#lol i just looked through my blog and last time i picked it up was jul 2021

[barbieaemond]

Religion

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, banter, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, dry humping, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol

Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. Just keep in mind that Aemond did not cheat on his wife while in Harrenhal. He used Alys only for her visions.

Word count: 13k. Ye have to suffer for your smut darlin'

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language.

taglist: @multyfangirl @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @darylandbethfanforever9 @zaldritzosrose @alphard-hydraes-blog

Her mother had come to King’s Landing three days after she gave birth. Peering through the door, the Princess didn’t know if the woman was more surprised to finally see a baby safely tucked between her daughter’s arms or to witness that she was still breathing. She had chosen to believe both.

Since she was a little girl, she had been instructed in what was coming, for her and all the girls like her: how to serve men, how to serve the Realm. She knew pregnancy could be a time of great distress, physical and otherwise, and for her, it turned out to be nothing more than that.

She spent the first moons plagued by sickness, glaring at the Maesters who told her that morning sickness was perfectly normal. It would've been, if only it had lasted the hours the sun was at its highest. Instead, she couldn’t keep down her breakfast, just like her lunch, or dinner. She had lost weight, she couldn’t stand any kind of smell with the risk of rushing to her pot and empty her stomach.

Then, on one fine morning, while she was walking the gardens with two of her maids, she had suddenly bent over, hissing with pain while clutching her maid’s arm, dreading the trickle running down her thighs.

The Maesters said occasional bleedings might happen, that she only needed to rest and take some tonic to strenghten her body. But that day signaled the end of her peace and the beginning of her confinement.

Because clearly, at the first sign of something going wrong, slipping out of his control, Aemond would panic, albeit showing none of it, standing as tall and stoic as ever and somehow more than he’d ever done now that the Conqueror’s Crown weighted on his head. But she knew better. She knew how to look through all his walls. She knew he was scared—for her, for the baby, for his sister, for his whole family. It was simply too much for a single person to carry all of that on their shoulders. And it was precisely for that reason that she didn’t object to any of his orders. After all, she couldn’t. He was the King now, even if he didn’t choose to style himself as such.

Thus, her chambers became her prison.

Cobwebs didn’t have time to grow because she was quick enough to point them out to the servants. She was aware of the slight drop in the stone tiles just behind the terrace, as of the strategic point where to linger to gain some cool breeze from the sea. She knew the baby liked to sleep upside down in the early afternoon, occasionally kicking hard as he, or she, settled comfortably in her womb.

Aemond had picked some books for her, mostly about history, having her yawning at the third page. She had tried needle work, putting all her good will into it for the sake of doing something, and she had deliberately chosen to believe she was undeniably good at it. But that was a very generous lie. 

“What is that supposed to be exactly?” Aemond asked one day, peeking over her shoulder as he reached her on the terrace.

She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes fixed on her embroidery tambour, working the needle in and out. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He leaned down until she felt the long silver strands tickling her head and even without turning, she could feel him grimacing. “A bird?”

At that, she had raised her head, reading all the disbelief on his face. “It is a dragon. For the cradle.”

Aemond had simply furrowed his brow, unable for the life of him to consider what he saw as something even remotely resembling a dragon. But he thought better than to anger his pregnant wife, given her late sour spirit, but especially in light of how fiercely she had started to stick the needle in, likely picturing to stick it into him instead. He had built the most fake pleasant smile he could master and said “Very well. Excellent work, my love.”

“Thank you, husband.”

The trouble was that, as time went by, she only became sourer. She grew more and more uncomfortable, too tight in her own skin. Her back hurt, her breasts hurt, and she was starting to believe she was carrying a real dragon, with fangs and all; she had no other explanation for how hot she constantly felt, forced to lie in a thin white chemise all the time, despite the winds carrying the winter.

But maybe there was another reason why her spirits were so low and sour. She had come to learn that pregnancy affected every aspect of her life, including the most pleasant one.

She would grow wet for a kiss. She would close her legs and rub them together upon seeing him rise from the bathtub. She would moan into his mouth if he so much as grazed her nipples with his knuckles. But as she grew bigger and bigger, along with the discomfort, kisses and some intimate brushing were all she would get from him. Aemond had grown distant, not only with his presence, due to all the duties he had to fulfill wearing the Crown, but even when he was there, in their chambers, sleeping next to her, she felt him leagues and leagues away.

“Pregnancy is a very hard time for a woman.” The Dowager Queen had said to her “It is overwhelming to think that you are never alone and yet...somehow you are.”

She’d never understood what her good mother meant until she was confined to her chambers, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She didn’t expect Aemond to do something, this was women’s business. And she knew his reluctance to lie with her rested solely on concern and love for her.

No matter how much he craved to take her, he had decided to put his husband’s rights away for the delicate final moons until the baby was born. He still felt guilty, for Harrenhal, for the witch, for forsaking her only to get drunk on visions and prophecies. Yet, those visions turned out to be true. He had shut that voice in his head and tried to make amends. But they didn’t have the time to mend themselves together, to knit all the distrust and suspicions into something good; the baby was coming, and it seemed he or she did nothing but grow them more apart. 

He saw how tired she was, how some days she couldn’t even get out of bed. And how useless he felt when he would catch her crying, like that night when he found her all alone on the terrace at the hour of the owl.

She was sitting on her chaise filled with cushions when Aemond walked around her. Given the state of his white shirt and hair, he had likely just awakened and hadn’t found her beside him.

“What are you doing out here? You will catch a cold.”

“I cannot sleep.” she had kept her eyes far, on the Black Water Bay, far from him. But he saw them anyway, her reddened eyes.

“You cannot stay here in your condition.” He said almost tiredly, but when she didn’t even blink at his words, he called her name, with the tone he used in the Throne Room.

“Aemond, please.” She whispered, turning her head. “I—” she bit her tongue, unwilling to put this on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let go until she was safely back in bed. So, she said “I don’t want to hear her.”

It took him less than a moment to understand what she meant. Helaena. Helaena who lost a child, who saw her flesh and blood horribly murdered before her eyes. Helaena who couldn’t stop wailing in the dead of night.

She had looked at him, seeing that torn thing, broken and raw like a split wound; shame and guilt and rage all at once. Then, he lowered himself onto his knees until he took her cold hands and squeezed them tight. His mouth opened, but she was faster. “Don’t say it.”

You cannot keep such a promise, you cannot keep us safe. No matter how many times you say it. But she wouldn’t take that solace away from him, not that plainly. The more he said it, the more he seemed to believe it. So be it.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and there was a beautiful, heartbreaking desperation in his hushed voice. “Tell me what to do.”

She had built a convincing smile, running her hand through his loose hair and pushing some strands back. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

Her spirits during the day would slightly improve. And between the Council and some hearings in the Throne Room, he always saved some time to go visit her in their chambers. She didn’t seem to enjoy being watched like a toddler, but deep down she cherished his concern. She cherished the way his hands would gently hold her own, or caress her hair, her belly. She found it hard to believe those hands could bestow such reverence and violence at the same time. And even in his absence, he managed to ensure she always had anything she needed. Even blackberries in early autumn.

“Myra, where have you been?” She asked in a late afternoon, when one of her most loyal maids entered her chambers after disappearing for the whole day.

The young girl had an awful look. She seemed exhausted, as if she had walked the entirety of Flea Bottom, twice. “Apologies, my Princess. It took me quite a while to find blackberries.”

“Seven Hells, it is only a craving. You did not have to go all the way through King’s Landing to find me blackberries.”

"No, I-I ought to.”

The Princess paused, frowning at the young girl. “Did someone else tell you that you ought to?”

“Well…yes…” the maid said, sinking her gaze to the floor “The King—uhm Prince Regent.”

She sighed deeply, and with heavy steps, she walked towards the terrace; her maid was immediately at her side to help her. “What did he tell you?” the Princess asked as they reached the chair outside.

The girl waited for her to sit, slowly and awkwardly given her big belly; then, a little timidly, she said “He…ordered me to go look for blackberries and not to…bother coming back if I didn’t find them.”

The Princess rolled her eyes in quite an unlady-like manner, “How in the name of Seven did he know about it?” She asked, grimacing as she desperately tried to find a comfortable position. “I have barely seen him this morning.”

The young maid helped her, fixing some cushions behind her back and whispered “The White Cloak at the door…I suspect he reports everything to his Grace.”

The notion didn’t seem to strike her that much, or maybe she was too tired, too uncomfortable and too hot to comment on the matter, or even scoff at it.

She grabbed a fan from her maid’s hands and unceremoniously shook her shoes off, placing her swollen feet on the cool tiles. Closing her eyes, she basked in that small relief; the floor was cold, the sun was about to set, and the baby was sleeping.

According to the Maesters, her time was close. She was eager to meet this little person but in truth, she just wanted it to end. She hated having no control over her body, her spirits, her marriage. She missed being a wife and being treated as such, not just as the mother of his child. She had come to think that, deep down, any woman felt that way, but they were forced to hide everything behind a joyful smile while sinking to their knees to thank the Mother. Wasn’t that the sole purpose of any girl in the world? To bleed on a birthing bed? Wasn’t that the way men measured women’s value?

She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?

She wouldn’t dare ask him. 

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.

She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.

“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”

His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.

“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”

That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.

She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.

“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.

Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.

“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.

You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?

“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”

“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”

“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”

His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.

“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”

He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”

“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”

Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.

“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.

“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”

“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”

“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”

Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.

“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”

His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.

“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.

“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.

Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.

She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”

He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.

“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.

“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”

She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”

“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”

She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”

“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”

It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.

“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”

His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.” 

She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”

She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”

“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.

His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.

“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”

He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.

But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh. 

She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.

He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.

She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth. 

Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.

“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”

She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.

But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.

She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.

She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.

A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.

She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.

She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.

She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.

He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.

He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.

“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.

“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”

A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.

“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.

Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.

Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”

She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”

A man of few words, but loud actions.

Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.

In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.

Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.

“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”

The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.

The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.

“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.

“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.

She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.

It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.

Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time. 

Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”

But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.

What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.

She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.

But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.

Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.

In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.

However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.

“You do realise he’s one week old?”

“”Tis never too soon.”

“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”

“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“

“Over my dead body.” 

He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”

“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”

She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.

He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.

“Soon.” Was all she answered.

The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.

But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.

The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.

The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.

She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.

She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.

But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing. 

She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.

By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.

Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.

The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.

Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.

She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”

The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.

“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.

She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”

His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”

There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.

“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”

She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince bows to her and leaves.

Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.

“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.

“How’s—"

“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”

He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”

“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.

Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”

“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”

“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”

“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”

She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.

“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.

Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”

She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”

“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”

“A pincher?”

She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”

“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”

She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.

“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.

“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”

“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”

“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”

He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”

“And how do you propose we spend it?”

“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.���

Curse him.

He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”

His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”

Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”

“We’ll make it quick.”

“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches. 

Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”

“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.

“How many fucking layers have you on?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.

“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”

“Don’t you dare, Aemond—” 

“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”

They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.

“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.

Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes. 

“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”

Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.

“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”

Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”

Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.

“You should retire.” He curtly says.

“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.

“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly. 

At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”

“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.

Aemond did not join her.

The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.

But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.

She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.

Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.

When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.

Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.

“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”

“More or less.”

“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”

“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”

“That was your plan?”

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”

“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.

“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”

Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”

“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”

“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”

Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.

She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.

Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.

When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”

Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”

While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.

“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”

At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”

“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.

As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.

“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.

“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.

“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”

“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”

“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”

“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”

Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.

She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.

But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear ��but the Princeling is awake.”

Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”

“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”

By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.

Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.

She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.

As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.

Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.

She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.

“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.

“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them. 

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.” 

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”

His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.

When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.

He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”

“My—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.

“On your feet.”

And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.

“Come.”

It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.

“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.

“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh. 

Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.

But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.

“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”

A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.

Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.

That noise, that might be his second favorite.

Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.

She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.

Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”

She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.

“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”

His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.

Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.

He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.

“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”

“Aemond—“ she pleads.

“Hush. Spread your legs.”

She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”

But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.

His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.

Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”

And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.

“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.

“What, my love?”

“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.

“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”

“Let me come please…please…”

At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.

It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”

She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.

He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.

His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.  

He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.

“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.  

“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.

“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”

She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.

“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.

 “I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”

Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.

She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.

Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.

He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.

He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.

He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.

And she does all of that. She finds God.

[kvberhearts]

i finished chaos rising (again i guess? i guess i had already read all the way through it but forgot bc everything was v familiar as i was reading xD) and i love when thrawn has his autism creacher moments

[cozage]

Omg what the heck 2k!?! I’m so happy for you like I remember when you started this blog some time ago, and you blew up fast 😭 also that era when you got shadow banned. I wanted to request the monster trio with option 1. So how about a meeting their S/O after the 2 year gap but they ended on argument so now what would they say after not seeing them for two years.

A/N:😭😭i forgot about the shadowbanned era omg. I almost stopped writing completely then. That was a CRAZY time. Thank you for reminding me of that LOL 

Characters: gn reader x Sanji, Zoro, Luffy Total word count: 750

A Postponed Apology

Sanji

“My love! You’re safe!” Sanji tackled you, both of you falling to the ground entangled in one another. 

He pushed back the hair from your face and covered you with kisses in between his words. “You’re here! I missed you so much!”

“Sanji,” you laughed, trying to push him off. “You’re smothering me!”

“I’ll smother you forever!” He pressed his head against your chest, humming pleasantly as he listened to your heartbeat. “I’ll never leave your side ever again!”

Your fingers ran through his hair as tears filled your eyes. You hadn’t expected this reunion to go so smoothly. You had expected Sanji to never speak to you again, maybe even come back with a new crew member recruit. You wouldn’t have blamed him, not after all the horrible things you said to him. 

“You’re not mad?” you whispered softly, afraid your voice would betray you. 

“Why would I be mad?” he asked, still listening to your heart beat in your chest. “I’m just grateful you’re okay.”

“But our fight…” Tears spilled out of the corner of your eyes and down your cheeks.

“Our fight?” he asked, clearly confused. He pulled his head away from your chest to look you in the eyes, and you could see his soul shatter at the fact he was making you cry. 

“Do you mean the one from two years ago?” he asked. “Darling, don’t even worry about that. All that matters is that we are here together now, and I’m never letting you go again.”

Zoro

It took your eyes a second to adjust to the darkened room, but Zoro’s voice rang out. 

“So, you’re the second one to arrive, huh?”

You hadn’t expected Zoro to be there. He was always getting so lost, you had assumed it would be anyone but him. 

“Nobody else is here yet?” you asked, joining him at the bar. 

“Just you and me.”

Silence filled the air, the heaviness of your last conversation still weighing on your shoulders. 

“Zoro-”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “It was two years ago. It’s not a big deal.”

“No.” You shook your head, finally turning to look at him. “I should’ve never said those things. If I had known-”

“But you didn’t know.” He sighed, picking his beer up and taking a long drink. “Are you still upset about it? Do you even remember what we were fighting about?”

“Well no, but-”

“Then it doesn’t matter. We’re together now. Let’s make up for lost time instead, okay?”

You smiled, relieved at his words. He had never been one to hold a grudge. 

“Okay.”

Luffy

You kept your distance from Luffy until everyone went to sleep. It had been a long day full of emotions, and he was busy enough with his captain duties. The last thing you wanted to do was inconvenience him any further. 

“Sanji!” Luffy called, entering the kitchen. “I’m-oh! Hey!”

Your heart quickened at his voice. You weren’t ready to face him yet. Even if you knew you had to. 

“Hey Luffy,” you whispered. “Sanji went to bed, but he made this ice cream sundae. You want it?”

Luffy’s mouth grew into a big smile, his eyes growing wide. He grabbed a spoon and slid into the booth next to you. “You’re the best! You know that, right?” 

You gave an awkward laugh. “I guess we need to talk, huh?”

Luffy looked at you, a blank and confused look on his face. “Talk about what?”

It was hard to look at him, but you forced yourself to. “Our last conversation?”

He was trying to remember, you could see his brain going into overdrive as he recalled your last moments together on Sabaody. Finally, he shrugged and shoveled a scoop of ice cream into his mouth. 

“I don’t remember our last conversation,” he admitted. 

You raised an eyebrow. “The fight? Because if you want to break up-”

“Why would I want to break up with you?” Luffy asked. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“Well, I said some pretty harsh things, Lu.”

He knitted his eyebrows in concentration, trying to remember. For a minute you watched him, and you could’ve sworn steam was coming out of his ears. But he shook his head. “Sorry, I don't remember that at all.”

You laughed. You should be surprised or offended. But that was just Luffy. “So we’re good?” you asked.

“Of course,” he said, offering you a bite. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

[bvidzsoo]

♡Boyfriend!Wooyoung♡

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x female reader

TW: none

Word count: 678

Genre: fluff, comfort, established relationship, bullet points, non-idol!au

A/N: Hello, anonie, I see that you have sent the request to my other blog, which I use for rebloging my favorite works (something that I haven't been doing for a long time lol I have to pick up on it again) I'd like to clarify that I don't take requests, sorry guys, but I simply don't have the time rn and I usually struggle coming up with anything unless it's my own idea lol. And if you do send a request, it might take a long time for me to write it, my apologies. This story is in bulletpoints, just letting you know. Hope you enjoy it! ^^

it had been a long day

too long, actually

normally, tackling a long day of work and going to your Pilates class too wouldn't have made you so exhausted

but you were sick, very, apparently

you had spent the weekend up in the mountains last weekend, at your boyfriend's best friend's weekend cabin and it was rather cold

so naturally, you caught a cold

but life doesn't stop there, no matter how unwell you felt

you still had a job...a very demanding one, at that

and you had just picked up more shifts last week, unknowing of the predicament you'd find yourself in after your little trip

so now, by the time you had reached home at the end of the day, you had no power left in your body

your head was dizzy and you were grateful you managed to get home without crashing your car, but walking up the stairs to your apartment felt like an eternity, and it was horrible

as you fiddled for your keys, on the verge of tears as your whole body was burning up, you became aware of the music coming through the front door, and you boyfriend belting out high notes alongside it

and as you finally unlock the door and push it open, you're met with your boyfriend standing in the middle of the living room in nothing but an oversized t-shirt reaching past his naked thighs and knee-high socks he uses when playing football with his friends after a long working day

and oh, he's holding a wooden spoon, looking completely off-thrown by your arrival

he misjudged the time and thought you wouldn't be home for another hour

now you'd have to wait for dinner, and that's not how he had planned your date night to go

which was a surprise that Wooyoung came up with last minute

you stare at Wooyoung for a second, before dropping everything from your hands and kneeling, holding your head in your hands, tears finally springing from your eyes

Wooyoung is flabbergasted and immediately rushes to your side, dropping the wooden spoon on the small coffee table in the process

he's by your side in an instant, cradling your head to his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead before he's wiping your tears away, making you finally feel at ease despite the headache, dizziness, and nausea you're feeling

Wooyoung is your pillar when you're feeling even the slightest bit off and he certainly understands that what you need right now are silence, a warm bath, and some painkillers, of course

and so just like that, he helps you up and walks you to your bedroom, leaves you on the bed to discard of your clothes and goes prepare the bath for you

and once you are done with the bath, feeling slightly better as your head isn't pulsating so much anymore, Wooyoung surprises you by bringing dinner to bed, of which you can't eat too much now, but it'll be good in the morning

and then Wooyoung gives you some water and you take the painkillers and before he could go and let you rest, you grab Wooyoung's wrist and offer him a small smile

and he understands without you saying anything

and so, he shuts off all lights in the apartment before joining you in bed, and because you don't want him to catch a cold, he becomes the small spoon as you burry your head into his back, holding onto him tightly

and suddenly all your worries melt away, and today doesn't seem so grim anymore

your head is still thumping, and your nose is still stuffy, and you think your fever is finally going down

but what matters most, is your boyfriend being by your side and humming quietly, tracing your skin gently with his fingers, your right arm resting around his torso, feeling safe

far away from the exhausting world and demanding assignments from your work

and you know you'll feel a lot better by the morning, all thanks to your lovable boyfriend, Jung Wooyoung

⚞ Masterlist ⚟

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaaa

@aaa-sia @sharksandminhos @gong-fourz @a-tinycarat @sooberryworld

@anastasiamin860 @vcutparis @yunhogrippers @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @tunaasan

@poutyjjunie @blvckarabixnvoid @slowee00 @yusalterego @arigakittyo

❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[dstryvampres]

Lab Assistant

MINORS/AGELESS BLOG DNI !

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warnings: smut LOL, dub con, pnv, unprotected sex, use of fear toxin on some dude, he smacks your ass like once

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: this is my first time writing just pure smut, sorry if the set up is super long.

For the past week your heater had been broken, and despite multiple calls to your landlord which always ended up with the promise that he would come over to fix it eventually, you were still freezing. Though you could escape the biting cold throughout the day by taking up a second home at your university, you always had to eventually come back to your shitty studio apartment and suffer through the night. You’re excess time spent on campus was well spent, studying in the library, napping under stairwells or in-between shelves in the library, stirring around coffee you didn’t even like but knew you have to drink to stay in the cafe, or staring longingly at your psychology professor Dr. Crane. The lack of any privacy throughout your day had started to get annoying after the first three days, not helped by the fact that because you saw Dr Crane more than you usually do, leading to you feeling more high strung. Gotham was not treating you kindly.

“Excuse me,” a voice called out quite loudly above you, forcing you out of your final exam induced coma. You gritted your teeth, knowing that you were likely overstaying your visit to the campus library, especially since you had just finished your last exam of the season, who knows how many hours ago.

Looking up you were met with the face of your favourite professor, Dr Crane. Another horrible coincidence, it was embarrassing for someone so put together and professional to find you so vulnerable, especially someone who you had in mind when your hand was shoved down your pants most nights. 

“The library is closing soon, I would recommend getting your stuff and heading out,” Dr Crane says, his voice oddly empathetic. A jarring contrast to the usual mix of hostility and boredom his voice held during lectures. He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching his eyebrows together, seeming conflicted over what he wants to say next, so instead you fill the space with your own voice.

“Of course, I’m so sorry sir. I seemed to lose track of time, and was too exhausted to walk home. Again, I am so sorry. I should have set a timer or just maybe not sleep in the library, that was so-“

“You have been spending a weird amount of time on campus for the past week,” Dr Crane interjects, giving you a once over. “Is everything okay at home?”

The question was so genuine it made your brain short circuit. Why would he even care about you?

“Not really,” you laughed, the two words coming out of your mouth before you had time to think. A habit only recently picked up due to sleepless nights.

A smile crept over your professor's face, one that didn’t seem to reach the rest of his face. You couldn’t tell if it was from the shock of your honesty or something more sinister. He sat down in front of you, scratching his nose, letting a silence stretch out. Just long enough for pricks of discomfort to stir.

“Well, I’m running a program here at the university over the winter break. Just need an assistant to help me over at Arkham for an experiment I’m conducting. The job would include housing closer to Arkham, since it’s a little out of the city, and it pays about a dollar over the minimum wage. If you’re interested,” he slides a business card over the table, smile now dropped, “just email me in the next 48 hours.”

Taking the card eagerly between your fingers, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ under your breath before pocketing it. When you look up he’s already halfway gone. Packing up your things as fast as you can, you leave the library and hop on the train back to your shitty apartment. An email is sent to Dr Crane that night, and the following day you are confirmed as his assistant for this experiment the next day.

𝜗𝜚

The space provided for your three week stay was slightly better than your studio apartment, mostly because it had heating, but also because you shared a wall with Dr Crane. Besides the housing, the internship also came with an average pay, some work experience, and enough credits to compensate for one class. Your first week there had mostly been mundane tasks, taking notes outside of interrogation rooms while Dr Crane interviewed patients, making coffee for the two of you, making patient profiles, and making sure no one took any of Dr Crane’s “special medicine” for the experiment. Despite the easy work and the decent benefits, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something more sinister that Dr Crane wasn’t telling you about the experiment. With a thesis based around the concept of fears, you had yet to notice any great dive into the topic beside a few one-off questions.

“Before we start this week,” Dr Crane starts, sitting down in the chair opposite to you, “I want to just warn you that this is when the experiment starts to become a little more intense.”

He holds a coffee mug in his hand, as he talks the liquid sloshes around the cup. It's all information you already know, you signed an NDA, he trusts you, do what he says, and that he needs you to stay out of the room no matter what. Last week you learned just how Dr Crane enjoys his coffee, no milk and one sugar, you can’t understand how he can drink it. One sugar can’t mask the bitter taste. He drinks it quickly though, remembering the taste makes you gag.

“Before we begin today, can you prepare the variable today in syringes? I will be introducing it into the experimental group today.”

He sets down the now empty mug, a loud thump echoes through the room, startling you. Dr Crane smiles at your reaction, it’s the same one he always gives you, the one that doesn’t reach the rest of his face. You ignore the stone that has formed inside your stomach, picking up your clipboard and pen.

“I’ll meet you in room 283B,” your professor puts a hand on the small of your back, leading you both out of his office. A shock is sent through your body at the contact, once out of the room you turn to look at him, but his hand is gone and he’s headed in the opposite direction as you.

Something else that you have noticed throughout this week is just how close Dr Crane is now. He’s more touchy than you would pinpoint him as. Which isn’t saying much, but the small lingering touches he lays on you, a hand on your shoulder, maybe on the small of your back, doesn’t seem to be too professional. One… two… three millilitres of solution per syringe. The questions he asks also seem to be a little weird, especially due to the matter of the study. A common thread being his prying into your fears, and a look of hunger when he asks the questions. Soft thud of the storage container hitting the ‘chemical waste’ bin. Though you can’t really complain, this past week has given you enough content for your late nights to satisfy you for your whole university career, Masters program included. Laying out each of the syringes in a row on the tray, and counting them out. Three syringes on the top tray, six needles on the lower tray. Rolling the tray out of the room and over to the elevator to head up to the second floor.

You softly knock on the door, waiting for Dr Crane to open up the door to the observer section. The door opens in a matter of seconds, only a crack for a couple more seconds, before it is completely opened. 

“Thank you,” Dr Crane says, looking down at the tray of syringes. He takes one in his gloved hand, holds it up to the light and nods, a stamp of approval given to your handiwork. “Remember: that if anything goes wrong, do not enter the room, just call security, and take as detailed notes as possible on the patient’s behaviour and the levels on the monitor.”

You nod, taking a look at the monitor set up beside the one-way glass, all vitals seem to be steady at the moment. The door to the room holding the patient opens up and shuts quickly, Dr Crane slipping in and greeting the patient, thanking him for his time. The patient seems to be a middle aged man, scars run across his arms, roughed up from whatever he did before his time in Arkham, he’s bald and seems to be displeased with his situation. Still, when Dr Crane comes to insert the syringe into his arm he stays still and takes it. The opaque liquid disappears as Dr Crane pushes down on the syringe, removing it once all the liquid has entered into the man’s system. A ‘thank you’ is expressed by Dr Crane before he exits the room, syringe in hand. Once the door is locked, Crane disposes of the syringe in the toxic waste bin in the observer’s room.

“The solution will take about five minutes to kick in,” he says, looking at you and it’s now that you realise just how excited he seems to be. 

The heart rate on the monitor starts to speed up, taking your attention away from Crane, and noting it down.

“Are you sure you estimated the time correctly?” You ask hesitantly, not wanting to offend your professor.

“I did. No worries. Injections can do this to people.”

The next five minutes pass by slowly, Dr Crane behind your chair, his breath tickling your ear. It’s almost impossible to focus like this, you just want to do something about the growing wet spot in your pants. Screaming immediately breaks through the tension you were feeling, you look at the patient. His eyes are wide, his pupils expanded, and his heart rate reaches around 140 bpm. Alarm sets into your own heart, you didn’t expect this big of a reaction from the patient. Dr Crane nudges your shoulder, reminding you to start writing your observations.

11:06: patient’s heart rate reaches 140 bpm

11:07: patient starts uncontrollably screaming at seemingly nothing

Your continued scribbling of notes doesn’t seem to discourage Dr Crane from talking.

“I didn’t know it would be this effective. I’ve been waiting years for this to be approved and this is better than I could’ve ever expected.”

Nausea settled from the mix of pleading for mercy and screaming from the patient, and Dr Crane’s glee from his reactions. Unsure how you could continue on with doing this almost every single day for the two weeks. Writing soon became sloppy due to your own lightheadedness and nausea, every moment you begged someone to make this stop. It was too much. It stretched on for over fifteen minutes before the patient finally came back from whatever drug induced hallucination he was forced into, yet he was still crying. Wanting to distance yourself so far from this experiment, you place the clipboard down.

“Wonderful isn’t it?” Dr Crane asked you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Whatever response you thought you could muster was stuck in your throat, so instead you nodded. “I call it my ‘fear toxin.’”

Once his hand left your shoulder, you immediately stood up, head spinning so much that you stumbled right into Dr Crane.

“Are you okay? Did the ‘fear toxin’ effects startle you?” He asks, putting his hands on your shoulder to stabilise you, his voice bridges between mocking and actually concerned.

“I just need to go to the bathroom,” You squeeze out, stumbling into the hallway and waving goodbye.

Stumbling around, unable to find the bathroom, you slide down the wall of an empty hallway. Sitting on the floor and curling up into the fetal position. Nausea slipping out of you slowly, eyes closed, just wanting to forget about the whole experience. What substance could even make a man react so horribly? Why would anyone make that in the first place? What purpose could a substance like that even serve? How will this even help-

“There you are,” a voice comes from above you, Dr Crane. You open one eye up, becoming flustered at your unprofessionalism, and enraged at the sight of your cruel professor.

He kneels to your height, offering you his soulless smile. “I’m sorry if that startled you, but I thought you would be better than them. I thought you could fully see my vision, look past the gruesome bits and understand what I’m trying to do here.”

His words both enrage you even further and make you feel even more embarrassed. He created a horrible substance, tested out on a man that, from what you know, didn’t deserve it, and essentially tortured him. On the other hand, this is a man who you have dreamed about and only want to please. For the past three years, you have sat in his class and dreamed about only him. For him to think that only you could understand his plans and dreams, is a flattery you could only dream of.

“Maybe I just didn’t prepare you well enough for this. Can I make it up to you?” Dr Crane asks, offering his hand to you. It takes a couple seconds, but you take it and he leads you upwards. 

His hand is oddly cold, his grip on your own hand is firm, but not harsh. His skin is smooth. It’s embarrassing that he has to lead you out of this room, has to coax you to continue.

“Let’s go to my office, hm?” Quirking an eyebrow, but not waiting for a response he led you down the hallway.

Everything seemed to blur together for you, the trip to the elevator, down the elevator, and into his office. He clicks the door shut, locking it, then turns to you. Stepping forward until he’s cornered you onto his desk.

“You think I don’t hear you at night. Calling my name. The walls in that place are very thin,” Dr Crane whispers into your ear, his hand slithering up your thigh.

A gasp escapes your lips, both at the hand now dangerously close to the warmth growing in your pants, and also because you didn’t think he would be able to hear your late night pleasure sessions. Soon he’s cupping your sex and you moan into his ear softly, earning a hum from him. Finger wander up from your sex to cup your chin, he brings you into a kiss. It’s bruising and hungry, he’s biting at your lower lip and you swear you can taste your own blood. His fingers make quick work unbuttoning your pants, sliding them down your legs until they drop to pool around your ankle.

“You're so wet already, how interesting,” He teases, tracing a finger over your clothed slit. Moaning in response you chase after his lips, but he pulls away. 

Your underwear is pushed over to the side, and his middle and ring finger breach your entrance. A loud ‘oh’ comes from your mouth, crane presses his lips to yours again to silence you. His fingers move slowly in and out of you, he catches each moan you let out with his mouth. His lips are soft, but the kiss is rough, his fingers speed up. They stretch you out so nicely it stings a little bit. It’s been so long since someone else has pleasured you, at all.

His fingers pulled out of your sex slowly, deliberately. A painstaking motion that left you close to pleasureless as he pulled out of your kiss. Quickly flipping you around and pressing you into his desk, the shock between his warm body behind you and the cold desk pressed against your front sent you spiralling. There was shuffling behind you, before you felt him lineup his cock with your cunt.

“Beg for it.” 

Your mouth opens and you spew out a string of ‘please’s and ‘need it’ that seem to satisfy him enough for him to push inside of you. He’s girthier than you expected, but not as long as you expected, which is fine for you. The stretch makes you ache and he won’t be bruising your cervix. Without giving you a moment to adjust he starts to move in and out of you.

“You have to be quiet, okay?” He says, before picking up his speed.

He sets up a consistent speed, hitting a spot inside of you that makes you grip the edge of the desk so intensely that your knuckles are turning white. The desk creaks as he moves in and out of your cunt, his breathing speeds up, one hand twists into your hair pulling your head back and you can’t tell if it’s to ground himself or as a reminder for you not to be too loud. Another hand comes to smack your ass, it's a swift hit, but it makes your knees buckle. 

“You're so much better than I thought you would be,” Dr Crane strains out between grunts.

He presses his front to your back, the hand in your hair softening its grip but not leaving. His breath tickles the back of your ear, the grunting coming from him makes you bite your lip to suppress your moans so hard there will be an indent left there tomorrow.

“Dr Crane, can I cum? Please, I’ve been so good, please let me cum,” you babble, the side of your face pressed into his desk making your words slur a little bit.

“Cum for me,” he says, moving the hand not tangled in your hair to your clit. Pressing small circles into your clit, he starts to speed up. 

Soon the pressure in your stomach releases and it goes black for a couple seconds. You feel Dr Crane’s hand press into your mouth to silence you as your legs buckle. Once you’re conscious again, he has already pulled out of you and you can hear him zip up his pants. You stand on your shaking legs and follow suit, trying to press your hair down into a more professional shape.

“I would recommend you get cleaned up,” Dr Crane says, giving you a smile, “Was that enough motivation to continue aiding me in my experiment?” “Uh- Yes,” you answer, not fully aware of what you were even saying, too embarrassed and lightheaded to even compute anything he was saying besides ‘getting cleaned up.’

“Perfect. After you get cleaned up, please meet me in room 256B. We can meet again here tomorrow during our lunch break if you continue to need the motivation provided,” He pats you on the shoulder, and leaves you in the room alone.

[juniperskye]

Chewing Gum

Summary: Eddie gets gum in his hair, so Steve takes him to his favorite salon to get it out. The events of season 4 did not happen.

Eddie Munson x Hair Stylist (Fem)Reader (she’s kind of sunshiny emo lol also she’s described to have colored hair, tattoos, and piercings)

Fluff

Word count: 1474

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, no use of y/n, language!, Jason Carver being an ass, half assed salon info, let me know if I missed any!

not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Jason Carver is a dick. He treated Eddie and the boys like shit and went out of his way to make sure they knew they were “freaks”.

Eddie saw Chrissy get bumped by one of the other basketball players. They were messing around in the halls like a bunch of Neanderthals and Chrissy got struck in the crossfire. She was body checked into a locker and her books went flying.

“Here.” Eddie offered Chrissy her science book that had slid across the hall.

“Thanks Eddie.” Chrissy smiled.

Eddie nodded back to her and moved toward his homeroom, but not before Jason stormed over, purposely bumping Eddie in the process.

“Let’s go babe.” Jason said, pulling Chrissy along with him.

This had been a pretty tame reaction from Jason…or so Eddie thought. Eddie made it through homeroom and history no problem, it was when he got to lunch that all hell broke loose.

“Woahhh dude! You have gum in your hair.” Garreth said to Eddie.

“HA HA very funny Garreth.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Oh shit! Ed, man he’s not joking.” Dustin informed the older boy.

With that, Eddie reached to the back of his head and brushed his hand over his hair. As he shifted from the top of his head down towards the nape of his neck, he felt the sticky wad of chewing gum, causing his curls to tangle up.

Laughter erupted across the cafeteria, as Eddie’s gaze shifted to the disruption his eyes met Jason’s who shot him a smirk and a wink. Further proving Eddie’s theory that the asshole that was Jason Carver had, in fact, been the culprit of this incident.

“Eddie, I could call Steve, his hair guy could probably fix you right up.” Dustin offered.

“Hell no. The last thing I want to do is get help from Steve.” Eddie scoffed.

“We could just cut it out.” Mike shrugged.

“Fuck it. Call Steve.” Eddie conceded.

Dustin and Eddie made their way to the school’s payphone. Dustin was quick to dial the number and explain the whole situation to Steve once he picked up. Steve had offered to take Eddie to his hair guy, but only if Eddie asked nicely and said please…which he reluctantly choked out over the phone.

“I’ll come pick you up.” Steve told Eddie, before hanging up.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve pulled up to the school in his burgundy BMW, yelling at Eddie to “hop in”. The drive started off in an uncomfortable silence. This was the first time Eddie had hung out with Steve alone, not that they were hanging out.

“So, listen Eddie, nobody, and I mean NOBODY, knows that this is where I get my hair done and honestly I’d like to keep it that way.” Steve explained.

“Okay…you’re freaking me out. Where is this place?” Eddie said as he looked around the unfamiliar neighborhood.

“Just up here on the left.” Steve said, pulling up in front of a hair salon.

Eddie initially felt confused, he figured that Steve would go to a barber, like any other guy from school, but this actually made a lot of sense. Steve cared about his hair the way any girl would and he’s very particular about it so naturally he would go somewhere that would take better care of his hair.

As they made their way up the curb, Eddie was able to get a better look of the inside. It was painted mostly black but there were bright pops of hot pink and teal around the place. There were pink velvet couches and those smiley face daisy pillows strewn about them. There was only one employee in the place, and she was currently blow drying some girl’s hair.

Eddie’s eyes scanned the hair stylist, you were beautiful you had pink streaks in your hair, dark tattoos littering your arms and a nose ring. You took Eddie’s breath away.

“Steven Harrington you better not be back here to ask me to cut your hair shorter. You made me take so much off last time and I still haven’t gotten over it!” You shrieked.

“Would you relax! I’m not here for a haircut, I’m here with my uh, my friend.” Steve said, glancing over at Eddie.

“Hi Steve’s friend! Oh, my goodness your hair is beautiful! Please don’t tell me you want me to cut it off!”

Your theatrics were making Eddie’s heart sing. The compliment had him blushing.

“God no! I don’t want to cut my hair, that’s actually why I’m here.” Eddie exclaimed.

“He got gum stuck in his hair.” Steve replied waving him off.

“I didn’t get shit stuck in my hair. That asshole Jason Carver spit gum in my hair.” Eddie explained.

“Ugh the Carver boys are all terrors. I remember being a sophomore when Michael Carver was a senior and if he wasn’t the biggest douche bag, then I don’t know who was.” You said, shaking your head. You shifted your gaze over to where Eddie and Steve were sitting. “Wait a minute! I know you, Eddie Munson, we had freshman English together!” You said, reintroducing yourself to him.

“I knew you looked familiar!” Eddie smiled.

You told him that you’d be with him in just a minute, you wanted to get your client finished up and checked out. He watched in awe as you effortlessly sectioned and styled her hair, led her over to the register and cleaned your station quickly. He noticed you gathering a few things, which he could only assume would be for him.

“Okay come over and sit!” You gestured to your chair. As Eddie made himself comfortable you began explaining what you were going to do. “So, I am basically going to load your hair up with oil which should allow the gum to slide out. I will wash your hair after too, so you don’t leave here looking like a greasy mess. I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Okay, thanks.” Eddie said, pushing his bangs out of his eyes.

“If you want I can trim your hair too, just clean it up, make it so your bangs aren’t in your eyes so much.” You offered.

“Oh um, that would be great but I uh, I don’t have any…”

“It’s on the house Eddie. Just a favor for a friend.” You said quietly.

Eddie nodded slightly and you got to work, slipping on some gloves, and pouring the hair oil into your hands. You started working it into his hair, really targeting the areas around the chewing gum. Slowly but surely the gum started to untangle itself from Eddie’s chocolate tresses. Once the gum was completely out, you led Eddie over to the shampoo bowl and proceeded to wash his hair. You couldn’t help but smile down at the soft expression he wore on his face. His eyes had fluttered shut and you thought he truly could have been asleep the way his face was relaxed. After washing, conditioning and finally rinsing his hair, you gently grasped his shoulder.

“Eddie, you ready for me to cut your hair?”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” Eddie said, carefully getting up and heading back to your chair.

Eddie sat and you and him chatted back and forth as you trimmed his hair. You had made sure to communicate through every part of the process, which products you were using and why, the way you were cutting his hair and adding in some natural layering to help with the bulk, trimming his bangs a little shorter than he was used to so they wouldn’t be too long so quickly. You pulled out the hair dryer and attached the diffuser, explaining what it did to Eddie and letting him know that blow drying definitely isn’t necessary for him to do.

Steve couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that plastered its way on his face at the interaction playing out before him. He had never seen Eddie sit still this long or listen this intently to anyone. Steve couldn’t help but think that Eddie had better thank him for bringing him here.

“Alright Eddie you are all set.”

“Thank you so much, seriously! I really appreciate it and I don’t think my hair has ever looked or felt this good.” Eddie said, admiring your handywork.

“Of course! And by the way if you ever get gum in your hair again, peanut butter or cooking oil can get it out, it just takes a bit of work.” You explained. “But know that you can always come here, and I can help too!” You couldn’t help but mentally facepalm.

“Yeah. That sounds good! You know, I would need your number…you know to get a hold of you..” Eddie smirked.

He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of thanks toward Jason Carver…he had brought you into his life, all with a piece of chewing gum.

[princessleechan]

"You're the man!" Chapter 39 Written Chapter

Masterlist

⚽Chapter tags: MDNI, she’s the man au, revenge au???, cross dressing!reader, reader identifies anything but male, sports au, queer themes, university au, love-whatever the fuck kind of shape, 2.9k w.c., game day, mentions of tits and dick lol, a bit of hurt and angst, the closest things to a sports fic

⚽Tag list: @90s-belladonna @the-boy-meets-evil @lirtha97 @hipsdofangirl @justineasian @kwanisms @multi-kpop-fanfics @pantumin @wooahaeproductions @mayashu @shuasdraftsalt @lone-lone-ranger @headlockimnida @horanghaezone @haolistic @porridgesblog @jeonjungkaka @luchiet @ujimatchaaa @skzdesi @cheoliehansolie @vlbii @myghobi @sisterofsomeone @joonsytip @gyublues @alltheshineofthestars-blog @randomworker @isabellah29 @savgogh @too-many-kpop-hubands @kamabokogonpachro @skittlez-area512 @seccdlurv @chisskaa @mochiteez @theyluvfrankocean @lllucere @thomawifey @middle-of-the-earth @okiedokrie-main @itsokaytobedumb00 @humankimbap @zezedoesshit @teenyfinds @jeonghansshitester @aaa-sia @heyitz00 @silvsie

When you finally get to be in the field all you feel is relief until it comes to trying to convince Seungcheol to put you back in after that awful performance courtesy of your brother.

“Captain!” you call out, your voice tinged with urgency.

Seungcheol glances at you from the corner of his eye, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The stern set of his jaw and the way he shifts his weight suggest he’s not in the mood for pleasantries. “Maybe next game,” he replies coolly. “Can’t risk another fluke like the one you had out there.”

“I was nervous,” you protest, trying to keep your tone steady. “It was my first game with a new team. I panicked. Please, just give me another chance.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, a look of skepticism in his eyes. “How am I supposed to trust that this time will be any different?”

“Put me in and I’ll show you,” you insist, your voice brimming with determination.

Seungcheol exhales sharply, clearly agitated, and turns his attention back to his clipboard. His gaze flickers briefly in your direction before he starts writing something down. The seconds tick by as he weighs his decision, and you hold your breath. 

Finally, he looks up, a reluctant glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Since you look like yourself again,” he says, his tone softening just a touch, “I’ll give you 15 minutes. Use the time to reflect on what happened. Then we’ll see if you’re ready.”

“Got it, Coach—I mean, Cap,” you respond, a mixture of relief and resolve in your voice as you prepare to prove yourself.

You take the spot previous occupied by Yeonam next to Jeonghan who holds a smile of mischief like he always does. He gently nudges you, playfully greeting you. “Welcome back to the bench, Yeonam.”

“Thanks,” you grumble, your gaze lingering enviously on your teammates out on the field. A few catch your eye, especially one who you happened to share a bed with just last night. You sigh deeply. “I don’t know what to do, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan picks up on the fact that your frustration likely stems from more than just soccer. He senses that there’s an underlying issue he might not fully grasp without knowing the whole story. Still, he recognizes the delicate nature of your situation, understanding that when it comes to your personal life—especially something as precarious as your recent entanglements—he needs to tread carefully.

“Soccer, buddy,” Jeonghan says with a wry smile, “We’re playing soccer.”

You roll your eyes, a mix of exasperation and frustration. “You know what I mean.”

The match is evenly balanced halfway through. Seokmin manages a few solid shots, proving himself a key player for his team, but he struggles to keep up with his opposite, Mingyu, who is emerging as the true star on the field. Invisible to the naked eye, he lets his mind on body run on the one thing he could focus on: his rage, allowing it to fuel his movements. It doesn’t take him long to dominate the pitch, and before you know it, it’s your time to rejoin the game, with Seungcheol’s approval and a pat on the back from Jeonghan.

You jog excitedly back to your team, eager to hear the game plan and be involved. However, you’re distracted by compulsive lingering glances at Soonyoung, who never even bothers to look your way. You decide to shift your focus to Mingyu, who noticeably avoids your gaze. Before you can offer your input, the team huddles and breaks, and everyone returns to their positions on the field.

You chase after the ball, skillfully dodging defenders and making yourself available. “I’m open! I’m open!” you shout, hoping to get Mingyu's attention.

Mingyu, controlling the ball, ignores your calls and attempts to maneuver around you, ultimately missing the goal. Your frustration is palpable as you furrow your eyebrows at your roommate, pointing out your presence on the field. Once again, you receive no response from him, and instead, Seungkwan gives you a reassuring pat on the back, “You ok?”

You nod at him in tired confirmation, and quickly, the game is back on with the soccer ball at centerfield once again.

This time, you're trailing Mingyu closely, trying to keep up with his swift footwork. "Pass it to me! I got it!" you shout, waving your arm to get his attention.

But he doesn’t acknowledge you. His focus is solely on the goal ahead. He takes the shot, but it goes wide. No goal. Nothing but air.

Frustration bubbles up inside you. “Mingyu, come on!” you shout, your voice tinged with a mix of disappointment and urgency. 

“Stop following me,” he finally says before running off.

This goes on for a period of until you’re at your tipping point, confronting him after yet another missed goal. “What the hell, Mingyu! Why are you being like this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He dismisses.

“You know what? No.” Before he can storm off again, you stand your ground in front of him, ready to duke it out in front of teh entire team if you need to. “I am gonna worry about it. We were good for the last weeks working together, getting along even. Texting a decent amount, then you block me, and now your blocking my plays.”

Mingyu tightens in on your confrontation, a silent anger in his eyes. He drops is voice low enough for only you to hear, clipped tone that makes it clear there’s more at stake than just the soccer game. “Well, maybe if you didn’t be a dick instead of being my friend, I wouldn’t have to.”

“Bro, are you kidding me? All I’ve ever been is your friend. What is this even about?” you demand, your voice trembling with frustration.

“I know,” he retorts, taking a sharp breath. “I know what you and Chae did behind my back.”

“You—you actually—wow, dude,” you stammer, utterly stunned by his accusation.

He scoffs, crossing his arms. “Can’t say shit, can you?”

“What the hell is interrupting the game right now? Boys?” the Captain intrudes, his voice cutting through the tension.

Your hands start trembling, and you feel the weight of your bottled-up emotions about to explode. “You know what? Fuck. I can’t do this. You know what, Mingyu? I didn’t kiss your crush, my brother did.”

“Brother?” Mingyu stares, his anger only intensifying with your supposed lie. “You don’t have a brother.”

You nod, your voice steadying. “Yes, I do. Yeonam—Yeonam is my brother.”

Mingyu’s face twists in disbelief. “Have you gone mental?” he asks, his tone a mix of anger and bewilderment.

“Goddamnit, look,” you say, reaching for the back of your head. You pull against the elastic band holding your hair tightly in place, finally releasing it from its death grip.

As your hair falls against your shoulders, everyone’s eyes widen in surprise, shocked to see you shed your disguise.

“What the fuck,” Mingyu begins to grumble, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You peel back the fake eyebrows, sideburns, and anything else that was part of your disguise. Each piece removed leaves you feeling more vulnerable, fully exposed to scrutiny as you reveal your true self. 

“Yeonam is my brother because… I’m his twin,” you say, standing tall despite the nervous flutter in your chest.

The corner of your eye can’t help flicker towards Soonyoung quietly started before he turns away from you, something being told in his body language and your heart sinks realizing what. The revelation hangs heavy in the air, Mingyu's expression shifting from confusion to a mix of shock and realization. The team around you murmurs, trying to process what they've just witnessed.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Mingyu exclaims, his voice full of disbelief.

“Y/n?” Seokmin steps forward, recognition dawning on his face. “What is this? What are you doing playing for this team, dressed like one of them?”

You scoff, locking eyes with your ex. “Making a point, asshole.” You turn back to Mingyu, who is still in shock.

“And no, I didn’t kiss Chae. I mean, how could I when I don’t see her that way and knowing you have feelings for her?”

“You—I—“ Mingyu stammers, struggling to find his words.

You take a deep breath, addressing the team. “I’m sorry, guys. I joined this team because mine was terminated to prioritize the boys' team at my university. I joined this team because you guys were the best, along with my school. And my brother” you clear your throat, “ he was going to be out of town. That’s him over there.”

The team follows your gaze to the stands, where your brother Yeonam is watching. Noticing the attention, he makes his way down, joining the group with a soft smile. “Hi.”

“He was the one playing in the first half of the game,” you add, feeling defeated. “That’s who was kissing Chae that night.”

“No wonder he sucked,” Jihoon blurts out, unable to hold back his observation.

“Hey,” Yeonam retorts, clearly offended.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Soccer is my entire life. I wanted to prove to everyone here, and maybe to myself, that we didn’t need to be boys to play. To prove ourselves worthy of the school funding. I didn’t think I’d end up liking being on this team so much. Liking the people on this team so much.”

You glance at Soonyoung, and for a brief moment, your eyes meet before he looks away again, avoiding your gaze. The moment hangs in the air, thick with unspoken emotions and the weight of your confession.

It hurt. More than you’d like to admit.

You realign your gaze. “I wanted to play so badly, and I can’t do that with what’s happened between us. We had a good thing going, our friendship. We’re better together, stronger when we work as a team.” You pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “What do you say, Mingyu?”

Mingyu hesitates, then asks, “Wait, wait. If you’re not a guy, then what are you?”

You roll your eyes in exasperation. “Do I have to whip my tits out to prove something?”

Joshua chimes in with a grin, “Is that an option?”

“Please don’t,” Yeonam interjects, looking horrified. “I’d rather not see my twin’s tits. Sounds like it would require expensive therapy.”

“Yeah ditto, stickdick.”

“Okay. I believe you,” Mingyu says, his voice tinged with defeat as he looks down, shoulders slumping.

“So, can I play?” you ask, hope creeping into your voice. “I want to show that it’s not just boys who can be good, and that I, representing my team, can be just as skilled.”

Mingyu contemplates for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought. He glances at Seungcheol before speaking again. “It’s not the matter of the player but what they bring to the field. Skill is nurtured, not born. Right, Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol, who had been observing the exchange closely, lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a frustrated sigh. “We’ve all seen players improve through hard work and dedication, regardless of who they are.”

“Hold on,” one of Seokmin’s teammates pipes up, his voice dripping with skepticism. “You guys can’t be serious about this.”

“Why the hell not?” Seungcheol retorts, his voice rising in frustration as he points directly at you with a commanding gesture. “That’s my kid. My player out there. You think I’m going to just let go of someone that talented?.”

Seokmin’s team doesn’t let the matter rest without a fight. The tension remains high as arguments and counterarguments fly back and forth, each side determined to prove their point. The obnoxious player, clearly enjoying the confrontation, smirks as he pulls out a rulebook from his bag, its worn cover betraying its frequent use. He hands it to Seungcheol with an air of smug superiority. “Rules strictly state that boys’ sports teams stay boys’,” he says, his tone almost mocking. “Right, Cap?”

The obnoxious player turns to Seokmin with a triumphant grin, as if he’s won the argument before it’s even over. Seokmin, however, remains silent, his eyes locked on you still registering the conflict in front of him, detailing every word he’s said to your face without knowing and remembering the empty feeling from lack of response.

Seungcheol’s expression hardens as he takes the rulebook, his gaze fierce and determined. With a defiant glint in his eye, he rips the rulebook in half, the pages fluttering to the ground in shreds, and placing the giant chucks back on the opposites. “What rulebook?” he declares, his voice filled with defiance.

Seokmin’s teammate’s eyes widen in shock and indignation. “Hey–” he begins, but Seungcheol cuts him off with a steely gaze.

“If you’re scared of losing, just admit it,” Seungcheol continues, his voice cutting through the tension. “Don’t hide behind some petty excuse like gender. This is about sportsmanship and skill. Unless you’re really just the losers who stole resources from a capable team to cover up your own lack of talent.”

The obnoxious player’s face turns a deep shade of red, his pride clearly wounded. His fists clench at his sides as he struggles to maintain his composure, flinging the defiled rulebook on the field. “You’re on!” he finally shouts, his voice cracking with anger.

The game resumes, and with renewed determination, you step back onto the field, channeling every ounce of energy and skill into each play. Mingyu, having finally warmed up to the idea, starts coordinating seamlessly with you, his passes sharp and his movements precise. The rest of your team, energized by your resolve, steps up their game. You can feel their hope and faith in you, driving you to push your limits and showcase exactly what you’re capable of. To prove yourself that there’s more to what’s in your pants to show what kind of fire is in your heart.

You weave through defenders with skillful footwork, making strategic plays and delivering accurate passes. Each time the ball comes to you, you handle it with precision, your vision and quick reflexes earning you a few key assists and encouraging faces of your teammates. The game is intense, with both teams fighting hard for every inch of ground. You intercept a crucial pass, setting up a perfect opportunity for your teammate to score in the finally minutes of the game. The crowd roars as the ball hits the back of the net, giving your team the lead.

The clock ticks its final seconds and the final whistle blows. The scoreboard broadcast your victory. Ccheers explode around you, a cacophony of celebration and relief. Your teammates rush in, their faces alight with joy. They envelop you in a sea of high-fives and cheers, their exuberance palpable. It’s a moment of pure triumph, and the camaraderie is electric, filling the air with a sense of collective achievement and unity.

Yet, amidst the jubilation, your gaze keeps darting to the sidelines. Soonyoung is already heading towards the locker room, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if trying to escape the spotlight. The sight of him leaving so abruptly tugs at your heartstrings, cutting through the elation of victory. You want to bask in the triumph with everyone, but your concern for Soonyoung pulls you in his direction, a gnawing need to understand what’s behind his distant expression.

You rush to catch up with him, weaving through the celebrating crowd. “Soonyoung! Did you see that? We won!”

He stops momentarily while packing his things, glancing back with a weary expression. “Sure. Congrats on the great game,” he replies, his voice flat and devoid of the excitement that should accompany such a victory.

You take a hesitant step closer, your heart aching at the sight of his disinterest. “I’m really sorry for lying to you,” you say, your voice earnest and filled with regret. You can’t help but feel the weight of your mistake pressing down on you.

“No big deal. Doesn’t matter,” he responds dismissively, his back already turned, signaling his desire to move on.

“But it does,” you insist, your voice cracking slightly as frustration and sadness mix. You trod towards him anxiously, missing the smile he always spays, the teeth he bares, teh flirtatious way he’d greet as you or Yeonam. “I wanted to tell you. I was just so, so happy being around you, I just…”

Soonyoung takes a deep breath, clearly struggling with his emotions. He shoves the last of his things into his bag with a sense of finality. “Can I just get a minute?” he asks, his voice strained and barely above a whisper.

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat as you swallow your own tears. “I’m really sorry,” you repeat, your voice soft and almost pleading.

Without a response, Soonyoung walks away with his bag slung over his shoulder, his footsteps echoing as he passes through the locker room exit. The door swings shut behind him with a soft, final thud, sealing him off from view. You’re left standing alone in the boys’ locker room–the one place you did everything in your power to avoid, now the only place you find yourself wanting to stay–as the jubilant echoes of the earlier celebration now distant and muted.

The weight of this moment settles heavily on your shoulders, the joy of the day overshadowed the bitter taste in your mouth and your heart now shattered into a million tiny pieces.

[mozzaremi]

finally working on the ghost hunter au that i started a few months ago (?), but i did a complete rehaul on the concept

INFODUMP:

(okok, english isn't my first language and i'll probably edit out grammar mistakes when i'll find them, so please bare with me lol)

Initially, Aubrey and Kel meet as internet pen-pals, both share an interest in horror and all things creepy (tho aubrey prefers the creepy but cute stuff). While Aubrey is more of a casual fan, Kel is a full on enjoyer of anything and everything that's spooky: horror movies, creepy stories, and especially the ghost stuff.

Kel would always share to Aubrey about his fantasies of being a professional ghost hunter and maybe having a tv show all about his and Aubrey's adventures in the paranormal world.

Aubrey and Kel both live in the big city, tho Aubrey often visits Faraway as that's where her mother resides. She would often meet up a friend of her's named Basil: a shy guy who's really interested photography and everything related to plants. While hanging out with the flower boy, Aubrey would frequently do Basil's hair and makeup, later on he picks up some neat beauty tips from her that allowed him to explore his style. The visits to Faraway wouldn't last long, only being there for the weekends and holidays before she'd have to go back to her dad in the city.

Eventually Kel and Aubrey make a blog for Ghost hunting. Their content on there is amateur at best, but they gain a loyal following of other ghost enthusiasts, and non enthusiast, mostly just people who really enjoy kel and aubrey's friendship dynamic and their banter.

In their endevours, they would earn a loyal hater, who goes by "The Maverick" who would nickpick any and all instances of paranormal activity. Although sounding pompous and theatrical, he always finds reasonable proof to debunk all their findings.

Skip a few years, Back in faraway basil has to deal with the grief of his grandmother's passing, he would often stay at the graveyard just to mourn. The graveyard in faraway was infamous for having an unknown being living there, no one knowing if it's human and harmless or something paranormal and dangerous. No one has ever been able to get photo evidence of the entity, so they are more often percieved as an urban legend.

One foggy evening, Basil was back at the graveyard, doing his usual mourning session, when something sat besides him on a bench. Eyes full of tears, he didn't dare to face the person, so he continued with what he was doing. Eventually the person(?) starts asking questions to get Basil to vent to him and maybe calm him down and it works. Felling a little bit better Basil faces the person to see a guy his age in a very strange outfit. Once he got a better look at him, he jumped off the bench realising it's the fabled ghost boy of the graveyard. He runs away, but notes the fact that guy he talked to was very nice...

After that, he starts believing in a life after death, and his grief lessens knowing that possibly his grandmother is in a better place

Basil finds out about Aubrey and Kel making a ghost blog, there the two would film themselves searching through abandoned areas to find ghosts... or something, anything really. While they never found anything scary, they had a very good duo dynamic and Basil became somewhat of a fan of theirs. Basil noticed the poor video quality due to it being recorded on a crappy phone (android lol) and it inspired him to purchase a video camera.

When Aubrey visits Faraway again, he offers his cameraman services to her and she agrees. She introduces Basil to Kel and they all hit it off.

One day, when Aubrey and Kel are feeling hopeless of their Ghost Hunting adventure, Basil tells them the time he met a ghost in the graveyard back in faraway. They both take his word for it.

They get Hero to drive them to faraway, Hero who is a Uni dropout, he really doesn't have anything better to do besides taking up odd jobs to pay rent. He has saved a lot of money throughout the years of being uni-free and working at basically every retail job in the city, so the though of having a road-trip didn't bother him.

Once they are at the town of faraway, Hero hands them a packed lunch, and the gang is off to find a ghost! Being in the graveyard, things felt fruitless, not a lot of things were happening besides the fog that started to form. Kel got tired and started reaching for his bag to get the sandwich that Hero packed him. But there was a problem... there were no sandwiches to be found in his bag... Suddently his eyes meet the figure of the faraway ghost boy who was snacking on a BLT...

Kel alerts his friends to come grab some footage of the ghoul right in front of him, but an issue arose... the video camera wasn't working and couldn't get Sunny in the shot without the device glitching out.

The ghoulish boy named Sunny sees how restless, but persistent the ghost hunter crew was, he found their antics humorous at best, but once the big brother Hero comes to check up on them is when Sunny is on full guard

He summons chains from under the ground, binding the 4 visitors in place. Aproching them again he threatens to suck all the life out of them. They start pleading for their life and a idea accured...

Sunny gave them an offer to help him find his long lost sister...He is unsure if she's still alive or not, but he still feels the presence on her in the living world through the Something chained to his foot. In return he would spare their life and let them film him for their ghost blog. The gang agrees to his offer and just so they don't double cross sunny, he lays a curse on them that if they leave him behind on purpose, they would have their souls taken away from their bodies, turning them into lifeless husks.

AND SO THAT'S HOW THEIR ADVENTURE STARTS! they have this sorta mystery gang adventure going on, traveling across the US to find Mari while also having wacky high-jinxs and sunny allerting the others of ghostly presences in the area for Aubrey, Kel and Basil's ghost hunting blog content, just so they would get enough blog donations to keep traveling!

[nothing-tolose]

All Because I Liked A Girl.

Part 3

A/N: lol i found this a bit nonsense whsgajdhe *wheezing* AND AND AND IM SORRY IF THIS WASNT GOOD AS PART 2. anyway i love u guys sm xoxo

if you have criticism and suggestions to me, you can just knock my dm or send it to inbox <3

🇵🇸 daily click

part 1. part 2.

Those messages still showed up several times with some different accounts.

You decided to turn on the do not disturb mode so those hateful messages won't bother you for a while before you switched app to reply Ellie's message.

You

yeah

i guess..

You took a deep breath, fingers were typing over the keyboard with hesitation.

You

no

i'm not, actually

can you come over, els?

i need u here

please

delivered

You let out a slight sigh, and you put down your phone to the kitchen table. You buried your face in between your arms, eyes were red and tears stain on your cheeks.

You were actually don't want to give a fuck about Anne's post, but the way people insulting you and the way she reacted to them, you couldn't even understand. How on earth you don't give a fuck with that when some people were saying they'll be waiting your funeral? They might really do something if they have a guts and you were unaware.

And someone was just mentioned your initial there, Anne reacted with 'shh'. What kind of reaction was that?

You scared, terrified even. It feels like you're going to isolating yourself in your home until they forget about the post. Sadly you'll never do that, and you won't and you can't do that because you're not even graduate yet!

You left your phone there, and tried walking to living room even though your feet still feeling a bit limp, you were resting your body on the couch with blank stare to ceiling. Your mind started to thinking about those comments, from the first you saw it to the last you saw it on blog. It scares you, so much. Your tears coming down from your eyes for the second time, your chest were going up and down. You were sobbing so hard. Terrified, confused, all your feelings mixed in one.

Morning felt so long. Now it's 1PM, and you still on the same position with cushion that you hugged for the past few hours. You can hear nothing but your sobs and the sound of cars passing by on the street. Still not feeling any better.

The next second, you heard a knock from your door, followed by sound of door opened. You could tell it was Lauren who just opened the door, sound of hurried footsteps filled the room, "There you are!"

Lauren runs over you, crouches on the floor so that she's at eye-level with you. Her eyebrows furrowed, she obviously worried about you. She tapped your shoulder two times, "Would you sit?" She asked.

You just nod and get up slowly, leaning on the backrest while Lauren put down the cushion on your lap.

"Where's your phone?"

You turn your head and looking at the kitchen table where you left your phone morning earlier, "There," You said, almost not making a sound.

"Okay."

She walk towards the kitchen, her hand picked up your phone without a glance and put it in her coat pocket. You didn't paying attention to Lauren and staring to the front of your sight as you still got your panic attack, but you really really tried to make yourself calm down. Oh, but it didn't help you at all.

Lauren went back with a glass of water on her hand, she sits next to you, "Drink it, and try to breath slowly," You just do what she said.

She put it down the glass on the coffee table after you drank. You feel her thumbs wipes your tears slowly along with her little chuckle. You swore you have no idea if Lauren weren't here, you might be drowning in your tears or maybe crying blood when your tears already gone. Or the worst part, you might be dead alone here. She was like your own sister, who always stay on your side when you're down and when you're happy.

Lauren smiled at you before she hugged you so tightly, her hands running through your hair, "You don't deserve this."

"It'll pass. They'll forget about everything what happened today in no time, okay? You didn't stole Ellie," She keeps saying some words to make you feel better, and apparently it does. You fell asleep with your head on Lauren's lap.

Lauren took your phone out, and she stared at the lockscreen. There's still a bunch of messages request from people who still trying to get you down. Her eyebrows furrowed, anger almost taking over herself.

'All these fucking unnecessary messages, and Ellie doesn't texting her at all while the problem was involved with her? What kind of girlfriend is she?'

Lauren decided to changed the setting to disable the notifications from any social media except messages, at least you wouldn't see those fuckers from your lockscreen notification center.

She turned off your phone and took a glance at your face, she sighed.

'Does she really care about you right now? When everyone were talking shit about you because they thought you stole Ellie from Anne?'

Woke up on the same couch, the first thing you noticed was Lauren wasn't here. You were all alone, lights turned on, it's already dark out there.

"Shit, how long I've been asleep?" You get up, looked up to the clock and it's already 8PM. You grabbed your phone from the coffee tables in front of you, seeing if there's any messages you can reply.

messages from lauren

idk how long you've been asleep but i rlly have to go so sorry for leaving u aloneee;((

i bought some foods u can heat it up, AND dont skip your dinner bcs i assumed you haven't eaten today

dont be so curious to open ur social media, kay? i dont want u get your panic attack again

i love uuuuuu 💋💋💋💋❤️❤️❤️

You laughed for a second, then you scrolled the notification center searching if there's more messages. Your smile disappeared when you didn't see any messages from Ellie.

I mean, she always tried to reply your message asap after you sent the texts even when she's busy, she would tell you that she can't reply all your messages right now and will reply it soon as possible. The texts you sent to her this morning were still delivered. There's even no calls from her, does she even read your messages through the notifications? You needed her so much, and where is she now?

You don't want to overthink it. Maybe she's been too busy, but today is fucking Sunday, how the hell a student got really really busy on Sunday?

You bit your nails, suddenly thinking about your biggest fear.

What if she meet Anne in somewhere?

Your mind straight up thinking about her and Anne. All those what-ifs filling up your head, even you whispered to yourself to not assuming everything in negative way. But you couldn't help it. You really hate it when you can't help to stop assuming things.

You huffed, resting yourself on the backrest. You staring at the wall, imagining if Ellie were here right by your side like Lauren did and at the same time you still thinking if she were with Anne today.

You almost fell asleep again when you heard Ellie's voice calling your name along with knocking on the door. You stood up quickly and ran into the door.

Once you opened it, she grabbed both of your forearms. Her face looked so worried, worried than Lauren. She panted, sweating all over her face, and messy hair strands on the side of her face.

Your hands on her shoulders, "Where have you been?"

She didn't answer your question, all she said was, "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." And asking you if you were okay, then she hugged you tightly like you were about to leave her.

You ended up on your bed, laying down with your head resting on her arm. After she said sorry five times, you took her to the bedroom. You really wanted to ask her, where the hell was she this entire day? Why did she texted you and just disappeared, and then showed up looking so worried like she was almost dead?

But here you are, with her. None of you broke the silence. She caressed your cheeks so gently, kissing your forehead several times, and humming.

You looked up to her, staring at her green emerald eyes. Your mouth was opened, almost asking her the same question that you've asked before.

"Sorry, I had an emergency." Right before you could ask her, she spoke.

"What emergency?"

Ellie went silent, she bite her lower lip and glancing aside, avoiding eye contact with you.

"Ellie, what emergency?"

She sighed heavily, her eyes now looking at you, "Sorry, you got dragged into this mess because of me. I shouldn't be disappeared for an entire day after texting you," She closed her eyes and looked away, "I'm really sorry."

You sitting up there and shook your head in desperation, "You did answer my question earlier, but you didn't answer the last question, Ellie. What emergency?"

There's no reply from her. You scoffed, "Ellie, what emergency that made you didn't reply to my texts?"

Ellie turned her head, "You texted me?"

"What?"

Oh.. Wait, what?

taglist: @cherryimaa @kimaellie @backedbeansh @bunnyrose01 @bready101

[thebluester2020]

Humbly asking for your horny Jio rant (≧ω≦。)!!!!

(I am ravenous for even the smallest of crumbs)

Summary: [RSV] Jio NSFW Alphabet (I pick my favorite letters so nothing's in order!) Warning(s): 18+ filth (Im not holding back, y'all have been warned) Kinda nothing tbh I'm literally just spitting from the mouth and hoping it makes sense. Rough Sex + Dub-con(?) (In letter D but it's Jio's imagination), Side note(s): Oh girl/boy/sibling...ANON BUCKLE UP. I struggled writing this ngl, I could write a fucking essay about how much this man means to me but I didn't want to use a ask to just rant away so...this is like a normal NSFW ABC fic but with some humor (my horny rantings) sprinkled in so lol, be on the lookout for those. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

quick side note ; to the poor unfortunate souls that may come across this post don't have a single fucking clue who Jio is. This is Jio from the RSV mod aka the man I'd willingly slut myself out to.

extra note alert ; Before we begin though, I want to make one thing really clear.

I'm biased as all hell toward Jio because I have the biggest thing for elves. Woman, man, doesn't matter to me. If they have pointy ears and are unusually attractive and tall, then I'm all in dude. So with that being said? Please believe me when I say that stars shot from my eye sockets when I learned this man was an elf.

AND THAT'S NOT EVEN THE BEST PART.

A = Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

Jio would be the king of aftercare. His dialogue already implies that him and farmer get freaky on the regular so he'll definitely ask you if you need any water or if anywhere is a little more sore than the usual (in which case, he's giving you a massage that puts professionals to shame). But if you say no to any of these and state that you'd rather just cuddle, he's pulling you closer to his body immediately and whispering sweet words to you as he pets your head until you go to sleep.

♡ - "Drink," The soft-spoken word made you steadily crack your eyes open before, through your hazy vision, you saw Jio standing over you with a cup of water in his hand. You snickered quietly to yourself as you propped yourself on your arm to take it, the crispy refreshing taste of the liquid going down your throat both hydrating you as well as giving your body a jolt of awakeness. And as a delicious ache ran through your body, particularly in-between your legs after you and Jio's love-making session.

Your cheeks started to darken and warm a little at the memory of what you and your husband had done only a few minutes ago. Something that Jio quickly picked up on as he smirked at the alluring sight of you growing more and more embarrassed from your own thoughts. "Something on your mind, my love?"

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

Jio would definitely be proud of his muscles. There's a scene where the farmer openly gawks at him when he's meditating in his spouse area so I think after seeing his spouse so openly drool over him. He'd become more focused on his muscles when he trains and would definitely give the farmer a little show every now and again. As for the farmer, though? As cheesy as this response is, I think Jio would love every part of you, there's no part that he favors really because he thinks your literal being is a blessing in his eyes. This means there's definitely a lot of body worship during sex.

♡ - You felt like you were on cloud nine right now as Jio kissed every available surface area of skin on your body.

Each time his lips would ghost over your skin. The more your thighs twitched with the urge to clench if it weren't for your husband situating himself between them, his hand teasingly petting at your soaked cunt much to your dismay. "J-Jio..." You begged, the sound of your whiny voice making the elf throb in his pants before he looked up at you through hooded eyes. He placed one last kiss on your hand before he responded with a throaty "Yes"?

"Please..."

You hated how you felt yourself throb at the sight of him smirking at you, almost as if he were a fox who just an inch closer to capturing his prey. "Please what, my star?" He turned your hand over to press a kiss in the middle of your palm before he moved down to your stomach, kissing down and closer and closer to the area you wanted him most until he stopped again. "You have to be more specific, begging aimlessly won't get you anywhere."

You pouted. "T-There." You tried gesturing to your aching pussy by grinding forward against his clothed dick, eliciting a sharp hiss from him. Yet, as quickly as you tried to seduce him into giving up on reminding you of his manners, he moved back a little to avoid any more of your tempting ministrations.

"You know how to ask properly, not by acting like a tempting vixen." He pinched your thigh lightly as a warning, a whine escaping your lips as you ran your tongue over them.

"Please...touch my pussy, I-I need you."

His praising smile felt like it could light up your very soul. "As you wish, my star."

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Okay so— I feel like when it comes to Jio himself? He's not big on cumming on you. Since he sees as no less than a goddess basically, in his eyes? Cumming on you is degrading, no matter how much you try to convince him that you're into it. However, cumming inside of you is definitely on the books, he loves it. As for you though? This man is a total Munch Master 365 days out of the year. Want to ride his face until he squirts on you? He's into it. When he fucks you and he sees your slick beginning to drip from your hole and onto the floor, he has to resist the urge to eat you out in order to continue stuffing you full. Your cum is essentially ambrosia to him, he could go hours drinking you down and he's never going to be fully satisfied.

♡ - He couldn't get enough of your sweet nectar.

Your delicious slick that dripped from your needy cunt after just a few minutes of foreplay. Jio would've had a mind to laugh if he weren't so focused on sucking on your clit right now, his arms locked around your thighs to keep you from closing them as you moaned and pulled at his hair, the stinging pain encouraging him to keep going in his ministrations whilst he struggled to try and keep a close eye on you.

But, from the combined fact that his head was swirling from both your taste and his growing lust, as well as his bare cock twitching against the bedsheets, the little friction it had from his grinding against the sheets only did enough to make him needier and needier for your warmth rather than actually getting him off!

Then again, in the face of your pleading eyes looking down at him in a silent bid for him to keep going until you came...

How was he able to deny such an expression?

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He definitely would've had a dirty imagination about you once or twice before you two even started dating. However, they would mostly be along the lines of "Yoba, this farmer is so annoying because they say hi to me every day...let me fuck them to take my frustrations out on them". Now, when these thoughts would pop up, he would definitely try to bury them, to the point no matter how hard his dick if after thinking about it. He's not going to falter and touch himself. But oh boy, does it cause him to start to see you in a new light after starting to think about what you look like under your clothes.

♡ - Typically, Jio was in control of himself much more than this.

He wasn't aware of a single thing in this world that could shake his foundations or make him waver in his beliefs. But...it seemed that you were a unique exception because, for the last few nights since the night the two of you began talking since your victory in the Spirit World. His mind has been...plagued, with certain imaginations that is.

Imaginations that focused on the topic of how annoyed he was of you.

It was infuriating how you didn't understand the words 'Go Away'.

So, in the deepest reaches of his mind, he knew the perfect method to make you understand how much he disliked you. He'd approach you in a forest, perhaps you would already be on your way to talk to him one-sidedly once more, and he'd pull you towards him before smashing his lips against you.

His cock would twitch inside his pants at the sound of your needy moan, eager and possibly elated at the fact that you were finally getting the attention you were seeking from the very beginning as Jio swiftly pressed you against the bark of a tree and flip up your skirt.

"Tch," He click his tongue at the sight of your soaked panties, lightly pinching your backside when you wiggled your ass to tempt him into giving you more. "...Such a needy thing, hold still. I'll give you what you so eagerly want." He'd whisper, more to himself rather than you as he quickly freed his cock and wasted no more time to pull your panties to the side before he stuffed you full in one thrust.

Yet the second he'd begin to move...he'd snap himself of his thoughts.

Now the elf was faced with a new task. To find a way to calm his raging hard-on, he refused to fall into the pit of temptation that he was so certain you were trying to lead him into.

extra note ; Continuing on my last point—

He's. A. Tsundere.

He's. Mean (with that hidden sweet side to spice it all up)

And not to expose myself but I fucking love mean men. And to be honest? I'll go a step further. THEY DON'T EVEN HAVE TO BE NICE??? During the Ridgeside quest line, the first two years of my playthrough revolved around J I O, and with every single mean dialogue he dished my way, I licked right up.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

I think of Jio as a half-in-half case. On most nights, he's super romantic and likes to treat your body as if it was gifted to him by Heaven itself (i.e If you're not confusing the moment for a Wattpad scene then he's thinking he hasn't done enough). On the flip side though, he'll ditch the romance if he's super pent-up or if you're explicitly asking for him to treat you a lil' more roughly.

♡ - His heart felt like it was close to bursting.

Within the dimly lit room of your shared bedroom, the soft sounds of your sexes meeting could be heard as he trusted up into you as you sat on his lap, the two of you sharing a hugging embrace as his cock twitched inside of you at the sound of your moans.

But, his orgasm was steadily becoming an afterthought as all Jio could focus on was you. After all that he had been through in his life, all the sacrifices he's made—

How could he be so lucky to be with you in this moment?

To have your love and attention?

"My love," He panted out, his voice uncharacteristically breathless and whiny as he nearly pleaded for your eyes to be on him. Shakily, you took your face from the crook in his neck to look at him, your hands sliding up his body until they cupped his face. And from that simple action alone, the elf had fallen deeper in love with you.

"Y-Yes" You responded to him, your face somehow warming even more as you looked into your husband's lovesick eyes. A small smile was on his smile and his cheeks as well as the tips of his ears appeared flushed.

Jio smiled as you caressed and held his cheeks before his face fell to rest in the valley between your breasts. "You're so pretty." He sighed dreamily.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon)

He doesn't jerk off much, to be honest. (And to be honest? I feel like his libido doesn't really "activate" unless you're around him) Even when you two are in a relationship and I fully believe it's because 1. He's usually too busy/focused on his missions to think of rubbing one out or 2. He has you so if he's in the mood then he'll just go to you. But should you not be in the picture at the moment? He'll just get himself off to a piece of clothing that smells like you or his imagination.

♡ - "Fuuckk..." Jio whispered to himself as he sat on the edge of the bed, his hand slowly stroking his cock as he breathed in the smell of your scent from a shirt you left behind on the bed. The combination of that plus the imagination of your hands being the one on his dick rather than his own...it made for a pretty convincing moment that led him closer and closer to his orgasm.

It wasn't often that the elf masturbated. It wouldn't ever compare to the real thing.

But...when you said you'd be on Ginger Island for the next few days to attend to businesses there, he was expected to uphold the task of keeping things here on your farm in order.

And he'd do just that.

However, he didn't expect that his body would react so strongly to your absence. Even as his ministrations on himself slowly got faster and faster on his cock, going so far as to even spit on his dick to try and poorly imitate your slick and how it'd make your movements faster.

It was dull in comparison.

So dull that as his hands slowed and he came to a stop. All he felt was boredom. "...Yoba," He hissed in frustration.

He'd simply wait until you returned.

final note alert ; I saved my biggest thought bubble for the end so here we go-

Jio is the best-modded husband hands-down. Literally fight me on this. It's hard to convey my thoughts fully without giving concrete evidence (+ the fact that I'm going based off my memory since I haven't done a playthrough of the RSV questline in a lil' bit) but I think that anyone who's on the fence of RSV needs to give it a shot, even if it's just for Jio 💀. Like deadass, the whole reason I started this blog in the first place was to have a reason to rant about this man every now and again before it became a place for me to rant about hot people in general.

To reiterate, I'm biased as hell because I have a thing for elves and mean guys but seriously to anyone who reads this.

GIVE RSV A TRY.

Hot elf guy aside, the character stories in the mod are super good. Like I'd recommend Shiro, June, Ian etc. ANYDAY OF THE WEEK. I can't imagine my modded Stardew without Ridgeside Village so-

YEAH PLAY THE MOD SO I HAVE MORE PEOPLE TO RANT ABOUT THE HOT MEN WITH <33

[jazeswhbvault]

Glad to see you open request again cuz I've just came up with a fun and silly idea :)

So you know the MC in WHB is originally Korean right? That makes me wonder how the kings (+ any characters you like) would react to MC asks them for a trip to Earth with them so they can go to her/his favorite K-Pop idols' concerts together. I think some of them would love to share the fun and even enjoy the chaotic atmosphere 😄

Hope you accept my request. Have a great day! 🫶🏻

Hi anon! I know it's been a while since I've been over here on this blog, but it's bittersweet to be over here. And oo there was an ATEEZ tour just recently I think? A couple moots of mine went and they had a lot of fun so this should be cute to talk about with the bois.

Kings

Satan's always wanted to go to a concert, there are a couple on Gehenna but they don't always last so long before everyone gets too drunk/rowdy to continue. When MC invites him to the local K-pop concert that's in town he accepts. Thankfully, everyone is dressed up so he doesn't have to really change how he looks and everyone thinks the horns are just cosplay. MC picked good seats, and the concert starts and the crowd starts going wild. Satan watches, intrigued by the band's uniformed movements and outfits and a how the girls in the crowd scream every time there's a bit of fan service. There was a point....where he has an idea to go up on stage and join in, but yeah not happening when MC grabs him by the collar and forces him to stay put.

Well....going to a K-pop concert with Mammon is truly the VIP experience. He has his own boy group in Tartaros so he's familiar. He claims that's where humans got the idea from anyway. He buys out an entire section of the venue for him and MC and any friends they want to bring. it's a good thing he did buy out the section and it's balcony seating because no one would be able to see over him otherwise. Drinks, snacks, MC has it all. Mammon doesn't react much but he's happy to see that his Master is having so much he doesn't really care if he feels the music is a bit of a "copy" to his group.

If there's a local tour happening, Beelzebub is the devil to ask to travel to every single one with MC. He has no issues booking hotels, no flights because he can just "poof" them there, and it doesn't matter what seats they get at the venue because he's not going to stay in the section anyway. It's odd how no one seems to challenge him when he pulls MC through the crowd to get to the front, or somehow the two end up backstage and no one questions it. Perhaps that's just Beel's magic. But also he finds it intriguing to just travel, listen to good human music and have fun with his favorite human.

At first, asking Leviathan was like pulling teeth. Why would he want to go watch a bunch of humans that MC possibly finds attractive dance and sing across a stage and listen to a bunch of screaming from others who also found these humans attractive. They possibly can't be that entertaining. He ends up going anyway, but it doesn't go quite as what MC thought. Not only did they have to leave the venue due to the chaos that was caused by Levi arriving, but the K-pop group performing literally tried to recruit him and the manager was chasing them down for a few blocks. Let's just say, that Levi's jealous energy leaked onto everyone, and the fans literally began to fight each other and some tried to claw towards Levi thinking he was part of the group. He was amused, MC...was not lol

Lucifer isn't the one for crowds. If he does go to a concert with MC, he requests that they get the seats furthest away from people. Also because he can't exactly hide his bloodied wings that well, sitting in front of someone would a bit grisly. MC picks the best seats where they won't be disturbed even if they have to pay more to get them. But once the concert starts he seems a bit uncomfortable, so MC tries their best to get him to enjoy it with them the best they can. Eventually he does smile and says he enjoyed spending time with them, but it's best that he does it at home next go around.

Belphegor didn't even show up. He rolled the dice, it came up as an odd number so he laid back down in bed and said "better luck next time." Beleth didn't see a smoking section at the venue so he declined respectfully. Gusion isn't really the one for it, and Bathin is missing. Oddly, it's Agares that agrees to accompany MC. He finds the K-pop idols interesting, while he's peeling an orange and enjoying some fine liquor from the bar. It's a very different experience going with this devil, but hey it beats having paid for two tickets and going alone! Plus, a lot of compliments were thrown MC's way saying that Agares looks like a sexy sugar daddy. He also seems to appreciate the compliments, although MC had to explain to him exactly what the phrase means.

Nobles

Paimon and Eligos bother MC to go as a group. These two are already planning outfits, Eligos has eaten and packed snacks to sneak inside. Paimon is best sassing any rude fans that push MC or say something weird about their outfit. Eligos brought cash so he's of course paying for most of the merch, drinks, everything. Best seats, meet and greet, tons of photos. MC pretty much had a blast from the beginning of planning the trip all the way until coming back to Hell again.

Belial is another devil to accompany MC to a concert. I mean it's his entire thing to do this stuff. He leaves Jjyu with Ppyong so there isn't someone yelling out insults the entire time, and he wears his best outfit and brings glow sticks to cheer since he can't use his voice to show appreciation. The music has Belial in a trance, and he's even dancing and smiling. MC is having just as much fun and it's nothing but good vibes with Belial even if he can't vocally express his excitement.

Did I mention? That Amon would be a perfect devil to ask to go with to a concert? He already dresses the part, he's got the cool laid back energy, and he's totally boyfriend coded when he links arms/holds hands with MC if he feels someone is trying to hit on him while they're standing in line or defends them if someone is trying to skip the line. Now, when it comes to music, Amon may be a bit picky, but he's spending time with MC. To him this is the most fun he's had while not dealing with the day to day mess of Avisos. He gets to unwind and be himself for once. Plus he found a cute keychain he bought for Beel as a gift.

[didyoulookforme]

pov: matty taking care of you after a night of too much drinking

mostly fluffy thoughts but with some slight smutty mentions.

this was something i tried to write months before i started this blog just to see if i could do it. that's when i quickly found out writing full fics is not my thing, lol. nothing special, just a stream of consciousness ramble really.

warning: smutty thoughts if you squint, alcohol. grammatical errors, typos.

masterlist here

“c'mon, it's time to go home, love.” there’s this ungodly pounding inside your head, a confirmation that, yes, one too many pints were consumed this… evening? night? hard to tell, really. you have no idea what time it is or where you’re right now—all that registers is the warm feeling of his arm on your waist, leading you toward the exit of whatever this place might be.

the cold air bites your skin as soon as the door opens. wearing a short dress feels like a silly choice now, but he said you looked beautiful so that makes it all right of course. you lean into him as he drapes his coat around your shoulders, the same leather garment he's let you wear countless times before because he knows you love it so.

“okay, your flat's just a few blocks away. let's walk, get some fresh air. it will do you good.” his lips brush the top of your head before you both start to slowly stumble alongside the dimly lit streets of london. “i like it when you kiss me, matty.” he leans down to plant a soft peck on your cheek and for a fleeting moment it makes you wonder if maybe he feels the same way. just maybe.

walking never felt so difficult. perhaps it was when you were a child, but obviously you have no recollection. his arm around your shoulders continues to guide you as you just focus on placing one foot in front of the other until you reach your destination. it was a fast trek but you don't mind. in fact, you are thankful for it.

“don't think i’ve ever had this much trouble openin’ a fuckin’ door.” none of the keys seem to work, ugh. he chuckles behind you (rude) and grabs them from your shaky hands, unlocking and swinging the door open with ease (show off). you try to walk on your own, but it doesn't quite go as planned as you stumble on the mat right behind the entrance.

"shit, are you alri—“ you cannot help but quietly laugh at yourself and the embarrassing situation you're in, and it catches you by surprise when he picks you up, one arm under your knees and the other one around your waist. he gently places you on the green couch so you're finally sitting down, your drunk mind spinning as you gaze at the boy kneeled down in front of you, working on getting the patent heels off your feet.

“m’sorry you have to see me like this.” for a split second you wonder how it happened, how did you get to this state, but quickly realize that’s too much thinking for your clouded mind to process. you’ll figure it out later. it’s not often you get flat out drunk, especially outside the confine of the four off-white walls you call home. you prefer to drink in your flat as you don't like the thought of making a fool out of yourself in front of others. much like right now. oh well. it probably won't be the last time.

with your shoes off now (thank you, matthew), you slowly stand up and somehow manage walk over to your bedroom successfully without tripping over your feet. you sit down on the floor, facing your full length mirror as you take your earrings off and try to undress. “matty?” you attempt to reach the zipper on the back of your black dress, but your limbs just can't seem to bend far enough “please help me take this bloody thing off!” you give up after a few seconds and get distracted by the red marks on your knees from where you fell just a few minutes ago.

“hold on, darling."

you lazily stare back at yourself in the mirror as matty walks through the room to set a glass of water on the bedside table. he takes a few steps and kneels behind you, fumbling his fingers to undo the pesky zipper. it's maybe the alcohol in your system or some wishful thinking, but you seem to notice a blush on his cheeks when he realizes you aren't wearing a bra as the straps of your dress fall to the sides. for a moment you catch his eyes gazing at your reflection, making you smile as a warmth, familiar sensation in your navel continues to grow.

a smile of his own tugs at the corner of his lips when he holds your elbows to raise you up on your feet, your silk dress sliding and pooling at your ankles in the process. he turns you around so your eyes finally meet, big brown loving eyes looking straight at you.

your head finds his chest, you can hear his gentle heartbeat, a soft repeating thud that you never grow tired of. "i think i could jus' fall 'sleep right here..."

“unfortunately, i don’t think that’s really going to work here, love. c'mon, get your arms up so i can put this shirt on.” you obey by raising your flimsy limbs up to the best of your ability while matty attempts to get the fabric on you. it takes a few tries, but he manages.

you now find yourself dressed in nothing but your shirt and underwear. you watch as he pulls the covers off the bed, getting your spot ready. once it’s set, he grabs your hand and slowly brings you over.

“please stay.” it wasn’t much of a question as much as it was a plea for him to keep you company.

he doesn’t argue with you, he knows better than that. he nods. “i'll just be on the sofa in the other room but let me know if you need anythi—" you shake your head. "this bed is big enough for you, too." you lazily pat the extra pillow besides your head. you get scared as he doesn't say much, but you breathe again once he starts to walk over in your direction, lifting the covers and making himself at home next to you. he doesn't bother getting undressed, but maybe that's best for your (and his own) sake.

you rest your head on his chest, letting your body melt into his as your lids grow heavy from the mix of alcohol and exhaustion. “thank you for keeping me safe, matty.” you feel as he brings you slightly closer, one hand running through your hair while the other grabs on to your shoulder, his lips softly planting a kiss on your forehead. “always, darling.”

[liyawritesss]

ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ, ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Earth-42!Miles Morales [The Prowler] x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 1.7k

Synopsis: Sometimes Miles just wants to sway with you in the middle of his bedroom while R&B music plays in the background.

Warnings: Cursing, 15+ Miles here, keep it cute this is lil cuz we talkin’ bout here!!!

A/N: My first (and possibly only) attempt at 42!Miles Morales. Idk, thought it would be something cute…might make a 1610!Miles Morales counterpart lol.

Song Suggestions: “Close” by Ella Mai, “Lotus Flower Bomb” by Wale ft. Miguel, “Love Don’t Change” by Jeremih

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog @briology @honeybleed

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“Do you think this fits okay?”

His lights are set to the lavender color setting on his LED lights that line the top ceiling corners of his room, though the lamp on his desk also provides warm white light to contrast against it. Miles looks up from his phone conversation with his uncle to glance at your figure standing in front of the mirror attached to the back of his door as your gaze analyzes the new pair of leggings adorning your legs.

“They look perfect, bella.” Miles responds, the amused lilt in his voice nearly blowing over your head when you hear him speak. Though, to Miles, anything you wear is perfect in his eyes. Your lips jut out in a pout as you continue to examine your bottom half dressed in the black leggings, debating on if you’d gotten the right size to accentuate your curves the way you want them to.

The leggings were just one of many items that laid in various shopping bags that littered Miles’ floor, currently. From LuLuLemon to Victoria’s Secret to Fashion Nova, Miles can certainly say that he’s made up for his impromptu disappearance before your date night the night prior.

He didn’t mean for last night to happen, truly. He knew you really wanted to see that movie. It was the last night it was playing in theaters, too, and you were so excited when you managed to find tickets to the last showing, and proposed the date idea to him. Miles admits that he was interested in the proposition, not just because you had proposed it, but because the mere mention of it got you so worked up that he truly believed it to be worth it.

So, to make up for not only bailing on the date, but also going ghost for much the prior night as well, he picked you up for an impromptu day at the mall. It wasn’t an easy feat, Miles admits, convincing you to allow him to make it up to you in this way. He felt guilty for inadvertently crushing your hopes, and you’d felt even more guilty about taking the new date offer that required him to spend his money.

“I’m tryna make it up to you.” He’d said

“Miles, I said it was fine-” you’d said.

“-but it’s not, though.” He’d interjected.

“You had…stuff to do,” you’d whispered to him, “I can’t expect you to drop everything at my beck and call, and I know what I signed up for when we started dating.”

If someone told Miles that four months ago he’d start dating the pretty girl who always slept through their shared mathematics class, he’d surely look at you as if you’d just grown a second head. He still doesn’t know what attracted him to you in the first place - how pretty you looked asleep at your desk, or the fact that even though you’d be knocked out the second you took your seat, if the teacher happened to call on you for a question, you managed to answer it correctly every time. 

You’d quickly became his first and, as it stands, only friend at Visions Academy. Soon enough, you’d also became aware of his double persona, though if Miles had it his way, he would have kept you in the dark for as long as possible. It wasn’t easy, juggling the duality of the life he lived. The less people close to him, the easier the job was. Well, unless the person was you.

You were like a piece of gum stuck under a desk - an ever looming presence, never disappearing; but like the candy before being discarded, you were also sweet, refreshing, comforting. Miles wanted to make this work for the both of you. He’d grown too fond of you to let you slip out of his life like sand from the beach.

“So that mean you just accept whatever you get?” Miles asks, eyebrows raised again. “Nah, we don’t do that around here.”

Unfortunately, there was no fighting against Miles when he had his mind made up.

So you entertained his proposition, though not without a fight. You made sure that the boy bought some things for himself as well, and even managed to sneak in a few items for his mother (which, in all honesty, he didn’t need much convincing for - it was his mother, after all). So, granted, not all of the bags on the floor were yours, so it made you feel a bit better about Miles splurging on you as an apology.

He watches as you shift through a tiny black and pink bag with the V.S. initials printed in cursive on the side, fishing out a bottle of soft purple body mist that Miles would recognize anywhere. He’d recognize it because it was his favorite scent that you frequently bought from the clothing chain. He could never tire of the lavender and jasmine that calmed his mind and relaxed his body whenever you were around, or put him to sleep whenever the two of you cuddled together.

The familiar spritz spritz sound echoes throughout his room, fading into the old school R&B that currently plays in the living room area where his mom is having company over. The mist settles into the cloth of your sweatshirt - his sweatshirt, actually -  and into your skin, before he watches your feet carry you closer to him.

“Don’t tell me you sprayed that just to come and hug me?” He says, though his body straightens at the edge of the bed, phone becoming a distant memory as he tucks it into his hoodie pocket.

You shrug, a playful smile spreads to your lips as you step between his legs, hands coming to cup his cheeks, “shut up, you know you like it.”

He didn’t have to admit that he loved it - a lazy hand coming to rest at the back of your knee was enough proof of it.

“Why you tryna be like me,” the brown skin boy hums, sucking his teeth and deflecting the conversation from the truthful statement, “always stealin’ my clothes ‘nd shit.”

“Same reason why half of my scrunchie jar is gone,” you tease back, “I gave you one, Miles, and now I’m missing, like, ten of ‘em.”

“I’on know what you talkin’ ‘bout.” 

“Of course you don’t.”

At some point, the same hand that rested behind your knee crept up to your waist as his head pressed into your stomach, the smell of your perfume drawing him closer. It lulled him into a state of security; however, it was swiftly ruined when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He’s sure that it’s Aaron.

He takes the phone out and it opens up to his text messages almost immediately when his face comes into view. The ominous intent behind the words ‘hold on’ in blue bubbles makes his stomach tighten.

You feel it, too. The shift in his demeanor can be felt when you stand this close to him. “Was it Aaron?”

His phone becomes discarded on the bed while his other arm raises up, and both wrap around your frame while he buries his head into your stomach inhaling the perfume etched into the fabric there. “Yeah.”

One hand goes to rub soothing circles on his clothed back, the other caresses the nape of his neck, holding him close, for the reality of it all was that he could have to leave at any moment.

The slightly muffled music from the living room shifts to another song and it sparks a lightbulb in your head. 

Your hands go to gently pry Miles’ hands from your body. He raises his head in question, before being tugged to his feet by you as well. You reposition his arms around your waist, and yours find their place around his neck, and after a few seconds, it clicks for him.

“You’re so corny.” He voices, muffled by the position his face takes in the crevice of your neck, nose tickled by the goddess braids that rested against your shoulders.

“Shut up,” you lightly scold, “just sway with me, idiot.”

The richness of the singer’s voice gives Miles’ body more than enough incentive to lean from side to side in a slow motion, taking you in his arms with him as he does so. You fully expect for him to pull away or grumble at the proposition, yet, you’re not completely surprised when he simply gives in to your direction. Perhaps he desires the same closeness you do in this moment, you think.

Miles feels himself smiling when the touch of your hand graces his cheek, thumb swiping comforting strokes along his skin. He hums at the touch, his grip tightening in the slightest around your waist. Is he too young to wish for this all the time?

His phone buzzes in his pocket again, his brown hand fishes for the device and glances down at the text message once more. The pit in his stomach fades away when he reads the words ‘no need. good 4 2nite’ from his uncle in blue. Miles lets out a short breath, pockets his phone, and sinks back into your touch. 

He’s thankful that there seems to be no need for the Prowler on the streets tonight. Perhaps he can rest in peace.

Miles’ taken from his thoughts when he feels your lips graze across his cheek. “Everything good?”

He feels a smile spread across his lips. “Yeah, we good,” he hums, returning the affection.

Neither of you even notice that another person has entered the room, until the sound of someone clearing their throat echoes throughout the walls. Miles looks up from your shoulder to see his mother standing in the doorway, a content yet melancholic look on her face.

“If you kids want something to eat, there’s leftovers from me and the girls, bien?”

The hand that was once on his cheek now hides your face from his mother’s prying, knowing eyes, and it emits a chuckle from the older woman.

“Bueno, mami, we’ll get some later.” Miles replies before Rio leaves, making sure to leave the door ajar just the slightest.

Though, neither of you are ready to part, even at the prospect of food. So Miles returns to the warmth of your neck, your hand returning to caress the side of his face as he molds himself back into you, and the two of you continue to sway to the music, content in your own little world.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

CONGRATS ON HUNDRED DOVE!! you sent me a risqué ask for 100 so now i do it back to ye-

"caught in the rain" with leona :D or ruggie, if someone got to him first! ehehehehehehhehehehe you can see stuff 😳👀 for free ✨✨✨

btw your ask is sending me so hard but i'm already typing out so much for leona so your ask is gonna be the last one for the event lol

Caught in the Rain; Leona Kingscholar

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, reader needs to get bonked with a stick (/j)

Content Warning; Swearing

Word Count; 700+

AN; Don't expose my ass on my own blog, Soru /j. (just trying to feed your own simping along with the simps) But I hope you enjoy what I wrote for Leona and this prompt! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The sky lay heavy with dark clouds, the smell of rain thick in the air, yet not a single drop had yet to strike the ground. The air was dense with humidity, warm from the harsh sun’s rays from earlier in the day. But yet, you found yourself outside, trying to find Leona.

He had invited you to spend your summer break as his guest in the palace. Well, less so 'invited', more so demanded.

“Do you have anywhere else to be, herbivore? I thought as much. Come on, you’re staying with me.”

You still don’t really know why, but you weren’t going to throw away the chance of staying someplace beyond nice for the summer… plus Leona wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. Yes, he puts on an act of not caring, and being abrasive, but you knew that he cared, that he worried. Also, the two of you had been having this back-and-forth banter for months; blurring the lines of just friends bickering and something... more. But neither of you had made a move. It just hung in the air between you, nearly as suffocating as the humidity now; potent with the possibility of a massive storm.

Back to the present though. You were on the outskirts of the palace, looking for wherever Leona had decided to take a nap for this afternoon.

“Leona,” you called, but all you heard in return was the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Where is that overgrown house cat? I swear if I get caught in a downpour because of him… “LEONA!”

The first drops of rain began to fall, gentle and sparse. But you knew full well that in a few minutes' time they would be falling hard and fast.

“LEONA KINGSCHOLAR?!” You shouted at the top of your lungs.

You heard an annoyed huff of air off to your left, and looking up you saw none other than Leona lounging in the low-hanging branches of a tree.

“Ya don’t need to yell, ya know,” he sighed, landing softly on the ground. He looked up to the sky and frowned before setting a slow pace back to the palace. “Are you coming or what, herbivore?”

You followed after him, catching up so the both of you were going at a comfortable pace. Thunder was still rumbling, and the rain was slowly picking up, but there was no rush. Well, there wasn’t any rush until there was a flash of lightning and it seemed like the entire sky’s worth of water came down all at once on the both of you.

“Shit,” Leona hissed and guided the both of you to the relative cover of a tree to wait out the worst of the monsoon. “Just our luc-” He stopped talking when he looked at you though.

You were spitting out some stray rainwater that had managed to get into your mouth. But once the intruding water was gone you looked over to him but you felt your eyes lock on his torso; the white shirt that he was wearing was now completely see-through and you could see everything. Stop staring! Damn though- STOP STARING! But your eyes refused to move.

Leona noticed this, and he also took in your drenched appearance but was more subtle with it. “Tch,” he tapped you on the nose, breaking you of your staring stupor. “My eyes are up here,” his voice was teasing though, light.

You snapped out of it, catching his mirthful eyes. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper. You felt your face grow warm at the slip of your tongue, but it was true. Even before you openly ogled at him, you always thought that, but never said it to his face.

Leona chuffed, but he didn’t say anything; neither denying or accepting your statement. “You aren’t half bad yourself,” he said softly.

The two of you sat underneath the tree, still in your soaked clothes, watching the rain fall together in a comfortable quiet. And while the first golden rays of sunlight may have been stunning, the both of you thought it was nothing when compared to the captor of your hearts; each other.

After all, you still had the rest of the summer to build on this new development.

[trans-luis-serra-navarro]

HI ERIC HELLO PLEASE HEAR ME OUT

i literally can't stop thinking about something

i loveee re6 AUs with luis, but

death island!luis !!!!

specifically, a scenario where he saves leon instead of/with rebecca. like imagine him working with rebecca on the vaccine and delivering it to the island to save leon and the rest 😭😭

and i actually see two scenarios here

either luis is obviously alive and all, and leon knows it, and it's just, hey! my husband's here to save the day!!

OR it's a big reveal lol. rebecca shows up there like, 'a friend helped me', and it's LUIS there with her. like, i know rebecca is super capable and she made the vaccine all alone in the movie , but just imagine if it was actually a bit more complicated, so she would have to reach out for help, and who would be better than luis

i NEED to see luis and rebecca team up, they'd work so well together 😭😭

and older serennedy!!!!! omg

i just need to see older luis 😭😭 and the parallel with him delivering the suppressant in re4, and now the vaccine

i don't know what i wanted to say with this and i really didn't think it through that well, and it's rushed, but i really need to share these thoughts 😭

@silverhexrt HI SO UM. THIS ASK WAS SENT IN JUST OVER A WEEK AGO and it gave me SUCH AGGRESSIVE brain worms that I was like Oh this would make for SUCH a cute little Drabble!!!!! But then I just. Kept going. So I accidentally made a whole entire fic for you!! I really truly hope you don’t mind!!!!!!!!! ;^^/

I know this blog is more of a character analysis blog so if you or anyone else still wants to talk to me about the LOGISTICS of what Luis in Death Island would look like I’d be MORE THAN HAPPY TO RAMBLE cuz I am SO FASCINATED by how that would work character and legalities wise,,, but uh for now!! I hope you don’t mind this little thingymadgig I made!!!

Fatigue was the overwhelming sensation dragging Leon’s body down. His breathing was labored and his skin burned against the Velcro of his protective gear- far from unfamiliar territory in terms of the worst symptoms he’d survived. But this somehow felt so, so much worse.

Leon felt like he was dying. Like actually dying. Which was downright terrifying.

He hated that he even knew what dying felt like. Leon could easily pick up on the little ways his body began to shut down; it felt like he couldn’t breath in far enough to fill his lungs, his limbs felt weighed down by an invisible force, his vision was blurry… except, this time, it was his own body killing him from the inside-out.

He was much more used to- even comfortable with- the close brush of death being from the hands of a Bioweapon or loose debris crushing his body. Leon at least had some level of control in those scenarios. He could kick and wriggle and spit and cuss out whatever was holding him down until a miracle freed him and he could load bullets into the face of whatever was hunting him.

But Leon couldn’t run from his own body, no. And oh, how badly did he wanna run until his legs burnt beneath him.

Leon had only ever felt that inherent, gut-wrenching urge one other time. One other time when he was on the brink of death and freedom alike; warm tan hands and cold needles in an isolated village so far from home. Leon could’ve taken the medicine and ran. He could’ve watched the world burn from behind his lovers back as they chased windmills without a care in the world.

He could’ve faced death in the eye. He could’ve taken the blade of the knife for him. He could’ve been just a fraction of a second too late for Ashley. Oh, the possibilities.

What a weird time to be thinking about Valdelobos. Maybe it was just his oxygen-deprived brain desperately trying to connect the dots for one last dream. Like falling asleep with the TV on and having a dream about the movie you’d just watched. Arias had his own ‘inspirations’ from Los Illuminados, after all. Maybe he was just trying to think of one last happy memory to drift off to.

Leon hoped dying would be a little bit like falling asleep. He was never religious, never superstitious- but deep down he hoped that he’d be reunited with the loved ones he’d lost. Finally, finally getting the chance to feel those warm palms against his cheek that he missed oh-so dearly.

Leon sighed and let the concrete below his hands wobble a little. He could just barely make out Chris and Claire’s labored breathing from behind him- the only other thing keeping him grounded.

But god was it getting hard. He couldn’t tell if it was just the pure exhaustion or the virus or what, but Leon’s head felt so heavy. Heavy enough that it almost felt as though somebody was holding it up for him. He let himself pretend, just for a moment, that it wasn’t just his imagination. That the warmth on his cheek wasn’t his flushed skin and were instead the hands of a lover, keeping him upright and rested against a beating heart that Leon was sure was just the blood roaring in his ears.

He let himself pretend that the stroke he felt against his cheek was his lovers thumb. A lover so considerate that they’d wipe the blood off of his skin and tuck the loose hair behind his ears. He pretended that the murmuring of his ears giving in was somebody talking to him, whispering comfort in his final moments.

Leon almost let himself give in completely to the imaginary man holding him- the distant scent of leather and cigarettes felt so real, after all- but a cold prick against his neck and the immedie, cold relief of fluids beneath his skin snapped him back to reality.

His breathing came back to him in time with his heartbeat, his fingertips pulsed with the sudden pumping of blood, and…

The feeling of somebody holding him hadn’t gone away.

His cheek was still warm with another man’s hand. His nose still stung with the smell of leather.

His heart was still beating in time with somebody else’s.

Leon hesitated. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He knew he was just dreaming- that he’d look up and the vision of the man he yearned for every night would disappear like a mirage. He wanted to keep them closed and pretend for as long as possible. Until-

“Leon? ¿Corazón? Mierda, Rebecca, he’s not responding-“

Leon’s eyes opened just slightly.

He was staring down at the concrete, somebody must’ve moved him to get access to his neck easier. But he wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t dreaming of the arms clad in white wrapped around his shoulders and the ringlets of curls that fell around his vision, shielding him from the fluorescent Alcatraz prison lights.

Warm hands went back to stroking his cheek.

Leon wasn’t dreaming.

“Leon? Oh, please wake up,”

His voice sounded so broken, so quiet. Leon had never heard of it like that. It broke his heart.

“I can’t- I can’t leave you here, not like this, not again, please…”

Leon couldn’t take it anymore. He was terrified to roll over and face the man he’d chased in his dreams for so long but he had no other option. He’d rather he disappear and it all be his imagination than hear him this sad ever again.

Leon turned his head and blinked up at Luis like a newborn deer. His big, brown eyes were wet with tears but that stupidly charming smile was unmistakable.

“Hey there, Leon…”

Luis managed to croak out, the hand against his cheek trembling from the tears. Leon reached his own shaky hand up to brush Luis’ long, grayed locks out of his face just as he had done moments before for him.

“I must be dreaming,” Leon huffed out, and Luis chuckled, shaking his head and the tears from his reddened cheeks at the same time.

“If you’re dreaming, then so am I, I’m afraid”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Luis chuckled and Leon wasn’t far to follow suit. Even with the end of the world on his shoulders- even with Dylan fighting tooth-and-nail to break down his, Jill’s and everyone else’s spirits- Leon still found time to laugh with Luis like it was autumn of 2004 all over again.

“Just like old times, eh, Sancho?” Luis gave a little sniffle, and while Leon had more than too many questions to ask- how he was even alive was obviously the most pressing- he just couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Yeah,”

He let himself rest his head against Luis’ chest. Heart beating strong, almost as if to mock Leon for ever doubting his lover's strength.

“Just like old times, Don Quixote…”

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

"Bakery ownerKai! Smutty hcs:"

✰---Summary: you pass this new bakery so often. and from what you can tell from just through the windows, it's full of cheer and life. whoever uses it makes the most of the small space. their personality really shines through in the decorations and the desserts looked good and well... you couldn't deny that the baker with the apron and the broad shoulders looked good in there as well. so you decide to stop in. but this is only the beginning: now he smiles when he thinks of you and your cute interaction together, hoping you'd come back and then soon enough... you do.

✰--- approx: 20 min read

✰---A/n: idk if these are considered hcs anymore lol here's a fic to hopefully tide over y'all while I finish up on that much much longer one for Vernon. may or may not turn this into a full fic OR just another hc post. probably the second because of the Vernon fic coming out perhaps in two chapters. andI feel as if this would just be better in "hc " format. (Maybe some header images coming soon idk) trying to make my fics prettier do y'all like the life stars?

✰---warningz/info: cursing I think, lots of talk of eating and desserts, smutty, Kai jerks off, I have a little brake telling you where the NSFW starts, reader has boobs but otherwise is gn I think. and that’s about it.

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper.” This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

if you don’t have an age indicator saying you’re not a minor in your blog then I will be blocking you! So minors dni!!

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Bakery owner!Kai who whips his head around spilling chocolate on the floor when he hears your voice for the first time. He has just opened the shop, it was a hole in the wall and cutesy— plushies and Pokémon character figurines on the shelves, stuff like that. You saw it then you saw him. With his powdered sugar dusted apron from the doughnuts this morning. And in this moment he realizes how very, extremely, dank he looks right now. His eye bags are dragging down his face like circles of hell, he hadnt had time to do much anything about it this morning. His hair isn’t really done. He had slept through his first alarm (something he hasn’t done is forever) and had to get here, to make the stupid doughnuts early because well, he’s the only worker here. Ugh why did I have to conserve on money this way? He thought to himself. The bowl clatters with a reverberating and embarrassing clang. He cringes, quickly going to pick it up as you greet him so so so cutely he thinks his heart will explode.

Bakery owner!Kai who’s blush on his cheeks looks so adorable to you you have half a mind to tell him. You’d Been passing this shop for days but you’d finally gotten a chance to go in this morning. He’d never know, but you’d looked into your phones selfie camera to fix your appearance one last time before going in after taking a deep breath. And you smile at the way he endearingly shares the story of how he got the shop with you.

Bakery owner!Kai who somehow feels so comfortable with you quickly when you ask about the weird names for all his desserts. He says it’s a long story and you tell him you’ve got all the time in the world for it. And he smiles wide and your knees go weak. And then because of the air of the shop you carried in with you when you set foot into the place or vibe you give off he doesn’t know but he just blabbers on and on about why he named the desserts what he did

◆◆◆◆◆nsfw under the cut◆◆◆◆◆

Bakery owner!Kai who hopes and prays that you’ll be back. and that night he can’t get you out of his head. oh no.... he really can't. and he almost feels bad when the thought of you and your sweet as sugar smile is being tossed around in his mind, making his stomach do flips as his weeping cock is dripping onto his fist. and he just can't.... stop. not that he wants to. hes pretty sure your imagine is burned in his mind till the day he dies... ok, maybe a little over exaggerated but you get the point. but now he can't think. his mind his clouded with how he should've invested in more business cards. so he could've given you one and maybe suavely told you to call him if you ever had a sugar emergency

ok... that was a little cheesy so maybe not. but who the hell knows, maybe you'd like it?! he'd gone over that small interaction you two had that day-- wondering, even though it was all a blur, how he made you feel; comfortable? at ease? oh, he hopes so. even the way he handed the box to you, with a free pastry in there as well, of course, tied with his best, perkiest ribbon all neatly. he wanted to make sure it was perfect for you. even if he never saw you again, even if you both forgot in a weeks time. he wanted to make a good impression while he had the chance.

he even worried about how the pastry tasted. though, he was confident in his skills with his passion he couldn't help but think about it all the rest of that day. which... when he though about it... seemed lonely without you in his shop. was it a good texture? flavors balanced enough? not the slightest hint of staleness? he made sure to grab one from the back of the display counter to make sure.

"you must really wanna see them again?" his friend joked "youre in looooveeee"

Bakery ownerKai! who, when he says that, rolls his eyes at Beomgyu, the friend with powdered sugar caked on his face thicker than he could grow his own beard to be. who was sitting at his table, getting crumbs all over it with the weird way he was sitting.... with his feet... all over the booth. Not even with shoes on! just bare feet. which kai honestly didnt mind much. he lets his friends eat here when hes closing up and nobody's around all the time. they'll usually clean out the couple things here and there that didnt sell and would've been thrown away anyways.

so when he drops his broomstick, almost shrieking, whisper yelling at Beomgyu to get his feet off the furniture, his friend at question is a little bit confused but does it anyway.

Baker ownerKai! who's nonchalant and laughing at his friends comment shaking his head and thinking to himself: no no, thats not true. pfff this guy is outta his mind! that was... until he saw you walk in again. "hello! I know you're closing in like--" you check your phone, "five minutes. but would you mind? that dessert I got a bit back was so good I had to literally run here from work to get the same one." he nods, smiling. and Beomgyu sits up straight in his seat at the way you two are just sitting there.... looking at each other for just a little too long. Kai swiftly drops down to pick up the broom he had dropped before leading you to the counter.

"sorry about that. I was just setting up traps for any burglars, but I trust you'll pay right?" he chuckles and you laugh along with him. "if I didnt pay then id never be able to have any more of this delicious delicacy, am I right?" you joke back. he nodes and keeps up his very much not customer service smile and gets you the dessert he remembers giving you in a box. "aw thank you!" he places the tongs down into the sink "thats really sweet of you! was it that good?" he turns back around to face you, closing up the box and you can't help but stare at the way his hands flex when his nimble fingers are pushing that box closed.

you realize youre taking too long to respond, "no seriously, it was!" you lean excitedly on the counter, bouncing on your heels. "and thats why I had to come back for more., and why I need to pay and leave a generous tip" you chuckle, already counting out the cash for the little doughnut shaped tip jar. "or maybe I could just give it to you for free!" his back is turned, snipping a stand of that pretty expensive ribbon he used especially for yours last time and made sure to move towards the front of the ribbon rack in case you came back so that he'd reach it easily.

"wait? what? no! youre joking right?" he spins back around to you, smirk on his face. "not in the slightest." he chirps. then hands you the box. you stuff your tip in the jar. "no seriously! please, take the money." you weren't worried that he now might think you owe him, he seemed to nice for that. "and im serious too. its like one pastry. you'd be taking it off my hands and doing be a favor actually if you'd like to think of it that way that is. not that is isn't fresh." he shrugged. hes leaning in over the counter a little bit, apron bumping the iPad customers would use to pay. you open your mouth to say something but he stops you "you already tipped me! even if you didnt just take it. my treat."

you didnt know it but in his mind he was already dreaming of having one ready every week for when you came in. maybe a sticky note with his number one day too? "wow thanks so much! thats so sweet of you!" you hold the box closer to you and look down at it.

you also didnt know it, but hes his half hard cock is now pressed up against the cabinet under the counter. and hes trying not to imagine you with powered sugar on your nose... not a very sexual sight in itself he guesses, but something cute none the less and that won't do his situation any good. hes also trying not to think of you licking your fingers after the delicious dessert, or the way youre leaned over the counter even more now, giving him a perfect vantage point of your plush boobs that after accidentally seeing a peak of once he wants to never do so again.

hes mature, or at least needs to be about this. not that he doesn't want to. cause god he really wants to take a sneak peak down. who wouldn't? youre sweet and gorgeous, and funny! but he wants you to know who he really is. so thats why hes currently focusing really hard on your eyebrow and trying so damn hard not to even glance down in that general direction. even if he was doing something entirely different than peaking.... cause thats what gentleman does.

"wait how'd you know my order?"

and now hes back on earth. he scratches the back of his neck. "I uh" "were you hoping id be back?" you smile, obviously meaning it' as a joke. but he just smiles back "bakers memory," he taps his brain, "there a lot up here ya know. gotta remembers recipes and stuff" he takes it as a win cause it was a good distraction. you take it as a win cause he kinda just called you important... right?

you dont pay and see yourself out. as youre opening the door you sniff the box "ugh smells so good! can't wait. thanks again!" and just like that youre gone

Bakery ownerKai! who's friend who is usually such a yapper, is at a loss for words for a second after you leave until he simply says: "I get the feeling you'll be seeing them a lot"

~end~

I’m gonna do a part two/ make this into a full on fic eventually. Just wanted something to post until I finish the bigger fic I’m working on. If you liked it please leave some love like comments or a reblog!

Thanks for reading <3

Taglist: @bamtorin