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

[dear-ao3]

by popular request: how to write an email

a disclaimer that this is the specific kind of email you send when people are absolutely smiting you and you know a phone call or an in person meeting is not possible/will not help. like youre 12 emails deep in an email chain and going in circles. youve been re routed to 13 offices 4 separate times. those kind of emails.

credentials: ive taken something like 13 semesters of college (dont ask) and every single semester have had to fight at least 3 offices for varying reasons in order to take classes. (including one time where i was shorted 5k in financial aid. i ended up getting 200 more dollars than i needed in the end) also my dad taught me everything he knows about emails (hes a tradesman turned corporate man and most of his job consists of telling people (nicely) that what theyre doing sucks and makes absolutely no sense)

Step 1: figure out who the email needs to go go

there is nothing wrong with emailing 11 million people if it gets the job done. if someone isnt helping you and you Know that they Should Be feel free to start to copy their boss on the email. copy your boss on an email. (or advisor or whoever). even if you think the person might only be like Vaguely helpful, sometimes people know people.

also theres nothing wrong with emailing the same email to several departments. sometimes you have to make a lot of noise to get something done (again. as like a last resort. dont email 11 million people right out of the gate)

Step 2: remember to be Polite

a very tempting step to ignore especially when you are 13 thousand emails deep in problems. but! if you are not nice to them! they will probably continue to smite you in the future! you want to make friends! not foes! so no matter how much people are smiting you, try to resist the urge to be an utter dipshit because it will not get the job done. vent to a friend or a coworker and send your polite and nice email

Step 3: articulate the problem Clearly.

a very important step. especially if you are adding more people to your email chain. dont assume they know your exact problem. they probably are dealing with other problems. articulate Clearly what is happening, no matter how long the email may be. its far better to get a long and detailed email rather than a non helpful short one. that will only prolong the process of how long it takes the problem to get solved.

Step 4: cite your reciepts.

wildly important. send your screenshots your attachments your whatever the fucking fuck youve got. its always good to have a paper trail. this is also where you would state any previously attempts to have the problem Sorted (ie i reached out to x person on x y and z days about x problem and it is still not resolved). you would not believe how many people dont scroll down in an email, especially a forwarded/replied one. so summarize whats Down There in your most recent email

Step 5: use the appropriate lingo

you dont have to be Overly Formal but there are a few good Buzz Sentences that usually get the job done. for example:

As Per My Last Email: a great line. emphasizes that youve already mentioned this. and this is not the first time youre mentioning this point. also emphasizes that the Thing has yet to be solved

See Attached/See Below: under utilized. again. people do not open attachments and they do not scroll down. almost had a friend once fail a class because a professor gas lit them in an email chain saying they didnt receive the final paper when the paper itself was attached earlier in the email chain. be Painfully Literal. it pays off.

Help Me To Understand: this is one of my dad's favorite lines. it really shows that you have no fucking idea what the person youre emailing is getting at and youre offering them the opportunity to spell out their nonsense for you. so that you can then be like. well. clearly This is where the miscommunication lies. its a great line. has saved my ass many times. because it is not accusing it is just offering someone to understand. it does not attack. it just is.

Step 6: give a polite sign off.

something along the lines of "thank you in advance for any help" or "i look forward to hearing from you" does the job. something that sends the message you are not pissed to shit at them even if you are.

Step 7: follow up and follow up often.

polite email response time is 48 business hours/2 business days. if it has been longer than that you have every right to email back and say hi x person just following up on this email, have you had the chance to review it yet? again. keep it polite. you actually want them to help you. and if they still dont respond well then maybe its time to loop in a boss or a supervisor or whoever the hell else. dont be afraid to go above them if you need to. nothing wrong with getting shit done when it needs to get done.

and really, if all that fails, as my dad says, a little office bribe in the form of cookies has never hurt anyone :)

so an email. should be formatted something like this:

Greetings/Good Morning (Afternoon) (Person)

I hope this email finds you well (or something similar for a greeting). I am reaching out regarding X incident/problem/whatever the fuck it is. I have previously reached out to X person on X dates and (summary of whatever they did or didnt do). See below/attached emails/pdf/screenshot/document (if applicable)

(explanation of the problem in as simple and detailed terms as possible. have someone re read it to make sure that it cannot be misconstrued)

(explanation of what you are looking for as a solution)

Please help me to understand why this (solution) has not been able to be reached. (explain you are on x timeline if the situation is urgent)

Kind regards/Thank you for any help in advance/I look forward to hearing from you etc,

email signature

go forth and conquer your emails. remember, sometimes you have to be a squeaky wheel. and in my million cases of email sending, it has ALWAYS paid off and i have gotten the problems solved. dont be afraid of the emails they can help you.

[writing-till-i-am-dead]

Stargoth oneshot - Letter

It's not like Buddy liked Chase. He didn't. Honest, he really didn't. And you know he's being honest because he never lies... ok, well, he's lied a couple times.. actually, he's lied a lot. But he's really not lying about this. Because, what is there to like about this idiot? Because that is what he is, an idiot. Plain and simple. With his obviously fake blonde hair and forever-outside voice. The guy should just get the hell out of his way if he knows what's good for him. And that's what he's been telling him.

But he never thought Chase would actually listen.

3 weeks. 3 whole weeks since Chase has been in a book. This was starting to seriously piss him off. Where the hell was he? 

Now, reader, before you start getting ideas that Buddy actually misses Chase, you better think again. Chase has something he wants, the heroine key, and that is it. He just wants the key, so fuck off if you're questioning his honesty in the beginning. 

"Buddy?" calls out a voice, to which Buddy immediately jumped. But don't think he was excited! Or startled. He was merely jumped into action to follow it. However, he quickly realized that wasn't the voice of the blonde, but rather the even more unbearable brunette. 

"What are you doing with the heroine key?" Buddy asks, leaning against the stone archway. He looks around. Another high-fantasy novel with a castle. He's starting to figure out who's the one choosing these books in the first place.

Deacon whips his head around to face Buddy. "Geez. How do you do that?"

"Hm? Do what?"

"Just.. appear out of nowhere? Like you're teleporting or something?"

Buddy scoffed. This idiot really thought he was teleporting? As if someone could top Chase's idiocy. "You still haven't answered my question."

Deacon sighs. "Chase has been.. whining, lately."

Buddy scoffs. "When is he not?"

This got a chuckle from the brunette.

"You guys had some sort of fight in the last book you did together?"

Buddy raised an eyebrow and tried to remember. But, he and Chase would always fight, so he couldn't remember any of the specifics. "Probably."

Deacon rubbed his face, clearly frustrated. Deacon seemed to get peeved with Chase a lot, which gave Buddy a sick satisfaction. Not because he's jealous, of course not. But because if the two don't work well together, it'll be easier to make them crack. Give him information. Stop trying to twist his words.

Deacon groaned. "Well, something you said seriously offended him and he's refusing to use Silver, and has been using Bronze, instead."

Buddy felt his eye twitch, Deacon noticing and taking a step back. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"What did I say that could've offended him that badly?!"

"Hey, you know how fragile his ego is."

Buddy makes a light 'tsk' and puts his hands on his hips. "Well this definitely is.. annoying." Before you think I'm annoyed because now I won't see him, that is not the reason. It's annoying because Chase was a much bigger slip up than his ugly, freckled companion. Buddy can extract more information from him. 

"Tell me about it. We've had lots of trouble collecting narratonin now, since the heroine key.. yknow.. summons you."

Buddy raises an eyebrow. "Well, then. He must not be that determined to collect it, huh?"

"Don't talk like that, Buddy. You don't know. He's been telling me to use the key, as long as I go into different books. But I just haven't wanted to deal with you on my own."

Buddy nods in agreement. "I would rather rip my hair out then be alone with you."

"Look. All I ask is you apologize."

"Look," Buddy says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't even know what it is I said that is worth an apology."

"It was something about his singing, I think? And the narratonin? He gets really heated everytime he talks about it and then shuts down.

Ya, that did sound familiar. Buddy rubbed his temples in an attempt to remember.

"Snap and clap and touch your toes! Raise your hands, now body roll! Dance it out, you're hot to gooooo!!"

"CAN YOU STOP THAT!?" Buddy snaps. "You've been singing that tune all day!"

Chase rolls his eyes. "You are just jealous of my singing."

"Oh trust me, I am anything but. You're singing is like nails on a chalkboard. Grating and makes me wish I didn't have ears! You better hope you collect enough narratonin fast, before too many people are cursed to have listen to your voice and will never give you another chance to sing, even when you use the narratonin to make you bearable to listen to!"

....

Chase left the story after he said that. But Buddy hadn't sweat it too much. Why would he? They always bicker. But based on the look that Deacon was giving him, he could tell that he had screwed up.

"That's.. definitely too far, Buddy."

"I- How was I supposed to know he'd take it to heart?!"

Deacon shakes his head. "Look, whatever. You can't take back what you said and that's fine. But you can at least make up for it. Maybe write him a letter? The bedroom I woke up in the basement had a desk and some paper. Maybe go write something in there?"

Buddy raises a brow before tilting his head back. "Fine! Whatever. Only because of my own reasons, though! Not because I feel bad. Don't go and get the wrong idea!" he calls out as he enters back into the castle, bulldozing through guards.

"Move, move, Evil Queen, make way." He reads down the spiral staircase, twists and turns, twists and turns. By the time his feet hurt in his heeled shoes, he finally reached the basement.

The room felt all too familiar. Small, box shaped with a thick layer of dust on every surface. A creaky bed, about as soft as a rock, and blankets covered in bed bugs. This... was why he didn't really want the heroine key. Of course, he's still going to retrieve it. It's part of his job. But he will never use it. He's already got a crappy life. Why make himself live through another's?

He sits himself in a creaky oak chair, which gave him a few splinters, causing him to flinch. A small pile of thick paper and a quill with mostly dried out ink. But, still good to use. He wish he knew why his words upset Chase so much. Not because he genuinely feels bad, but because it would make this letter less of a hassle to write. He scribbles up in the corner of the parchment to check if the ink works. He then taps a couple of times in an effort to think of what to write. Buddy, despite all of his time dedicated to reading books, has never been good at words. Things never come out right and he always overthinks it, always adding parenthesis and commas to make his point more clear, out of the fear he's not being explicit enough.

"Dear Chase,

I still cannot believe that you let slip what your name was. You truly are 

I apologize that my words had offended you. I may not know what you plan to do with the narratonin, probably something stu. Your singing is really not that bad. It only makes me want to claw my ears off a little. I do think that you can have a big audience if you put your voice out there, with or without the narratonin.

-Sincerely, 'buddy'"

Buddy stared at the letter, questioning everything he wrote, but decided it was... good enough.. ya, it's not like Chase is worth that kind of effort.. 

He folds up the paper and stuck it into his back pocket. He looked up the staircase once more and let's out a long sigh as he made the long trip once more. Twists and turns galore with each step. The guards quickly moved as to not get pushed out of the way again. He found the ugly boy standing outside, waiting for him. He shoved the letter into his chest. "Here."

Deacon let's out a huff and nods. "All right. I'll see you later, Buddy."

Buddy simply just rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

The boy pulls out the Helper Key, wrapped around his neck, and the he's gone. Buddy looks at the spot where he had disappeared before mentally scolding himself for being so hopeful.

~~~~

It's not like Chase liked Buddy. He didn't. Because what is there to like about that jerk? He's an aggressive prick who does nothing but provoke him. With his incredible eyeliner and deep voice... He should just leave Chase alone. And that's what he's been telling him.

So he stopped bothering and has been properly avoiding him. 

Ho could he not? It wasn't the comment about his singing, although that had hurt, but the fact that Buddy thinks he's so shallow that being famous is Chase's biggest concern. And the way Buddy said it didn't ound like just a jab because he was mildly annoyed. It sounded genuine. Like her really thinks so low of Chase. Maybe Chase took it so seriously is because earlier in the day, before he said that, Chase had visited his mom. 

His moping is interrupted by a knocking at his door. He looks up and sees his cousin, Deacon, standing in the doorway.

"Where were you?" Chase asks. Deacon hands him a paper. 

"It's from Buddy."

Chase sucked in a breath. Buddy. Buddy!? Buddy sent him a letter? 

His heart was racing and his hands were clammy. No way. No. Way. Why was he getting so excited. Stop it, heart!! He pats his chest a couple of times to ease his rapid heart rate before he folded the paper open.

He scanned through the words, squinting as he made out some of the scribbled out sentences, and he finishes it off with a deep frown.

"What's with that face?" Deacon asks.

"This is kind of a crappy apology. There are multiple scratched out sentences that was just him being petty."

Deacon takes the paper and reads over it. "Hm. I mean.. ya, it seems kind of backhanded, but at the same time, since when has Buddy gone out of his way to do something like this i the first place?"

"You probably just told him to do it."

"Ya.. but what about the fact that he actually listened?"

Chase froze and looks back at the letter, feeling his face flush slightly. Damnit. He had a good point. He crumbles up the letter and was about to toss it into the trash, but stopped himself and instead tossed it onto his desk.

"Give me my key."

Deacon smirks.

"Don't smile at me like that."

Deacon quickly stifles it and hands Chase the key. Chase gets up ad grabs a totally random book and crams the key into the cover. The last thing he heard was, "Wait, not that book!"

Chase's eyes opened and the first thing he's met with is excruciating pain. He's impaled. He screams at the top of his lungs and standing over him is Buddy, whose eyes are equally as wide as he stares down at Chase. 

"What kind of book did you choose?!" Buddy exclaims, quickly pulling the spear out of Chase's chest, who's left panting and throbbing in pain. Buddy squats down and looks over him. "Deep breaths. The main character of this book has healing powers."

Chase tightly close his eyes and feels the gash slowly close up. He lays down in the ground, panting. "SHIT! I just needed to talk to you. Just my luck."

Buddy chuckles, actually chuckles, which feels like another stab to the heart, but kind of in a good way???

"You got excited to see me?" Buddy asks.

Chase scoffs. "I just came to talk to you about that letter."

Buddy goes quiet. "Hm. You seem upset? Was it not to your liking, your majesty?"

"Eat a sock," Chase grumbles.

Chase sits up, holding himself by his elbows. "What kind of book opens with the heroine getting stabbed?" Chase grumbles.

Buddy shrugs and looks around at the wasteland they were in. "Well.. what did you think of the letter? You still mad at me?"

Chase pauses before huffing. "Nevermind. I just wanted to say it sucked. I would keep avoiding you if it weren't for Silver, like.. begging me to go back to using her."

"Mhm?"

"Mhm!"

Chase stands up. Buddy does too.

It's not like they liked each other. They just had a story to complete. They just happen to.. do it together.

Shut up.

divider by @saradika-graphics

[fandom-fae]

feeling SO conflicted about the concept of lies. 

[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.

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ɪ ɴ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴅ ᴀ ʀ ᴋ ⸻

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Bruce Wayne is a man shaped by tragedy, a billionaire with an iron will and an unrelenting sense of justice. But beneath the stoic façade lies a broken soul. When Bruce becomes obsessed, it isn’t violent outbursts or chaotic behavior—it’s cold, calculated, and methodical. He doesn’t lose himself to obsession; he leans into it, weaponizing his resources and intelligence to keep you close. After all, what is Batman if not a man who cannot let go?

Maybe you’re someone he met at a gala—a rare individual who caught his attention without trying. Maybe you’re an employee at Wayne Enterprises, someone who treated him like a person rather than the playboy billionaire. Or maybe you stumbled into Gotham’s darker corners, and he saved you as Batman. Whatever the case, Bruce finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn’t been to anyone else in years.

At first, he tells himself it’s curiosity. You’re intriguing, sure, but nothing more. Yet he can’t stop thinking about you. Every word you said, every look you gave him, replays in his mind like a song stuck on repeat. And Bruce, has to understand why.

Bruce doesn’t approach you immediately; instead, he observes. He justifies it as caution. After all, he’s Batman—he needs to know everything about you to protect you.

He learns everything there is to know: your name, your routines, your friends, your secrets. He watches you through security cameras, listens to your conversations through bugs he discreetly plants, and even monitors your online activity.

But to Bruce, this isn’t invasive—it’s necessary. How else can he ensure your safety in a city as dangerous as Gotham?

As Bruce Wayne, he’s charming, attentive, and subtly magnetic. He uses his wealth and influence to insert himself into your life. Invitations to exclusive events? Job offers at Wayne Enterprises? He makes it impossible for you to say no without coming across as ungrateful.

As Batman, he’s your silent protector, always one step ahead. If you’re ever in trouble, he’s there—appearing out of the shadows to save you. He doesn’t speak much when he’s Batman, but the way his gaze lingers on you feels almost suffocating.

You’d never suspect that the billionaire who’s so eager to help you and the vigilante who seems to always be around are one and the same.

Bruce’s obsession manifests in his need for control. He doesn’t see himself as possessive—he sees himself as protective. You don’t need to worry about toxic friends, late-night walks, or bad decisions because Bruce will take care of everything.

If someone gets too close to you, Bruce doesn’t lose his temper. Instead, he uses his resources to quietly remove them from your life. A coworker who flirts too much? Suddenly transferred. A friend who badmouths Bruce? Their secrets mysteriously come to light.

“It’s for your own good,” he tells himself. After all, Bruce believes he knows what’s best for you better than you do.

Bruce is painfully self-aware. He knows his feelings for you aren’t healthy, and he hates himself for it. But his guilt doesn’t stop him; it fuels him. He rationalizes his actions by convincing himself that you’re safer with him watching over you.

“I’ve already lost so much,” he whispers to himself late at night in the Batcave, your face flickering on the monitor in front of him. “I can’t lose her too.”

In his mind, his obsession is just another sacrifice he makes for the people he loves. He can bear the weight of being a monster as long as it means keeping you safe.

Bruce rarely shows his jealousy outright—it’s subtle, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. If you mention another man, his jaw tightens imperceptibly. If someone touches you, his eyes darken, and his hand lingers a little too long on your shoulder as he pulls you away.

Behind the scenes, though, he’s ruthless. The man who asked for your number? He’ll find himself the target of a police investigation. That friend who keeps trying to set you up on dates? Suddenly, they’re avoiding you without explanation.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he says when you start to notice how people in your life seem to vanish. “Gotham is dangerous. You can never be too careful.”

Bruce’s obsession remains controlled until you try to distance yourself. Maybe you’ve started to feel smothered, or maybe you’ve realized that the people disappearing from your life aren’t coincidences. When you confront him—whether as Bruce or Batman—he’s calm, almost unnervingly so.

“I only want what’s best for you,” he says, his voice steady. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in without me?”

If you try to leave, that calm facade shatters. He won’t hurt you—never you—but he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you stay. He’ll cut off your options, isolate you, and remind you that no one else can protect you the way he can.

“You think you’re safer without me?” he says, his voice laced with desperation and anger. “You’re wrong. Gotham will chew you up and spit you out. I’m the only thing standing between you and harm.”

Despite his obsession, Bruce’s love for you is genuine in its own twisted way. He wants you to be happy, even if he doesn’t understand that his actions are suffocating you.

There are moments when the mask slips—when Bruce is just a broken man trying to hold onto the one good thing in his life. Late at night, he’ll hold you close, his voice trembling as he whispers, “You’re everything to me. I can’t lose you. Not after everything I’ve already lost.”

In those moments, it’s hard to tell where Bruce Wayne ends and Batman begins. To him, they’re both the same—a man who would do anything to protect the one person he can’t live without.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[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.

[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.

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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

[rhiannonsknife]

Hey I love your fics! Could you possibly write a part 3 of "is it casual now" where the reader is seemingly moving on from Jackie and it's driving her crazy.

Like she'll leave you notes to come over and watch in absolute shock as you toss them in the garbage.

Or maybe you're getting closer to someone else on the team and she watches you slowly start to show up at games more for someone else who isn't afraid of being close to you.

I feel like it would drive her crazy if it was Shauna because that's her best friend and for once she feels like she's in second place to her.

Or Nat because Jackie sees her as a burnout with a lesser reputation so she feels like she's losing you to someone she sees as lesser than her.

── SECRETLY HOOKING UP WITH JACKIE TAYLOR 2

— summary: secretly hooking up with your teammate. masterlist.

— warnings: fem!reader. mean!jackie. implied internalized homophobia. cheating. toxic relationship dynamics. angst. miscommunication. some nsfw content. so: mdni. again: this takes place at the end of the last year of Highschool. all characters in this are 18+!!

jackie, who only ever wants things to be done on her terms.

so, as established: she sets the tone early: “this doesn’t mean anything.” she’ll remind you after every single interaction, voice steady, like she’s trying to convince herself rather than you. “we’re just having fun until we leave this town! it’s not- i’m not- i’m not…gay, or whatever!” but the way her gaze lingers after you kiss tells a whole different story.

jackie, who pretends not to care but acts insanely territorial with you all the same.

she would hate to put a label on what you have, but she also hates when anyone else so much as looks at you. if one of your teammates compliments you after practice, she’s quick to steer the conversation back to herself, casually draping her arm over your shoulder when no one’s looking. this is obviously contrary to her constant claims of things only "being casual".

jackie, who tries to tell herself that it doesn’t matter when she feels you pulling away.

she’s always been good at hiding her feelings—until her constant lies start to wear on you. sure, you knew it was only supposed to be a one-time thing, but it’s exhausting to watch the girl you’ve clearly fallen in love with return to her boyfriend after every hookup. jackie pretends not to care, even convinces herself she doesn’t, but it still stings. slowly watching you toss aside the notes she leaves in your locker and ignore her usual late-night calls (the ones that used to be your signal to come over) cuts deeper than she’ll ever admit.

jackie, who is insanely jealous.

seeing you getting closer to someone else, (at the same time as you seem to lose interest in her) especially shauna, unravels her. she becomes hyperaware of every glance, every shared laugh, every subtle touch. it feels like a constant stab to her ego. she starts showing up to practice early just to see if you’ll walk in with shauna. and if you do, her mood is already ruined before the session starts. she’s curt with shauna, from this point forward, snappy during drills, and visibly distracted during scrimmages.

jackie, who’s genuinely desperate to “win you back” without even noticing herself.

i mean, it’s only normal that she misses someone she used to spent all of her time with, right? it’s normal to think about you all the time, especially when she’s having the worst mediocre sex with jeff and starts to picture you instead, right? surely, everyone does that!! jackie continues to leave secret notes in your locker like she used to, but you don’t respond the way you used to. when you toss them without reading them, she’s stunned and, yet, even more determined. she starts lingering near you after practice, finding excuses to talk to you, hoping you’ll give her a hint that you’re not over her yet. if you walk away, (specifically if you call for shauna to wait up) she’ll stew over it all night. even in games it’s not the same as it used to: jackie tries to make sure you notice her. she’ll play harder, score more, and make dramatic plays to catch your attention. if she scores a goal or makes a killer assist, she’ll glance at you first to see if you’re watching.

jackie, who’s simply not able to get over the shauna factor.

she’s in bed, late at night, unable to find sleep. instead, she’s overthinking every single interaction. it’s not like her at all to overthink. sure, she worries about her reputation -more than she cares to admit- but she’s also well aware that she’s in a secure position in the school’s hierarchy. she shouldn’t worry about your opinion. she shouldn’t worry about what you seem to see in shauna, of all people. jackie pretends like it doesn’t bother her, but everyone notices that something is off between her and shauna: she’ll act cold towards her or start throwing subtle shade in casual conversations.

jackie, who tries to get a rise out of you in return.

fed up with herself and her own reactions, jackie decides to give you a taste of your own “medicine”: she starts flaunting her relationship with jeff more than usual, hoping to make you jealous in return. she’ll sit on his lap at parties, laugh loudly at his jokes, and make sure you can see her holding his hand from across the room. but it doesn’t have the effect she hopes for: it only makes her feel more hollow. more empty. whereas you’re long used to the fact that you will never be jackie’s first choice. you can’t even pretend to be surprised that she’s letting it show now that you're no longer giving you the attention she wants.

jackie, whose behavior is affecting the whole team at this rate.

when you start openly cheering on shauna or someone else on the team, jackie will become more competitive. she’ll try to outshine them in every way, subtly one-upping them during games or practices, hoping you’ll notice. the rest of the team starts to pick up on the tension between you, jackie, and whoever you’re gravitating toward. nat might roll her eyes at her possessiveness or pull you aside: “look whatever the fuck is going on with you and taylor” she hisses. “you go talk to her”. laura lee tries to mediate in her gentle way, while taissa, ever the practical one, will tell jackie to “get her act together” before she messes up the team’s chances at state.

yet even if jackie does pull you aside after the rest of the yellowjackets insist on you guys sorting your shit out…

…it’s to no avail. jackie might corner you after practice, her frustration finally spilling over. “what are you doing with her?” she demands, her voice sharp. “you don’t- you don’t even like her like that!” and still: she’ll go back to jeff the next day, pretending like nothing happened. pretending like she didn’t let her guard down, in a way, and showed you the jealous side of her she’d been trying so hard to hide.

jackie, who can’t stay far from you.

and, truthfully, you can’t stay away from her either. the two of you always gravitate back towards the other, whether it’s any good or not. having her, if just for one short moment, seems worth all the hurt it’ll cost. it starts out innocently enough, anyway. too innocently. you’re both in the locker room after practice, the last ones there. you’re at your locker, focused on packing up, and jackie lingers just a little too long. “you were with her the whole day. again.” she points out, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. when you don’t immediately answer, she takes a step closer, her voice dropping. “do you really think she gets you the way i do?”

you try to walk away, tired of her games and afraid you’ll tell her something you might regret, but jackie’s hand catches your wrist. it’s not rough, but firm enough to stop you.

“jackie don’t,” you warn, but your voice isn’t as steady as you’d like. her grip softens, her thumb brushing against your skin. it’s such a small, familiar gesture, and yet it is pulling you right back in.

the tension only builds as she steps closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” she admits, and her vulnerability catches you off guard. for once, jackie isn’t trying to be in control. she’s just laying it all out there.

before you can respond, or even take it all in, her lips are on yours. the kiss is desperate, messy, and filled with weeks of pent-up frustration. you know it’s a bad idea, but it’s the only thing you know how to do. and it doesn’t stop with that kiss, either. it never does. you find yourself pressed against the cold metal of the lockers, her hands gripping your waist like she’s terrified you’ll pull away.

jackie is on her knees before you even know it, pulling down your shorts and underwear all in one go. when she puts her mouth on you, she’s the one who moans, her eyes rolling back in her attempt to look up at you. it’s a rare occasion for jackie to be on the giving end, to begin with, but the way she eats you out that day will stay with you -forever the best head you’ve received. it’s quick, it’s hard and fast, and so good.

the whole thing is rushed and reckless, like you’re both trying to make up for lost time. but afterward, when you’re catching your breath and fixing your clothes, reality starts to creep back in. jackie’s eyes are on you, wide and uncertain, as she gives you some space, like she’s just as scared of what this means as you are.

jackie, who falls back into old patterns with you like you were never even gone from her.

after that first moment, it’s impossible to stay away. she’s not willing to lose that little you've had ever again. jackie starts leaving you notes more frequently again. not to confront you this time, but to arrange secret meetups. you read every single one of them in spite of yourself. “behind the bleachers after practice” “jeff’s busy tonight. come over.” all signed off with a loopy -J. it is almost like the conflict never even happened. almost, because you’re not just sneaking around for fun anymore. you’re both purposefully avoiding confronting what’s really happening between you, instead focusing on the new intensity of each hookup: the way she’ll whisper your name under her breath when you make her come undone on your mouth, the way you desperately cling to each other as you both try not to be the first to stumble over the edge, the way she’ll ask you to say things to her, claiming that they don’t mean anything. (“tell me you want me. tell me you need me”. “promise me this isn’t the last time”. “tell me you think about me when you’re all by yourself”…)

jackie and you both fall into a constant state of pushing the other away and pulling them right back in.

every time you tell yourself it’s the last time, jackie pulls you back in. she knows exactly how to break your resolve by now, whether it’s a soft look during practice, brushing her fingers against yours when no one’s looking, or whispering your name in a way that makes your knees weak. but it’s not one-sided: jackie tries to pull away too, telling herself she needs to focus on jeff and her perfect life. and yet, the second she sees you laughing with someone else who’s not her, or notices the slightest change in your demeanor, her own resolve shatters and she has to drag you into an empty room to remind you that you’re hers by shoving her hand down your pants.

jackie, whose anger starts to turn into passion.

it should piss her off, really, how she can’t even be angry at you without simultaneously wanting you. she’s been aware of the effect you had on her, subconsciously, at least. yet the anger had always been hers. a small act of rebellion against her confusing, unbearable feelings for you. now, even her rage is yours. the tension between you two doesn’t just show up in quiet moments: it explodes in arguments. “you don’t own me, jackie,” you snap at her and she fires back, “you don’t get to move on like this”

“move on from what?” you’ll then scoff, thinking you have her. she’s the one who claims that she doesn’t want you. she’s the one running back to jeff.

yet it all ends the same way: you never get your answer, instead, jackie kisses you mid-sentence, silencing whatever protest you still had. and, as much as you hate to admit it, it works. she has you on your knees for her in no time, lapping up her arousal while she’s got her head thrown back in pleasure, a hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her sighs.

jackie, who always finds ways to keep you around somehow.

maybe it’s because she’s jackie taylor and there’s never been anything in her picture-perfect life that she couldn’t have. but, no matter what, she’s got you wrapped around her finger. there’s no way out for you. you’re pathetic, and the worst part is that you know damn well, and yet you’re still willing to go this far for her. in school/public in general, jackie is the ultimate golden girl: polite, charming, and always keeping up appearances. however, when it’s just the two of you, she’s all quiet desperation and need, pulling you into closets or sneaking you into her car just to feel close to you. whether she’d ever admit it or not, jackie loves the thrill of secrecy.

jackie, who starts bending her own rules.

she’s the one who set the “no strings attached” boundaries, but now she’s the one struggling to keep them, the closer graduation gets. it’s in the little things: at a party, she grabs your wrist a little too hard when you try to walk away from her. “we need to talk,” she insists, dragging you into an empty room. she doesn’t seem to care that someone might notice you leaving together; she just needs to feel like she still has control. but her desperation is palpable, and for once, she doesn’t even try to hide it. the truth is, you’re the only thing that feels real to her. and, with the final weeks of school fast approaching, jackie begins to realize how close she is to losing that. her jealousy, her need for control, her denial: they’re all spiraling out of her grasp.

jackie, who’s so clearly falling in love with you, who has known this from the start, and is still in denial about it.

she notices everything about you, from the way your nose scrunches up when you’re thinking to the way your laugh sounds when you’re genuinely happy. maybe it’s because she’s staring at you 90% of her time, whether it’s in class or during practice. she won’t ever say it outright, but she loves how your presence makes her feel grounded. around you, she can be herself without all the pressure to keep up her reputation. if anyone ever notices though, jackie will instantly turn them down. maybe it’s tai, who obviously knows a thing or two about hiding, or shauna who is noticing that something is off with her best friend and that you seem to have something to do with with. either way, she turns them down without batting an eye: “me and them? you’re crazy!” she laughs with a dismissive wave of her hand. later, when it’s just the two of you, she’ll look at you with guilt in her eyes. “you know i didn’t mean it, right?” jackie will ask softly.

jackie, who is stuck in a never ending cycle.

the two of you aren’t exactly compatible…turns out it is worse when you fight, though, so it’s seemingly easier to try and avoid conflict and go back to how things were: sex and hookups with “no strings attached”. you know it’s messy and complicated. it’s pointless, even, considering you’re well aware that you’re in love with her. but something about her keeps you coming back, no matter how much it hurts. you won’t be able to ignore your feelings for jackie forever, but you will for the time being if it means you get to have her temporarily.

jackie, who wants to make things right, but doesn't know how to.

even when things are going well, she finds ways to mess it up. after a particularly tender moment between you, she’ll say something cutting, something meant to remind you (and herself) that this isn’t real. it couldn't be, could it? “you know this doesn’t change anything, right?” she’ll say, her voice cool and detached. by the time she sees the hurt flash across your face, the damage is already done. you’re the only one who knows the jackie beneath the perfection: the girl who’s scared of not being enough. she’s terrified you’ll leave her for good, but she doesn’t know how to ask you to stay, either. it's why she does what she always does: to push you away first. it’s like she doesn’t know how to be with you properly. jackie tells herself it’s because it’s nothing serious, but the truth is that she’d never been in love before: with jeff, it’s only easy because she doesn’t want him like that. she doesn’t want him at all. it’s easy because she doesn’t care about him the way she should. with you, she doesn’t have to pretend, the care comes naturally, against her own will. no rule or boundary could stop the way she has so hopelessly fallen in love with you. and, deep down, jackie knows that. she knows that she’s fucked.

— okay, so, i have no idea where i’m going with this but with the amount of requests i’ve been receiving for another part, i’m pretty sure this won’t be the last one in this series. if anyone as any more ideas/thoughts on this whole scenario: feel free to share them!! <33 other than that thank you for reading! i promise i hear how much you guys love the jackie angst!!

[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