting on what remains of his eagerness. 

Twelve fucking fifteen. 

Either you just got held up by your whiney rat-faced boyfriend, or you’re a no-show.

Aemond doesn’t know which one is worse. He did not know what he was expecting in the first place. Did he actually think that you would do as he says? You never were good at following orders, much less those from someone whom you likely view as something of a nuisance.

Is that really what you see him as? Isn’t there something more at play here?

Something that keeps Aemond up at night, when he can no longer deny that it is not because he dislikes you that you plague his thoughts, but because he admires you. He does admire you, he sees no shame in admitting that. 

As a tennis player. As a competitor. Anyone who feigns ignorance at your insane potential would just be lying to themselves. 

As a woman? A… partner? No. It has to be no, doesn’t it? You hate him, you make it clear now and again. You disagree with him, challenge his views, point out his flaws. Surely, he can’t be attracted to you in a way that commands his heart. You are beautiful, he doesn’t deny this, but so were the dozens of other girls he had run through. 

Each time he watches you perform your signature backhand stroke, with that sensual growl escaping your lips and the lewd grace with which your body bends, Aemond feels his sanity slipping away.

You drive him crazy, but he can't be crazy about you. 

The only reason he asked you to meet him, is because he wants to propose that he replace Art as your coach. Helaena has expressed that she wants to retire, and focus on some other creative pursuits. Something insignificant to Aemond, that he can’t remember what it was exactly. A pottery business? A fucking flower shop? He doesn’t care to know. 

It’s perfect, he thinks, because your game is superior anyway. It’s what first got his attention, and now he can take part in your process. He can direct you, shape you. He can do so much better than Art Donaldson, and he’s sure you know this too. 

Maybe then you might actually open up to him the way you opened up to Art. With your absence tonight, it dawns on him that he might actually have to resort to other measures. Did he seriously think he would be able to simply reason with you about this? 

He sits for another half-hour on a bench nestled among the rose bushes. Surrounded by flowers of deep scarlet, a maroon he distinctly remembers as being your favourite colour. He fools himself into believing that he’s using the time to craft a plan for what’s to come, and not that he’s wasting it on the hope that you might emerge from the tall hedges, out of breath and eyes glinting eager to find him. 

Well, you played your hand. Now he knows what he has to do.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You wake up groggy the following morning, having tossed and turned the entire night, thinking about Aemond.

Had he been out there, waiting for you? Your mind came up with the different possibilities of what he has to say. Or if he had nothing to say at all, and it was all just another ruse. 

You told yourself that you didn’t want to meet up with him, but you had an alibi prepared. One of your old tennis club mates agreed to cover for you and say that you were having drinks together, just in case Art ever checks up. 

But as you were about to deliver the excuse, Art had said something about you and him not getting to spend as much quality time anymore. The past few weeks have been occupied with nothing but tennis, and though it’s a shared activity that you both value, he wanted to stay in for the night with you. He ordered room service, downloaded two films that were on your watchlist, and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you eventually gave up on meeting Aemond. 

It can wait, whatever it is. 

Besides, isn’t this the right thing to do? Did you seriously consider having a midnight rendezvous with the guy who you claim to dislike the most? Someone who encourages you to keep secrets from your boyfriend? What good could possibly come out of that?

With a heaving sigh, you push all thoughts of last night from your mind. There are bigger things at hand. The biggest tennis tournament of the year, for one. 

You make your way to the dining hall of your hotel. Art had woken up before you, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek and explaining how he had to discuss some matters with your physical team. He wore the skin of a tennis coach as perfectly as that of a boyfriend. 

And here you are, regretting that you were unable to meet up with another man the previous night.

The art deco layout of the lobby extends into the spacious dining hall, the interior of the hotel filled with geometric patterns and rich jewel tones. You once bid Aemond guess what your favourite interior design was, and he got it in two tries, complete with a spiel of how it reflects your personality. Art, on the other hand, had been adamant that your favourite was minimalist. That was the first time you realised that his perspective of you was different from Aemond’s. 

You hadn’t yet reconciled with who is more accurate, lest it shine a light on something deeper. 

The hostess is cheerful and full of pep as she leads you to your table. You know it’s coming - she’ll ask you for a picture in just a moment, and you’re proven right when she reaches in her pocket and her phone materialises inch by inch. She seems shy to ask, ready to turn on her heel with a stiff smile if you refuse, so you do your best to be encouraging.

When the photo is taken and she finally lowers her phone, you spy someone out in the distance and you make it out to be none other than your boyfriend. Leaning by the outdoor terrace, appearing to be speaking to another person you can’t yet make out, their face obscured by the decorative shrubbery scattered across the area. 

You walk to the side to get a better view of who it is. That tall figure, clad in a black tracksuit… a familiar head of blonde hair… and the unmistakable cut of his jawline. Realisation sets in. Art is speaking to Aemond. 

Your stomach sinks, the thought of breakfast no longer enticing. Frozen in the middle of the dining hall, you begin to attract the attention of others. 

Aemond turns his head, perfectly timed for his gaze to meet yours. Like something out of a grim movie, your anxiety spikes as his smug smirk materialises in slow motion. 

If there ever were a match at hand between you two, that smirk makes it clear that he has won it. 

Art follows his gaze, also meeting yours, but without any trace of satisfaction. He looks at you accusingly. You shake your head at him, but you already know. 

This is not going to end well. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Is it true?”

You had wordlessly followed Art back to your hotel suite, the air around you thick with dread and anticipation.

“What did Aemond say?” You stand in front of him as he calmly sits by the window, as if you’re on the trial stand. You just might be.

“Guess,” Art spits mockingly. “Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know him quite well.” You bristle at his tone. He’s never spoken to you like this before. 

“Whatever he told you, it’s not what it looks like, okay? You know Aemond. He likes to mess around with people, especially us.”

Art shakes his head in disbelief, “He even showed me some of your messages. Some of them you must have sent - what, at 3 or 4 in the fucking morning? When you’re lying next to me in bed? Not getting a lot of sleep apparently. It must be why you’re not on top of your game.”

He’s not playing fair, and you deserve this. 

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you say through gritted teeth, making the statement sound as firm as possible, because it’s not just Art you’re attempting to convince. You want to believe it too. 

“He’s said some things about me.”

“And I defended you.”

“Not well enough,” he shakes his head. “It sounded almost normal for you. Spewing bullshit to each other.”

“It’s just… it’s all just banter.” God, you sound so terrible. “Riling each other up to get into the mindset before matches.”

“All that… all that, I can kind of understand. It’s the other things. The intimate things that get on my nerves.”

“What - ” You can’t form the proper response to that. 

“I missed talking to you, he once said. To which you replied that you do too.”

“That’s nothing.”

“You said that he inspired you.”

“That’s… that… he’s a great talent,” you stammer, as the statements he throws worsen. “He always has been. Even you can’t deny that.”

The argument goes on for an uncomfortable length of time, with Art reminding you of things that you and Aemond had apparently messaged each other, and you trying to play them off as insignificant. 

Gradually, you convince Art that Aemond is just a thorn in your side. That Aemond was just overplaying the messages to get under his skin. That letting this break your relationship would be giving Aemond what he wants. 

But everything he said - the messages he brought back to the surface, the encounters that were brought up - made you realise the depth of your involvement with Aemond. 

You are fooling yourself, just as much as you are fooling Art.

He finally stands, heading towards the door. “I’ve spoken to our physical team. Meet us at the gym in 15.”

“Art.”

He halts, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You’re worried about what you’ll see in his face if he does.

“Are we okay?” you ask.

He turns to the side, and you catch a glimpse of the man you love, his once blithe demeanour reduced to a brief, forced smile. He nods once, and you sag in relief. When he is finally out the door, you collapse onto the bed and press your knuckles to your eyes. 

You feel it all at once. 

Anger. Frustration. That fear of inevitability coming to fruition. This was bound to happen and a part of you knew it was coming.

Aemond screwed you over, and it’s high time you put an end to everything.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The gardens. Midnight. 

The message had been sent. The last one you will ever send to Aemond Targaryen if things go as planned. 

You have it rehearsed and perfected in your mind - how you will give him a piece of your mind, how you will tell him off and tell him to fuck off for good. 

As long as you think of Art…  As long as you don’t lose yourself, then…

“You’re lucky I’m not standing you up, Ace. Not like what you did to me.” The bastard has appeared directly behind you, as per his custom, so close you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck. 

You immediately turn to face him, and he stands calmly in his signature black tracksuit, his lips curled in their usual manner. “I never agreed to meet you that night.”

His smile is derisive, the sight of it sharp and cruel under the moonlight. “I thought we had sort of a code of honour, you and I. That we’d never lie to each other. Never let the other person down.”

“Honour?” you say mockingly. “I call bullshit. Trying to ruin my relationship… is that part of it?”

He looks away, shaking his head at your accusation. “I only did what you don’t have the fucking guts to do. Your relationship with Donaldson was ruined the moment we…” He trails off, brows furrowing. His gaze meets yours, revealing the truth that sits underneath his mask of arrogance. One that only you are allowed to see. He appears to take on a different smile this time, softer and less pronounced. The curses you want to hurl get caught in your throat when he looks to your lips and hums faintly to himself, almost as if he’s forgotten that you are in the middle of an argument. 

You take a step back, and it shakes him out of his reverie. It shakes the both of you out of it. 

“Well? Let’s fucking hear it then.” You raise your arms in a gesture, egging him on. 

“Hear what?” he says, having the gall to be confused.

“What did you want to tell me that night? Tell me now, because you’ll never get the chance again.”

He straightens, getting his thoughts in order. He completely forgot about that issue, and talking is increasingly becoming the last thing he wants to do right now. He wants to put his lips to better use. Something more worthwhile. “Helaena’s retiring,” he finally decides on saying, “and I think I should be your coach.”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment, his proposition whirring in your head. It makes sense, it does. He just gets you. But then again… 

“That’s rich,” you reply. “Do you think I would ever give up Art? He’s always been my coach and he’s damn good at it.”

“You’re not compatible,” he counters, “in the court and out of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He doesn’t see you,” he affirms. He would never lie to you, and he isn’t about to start now. He repeats, “He doesn’t see you, but I do.”

His words strike true, and it feels as if he’s just pulled the rug from underneath you, and you’re falling, falling… 

Right into his arms. And the impact is jarring, because it’s real. 

“We can’t.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, a reflection of your weakening restraint.

“Yes we can, ace.” He takes a step closer, and he lifts his hand as if on instinct, reaching for your face. But he’s frozen, unsure of how far he can toe the line that already lies fragile between you. “It should be you and me.”

Your eyes follow his movements, because you know you want him to give in and hold you. To touch your face. To kiss you.

And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. 

“I have to go.” Your voice carries no emotion. You avert your gaze at the last second and catch the defeat that flashes across his face. It should come as a surprise that it pains you to see him like this, but then again, you see him as he sees you. You always have. Which renders your next words among the most painful to come out of your mouth. “We can’t do this anymore. Art already doesn’t trust me, and if this goes on, it’s only going to make things worse. I can’t talk to you - ” 

“No.” 

“- and I won’t be responding to anything- ”

“Stop fucking talking.” His anger is fledgling, rising to the surface. There is no way he will calmly accept these terms. “I said no, ace.”

“It’s… it’s the right thing to do,” you murmur, still unable to look at him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. We run in the same circles. But we can’t be… us.”

“Forget it,” he seethes, trying to catch your eyes, and growling low when you don’t relent. “Forget him, ace. Or do whatever the fuck you want. But not this, I’m not having this.”

You exhale, having gotten the worst of it out of your chest. It’s over now. But it’s not a relief that you feel. It’s remorse. 

“Goodbye, Aemond.” With that, you finally take him in once more, and one glance is enough to shatter your resolve. His heightened ill temper shines clearly across his distinguished features. Under the midnight moon, he resembles a fallen angel, long dark blonde lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His shadowy, glass eye strangely adding to the appeal. 

Beautiful. And just not yours. 

One last, lingering look - then you walk away. The silence is deafening, and you feel numb all over. Your knuckles are taut at your sides, fingernails digging in your palms to keep those pesky, errant tears at bay. You’ve suffered defeat before, but this is much worse, because it’s coming solely from your own hand. How easily you give him up, someone who was never yours, and how badly it stings. 

“No,” you hear him say again, and you pray he shuts up so you can keep walking. 

He doesn’t. He repeats the word - no - over and over like some mantra under his breath. One second you feel nothing. Nothing at all. But then the wind whooshes around you and you’re being spun around to face him. 

And then, his lips claim yours, and you feel everything. 

Sounds come rushing back to you. His ragged panting against your lips, the pads of his fingertips kneading the back of your head, the wet smacking of his mouth on your own. The empty pit in your stomach is filled with those clichéd butterflies. More so when one of his hands travels down to grasp your waist and press your body against his. 

“Aem - ” Your mind catches up to you, and you try to say his name to get him to pause, but he slides his tongue past your teeth. 

“Shut up and kiss me, ace.” He breaks free for but a second, then hungrily kisses you again. You let him. You give in completely.

“Mmm, Aemond.” Your hands reach up to cradle his face and he takes that as an opportunity to pull back and openly admire you.

“You’re my ace,” he professes, connecting his forehead to yours. “And I’m not fucking losing you.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You rush through the lobby of the hotel, hand in hand and giggling like schoolchildren as you duck your heads so as not to get recognised by the night concierge. 

With reckless abandon, your entwined bodies stumble into his suite, which just happens to be on the floor below yours. You once thought you would have to be inebriated beyond belief to surrender to a sin like this, and in a way you are. You’re high off of him - Aemond in his entirety, six feet of lean muscle, notorious foul-mouthed one-eyed libertine. 

“Fuck, ace.” He has his arms wrapped around you from behind, and he nips at your exposed neck. His touch roams and finds the mounds of your breasts, kneading mindlessly over your shirt. The sound that reverberates from his throat is carnal, and you feel it echo through your whole body. It drives you to press your ass against him, taking full notice of his hardness straining from his sweatpants. 

Feeling mischievous, you do it again, gripping his arms to anchor yourself while grinding against his cock. 

“Foul play,” he whispers against your neck, “you fucking minx.”

“There are no rules now.” You face him, running a finger along his jawline as you walk backward and he follows suit. Stopping at the edge of his bed, you strip out of your shirt, careful to keep your eyes locked on his the whole time. 

The movement is too slow for Aemond, and he desperately needs more. He pushes you onto the mattress and climbs on top of you. He slides your sweatpants off your legs, then lets his hand drag from your ankle to your inner thigh. He promptly undresses, graceless and in a rush, until all his clothes are left in a heap on the carpet. 

His cock stands on attention, taut and goddamn long. You feel an ache below that compels you to rub your legs together, but he beats you to it and slides your underwear right off. “I’ve always wanted to taste you,” he croons. “Bet you taste so sweet.”

You take your bra off and you’re finally left completely bare. He spreads your legs and positions himself in between. He uses one hand to squeeze your breast and the other to keep your legs propped wide open. 

His eye meets yours, before he settles in, lowering his head until he’s breathing cool air onto your pussy. “Match point, ace.” 

You have him. He has you. 

When Aemond’s tongue plunges deep into your throbbing core, swirling inside like he wants to consume you whole, you have to bite your tongue to hold back a scream.

He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, and he’s so fucking good.

“Yes - yes - keep going, baby, fuck -  ” you moan, words breathy and irregular. 

He sticks two fingers into your wetness, using it to spread you wider, leveraging his tongue ever deeper. In and out they go, faster than the fuck, fuck, fucks coming out of your mouth in blissful sputters. 

He suddenly stops, a guttural hmm echoing from his lips, and you look down to see his lips coated in a mixture of his spit and your pre cum. “Not so fast, ace,” he taunts. “You’ll come when I say.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, still widespread and exposed to him. “What, are you coaching me through it?” 

He hums in affirmative and leans in to kiss you, juices still dripping from his chin. 

“You gonna follow my orders, ace?” he asks, and your mind spirals at how utterly lewd it sounds. 

“Wouldn’t you like that, Targaryen?” You let out another moan, biting your lip when he hungrily sucks on your breast. “Let’s see what you got first.”

He smiles at your playful instigation. It’s always come natural, this riffing back and forth. But this midnight dalliance - he wants it to be honest. He needs you to realise how much he wants you. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He gets on his knees, a hand braced on each of your thighs, his hardened cock at the ready. 

“Ma’am?” you breathe, a laugh dying in your throat when you his tip prods at your entrance.

“I can be agreeable under the right circumstances, ace.” He torments you by pushing his cock in but an inch. 

“Fuck me, Aemond,” you cuss in frustration, then, literally, “Fuck me. Please.”

His eyes take you in, one darkened blue and one ghostly pale glass. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. “You good for it, ace?” He nods once, referring to whether a condom is needed and you take the hint right away.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Perks of having a top-of-the-line physio team. They hook you up on other things too.” Your cocky-athlete way of stating that you are on the pill. 

The lights are dim in the room, but you clearly see the resolve settle on Aemond’s face. He parts his lips like he wants to say something more, and you tilt your head questioningly. 

He feels the need to make some sort of declaration. Something true. It doesn’t seem right to say those damned three words at this moment, no matter how much he means them. You could think he’s trying to trick you in order to get what he wants. A good lay and nothing else. So he doesn’t say anything and lets the silence speak for itself. If you know him as you claim to, then you’ll see. 

You’ll see just how much this means to him.

You nod, and it’s an unspoken plea. 

He thrusts his cock into you with such force, stretching your walls with a sudden and blinding ache, until he is buried to the hilt. He reaches and cradles your face with one hand, the other keeping your ankle propped by his shoulder. 

“Move, Aem.” You buck your hips against him, his cock squelching in and out again.

“Yeah, baby?” He complies with his hips in response. “That feel good?”

“Yes. God yes.”

A switch flicks inside of him, and he almost snarls through his teeth. “You feel so fucking good, ace. Your pussy takin’ me so well…” His hips buck faster, in abrupt snapping motions, burying his cock each damn time. He connects your legs together and turns you to your side, altering the position slightly. 

You look behind your shoulder and see that feral look etched on his face. His grip is tight on the flesh of your hips and the curve of your ass, having it raised slightly for his convenience. He smacks your behind with an open palm, and it elicits a lusty moan out of you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “So beautiful like this, dripping around my fucking cock, huh? My good girl.”

The noises you release as a result are unintelligible. You press your face against the pillow in sheer pleasure, muffling your sounds. 

“I wanna hear you, baby,” Aemond protests. With practised ease, he repositions you so your ass is propped high before him, your body bent forward as you have to lean on your forearms to keep from planting your face on the sheets. 

He doesn’t ease up on his relentless thrusting, and you’re left squirming and cock-drunk. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you’re blissed-out on what only Aemond can give you.

“Does he fuck you as good?” he spits in obvious distaste. “I don’t think so, baby. Can’t fuck this pussy like I do.” 

“N-no,” you whimper, without any trace of guilt. “Only you, Aem.”

“Hmm,” he simpers. “Come for me, ace. Be a good girl now. Come around my cock, yeah?”

“Mhhmm,” you pant, growing weaker and weaker at his statements, your walls tensing for that release you crave.

“You’re mine, ace. Mine.”

Your whimper comes out sudden and unrestrained as you let go, and feel your warm juices leaking down your thighs. The sounds of his cock growing noisy and sloppier. He releases not long after, with a few sharp spasms, decorating your insides with his cum. 

Marking someone who is not supposed to be his. 

But nothing else matters as he crumples against you and pulls you into his arms. If something is to be reconciled with, it won’t be for tonight.

With these things, regret always comes along with the sunrise.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“40 - 30.”

The crowd cheers at the umpire’s announcement. You can barely make out the faces morphing together into one homogeneous mob, but you’ve observed enough to know that Aemond isn’t among them. Rivulets of sweat drip down your face and you walk to the side as another break starts. 

Helaena nods at you from the opposite side of the court, and you respond with a terse smile.

She resembles him so much - the one you’ve been avoiding for the past three days. With that same distinct shade of blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but possessing an aura of tenderness about her. If Aemond wasn’t lying about her plan to retire, then it makes perfect sense. She seems too good for the sport, too pure, whereas you fit right into its cruel constraints.

What sort of person would have done what you did, some nights ago, and be able to walk with their head held high? You want to believe that you regret sleeping with Aemond, that you would reverse your actions, given the chance. But the pain that eats at you is that you might have fucked things up for good, abruptly leaving before he woke up that morning. 

It’s ironic - you may just get what you said you wanted. To end things. Never to be the same with him again. 

You slump in your seat, wiping at your face with a towel, pushing all thought of Aemond from your mind. 

From your periphery, you catch Helaena gesturing to you. She smiles, and you think that your emotions must show so clearly on your face that she feels bad for you. 

She nods, and tilts her head to the side, so that you follow her gaze. Standing courtside, partially hidden in the corner just behind the barriers, you see Aemond closely watching you. 

He came after all. You turn back to Helaena, unable to hide your surprise, and she sends another smile your way. She knows. Of course she does. 

With renewed excitement, the match continues. It only takes one more point, one final ace, and you emerge triumphant. The court fills with cheers and sounds of celebration. It is declared that you are advancing to the next round of the tournament. You meet Helaena in the middle and she firmly shakes your hand, exhibiting no sign of disappointment. 

“Congratulations! Very well played.” She drops her racket and grasps your hand with both of hers. She leans closer, and adds, “You know, I also consider it a win for myself, because my last ever match is against the girl my brother is in love with.”

You forget where you are, the revelation rendering everything else moot. The cheering crowds disappear, and it’s just you and Helaena as she dips her head comfortingly, assuring you that you heard her words true.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she lets go finally, with a cheerful, “go celebrate!”

You feel yourself being whisked away, cameras flashing from all sides. Art appears in front of you and he pulls you into an embrace. Several onlookers gush at the sight. You barely take notice of them, your eyes already drifting to where Aemond was standing. 

There he remains, casually leaning against the barriers. Some audience members realise that the great Aemond Targaryen stands among them, and one by one a small crowd forms around him, asking for pictures and autographs.

He continues to hold your gaze, his usual smirk making an appearance, ignoring a guy waving a camera at his face. You shake your head at the scene, a genuine laugh bubbling from your lips.

You nod to each other, as if acknowledging the absurdity of it all, and leave it at that. There’s a lot more to be said, for another time. Art wraps his arm around your waist, and Aemond takes it as his cue to look away, relenting to the eager fans surrounding him.

You direct your gaze to your boyfriend, immediately seeing the recognition in Art’s eyes. He’s seen everything. 

He doesn’t need to be as acutely perceptive as Helaena to realise the truth. That of the one-eyed rogue and his ace. You’ve been drifting from him for so long, that it was only a matter of time. 

He was your friend first, and he always will be. You’ve watched each other grow, through endless mistakes and challenges, and there’s a fire in you he cannot match. 

But Aemond can. He knows this now. 

He extends a hand out to you, one which you accept with poorly masked caution. He understands how woeful it must be, to tear yourself apart from being in love with someone else. The shame and uncertainty that must entail. 

For both your sakes, he decides that he has to be the bigger person and do the right thing. 

“What do you say?” Art offers to you. “Post match treat?” he asks, referring to your tradition of sharing a large strawberry sundae after games. 

“Okay.” Your smile is sweet and unguarded, and it reminds him of when you first met, nearly six years ago. That day, he knew he had made a lifelong friend. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I wish I could say I’m happy to see you here, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Aemond swivels toward the sound of your voice, cigarette smoke billowing from his lips. 

“Vile habit, Targaryen.” You wrinkle your nose, and he just shakes his head and crushes the butt of his cigarette under his shoe.

“Yeah, well.” He merely shrugs. He was dead set on quitting, but something came up the past couple of days, causing his anxiety to reach new heights. When you ignored him after the night you shared, he can’t fault himself for reaching for depraved solace in nicotine. But no substance would ever be enough to erase the precious memory of watching you come undone. 

“Not happy to see me, ace?” he refers back to your greeting, not bothering to hide the hurt he feels. 

You walk closer to him, trying to hold back a smile. “Well, I lied. But it’s not like I haven’t lied before.” You stop when you’re right in front of him, the remnants of his smoke making you feel woozy. “I also lied when I said that we can’t keep being us anymore. When I said goodbye.”

“Hmm,” his lips curl at your confession. “Judging by how wildly you fucked me after you said that, I could already tell.”

You roll your eyes, but you already feel so much better, like things are falling right back into place. All it took was some teasing from the apparently callous, sharp-tongued, ambitious-to-a-fault boy standing before you. 

A boy who revealed the true depths of his compassion only to you. He let you thaw out his cold heart from its confines and declared it yours. 

“Something more to say, ace?” he asks.

“You first.”

“Are you kidding? Why don’t you play this game with your boyfriend?”

You share a lingering look, effectively answering his question. The unabashed shit-eating smile that breaks out on his face is enough to tell you just how he feels. 

“Don’t gloat,” you warn him, but he’s already pulled you flush against him with both arms. “I also need a new coach.”

“Mhmm,” he nods, not really in response to your statement. “Save that for later, ace. Please shut the hell up and kiss me.”

He can’t help but smile through kisses, his lips chasing yours when you make an effort to pull away and say something more. 

“Aemond, will you - ”

“Fuckin’ - ” a cuss slips from him when you manage to break apart, depriving him of your lips. He answers impatiently, “Yes of course, I’ll be your coach, ace. Of course. Happy? I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Before he leans in once more, you say, “Don’t you dare fuck this up, Targaryen.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

You lean back in mild surprise.

He laughs, “I mean - ace - or my love. Either one applies, really.”

"I... I prefer ace," you say weakly.

"Now, now, my love. I thought we promised not to lie to each other?"

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[augustinewrites]

cw: it’s just angst & jjk manga spoilers

satoru wakes with a start.

his breaths come a little faster than his body can process, his heart is pounding in his chest, and his head feels like someone’s stuck a hot poker in it. 

it takes him what feels like a few minutes to settle down again, clutching the bedsheets in a tightly wound fist. 

once things seemed to have returned to a normal level, he tries to remember what’d startled him. was it a dream? a memory? had he simply jerked himself awake whilst on the precipice of sleep, like you claimed he did—

his mind seems to be clearing up, because his next instinct is to sit up and make sure you’re okay.

you’re fine, sound asleep on your side of the bed. 

satoru relaxes, albeit only slightly. he’s not sure why he’d been struck with such sudden panic. there’s just this…feeling. he might even go as far as to call it an overwhelming sense of dread, if he were dramatic.

there’s something. it’s hiding in the back of his brain, somewhere even his six eyes can’t find or comprehend. 

he leans back against the headboard, reaching up to run his hands through then lightly grip the strands of his hair. outside, the sun’s barely peeking over the horizon, but whatever had startled him had left him wide awake. 

“the kids are gonna be up soon,” you mumble, pulling him out of the mess of his mind. “better sleep while you have time.” 

time. the word flashes like a flint strike in his mind, but the sparks don’t quite catch yet.

so he lays next to you, wrapping an arm around you to pull you into his chest. he feels a bit better, with you in his arms. 

“what’s wrong?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. 

“nothing,” he lies.

you hum, but he knows that you know him too well. you always know when he’s lying. 

you twist in his arms so the two of you are face to face, the tip of your nose brushing his. 

your sleepy gaze finds his, sending him a small smile. “hi.”

he doesn’t reply because he finds he’s too busy memorizing the details or your face; the flecks of colour in your eyes, the slope of your nose. it’s as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it.

or maybe the last.

the thought comes out of nowhere and scares him so badly that he tries to pull away.

“hey,” you murmur, cradling his face in your hands. he catches your wrist intending to pull you away, but instead he clings to you like a lifeline. you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “you’re okay.”

he wants to believe you, he really does. but anxiety is beginning to gnaw on the edge of his sanity.

“something’s wrong,” he admits quietly. “i don’t— i don’t know—”

“you worry too much,” you sigh, your thumb smoothing over his cheek. 

“i just want us all to be safe,” he tells you. 

“i know,” you hum again, smiling a little sadly. “i just wish you wouldn’t let it come at your expense.”

there are a lot of things he wants to say in this moment. he wants to ask why you’re worried, because you know he’s the strongest. that he would rip the heavens apart for you. he wants to tell you that he has a plan, and that he knows it’ll work. 

(a plan for what? he thinks briefly. he can’t remember.)

but most of all…he wants to tell you that he loves you and the life you’ve built together. too much to leave it all behind. 

but all that comes out is,

“i’d rather it be me than any of you.” 

“don’t say that,” you frown. “we need you. i need you.”

there’s an awful ache settled deep in his chest, carving into the place where his heart sits.

“well, it’s a good thing i’m not planning to go anywhere anytime soon.” lie. “i love you.”

truth.

he rests his forehead against yours, tangling his fingers with yours. 

the memories hit him like a gut punch. 

handmade mochi. the flick of a lighter. a beach in okinawa. megumi and tsumiki laughing. you in your wedding dress, telling him you love him. 

a crowded station. the beginning of the end. 

his eyelids are suddenly heavy. there’s not enough time, he panics. that can’t be it—

“i’ll be here when you wake up,” you promise, and even though you sound like you’re a million miles away, he can hear the sadness in your voice. “you can rest now.”

satoru closes his eyes.

[mybworlds]

Into your arms, the safest place

pairing: olderboyfriend!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: You love Joel, you always have and you do everything you can to remind him of it every day.

Warnings: unspecified age gap, he's older than you, Joel is an insecure, back pain, use of you and Joel pov, not Y/N, the main character has female features, but no specific physical description so you can imagine her as you want. Established relationship, fluff moments, moments of daily life, hints of a sexual relationship, but in this one shot I'll be quite generic although some moments are precise if you know what I mean.

A/N: After reading a few posts about Joel, headcanons, etc my mind gave birth to this one-shot. I hope you like it, if you don't it's okay.

You love Joel. And he loves you. You both would do anything for each other. Even put up with things that the other finds enjoyable, but the other finds them indifferent. For example, Joel loves watching 80's movies, you keep him company, but only because you love to see his face relax and smile in front of some scene that he adores or makes him laugh and you enjoy the sight of his face relaxing for those films even if to your eyes they seem banal or unlikely. And you know that he watches reality shows with you on the couch just because he wants to see you happy by his side or watches stupid cat videos on Tiktok with you just because you giggle when you watch them waving your legs for fun.

You think about how far you've come together to be there, how many lies you've had to tell to see him, how many arguments and tantrums you've had with your parents because of your age difference.

You and Joel met at your parents' house, he had come to fix some things that were no longer working at home and that's where you shook hands and smiled warmly for the first time. You remember that you immediately found him sexy as hell, a little taciturn and brusque perhaps, but not to be criticized or despised as your mother did. At first you were around him just to follow the work he was doing, then slowly you started talking about his work, your work as a teacher, about your lives and you liked each other.

But, because of your age, Joel has always kept you at a distance in the hope that sooner or later you would meet a young man of your age rather than someone like him, a man of experience, a man with a broken marriage and a grown-up daughter who lives far away, but you've never seen other kids your age. Your best friends have also tried to dissuade you from the idea of being with Joel, but they have never succeeded even today when they ask you if you regret your choice, you always said that you love him as he is with his infinite merits and many defects.

Joel has always been afraid of losing you, he was afraid - and you're sure he still is - of losing you that you'd find him too old for you or too unattractive considering his gray hair that sprout here and there among his hair and beard every other day. But you always managed to reassure him and make him feel all your love and put aside his fears.

You managed to arouse Joel's interest from the very first moment, from when you were standing in the doorway watching him work and then you fascinated him when you transmitted to him all your love and your dedication to your work. You are a beautiful person, he remembers thinking from the very beginning. Your energy was clearly visible from the first glance and then, knowing you, he was sure of it. When you shyly confided in him that you had fallen in love with him, Joel thought it was a joke because there was no way a wonderful woman like you could want an old man like him. He later told you that he was flattered by your interest, but he pushed you to look at other boys, not at him. And you, in response, kissed him.

It wasn't easy at first because Joel realized that your family turned their backs on you because you chose him. He has always felt guilty about this, but you have never blamed him or reproached him for that. You chose him and the love you have for each other.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months and you still haven't gotten tired of him. Every evening when he comes home from work, you welcome him with a warm smile and kiss him happily.

This evening you get up from the table where you correct your students' homework and go to meet him, smiling and kissing him.

“You are beautiful, my love,” he whispers in your ear, kissing your lips first, your cheek then and burying his nose in your hair, while he hugs you tightly and feels you kiss the crook of his neck.

“I missed you,” you coo softly kissing his graying beard, his chin and back up the other side, “You are hot as hell, babe.” It's amazing how it seems like you can almost sense what he's feeling about his scruffy beard and his increasingly graying hair.

He smiles. He remembers how uncomfortable he felt in the early days when his few friends told him that he was probably having a midlife crisis dating a hot chick like you. He blushed, maybe they were right, although he loved (and loves) you deeply. For him you were never a passing thing to be forgotten in some time, as his friends told him, you were and are always more. He's so deeply in love with you.

“I prepared a dish for you, love,” you tell him wrapping your arms around his neck “I guess you didn't eat anything, right?” You ask thoughtfully and he loves that about you too. He makes sure to tell you this every day because he's always so afraid that you might realize one day that you want more, that you want a different person by your side, that he is not enough for you.

“You're still my wonderful, gorgeous girl,” he whispers in your ear. “I'm a lucky man,” he adds, gently kissing your earlobe and you shiver. He can clearly see the shivers rippling across your skin, and when they do, he places more kisses along your neck and shoulder. He loves hearing you giggle and holding you tighter. “How was your day?” He asks, nuzzling his nose against yours.

“Full, but you know I love my boys. They are always so full of creativity, energy, and then they are incredibly challenging. And. . . What?” you pause, noticing the small smile forming at the corners of his lips.

“When you talk about your students, your eyes light up.” he replies, smiling widely “I'd only go back to school if I had a teacher who knows what she's doing and who teaches with a smile on her face like you always do.”

Your smile becomes even wider if possible, “Why, what was your teacher like? Miss Rottenmeier?” you joke.

He shakes his head smiling, “No, but she wasn't beautiful as you are, baby girl.” You relax against him “Anyway, I was thinking that tomorrow night we could go out to dinner, would that be okay with you?”

“Sure, now let's go have dinner, I'm starving!” you exclaim grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen.

“You haven't had dinner yet?! Oh, poor lil thin’, I'm sorry.” He says as you sit down to eat "I'm sorry, I thought that considering the time you had eaten!" He adds sincerely sorry.

“You know that if you don't come back I won't be able to relax and eat.” You reply, biting with great gusto into the vegetable pie you had prepared.

The two of you talk at length about the new project that Joel is personally involved in, what he does, what he thinks he's going to do. His eyes light up and then you can't help but notice the passion and the energy he puts into talking about his work. It's something you've always loved about him. You remember when he told you about the fixes he was doing to your parents' house and all the technicalities he used. He probably noticed how you pursed your lips or the look on your face that you didn't understand what he was talking about and so he rephrased his words and from that moment on you never stopped talking.

You think back to that night of your first kiss, you remember how you were afraid of being rejected, but at the same time you didn't want to lose him. You noticed his ears turn red and his tone hesitant after your confession, but you knew what you wanted and most of all you wanted him.

He has always made you feel good, treated you well and with respect, he makes you happy in everything, even if he is tired after a day of hard work, just to see you happy, he would take you out to dinner. But you never asked for anything more from him than love and mutual respect.

You remember the first time you made love, you had already had other experiences, but in his arms it seemed like you had never done it, that you were still a virgin. You made love against each other's foreheads, your hot breaths mingling, your vision blurred with pleasure, even though you did everything you could to look into his eyes and don't miss a single expression of his. His hands gently cupping your face as he kissed you and thrust in and out of you sending jolts of pure pleasure up your spine.

“Whadda ya thin’?” he asks looking into your eyes and seeking your hand which he wraps in his and caresses it with a thumb.

“I was thinking about when we made love,” you answer smiling at him lasciviously "and when we met."

His smile becomes tender and his eyes sweet and soft looking almost like a puppy's. Oh, you love so much his well defined masculine features, his wrinkles.

“And I thought you never wanted to show me one of your photo albums! I'd love to see that so much,” you squeak, looking at him with doe eyes that you know make him melt.

Joel has jealously hidden them from your sight, not because he has something to hide, but because he is afraid that you might realize how old he is compared to you and that you might like him better the way he was. And so he always delayed that moment by telling you tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, but now what excuse can he make up?

“Oh, c'mon, babe, I'd love so much,” you meow using a pleading tone and kissing him in a quick, gentle motion. You know he won't be able to resist. And in fact, he rolls his eyes and after muttering a stubborn lil’ thing to you, he wipes his lips and a little piece of food on his scruffy beard, he gets up and you see him disappear into the corridor.

A couple of minutes later, he reappears in the doorway with an open album in his hands and his gaze lost in a photo. Then he looks up and immediately finds your curious, “There it is,” he says placing the heavy tome in front of you on the table “I hope you're not disappointed by the comparison between what I was and what I am.” He says with his head down, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Your expression becomes surprised and sad because you understand that Joel is afraid of losing you and that you might find him less attractive today than in photographs when he was younger.

“Never.” you just whisper to him, holding out your hand which he immediately grabs, while you invite him to sit next to you.

His photographs show a decidedly younger Joel, the wrinkles are much less visible and superficial, the beard is less thick and sparser, the expression is more tender and shy, but his eyes are always the same sweet and deep, the same ones that made you fall in love with him.

“You are so beautiful,” you whisper “and I’m so in love with you and I’m so lucky to have you by my side.” You add kissing him softly.

“Boo,” he says rubbing his nose against yours “I'm the lucky one.” He says kissing you “And I will do anything to make you happy, but please, if you ever realize that you are no longer happy with me, just tell me.”

You know you're not going to calm him down by just telling him it'll never happen, so you say, “You know me. You know how stubborn and determined I am.”

He rests his forehead against yours, “I know. And that's also why I love you, my love.” He confesses to you, while you sit on his lap. You love feeling his hands on your hips or when he holds you tightly to him. Joel, even if he doesn't speak, is able with his gaze or with his gestures to make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world. So when he tells you that if you are no longer sure of your love for him, you would also like to tell him that no one has ever made you feel as special as he does.

“Oh, baby,” he groans, pulling you closer to his crotch, “if I didn't have this terrible back pain, I'd take you in my arms and we'd go to bed right away.” He confesses to you in a hoarse voice.

“Oh, damn!” You exclaim, moving away from him and getting up from on top of him, he looks at you puzzled, “Come on, get up, let's go to bed.” He looks at you with that lewd look and you roll your eyes and snicker, “Don't be so smart, come on.”

When you're in bed, you don't really know how long you can resist him if while you're giving him a back massage he keeps grunting and moaning telling you how good you make him feel. You are practically sitting on his ass while massaging his spine, shoulder blades and hips.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he moans “I love you so much,” he adds in a whisper and you smile.

“Why do I give you amazing massages?” you tease him, continuing to move your open palms first along his back and then closing them into fists.

“Because no one has ever understood me like you do. With you, there's no need for many words. We understand each other with our eyes.”

“Are we soulmates or not, you and I?” You ask him and receive another moan of pleasure in response. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You add playfully.

He is so grateful for what you are doing. And when you say you are soul mates, he couldn't agree more. You are the perfect woman for him. Sometimes a little chatty, but other times the most understanding even without saying anything to you. He never thought it possible to find a love you. True love. He had always been convinced that his other half had been his ex-wife and that once he was alone, he would never have a real chance again. Then one day you came along and that was the moment he started breathing again. He thought that a young woman like you would get tired of him in a few weeks, but that's not the case. You are there for him, when he wants to vent about a problem, when he talks about his daughter who gives him a lot of trouble, when he wants to watch old movies, you listen to him, give him advice, support him and you watch movies with him, you lie down with your head on his lap and watch them with him. And he who never understood the meaning started following various trends just because you showed them to him and watching videos on Tiktok with you. And he started to love it.

“I love you, baby girl.” he says, caressing your legs in a sweet gesture. Your skin crawls as you continue. "I can feel it," he moans with his eyes closed as he continues his caress.

“What?” you ask leaning forward and placing a kiss on his shoulder, savouring the contact with his skin filling him with kisses.

He smiles, “Are you trying to seduce me?” He asks you, as you lean on top of him and brush his cheek against yours.

“I don't need to do this.” you say kissing his lips and he opens his hazel eyes “Never doubt how I feel about you, I love you and you know that in your arms I am perfectly safe. I love you, babe.”

He shifts slightly making you move from on top of him and lie down next to him where you cuddle and then make love again and again.

Joel loves the idea of you carrying his child, but he's afraid to broach the subject with you because you're young and maybe you don't want kids, maybe not yet. So he has never told you or pressured you in any way, but when he is completely buried inside you he can't help but think what it would be like if you told him you were carrying his child.

You moan deliciously in his ear his name as he makes you come and you intertwine his fingers with yours. Tonight Joel is making you enjoy like never before by giving you more than one climax. You are almost exhausted, some tears escape you and he wipes your tears away with his thick thumbs, whispering to you in a low, hoarse voice, “s’alright, baby girl, you're such a good girl fo’ me” wrapping you in his arms while you twist your face into an expression of pure pleasure as you collapse on top of him.

“I love you,” you say “Into your arms, there's the safest place”.

[bellestarot]

Pick a Pile

What's Next In Your Love Life? 🩷

♡ Take your time to choose

︵‿︵‿︵ʚĭɞ‿︵‿︵‿

Pile I

This is a journey where you'll become more emotionally independent. It's about loving yourself first and getting to know who you are before being with someone else.

You're a very empathetic person, extremely kind to others, and I can see that your circle of friends is always there for you in both good and bad times. These people will have an even stronger presence in your life during the next chapters of your romantic journey as well.

You might meet someone who initially seems like the right match for you because they understand you and connect with you emotionally. Another person might appear too, someone younger and grounded, but still building their life and figuring out what they truly want. I see that both of these people will be interested in you and will try to reach out. However, I honestly see you thinking that you can find someone you truly connect with, as most of the people who approach you don’t really capture your interest. It’s easier for you to treat them as friends rather than romantic interests.

I see you becoming more financially independent, advancing academically, and taking better care of yourself—not just emotionally, but also focusing on your physical health. You’ll be buying clothes, treating yourself well, and caring for yourself in the way you want to be treated.

This is about how strong you are. I believe you’ll face some obstacles, situations where you’ll feel deep pain that seems impossible to resolve. But the universe is speaking to you, showing you signs and guiding you on the path you should take. Some challenges make us stronger and wiser, and I see great potential in you to become stronger and wiser amidst difficulties and the unknown. You will be led into unfamiliar territory on a new journey, a chapter of your life that you don’t yet know how it will unfold.

This is a reading about self-love, not love with others, because you can only love someone else when you truly love yourself.

Pile II

You're definitely going to be getting out of the house more, going places, meeting new people, and opening your heart to them. You'll discover what happens when you truly embrace who you are, when you're in your essence. Are you allowing yourself to be happy in the moment and enjoying what you're experiencing? Because in the past, some of you were hurt by someone who came into your life.

Maybe it was someone you thought was your ideal type—physically attractive, someone you really believed would be the love of your life, your soulmate, or something like that. But in the end, this person betrayed you, lied to you, said hurtful things. Perhaps this was someone who was closed off from the beginning, and you thought you could win their heart. But in the end, you discovered they were exactly who they seemed to be all along. This experience might have left you nearly depressed, unable to see your own worth, and lacking the motivation to go out and meet other people.

And yes, you might have had help from a friend, a relative, or a female figure who came to you and told you that you are worth it, that you have all the potential and capacity to find someone who will recognize you and not deceive you in the end.

What you heard from these people might have been hard to accept at first, but it’s true. You have the capacity. I see you meeting someone new, perhaps around your age, someone very intelligent and creative. This person will be interested in you, but I see you being a bit tough with them because of what happened to you.

I see you taking your time to reply to their messages when they invite you out, playing a bit hard to get. But every time you meet with this person, it's positive; it’s an important moment.

It's fun!

You’ll find yourself in a stable relationship with this person. I see you two becoming best friends first, and then evolving into something more, into love.

This person will show you a very romantic side, perhaps a part of them that you didn’t expect. At first, they might have presented themselves in a certain way, but as your relationship deepens, things will evolve and become more natural. That’s what you’ll need to pay attention to. You need to let things flow naturally, stop trying to control or idealize too many people, too many conversations, behaviors—just let things happen as they will.

And while this person from your past may still be on your mind, still in your thoughts, the universe wants you to let that go. Move on—it's in the past. You deserve to be with someone who is good for you, not someone who hurt you and crushed your self-esteem.

Pile III

Well, I'm not sure if you're aware, but right now, you’re manifesting a very important soul connection, the kind where you might feel what the other person is feeling, have strange experiences like shared dreams, and connect with this person on incredibly deep levels without knowing why.

I believe you’re a very spiritual person, someone who knows their worth. You seem to be more introverted, perhaps spending a lot of time at home, but recently, you might have considered going out more.

You might meet this person when you’re out, perhaps in a place you don’t usually go to, with people you aren’t particularly close with. You’ll meet this person unexpectedly, and it will feel like a clash of souls between you two.

You’re trying to leave behind what has hurt or bothered you, trying to move forward every day, but you’re also quick to judge the people who come into your life. Sometimes, even if someone just says hi, you might immediately think they’re not your type or that you have nothing in common, not giving them a chance to get to know you.

You could meet this person while traveling, perhaps to a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Suddenly, you meet them, and it takes you by surprise.

I see you feeling unsure whether this person is truly attracted to you, whether they feel the same connection you do. You might have a lot of doubts about this.

It’s possible that you two will be in a long-distance situation, even if you’re in the same city. Maybe you didn’t exchange numbers; you saw each other a few times in different places and then went your separate ways. I see you seeking answers through the Divine or through things that are beyond what we can see, because you’ll sense that this connection is something different.

You and this person are very different—not just physically, but in personality and maturity. You are more mature than they are. This person still feels like a teenager in some ways, even though they’re an adult. Their actions and behaviors are still very youthful, and not in a positive sense. However, I don’t see this as an obstacle to you being together.

This person will miss you a lot, and you’ll miss them too, especially due to the distance between you. You won’t quite understand why you’re apart, but it will feel like there’s something bigger at play.

This person still has a lot of growing up to do, which might be why you’re not together yet—they need to go through certain experiences to mature because the universe is taking care of this connection. Whatever it is, the universe will do everything possible to bring you and this person together.

Besides this person, you might also receive romantic interest from others, such as someone in your workplace who finds you charming. They may try to win you over with gifts, attempting to capture your heart in various ways.

[luffysprincess]

LIE DETECTOR TEST : BACHIRA MEGURU

⊹ summary : the blue lock boys are invited to take a lie detector test, but they’ve got to answer twitter’s unfiltered questions

⊹ pairing : bachira meguru x reader (established relationship)

⊹ wc : 640

⊹ warnings : fem!reader with she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as a “wife”, suggestive/nsfw. MINORS DNI

⊹ a/n : i recommend reading isagi’s version first for more context and a hugee thank you to @nymphsdomain for finding the link to a rb and to aali <3 (@tteokdoroki ) for reblogging this and isagi’s parts in the first place bc shes the reason these could even be found again!! 

⊹ isagi’s version I kunigami’s version

Isagi could only huff out as he tucked his phone back into his pockets. He should’ve expected this honestly, considering he’s known the man for years now.

It’s been quite some time since Bachira’s been hooked up to the machine. Only a few minutes were spent calibrating it with some straightforward questions, but since then, he’s gone into full, honest detail to every question Twitter had for him. And it had every person in the room looking at him with either pure shock and/or amusement.

“…and that’s when I had her squirting all over the back of the team’s bus”

Kunigami spit out his water, and Isagi’s eyes grew wider than ever before as they both turned to him.

“What?! When did this happen?!”

Bachira chuckled at their reaction, “Last match ♡”

“Milo?”

“No lies so far,” Milo laughed.

“Wait…don’t Rin and Barou always sit in the back…“

“Yup” Bachira answered proudly.

“Oh my god. They’re gonna kill you when they watch this.”

“That’s if they watch it. Which they won’t.”

“Alright next question! Twitter user @/bachirasbitch asks What’s your wildest sexual fantasy and why does it include me?”

Kunigami whistles, “Your fans are just as shameless as you”.

“They’re right though. It does include them. And the rest of my fans too.” Bachira chuckles at the looks he’s getting from his teammates before continuing, “I’ve always wanted an audience for what me and Y/N do behind closed doors. I think it’d be pretty exciting knowing someone’s watching me pleasure my wife.”

“You should make an only fans account then,” the interviewer suggests. “Your fans would probably love that.”

“Now who says I don’t already have one,” he winks back.

“Well do you?”

“I don’t have to answer that. I’m here to answer Twitter, not you” he grins.

“Fair enough,” the man sighs. “Let’s see, we’ve got time for one more question for you. @/bluelickmyclit asks What’s the most awkward thing that’s ever happened between you and one of your teammates?”

“Ooh I like this question.”

“I don’t” chimed Isagi.

“So before my wife and I moved into our apartment, we used to be next door neighbors with Yoichi. The way the floor plan was had us sharing a wall between our bedrooms. I know, silly design. Now this happened quite some time ago; before I got married, and back when this guy—” he points his thumb over to Isagi who’s hiding his face in his hands “—was single. I don’t know if I’d call this the most awkward incident but it was pretty awkward, ‘cause there wasn’t a single night we went to sleep without hearing him moan out Y/N’s name. And I mean every night—“

“Ok!” Isagi interrupted, cheeks and ears tinted pink. “I think they get it”

“I don’t know why it took him so long to realize the walls were paper thin. Y/N and I aren’t exactly the quietest people out there. He had to have heard us every night too— ow” Isagi cut him off with a punch to the arm, sick of his teasing which only furthered Bachira’s amusement.

“I hope you know Y/N found it very flattering”

“Shut up and take the cuffs off.”

“She thinks it was cute”

“Kunigami, hurry up and connect to the machine.”

“I’m rather enjoying this, actually. How often was this happening again?”

“Every night” Bachira and Kunigami continue to tease Isagi, laughing at him as he attempts to unhook one teammate and attach the sensors to the other instead.

Bachira had never had so much fun in an interview before. He couldn’t wait to go home and tell you all about it and then watch it with you when it aired. But for now, he’d enjoy messing with his friends like this. And now that Kunigami was up next, he was looking forward to it even more.

[achilles-rage]

thinking about older neighbour!john price hearing you knock on his door one october night, just barely audible over the sound of heavy rain hitting his roof and windows, and the thunder and lightning in the distance.

MDNI 18+ Only!

he ushers you inside quickly, seeing that you're already slightly damp from walking across your lawn and to his front door. he notices you shivering, a blanket thrown around your shoulders, and puts an arm around you as he leads you to sit on a stool in his kitchen while he makes you some tea.

"i’m sorry. the power's been out all day, and my house is freezing. i saw your lights still on, and i just thought-" you begin to say apologetically, but he cuts you off with a tut, shaking his head.

"don't apologize. you're always welcome here. you can stay the night, if you want. the generator's still got a ton of juice." he tells you gruffly, sliding your mug across the counter and leaning across from you, his elbows propping himself up. you thank him softly as you pick up the tea, letting it warm up your hands, but not taking a sip yet.

"you're freezing. why don't we go sit on the couch? i've got the fireplace going, it'll warm you up in no time." you nod, smiling softly as you stand up. he smiles when you immediately turn and walk to his living room. he loves how comfortable you are in his space.

he thinks he won the jackpot when he moved in next door to you, this soft, sweet thing that was quick to introduce herself and bring him a fresh batch of cookies as a welcome to the neighbourhood.

pretty soon, after he insisted that there was no reason for you to pay someone else, you began asking him for help with things around your house. and in return, you brought him sweets. but, he always thought the best reward was seeing you plush tummy hidden by the fabric of your clothes, or a sliver of your thighs when you wore short dresses, or when you would wear lower cut shirts that gave him the perfect view of your soft tits.

you take a seat on the couch, immediately crossing your legs and wrapping the blanket tighter around you. he stands in front of you and holds out his hands, gesturing to the blanket. you raise your brow, giving him a confused look. he gently tugs it off of you, and silently makes his way to his laundry room, putting your blanket in the dryer, before coming back. he grabs you a different blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over your shoulders, muttering a soft "that's better" before he sits down beside you.

you talk to him in a quiet voice for a while, the only other sounds being the harsh sound of rain hitting his house, and the soft crackle of the fire burning in his fireplace. he tries so hard to be good, to keep his eyes on your face rather than trailing down your body. even though you’re covered by a blanket, it doesn’t stop him from imagining how you’d look under him, how you’d feel when he stretched you out around him, how you’d feel coming on his cock.

he suddenly gets an idea, and stands up, telling you he’s going to make some more tea. you try to protest, but he doesn’t want to hear a peep. you still look so cold, he lies, and he wants to make sure you don’t catch a cold. isn’t that sweet?

rather than going to the kitchen, however, he goes to check on his generator. he shuts it off quickly, grinning as he’s enveloped in darkness. he makes his way back to the living room with a battery powered lantern just in time to hear your sweet little voice call for him. you’re such a soft little thing, and if everything goes according to plan, you’ll be bouncing on his lap by the end of the night.

“it’s okay, sweetheart. i’m here. generator must’ve run outta gas. we can get closer to the fire if you want, it’ll keep us plenty warn.” he tells you in a smooth voice, grinning when he sees you look over at the fire and nod slowly.

he clears his throat as he moves to sit in front of the fire, leaning back against the couch. he pats the spot beside him, urging you to come sit with him.

once you’re beside him, you offer some of your blanket to him. he’s not cold. not at all. but what kind of man would he be to turn down such an inviting offer? it’s almost as if that gesture proves to him that you want him too, that although you came to his house in search of warmth, you were looking for him to warm you up, not his heater.

he’s sure that’s what sparked his newfound confidence, and soon enough, your clothes are discarded on the carpet beside you, and his cock is slowly stretching out your dripping hole.

“that’s it, sweetheart. let me hear you.” he growls quietly, eyes trained on your face contorted in pleasure. you whimper softly, moving yourself on his cock in a way that makes you see stars. while one of his hands helps guide you up and down on his thick cock, the other circles your puffy clit. he wants more than anything to watch you come apart for him, and right now, he’s holding back from coming too early.

he smirks when he hears the loud mewl escape your lips and you start to move in uneven bounces, shuddering on top of him. he moves his fingers in circles around your clit even faster, groaning at the sight of you tilting your head back in ecstasy.

“you gonna cum for me, sweetheart? you wanna cum on my cock?” he asks you roughly. he can feel himself twitching inside of you, and he knows he’s close, he just hopes you’re as close as he is. you nod your head vigorously, and the only sound you’re able to make is a high pitched whine, although he’s sure he can hear “please, john” between your incoherent babbling.

“cum for me, baby. let go for me.” he whispers, and after a few more seconds, something inside you snaps. your body goes rigid as you feel yourself coming on him, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you throw your head back. this sight is all it takes for him to let go as well. he cums with a loud grunt, followed by a moan as he feels himself filling you to the brim.

you bite your lip hard when you feel his seed against your velvety walls, and you slow your hips to a stop as you try to catch your breath, his cock still buried to the hilt.

the rest of the night consists of him pulling you into his arms and refusing to let you go. you lay on the carpet in front of the fire, being lulled to sleep by his steady breathing on your neck, and you’re sure john price will never be “just your neighbour” ever again.

likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[lokideservesahug]

Bound to falling in love

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Mick Schumacher x reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: None that I can see?

Notes: Unsurprisingly this won the vote. But I hope you like it :)

Summary: Mick Schumacher has been extremelyprivate with how soulmark his whole life. But what happens when the interest does ehat its best at, snooping. Well Mick Schumacher might just finally meet the celebrity that he doesn't at all have a tiny crush on...

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Yourusername

Yourusername: WE ARE SO BACK BABY!!🖤🖤 Mercedes CCH 2024 Incoming (I'm delusional)

Liked by Mickschumacher, Lewishamilton and 756,986 others

View all 533 comments

User1: I knew Y/N was an F1 girlie but I didn't know she was a Mercedes girl🤔

↳Yourusername: Have been for ever🖤

User2: Y/N is like me fr eith that caption

↳User3: Fr though😭 Like wdym 2nd place in sprint doesn't mean Lewis will get his 8th!?

↳Yourusername: Maybe he performed so well just to improve his ex-husband

↳User4: LMAO Poor Nico

Lewishamilton: Glad to see your support lies in the right place💪

↳Yourusername: OH my gosh. Sir Lewis Hamilton. It is an honour to speak to you

↳Lewishamilton: Maybe you should come to the Mercedes garage some time. I think certain people would love your company👀

↳User5: I think he just killed Y/N

↳User6: Wa she talking about himself or someone else. George perhaps? I'M so nosy!!!

↳User7: Well Mick is in the likes so that's where my money is...

↳User8: Sure grandma, the mkst soul ate obsessed obsessed In existence is caught up over Y/N...

↳User7: I mean it is Y/N Y/L/N

↳User8: True...

User9: Mick being in the likes👀

↳User10: Meh even if he does have a thing for Y/N, he'll still stick to his soulmate like he has done for decades.

↳User11: Hear me out, Y/N is his soulmate...

↳User10: Girl actualy shut up

↳User11: Just look at that twitter thread

↳User10: Hmmm interesting. It looks like it could be possible but the chances are 0.001% of it being her. Just because one user recognised it doesn't mean it's her

User12: Is anyone else really confused by all this talk of the twitter thread and that "one reply"

Liked by Yourusername

↳User13: basically people are trying to find out who Mick's soulmate is and currently people think it's Y/N

↳User12: OH... how random

↳User13: Yeah but tell me they wouldn't make the perfect couple...

Liked by Yourusername

↳User14: Y/N liking this comment + its replies twice is wild and shows she's as curious as us...

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Mick's phone

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Your phone | Mick's | Your phone

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Yourusername

Yourusername: This guy wouldn't leave me alone in Italy. He says he's in the family business of driving cars or smt

Liked by Mickschumacher, Lewishamilton and 1,023,987 others

View all 674 comments

User1: NO WAY.... DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT DOES

↳User2: Girl probably? Hopefully? Idk?

User3: We don't need confirmation now...but also we so do!!!

User4: Awww they really are perfect for each other!🥺🥰

Liked by Mickschumacher, Yourusername

Lewishamilton: Glad you two finally found the time to go on a proper date rather than letting Mick ogle you all day!

↳Mickschumacher: Thanks for that man...

↳Yourusername: Aww Micky, you stare at me all the time?

↳Mickschumacher: How can I not Schatz, you're the most gorgeous person in the whole world❤❤❤

↳Estabanocon: How sweet 🤢

↳Mickschumacher: Aww just let me be in love this once.

User5: Ugh he's so bf coded

Liked by Yourusername

↳User6: I SEE YOU LURKING Y/N

User7: did you guys see Mick say love? Ooh is this a new word added to the equation or....

Liked by yourusername

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

New story from Mickschumacher

(My darling, my soulmate. Finally all mine to love)

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist:@nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee

[fieldofdaisiies]

Broken Crown

pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader | type: angsty | words: 3,3k words | warnings: topics like pregnancy and kidnapping someone while pregnant are discussed as well as bad family relationships; based on this request

“Share your worries with me, my love.” Your hand tenderly caresses his arm, feeling his tense muscles beneath the tips of your fingers. “You shouldn’t carry the burden of them all alone.”

Eris‘ shoulders rise and fall with a deep inhale, and slowly he turns his head to you. There is a small, sad smile on his lips. His eyes close, and you can see the pain, the worry, etched upon his face.

His hand lifts and comes to rest on the barely-there bump of your belly. “I worry about you, my love,” he says, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “This,” —he flexes his fingers, before softly pressing down just the tiniest bit— “put you in more danger than you can ever imagine.”

Your hand folds over his. “I know that it could get dangerous.” You sit up in bed and Eris‘ hand falls to your thigh. “But only if Beron finds out. We will be careful, we have been careful for so long. He won’t know.”

Eris wants to believe you. He desperately does, but it is so damn hard. You are his mate and in your womb you carry his child. There is nothing but worry in his mind, his whole body in a constant state of fear for you two.

“And even if he found out, I could always run and escape and you would protect me.” You lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder. “Don‘t worry so much, my mate, and rather enjoys these fleeting moments we can share.” Turning your head a little, you kiss his arm. “We only have this time together, please, try to make the best of it.”

Eris sighs, but silently agrees and lies down in bed with you, his arm curled around you, his other hand once again resting on your belly, thumb stroking idly over your belly. Your shirt has risen a bit, and Eris used the chance to place his palm right on top of your skin, his warmth the most soothing thing to exist in this world.

“I can’t wait for Beron to be gone and for us to be able to love each other openly.” He turns his face to you and kisses your brow. “And I cannot wait to watch our little babe grow up. I know they will be as beautiful as their mother.”

“And their father,” you chime in and a small grin appears on your lips. Your mate chuckles and it makes his chest vibrate beneath you. 

He holds you for the rest of the night, always close, always tight. You know he doesn’t sleep. No for a single moment. Eris often finds it hard to fall asleep, or to sleep through or to feel enough at ease to entertain the thought of sleep.

In your early face of seeing each other he has slept well, telling you you brought him enough comfort to do so. It all changed when the mating bond snapped, and especially when you got pregnant. He hasn’t had a moment of rest since then, you think. And that hurts you, and you also feel guilty.

————————

The moment Eris leaves your secret meeting place in the morning, he covers her scent. Beron can’t be able to detect anything. To make sure you are safe, he also strengthens the shield he has put over you, covering both your pregnancy and any kind of small ounce of Eris‘ scent that should cling to you.

He smooths a hand over his long hair and i hales deeply, worry and uncertainty making his chest feel a little too tight. 

With a heavy heart, he returns to the First House, not able to meet his father’s gaze while they eat dinner in silence.

“Where have you been all night?” Beron asks and in the corner of his eye, Eris‘ notices how his mother‘s posture stuffs, her fingers curling tightly around her fork.

“Out.” Eris is tight, and quick. Maybe a tang too quick. 

Beron drops his fork with a snarl. “I have noticed as much. But where exactly have you been.”

Eris swallows thickly, the piece of meat he has just eaten almost getting stuck in his throat. Taking a gulp of water, he clears his throat. “I checked on the war camp—”

“Which one?”

“Thundercliff.”

Beron dips his chin to his chest and forks a piece of potatoes, chewing it with his mouth half open. “What did you want there?”

“See if everything was alright.”

“You slept there?”

Eris nods. “I did.”

Beron says nothing, only turns his attention back to his plate.

For the rest of the dinner, his father doesn’t talk to him anymore, or care about him, too focused on his food to even deign his son another glance.

Or so Eris thinks…

—————————

Two days have passed and Eris is sitting on needles. His fingers nervously drum an unsteady rhythm on his knee, his chest rising and falling with deep intakes of air.

You are always on time. You have not once been late in all the time you have known each other. Where the hell are you now?

His heartbeat picks up, the organ now hammering against his ribs. Eris feels how dread coils within him.

Where could you be?

Of course worry kicks in immediately, a myriad of thoughts bubbling up about something awful having happened to you. Maybe you were caught, maybe some medical issues, maybe Beron—

He won’t allow his thoughts to go there. There probably is a good explanation for why you are late. Maybe you got held up, maybe you weren’t feeling too, maybe you simply forgot.

Eris lets himself fall back onto the bed, groaning loudly. His heart is still racing, his skin clammy with cold sweat, fear and panic curling around his heart like a vice. 

He could go looking for you, but worries that would only get you into more danger. He can’t go home to you — no one knows about your relationship. If the heir to the Autumn Court would suddenly show up at your home, word would spread quickly and this would end fataö for you. He can’t risk it.

All he can do is wait. And hope. Hope that you will arrive shortly and that you are unharmed.

It is what he does — waiting, while being plagued by thoughts and ideas of all the terrible things that could have happened to you.

He needs to find you, his father and the people who gossip about you two be damned. 

Eris waits a moment longer, really making sure you are not arriving and by the time he gives up, the sun has already set behind the horizon, the Autumn Court now bathed in endless darkness.

Eris heads back home with a heavy heart, always on the look-out to catch sight of you, a trace or some hint of your whereabouts.

He needs to get his hound, give them your trace, and then let them help him find you. 

In moments like these, he wishes he wouldn’t have had to glamour the bond. He could simply tug at it and be led to you — but he can’t. Not with the magic he used to cover any small hint of it.

It would make things so much easier, but Eris knows that life isn’t easy for him, and has never been. That is not how it is supposed to be, his life was never meant to be simple — his fate was doomed the moment he was born.

Breathing heavily and with his heart hurting painfully,, Eris eventually returns to the Forest House after waiting for hours. If he doesn’t hear from you until the morning, he will go look, no matter the consequences.

The door falls shut behind him with a loud thump. It doesn’t startle him, he is too wrapped up in his worries to even notice. 

But one person in the Forest House does definitely notice.

“Eris!” Beron’s low voice hollows through the empty, cold corridors and it sends a shiver down the heir‘s spine — Beton is enraged, Eris can hear that in his voice.

His eyes close and he doesn’t want to move forward, already having an inkling of what might expect him and he could never accept it. 

If something happened to you, he would forever blame himself. And if you…the Mother forbid — he isn’t able to finish his thought. But without you in his life, he wouldn’t want to live on. He couldn’t do so. His heart would be in pieces, nothing but bloody, broken shards.

“Father,” he says and bows his head low, after the whole way to the end of the corridor where Beron‘s office is situated, has become a blur.

Slowly, the High Lord lifts his gaze from the table and a viscous grin splits his dry lips.

“Such a pretty little thing you have found yourself,” he drawls. “But she is nothing more than pretty and unfortunately lower fae.” 

Eris fingers curl towards his palms while his whole body feels like caving in, his heart cracking open.

“Nothing more than a piece of trash — in other words, scum. And I won‘t allow my sons to fool around with that kind of fae, hasn’t the thing with Lucien taught you anything?”

“What did you do?” Eris shouts and panic rolls through him.

“I took care of her so you wouldn’t have to bother with her any longer.”

He didn’t kill her, that is for sure, Eris still feels the bond. But Beron touched her, hurt her and he will pay for that. 

“You hurt her!” Eris spits, a fury coats his insides, making him see red.

“I am not such a cruel beast, since she finds herself with a…child I didn’t touch her. Mostly. And I assume it's yours?” Beron raises a brow, but gives Eris no chance to say anything as the answer is clear as water anyway. “Matters will take care of themselves though and neither of them will be a problem for you in the future — not the slut, nor the little bastard..” A sadistic smile replaces the former expression on his face.

Eris would kill him straightaway, but he needs Beton to tell him where you are. He can’t find you otherwise and you would…

“Where is she?” Eris dashes to Beron’s desk, his hands slamming down on the wooden surfaces. “You will tell me where she is! I demand it!”

Eris once again tugs at the bond but gets no answer. Nothing but cool silence from your side. You are surely hidden somewhere by Beron’s magic, somewhere where Eris will never be able to find you without Beron telling him. It could take days, weeks, months and that is too long. Too dangerous.

“Tell me!” he shouts again when Beton says nothing.

Beron tips his head back and roars with laughter. Once calm again, he says, “You demand it? As much as I remember I am the High Lord and your nothing more than a little—”

“I invoke the Blood Duel.” He is driven by fury and fear — a lethal combination.

The temperature in the room drops at least ten degrees and outside thunder strikes. Never in the history of the Autumn Court has ever a son invoked a Blood Duel against their father, and certainly not against the High Lord. This is about to change now.

“You are a fool, Eris Vanserra, think about the consequences.”

“I invoked the Blood Duel — you and me, a battle to death.” Eris straightens his posture, staring down at his father who is still sitting at his desk, now stiff as a pole. Eris is sure a flicker of hesitation and maybe also fear passes over his father‘s face, knowing what his son is capable of.

Slowly, a smirk spreads over Beron’s face and he reaches his hand out. “I accept.”

—————

The sun has barely risen, only merely peeking forward from behind thick clouds in the sky, bathing the Autumn Court forest in a soft yellowish glow.

Eris takes the last sip from his small flask when a knock sounds on his door. He places the small bottle down, and smoothes his hands down his jacket and his breeches.

“Lord Eris, it’s time,” a sentry calls.

“Coming!” the heir answers. His hand grasps his knife, the one made by Nesta Archeron, tightly and then he sets out.

Everything is going to change today if he is leaving this duel as its victor. The whole fate of the Autumn Court lies in his hands now. Beron has to fall, Eris has to win. When it is over he will find you, save you and proclaim you as his mate in front of all the Autumn Court. He will be the High Lord and you his High Lady.

The moment he steps outside, and the cool morning air greets him, he can hear hollowing and cheering — not for him, but for his father who is probably already strutting around the place where the duel will take place like a proud peacock.

Eris feels a knot tightening in his stomach, his heart almost pounding out if his chest. It is not the wish of becoming High Lord that drives him forward, but the fear about what happened to you and your whereabouts. He doesn’t care about anything else, he only needs to find you. And having to kill his own father…not an easy task, but one that needs to be taken earlier or later anyway. One he is willing to take for you.

Blood is thicker than water, is the saying. But you are his mate, and nothing is stronger than that.

Eris feels his throat tightening with anxiety, but drawing in a few deep inhales, he manages to calm himself a little and then moves into the glade, the open space for the duel, around which many Autumn Court citizens are already gathered.

“Father!” he greets, and can see the colour visibly drain from Beron‘s face when the High Lord turns to him. Beron had most definitely thought Eris would put his tail between his legs and would not show up.

But Eris Vanserra is no coward. And he will win this today. For you and the future of this court.

And so he mounts his horse, lance in one hand, shield in the other, and enters into a duel of life and death. And that against his own father.

Beron lands the first strike, but other than a small gash, his attack doesn’t do much harm. Very much to the High Lord’s surprise, Eris thinks, because he knows exactly that Beron dipped his lance in faebane, playing unfairly. 

He can’t see his father’s face behind the bronze helmet but he knows confusion is etched upon his face. 

Eris was smarter, he took the antidote against faebane before entering into this duel, already knowing his father’s foul tricks.

Beron lands the second strike as well. But then it is Eris' turn. He lands the third, the fourth and the fifth and when lifts his lance a sixth time, Beron slides off his horse, slumping to the ground. 

Eris dismounts his own horse, stalking towards where his father is lying on the ground, not lifeless but something close to this state. Eris stares down at him and slowly Beron’s eyes open in disgust.

“I take this as you give in?” Eris points the tip of his sword that he has pulled out from the leather strap around his waist at his father. He can’t take a risk now.

“You should be dead by now.” His lips part in a snarl.

“Well, as you can see, I am not.” Eris knows that the crowd gathered around them is holding its breath. This is a monumental event — a duel that decides over the future of this court and who the next High Lord will be.

The answer is simple: Eris. He won the duel. Beron lost.

“But…” Blood starts to spill from Beron’s mouth when he begins to shake his head. “The—”

“The faeban?” Eris raises a brow. “I knew you wouldn’t play fair, father. I took the antidote just in case.” Now Eris is the one grinning. He quickly tips his head at two warriors, signaling them to pick up his father. They follow his order, probably having already noticed the shift in power.

“I won’t do you the honour of making this quick. You deserve to rot in the dungeons for all you've done to me, to mother and my brothers.” Eris sheaths his sword with a loud rasps. Then he steps into his father, now held up by two warriors, and presses his forehead against his father’s. “And now, as your High Lord, I demand you tell me where my mate is!”

—————

“Darling!” Carefully, Eris lifts you into his arms and cradles you tightly. Your body immediately reacts to him, and you feel yourself relaxing. All is good now, and you are safe.

Your mate is here, and all is good although you notice a shift in power.

Eris‘ heart is hammering so rapidly, you can feel it through his body. He is out of breath, and crying and holds onto you as if his own life depends on it.

This is the moment where you realise that your life means more to him than his own and a sob parts your lips, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“You found me,” you cry, and brush your palm up his chest, resting it on his shoulder. “You came to find me.”

“You are my mate, my love, I would always find you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “I would cross the seven seas for you, climb every mountain and fight every imaginable beast. You are my mate I would conquer Hel itself for you.”

His lips brush yours in a light kiss, and tears start to spill from your eyes. You blink rapidly, when you notice light at the end of the endless and dark corridor and there is also—

Cheering and barking, loud chatter and laughter fill the air around you when you step outside the place you have been trapped in.

You don’t understand, but Eris is quick to offer an explanation that would pull the rug from under your feet if you were standing. It leaves you speechless, your mouth wide open in surprise, but it is pride and utter love that outrules all the other emotions.

“I am the new High Lord of this court, and from now on a better time will begin. I will rule with understanding and respect for my loyal subjects, alongside my High Lady and wife.” 

He kisses your brow and then grins at the cheering mass of people gathered, their joy tangible in the air. And so is Eris — his heart, your hand resting atop his chest, beating steadily and happily within his chest.

His High Lady!

——————

The first thing after his first official announcement as High Lord is that Eris summons six healers to check on you. You are trying to tell him that one is enough, but Eris doesn’t want to hear any of it.

He stays while they check on you and the baby, always observing them with an eagle’s gaze until the relief comes and you are told that both you and the babe are fine and no damage has been done to either of you.

“It’s all going to be good now,” Etis mumbles, leaning his head against yours that is resting on his shoulder.

“High Lord and Lady.” You beam, and turn your head making Eris lift his own. You lock eyes with him and then kiss him. “I love you, my High Lord.“

“I love you more, my High Lady.”

tags: @sunshinebingo @tarataraaaa  @brekkershadowsinger @azriels-mate123 @mandziaaa  @cosmic-whispers @mali22 @elsie-bells @imma-too-many-fandoms @kuraikei @ginnyweasley06  @bubnix  @powerfulpantera @secret-third-thing

[anxious-witch]

I apologize for irritable tone of this post, but a portion of this fandom is starting to irritate me, so let's analyze catwin through the lens of how age works for ghosts and how situational irony is used in a scene where Edwin and Niko talk about kissing.

Let's start with age. Right at the beginning, when Emma asks Charles and Edwin to take her case, she tries to play it off as her being just a little girl. This is what Edwin replies:

And before anyone jumps the gun and says: "He said SUPERNATURALLY speaking! He is still physically 16!"

Okay. Let's unpack that. Considering how for people who are immortal, which ghosts essentially are, and as such unchanging, that isn't quite a proper argument, is it? Because the way I see it, there are two ways someone could argue this. Either your gripe is about the Cat King finding Edwin attractive despite him physically being a 16 year old or your gripe is that Edwin is mentally 16 and as such, cannot consent.

If it's the first, I think that argument is quite lacking here, because we know the Cat King is aware Edwin is older than 16. And as someone who is an adult and often gets mistaken for a minor, I think the idea that you can just always tell someone's age by looking at them quite funny. Also, by that logic, I shouldn't be able to consent either, because people generally gauge my age to be between 16-18, when I am in my mid 20s.

If it's the second, your point doesn't work because being frozen at 16 would mean being unable to learn and develop firther than what you did by that age. Which we know is false for ghosts, especially Edwin. He changes and develops constantly throughout the s1, and we have a front row seat to that! Human brains aren't clear cut, and before you jump under the post to say your brain isn't fully develop until age 25, I will kindly tell you that human brains, in fact, never stop changing and developing. And that experiences, traumas, etc hugely impact developments of individuals.

One argument I can sort of is perhaps Edwin and Charles having somewhat stunted emotional growth, but as we also see throughout the season, that has more to do with them stagnanting rather than them being unable to emotionally develop. And frankly, I know bunch of adults with the same issues, so.

Now for the "But Edwin said he doesn't want to kiss the Cat King!" argument. How about we look at what Edwin says before that, huh?

He says he has never been kissed and didnt understand the appeal, until recently. And you cannot tell me it wasn't the Cat King who made him realize it. Yes, he wanted to kiss Charles and I am not saying he didn't like Monty too, but if it wasn't for the Cat King getting physically close to him and playing into his desires, he wouldn't have realized that he too, feel physical attraction!

As for him saying "Absolutely not!" When Niko asks him if he wants to kiss the Cat King, I think that's laughable argument to saying "Well, see, he didn't want him!" Because first of all, characters can lie. Edwin most certain, lies about things he wants, both to himself and others, up until pressed.

Besides, if I am not mistaken, given English isn't my first language and I learned this stuff in a different language, this is also called situational irony, aka, someone say something won't/can't happen and then it happens. This is very often seen in romance plots too. A characters says they hate someone and then they end up dating them.

Think of Lizzy Benett and Darcy

And then she goes ahead and married him later, once her opinion of him changes. It's a classic romance trope!

Similarly, Edwin says he doesn't want to kiss the Cat King and what happens at the end? Oh yeah!

He kisses the Cat King. Shocker.

But yeah just like. Y'all are free to not like the ship for whatever reason, but for the love of god, stop making up stuff that's just blantantly untrue. There is an "anti catwin" tag for a reason, if you truly cannot stop yourself from commenting, but in all honestly, you could just enjoy your own ship without putting other ppl's ships down. Cat King is not perfect by any means, but this isn't a predator type of situation. I and many others have addressed the whole "coercion" bit quite a few times so I won't get into it again, but these two arguments I have seen pop up and I just had to address it. Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[daphwritesworld]

#23 A. Russo– digital bath.

content: daddy kink, strap on(r receiving), eating pussy (both receiving), fingering (r receiving), hair grabbing, manhandling, cock warming, impact play, referring to strap as a cock, dom/sub relationship, top!Alessia, bottom!reader

warnings: slight intoxication while having sex, dom lessi, teammates hearing you two fuck, spankings

synopsis: You drunkenly claim that Alessia is a bottom to the team…she shows you & them just how bad you’re lying through your teeth.

word count: 2.6k

!! MINORS DNI!! 18+ CONTENT

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The teams all gathered in an air bnb for the weekend. It’s supposed to be a “team bonding trip,” but considering how close you all were– it’s really just like a mini vacation. It’s the second night and well into the evening. A few hours have passed since someone, you can’t remember who broke out the wine, but you’re two and a half glasses deep already. Your girlfriend’s disappeared to the bathroom and you’re starting to clench your thighs together every time you think of her. Alcohol always brings out the more horny and risky side of you. Usually so soft-spoken and shy discussing anything like that..goes right out the window after the tipsy level has been reached.

“so who tops, you or less?” a drunk Leah lets out from across the couch.

You’d usually blush and tell her to mind her business or shut up, but the alcohol cursing through everyone’s veins was making you feel confident…and stupid. 

“Obviously, it’s me. Don’t you notice how she does everything I say or want?” a smirk crossing your face as you lift your drink back to your lips to take a sip. The burn masking the lies you know will catch up with you sooner rather than later. 

“Oh my god, she even ties your shoes for you without you asking!” Beth chimes in with a laugh 

“Or how all she has to do is give Russo one look and she shuts right up!” Lia starts getting in on the discussion. 

“See, I told you. I’ve got her on a leash—“

“And who would that be, love? With the collar on and everything?” the color drains from your face as the all too familiar voice from the hallway entrance fills the room. 

Silence follows as her footsteps get closer. You can’t even look up at her, picking at your fingers and looking at your lap to distract yourself. You don’t even look up at her when her feet are right before you. Her fingers reach for your chin, bringing your face up. When your eyes don’t follow she starts counting back from, “five.” your heartbeat starts to pick up. “four,” her voice gets more stern. “three,” her grip tightens on your jaw. “two,” you gulp as you bite your lip weighing your options. “O-“You look up at her, eyes pleading for her to be nice. 

“Look who decided to listen. Now stand u-“ 

“No! Less, baby please..” 

“Stand up and say your goodnights. Now.” 

You can tell she’s not playing around from the look on her face and the tone she’s using with you. So you do as she says, rising off the couch and biding your teammate’s goodnight before she’s leading you to the room you’d be sharing for the weekend. The first one on the left as you enter the hall a.k.a the closest one to the living room where all the girls still reside. As soon as the door’s shut she’s got her hand in your hair, bringing you to the bed. She sits herself down first, laying your body down across her lap. She releases her grip on your hair before running her hands down your body, stopping at your waist to yank your shorts down. They collect at your ankles, Alessia letting a groan out as you flinch from the cold air hitting your wet pussy. 

“No panties on, babe? What am I gonna do with you, naughty girl?” 

Before you get a chance to respond she’s letting one of her hands come down onto your ass. You let out a small yelp of pain and quickly cover your mouth, going red at the thought of any of the girls hearing you from so close. 

“Move. Your. Hand.” she spanks you harder after each word, switching between cheeks to not overwhelm you. 

When you don’t make a move to comply with her, she lets out a loud sigh. Her disappointment apparent as she yanks both of your arms behind you, keeping both your wrists bound to the small of your back with just one of her hands. 

Her other one disappears for a few seconds, but before you can think about it.. you hear it. The clacking of her belt coming off, pulling it through the loops of the jeans she’d worn out tonight. 

“You’d think you would of learned to listen by now…unless you just like getting punished. Like winding me up and getting put back in your place after,” the laugh she lets out is bone-chilling. She rubs your ass a few times before you feel the first one. It’s not too bad, but enough to finally bring some tears to your eyes. 

“Alessia!’ it comes out whiney, high pitched, and so so loud. 

It’s followed by another 14, the next one harsher than the last. 

“Lessia, please touch me. I promise I’ll be a good girl for you! J-just please!” your crying at this point, slipping deeper into subspace by the second. 

“You did so good for me, Love. Took all your spankings without complaint. Now let’s reward you a bit, yeah?” She leans down to leave light kisses on your back. Rubbing softly over your ass to not hurt you more, she could tell you’d be bruised there tomorrow and aching before sunrise. You nod your head as you look back at her, tears still flowing and pussy still dripping. She doesn’t waste any time running her fingers through your folds and collecting your wetness to bring up and ghost over your clit. She brings them back down after teasing you, shoving two of her fingers into your pussy to your surprise. A loud moan rips from your throat as you get used to the stretch. The slight sting makes you wetter if possible, already creating a puddle on Alessia’s jeans. She picks her pace up when she feels it soaking through to her skin, her thumb coming up to rub your clit. 

“Lessie, you feel s-so fucking go-good!” your brain is fuzzy at this point. Stuttering and slurring your words as the pleasure starts to blind you. Your toes curling and your thighs squeezing shut– but it doesn’t last. Not for long anyway, because Alessia is pulling her fingers out and away from you. 

“That was mean!” you’re flipping your body around, arms crossed over your chest as the tears roll down your cheeks and the pout wobbles on your lips. 

“Oh look at you, crying ‘cause you didn’t get to cum. I’ve got you so fucking spoiled, don’t I?” Alessia is doing that cold laughter from before, and something about it still sends a rush down your spine. Then she’s up rummaging around in her overnight bag as you stay sulking on the bed. 

“Maybe if you apologize nicely, I’ll let you come on my cock,” it’s spoken so softly compared to everything else she’s said tonight that you fold. Your head jumps up to look at her at the end of the bed and your mouth flies open. She’s stark naked besides the lacey black bra adorning her chest, and the brand new strap-on attached to her waist. The sight truly takes your breath away for a moment until she grabs your ankles and pulls you to her. She manhandles you so her cock rests on your pussy, letting her hand come down and lightly slap your inner thigh.

“I-I’m sorry, baby! I don’t know what came over me to lie, I swear! I won’t do it again, I-I promise!”

“Mm I don’t know, Love..I think you can do a bit better than that, don’t you?” she’s giving you a knowing smirk. One you’ve only seen a few times when she’s in the mood for a certain name. Your eyes go wide, “b-but the girls-”

“Then you better stay quiet,” she says it in a way that leaves no room for discussion. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry I lied to the team. I’m sorry if I embarrassed or disrespected you…so so sorry! Just wanna be your good girl and cum for you,” your hands come up and guide hers to your breasts. “Just wanna make it up to you, Daddy..”

Alessia groans shortly, cutting it off early to hear the gasp you always let out when she lines her hips up and first pushes the tip in. No matter how many times she’s fucked you, it always stretches you the same. She goes slowly and at your pace, until she bottoms out, rubbing circles on your hips as she waits for your go-ahead. After a few minutes, you look up and nod at her, giving her permission to fuck you…but nothing could’ve prepared you for the way she starts jackhammering her plastic cock into you. Pulling all the way out so she can hear your pussy squelch every time the head dives back in. 

“Ales–”

She stops for a second, throwing your legs up over her shoulders, “That’s not my fucking. Name.”. She thursts extra hard for emphasis making your eyes start to cross. Leaning forward and forcing the strap even deeper inside you at this position. 

“Daddy!” the word flies out faster and louder than anything else you’d said that night, making your girlfriend smile against your forehead as she leans down to press a kiss there. “Ohh f-fuck, your so fucking b-big!” Your hands grab at her forearms, nails digging into Alessia’s skin. 

“You like my big cock, Baby?” she’s biting at your bottom lip now, pulling it away as you moan at the feeling as she lets it go. 

“I fucking love it!” you’re staring into each other’s eyes at this point. Alessia hissing as your nails buried in her forearms start to scratch down, the burn of it creeping up and helping build towards her orgasm. She moves your hands to her back as she lets one of hers find your clit. Rolling figure eights over your sensitive bud, a white creamy ring appearing around the base of her strap. 

“C-can I cum, Daddy?” 

“Not yet, Cuore Mio. Hold it for me,” she’s finally starting to break a sweat at this point. Her baby hairs starting to stick up from her ponytail.

“I c-can’t, Less!”

“Oh yes, the fuck you can. And you will. Don’t you dare cum until I say, you understand?” her voice goes back to being stern, and her thrusts get harder, her frustration with you focusing all into her hips now. Fucking you with so much passion she swears she can feel your pussy gripping her dick like a real piece of her body. She’s too wound up to even make you correct yourself, letting the name slips go by unnoticed.

���I-I’m so-sorry!” you let out a squeal as the straps pushed out of your pussy by the liquid spraying out of it, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your back arches. 

Alessia’s stuck between wanting to suck the squirt off your pussy or edging you till tomorrow. She settles for a groan of “Fuck, Amore Mio!”

Her fingers instantly start trailing down to replace her cock, curling them into your g-spot and rutting them into it over and over again. Your hand reaches for her wrist trying to slow her down, but it’s no use, she slaps it away with her other one. Your eyesight starts to blur as the coil in your stomach winds back up again, and you try to warn her with a few grunts and moans. She’s got you rendered speechless from the overstimulation, eyes rolling again as she closes her lips around your clit. You soak her fingers instead of her abdomen this time, placing a soft kiss on your clit before standing back up. 

That’s when you see it– the light glistening off her chin and lower mouth. Your cheeks flush as she pulls you in for a kiss, tasting yourself on her lips. 

“Turn around, Love,” she says with a frown, and you know she’s still mad at you for cumming without permission. “And get into position.” 

“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry,” and for once tonight you just do as she asks you the first time. You place your knees open before laying your head on the mattress, arching your back as much as you can. Your beaten ass is on full display for your girlfriend to see her handy work, and she can’t help but to reach for her phone and snap a photo of you like this before tossing it back down. A little reminder if you ever forget this lesson and want a sneak peek back into it again. 

Alessia grabs ahold of your waist with one hand while the other grabs her strap. She grinds against your pussy a few times, getting the strap wet before sliding in balls deep with no hesitation. This angle has the harness hitting her clit perfectly, and her fucking you wildly as she chases the feeling. You hear the groans, moans, and pants from behind you, and try to picture how pretty her face looks. Something about the sounds Alessia is making makes you throw your ass back. The hard smack of your hips hitting hers sends shock waves through her body. Her brows furrow, her grip tightens on your waist, and her sounds of pleasure start being growled into your ear. She’s got a hand in your hair– pulling your head back with a gaspy moan leaving your lips. “Fuuuck, Tesoruccio. Keep going, Baby!” 

And so you do. You push your ass back against her harder in this new position, her legs starting to shake as yours do. “I-I’m close, Lessie!”

“I’m close too, Baby! Cream all over this dick for me, go on,” she’s groaning out how much she loves you, her own cum running down and mixing with yours. Making a mess as your left brain dead, repeating “Thank you!” over and over as your body shakes from how hard the orgasm rocks you. 

She goes to pull out after you’ve both calmed down some– but you wrap your legs around her waist with a pout.

“Don’t go,” you say softly as you take her hands into yours. Interlocking them and placing them above your head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love. just to get us cleaned up.”

“No, I mean..stay inside me, please? Wanna sleep like this, baby.”

And how could she say no to that? So she scoops you up in the same position and slowly but surely gets you placed under the covers and snuggled up against your girlfriend(and her fake cock).

-bonus-

The next morning…

After a nice wake-up fuck, courtesy of your girlfriend– you decided to slide that harness off her and eat her out. Her hand is in your hair, guiding your head along her pussy as you both try and stay quieter this time. Your eyes are on the verge of rolling just from the sight of her, her chest rising and falling as you bring her closer to the edge with every flick of your tongue.

“Fuck me with your tongue now, yeah just like that! Good girl, Love,” you’re dizzy off the praise she’s giving you, fingernails digging into her thighs as you moan into her pussy.

Her grip in your hair tightens as she starts humping up against your mouth, her wetness and cum getting all over your face as you savor the times like this when she’s the one underneath you. (even if she is the one in charge still)

When she cums for the second time in a row, she pulls your mouth up towards her own. Sharing a kiss and finally starting to get up and dressed for the day

“You brought your own clothes you know?” your girlfriend says as she pulls your back into her chest. you can feel the rumble of her laugh as she leans down slightly to leave a kiss on the back of your neck. “And you know i’ve been looking for this hoodie you, Mostriciattolo!” it’s followed by a light slap to your ass. Not too hard to hurt your bruises, but not soft enough to not feel it.

“Yeah i did ..but they don’t smell like you, or fit like yours, and well…too bad so sad, babe! Finders keepers losers weepers!” You turn around and plant a kiss on her lips before going to the door, clad in some of her training shorts and a hoodie of hers you had actually packed with you. You can still remember her running around looking for it while playing the oblivious girlfriend…But once you both make it to the kitchen it is an all-out brawl. 

“You know I never took you for the Daddy type. Leah sure, but you?? I’m actually taken aback. Some best friend you are!” Ella is the first to break the intense stare-down between everyone in the room.

“OH DADDY YEAH RIGHT THERE!”

“Who did that? I do NOT sound like that!” you finally chip in after hearing the god-awful pornstar-level rendition of your voice, a deep crimson blush spreading across your cheeks.

“I’m scarred for life after last night, remind me to never get a room next to yours again. I swear you lot they were up at 6am fucking AGAIN,” Leah grimaces at the thought, “how you two got like 3 hours of sleep and still managed to go again for two hours this morning is actually bloody ridiculous. You both should be studied in a fucking lab.”  

The kitchen breaks out into loud laughter and incessant teasing remarks as you bury your face into Alessia’s neck to hide. She’s about to rip into everyone for making you upset, but she feels the smile and the small laughs against the skin of her neck and relaxes.