#is it healthy? no but it's interesting!!!

[fairycosmos]

anyone got any masking tips to come across as nice healthy self regulated normal interesting etc

[mv1simp]

requested: max + best friend + somnophilia + cum marking

Unforgettable ♥️

Max Verstappen x Best Friend!Reader

if you loved the girl then I’m so so sorry (i got to give it to her like we in a marriage)

You and Max grew up as childhood best friends, secretly enamoured with each other but prohibited to openly date by both your strict fathers. But as adults, there’s nothing to stop the naughty desires you two have for each other finally leading to pleasure activities. You just had no idea how naughty your Max’s desires for you had become as of late…

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dom! Dark max, sub! Innocent reader, size kink, brief mentions of some teen max x reader being kinky, but mostly as adults, HEAVY on the somno!!, cum play/cum marking, WC 4.2k

You’ve known Max Verstappen your whole life. First as his childhood best friend, meeting through your fathers who both had a keen interest in racing. The young Max immediately became enamoured with how cute you looked grasping onto his sleeve to loyally follow him everywhere. He welcomed your constant support and cheering, a comfort to the cold discipline his own father gave him daily. You were the one source of happiness and positivity for him, with your sunshine smile and blushing cheeks as you oohed and ahhed at his track performance.

Your friendship continued easily through your teens, and then into adulthood, with you naturally moving to Monaco at his invitation. Just like you’d always done - with Max leading, and you obediently following. Of course, for a boy and a girl to be as close friends as the two of you were led to more than a few eyebrows being raised and curious questions asked, especially when Max’s career skyrocketed and he became one of the most famous athletes worldwide. But you both swear multiple times to your family, friends and the media - nothing of the romantic sort happened between the two of you, it was all completely platonic, just a healthy friendship. And that was the truth, because Max’s father had forbidden him from getting entangled with the little girl following him around as he had a racing career to focus on, and after that countless models to date - much more fitting for an F1 driver than some shy, girl next door type. And your strict, conservative father had raised you traditionally, sending you to an all girl’s high school and banning any boyfriends or dates of any sort. Max was in fact the only boy you were allowed to speak to, given how close your fathers were. But you weren’t to think about any boys until it was time to get married, your father had told you sternly. There’s too many bad men that would hurt my baby girl, he added with a ruffle of your dark curls.

Your father would have had a heart attack if he’d known that the teenage Max had already begun sneaking into your bedroom window nightly once you’d been sent to a different school than him. You’d found it so sweet that he misses you so much, saying that it wasn’t enough time to just see you on the weekends. Soon enough he’d end up falling asleep in your bed after you spent hours talking and reading racing magazines together, just like the sleepovers you two would occasionally have as toddlers when the adults had too much to drink.

You loved that Max would always be there for you, especially when you started having a hard time at your new school with a group of mean older girls. Max’s normally soft blue eyes had narrowed as you sadly mentioned how they’d made fun of you. He wiped the tears away at the corner of your eyes and assured you he’d help take care of it. You weren’t sure exactly what he’d done the next day when the group of girls all avoided eye contact and apologised to you publically, telling you they didn’t realise you were the girlfriend of Max Verstappen - who by now, was a international karting champion and set to join the junior Redbull team at only 16.

You’d blushed, trying to dismiss their belief of you being Max’s girlfriend that had started to become a frequent rumour these days. While it was true you’d always had a crush on the handsome blonde Dutchman, he’d never once shown you that he reciprocated your feelings, always just being a good friend to you. Like that evening when he jumped through your windowsill with familiar movements, waving off your grateful thanks and telling you it’s what best friends did for each other. Besides, you’re so tiny and cute, just like a bunny, it’s my job to look after you if I’m called the lion! He declared, alluding to your individual favourite childhood animals. Later, he curiously asked what the girls had actually teased you about, saying he’d forgotten to ask because he had been too angry with them. You blush a little, because you’re not sure if it’s too embarrassing to tell him as it’s a girl thing, Maxie…

He encourages you to tell him, insisting there were no secrets between the two of you, who’d practically known each other since birth. You couldn’t argue with that, and shyly tell him that it was because the older girls had seen you changing for sports class last week and had said you must have gotten a good surgeon with boobs like that. I-I don’t know what they mean, Maxie, you said with an anxious bite of your lip. Do they look weird?

Oh, Max had said, caught off guard, pretty blue eyes suddenly wide as they automatically drifted down to your clothed chest. Even through the pink camisole you’re wearing to bed, it’s hard to miss the way your new assets stretched the thin material to its limits. I’m sure they look nice, bunny. But I - his cheeks go pink - I can look at them properly if you want?

Your brown doe eyes go starry eyed and you nod happily at his offer. Will you, Maxie? Thank you so much! It’s so kind of you. Beaming up at your friend, you thank him again for his thoughtful offer as you lift the singlet above your breasts. You don’t really have any other friends to show them too, because you spend all your spare time with the Dutch boy, and your mother is also too strict like your father to talk about your teenage troubles with. You’d be lost without Max!

The blonde teen in question swallows as he intently looks at your bare chest, now exposed for him. The night breeze stiffens your nipples, making them stick out against your caramel skin. They’re very pretty, schatje, he finally says, his voice sounding a strange and deeper than normal, after he stares at them so long you start to get worried that there had been something wrong, after all. You tell him this, to which he reassures you soothingly, but you’re still on edge. What if my future boyfriend doesn’t like them, Maxie? Your best friend’s eyes darken suddenly at the mention of some other boy seeing your body in a way only he had been allowed to so far. You're a little taken aback at the unfamiliar, cold expression on his normally warm face, but then you blink and he's back to his blushing self, eagerly showering you with his reassurances because he never wants you to doubt how perfect he thinks you are.

So that’s why, now as adults living in his Monaco penthouse, Max makes it his personal mission to make sure you know how beautiful you are. Your conservative parents have no idea that you live together, of course - they still think you live in the quaint 1 bedroom apartment a few minutes away from your university campus. But your modest apartment had mysteriously been shut down by the Housing Council of Monaco, who’d told you there had been a termite infestation and you were indefinitely out of a place to live. You’d been puzzled why your apartment was the only one on your floor that seemed to be affected by something so contagious - but when Max generously offered to ease all your financial troubles and let you crash in his guest bedroom, you gratefully accepted. You’d never told your strict parents about the move, of course, since it was only meant to be temporary and they’d kick up a fuss over nothing.

You were so thankful to your best friend, and made sure to always clean up around the house and bake his favourite treats to repay him in some way. Max’s favourite way to destress after a long day is to cuddle against you on the sofa, burying his face in your pillowy, soft chest as you giggle and run a comforting hand through his blonde locks. He complains about drama with his team and car this season, husky voice muffled against your clothed breasts. The low vibrations would make you involuntarily shiver and he’d always know when you were wearing a bra, because he wouldn’t be able to see your tempting nipples through your top. Schatje, he’d say sternly with a disapproving glare, yanking your pastel cardigan up and revealing a cute, lacy bralette. We talked about this, it restricts your circulation, it’s not healthy to wear a bra at home too, hmm? You apologise sweetly, pouting and telling him that you were sorry, it was just you’d had to wear one for your university tutorial earlier and sometimes your back really starts hurting if your bra isn’t supporting the weight of your chest…

Hmm, let’s see how we can fix that, okay bunny? He lifts you to sit in his lap, your back to his toned abs, and your underwear coming into direct contact with his jeans underneath your miniskirt. Sliding his large, strong hands over your smaller waist, he makes you gasp as he unclasps your bra and starts gently squeezing your bare breasts. The soft flesh fills his palms, and you shyly ask him what he was doing, he didn't have to trouble himself helping you. When he shushes you, reassuring you that he was just massaging the tension and pain out of your tits, see, doesn’t that feel good schat? You find yourself nodding, leaning back against his broad chest because and biting your lip because it did feel amazing. You didn’t know that being touched there would make you feel dirty things someplace else, like in the place between your legs that begins to feel warm and tingly. Especially when Max would roll your nipples in between his large fingers, or when he’d press his tongue in between your bare tits and lick at your caramel skin. You couldn’t resist arching your back into his talented mouth when he latched onto your areolas, unable to control the breathless moans that escaped. You were seriously so lucky to have a friend who took your comfort and health so seriously!

Of course, you were clueless that Max had taken the boundaries well beyond what would be considered acceptable for any other friendship. You still barely had any friends outside of Max - especially since your friendship with him kept you so busy, flying around the world with him constantly. But everything you two did felt so natural, like a progression of how you’d looked after each other other as kids, that you never felt weird or uncomfortable. You only ever felt good with Maxie. That was also why you’d always call him first when you were on a night out and had gotten a bit too tipsy - you didn’t trust anyone else to look after you. Max had warned you, just like your father had, about all the bad men who were out and would hurt you. He very rarely let you go out without him for this very reason.

But when you would, for a girlfriend’s birthday dinner or the other, he’d be the one to drive you home and carry you up to the apartment. He’d smirk at your drunk antics, where you’d whine it was too damn hot and start sloppily tearing off your cute, sweetheart minidresses. He loved when you got like this, obediently crawling into bed with him in scraps of lace, when normally sober you put up a fuss that only a couple slept like that, it was wrong, his girlfriend wouldn’t like this! Pulling your pliant form into his warm chest, he’s pressing kisses to your forehead before sliding his tongue into your open, pink mouth. You kiss him back passionately, breathlessly chanting his name, contently lost in how nice his lips feel. You loved the familiar feeling of Max’s arms around you, always making you feel safe and protected. And when his large, strong palms run up and down your sensitive body, sending electric shivers running when his bare skin touches yours, you can’t help but moan sweetly into his mouth. Mmmhh, feels good, Maxie you slur, eyes fluttering shut and thick ass grinding back against his clothed bulge, before you fall asleep from his slow, rhythmic movements as he explores your tired body.

Secretly, not that you’d ever admit it, you knew there was something a little naughty with the way he touched you. You’d watched enviously through cracked doors when he’d touched his girlfriends in the same way, hating when his attention was on some other girl and not on you. But you could never ask him sober to take care of you like that, not when you were sure he thought of you like a friend. So you frequently started to get a bit too tipsy out on a night out, knowing it was much easier to cross the line of friendship into something more when you could blame it all on the tequila. And your Maxie would never turn down a chance to reciprocate your touchiness - his love language was physical touch, after all!

You had no idea that after you'd fall asleep, your precious Maxie’s fun really began, every night that he managed to bring you into his Californian King. If you hadn’t been so naive you would know it was far from normal for a guy friend to climb into bed with his drunk girl friend, who was wearing nothing but some white lacy lingerie underneath her clubbing dress that's abandoned on the floor. Lingerie which he now pulls to the side as he squeezes your juicy tits and lightly fingers the entrance of your pussy. His dark, hungry gaze rake over your tempting form, taking in your curves that have now filled out. He lazily jerks himself off to the pretty little thing passed out in his bed, peppering kisses to your chubby cheeks, your delicate neck, and to your plush breasts which bounce with each sleepy breath you take.

And once your breaths turn heavy and slow when deep sleep claims you, there’s nothing stopping him from slipping his angry, leaking cockhead out and sliding it along your puffy folds. You unknowingly drip your wetness all over his shaft as he groans into your ear, his breath warm as he pants desperately above your peacefully sleeping face. Sometimes he can’t resist and slips just the tip into your tight little hole, the one you still thought was untouched by anyone.

You’d probably die if you knew the truth - that your cunt had in fact been abused many times by your best friend. Max regularly enjoyed teasing your puffy slit with his fingers, his tongue and of course his cockhead- all while you lay blissfully sleeping next to him. He’d take any chance he could, no matter how risky. One time you’d passed out on Max’s lap aboard his private jet, exhausted from the day at a boiling hot Qatar race. He’d stroked your curls lovingly, murmuring sweet nothings to you until you were in a deep sleep on his thick muscular thighs, even drooling a little onto his jeans. All he’d had to do was dim the cabin lights and half cover your face with a blanket under the guise of not disturbing you if anyone walked past.

Nobody would have been able to guess that underneath the privacy of the blanket, Max Verstappen was slowly sliding his aching, fat cock into your wet mouth. You’d instinctively started suckling on it like a lollipop, making him chuckle at what a natural slut you were for him. Grabbing a hold of your curls, he’d easily manoeuvred your soft, pliant lips up and down his shaft, enjoying the drool you left all over his warm length. Breathing heavier, his movements quickened and his thrusts became shallower until he finally goes still, tensing in your mouth and spurting ribbons of his cream down your throat. You’d slept straight through the dinner service, after all. Afterwards, you’d woken up with sticky lips and an unfamiliar taste on your tongue, dazedly blinking up at Max who was playing on his phone above your sleeping figure on his lap. Good nap, schatje? he croons adoringly at you, brushing your hair lovingly when he sees you’d awakened. You’d nodded happily, feeling content and secure in his hold.

Lately, sneaking around while you were asleep hadn’t been enough for the world champion. He wanted you all to himself, all the time. His new tactic involved making sure you knew that his latest girlfriend - or his model "pump and dump of the month" as his guy friends joked - had broken up with him. All because she’d heard you had climbed into bed with him naked, tipsy after a night out, Max would declare to your with a dramatic sigh. Or she’d found your lacy underwear mixed in with Max’s laundry, and had accused him of cheating before storming out. He wondered what his exes would have done if they found out the lacy things he’d had lying around were actually due to his dirty habit as a teen of stealing your underwear to sniff and guiltily keep in his stash. It was a twisted desire he hadn’t grown out of as an adult, instead just finding your new panties sexier and enjoying ruining them with his cum now. Some nights, when he was feeling particularly possessive of you, he’d pull one lacy side up to slide his length underneath, now rubbing his drooling cockhead against the juicy swell of your ass. One night he’d even just slipped your panties all the way off, jerked off slowly to them as his other hand explored your pliant body greedily, making you gasp breathlessly when he buried his face in between your jiggling tits and gently bit your cute nipples. After cumming a thick load into the pink lacey fabric, he then slid the ruined panties back over your curvy ass. You’d remained completely clueless to your best friend’s filthy nighttime acts in your bed, blissfully dreaming.

So after telling you that you must have left your panties in his bed the last time you passed out there drunk, and made his girlfriend angry, Max would sigh, rubbing his head and making sure to out on a grand show of looking tired and weary as he fed you some new lie about how you were the reason his girlfriends had called it quits.

You’d anxiously comfort him, your doe eyes worried as you studied his tense figure. Just like he’d hoped, you couldn’t resist offering to help him in any way he needed - including taking over any bedroom activities his girlfriends had been performing for him, if he wanted. You weren’t very good, because you still had never had a boyfriend…but you promised to try your best to do it just how Max liked it. After all, that’s what good friends were for, right?

So that’s why you obediently wake him up every morning with your lips on his heavy morning wood. All of his girlfriends woke him up like this, Max insisted, otherwise his balls would be too full for him to go to driving practise comfortably. And since he loved to sleep in late ever day, you had no choice but to miss your morning lectures. Instead of getting the college education you’d promised your parents, you’re worshipping your best friend’s large cock with eager strokes of your hand and wet licks of your tongue, following his instructions. You hadn’t liked going near the base, to his heavy balls at the start, finding them uncomfortable to fit in your small mouth. Max had noticed your dislike for then very quickly and soon kept a strong grip on your curls, pressing your thick lips into his morning wood to make sure you blew him just how he wanted it.

After your daily breakfast of Max’s thick cream down your throat, you two would shower together, just like he liked doing with all his ex girlfriends. This part you did know about, having come home early one day and overhearing Max fucking his latest up against the shower wall. You’d never imagine that one day you’d be getting to replace her, gasping out ah ah ahs! as Max rubbed his drooling, angry cockhead against your slick folds. You bite your lip as you dirtily fantasise about your tall, muscular best friend behind you forcing his way into your cunny. Just a little bit, of course, maybe just the tip, your dreamily thought.

Max had always been good at knowing what you wanted without you asking, given how long he'd known you. So he gives you exactly what you'd been naughtily thinking about, "accidentally" sliding his impossibly hard head into your dripping folds when he reached forward to adjust the already perfect water temperature. You squeal in shock, quickly trying to turn around and see what he was doing, but you're no match for his strength. Max's strong hands pin your thick hips in place as his much taller frame presses into you from behind, his lips brushing your ear to whisper dirty things and making your brain go foggy. Hearing your beloved Maxie huskily groan that your ass felt amazing, like it was built to take my cock, bunny made your heart beat rapidly in excitement. You didn't even notice that he'd bullied a good third of his massive erection into your clenching pussy, or when he came with a desperate groan, his face buried in your neck from behind. The warm shower water mixed with his creamy release and leaving you none the wiser about what he'd just pumped inside your virgin hole.

And little, naive you had no idea just how many times your possessive best friend had exposed your defenceless body to his thick cream. The twisted idea of training your holes to always welcome his, and only his cum, filled Max’s head with dark pleasure. He wanted to leave you begging and desperate for his release, even though you would have no idea just how or why you’d ended up developing such a craving for it. That was why he always made sure to touch and play with your over sensitive body, especially your cute, swollen clit and pretty nipples. Both because he loved feeling you up like you belonged to him, and because when he’d inevitably spurt his cum through your drooling, open mouth as you softly snore against his pillows. Your sleepy brain began to subconsciously associate the unfamiliar taste with delicious, tingly pleasure.

And if you’d make him mad when you spent too long talking to one of the other guys in his garage, instead of diligently at his side, he took his training of you to the next level. That meant cumming all over a batch of freshly baked and frosted white chocolate and rasberry cupcakes - your favourite! You always clapped your manicured hands in excitement when Max would pick up a box for you. They taste so good, you moaned as you eagerly dug into a second one, licking the white sticky frosting messily off your fingers. Even better than I remember!

The blonde Dutchman who’s eyeing you with a pleased smirk couldn’t stop the growing desire in his belly at the sight of you taking so much pleasure at eating his cum. So once he started this dirty habit of feeding you his release, he didn’t stop there - he was never one for half measures. He’d only have to close his eyes and picture your sleeping body, thin camisole mentally pulled up by his wandering hands to reveal your large tits. It’s a sight he’s been getting to enjoy almost nightly now, but it hasn’t stopped getting any less tempting. He easily spurts a generous load in a container of your favourite flavours of creamy vanilla ice cream. Slipping the box back into the freezer, he smirks to himself at the thought of getting to enjoy the sight of you licking it up off a spoon after dinner.

You've always had a major sweet tooth, and now that Max has started mixing his cum into your beloved desserts and sugary treats, you begin to associate his heady taste even more with raw desire. You start getting the same pleasurable high from deepthroating him as you do sucking on a strawberry lollipop. And your best friend just can't get enough of how addicted you've become to having his intoxicating, thick cum flood your mouth. So much so that you’re eager to fall to your knees to greet Max when you come home from class, obediently sucking his impressive cock as you show off your topless figure. And when you can tell he’s close, from how his handsome face is all flushed and he’s biting his pretty lips and murmuring fuck, schatje, it’s so fucking good, just like that-

You open your glossy lips wide, pink tongue poking out and brown doe eyes batting up at the huge cock in front of you adoringly. The sight of you so innocent yet desperate for him never fails to make Max cum, and with a few rapid pumps he finishes with a groan. His drooling, swollen cockhead is aimed right at your eagerly awaiting mouth, and soon his excessive load covers your tongue and drools past the corner of your lips as you struggle to contain it all in your small mouth. Splatters of white semen land on your chubby cheeks and drip down to your plush, caramel tits as well.

Just the taste of it has your eyes rolling and breath hitching, the months of subconscious training having done the job of making you addicted to Max’s cock very well. You swallow it all like the good girl you are, not letting any of his cum go to waste. And when you drop your mouth open again invitingly, shyly saying look Maxie, I drank it all as you display your now clean tongue - well, how is he meant to resist stuffing your tight little cunt next?

—————————————————————————

A/N: CANNOT BELIEVE OUR MANS WON BRAZIL WHAT AN ACHIEVEMENT FOR THE LATINA FANS ya’ll manifested the FUCK out of this. I have heard you all with your celebration sex requests and I am HERE for it stay tuned!!! 🧙‍♀️🧙‍♀️

[captainmera]

completely random question, but what are evelyn’s sisters like? e.g. their relationship to evelyn, possible dynamic with caleb, personalities, etc…

i really enjoy the way you flesh out evelyn and caleb, giving them backstories and families of their own. they’re all so compelling!

THE CLAWTHORNE SISTERS:

Wendy is conflicted between resentment and love. While Evelyn has always looked up to Wendy and admired her.

Bronwen moved out when Evelyn was still little, and with Ev having trouble getting friends, she was often shoehorned into hanging out with Wendy. Which Wendy hated. Wendy sought refuge with friends outside the home, and always being told to bring Evelyn only fuelled the annoyance.

Evelyn has always been an easy target for both bullying and being taken advantaged of. And Wendy has always stood up for her, and also shoved her out of her room.

Bronwen is a mediator between the sisters. When she was recently moved out (with then boyfriend, now husband) she was still visiting a lot to look after her sister's wellbeing.

Their mother plays favourite with Evelyn, which neglects the sisters in different ways.

- Evelyn gets put under too much pressure and can't say no, and thinks her purpose in life is to always be helpful: even at the loss of herself.

- Wendy gets put at the wayside, treated as Evelyn's chaperone and not somebody who has her own life or schedule. She's often told that "for the family" she has to drop everything, for Evelyn. She wouldn't hate doing it, if it wasn't forced.

- Bronwen and her parents never saw eye-to-eye. She has always been a rebel that questioned the way they did things. If she didn't want to do it like that, she wouldn't! And it was the cause of many fights. Bronwen rejected the pressures of becoming "important" early on.

Unfortunately, her fighting spirit only made Wendy not want to fight. She didn't like all the arguing, and instead opted to be compliant. Which only gave her a lack of autonomy in the end. While Evelyn never learned to choose herself at all.

Bronwen has a bunch of kids that becomes the founding seeds of the Clawthorne clan (alongside Evelyn & Caleb's kid, but they're a different branch of the clan.)

CALEB:

At first, the Clawthornes thought Caleb was a magic-less witch by the name Jasper Bloodwilliams. He was wearing a hat that covered his ears when he first visited the realm.

He made up the cover story on a whim that he and Evelyn bumped into each other as researchers in the human realm. That he, too, was interested in humans because (as Evelyn's reason also were) "Humans don't have magic and get by just fine!"

Wendy has never met another half-witch before, and is both happy and a little upset that this is Evelyn's friend. (she's a lesbian guys, don't worry, no triangle drama here.)

Once she finds out he's a human, though, she's upset at Evelyn. She thinks the reason Evelyn "researches magic-less solution" is because she's trying to find a consolation price for Wendy.

Caleb mends the bridge between the sisters by telling Wendy about what Evelyn has been up to in the human-realm. They have a heart-to-heart, bonding over being older siblings who have to give something up for the younger ones.

Bronwen and Caleb have a meaningful conversation about moving away from people you love. Choosing himself, choosing to let go of the past, that sort of thing.

Caleb, via the Clawthorne's, grows increasingly more self-aware of his situation with Philip and how it's not a very healthy one. Mainly on his part. And tries to figure out what he can do.

[strab3rr]

(long story and no short sorry) GUYSSS I DID ITT

I INDUCED IT!!!!! I WAS PURE AS A FUCKING BABY

IDK WHAT TO SAY (ok enough w capslock)

i have so much to say and not a thing at da same time idk how

anyway i want to begin with thanking you @b4ddprincess bc youre the reason i realized why i started this thing. thank you for making my life better and make me realized what i need to do: nothing. (its same for you guys, all u have to do is nothing)

two fuckn years ago i said to myself that i need a better life, quiter life, less fight with everthing bc everything was so loud and not clear i was feeling lost like a child in the market, and i wanted to make things better for myself in every way, but the main idea of my reasons to wanting to get in the void was: making anxiety go and having better people in my life. but the ''voidlist'' just never stopped bc im kinda greedy(having the idea of controling on your life, the idea of that power makes you greedy. yes thats a thing) anyway the more i add to the list the more i feel like im movin away from my desires then i feel depressed bc ive overcomplicating it bc theres so many things to do but i dont do anything so nothing happend bc i was waiting to be someth happen. and then i started doing awkwardly silly things such as: void routines and challenges and (im embarrassed of this one bc i was too desperate) drinking water

youve read it correct drinking water.

i was sooo desperate for having those things id do anything to get them.

i am simple. i want what everyone wants🎀🎀🎀: shifting realities bc i have so many crush and i need them to be crush me in bed(for 2020 girlies)

being an academic weapon is so easy for me🎀(bc of the urge to make my family proud) +dream collage

being the girl that everyone gets along w(basic needs)

being the girl who is pretty not cute(trauma response)

glowing aura(cats loves people w glowing aura yes thats a thing too)

dream body n hair(bc i deserve this🎀)

healthy (girlyfriend)friends(basic needs)

and of course him, my sp(i cant tell wich one at that time but i releived that its not him now, bc MY BELOVED CURRENT BF. guyss he is the one. dont u dare ask me how you know? i literally manifested him🎀)

then i realized i can have everything bc its my reality so why not add these:

new phone, +macbook air

dream apartment of my own

pinterest closet

lifa app for this reality

financially free-money(a lot. like really a lot)

knowing 4 languages like a native person(bc i want to be diplomat so bad) +sign language(its in general)

a little drama(its not gonna hurt anybody)

my parents being more lovable and away from me

every time i try to get in, either i was failing or falling

and im sick of it, sick of it so much i quit.(for a year)

then i go to the theraphy(ofc no im jk ilove being crazy)

one day i saw a post ss from tumblr about pure consciousness on pinterest and i was like whaat is thiiss. no mention of void so i thougt its a diffrent thing and i download the tumblr again and search everything abt it. and same excitement again after one year same thougts and same list popes up in my head. and i was like ok maybe this time itll happen.

still waiting to be someth happen so nothing happend, it was such a waste of time trying to get in while i was already be, i was already what i want to become. i was that girl that everyone gets along with but i couldnt even see bc i was too focused on wanting to be. but still tried every night and failed. and again tried-failed-quit circle bc.. have you ever met me🎀

4 month ago i saw the girl, iconic blogger and the goddess of my dreams, her @b4ddprincess thx again love u so much

a post pops in my fyp and i see the words ''pure consciousness'' i was like noo not again. and i was serious abt it i wasnt gonna read the whole thing but it attract me n i couldnt resist it so ive read it from the top to the bottom. and she got my interest so i stalked her page from the last and to the first post. it was quiet a beautiful journey for me. lasted like 3 days, the end of the 3rd day i was ''woaw it was this easy all along? u cant be serious.'' she was. i tried one last time, no breathing exercise, no ridiculous routines and no waiting something to be happen. it was just me being real me chilling out asf.

and it was this easy and it should be this easy bc being your 4d self is being nothing also being everything at the same time. if u wanna be everything you should be nothing first(as wizardliz saying: drop the old story, leave the victimhood, for being better stop being bitter etc.)u should make a space for everything first and then u can be everything.

for being 4d self of yours stop being your3dself.

sooo long story (no)short i am writing this from my mac in my new apartment(in middle of the night bc i couldnt sleep and then one tumblr notification reminded me i have a success story to share too) and my phone buzzing two minutes a time bc of my friends while im writing this, so if theres anything wrong ignore it pls.

oh u asking my bf how cute, hes sleepin in my bed now, exhausted from the work n school balance.

YWS SCHOOL!! im in my dream collage and im going to be in paris for a week. i deserve a vacation i guess(its for another conference), i kinda hate french men bc theyre so mansplaning(not like how i imagined, its hard to be friends w them)girls are cute but i feel like theyre aware im not permanent there so we just con buddies still cute and hepful for this foreigner.

and i canceled the lifa app thingy bc i can be my purest consciousness anytime i want, so i am my lifa app.

and thx to 4 languages i make a lot of money and that brings us to the pinterest closet, yesterday i realiased that. theyre not comes to me w an imaginary way like i imagined! i go outside for shopping casually and theyre there luckily i have enough money to buy them.

and my family theyre living in our hometown now so as i want it to be, we are away from eachother.

and the most magical thing: SHIFTING REALITIESSS

i did 5 world before i met w my bf. it was such a wonderful experience. if you have doubts abt shifting you can go fuck urself

because sir i did it and i am very sure that dean winchester being my husband is not a daydream, fantasy nor lucid dreaming. believe it or not he kissed me GOD HE KİSSED ME(someone should stop me i have a bf)

is there anything i missed let me see.. cats i have 2 cats now and theyre adorable. glowing aura-check

the girl who is pretty not cute- check +make anxietygo-checkcheckcheck

dream body and hair- check and check

i wanna give u a info i didnt have all my desires by being my4dself

not directly actually. but i have them all. and thats the point.

im not trying to be a blogger but if you have any question abt anything, id be happy to help

now i need to upgrade things in my farm byeess

loves, siena.

[mygaynesshasnolimits]

Just watched Kaitlyn’s media video. So excited for her and she’s so well spoken! I think she’ll be big for us. Side note her speaking so highly of everyone but especially of Azzi 🥹

🤦‍♀️ 🤦‍♀️ I completely got lost in the mix and forgot to post about it yesterday! And yeah anon I really really like kaitlyn and feel like she's being underestimated. Allie mentioned how sharp she is and like on the court you can tell that her in game experience comes into play and she just knows what she's doing. Excited to see her play.

Just spliced together a few parts of kaitlyn's, allie's, and ice's interview (scratchy voice interviewer really needs to reel it in "what are your impressions on azzi? nobody's seen a lot of her" stfu) LOVED kaitlyn's answer about azzi though.

Allie talking about Carol and azzi basically being the moms of the team lol. Also seeing ice herecmade me realize just truly how much I've been missing her. lol at her face when the interviewer mentioned coach wanting to play ice, jana, and Sarah together. I love how ice threw paige into the mix with them. I mean blondie really does think she towers over everyone lol (like how she really believes she'll hit the ceiling with her legs doing a cartwheel 😭) I'm really looking forward to seeing Sarah play, she's big but also fast. And also it's gonna be interesting seeing jana play with her level of aggression (geno did say either she or the person she's gonna be guarding is gonna foul out at some point in the season lmao and ice had mentioned how jana knocked down the practice player lol)

All in all very very excited to see them all play. Hoping for an amazing, healthy, and successful season for all of them.

[4linos]

stray kids as your boyfriend

hyung line x gn!reader (∩˃o˂∩)♡

bang chan as your boyfriend

supportive and encouraging - he would always be there to uplift you, cheering you on in your endeavors and providing comfort during tough times.

nurturing - his caring nature would shine through in thoughtful gestures, like checking in on your well being and offering help when you need it.

balanced approach - he would know when to be serious and when to be playful, ensuring a healthy dynamic between fun and deeper conversations.

open communicator - he would prioritize honest communication, ensuring that both of you can share your thoughts and feelings freely.

lee know as your boyfriend

playful - he enjoys having a good time, so you could expect lots of laughter and playful banter in your relationship.

attentive - lee know would pay attention to your needs and feelings, making you feel valued and understood.

thoughtful - he would likely surprise you with small gestures or gifts that show he cares and is thinking of you.

adventurous - he might enjoy trying new activities together, whether it's exploring new places or engaging in fun hobbies.

good communicator - he would be open about his feelings and encourage you to share yours, fostering a strong emotional connection.

changbin as your boyfriend

emotionally available - changbin would be someone you can rely on for emotional support. he would be willing to share his feelings and listen to yours, fostering a strong emotional bond.

goal oriented - he would encourage you to pursue your passions while also sharing his own goals, creating a partnership that thrives on mutual growth.

thoughtful surprises - he might surprise you with small gestures, like leaving sweet notes or planning special outings that reflect your interests, showing that he truly cares.

balanced partner - he would likely know how to balance fun and serious moments, ensuring you enjoy lighthearted times while also being there for more serious conversations.

caring nature - he’s attentive to your well-being, always checking in to see how you’re feeling.

hyunjin as your boyfriend

deeply attentive - he would notice the little things about you, from your favorite snacks to your moods, making you feel truly understood.

stylish and thoughtful - he might surprise you with gifts that reflect your interests or aesthetic, showing he pays attention to your likes.

loyal and trustworthy - you could rely on him to be a steadfast partner, valuing trust and loyalty in the relationship.

emotional depth - hyunjin would likely share his emotions openly, encouraging you to express yours, which creates a safe space for both of you.

quality time focused - he would prioritize spending meaningful time together, whether it’s quiet nights in or adventures out, always valuing those moments.

—

(nini’s notes) 110124

happy happy november! hope this is a good month for you all 😀. i don’t know about this post but we’ll see how it does 🥹

asks are always open if you have a question, concern, or request!

-🎀

[aithusarosekiller]

Imagining a pirate au with two infamous ships captained by each black brother respectively and they're forced to join together because they know they're being sought out by a common enemy. They both have reputations for being violent and ruthless but they have a sense of camaraderie and love for their crew so they both go into it expecting the other to be fucking awful only to realise they seem to be the only two pirate ships out there with any level of trust and loyalty. Because of this, it's easier to assimilate because they already work well among their own crew.

And at first they all hate the decision but eventually it becomes a beautiful found family thing where they all find a home with each other and choose to stick together for the rest of their lives. One ship gets badly damaged and they help to save what they can before moving in to the other.

There are so many petty rivals to lovers arcs too. Dorlene both bicker over being in control of arms while trying to ignore the fact they're clearly interested in each other and it drives everyone else insane. MarPanLily have a weird competitive relationship going on that none of them understand but they get strangely protective of each other during raids.

Jegulus take FOREVER to get over themselves because Regulus heard stories of James from word of mouth and James heard about Regulus from Sirius so they've both told themselves for years that they'd have nothing in common and hate each other, only to realise they were painfully wrong when they actually meet and have to talk to each other about course planning.

Something about pirate aus make my fav ships seem so timeless and predestined to me idk. Like other aus are fun but something about meeting under such unusual, brutal circumstances and ending up travelling across the vast ocean together forever feels like peak romance to me even if it would be kinda sucky in real life bc pirates were not a fun happy healthy bunch. Still, the beauty in going to the ends of the world with someone and being apart from society is so beautiful for my little gay ships. Someone do that with me :(

[jungledboy]

in honor of marko stunt retiring officially from wrestling, here's one of my favorite bte clips where he shares a very interesting story while jack fights for his life to stay in character

thank you marko stunt for an amazing few years. wishing you a happy and healthy future 💚

[elsa-fogen]

Who do you think would be good partners/Love interests for the trix? It doesnt matter if the partners are male or female.

For Stormy: friend-partner. Someone to have fun with, who'd go with her explode shit in the middle of the night

For Darcy: someone she finds interesting. She's also big romantic (but will deny it lol) so she would be happy to recieve some small gifts.

Both of them need someone they'd feel comfortable around and loved.

As for Icy... she has the whole list of criteria for her future partner in her head.

He or she must be healthy, as well as their relatives. No genetic diseases in the family.

He or she must be powerful, and should not be an outlier in their family. Like, if the person has powerful magic, but the rest of their family are weak, it's a no. If the person is weak but their family was always strong - is better, but still doubtable.

He or she must be good looking - the most loose criterion, she didn't figure her "type" as other would say. Also, she must know how her or his relatives look. Genetics and stuff.

He or she should not have curses on their family (tho if this is the only criterion that is missing, she'll try to help with lifting these curses).

Coming from all the previous, he or she must know at least 6 previous generations of their family.

He or she must be wealthy - this one actually is not that necessary, but is certainly a point "for"

As you can see, no criteria for personality or feelings...

Icy IS planning on having a family with at least 2 children, but doesn't want to deal with child birth herself, so she'd prefer a woman to be her partner (because magic and stuff, 2 women can have kids). Also, she wants best for her sisters and will check their partners for compliance with the criteria too (and if they don't she'll try to break them up)

Feelings and "love" are not an excuse or criterion for her. She doesn't realise that other people do feel affection for real and not faking it, like her.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

It will always be easier for you to awaken your kundalini and touch into other spiritual states naturally when you have worked towards having healthier biology and physiology. I know this world likes to distract us from being the healthiest versions of ourselves. Porn, alcohol, sugar, cigarettes, and bad sex have never been easier to come by therefore you have to be a bit of a warrior if you want to get healthier. No perfection-seeking required.

At any given moment, we can rebirth ourselves through our bodies. Reincarnation is what we are up to in this new earth. Because when we were younger, many of us exited our bodies. To be fully inhabited back then could have hurt us with irreparable damage.

However as grown women, the healing is allowing ourselves to come back into our bodies more fully and reduce or eliminate all coping mechanisms for being human. We can not just be spiritual. We have to exercise and weight train and build actual real muscle. at some point.

For example, when we are stronger and more awakened in our core, we tend to have more blood flowing through our gut, and better mental health as a result. For many of us, the aim is to learn the basics of what it means to live in a healthy female body, like eating enough food so that our body has the sufficient amount of nutrients necessary to create real energy.

We must become interested in fully inhabiting our body again. We can't just intellectualize about the planets all day. At some point, we have to stop talking and stretch open our pelvis and thighs like the round planets we naturally are.

—India Ame’ye

[yujinmikotoba]

trying to sort out how I feel about yujin’s abilities as a father

because I feel like the whole “leaving susato and going to britain” thing is a little more nuanced than people often give it credit for when talking about it. from the way he tells it, jigoku pretty much insisted yujin go with him because he ‘didn’t know what would become of him if he left him behind’ which to me seems to imply that yujin was suicidal after ayame’s death. and there is a point where your mental health is so severe that it impacts your ability to be a good parent, I truly think the best and most responsible thing yujin could do in that situation is allow susato’s grandmother to be her primary caregiver until he was in a place mentally where he could take on the roles and responsibilities of a parent.

sure, there are arguments to be made about whether or not leaving the country itself was a good idea when he could have stayed in japan and still been present in a way that wouldn’t have been as mentally taxing. or even if he was going to britain, whether the sheer length of his stay was appropriate but all in all I feel like whether or not yujin is a good parent should be defined more by his actions after returning to japan and beginning to actually raise susato himself

which honestly why I’m still kinda conflicted. because I mean from their interactions it’s obvious they both love and care for each other a lot, susato has a lot of respect for yujin and yujin is very proud of susato. however there is also this undercurrent of yujin not trusting susato in ways that are stifling and manipulative.

like having a telegram sent to your daughter telling her that you’ve collapsed and are on the verge of death just to get her back to japan when in reality you’re fine is an insane thing to do, no matter the circumstance. and it was all in service of trying to stop susato find out a secret that frankly, would’ve probably been easier to keep if he’d just told her and asked her to keep quiet about it in the first place.

he has this urge to dictate what she knows and how she lives her through a certain level of control life which, though that is quite common in parents, I wouldn’t necessarily call it healthy.

I dunno, this is something I would like more perspectives on because I think it’s interesting so feel free to share

[sweetfyres]

⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful?

〔incest, innocence and fantasies, fluff and romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

words: 6.6k series' masterlist.

                 CHAPTER 2. 

Court affairs often put him to sleep, hours of incessant complaints and requests from worthless high-born lords and ladies who wanted more than they deserved, but not today. What was unfolding before his healthy eye was just too gripping to ignore, and for once, he thanked the gods that he did not fake an illness to miss the spectacle. His half-sister, Rhaenyra, had been bold enough to bring her illegitimate children to the Red Keep to stake their claim on Driftmark. She was demanding to recognise her second son’s legitimacy, placing him as his apparent father’s heir, amidst opposition from Vaemond Velaryon, who argues that the title belonged to him instead. Many lords in the room nodded in secret agreement with Vaemond's reasonable demand, yet Rhaenyra refused to back down, her determination palpable.

The sudden boom of the throne room doors echoed throughout the chamber as they parted, a loud announcement of the King’s arrival snapping everyone back to reality. Glancing to his side, he saw his siblings straightening up, eyes fixed on their father, King Viserys, as he struggled down the stairs with his body curved over himself. Haera, ever the dutiful daughter, had perked up at the mention of her father’s name, but her clouded vision refused to settle over the fragile man as he began his laboured progress toward the throne. 

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

The room sank into silence, a deafening sound as all eyes focused on the King's pathetic frame. The status of his health was known, but to witness his decay was a shock to everyone, and even the unflappable Otto Hightower had concern etched all over his face, though it did not seem quite genuine as he scrambled out of the throne he had been keeping warm. The air was heavy with tension as the King's slow, agonising approach to the throne seemed to take an eternity, pain burning up his skin with every step.

He trudged up the steps toward the Iron Throne, pridefully waving off the guards' offers of assistance as he stumbled, his legs trembling beneath him. In his struggle and exhaustion, the crown that dangerously balanced over his balding head slipped and fell to the granite floor with a shattering clank of metal. Aemond’s eye locked on the back of his uncle’s head as the man was the only one to act, guiding his older brother on the final few steps and placing the crown on his head. 

“I do not understand,” King Viserys’s voice was frail, breathless as he spoke, “why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

The sight of the bastard-born boy, with his head of brown locks and the whiteness of his skin standing between the rich tones of the Velaryons, triggered a low laugh from the prince’s lips, earning a side glance from his mother. The air in the throne room was thick, an obvious buzz of energy flowing between the Targaryen royalty. 

“As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to Lord Corly’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena.” Princess Rhaenys’s tone was firm and confident: “A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Suddenly, as if he had finally heard something that interested him, King Viserys’ eyes snapped to attention, rising on his seat as if the weight of his crown had been redistributed to him with full health. The left side of his face, that side that was uncovered by the mask, twisted into a smile of cracked lips. “Very well…” His voice filled the space with anticipation, his tired eyes darting around the faces of his family. "However, I have a say in the matter of the betrothal of my grandson, Prince Lucerys.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted to his half-sister, who was already watching them with an air of confidence, a smirk on her lips with a subtle challenge. Her piercing glare seemed to dare him, to provoke him, to let him know that she knew something that he did not. His stomach twisted into knots, and he suddenly felt the ghost of a noose around his neck.

"I believe in the continued union of our families, those with the blood of Old Valyria," the king declared, his voice echoing through the hall. "And therefore, I have decided to unite my youngest daughter, Princess Haera Targaryen, to Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon, the rightful heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the future Lord of the Tides."

The young prince’s world was shattered, like that night when he claimed Vhagar, the remnants of untouched innocence finally scattering over the floor for everyone to see. His despair must have been that obvious, as Aegon’s worries were evident when he turned to glance at him. Aemond remained statue-still, his gaze fixed on the back of Haera's head as she stood rigidly, flanked by Helaena and their mother. Alicent's grip on the young girl's wrist was like a vice, a desperate attempt to prevent them from tearing her away, her knuckles white with tension.

Aemond’s heartbreak was soon replaced by a raging fire, like Vhagar’s fire, that consumed his every thought as his eye daggered Lucerys Velaryon, who in return dared to challenge him with a subtle nod. Any outburst in the King’s presence would be suicidal, his wrath barely contained as his hand lingered on the hilt of his sword. He was all too familiar with the King's blind devotion to Rhaenyra and her brood, and he knew his powerlessness against it. Perhaps he could take her and rescue her from the toxicity of the court, where her innocence was being sullied by the very presence of the Strong bastards. He recalled the day Lucerys had slashed him, the resentment still festering like an open wound. In this moment, Aemond felt trapped, forced to endure the insolence of his nemesis.

It was only when gentle warmth had wrapped around his fingers that he was brought back to the present from his deadly fantasies. He looked down to find Haera’s tearful eyes welling up with crystal tears, her mind consumed by her future. The quivering of her lips fed the fire in the pit of his stomach. She was likely aware of the implications of their union, of the dark legacy they would pass on to their children, a heritage shrouded in deceit and tainted by the lies that had defined their past. She was meant to clean Lucery’s dirtied Valyrian blood with their union.

Time stopped for them as they gazed into each other’s eyes, the gentle flutter of her white eyelashes betraying the warmth of her adoration. He knew, deep down, that he and she were meant to be; it transcended tradition. It was fate; it was the will of the gods—they made her just for him, everything that he was not. Even if she were to stand before the altar, before that naive boy to exchange vows, Aemond was resolute; he would set things right. His sweetling would not be made to suffer for the mistakes of others. He would move heaven and earth to ensure her freedom from the shackles of injustice, no matter the cost.

A sudden scream cut their moment short.

Aemond’s mind was reeling, struggling to comprehend just what was unfolding before him as the two of them snapped out of their trance that had drowned out the inheritance hearing. Daemon Targaryen’s sword sliced through the air with a swift swing, decapitating Vaemond Velaryon with a deadly motion. In the aftermath of the violence, as the body began to spill over the floor, Haera instinctively wrapped her arms around his middle for protection. He enveloped her tightly, his hand on the back of her head as he held her close to his chest. The feeling of her slender frame pressed against him and his arms cradling her felt surprisingly natural, out of a dream. It was a gesture that brought a sense of calm to the chaos surrounding them; it grounded them, a fleeting moment of solace in the face of Daemon's ferocity.

His heart was racing as he clutched her. It was where she belonged: sheltered in his embrace, secured in his grasp, shielded by his unwavering protection. The half-sister’s eyes were fixed on the pair, intense with the fire of the dragon, her mind reeling with the plan she had put in place. A brother consumed by his passion and a sister who reciprocated those feelings, now a forbidden romance. She felt the danger in the pit of her stomach, not for her claim to the throne but for the future of her second-born son. Persuading her father to accept the match had been easy, serving the young prince an opportunity on a silver platter. Lucerys saw the two Targaryens lost in their own world, and he saw a challenge. 

The air was heavy with tension, thick with the weight of forbidden love and the ominous foreshadowing of strife to come.

The day after the disastrous inheritance hearing, the sun cast a gentle glow on the beautiful gardens of the Red Keep, its rays illuminating the many flowers that adorned the greenery. As she strolled through, a soft breeze caressed her face and tangled her hair, pulling the strands from the intricate braids her ladies had crafted. Yet she was overwhelmed by anxiety and a sense of unease that had settled in her stomach. The company, she was convinced, was to blame for her discomfort. Her mother’s encouragement still echoed fresh in her mind, and she would not let her down even if she had missed the worry behind the Queen’s forced smile.

Lucerys Velaryon had appeared outside the Queen’s chambers; his arm extended in invitation as a way to formally begin courting his promised princess. The young man possessed an unusual charm, an air of innocence one moment, and a sharp tongue the next. Within mere minutes of their stroll, he had dropped too many complaints for her comfort, criticising the alterations to the Red Keep, the gardens, and even the maids’ outfits. The food, as well, was apparently not to his liking, and she found herself on edge, bracing for the next critique to tumble from his lips.

Lucerys droned on about the dragonpit or something about dragons, but her mind had drifted to some of the times she had taken strolls around the garden. Aemond cherished their shared moments. He never complained, never interrupted her, and listened to her. She recalled how he would gently hold her hand over the cracked stones, ensuring she didn't trip and fall. He'd pluck flowers from the nearby bushes, presenting them to her so she could marvel at their beauty up close. In those quiet moments, Aemond always reminded her that she possessed a beauty that rivalled the flowers, making her feel treasured and unique.

As she stood beside her betrothed, Lucerys, her eyes widened in stark realization. Her thoughts strayed back to Aemond as if her mind were trying to escape the present.

The one-eyed prince lingered in the darkness, fixed on every step they took. The torches cast long shadows over him, clouding him from their sight and helping him blend into the darkness with his black leather. His mother had attempted to stop him, claiming that it was for her own good, but he refused to abandon her, especially since she was to be alone with that bastard and Gods knew what he could be capable of. She looked radiant, shining like jewels even under the weak sunlight, clad in an exquisite silk dress with delicate lace patterns. Her beauty, so pure, made his heart ache with jealousy, seeing how her beauty was being wasted on Lucerys when it should be reserved for him alone.

“I was wondering,” Lucerys’ voice finally directed at her shook her from her thoughts. “How come you do not ride your dragon?”

Her brows furrowed, initially confused at his question but realising he had no idea about the tragedy that had befallen her hatchling, Brightfyre, during childhood. The memory of that painful day was still so fresh in her mind, even if she had been too young. It was like an open wound that would never heal, and his question had rubbed salt over it. "My dragon passed away when it was just a hatchling," she explained, her voice laced with a hint of sadness.

As she spoke, Lucerys's face lost its colour, his features contorting into a grimace. "The dragon keepers believed it was due to a malformation during incubation. According to the maesters, I wouldn't have been able to ride for long even if Brightfyre had survived anyways, as my sight would have continued to deteriorate with age.”

She missed the expression, her gaze fixed on the ground as she continued her walk, her footsteps steady and deliberate. Behind her, Lucerys had to consciously relax his facial muscles, shaking off the tension that had built up. Aemond, ever the observer, caught the subtle movement and raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting between the young couple as they strolled through the castle grounds.

“I’m relieved,” she confessed, her tone a stark contrast to the sorrow that had taken over her voice moments ago. “It gives me a sense of freedom, not being bound to one of them... being different from the rest of my family, to make a name for myself and not through my dragon.”

Lucerys's incredulity was palpable as he struggled to comprehend her words. "But you're a Targaryen," he protested, his voice laced with disbelief. "The blood of dragonlords from Old Valyria runs through your veins. Having dragons is the greatest symbol of our power and strength." He couldn't imagine a life without a dragon; it was unthinkable, especially for a Targaryen and for someone like him. Memories of his childhood came flooding back like an aggressive tide of the times he and the others had mercilessly teased Aemond for not having a dragon, only for him to claim the largest one alive. Lucerys swallowed hard, the memory still a bitter pill to swallow, especially when he thought of the Aemond of today.

She halted, her footsteps suddenly heavy on the stone floor, and turned back to him with an unreadable expression etched on her face. "I do not believe that," she said, her voice laced with conviction. "To me, we are more than the blood of dragons.”

Lucerys's response was immediate and firm. "Blood is everything.”

Her eyes, a light shade of purple that no other Targaryen shared, narrowed, and a spark of defiance flashed within them, lighting up like a flame. It was a glint Lucerys had never seen before—a darker, more intense, suffocating as she stepped closer, her shoulders squaring and her chin tilting upward. Lucerys felt a jolt of surprise. The gentle girl he had been introduced to had transformed before his very eyes into someone else. The corner of her lip curled into a faint, mischievous smirk, and for a fleeting moment, Lucerys could have sworn Aemond's spirit had possessed her, imbuing her with his audacity.

Her voice, usually so sweet and feathery, was laced with sarcasm that sent icy cold shivers down Lucery’s spine as she spoke. “Is that so, my prince?” Her tone dripped with irony. “Is your blood that..." Her eyes wandered over his form, her tilted head making it seem that she was speaking down on him. “Strong… that it defines who you are and determines your worth?” The emphasis on the word "strong" was a subtle challenge, a dare to Lucerys to defend his stance.

Aemond smiled to himself, filled to the brim with a sense of satisfaction as he observed the confrontation from his corner, her voice clear as she landed her verbal blow. He couldn't help but feel proud of her, amused by this feisty side of hers that she had never shown. Despite likely dying inside from the weight of her words, she had stood up to Lucerys, refusing to back down. Aemond knew she would learn to defend herself, and their nephew wouldn't easily intimidate her.

Lucerys's face flushed with anger, his ears burning as he understood the hidden message in her words, her intention to offend him clear as day. His nails dug deep into his palms to the point they almost drew blood, a desperate attempt to restrain himself from lashing out and from raising his hand to teach her a lesson about disrespect. He had to find a way to bend her to his will, and despite her venomous words, she had a rather fragile nature, and he was sure that a few swift blows would be enough to shatter her spirit.

“Anything the matter, nephew?” Aemond’s velvety voice halted the conversation between the young prince and princess, as he had made his way out of the darkness and into the light, having decided that they had spent too long together. His voice dripped with superiority, his shoulders tight as he looked down at the boy. 

They turned to face him, eyes wide as they fixed on the intimidating figure with hands clasped behind his back and a smile that froze the prince in place, a smile that seemed to revel in the power it held over others. Lucerys' skin broke out in goosebumps as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. In stark contrast, Haera’s body reacted differently the moment his calming presence washed over her; tense muscles relaxed, breathing slowed, and calmness took over her.

Lucerys, on the other hand, stumbled over his words, his voice trembling as he tried to find an excuse for their conversation that had taken a disgusting turn, eyes darting towards Haera, who seemed to be the only one immune to Aemond's intimidating aura. The prince's courage, once bold enough to consider striking his future wife, now shrank to the size of a timid rat, cowering in the face of Aemond's dominance.

Aemond turned to address his younger sister, his eye intense with adoration that seemed to suck up all the air around them, to the point Lucerys felt bitter jealousy like a kid watching someone else play with his toy. He could not lose this silent competition over Haera; she was his to claim, announced in front of everyone.

"Our mother has requested your presence," Aemond said, his voice low and husky, like the rustling of leaves in an autumn breeze. "Shall I escort you to her chambers?" He extended his arm, inviting her to take it.

And Haera smiled, the sight so beautiful that it would inspire the finest painters for their masterpieces. She placed her hand on his arm, touching gently and lovingly, and he pulled her away from Lucerys to seethe in silence. As they walked away, Haera's eyes sneakily shifted back to look at the dark-haired prince through a blurred gaze, sparkling like diamonds in candlelight, their secret message clear as day: she knew the game they played, and she would not be swayed. Aemond was the one she wanted, and he was who she was going to get.

The entire family gathered in the grand dining room after the darkness of the night took over the once clear sky, forced out of their chambers to avoid each other since Rhaenyra’s kin arrived. Even the melodic notes of the music could not fill the space between the strained relationships or clear the thick tension of the room as they sat around the table. 

The two sides of the family sat awkwardly in silence until the arrival of the King, carried in by his guards in an ornate chair that allowed him to move with ease. As he was placed in the centre of the gathering, between both sides of the family, Aemond's gaze darted to the far end of the table, where Haera had reluctantly taken her seat beside Lucerys. It had been their mother’s idea, her sullen expression telling him all he needed to know as her pouting lips and folded arms screamed defiance.

The king spoke, his wheezing voice piercing the air, the frail state of his body evident even as he rested in a seated position. He welcomed his heir and her family with genuine warmth between laboured breaths. Aemond’s mind wandered, tuning out the king as he spoke of the importance of family unity. But, as the king began to congratulate the newly formed alliances, he snapped back to the conversation. His stomach churned with disgust as their father praised Lucerys and Haera, his jaw clenched in frustration. He wasn't alone in his sentiment; Aegon, too, seemed put off by the king's flowery words, his eyes fixed on some point beyond the gathering.

Aegon couldn’t contain himself for much longer, pent-up frustration and anger simmering like a pot about to boil. His eyes darted around the room, meeting Haera’s as he looked at the faces of his family. Though her vision was blurry, she could make out the wink he sent her way, tilting his head towards the young prince beside him. 

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” He was a master at pushing his buttons. He took great pleasure in witnessing his reactions, his face reddening with each carefully crafted comment that would leave him fuming and frustrated, like a shaky vial of Wildfire ready to explode. “You do know how the act is done, I assume... like, where to put your cock.”

“Let it be, cousin.” Baela did her best to manage the situation before the two boys escalated it. 

However, Aegon continued; this time he addressed her instead, "I... regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer.” The young man gave her a pitiful look; the drunken joke was clear in his amethyst eyes: “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Everyone was jolted out of their casual chatter as Jace’s fist thundered down on the wooden table, the sound like a crack of lightning, and all eyes darted to the source to find him springing up from his seat. He gave Aegon’s shoulder a tight, almost brutal squeeze but then gave a playful punch to his arm. He then strode around the table with heavy footsteps and offered his hand to Aegon’s sister-wife, Helaena. 

There was a sudden spike in tension, as if there was room for any more, as Jace boldly trespassed into forbidden territory. The King, in agony, remained oblivious to the rift between the members of the royal family, his sentimental gaze fixed on the unfolding drama until his frail health betrayed him, forcing him to be escorted back to his chambers for a dose of much-needed medicine.

The servants emerged from the kitchen with steaming plates of food, momentarily easing the bubbling tension that set over the family, calming their sharp glares at each other. During the bustle, one kind-hearted servant, unaware of the significance of her actions, placed the largest, most impressive plate in front of Aemond—a massive, glistening pig', its beady eyes staring up at him like a haunting spectre from his tormented childhood.

Lucerys did not miss the way Aemond’s gaze shifted momentarily, and he let out a snort, his own dark eyes shining with mockery.

As the room fell silent, Aemond's hand came crashing down on the table to get their attention, the sound echoing through the chambers like a challenge. He rose from his seat with his cup in his hand, holding it up to toast. Everyone turned to face him, their hands tightening around their cups of wine as if bracing for an impact that would rival Vhagar’s powerful landing, eyes fixed on the one-eyed prince as his voice boomed through the hall, "Final tribute."

“To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. 

Each of them handsome, 

wise, 

strong. 

Come! 

Let us drain our cups to these three... strong... boys.”

The fragile vial of wildfire shattered, releasing the fury of the young princes as they jumped to their feet, determined to defend their honour, no matter who witnessed it. Jace moved wildly at Aemond, landing a blow to his face, who barely staggered backwards. Meanwhile, Aegon shoved Lucerys headfirst into an empty plate. The guards hesitated, taking a second too long to intervene and separate the boys, allowing the drama to unfold as the frantic mothers rushed onto the scene, their worried cries piercing the air.

Aemond's voice resonated through the air as Haera rushed towards the group that formed, her grip on her mother's shoulders tight with concern. Her older brothers stood before her, their faces tense with anger but their bodies relaxed. Jace's swift punch had left its mark after all—a small gash on the corner of Aemond's lip, a dark bruise starting to spread over his skin. "I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother," Aemond said, his words dripping with sarcasm as he gazed at Haera. The real insult, however, lay in his next sentence: "Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs, an unlikely match for my sister."

The family was dismissed, and each of them was sent away to enjoy their dinners in each of their chambers. 

The flickering flame in front of Aemond captivated him, his gaze fixed on the gentle rhythm of the dancing fire. Time had passed since the tumultuous events of dinner, and he had yet to return to his chambers, finding himself in Haera’s safe library instead as he tried to ease the disgust that still lingered in his stomach. He waited for a long time to make sure everyone had returned to their chambers for sleep to avoid having anyone see him visit his beloved in her chambers.

But before he could act, the creaking of old hinges shattered the silence, and his eye darted instinctively to the source, finding no other than his girl, Haera, seemingly coming to fetch him. His heart immediately picked up the pace at the angelic sight. 

Her cloud-like hair was elegantly pulled up by a soft braid, and her slender body was delicately wrapped in the rich velvet she was accustomed to wearing to bed. Only a thin, embroidered coat rested over her shoulders, tied at the front of her chest with a delicate silk cord, covering her modestly yet radiating an aura of luxury.

The gentle smile he always saved for her tugged on his lips, the book he had been holding slipping from his hands and forgotten in the excitement of her arrival. "Haera," he whispered, his voice full of affection, as he welcomed her. The young princess sighed in relief, the tension in her shoulders finally released. Her soft eyes caressed the contours of his familiar face. "I was looking for you, brother," she said, her voice tinged with worry. Why did you leave your chambers?” The words hung in the air as if she had been searching for him everywhere, her heart heavy with anticipation.

“I needed some time to myself.” He muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor as she approached him, stopping only in front of the chair where he sat with an air of exhaustion. Now that she had moved closer, she could see the purplish bruise on the corner of his lips more clearly in his swirl of colours, and something shifted in her stomach, stirring of concern. He was leaning back on the backrest, his legs splayed out before him, signalling a sense of comfort. His coat, discarded on the floor next to him, and the leather jacket, unbuttoned and open, revealed his plain cotton undershirt. She had never seen him in such a vulnerable state, somehow so at peace after the fiery argument he had sparked with their family, like a stormy sky clearing.

Aemond noticed how her eyes travelled over his figure, absorbing every detail, and his hand motioned for her to get closer to him to take a step into his quiet world. He would have gladly slid over to allow her some space next to him and enjoy the warmth of her company. Still, she might have interpreted it differently, as she lifted herself over the cushion to sit sideways on his lap instead, her movement sudden and fluid, taking place over him as she had always belonged there.

Somehow, courage had taken over her, building from the adrenaline of dinner; if her brothers were capable of such, she was as well. Haera had promised herself that her secret would remain locked away, especially now that she was a betrothed woman, yet witnessing Aemond’s distress over the impending union with Lucerys Velaryon and the impassioned speech he delivered at dinner had ignited a fire within her. A dormant aspect of her character had awakened, a part she never knew existed. This newfound sensation felt distinct, like the first crackle of autumn leaves. It felt exhilarating and empowering. With deliberate intent, she had taken over his lap, her legs dangling off his side, her side pressed flush against his chest, and her hands settled upon his shoulders, claiming him as her own.

Aemond’s vision blurred, everything around him dissolving into nothingness as his mind came to comprehend what was happening—her gentle pressure against him. The scent of her sweet skin, a blend of flowers, enveloped him, making his senses reel. She flushed a deep crimson, her bold facade crumbling beneath a wave of embarrassment, her cheeks burning. His hands trembled with longing, hovering above her hips as if touching her would shatter her and make her disappear forever. "Sweet girl," his voice was low and husky, his throat parched as the desert. "What are you doing?" The words were barely above a whisper, a struggling sound, as if speaking too loudly would banish the moment's magic.

She responded with silence, her unsteady gaze on him, eyes narrowing to clear her vision. The proximity served them like her magnifying glass, bringing him into sharp focus. She was drawn to the subtle curve of his eyebrows, the slight crook of his nose, and the sharp cut of his chin. Her eyes lingered on the corner of his lips, where the faint imprint of the punch had turned into a delicate purple bruise, barely staining his skin. Without thinking, she reached up, her fingertips lightly tracing its edge. The gentle touch sent a shiver through Aemond's body, and he sucked in a breath, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the gesture.

She had touched him before, gentle and hesitating as she searched for his hand, arm, or shoulder to rest her head on, but that was not with the same intensity or intimacy as now. Her touch was a spark, setting his body aflame, a drive that propelled him forward with a motivation that came from the desire to be worthy of her. 

Haera’s skin felt strange, her body shifting from hot to cold and back to hot again while his hands finally came to rest on her waist, his slender fingers digging softly into the thin material of her nightgown. The voices in her head took to a contradictory choir, some screaming at her to feel more of him and the other trying to force her away, but a side was stronger and yearned to feel every inch of him, to be consumed by his presence, and for him to realise she would forever be his. The marriage to another man was nothing for her. She would forever be bound to him in her heart, and no contract or agreement could change that.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned forward, her lips brushing against the corner of his mouth in a hesitant, gentle touch. It would be her first kiss if she had pressed herself fully over his, and her inexperience in the intimacy of her touch was too evident in the way she just pushed against his skin, unsure of how to proceed. The gesture was so sweet and innocent, yet it almost sent him over the edge with a surge of heat, causing his desire to wrestle with his sense of restraint. His mind was a battleground, torn between the purity of her intention and the depravity of his own desires, as he felt the softness of her lips tantalisingly close to the spot where he wanted her to be, to devour her.

But Aemond was a gentleman; he cared for her feelings, so he refused to push her into anything she was not ready for and instead let her take the lead, allowing her to explore and discover the sensations at her own pace. 

Haera pulled back with wide, innocent eyes that sparkled with the surprise of the burning sensation on her lips, covering them with her hands as the tingling was left behind. She looked unsatisfied, her curiosity still burning bright, but she didn't know how to ask the questions she wanted to. So she tried again, her lips finally pressing squarely over his in a chaste, exploratory kiss before pulling back to gauge his reaction. She repeated this once, twice, and three times as she peppered kisses over his lips, each time pulling back to look at him with her beautiful eyes.

He realised she was testing him, watching how he responded to her touch. Aemond smiled, his grip on her waist tightening to hold her in place. “Go ahead.” He muttered, a voice reserved just for her. "You can keep going." The words were an invitation, a permission to explore, and he could sense her hesitation dissipating as she leaned in again, her lips a whisper away from his.

The next time they touched, he leaned in to meet her halfway, brushing against hers with a guiding touch to encourage her to follow his lead and discover the warmth of a real kiss, one between lovers. She immediately mirrored his movements with the soft, tender pressure when his lips danced across hers. As she tilted her head, the kiss slowly gained intensity, and she felt herself becoming lost in the sensation, the heat taking over her lower body as her desire for him grew. Despite her initial uncertainty with him, she felt an innate knowing, as if she had been kissing him all her life.

The kiss deepened, and she felt herself melting into him as the flame grew within her, body moulding to his and pressing heavily against his thighs underneath her legs. Aemond's hand cradled the back of her head, taking control of the kiss, his passion for her growing with every passing moment. His hunger was palpable, and she felt herself responding, drawn to him like a winged insect to a funeral pyre, the world around them fading into insignificance.

His tongue darted out to press itself against her lips, a gentle invitation that she accepted with boldness, granting him entrance to her mouth. He slid inside, his hot muscle caressing hers tenderly as the kiss escalated from their tongues intertwining, sending shivers down their spines as they set into a passionate rhythm with their kiss. At first, her body had stiffened, unfamiliar with the sensation, but he persisted, his gentle prodding wearing down her defences. Soon, she found herself melting into the embrace, her senses surrendering to the intensity of the moment. It was as if her entire being had been submerged in a cauldron of molten lava.

The world around her began to fade, leaving only the two of them, lost in the vortex of their passion. The air was heavy, alive with the promise of what could be, and she felt herself getting swept away by the sheer force of his desire. The kiss was no longer just a meeting of lips but a fusion of bodies that left her gasping for air yet craving more. She started to feel the overwhelming pressure of release, and her body began to sway over him, seeking for something. 

Aemond's senses grew heightened as the darkness within him began to unfurl, a dragon awakening from a deep slumber. With each deliberate roll of her hips, the danger escalated, threatening to engulf him. The thoughts swirling in his mind were primal, raw, and completely consumed by the proximity of her body to his. She had surrendered completely to him, pressing her small form against him on the worn couch, her arms wrapped tightly over his shoulders. The light of the room seemed to fade into nothing as Aemond's focus narrowed to the rhythmic movement of her hips as she began to squirm over him, the gentle pressure of her body, and the sweet curve of her neck as his hands began to travel over her body, feeling her form under his rough palms. 

His mind wandered, consumed by the forbidden thought: could he claim her innocence? The notion sent a searing flame through his gut, fuelled by the knowledge that she was promised to another for political alliances, someone devoid of honour and talent. Another would never cherish her like he could, never adore her like he would. Aemond, a man of substance, could provide her with everything her heart desired. He would mount Vhagar, his majestic dragon, and fetch the moon itself if that's what she yearned for.

Yet he resisted the temptation to take her on that chair, despite the alluring sight of her sitting over him, her barely covered body pressing against him, unknowingly seeking pleasure as she rocked herself over him. She merited more than a fleeting passion; she deserved to be cherished and worshipped. The chair limited him to mere sensations—the feel of her skin, the rhythm of her movements, the sweetness of her taste. He needed to be patient to witness the moment she discovered true pleasure for the first time.

Perhaps if he were her first—the first to touch her, to feel her, to take her maidenhead—he would leave an indelible mark on her soul. She would remember him forever, even on her wedding night and the following nights. Even without the most intimate of touches, she had awakened a deep longing within him that he couldn't ignore. He yearned to be the one to ignite the flames of true pleasure within her and to hear her soft, velvety voice whisper his name in rapturous surrender. The thought of another person claiming the right to shatter her, to push her to the limits, and to witness her stunning features twisted in ecstasy was unbearable. She would see him, not some other man, in her mind's eye. Maybe she would gaze upon her firstborn child and imagine what a child with him would look like—a Valyrian offspring with snow-white hair and piercing purple eyes. The thought tormented him, a sweet temptation that echoed through his being.

He refused to let the beast win—that beast that wanted to break her innocence over a pathetic chair, as tempting as she was in her sheer gown. Instead, he encircled her waist with his arms and drew her nearer, their lips parting with the most lustful sound as they pulled apart to breathe, a translucent string of saliva still connecting their mouths. She let herself fall over him, her head resting on his shoulder as she struggled to catch her breath. The love he harboured for her was a tidal wave, threatening to engulf him at any moment, but having her close and feeling her warmth and weight in his embrace was a balm to his troubled mind. It was as if the world, with all its cares and worries, receded, leaving only the two of them, lost in the silence of their own private universe.

Nothing could prepare them for what would come next.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ author's note ;

i HATE this chapter lol. i feel like it's so much of the show content that i didn't really play around with more stuff, but at least i added an alone moment with lucerys and finally a moment with aemond at the end, to help spice things a little bit before that inevitable chapter where everything goes to shit.

as i think i have said before, this is not a story that will continue with the show or books, so after chapter three there will only be two more chapters remaining and i'm planning for the last one to be almost no-plot smut, since that is what this series was originally. i have added the posibilities to little "spin-offs" one shots in the masterlist and if everything goes right i will go through with them but after i'm done posting other content.

i apologize for any mistakes in grammar or something, i did not have much time for editing but i'm hoping that it gets better by the next chapters! i'm definitely trying to pull my big guns for the last two chapters for sure.

a big question; should i cover blood & cheese completely, or let it be something that happens in the background and is not written down? it will happen, and it will be referenced, i just don't know if i want to write it all going down.

chapter two; Sunday 10th. ╰⪼ thank you for reading!

[trans-jon-rights]

Unpopular opinion, but I don't really like Jmart that much ?

I mean, I like how they are handled in the show. They truly brighten season 5 and bring a nice touch to both of their character arcs.

And I won't be off put by a Jmart fic, although I prefer when they don't impact the plot too much.

By that, I mean that I probably won't read a Jmart fic that's there purely for the Jmart. I'll mostly read it for the plot, and if the entire plot revolves around them getting together, going on dates, etc...

Well, I probably won't read that, while I would probably read it if it was JonTim or JonSasha.

There's also the problem of 'fanon' vs 'canon'. Canon Jmart is very different from their fanon depiction, and they're not always lovey dovey. In fact, I particularly struggle with s1 Jmart, the versions where Jon is less of an arse and get with Martin quickly. S1 Jon is my favourite character, and that's not really the depiction of him I prefer. I appreciate much more a good s1 JonTim or JonSasha because those two are characters he's already got a chemistry with, and a history as well. S1 Jmart just doesn't work for me.

And s5 Jmart is great too, just not the same as fanon, because it often doesn't take into account the trauma both of them went through.

I remember one particular fic (which I don't remember the name of, sorry), in which Jon and Martin time travel and meet up with their past selves. And not AU past selves, actual, canon past selves. The fic in itself was good, objectively. Great pacing, wonderful writing, interesting choice of POV, everything, really. Although it was heavily Jmart, I read it through to the end because it was really popular, and I was like, "Well, it must be that good, right ?"

It was that good. Maybe not to my taste, but it was.

Two points really bothered me, though. The first was that s5 Jmart never actually talked about their problems. Never went to therapy, just dealt with Jonah and done. But they were actually way too healthy for a couple like them. To me, Canon Jmart would never truly work in a non-apocalyptic situation, not without a lot of work and talking that wasn't there in the fic. They just arrived back in time and poof, no more problems.

The second point was, well, the s1 Jmart that formed next to it. That's the only true downside that almost made me drop it. Because it shouldn't work. It shouldn't, and I feel too much like the author decided to jumble the pieces together and force them into it. (Again, it's not an insult on their writing, but I could just feel it was a heavily Jmart fic, and this aspect gave me this impression).

One example of a great fic with a similar premise (still no name, sorry) was one in which there was s5 Jmart, true, but they ended up fighting and talking about their issues. And at the same time, s1 Jon and Martin talked together and said, "Well, our counterparts have clearly gone through a lot. But I don't like you/love you beyond a stupid office crush, and I think it'd be better if we stayed acquaintances."

And that was great !

And beyond AUs abd all that. The way they got together in the first place wasn't great for a long relationship, mostly based on huge trauma induced attachment issues.

Martin needed not to feel Lonely and to have warmth and proximity, while Jon was desperately in need of closure from someone he wouldn't be afraid of, e.i. who didn't hurt him physically. Because Martin did hurt him psychologically, but Jon, at this stage, doesn't consider this a 'valid' kind of harm to be applied to him. (Which he would if only he'd gone to therapy but alas.)

I think the fic I prefer the most in terms of how it handles its Jmart (and it's one of my all-time favourites, too) is Rewind.Reset.Rewrite by DarkrystalSky. I mean, I read it multiple times for the plot, but really, the Jmart there is almost flawless.

They fight, talk it through, Jon's dependence on Martin is very well handled, and it highlights both of their character arcs.

Martin is shown as desperate for attention from his crush, then once he is in the committed relationship he does his best until he realises how he shouldn't be the one to handle Jon throwing themself into danger at all and any occasions. He works a bit through his own trauma with his mum and talk with Jon until finally they come back together much happier.

Jon has to deal with sudden feelings for Martin and accepts them, going into a relationship that they take for granted, and puts in second to their mission. They take time to realise that they may be ready to doom a world for Martin, but it doesn't do everything in the relationship, and that they have to do things for their partner beyond just loving him.

Alright, that was all I had to say. Rather long rant, but I got it out.

TL;DR, Jmart isn't my favourite ship, and I don't like the way it's handled in most fanfictions compared to their canon version.

[emmg]

Hello love Can I ask for Raphael x reader where Raph actually shows love, buuut in his own twisted way? One of my fam members had autism and he never ever said those three words, but showed it in acts of service and paying attention to what you say/do aaand i was thinking about Raphael who tries to show how much he loves her(or them) but well he's not very good at this. Tav reading book- he will read it too, because he cares...just to tell her how much it sucks. She's bleeding after a fight? Throws her into his healing pool and tell her how stupid she is for the whole time he's with her and how she wastes his time, but won't leave her alone, because what if this dumb mortal drowns herself? A guy said something to her and she felt like sh*t or he touched her to make her uncomfortable? He would give her a very fancy box with big bow and smiles innocently at her ; 'Come on little mouse..open it' just for her to see somebodys hand or head 'oh..this? its this creep from yesterday' Tav wears something cheap? oh boy he would tell her everythink he thinks about this rag. She thinks he wants her to wear only expensive things, because how she looks=his reputation but the truth is he thinks she deserves only the most lavish things in her life and he wont allow her to live below HIS standards And his fav way of showing love is giving her mortal who hurt her in any way already beaten so they wont demage his precious possesion, but conscious enough so she can enjoy torturing them (for sure he does it for his own amusement more than hers)

What a fun prompt! Although, to be fair, I can't exactly make it totally healthy because Raphael isn't an emotionally healthy person to be in a relationship with so this is still a little bit dark, though definitely not awful haha.

ETA: ah crap I missed the part about x reader. So sorry about that. In my defence, I truly cannot write from second person point of view. I’m very, very sorry anon. I’ve tried before and it feels awkward to me and everything comes out… bad.

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Sometimes she feels hollowed out, as if something essential has been scooped clean from within her. She’s not sure why she stays—or even if she’s staying at all. Maybe he’s holding her here, maybe she has no choice, maybe she lost that freedom long ago. Because you don’t walk away when Raphael is speaking; you don’t walk away when he’s watching you. And his eyes are always on her, always, always, always following.

That gaze—it leaves her feeling half trapped, half sanctified, as though caught in some dreadful, holy spell. He doesn’t look at others this way, she knows that, but that knowledge only tightens the hold, winds the snare around her. It’s nothing, she tells herself—this attention, his careful watch—yet it feels like everything, a binding without words, a noose drawing tighter, a claw sinking deeper. Time twists strangely when he’s near, spiraling into something she can’t name, and she can’t help but wonder: will his interest wane, fade away to nothing? Or will it sharpen, tighten, until it consumes her, leaving her breathless, until there’s no space left at all? 

If it does—if he closes around her entirely, if his grip becomes her world, pressing in until there’s no air, no light, only him—what will she be then?

And she’s not even sure if he cares. He holds her there, yes, but it feels like watching a game; his own personal mousetrap, an exquisite little experiment to see how far she'll reach for the cheese. She wonders if he’s simply taking what he can, drawing her deeper until he tires of her, only to discard her when he does, laughing at her fascination with him. She can almost see it—him spitting in her face, turning her out with a sneer, then pulling her back in just as quickly. He'd fuck her, taunt her, pull her close only to watch her shatter, then laugh, invite her back with a gift, something golden, expensive, dripping with indulgent mockery. 

But then there are the other things he does, things that somehow feel worse—things that make the walls seem as though they’re closing in, or maybe as if he’s drawing her into some embrace she can’t escape from. She’s not sure which would be more terrifying. 

Sometimes, when they’re in Avernus together, she finds the portals dead, the way back to her world—a world of soft light and mortal trivialities, the Gate and its grime—suddenly blocked, cut off. And it's always the same dance. She demands an answer, asks why she can’t pass through, why she’s stuck here in this burning place with him, unable to flee back to the familiar. And he only waves her off, barely looking up, irritation flickering in his gaze. He says he hasn’t the time to bother with “simple magic,” that she can wait. 

But he knows, he knows damn it, that she can barely summon a spark, let alone force open a gateway on her own. He knows she’s trapped, helpless as a moth in a bottle, wings beating frantically against glass she can’t see. And he watches her, almost bored, as she paces, her panic ripening, sinking roots in her chest. Because he knows she won’t leave, can’t leave, and he’ll let her struggle just long enough to make her feel it—the helplessness, the claustrophobia, the bitter thrill of his control, closing around her, almost gentle, almost loving.

And then, only then, he flicks his fingers, and the portals blaze open, bright and mocking, as if they’d never gone dead at all. 

She's interrupting him, Raphael says, a nuisance he has no time for. Important matters, contracts to seal, souls to collect—real work to do, and here she is, lingering in his shadow, hovering as if she belongs, asking him to breathe life into a stupid portal. He snaps at her to leave, to stop her pestering, to get out of his sight. And so she does, shrinking back, biting her lip, retreating into her quiet corner.

But then, later—always, somehow, later—he comes to her, waking her from half-sleep as he climbs over her, pressing down with a heat that seems to burn straight through her skin. He murmurs his need, his lust, his rough, clumsy want, lips grazing her ear with words that are half-whispered, half-demanded. And she lets him, wraps her arms around his back, holds him, breathes through the rush of his hands, the awkward rhythm of his taking. 

She feels the weight of him, the feverish heat, and she sighs into it, into him, because in the Hells, everything is unbearably hot. His skin burns against hers, more furnace than flesh, and though she knows he’s hasty, heedless, that she’s just an outlet, a brief relief, she takes it. She lets herself be consumed by it, that pressing heat because here, with him, it’s as close to comfort as she’ll ever get.  

But sometimes there are moments that make her think he might care, moments she savors, drinks in slowly, wondering if they're real or merely the product of his boredom. She can never quite tell, but she doesn’t mind; she lingers on these glimmers of gentleness, holds them in her memory far longer than she should. 

Like when she’s soaking in his absurdly large bath, reclining in the steaming water with her arms folded along the edge, her head resting on cool stone, hair spilling loose behind her. She’s doing nothing at all, simply breathing in the warmth, letting the steam curl around her. And then he appears, slipping into the room, extending those long legs of his, rolling up his sleeves as he settles by her side. He doesn’t join her in the water; instead, he simply sits, a book resting in his hands, the very one she finished days ago. 

She watches, amused, as he leafs through it, the prominent wrinkle between his brows deepening with each page he turns. His expression is one of studied distaste, the kind that would be comical on anyone else. But on him, it’s strangely captivating. 

“Unhinged drivel,” Raphael mutters finally, his tone ripe with disdain. 

“Hm,” she echoes, half-lidded, watching him through the steam. 

“Why do you read this?” he questions. “I have half a mind to burn it. The sheer embarrassment of sharing the same air with it—I hardly want it in my library.” 

She smiles, faintly, eyes closing as she stretches a little deeper into the warmth. “I’m done with it,” she replies, lazily. “Do what you wish.” 

He taps two fingers against the spine. “The Duke is an absolute cretin, I must say.” 

“Oh?” she murmurs, her voice barely a breath above the water’s surface. 

“Utterly insipid,” he continues. "Such posturing, such shallow arrogance. I wouldn’t offer him a contract if he were the last soul on the proverbial platter.” 

She laughs then, quietly, letting the sound ripple through the steam. She knows Raphael is just indulging in his own particular brand of superiority, delighting in the verbal dissection, and maybe he doesn’t care for her company at all. But still, he stays, perched beside her, weaving disdainful monologues that settle like warm coals in her chest. And for a moment—just a moment—she lets herself pretend that he’s here for her. 

He continues, eyes fixed on the offending book as if it’s a particularly irksome insect. “The Duke’s speech in chapter five...” he says. “So very witless, wouldn't you say? Who professes undying love with such clumsy metaphors? And in the garden, no less, like a character in a tragic farce. ‘You are my sun and moon,’” he scoffs, his voice rising to a mock-romantic lilt. “‘My stars, my breath, my—’” 

He pauses, catching her wide-eyed, incredulous look. A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, and there’s a glimmer of something—mischief?—in his gaze. “Oh, little mouse, don’t look at me like that. Surely you didn’t think I’d stoop to reading this… for enjoyment?”

She raises an eyebrow, half-laughing, half incredulous. “You read it?”

“Of course I read it,” he replies, with all the haughtiness of a scholar who’s just suffered through a poorly constructed essay. “I couldn’t very well leave such intellectual refuse lying about in my library without inspecting it first.” 

“Just inspecting it? Raphael, you just quoted chapter five.” 

He waves his hand dismissively. “A tragic misfortune. I assure you, it was purely incidental. I only skimmed enough to confirm my suspicions about its total lack of merit.” 

“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes, watching as he flips another page with painstaking precision. “Is that why you’re carrying it around?” 

He raises an eyebrow, looking at her over the book with that familiar, aristocratic arch of his brow. “Little mouse,” he drawls, his tone both affectionate and condescending, “you really must learn what jests are. I can’t go about explaining them every time, you know.” 

The novel is set aside.

His hand slips below the water, and she knows, he’s done talking, at least about her books. His fingers graze her skin, tracing erratic patterns. She feels his hand leave her only to hear the soft rustle of fabric, and then he’s there, sliding into the water, slipping behind her. 

His arms wrap around her even as he pushes her against the cool stone of the bath’s edge. She feels his impatience in the way his hands move—roaming, relentless, almost rough, his fingers pressing into her skin, biting, digging between the ribs, as if he can’t bear to be gentle.  

One hand cups her shoulder, anchoring her as his other hand travels down her side. It moves in a slow sweep, now a caress, almost reverent, then shifting, tracing a path with no pattern, simply moving, as if he’s learning her contours anew. His grip tightens, loosens, a rhythm that speaks of need and very little restraint. 

He dips his head, face buried in her hair, and she feels the weight of his breath, the moist heat of it on the exhale. There’s a hunger in his closeness, an intensity that borders on obsession. He’s quiet now, all the long-winded, self-important monologues silenced, his usual need to fill the space with words abandoned. 

She feels him pressing against her back, the hard, insistent weight of him, the subtle rock of his hips, and she sighs, her body folding further against the edge of the bath, yielding to him. The warmth in her chest spills out, dissipating into something intangible, and once again, she wonders: Was this all just a performance for her, or something he needs for himself? Was that little, half-sweet conversation meant to soften her, make her more pliant? Or, against all logic, did he truly want to speak to her, to share in that strange, fleeting intimacy? 

She wonders if he cares, even a little, if those sarcastic, needlessly elaborate jests of his are meant to coax a smile from her, to make her laugh. Or is it all calculated, a ploy to keep her engaged, to ensure that when he fucks her, she meets him with something more than passive resignation? She feels his fingers tighten on her waist, his breath hitch, and for a moment, just a moment, she allows herself to believe there’s something deeper beneath his touch, something that holds her in place as much as his arms do. 

There are other moments too, moments that sink into her like a sickness, twisting her stomach, filling her with a dread so deep it almost makes her want to flee, to scrub herself clean, to be rid of him. And yet, those same moments leave her feeling strangely exhilarated, a little unhinged, as though some part of her is thrilled by the horror of it all. 

Take the merchant, for instance. A two-penny swindler, trying to pass off cheap fabric as something exquisite. She spots his scam instantly—anyone with half a brain would—but he’s audacious, leaning in, voice low and greasy as he sells his lie. She calls him out, unimpressed, and he snaps, calling her a cunt. She flips him off without a second thought and moves on, thinking nothing more of it. She’s heard worse, so much worse, and just because she looks the part of a noblewoman at Raphael’s insistence doesn’t mean she’s forgotten the dirt and sweat of her own past. She knows the cheap tricks—how cloth is dyed in back alleys, stained with whatever can be found, how insect paste and a dash of alchemical solution turn cotton into “silk” for gullible morons. She’s done it all herself, seen the worst of it, and this pathetic attempt to cheat her hardly scratches the surface. 

She forgets the encounter entirely—until the next day. Raphael barely glances up from his writing, absorbed in the ink-stained pages of yet another infernal contract, when he pushes a small, ornate box across the table toward her. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge it beyond a faint, almost bored gesture. She blinks, glancing from the box to him, and then back, curious but wary, wondering if this is another one of his games. 

She takes it, hesitates, then lifts the lid. 

Inside, nestled against dark velvet, is a finger. Blue, bloated, stiff with the grip of death. Her stomach turns, nausea creeping up her throat as she stares at it, bile rising as the realization settles—this isn’t just some random, expensive trinket. It’s a message, as clear and cold as the dead flesh before her. 

“Oh,” she whispers, voice strangled, unable to look away from the pale digit lying in the box, rigor mortis locking it in a ghastly curl. Her hands are trembling, fingers itching to drop the box, to shove it away, to wipe away the memory of this grotesque gift. 

She looks up at him, horrified, and finds his gaze resting on her, idle, yet somehow amused. 

She stares some more, her mind spinning as she tries to process what she’s holding, what this grotesque little gift is meant to convey. A part of her wants to retch, to bolt from the room, while another, unhinged part of her feels an inexplicable pull, an urge to draw closer to him, to be entangled in whatever madness constantly hangs off his sleeve. 

But she doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, she lets out a half-laugh, shaky and weak. “That’s… not what usually comes in jewelry boxes.” 

Raphael arches a brow. “I’ve given you plenty of jewelry, little mouse. Rings, bracelets, earrings—a whole collection of baubles you hardly deign to wear. Lavaliers, circlets, gems so fine even the simpering nobles of Waterdeep would weep for them. And yet, here you sit, determined to remain a rube.” He tsks, rolling his eyes with theatrical annoyance. “Mayhaps, I thought, just mayhaps, you might appreciate something different to suit that plebeian palate of yours.”

“Whose is it?” she asks, though she already knows. She feels the answer in the pit of her stomach, in the memory of yesterday’s insults and her dismissive walk away. 

He only shrugs, dipping his quill in ink. “I’m told he was a merchant.” He pauses, as if to savor the uncertainty flickering across her face. “Or was it a dockhand? Perhaps a barkeep. Truly, who can keep track of such insignificant lives?” 

She watches, spellbound in a way she can’t quite understand, as he sprinkles pounce over the wet ink, the tiny white particles catching the dim light. He lifts the paper, blowing the pounce off with a sharp exhale that sends the fine dust scattering into the air, drifting toward her. She coughs, swatting it away, a moment of reflexive frustration breaking through her discomfort. 

“So many names,” Raphael murmurs, almost to himself. “So many lives, so many inconsequential little people. It’s hard to keep them all straight, isn’t it?” 

She stares at him, a blend of revulsion and fascination churning within her. His words hang in the air, so careless, so detached, as if snuffing out a life meant nothing more to him than discarding an old, forgotten knickknack. And yet, he looks at her now, watching, as if expecting her reaction, waiting to see if she’ll recoil or lean closer. 

She leans closer, letting the moment pull her in, and he gives a satisfied little hum, returning to his writing with an air of contentment, as if the world is exactly as it should be. She watches the steady flow of his hand, the way his quill glides across the page in elegant, looping strokes, his cursive rising and falling. Her mind, however, catches on another thought, one that wraps around her and refuses to let go. 

He cares, she thinks, or at least he acts as though he does. This is how he responds to insults aimed at her, as if her offense is his to avenge. But another thought lingers, darker and heavier. He knows—that’s what unsettles her. If he knows, that means he saw, or had someone watch on his behalf, and that means she’s never truly alone, even when he isn’t there. She wonders how far that gaze extends, if he’s tracking her every step, every word, if he’s marked her movements like pinpoints on a map, an invisible tether she’s unknowingly bound herself to. 

Her hand drifts to her throat, almost absently, fingers brushing the skin there as if she might feel some hidden collar, a leash she’s been wearing all along without realizing it. But of course, there’s nothing—just bare skin and the faint, lingering warmth of her own touch. Still, the thought unsettles her, sends a flutter of anxiety mixed with something else, something uncomfortably close to… warmth. A warmth that spreads through her chest, that holds her in place despite the quiet urge in her feet to stand, to move, to walk as far as she can. 

But she doesn’t. Instead, she stays there, leaning close, just watching him as he writes, utterly absorbed in whatever Infernal text he’s crafting. And as she watches, that warmth in her chest grows, mingling with her apprehension, a mix of dread and fascination that knots itself around her, binding her there as securely as any leash he might conjure. 

Another day, another reckoning. 

She’s a mess of bruises, skin mottled and darkened so thoroughly she resembles a patchwork quilt rather than a woman. There had been a brawl, Astarion may or may not have thrown punches he couldn’t back, and they both may or may not have drunk too much. Korrilla may or may not have been at the Caress at the same time, her wicked laughter mingling with the chaos, and now her nose is a crimson fountain, dripping ceaselessly. Even the potion Korrilla forced down her throat did nothing to blunt the ache, the slight sneer on Korrilla’s face as she half-carried her back to the House of Hope making it clear she didn’t particularly want to be back tonight. 

When she stumbles in, Haarlep just laughs, calling her a “bloody, battered fool” and waving her off in disgust when she starts peeling off her clothes. With a muttered “Ew,” he disappears as she limps toward the restoration pool, her one salvation tonight. She knows it’s usually reserved for soothing injuries from far more… pleasurable encounters, but she hardly cares as she sinks into it, wincing as the water starts working its magic, stitching up minor cuts and scrapes as she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back. 

She drifts, the water lapping around her, letting the throbbing recede—until a sharp yank at her scalp rips her back to the present, her head wrenched above the water. She chokes, sputtering out bloody droplets as her eyes snap open, and she finds herself staring at Raphael’s livid face, exasperation etched in every line. His hand is tangled in her hair, and her scalp stings from his tight grip. He glances down at his dripping sleeves, soaked from pulling her up, and curses. 

“What a stupid way to die,” he hisses. “Drowning in my boudoir because you’re too idiotic to stay awake.” His fingers tighten in her hair, and there’s no mercy in his eyes. “Take a deep breath now.” 

She barely has a second to react before he shoves her head under the water, his hand pressing down with unrelenting force. Her body jerks, and she inhales raggedly before he drags her up again, just long enough for her to gasp for air and catch his sharp, appraising look before he shoves her down once more, holding her under like a misbehaving dog in need of punishment. Water floods her nose, stinging as she chokes, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the pool’s edge. 

Up again, another cursory glance, and then he plunges her under once more, his grip firm, a rhythm of punishment and cleansing, as though he’s scrubbing the night’s sins from her with each forced dunk. She claws at his wrist, nails scraping against his skin, and he finally releases her, leaving her gasping and hacking as she collapses against the pool’s edge, water pouring from her lungs in a desperate, wheezing cough. 

She realizes then, as she shudders and coughs, that the blood is gone; her nose, once a mess of numb throbbing, now feels raw but whole. She clutches the pool’s edge, head bowed, catching her breath as the water stills around her. Raphael just stands there, dripping, sleeves ruined, as he observes her. 

“Well,” he mutters, flicking water from his fingers with a faint sneer, “at least you’re less of a mess now.” 

He hauls her from the water, pulling her sodden form from the boudoir and away from the rumpled heap of her clothes. His eyes drift over them—the plain tunic, the uninspired trousers, the scuffed leather boots—with a look of disdain so pointed it almost makes her wince. 

“An offense to beauty itself,” he murmurs, almost to himself, though the words slap her just the same. “These… things.” His lip curls. “They will burn. They’re an affront to my eyes, and my patience is wearing thin.” 

His gaze slides back to her face, catching on her bruised nose, and he tilts her head with the care one might give a very expensive artifact. His fingers are unhurried, methodical, as he surveys her battered skin. “I don’t keep unsightly things, you know,” he says. “I like my things beautiful. It’s why I collect them—why I keep them close.” 

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, his tone shifts to something almost conversational, a careless elegance in his words that sets her nerves alight. “Tell me, little mouse,” he begins, fingers tapping idly on his thigh, “shall I lock the door?” 

She feels a shiver run through her, her voice faltering. “Which… one?” 

He tilts his head in mock contemplation. “Why not all of them?” 

“Raphael…” she starts, but she isn’t even sure what she wants to say, or if there’s anything to be said at all. 

Unhurriedly, he begins to strip off his clothes, each gesture carried out with an almost ritualistic elegance. He slips out of his doublet, casting it aside with a look of mild annoyance. “Your doing,” he sighs, smoothing an imaginary crease before discarding it. “This fabric—fine enough to silence even the heavens—ruined by your negligence. It cost more than you could dream, more than most would spend in a lifetime.” 

She watches, stuck somewhere between disbelief and fascination, unsure if he’s preparing to fuck her or simply indulging in the strange meticulousness of his undressing. Each cufflink is unfastened with almost absurd care, each tie released with the same flawless precision she knows so well. The clothes fold neatly under his hands, smoothed and arranged as if they were sacred relics, and though part of her wants to laugh at the absurdity, she knows better than to test his patience now. 

Raphael pauses, shirt open just enough to reveal the line of his throat, his collarbone stark against tan skin. His eyes pin hers and his voice takes on a melodic, almost regretful tone. “Perhaps if I lock you in,” he murmurs, “you might refrain from throwing yourself into every pit of squalor in the Gate, seeking out any hand willing to smash that face of yours.” 

“No one seeks that, Raphael,” she says, her voice sounding distant. “It just… happens.” 

He snaps his fingers with a sharp, final click. “Yes, yes,” he echoes, almost as if humoring a child. “And doors just… lock themselves.” 

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 5

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 5 - What Now?

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.2k

AO3

You didn’t go to Quantico today. Not that anyone would notice your absence besides Prentiss and that was fine by you. Let her stew while you figure out what you want. A difficult task since you had no idea what that was without someone telling you what to do. You rarely had the lead on your mission purpose. You could tell Brian what happened to gain some professional advice but decided it is best to keep it to yourself. Think things through for a bit before reaching out. And you were glad that the section chief didn’t contact you.

Not that you were expecting it. Prentiss wasn’t one to make amends so quickly, especially when she felt she was in the right. You respected her motivations for team preservation, but the woman went about it completely wrong.

You were not kind, either. But she provoked you, wouldn’t budge, and too fucking proud to admit she was wrong. You didn’t regret anything you said to her and probably continue being a petulant ass if she contacted you.

So here you were at the Botanical Gardens, sipping coffee from a to go cup you bought at the café, and casually stroll around the exhibits. The fragrance that you greedily inhaled was intoxicatingly calming. There was barely a sound, too, since it was a weekday and you were happy to learn from the cashier that there were no school trips planned for today. For a short time, you can pretend to have the place to yourself as you round the long rectangular pool in one of the exhibits far from the entrance.

Natural light filtered through glass ceiling, illuminating large trees hugged by well-manicured flowers. Wooden benches were tucked between large potted plants, the same ones that were placed around the pool, though on opposite ends were long planters with bright pink flowers that easily caught your eye.

You pause roughly a foot away from the pool and close your eyes, listening to the gentle laps of water hitting the edges. You could almost forget about yesterday’s argument. Eyes still close, you bring the lip of the cup to your mouth and take a healthy swallow while slipping a hand into your jean pocket …

… and felt your phone buzz.

You enjoy pretending nothing was wrong for a moment longer before opening your eyes and pulling the phone free from your back pocket. Should you take bets as to who was messaging you?

To your surprise, it was Rebecca. Did she know what happened?

You take another sip and unlock your phone to read the message,

Wilson sent 1043: Hey! Drinks this weekend?

So, she didn’t know.

Interesting.

A pang of guilt made your stomach ache thinking how the falling out with Prentiss would affect her if you didn’t go back to working with the BAU. The AG went to bat for the two of you when she didn’t have to.

Bailey would love it if you backed out and could resume causing trouble for the team. You couldn’t have that, but you equally couldn’t have Prentiss treating you like shit. Why you didn’t want to make any hasty decisions until you distance yourself further from the time of the fight and figure out what you wanted.

Whitlock sent 1055: Sure. Let me know when and where. Tara going to be there too?

Wilson sent 1057: Yep. We want to hear how things are going.

You sigh and look up at the large leaves hanging over your head.

Whitlock sent 1100: Sounds like a plan

No need to drop any major bombshells until you know what was going on.

Wilson sent 1101: 😊 Great!

And you have a couple of days to figure it out.

Today should have been a good day for the BAU. Tyler Green was apprehended before he could use the kill kit, but it was a clusterfuck of a joint task force with Domestic Terrorism. The BAU had gone after Green and Rossi had refused to call JJ and Luke back when ordered, which pissed Bailey off. But the deputy director had a sniper in place that he failed to mention to them. So, they were all in the wrong and kept secrets from one another since the two divisions didn’t trust either side. Everything settled into place with no casualties, but the fallout was intense.

Bailey’s press conference announced to Sicarius that they were on to him and right after it was over, fired Rossi as unit chief. He then ordered Prentiss to install a new team leader that would report directly to him. So of course, she said fuck that and would work two jobs. He wouldn’t approve of anyone currently on the team, and she wouldn’t approve of anyone else since Bailey would immediately try and manipulate the new member against them.

Emily would always protect her team.

Then a few hours ago, the case grew interesting as the team deduced that Green was Garcia’s informant. He never had any intention of setting off the bomb, already neutralizing the kill kit. The disgraced army veteran was attempting to lure Sicarius out by infiltrating his network so he could kill him for murdering his sister.

One saving grace for Emily is that everyone was on high alert today that no one questioned where you were. She didn’t offer any insight, either. Not that she had any.

You didn’t show up for work and she received no contact from you, nor anything from Langley. Not like she was going to poke that hornet’s nest. Until the issue of you and the contract came up, Emily had real work to do.

Which was a ton of it. More files and paperwork had exponentially piled up on her desk in a matter of hours. The long hours at work were about to double.

“Hey, Emily.”

She looks up with a tired smile towards Rossi as he approaches her desk. “Dave.”

“What a day, huh?” He sits down, folding his hands across his stomach.

Emily partly snorts as she leans back in her chair. “That’s being kind.”

His lips slightly turn upwards to acknowledge the severity of the unspoken truth of the BAU leadership shake up, but he was here for another reason. “You know, I was hoping to speak to Whitlock today.”

“Oh?” she gave away nothing but polite curiosity as to why Dave was interested in you.

“Wanted to finish our conversation from yesterday, but she never came in.” He studies Emily intently.

She doesn’t look away and says nothing to confirm or deny what he said.

“Her desk is clean,” he supplies after motioning over his shoulder towards the couch. “No Diet Coke bottles.”

Emily wouldn’t have guessed your soda addiction would end up being the clue to your absence.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” he presses.

She licks her lips, tapping pen in hand lightly on the desk as she struggles on how to begin.

Rossi chuckles at seeing her inwardly battle on what to say. “Wow. That bad?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “It was.”

“What was the argument about?”

Her face scrunches up as she takes a deep breath before explaining. “Not trusting her.”

His brows raise with admonishment.

“Oh, don’t do that. I have every right not to,” she argues firmly.

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that there’s absolutely nothing substantial on record about her.” She shakes her head with contempt. “You know she had legal trouble?” Rossi shakes his head that he didn’t. “That’s how she knows Wilson. Helped her out of it.”

He fans his hands out unconvinced. “And?”

“She admitted her file’s sealed and she did nothing wrong. That she made the right call in the field.”

“Every member of the BAU has been in trouble at some point or another in similar circumstances. Legal and otherwise,” he says with the tone of a wise, patient, parent. “And we’re not aware of any significant reprimand, otherwise why retain a high rank in the CIA.”

“Yes, but I know all of you. I don’t know her.”

“Hotch didn’t know you when you joined. Yet here you are.” He gestures around Hotch’s former office. “Section Chief.”

She remains unconvinced, face hardened with mistrust.

“Come on, Emily. Even you were given the opportunity to prove yourself. Why can’t you afford the same arm length courtesy?”

That is the question, isn’t it? Why doesn’t she like you besides the overall mistrust. Again, there were a lot of similarities to your careers that she should have some sympathy towards you and your situation. But it’s difficult to shake your reasoning for helping Wilson with this immense favor of the BAU budget resolution.

“It’s the stipend. Or the amount of the stipend that unburied us,” she admits carefully.

“Ah.” He smiles. “Too good to be true?”

“Yes,” she nods. “And why does she even has that much to use? Whatever happened was big and I don’t want that drama effecting the BAU.”

“Wow. Emily, with all due respect, that’s very hypocritical of you after what happened wi-“

“Don’t you dare.” She swivels the chair to face him fully. “Don’t you dare compare what happened with Doyle with her.”

“Why? Because you have nothing to compare the drama with?” He scoffs as she nods in affirmation. “Why does it matter?”

“Because Bailey’s still breathing down my neck trying to disband the unit and is clearly finding new creative ways to do it since the budget is no longer an issue.” She rests her head against the high back chair, staring at the ceiling.

Dave stiffens in the chair. “Emily, what exactly happened with you and Whitlock?”

She pensively pulls her lips together as she closes her eyes. “I may have admitted … that I only cared about her because of the money.”

Rossi could not help the surprise look on his face. “Emily, no …”

She sighs and opens her eyes, a hint of regret etching into her words. “I was angry after she joked about being the BAU sugar mama. Everything after that went to shit.”

He was starting to get tired of Emily speaking around what actually happened between the two of you. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have no idea if Whitlock is still on board.” She raises her hand futilely at her office door. “She left, probably for good. Which means our contract with her is null and void.”

“And the money we were hoping for …”

“… doesn’t come,” she finishes soberly.

“And you didn’t think to contact her to see where she stands in all of this?”

“Oh, it did cross my mind,” she answers ruefully. “I just haven’t. And to be fair, the shit we dealt with today made it a low priority.”

Rossi wasn’t sure how being in exorbitant debt would be a low priority if the expectant help wasn’t coming. “And now?”

She finally shifts her gaze towards Rossi, lost. “I don’t know.”

“Sure, you do,” he chides as he stands up. “You just need to apologize.”

You were glad that the sports bar, Buddy’s, was still around to enjoy the football preseason despite the Bears not playing tonight. You were a true fan of your hometown team. Thick and thin, you bitched and cheered after every play during a Bears game, loyally critical. Perhaps you should be a tad loyal to the Commanders since you lived in the D.C. area when off mission, but you honestly didn’t care. You were happy to enjoy any game that was playing on the screens over the bar counter.

Right now, the Giants were playing the Patriots in a close game as you sat at the bar nursing a Stella on draft with a bowl of gumbo. Brian still didn’t know of your indecision, though you did end up feeling a twinge of guilt after watching the shitshow of a press conference Bailey held earlier today.

He was such a fucking tool, broadcasting that the FBI was on to Sicarius and taking full credit of capturing the unsub in Allaband Park. There was no way that the operation was a success without the BAU there and even you knew that Prentiss was just in the background to show that everyone was playing nice.

You briefly wonder if you could have helped the team, or more accurately, would have been allowed to help the team today if her majesty could get over her mistrust of you.

At least Brian had texted to check on you after hearing of Green’s capture.

Dad sent 1534: You ok?

Whitlock sent 1603: Yeah I’m good

Dad sent 1632: Glad to hear it.

You made sure to allow enough reasonable time before responding to make it look like you were busy after the capture, and to answer truthfully without being specific.

“Oh, come on!” You gesture at the screen when a defensive lineman wasn’t covered and sacked the Giants quarterback.

You didn’t really care who wins but you would always call out stupid plays, and that was one major fuck up. As the Giants took a time out, you went back to your gumbo and felt the counter vibrate twice, indicating a message was received. You had missed who it was from and go to unlock the screen …

… and drop your spoon in the bowl in shock.

Overlord sent 1932: I’d like to meet up and discuss last night.

Never did it cross your mind to think that you’d get a text from Emily fucking Prentiss.

You’re motionless as you stare at the screen, hands resting on either side of your meal and the phone as you consider the offer. Let alone that there was an offer so soon. You pinch your brows before you pick up the phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

You write out several replies to get the smartass comments out of your system.

Fuck off

New phone, who dis?

Make sure when you come the pole’s dislodged from your ass

Now you wanna talk?

Oh I’m so relieved that the queen wishes to make time for her lowly servant

Are you drunk?

Each one was deleted, and Emily was probably wondering why it was taking so long for you to respond if she saw you were constantly typing a reply.

And what was going to be your real one?

You swallow down several gulps of beer, decision made.

Whitlock sent 1946: Sure. Come to Buddy’s. Know where it is?

You were tired of Prentiss having the home field advantage and if she really was earnest in wanting to speak, she would come to you.

Overlord sent 1949: I do not

Must not be her scene and thinking back to her office, there was no sports stuff displayed there, unlike the glimpses of Cubs gear in Rossi’s office when you walked by.

Whitlock sent 1950: I sent you the location

Overlord sent 1952: Got it. See you in about an hour

You fought the urge to send, ‘It’s a date!’, and simply set your phone aside. You were proud of yourself for behaving and flag the bartender over, immediately handing her your Platinum American Express card. “Start a tab, will ya?”

The blonde bartender that had been working your side of the bar counter took it with a smile. It accentuated her stud piercing above her lip. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

“Oh! And do me a favor?” Your eyes were alight with mischief that made the woman pause. “When you see a grumpy looking woman dressed like a Fed walk in, bring her a glass of your best red.”

It took Emily ten minutes to find a parking space, not expecting a sports bar to be this busy on a Thursday night. At least the five minute walk was pleasant with the light breeze and night clear enough of cloud cover to enjoy the bright crescent moon hovering in the sky. It was off center, reminding her of the Chesire Cat’s grin. Which then reminds her of you and your antics.

Ugh. Please don’t be an ass tonight.

As she enters, she immediately spots you, recognizing the suede jacket of yours hanging over the back of the bar stool to your left. She guesses it is to save a spot for her. As she approaches, she takes in your relaxed appearance, causally watching the game and sipping at the glass of beer you cradle with a hand on the counter. You had your hair pulled back in a loose braid that rested against a black tee and wore jeans that were fraying at the end that covered the top of brown work boots.

Before she even had a chance to greet you, a glass of red wine appeared on the counter next to you. She catches the bartender and you share a knowing look before she disappears to take care of someone else.

“Hey, Prentiss.” You turn to remove your jacket and place it back where it belongs behind you.

Emily shrugs her long coat off and hangs it over the back of the chair. You couldn’t help but notice how out of place she looks. It wasn’t the clothes, no. There were a lot of suits that end up relaxing at a sports bar - throwing back some beer and cocktails as they yell at the screens in joy or contempt. It was why the beer and cocktails menu were long and the wine list short. And it was why Prentiss got a basic cabernet sauvignon while you got many drafts on tap to choose much to your delight.

She sits beside you and gestures to the drink. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” Your face scrunches together in repentance. “Consider it an apology for basically calling you a functional alcoholic.”

You take a sip of your beer while watching highlights from the game. The Giants had won by a field goal.

Prentiss nods as she takes a sip from her glass. She makes a light face of approval at the taste of the wine. “Ironic offering this to the maybe functional alcoholic.”

“Touche.”

You both grow silent, Prentiss trying to recover from the peace offering she was drinking and the fact you apologized first. It was commendable to be the bigger person when Emily was in the wrong.

“Do you normally come to places like this?” she asks carefully, seeing where you two stand right now in this conversation.

“Nah. Just didn’t want to be at the apartment doing the same thing.” And you didn’t need to cook, which was a bonus.

“You like,” she gestures to the screen and awkwardly asks, “football?”

You found it cute she was trying.

“I’m not a die hard fanatic, but I enjoy the game a lot.” You finally turn to look at her. “I take it you’re not a fan.”

She shakes her head no and meets your gaze. “I am not.”

“Of all sports, right?”

“That would be right.”

You both stare at one another for a few moments before you shift in your chair to lean against the counter, resting your elbow on top to prop up your head. “If it helps to shake off some of my mystique, I’m a Bears fan. You probably don’t understand how sad that it is, but it is. My team sucks but I’ll always root for them.”

That jibe made Emily relax, even making the curves of her mouth turn upwards just enough to realize what you were getting at. “So, you’re saying you’re loyal?”

You nod. “I am. To those who treat me right.”

Emily takes a long sip of her wine to marinate on the accusation she deserves. You wait her out, watching Emily pay attention to commentary and statistics she doesn’t give a shit about on the screens across from you.

“I shouldn’t have referred to you as a means to an end.” Her hands rest on the base of the wine glass, steadying the drink as much as her own words. “It’s difficult for me to …”

You watch as she chews over what to say.

“… for me to trust you.”

You inwardly sigh and drop the arm holding your head up. Your body went on the defense, as did your tone. “Yes, we’ve been through this …”

“It’s not without reason,” she supplies quickly, but not rudely, as she cuts you off.

“I agree. But you dehumanized me,” you reply bitterly. “I was basically your money whore.”

“I didn’t …” But Emily pauses, realizing the joke you made was not your usual smartass retort, but a self-deprecating comment of how hurt you were.

She remembers you saying that you hide your trauma with humor, and what you just said admitted to a painful past of being underappreciated or undeserving.

“Stop profiling me, Prentiss,” you warn, eyes pleading.

She backs down and nods. “I’m sorry. It’s defensive most of the time in situations like this.”

“Okay, that I can understand. Social shit isn’t my forte either. Especially through all the bullshit we’ve been through.” You hold up your hands on the immediate defense as Prentiss starts to look suspicious. “And I mean generally. I’m not talking about any specifics. But people like us, with the shit we’ve done and lived through, have intense self defense mechanisms and shitty coping skills that we see everything’s a threat until we get to understand one another.”

“Ah,” she slowly nods. “Yes. That’s very true.” Then she narrows her eyes at you. “Why couldn’t you be this reasonable last night?”

“Why did you have to be a bitch?” you counter.

“Fair point,” she chuckles and looks aggrieve. “I was painfully informed I was as such earlier today.”

“Hence the text?”

“Mhm.”

“Well … good.” You down more of your drink as Prentiss does with hers, both avoiding the unspoken question - were you staying with the BAU?

Though as you watch the section chief, you see a shift in her facial features. A harden look as she comes to a decision inside her head.

“How about we start over.”

“Like, how?” you found this perplexing.

“Like this.” She turns on the stool and holds a hand out before you. “Hi, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding yesterday. I’m Section Chief Emily Prentiss.”

Your eyes go wide and look down at the olive branch. You could hear Brian’s voice reminding you that you never quit on anyone and why you shouldn’t start now.

So, you take Emily’s hand and squeeze it. “Special Agent Y/N Whitlock. Nice to meet ya.”

She lightly smiles before releasing your hand, but she starts to dread the roguish look your directing towards her. “What?” she questions slowly.

“Nothing bad, I promise.” Your smile disarms her as you notice she was genuinely concerned this would degrade into another misunderstanding. “I know you don’t know me, and I can’t say much, but to start this partnership off better, how about you get to ask me one question, and I promise to answer it to the best of my ability without joking around.”

Her lower lip protrudes with consideration. “All right.” She takes a hefty swallow of wine and sets it down to look you directly in the eyes. “How did you join the CIA?”

“Fuck,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I can’t say.”

You watch as the tiny bit of the wall Emily had taken down starts to build right back up. The shift in her brown eyes makes you feel miserable. “Wait!” you urge. “Please. I really can’t say, and that’s the truth. But I can offer something related to it.”

Emily becomes intrigued. “Go on.”

“Brian Korogoth recruited me.”

“Brian … Korogoth?” she repeats back for clarification.

“Yes.”

“The current Director of the CIA?” she stabs the counter with her index finger for emphasis.

“Yep.”

“That Brian Korogoth?” Emily needs to ask it again to make sure she was hearing this right.

“To be fair, he wasn’t that when I met him, but … yes.”

It took a few minutes for Emily to digest this new information. She had briefly worked with Korogoth when she was in JTF-12 before the Doyle case. He was an intelligent and calculating man. A natural leader. He liaised between JTF-12 and Interpol to track down members of the Armed Islamic Group* in Great Britain when a string of car bombings had occurred.

“Wow. Okay then.” She blinks a few times in realization and feels a newfound respect for the woman before her.

“I should have probably led with that when we first met to save us from all the bullshit between us, huh?” you say, as if reading her thoughts.

She laughs, an honest laugh, that echoes quite lovely over the din of patrons. “Probably, yes.”

You hold up your glass and offer Prentiss a bright smile. “To starting over?”

Emily didn’t hesitate in reaching for her wine glass to clink it against your drink. “To starting over.”

*Also known as the GIA

@unkonw00

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement - Part 9

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Body shaming, Implied abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 8 -- Part 10

Series Masterlist

Jake had his calendar open on his phone, putting in all of the events the two of you had been volun-told to attend. His heart sank as he realized just about every weekend would be taken up with something. He was going to have to work with you to coordinate calendars, clothes, and everything else.

"And don't forget to show up at the office first thing Monday morning," Montgomery tells him. "We've got an entire new employee orientation set up just for you."

"Thanks," Jake nods, exhaustion heavy in his voice. "8 AM, right?"

Montgomery laughs. "That's the arrival time for the drones and minions," he jabs. "But I suppose it would work to help endear you to them. Just don't expect anyone but your secretary to be there until at least 10."

"Right," Jake says through gritted teeth. "And do we need to get fitted for clothes or anything?"

"You saw the ones we got for you in the closet, yes?" Cordelia says with a raised eyebrow.

You try to hide your wince. If the parents knew you weren't actually sharing a bed you'd be in even more trouble.

"Yes, mother," Jake lies. "I just...didn't know if...if we'd need something special or tailored for the events."

The parents seem to buy his explanation and you breathe a little easier. Feeling full of nervous energy you keep yourself busy by refilling drinks and gently ask if anyone needs anything else.

Your mother snorts, "it's such a small wonder you haven't been able to lose weight, thinking people need more than that feast of a breakfast."

Jake's mother, Cordelia, laughs in agreement. "Seriously, girls these days are just too lacking in self control to starve themselves like we had to."

"It's such a shame," Carol shakes her head. Jake bites back a comment, reminding himself of what happened just an hour before when he tried to defend you. "I swear, the 'body positive' trend is undermining the strength of will of the younger generations. Who needs to eat to be healthy? Just take a few multivitamins a day."

Cordelia nods, "and you know they're not going to be able to make it through a pregnancy, either. The babies are going to be so fat!"

Your mother's follow up comment gets cut off by her phone ringing. You recognize the ringtone as the one she uses for when Travis calls her. "Travis!" Carol cheerily cries as she answers. You shouldn't be affected, but it still hurts that she never answers your calls with such excitement.

Everyone pauses when her smile drops. A hand covers her mouth and she starts shaking. "What hospital," she gasps, getting everyone's attention. "We'll be right there!" She hangs up and turns to your father, "Travis was in a car accident! We have to go!"

Your parents step away from the table, followed by Jake's parents.

"Should we go with you?" Jake offers, standing from the table.

"No," Montgomery shoots him down. "Only so many people allowed and we don't want to cause a scene by bringing a crowd."

Your mother starts sobbing and you go to comfort her but she smacks your hands away. "If we hadn't been visiting you he'd be okay," she snaps at you. You lower your head in shame. "You just had to keep us here, didn't you? I know you've always hated Travis. You know he needs more attention than you. And now he's in the hospital!"

"Let's go, Carol," your father intones. "Our son needs us more than she needs to be yelled at."

Carol huffs and storms out, followed by your father. You want to cry but Jake's parents are still here and you need to be a good hostess.

You turn to them to ask if they need anything but Cordelia sees your face and immediately scoffs. "Don't bother trying to keep us here. We're not that interested in you and now that your parents are gone, so are we."

William grabs his coat and tells Jake, "make sure not to screw things up worse. Anything happens to ruin this arrangement and your niece is up for grabs."

Jake's parents head out, leaving the two of you. That's when you start sobbing.

Jake's immediate thought is to comfort you, but he also knows he shouldn't touch you without permission. But would it be weird to ask when you're clearly already upset? Do you need words instead of hugs? Do you need water? Food? Blankets? Something else? He stands, torn with indecision, for several moments before moving close, but not too close, and asking, "what do you need?"

Caught off guard by the question you shake your head, "I don't know."

"Okay...let's start simple," Jake's voice wavers as he tries to keep himself calm. "Do you want a hug?"

You sob for a few more seconds before silently nodding. A hug does sound nice. You're not used to them, but they can feel good, right?

Taking your nod as permission Jake gently wraps his arms around you and you lean into him. When he helped you with the spilled coffee you got a sense of how much muscle his arms had but the hug solidified it. More importantly, he was so gentle with you, despite being so strong. You cry even harder at the realization of how much you've needed such a gentle touch in your life. You push a little harder into Jake's chest and he doesn't move. He doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything other than just hold you and let you cry.

Part 8 -- Part 10

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @irishhappiness

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly