#the bar is floor high hahaha

[broodygaming]

DAV canceled, there’s only 3 bald hair options it’s not a real DA game it’s an imposter sorry everyone

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 4/4

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Pining, kiss, angst, anxiety, fingering, smut, pussy eating like a champ, creampie for days, creampie, longing, dirty talk, love, fluff.

Note: Good lord, this is a long one, and also the final chapter! It's sitting at 12k words, so settle in for a hefty piece because I refused to cut it down or into two. Thank you all so much for your love and support of this mini series, I have had so much bloody fun writing it! I hope you enjoy how I have ended it, and hopefully now I can do some one shots for once in my damned life hahaha. Anyway, enjoy!!! <3

Final Chapter: Inevitable Ends, New Beginnings

The first thing that you noticed as you woke was a soreness between your thighs, a dull ache that throbbed with your heart beat, eyes slowly opening to the early morning light.

The room had a light blue glow to it, the sun only just beginning to rise over the sea and lands behind you, casting your little sanctuary in a cerulean tint. 

The second thing that you noticed when you awoke that morning was that you were alone.

You turned in the sheets, eyes surveying the room in search for the silver head of hair you had grown accustomed to seeing almost every waking moment, but he was nowhere to be found, though there was evidence of his presence being there.

Bar the small marks on your skin, the smell of him in your sheets, and the soreness between your legs, your clothes that had been strewn on the floor were now neatly folded on your chest at the side of the room, and the lack of breeches and tunic told you that Aemond was already up and dressed.

A moment of anxiety crawled through you.

Had he left you?

But then you remembered that he had no way off of your island, unless of course he swam, which you very much doubted he would be desperate enough to escape you to do that. But then there was the reason for his absence that early morning that began to spiral out of control in your mind.

Had he slipped out of bed? Tiptoeing as quickly and quietly as possible to not stir you from your sleep because he regretted last night, and could not bare to face the shame and embarrassment of seeing you? 

Had your moment of weakness tainted his stature in society? 

Would he beg that you tell none other? 

Not that you knew anyone from where he was from, but still, the inferiority of your birth gnawed at your conscience and creeped through you like the bitter sea winds.

Did he get his fill and was now avoiding you at all costs? 

Was he repulsed in himself for laying with you? 

Did he wish to pretend that it did not happen? 

Was his early departure to find the time and wherewithal in himself to gather strength to not feel ill upon looking at you? 

Sure, men of his breeding were sometimes known to lay between any woman’s legs, but it was usually one of equal standing and not at all someone of your status. And if last nights activities were any reference, there was no doubt within your mind that he had in fact lain with women before, once, twice, more, if his skills were any indicator. But perhaps they had been Ladies of his court back home, women of good breeding in high society, and for him to have been with you, well that would be akin to rolling in the mud.

You pulled yourself from bed and dressed yourself nervously, shaking your runaway thoughts, fingers stumbling over your buttons, pulling hastily at the laces of your boots, all too tight for your feet to be comfortable.

When you walked into the living space, you found that the glasses and whiskey had also been put away, no longer on the table where they had been left that evening, and atop the coal stove sat your kettle, steam rising from its nozzle. 

Beside the door, your large coat was hung on its hook, and the hook beside it, which had recently held your fathers old coat, given to Aemond to keep him warm on the breezy island, was now bare. At the absence of the coat, you knew that Aemond was to be outside, and decided to go out in search of him. 

Perhaps he left early to see what he could salvage of your boat, desperate to rebuild it himself and risk another encounter with the waves in an effort to get away from you. Or perhaps he had-

You walked to the lighthouse, the only place he could possibly be besides the beach that was empty with few planks of wood and what remained of his ship that hadn’t been re-swept out to sea.

Dew covered your boots, kicked up from the soft strands of grass with every step you took. The air was cold, and as you breathed, a cloud of your breath puffed in front of you, white and soft that dissipated before your eyes just as quick as it came. 

The large door to the lighthouse creaked open, and then clunked shut behind you, echoing up the spirals of stairs, no doubt alerting him to your presence. You slowly began to make your way up the never ending steps, the only time in your life in which you had dreaded it and found each one to be harder than the last.

Would he run?

Would he scorn you for seducing him? Bewitching him? Tempting him?

Or would he let you down gently? Telling you the dispiriting truth that you both knew; That he was a Lord and you were not of good breeding, and he would have to go and be wed to his advantageous bride that awaited him back home, and that laying with someone like you was a grievous mistake indeed.  

Your heart beat in your chest rapidly, gut churning as you picked at the skin at your nails nervously. 

When you got to the top of the lighthouse's small landing where the lamp was held, you spun in search of him, spotting the figure of the sailor, bent over the small desk in the corner, quill in hand. 

His long hair was pulled back in a loose braid, tied together with a piece of ribbon from one of the bags of food William had delivered to you. You watched as his hand moved swiftly across the page of your log book, pointer and thumb delicately holding the quill as ink pressed into the parchment with a neatness and precision that could have only be attained from proper schooling.

Hearing your approach, Aemond lifted his head to face you. Stray strands of silver hair hung in front of his face, swiftly tucked behind one of his pale ears as he gazed at you.

A small smile pulled at his lips, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

All anxiety, all worries, any trepidations about his reaction after your coupling from the evening before were swept out the window when he stood straighter, smile pulling wider at his lips.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” He placed the quill in its holder, leaning down to the book to blow at the ink gently before he took a step toward you, “You needed the rest.”

Be still my beating heart.

You smiled at him shyly, watching as he came closer towards you, hand twitching at his side as though it longed to reach forth and close the gap between you.

But it didn’t.

“You should have woke me.” Your hands clutched each other tightly in front of your skirts, embarrassment licking at your neck. How could you have ever doubted him?

Aemond shook his head at you, “No need. You have already taught me what needed to be done.” He turned to face the table again, picking up the log book to hand to you, “I’ve logged the weather for the morning. Checked the lamp and oil reserves. All is well.” 

You took the book from him, watching as his finger reached to graze yours gently, sparks flying up your arm. His writing was neat, swift and soft loops pulling in a slant as he correctly and proficiently logged the winds, skies, seas and temperature. There was not a thing missing, and he had even written note of his predictions of the weather for the rest of the day.

He stepped closer towards you, heat radiating off of him, “Besides, it’s only fair since I spent the night teaching you something new.”

Heat rushed to your face, hands clutching the logbook tightly as you looked away nervously, hearing his soft chuckle before his head dipped, hands coming to grasp the log book from your own, fingers purposefully covering yours, “Do you want to double check my work?” He asked softly.

You shook your head underneath him, stepping back, letting him take the log book from you to place back on the table, “No, I trust you.”

At your words, a softer smile pulled at his lips, before he held his hand out in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we? You’ve not eaten yet.”

“How did you-“

“-You would have seen I was gone and come straight for me. You’re a naturally curious person, and no doubt had a myriad of questions or things to say. I wondered if you would have felt some sort of fear to wake up alone after what we did last night.”

Heat rose in your cheeks again, and you cursed yourself mentally for ever doubting him, for ever doubting yourself, “I thought perhaps you would have made a mistake. You are a Lord, and I-“

“-You are far more than what you believe. I have not met anyone quite like you. Your birth and rank mean nothing to me.” Aemond’s hand reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, warmth spreading through you at his words.

You couldn’t look at him, casting your gaze down to your hands as your eyes prickled with tears. How could he be so kind to you? How could he be so understanding? So calming? 

As your thoughts began to race away from you again, Aemond uttered your name, causing your gaze to raise to his.

“Stay with me. Do not let your mind run away from you.” His seeing eye flicked back and forth across your face, the other unmoving, “Come. Let's eat.”

-

Aemond had walked with you by your side back to your cottage, and together you ate your breakfast, talking quietly to one another, through the initial shyness that swallowed you, about anything and everything you could to avoid talking about the evening before and what it meant for you, and despite his obvious desire to discuss it, he did not push the conversation and allowed the pace to suit your needs.

And that was how your days passed, not quite dismissing what had happened, nor acknowledging it outright like before, but knowing that it had changed the space between the two of you. The dynamic had changed once again, the way you began to dote on each other changed, or more so, him doting on you more romantically.

For every morning that passed, you would wake to an empty bed to find him in the lighthouse before the sun would rise, logging the weather and checking upon the lamp. Even times where he would stir you from your sleep in the middle of the night as he left to keep an eye on it, or telling you to take rest and go to bed if you had been with the lamp in the late hours.

What was more, was that Aemond no longer slept upon the small couch, and nor did you, the both of you comfortably sharing your bed together in the cold of the night. At first you had been nervous, but Aemond had behaved as though the two of you had slept in a bed together for years, simply telling you that the two of you should retire for the night and sliding beneath the covers, opening the other side for you to crawl in after. 

Your initial thought at the behaviour was that he wished to dive between your thighs again, to lick and suckle at the crux of your legs or thrust himself between them, but not once had he pushed for it, or been untoward, in fact, he seemed to open the possibility of a second time to be entirely under your control. 

Not that he didn’t touch you, no, he would slide behind you and tuck you beneath his chin, arm wrapped around your middle to keep you close to him, lips pressing featherlike kisses atop your crown when he thought you had fallen asleep, fingers tracing your curves with a featherlight touch during the night.

The shift was not only different for the dynamic between the two of you and your new living arrangements, but different in your own duties. No longer did the work of the island consume your every waking moment and thoughts, for now you had time to sit, to read, to get a good nights rests and spend more time attending to smaller more menial tasks, like repairing clothing that you usually wouldn’t have time to, or cleaning the cottage throughly. You also felt yourself smiling more, laughing more, enjoying life and what Aemond brought to it. 

It was simple, nothing extravagant of course, but above all, content. It was in those quiet moments when he would tell you a tale of sailing or more sanitised story of his youth, small smile on his lips, did you realise that you were happy. Happier than you had ever been, and in every hour that passed spent with him, a warmth within grew. 

A warmth for him grew.

It wasn’t until you had insisted that Aemond sleep the early morning and for you to tend to the lamp did you realise just how much time had passed. 

You were up the lighthouse on the circular gallery that it had outside, leaning against the railings as you looked out at the water, watching as the dark blue waves rocked softly against the cliff below, and even more gently towards shore, which was slowly becoming illuminated with the sun. But that was not all that was illuminated.

There on the rocking waves, was a row boat, off in the distance, making its way towards you.

It was not an unfamiliar boat, nor was it manned by an unfamiliar man.

William was rowing towards your island, reprieve supplies in tow which he delivered on time, every time, but this time you had forgotten what day it was, how much time had passed since he last came, too preoccupied with the new and exciting presence that had landed upon your beach. 

With swift steps you made your way down the spiral case and sped to the cottage.

What would William say when he saw Aemond?

Would he be shocked?

Would Aemond be compelled to leave?

Would William send word to Aemond’s family and alert the town, thus speeding up Aemond’s farewell?

You selfishly didn’t want him to leave, and almost wished William had forgotten about you, just this once. And there it was, that ache in your chest once again at the thought of him leaving, at the very real knowledge that he would leave, and that you would be alone once more.

When you entered the cottage, Aemond was seated at the table, cup of steaming tea in his hand with another in front of him at your seat waiting. 

Waiting. 

He was waiting for you, with fresh tea made. 

Your eyes welled with tears before you swallowed them down, a lump in the back of your throat forming. You almost didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to see the excitement light in his eye in knowing that he could go.

That brilliant violet eye, a colour you had never thought to be true on a person until you saw him, a colour in which made your heart fill with warmth and stomach full of flurry, looked up at you, smile at the ready until he saw your anxious demeanour. 

Your shifted on your feet back and forth before pulling your coat off to hang at the door awkwardly. 

Sensing your anxiety, Aemond straightened in his seat, “What is it?” His smooth timbre crackled in the air, your back facing him as your face crumpled.

You swallowed and steeled yourself as you turned to sit with him at the table, pulling out your chair opposite to him as you sat quietly, grasping the hot mug in your hands.

“Is there another storm coming?” His voice wavered as he asked, lingering fear of storms still clawing painfully in his mind. The visions of the waves, the darkness, the screams of his men, the water entering his lungs, the-

“A man comes.” Your voice pulled him from his memories, fingers tightening on the sides of the mug, “William. He brings my reprieve.”

Aemond’s silver brows pulled into a frown, “You sent word of my presence.”

It wasn’t a question. 

It was an accusation. 

“No.” You shook your head, and watched as he visibly relaxed, “I wouldn’t have sent word unless you asked. William brings my reprieve every fortnight or so. We have been so busy I,” You gnawed at your lip, “I forgot. I thought we would have had longer, but now I suppose when he comes, you can go with him. Take lodge in his home.” You sipped the hot tea to swallow your nervous rambling, but still it broke forth, “I have a friend, a fellow sailor. Dalton Greyjoy, he could take you close to home, another port, anywhere to help. I don’t have money to pay for your passage, but he likes me well enough to perhaps do me this one favour. Or mayhaps you could offer gold on your arrival, I’m sure-“

“-You wish for me to leave?”

“No. But I know you must.” Your heart clenched in pain, you lowered your gaze to the mug of tea in your hands, watching the steam slowly rise from it, “You have a family waiting for you, worried for you. I do not wish to keep you here knowing that I may be causing you pain, or your family pain in the unknown.”

If you had raised your eyes to meet his, you would have seen Aemond frown lightly, but you didn't, so you hadn’t.

“You do not keep me here, and my family are not of your concern.” A beat, “Nor mine.”

Silence wrapped around the both of you as you refused to meet his gaze.

“When shall he arrive?”

You swallowed, looking at the small clock on the mantel, “Within the hour.”

Aemond nodded in your periphery, chair scraping beneath him as he stood, “Excuse me.”

His footsteps echoed on the stone flooring as he made his way to the door, pulling your fathers coat onto his shoulders before he left, no doubt waiting at the small alcove or beach to watch William arrive. 

You stared at the clock for some time, watching as the minutes ticked by, arm moving across its face slowly. But now that he was gone, away from seeing you, you allowed yourself to feel the ache that had crashed inside of you. Tear after tear fell down your cheeks silently as you watched the clock, the heat of the mug that lightly stung your palms, slowly but surely turning cold. 

He would leave, and you would be alone. 

Alone. 

Again. 

And he would leave and marry another.

Not you.

It shocked you that the thought of him laying with another, holding another tightly to him, caressing her, kissing her, smiling at her in ways that only you had seen thus far, made your stomach feel as though a knife was twisting itself inside. The lump in your throat sharp as though a dagger had been thrust through flesh and sinew, obstructing you from swallowing or breathing.

It felt as though you were losing him again. 

You didn’t know why, you couldn’t reason with it, for you had never known him before, but that day on the beach, as he lay lifeless in the sand, you had lost him. 

And then he had come back. 

And now he was to leave once more, and no more would he laugh in your small four walls, nor would he wake you with tea, or twist in the sheets beside you. 

No more would his hand linger upon yours, or his lips, or-

As another tear fell, the door to the cottage opened, and your hands quickly swiped up the wet tracks left behind on your cheeks. Rapid steps moved into the room as the door clunked behind.

“Your friend has arrived.” Aemond breathed, looking at the redness of your eyes and un-wiped tears on your chin. 

You swallowed, that dagger still lodged in place and nodded your head to stand, averting your eyes from his as you brushed down your skirts, “I suppose then I should fare you well.”

All that you could hear was the crackling of the fire and the beat of your heart thundering in your ears. You knew if you looked up at his face, to look into his lilac eye, to gaze upon his soft lips and sharp edges, that you would fall apart.

And so you didn’t, keeping your eyes averted to the corner of the room near the fireplace, wishing for it to be over. Wishing that he had never washed ashore so that you wouldn’t have to bear the heartbreak of him leaving. 

Because that’s what it was, you realised in that moment. 

Heartbreak.

“I’m afraid I will have to ask for your generosity once more.” Aemond breathed, and you blinked, slowly raising your eyes to meet his. His seeing eye searched your face as he breathed heavily, “I feel I may be succumbing to illness. I am falling- I feel,” He swallowed, “I feel compelled to stay. If you’ll have me. If not for a while longer.” His chest rose and fell visibly beneath the coat, hair cascading over his shoulders like waves of water.

He wished to stay?

Here?

With you?

Aemond blinked at your silence as his shoulders slumped slightly. He shook his head, looking to the floor, “Forgive me. That was too much to ask of you-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “No, not at all. If you,” You swallowed thickly, “If you feel unwell and compelled to stay, who am I to cast out a Lord in need?”

Relief washed over the two of you, and an unspoken air of gratitude floated amongst the space. You fought the urge to smile, to laugh, to jump with joy at the prospect of him staying longer. Of wanting to stay longer, of the thought that perhaps staying here with you was better than the prospect of going home to his family. 

His previous words echoed in your head.

Let me stay dead a while longer. 

Was this his staying dead a while longer? Avoiding his duties that awaited him when he returned home?

“Will you tell William of my presence?” His voice broke you from your revere.

You blinked.

Would you?

“Did you wish for me to?”

“No.”

You breathed a silent sigh of relief, “Then I shall not tell William of your presence.”

Aemond shifted on his feet, before nodding, “Thank you.”

You gave him a hopeful smile in response.

-

William arrived not too long after your agreement with Aemond for his extended stay, and hidden presence. You watched on from shore as he pulled his boat up the sand, his warm eyes crinkling at the sight of you.

“Y/n, my girl!” He called out to you, trudging up the sand to you as he pulled you into a tight embrace which you returned heartily, head tucked against his chest. 

Ever since your father had passed, William had become a father figure to you, but he had always been like that. Or at least like an uncle, a man who cared and loved you just as much as he did his own. You considered him family, and he considered you one of the same.

“How have you fared? We worried for you with that storm." His hand gripped your shoulder tightly, "Celia was beside herself with worry, pacing about the fire each night. Thought she would have burnt a hole in the floors by the end of it.” He chuckled, pulling away to look you over as you smiled up at him.

“As you can see, I am alive and well. The sea did not swallow me this time round.” You smiled, and turned to help him pull his boat further up the beach to unpack the supplies.

“Not all were so lucky,” William cast a glance to the remaining debris from Aemond’s ship, “Large pieces of hull washed ashore, we worried the ship had run aground atop the lighthouse.” His voice grew morose, “A few men washed up on the beach, but none survived the storm.”

You nodded solemnly, pulling a large bag of flour from the row boat as you lined it up on the grass with the others, “Debris landed here too. The ship sunk just off of the horizon in the thick of the storm. The sea took all.”

William hummed sadly, “Unbelievable storm that, not even Lord Greyjoy had seen a storm so large. Did any find their way here?”

You straightened, heart beginning to race in your chest. You swallowed and carefully thought of your next words, “One. Though he succumbed to waves like the others.” 

The lie made you shift uncomfortably. You didn’t want to lie to William, but you didn’t want to go against Aemond’s wishes either.

A large hand grasped your shoulder and tightened softly, “There was nothing you could have done. We saw the lighthouse day and night through the storm and thats how we knew you were safe. Celia dragged me to the beach in the rain to make sure it was on as proof of your wellbeing.”

You nodded, “It would take far more than a storm to stop me or the lamp.”

William chuckled, a crackly laugh that was familiar and warm, “Don’t I know it. Now, are you going to make this old man a drink, or do I have to beg for one.”

You laughed at his words, picking up the sack of flour and other bags of food and supplies, leaving the large crates for him to carry, “Come on then, before the Gods take you.”

-

After doing multiple trips and talking along the way, the cottage was now filled with supplies and food for the next fortnight. Flour and dried meats and other items were strewn on the counter and in the kitchen, leaning against the walls and shelves, whilst small jars of pickled foods and jams made by Celia were neatly lined in a small crate on the table.

When the two of you had begun to drop the supplies into the cottage, you held your breath, hoping that Aemond had made himself scarce and out of the way as you came in and out. Thankfully, your bedroom door was for once closed, and you assumed Aemond was keeping himself quiet inside. 

William sipped at the warm tea you made him as he seated himself in the chair that had become Aemond’s, long stocky legs stretched out in front of him as he rubbed a knee with a hand, working some invisible pain or injury out of it.

“Place looks good,” William commented, eyes roaming across the room, “You’ve been busy.”

You hummed in reply, lifting the mug to your lips. 

If only he knew. 

But William’s gaze stopped by the door, eyes locked onto something as he wordlessly stared. 

Shifting in your seat you turned to face it, stomach dropping. 

Beside your empty hook, was the other.

And hung on it, was your fathers old coat.

Aemond’s coat.

Your head turned back to look at William, mouth opening and shutting as you tried to think of an excuse, as you tried to think of a way to explain as to why there was a man’s coat hung on your door when you had supposedly been alone. And as you opened your mouth to explain yourself, to make up some poor take of an excuse, William beat you to it.

“I miss him too.” His voice was lower than it had been before, “Did you keep all his belongings?”

Your heart pounded in your ears, and a pang of grief moved through you. 

Your pa.

He thought you had his coat out because you missed him.

And whilst you did miss him, you were thankful that that was what William thought of it, and not that there was a man living with you, currently hiding in your bedroom. Though, that would be a hard thing for William to believe, even if you told him.

You nodded, “It seemed a waste to be rid of them.” You sipped your tea, wondering where this conversation may lead you. 

William gave a gruff sigh, “Do you not get lonely here? You’re all on your own. A woman your age should have a companion, someone to talk to at the very least. A cat even.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, “Are you suggesting I marry someone? I have my pigeon, but she’s not very talkative.”

The sea weathered man raised his shoulders, “You’re not getting any younger.” His words irritated you as he continued, “Not that you’re not capable of doing this on your own.” He explained, watching as your eyes narrowed on him, “You’ve proven yourself more than capable for that. I just,” Another sigh, “I know this isn’t what your father wanted for you.”

“Wanted for me?”

“He didn’t want you here, trapped. He wanted you to see the world, to go out and meet someone. He hoped you would settle down, start a family. He did not want to bear the burden of the lighthouse onto you.”

You looked down at the table, “It’s not a burden.”

“I know.” He said, but it didn’t sound as though he believed you, “But how often do you get to do things for yourself?”

You gave him a small smile, “I am perfectly content here, I don’t see why I should have to marry.”

“I’m not saying you have to, I’m merely suggesting the option.”

You hummed, “Well, not many men would like to live this life, nor are they prepared or knowledgable enough for it.”

Except for Aemond.

William laughed, crows feet becoming deeper, “I know you think men are a burden, if not a waste of ones time, but you never know, one may just wash ashore and change your perspective.”

Your breath stilled in your chest.

Did he know?

“What about Greyjoy?” William clicked his fingers, “The Dalton lad.” “His eyes always looks for you when he comes to town. Asks after you; Where you are, who you’re with, what you’re doing. Nice lad.”

“Nice enough.” You shifted uncomfortably, “But his heart belongs to the sea, and he would scarcely be home. What life would I live raising a child with a father who blows in with the tide? Not to mention, he has, shall we say, fleeting affections for others.”

William snorted, “I wouldn’t say his affections for you were fleeting, but aye, he is a man of the sea through and through. And those Greyjoys are known for their whoring.”

You guffawed, “William!”

“What?” He looked at you incredulously, “I speak the Gods honest truth. He wouldn’t be my first choice for you, but Celia-“

“Ahh.” You leant back in your chair, “Has Celia been playing the matchmaker of late?”

The older man grumbled, “When has she not? She tried to suggest Edmund Pyke-“

“-The fish mongers son?”

“Aye.” William shook his head, “Meek young man, too meek for the likes of you. I told Celia you’d eat him alive.”

A huffed chuckle fell from your lips, “Not much to devour. If I remember correctly, he stands half your size. Quiet boy.”

“Indeed. Always a shock when you hear him speak, like a mouse’s fart.” The man teased, draining the rest of his tea in one gulp, “But a man like that is no match for a woman like you. You need someone who can take what you give.” His eyes softened as he looked at you, “I doubt any man would be worthy of you. You are so very much like your mother; kind, soft.” A grin pulled at his lips, "But then you are frustratingly stubborn like your father and argumentative to a fault. And Gods awful at making tea.” He grimaced.

“My tea is perfectly fine, thank you very much. If it is so horrible for you to drink, then perhaps you should make yourself scarce.” You bit the insides of your cheeks to stop yourself from smiling, and William did the same, until finally he burst into a howling laugh, hand on his stomach as his head bent backwards.

“Oh no,” He grinned, standing with a grunt and pop of his knees, “I don’t worry for you marrying a man, I worry for the poor soul who will have to marry you.” 

You stood to meet him, “Then you needn’t worry, for I see no husband on the horizon by the name of Greyjoy or Pyke.”

William raised a brow, “Just those names then?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, “Be quiet, you.” You smacked him on the chest lightly, letting him pull you in for a final hug.

-

Slowly you walked William back to his boat, chatting quietly amongst yourselves as you went to shore, helping him to drag it down the sand to the water, the little vessel swaying in the small waves, the sun slowly beginning to set in the horizon.

“Now you take care of yourself, you hear me? Come to town and visit when the weather is fare. The girls would love to see you.”

You nodded, promising to come soon, hugging him once more on the sand. 

William took one final gaze at you, eyes searching your face with an almost unreadable expression to it, “You’ve changed.” He pushed his boat further into the water before sitting to face you, rowers in hands as his boat rocked side to side on the small waves, “You’re lighter. Brighter. Before the storm you were dull, but now…” His voice trailed off in the wind as he rowed himself backwards slowly, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in love!” He called out, boat moving away from the beach.

“A good thing you know better!” You called out after him, heat rising in your neck and face as your heart began to race in your chest, “Give my love to the girls!” You waved and he nodded, your feet stepping back to avoid a small wave that dragged water up to your boots, “And tell Celia to stop trying to marry me off like a prized mare!”

“I’ll do no such thing!” William yelled back laughing, before finally he was away. 

-

You stood on the beach, watching the man grow smaller and smaller as he made his way back to shore. Your feet had begun to sink into the sand, damp seeping in through the sides before you decided to return back to the cottage. 

When you entered, your bedroom door was open, and Aemond was in the kitchen, pumping water in the dry sink to wash the two cups and put them away. As he heard your approach he turned his head toward you, though not fully.

“He seems a decent man.” He stated softly, hands scrubbing the tea from the cups.

You smiled softly, “He is. I grew up with him. Always visiting me and pa whenever he had the chance. And when pa died, he became a father to me.”

Aemond hummed, “He cares a lot about you, as if you’re his own.” Aemond grabbed a cloth and dried the mugs placing them back on the shelf, “It’s good to see decent men being decent fathers.”

You nodded and smiled. You knew from what Aemond had told you that he did not have a good relationship with his father, and you were more than fortunate to not only have one, but two father figures in your life who had been nothing but loving to you.

And whilst you thought of memories of your pa and William, the air in the cottage shifted.

Aemond dried his hands and turned to face you, his posture stiff, face pulled into a hard line, “You didn’t tell me that Dalton was pursuing you. You would let me leave on his ship with him without saying as much?”

There was something in his eye and the way that he spoke that made you shift on your feet nervously. 

You began to pull your coat from your shoulders, “Pursuing is an exaggeration.” You lied to yourself, “Dalton has no desire to ask for my hand, nor has he ever expressed any desire. His family are Lord’s. He himself is a Lord. His family would never approve of my-“

“-But he wants you.” Aemond said lowly, stepping forward, looking down at you from his nose, “Desires you. I heard William say that he seeks you out, asks after you. It’s clear there is something there between you.”

Your brows furrowed, “Do you make a habit of listening in on others conversations? There is nothing between me and Dalton. I have known him all my life, and to this day nothing has happened. He is scarcely in town, always on the seas exploring new lands, new women. His interest in me is purely physical, I assure you.”

“And is it reciprocated?”

You blanched, blinking up at him, “Reciprocated?”

Aemond’s jaw twitched as he looked down at you, “Do you desire him in the way he desires you? Do you wish for him to touch you?” His voice dropped lower as he stepped towards you, hand coming to tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the skin of your neck, “To taste you?”

You couldn’t think. 

Couldn’t breathe.

Stuck to the floor as you looked up at the silver haired man whom you now realised was jealous. 

His lilac eye had darkened as he looked down his nose at you, sharp features illuminated harshly by the fire behind him. His lips were pulled into a stiff line, and his chest rose and fell shallowly.

“Well?”

You blinked again, and cleared your throat softly, “No.” You whispered quietly to the room, watched as his brows furrowed in disbelief, “Once I had.” You admitted watching as his jaw ticked, “But that was before I met you. It feels a long time ago, and it was merely a passing thought, one bred by the desire to not be alone.”

At your words, Aemond seemed to relax, his lips softened and brow evened out, though his jaw remained clenched, “And are you alone?”

Your head cocked to the side.

Alone?

But he was standing right with you.

Right in front of you.

“No?”

Aemond huffed a small humourless laugh at your response, clearly you had misunderstood him. 

“Do you feel lonely? With me here?”

You licked your lips, feeling the warmth of his body come closer as he stepped forward, fingers at your neck sliding to the back, tangling themselves into your hair as he pulled you closer. His mouth was a breath apart from yours, his eye on your lips as you heaved uneven lungfuls, waiting for your answer.

You tilted your head upwards, lips brushing against his softly, the feeling sending warmth settling into your gut as you chased his embrace. But Aemond did not let you close the gap, and moved his lips away, awaiting your answer yet again.

As soft as a whisper came your answer.

“Not anymore.”

Aemond’s lips met yours as soon as the words left your mouth, chasing yours in a heated kiss, the hand at the back of your neck tangling in your hair tightly as he pulled you impossibly closer, other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, almost lifting you onto his own feet. 

His lips felt like a breath of fresh air, a fire within you set ablaze with each passing moment. You chased after him as much as he chased after you, your hands desperately pulling his tunic closer to you, neck craned up on your tip toes to reach.

The sailors hands came to the front of your dress, teeth nipping at your bottom lip causing you to gasp. His tongue took advantage of your parted lips, licking into your mouth at the opening. You moaned warmly, feeling his hands pause at the buttons at the front of your dress. You nodded sharply, not willing to part from him to verbally give an answer. 

With practised ease, he began to pull at the buttons one by one, slowly opening the front of your gown. When it was finally undone down to your navel, you parted for air, a wave of realisation crashing over you.

“The lamp.” You breathed breathlessly, rearing your head back to look up at Aemond, night had begun to fall outside.

His eye was half lidded, pupil expanded across the lilac, and a soft pink dusted on his cheeks, “Already lit.” He mumbled before crashing his lips back against yours. 

You made a startled squeak, and wondered briefly when he had had the time to go light it in your absence. But any lingering questioning you had were lost when his large hands scooped under the front of your collarbones and up to your shoulders, slowly sliding the gown down your torso, freeing your arms as he went. 

He stepped back to look over you, goosebumps rising on your skin as his heated gaze roamed over your breasts and body. His lips were pink and swollen from your embrace, and the pupil of his eye expanded.

Feeling a spur of confidence, you undid the small belted laces at the back, letting the heavy dress and skirts fall to the ground beneath you in a puddle.

Aemond was on you in a second, the room tilting as you were suddenly picked up, legs automatically wrapping around Aemond’s hips as he hungrily kissed you, all teeth and tongue and impatience, neediness bleeding through the both of you in a rush of desire.

It was as though wildfire had caught in the space between, and it burnt at you both hotly, the flames licking higher and higher on your bodies, an all consuming need. 

Your need for him burnt.

“Bed.” He murmured into your lips, speedily walking to the room before he dropped you onto the bed with a bounce.

You gazed up at him through your lashes and watched as he pulled his tunic from over his head with one hand in one swift movement, your eyes roaming down his lean body.

Pale littering of scars were on his chest and arms, and your gaze moved lower still to the trail of hair that lead to what was beneath his breeches, the memory of it causing your core to clench around nothing.

Aemond breathed heavily looking down at you before he pulled you to the edge by your feet, a squeak rising from your chest as he loomed over you. 

With haste, Aemond unlaced your boots, throwing them away alongside the stockings he rolled down your legs impatiently. Then came your stays, which did not survive his large, weather worn hands, which tore the laces from their holes, ripping the material at the seams. 

You gasped loudly as he did it, not truly knowing the strength he had hidden, which was then smothered by his wanting mouth, body climbing on top of you as he kissed and nipped sharply at your lips with his teeth, hips pressing down into your own as he ground into you.

Heat settled in your gut with each thrust of his hips, his hardening length brushing against your sensitive pearl each time, sending shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. The kiss consumed you, heat rising in the room as the both of you gripped and pulled at each other desperately, Aemond only breaking the kiss to pave a path down your neck, stopping every so often to suck or bite at your flesh, marking you which caused you to mewl beneath him. 

He sunk lower and lower on the bed, pulling up your slip with his hands as he settled between your thighs once again, your hands gripping the sheets of the bed as you looked down at him. His eye was already on you, watching your face as he breathed cool breaths against your bare core. 

You whimpered as he blew air onto it, cold on your throbbing bud as he smirked up at you, “Sīr lōz.”, He cooed, swiping two fingers gently up your slit, parting your folds.

A finger pressed down on you, watching with delight as you squirmed beneath him. You bucked your hips up towards his lips shyly as he blew against you again, smirking at how you whimpered and writhed, desperate to alleviate the ache that had been building within since he captured your lips with his. 

“Is something wrong?” Aemond smirked, rubbing his fingers through your folds, but never quite touching you were you needed him.

“Please.” You whispered, hips seeking his fingers desperately.

“Please, what?"

You shut your eyes tightly, embarrassment coursing through you, "Please, Aemond."

The man chuckled gently, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him, watching as your eyes opened to look down at him again.

"Syt ao? Mirros.”

Aemond ducked his head between your thighs, hand on either side of your thighs, holding you open for him as he licked a wide stripe up your centre, tongue flicking against your bud.

Your back arched from the bed, eyes screwed shut as pleasure shot through you. The Targaryen moaned into your folds, beginning to lap at them hungrily, thumbs holding you open for him so that he focused on your pearl. 

“Iksā sīr vok syt nyke.” Aemond groaned, two long fingers finding your entrance, slowly beginning to push inside of you. 

Your breath hitched as they entered, immediately curling up to the soft spongey spot inside of you that he found last time, memorising each and every inch of your body and the reactions that you made when he licked, sucked, pressed or rubbed against it. 

The sounds he made as he lapped at your core was filthy, depraved, and down right ravenous, moaning into your cunt as pleasure wound tightly in your belly, his ministrations slowly but surely pulling you towards the edge, no doubt assisted by his low rumblings in his mother tongue.

“Nyke jorrāelagon ao.” He gasped against your thigh, watching his fingers disappear inside of you as he began to fuck them at a faster pace, wetness coating your thighs and the bed beneath you “Gaomā daor gīmigon ziry,” He kissed at your thigh looking up into your eyes with an intensity that made the breath in your chest still, “Yn iksi vēttan naejot sagon.”

Your hips bucked, one hand releasing the sheets to card through his hair, his lilac eye momentarily shutting as you pulled lightly at the strands, a hum vibrating his chest, “Common tongue, please.”

“More tongue?” Aemond responded cheekily, eyebrow raised at you, and before you could quip back, he was back to using his mouth on you, sucking your pearl into his mouth as his fingers did not slow, the tension in your gut about the break. 

“Oh.” You breathed, mouth open, “Oh Gods. Oh- fucking Hells.” Pleasure raced through you violently, and a long pealing whine flitted from your lips as you reached your peak.

Aemond sucked your bud into his mouth as he flicked his tongue against it, fingers fucking inside of you speedily through it, the wet squelching of your release loud in the room with each thrust of his hand. Your grip in his hair tightened and you pulled, still falling from the precipice he had brought you to, a deep grunt vibrating into your already sensitive core. 

“Aemond- Nng- Please. Slow down.” You whined, writhing as the pleasure soon turned borderline painful, too overstimulated to function.

With a final broad wipe of his tongue, the silver haired man ceased his movements, allowing for your body to finally slump into the pillows, a light sheen of sweat covering you. 

Your eyes slid shut as you huffed a laugh, whimpering lightly when he pulled his fingers from within you. Aemond placed wet kisses to the top of you mound, your hip bones, and then to your stomach which he revealed by pulling your slip up your body. 

Only did your eyes re-open when he kept lifting the slip up over your breasts, his mouth coming down to capture a pert nipple in his mouth. He rolled it with his tongue, teeth lightly holding it in place as he slotted his hips against you once again.

You moaned, hands sliding down his sides to his breeches which were still very much on his hips.

“Off.” You breathed, tugging at his pants, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft pop.

“Patience, byka perzys.” Little flame, Aemond chuckled, shifting to drag his breeches down his legs, kicking them off the bed along with his boots. 

When he laid back against you, his hands moved to your shift again, pulling it over your head, leaving the two of you bare before each other once again. His head dipped and captured your lips, the taste of yourself on his tongue tart and musky.

Swiftly, Aemond used his thighs to part your own, moving them over the top of his as he lined the hard tip of his cock up with your soaked entrance.

Without pause, Aemond slid inside of you, catching your gasp in his mouth as you stretched around him. There was only the slightest of stings this time, your body far more relaxed than the first time.

The head of his cock pressed against your cervix snugly as he pushed to the hilt, the feeling of fullness spreading within you and up through your gut. You don't think that you could ever get used to such a feeling, such an all encompassing fullness that would forever shock you.

Aemond didn’t wait to give you a chance to adjust, and began to thrust himself through your silky walls immediately, sparks of pleasure beginning rippling up your body. A large hand held your hip, whilst the other buried itself in your hair, tilting your head further back for him to dive his tongue into your mouth, flicking at your own as you messily grabbed and kissed one another.

Feeling yourself begin to jolt up the bed, you lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him deeper and closer to you, desperate whine moving through you as his hips clapped against yours.

It was frenzied, fiery, and with each smack of his hips, you felt your wetness spread against his thighs and hair at the base of his length, his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive nub.

“Sīr ȳrda.” He moaned, head dipping into the crux of your neck, hand on your hip skimming to the globe of your ass, squeezing it as he fucked you harder, grunts spilling from his lips growing louder.

“You feel so good.” You whimpered, hands clawing at his back sharply as you felt a familiar coil within begin to wind again, “Please.”

Aemond raised his head to look down at you, your gaze meeting his. With his thumb, Aemond began to swirl small, wet circles into your pearl, accelerating your oncoming release. The lilac of his eye looked almost black as he lowered his voice to you.

“Take it from me.” 

Pleasure coursed through your veins. Blinding white heat pummelling through you as you reached your peak below him.

“There you go.” He cooed, watching as your release crashed over you.

Aemond tumbled over the edge with you with a cry. Your nails dug into his back as he sped up, looking down intently, mouth slack as he watched you come apart from below, not once breaking your locked gaze.

His forehead pressed into yours as he slowed, the throbbing of his length inside you and warmth of his spend filling you causing a smaller wave of pleasure to race through you, your walls clamping down onto him. Aemond hissed before coming to a stop, the both of you panting heavily, bodies going slack, the weight of him on top bringing you an odd sense of comfort.

Carefully Aemond rolled off of you, his cock sliding out from your sensitive walls as he lay on his back, pulling you into his side to tuck your head beneath his.

You curled into him immediately, as though you had done it a million times before, fitting perfectly at his side. You wrapped an arm around his middle, lifting a leg to hook over his hips, which he held and sooth his his hand. 

Your entire body was buzzing with the after mass of your release, limbs feeling heavier than they once were. The two of you sweaty and satiated, whilst small little huffs of joy breathed into the space as you both fell into a comfortable rest.

 -

Another week goes by, and soon enough, it had been almost a month since Aemond washed ashore on your island. 

Almost a month since the largest storm you had seen raged across the horizon and into the headlands.

Almost a month since you had nursed a man back from death and back to the living.

Almost a month since your heart began to grow fond of the man. 

Almost a month since you had grown content with Aemond’s presence. 

Things had changed again, not in any negative way, but things became more passionate, more heated, more tender.

Aemond would touch you whenever he could, hold you whenever he could, hand pressed against yours. Lips to yours, or your cheek, or forehead, and his his hands would seek you in gentle caresses that would set you alight and wanting for more.

And he always gave you more.

He seemed to be insatiable, never quite getting his fill, and whatever he had awoken inside of you was equal in fever. 

You noted that his personal preference was to be between your thighs, lapping at your folds whenever he could, pulling peak after peak from you whether on your bed, or the couch, against the table or walls or doors or kitchen bench. And even, on one occasion, in the lighthouse, pressed against the bricks with a leg hitched over his shoulder. 

Aemond never seemed to get enough of it, always insisting on it before he would sink himself inside of you. You had asked him why once, and he had flushed, stating that it was to prepare you, but when you had asked again, he said that there was no greater sweetness in all the lands he had travelled to than your, so eloquently put, cunt. 

Not that you minded, in fact, it began to be a favourite pass time of your own. 

When you had woken that morning, it wasn’t to your usual bodily clock, rising before the sun after years of habit, but rather to the warm and wet sensation that prodded and swiped between your legs.

You rose with a moan, and then a deeper one as you found Aemond between your thighs kissing your centre like a man starved. It didn’t take him long to get you to reach your peak, and when you had, he had smiled almost smugly, and stated that that was all he needed to eat for the day.

But the newfound intimacy and exploring each others bodies wasn’t all that you enjoyed in your shifting tides together. Each moment spent with Aemond you learnt more about him. Piece by piece he would reveal new information to you. A new memory, a new story, a new piece of knowledge about the mysterious man that you would itemise and lock away in the back of your mind to create a larger picture of the man in front of you.

You spent hours reading together when not working, for double the hands makes for swift work, and you found that for the first time in your life, you had the ability to sit down, to breathe, to not have every waking moment thinking about the lighthouse and only the lighthouse. And in those moments of breath and thought, you realised how much you truly had been missing out on in life. 

You had thought you had been content alone, but the more time you spent with him, the more time you spent reading or hearing about his own adventures, you realised, much to your dismay, how you longed to do the same. But you couldn’t ever leave, for no-one would man the lighthouse after you, at least no-one you would know to be so proficient. Unless it was William himself, but he had a wife and daughters and a job of his own, and you would never ask him to do such a thing for your selfish wants and imagination.

And so you were content in savouring each moment you had with the sailor whilst he was still there, laughing loudly over whiskey as he told you of a story of his older brother losing a wooden sword match with one of his nephews, or another time in which his brother Aegon had grown so drunk at a family event, that two maids had to assist him to bed, dropping him halfway up the stairs as they went.

You learnt that his sister, Helaena, was a sweet and gentle woman with a soft and kind heart. She had, what he called, a nervous or paranoid disposition, and often believed her dreams that things were to happen, the family taking no notice to her fretting. Though he did note, with an ashen face, that she had warned him once about a danger beneath the eye. 

Had she meant the eye he lost?

Or the eye of the storm which led to his ships demise, and almost his own?

Aemond did not know.

His mother, you learnt, Alicent, was a stern and pious woman, heavily religious and intent on him performing his duties and marrying a young Lady from a neighbouring land. Though at times she seemed to be somewhat overbearing and traditional in his retellings, when he spoke of her, there was a deep fondness in his eye, and it made you all the more disappointed in yourself for having kept him away from them.

During his stay, Aemond kept his promise to you, teaching you what he could of High Valyrian when you had the chance. It was a struggle to start, but you picked it up quicker than you had thought you would. 

He would praise you for your pronunciation, which only led you to want to do better for him, his words of affirmation doing something to your heart and body, which resulted in you mumbling words and phrases beneath your breath every chance you had to perfect them. 

You also learnt that he had an older sister, estranged, not talked about and something that was clearly a taboo for the sailor, but when he did mention her, it was to note that her High Valyrian was more advanced as their father had spent ample time teaching her, but not his four other children.

Aemond was, for the most part, self taught, besides the help of a lone tutor which Aemond noted was poorly. 

Each time he shared a piece of himself to you, your heart longed to go with him, to see the famed Keep where his family resided. To meet his mother Alicent who was such an important person in his life, as well as his sister Helaena. You wished to meet Aegon, to see if he truly was as bumbling as Aemond had told you. 

You wished to see the foods they had, imported from foreign lands you couldn’t pronounce, to walk the Gardens of the Keep, to see the ashen barked Weirwood tree in his Godswood, to try a starfruit, which Aemond had a craving for almost every second day, the shape and flavour a wonder to you. 

You wished to be a part of his life, a part of his family, and a tiny, foolish part of you thought that perhaps you could. But the more rational side knew that it could not be, that you were of low rank, and you could not leave the lighthouse unmanned, and as each day passed with this heavy revelation, came the looming of a dark cloud above you.

-

The fresh scones you had made were still soft and fresh, Celia’s jam spread thickly on top as a treat for the both of you that morning. The cottage was cold, but the heat of the fire radiated warmth around the two of you, a subtle wind whistling past the windows outside. 

Despite the bright mood the two of you had, started by Aemond waking you up between your thighs, that cloud still loomed over the top of you, dread and anticipation of what was to come nipping at you like a hound.

“Celia makes great jam. I should like to thank her one day.” Aemond hummed, popping a small broken piece of scone into his mouth to chew, licking the jam off the pad of his thumb after he swallowed.

You nodded, smiling, though it didn’t reach your eyes, “You should thank her yourself in person. I am sure she would like to meet a real Targaryen.”

His eye searched your face, “One day.”

“But when?” You swallowed, preparing your speech which you had practiced over and over in a loop in your head, finding some way that would make him want to stay, to make him want you.

The silver haired man frowned, placing the rest of his scone on his plate as he sat himself straighter, “When?”

“Yes. When.” The lump in your throat grew larger with each passing second, “You have a family, duties, a life. Your mother must be beside herself with worry and grief, and I fear that I am taking you from that. I fear I am creating pain for you all.”

“Taking me?” Aemond sounded confused, eye swiftly searching your face as you straightened in your chair.

“I do not wish to…force you to stay here, or corrupt you into thinking I could be anything other than this.” You watched as his frown deepened, lips pulling into a thin line, “I cannot keep you here as much as I wish to.”

His frown softened, “You wish for me to stay?”

“Kessa.” (Yes) You said quietly, “But I know it is not the reality we live in. You are a Lord, I am-“

“-Why do you always bring up my rank?”

“Because it means something. If your family found out that you have been here, with someone like me, the talk alone could ruin your potential list of decent wives. Your future. I fear I have already tainted-“

“-Tainted?”

“Yes, I-“

“-Why do you believe yourself to ever be capable of tainting me?” Aemond’s voice was stern, colder than before, as though angry at your words. You looked down at the table shyly, focusing on the scone smeared with jam.

“You do not think you could stay here forever, do you?”

Aemond huffed air through his nose, “I can do whatever I like. Go where I please, see who I wish. For now, my family believes me to be dead, and even if I was known to be hale and healthy, I can still do as I please.”

“But your mother-“

“-My mother,” Aemond began, voice softening, “Will one day come to understand.”

You shook your head, confusion coursing through you, “I don’t understand.”

Aemond’s jaw tensed, teeth pressing sharply against each other before he adjusted himself to sit even more impossibly straighter, “Do you believe in the Gods?”

Your eyebrows knitted together, “Of course. I would not have prayed to them if I did not.”

“Then you must believe the Gods control our paths and fate.”

Paths and fate?

What was he talking about?

“Yes, I believe so. But I don’t understand what the Gods have to do with you needing to go home.”

Aemond took a deep breath through his nose, his hand on the table as fingers flexed and then curled back into a fist, dropping into his lap out of sight, “My ship sunk for a reason. I do not believe that it happened without purpose. I drowned and came back for a reason. You prayed to the Gods to save me, and they did.” His tongue peeked out of his lips to wet them, and your heart began to race in your chest, “The Gods gave me a second chance at life and brought me straight to you.” He shook his head, silver locks falling over his shoulders, “Before you, I was unhappy, but with you? I have never been so content. So… at peace.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, your own hands twisting in your lap, “Please do not say such things to me, Sir. My heart cannot bear it.”

Aemond leant forward, “But it is the truth. And mine own heart cannot bear the thought of leaving here. Of leaving you.”

A tear fell from your eye, sliding wetly down your cheek as you looked at him, his figure blurred in your vision, “You cannot want me.”

“I can. And I do.”

A sob fell from your lips as you looked at him, “This is cruelty, Aemond. You cannot- You can’t- Your family would never allow it. You cannot say these things to me, do not give me false hope. Do not give me reason to believe.”

Aemond's hand lifted on top of the table, palm up, offered to you. 

You looked at his palm, and the soft smooth skin there, and wished to mark it. You wished to mark him so that he could never leave, so that he could never be without you without evidence of you existing.

“False hope would be to say that I could ever leave here with my heart intact.” His hand waited for you on the table, “Please.”

Another tear fell from your cheek, “You cannot want a life like this. You cannot want a life with me. I have no money, I cannot ever leave, I would never trap you here with me.”

“You could never trap me in the first place. I am yours.”

I am yours.

Another sob fell from your lips, chest aching at the thought of losing him, at the thought of him leaving you. That this declaration would be for naught, that he had not truly thought this over, but deep inside of you, you hoped, dreamed, begged the Gods for his words to be true.

Aemond’s hand slid off the table and back into his lap as he stared at you, silence creeping across the table.

“I am just as much yours. Irrevocably.” You breathed, watching as relief flooded Aemond’s face, “But I cannot ask this of you. Not when you lose so much if you do.”

Aemond stood from his seat, swiftly coming towards you where he knelt in front of you, forcefully taking your hand in his as he looked up into your tear filled eyes. His thumb brushed over your knuckles soothingly, his other hand briefly coming to swipe a tear from your cheek before meeting the other that held yours.

“You are not asking me to do anything, byka perzys.” His words came swiftly, eye searching your face as tear after tear fell down your cheeks, “And if you were, I would do it. A thousands times over, I would do it. If you asked me to walk back into the sea, I would do it. For you, I would do it.”

“Aemond,” You shook your head sadly, mouth opening again to argue, but he interrupted you.

“-I want to stay.” His hands gripped yours tighter, “Here. With you. I want to be with you. Always.” He swallowed thickly, “If you’ll have me.”

Your blood thumped loudly in your ears as you looked at him. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t speak, mind going a thousand miles an hour. 

He wanted to stay.

He wanted to stay here.

With you.

“Please do not turn me away. The fate of the seas would be kinder.” His voice cracked, and your heart ached.

There was no turning back, no moving from this conversation without an outcome. 

It all just depended on which path you wished to go. Which path your heart ached for most, and that was for him to stay. But would it come without consequences? Would his decision to stay be a mistake he would come to resent you for? 

You had nothing to lose, he had everything to.

But the way he was looking at you, the way he was patiently and nervously awaiting your answer, watching as tears continued to fall from your eyes, not just out of grief, but sheer overwhelming love for the man knelt before you, offering all that he was, sacrificing all that he had, and for you.

A small smile cracked on your lips, and you watched as his eye became hopeful. Your hand lifted to his cheek, caressing it softly to cup his jaw as you looked him over; his lilac eye, the sharp aquiline of his nose, the way his plump lips pulled sharply at its peaks. Never in your dreams could you have imagined such a man, and never in your life did you think to imagine that a man such as him could be yours.

And it was in that moment that you made your decision.

You smiled, small sobbing laugh escaping your lips as you rubbed a thumb against his skin, feeling the smooth stubble beneath it, “The Gods brought you to me.” You whispered, eyes searching his face for any sign of regret or trepidation, and when you found none, you continued, “Who am I to turn you away?”

And there it was, that full smile that you had grown to love. 

Aemond’s lips pulled widely revealing his teeth as he beamed up at you. 

Never had you felt such joy, such elation inside of you at the sight, your heart feeling as though it became full, a fire settling into your chest raging as it always did with him, for he always made it feel as though he set you alight.

“Avy jorrāelan.” Aemond declared softly with a smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners, lilac dancing with admiration, the unseeing eye reflecting the light of the sun outside like a cloudy morning sky. 

He sat up on his knees and leant forward, face coming towards you before his eye shut, and his lips met yours in a passionate kiss. Your hands grabbed his face, and he did yours, diving his fingers into your hair, holding you to him gently as he slowly sought your lips with his own. 

It was not rushed, it was not frantic, but patient, the both of you knowing that you were no longer running on limited time. No longer stealing moments together before the end.

No longer was there a looming departure of his presence in your life, and as though a breeze from outside swept inside the house, the dark looming cloud that had situated itself above you cleared.

When finally did you part, breathless and giddy, a curiosity took over.

“What does that mean?” You questioned, burning desire to know eating away at you, “What you said?”

And there was that smile once more, and you knew in your heart what it meant after that.

“You will know soon enough.”

Translations:

Sīr lōz - So wet

Syt ao? Mirros - For you? Anything

Iksā sīr vok syt nyke - You are so perfect for me

Nyke jorrāelagon ao. I need you

Gaomā daor gīmigon ziry, Yn iksi vēttan naejot sagon - You do not know it, but we are made to be.

Sīr ȳrda - So tight

Avy jorrāelan - I love you

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@blackswxnn @marihoneywk @targaryenrealnessdarling @namelesslosers @aemondsfavouritebastard @dahlias-and-marigolds @aemondsbabygirl @toodlesxcuddles @jemmaagentofshield @malfoytargaryen @bellaisasleep @aaprilshowers @assortedseaglass @elizarbell @xpersephonex @lijeno @likeanecho344 @coffeeobsessedtrencher @diannnnsss @lexwolfhale @notasockpuppetaccount @at-a-rax-ia @spinachtz@marysucks-blog @generalkenobitrash @zenka69 @shygardengalaxy-blog @kittendoll05 @300nightmare003

[panelshowsource]

saved a few anons asking personal questions not all related to panel shows, spamming answers below the cut :)

she/her!

interesting question! first, i think it's very special that you had the opportunity to study at an international university and i am glad to hear you had so many amazing experiences!

i also feel like i need to preface anything i say with... holidays are obviously different from living, and i hope people can trust that i wouldn't base an entire lifestyle decision off, like, being a fan of taskmaster lmao the state of politics, brexit, housing, prejudice, and more make it difficult to say i'd want to commit to life there — plus i really love new york city, where i do feel at home

that said, i would be open to living in the uk for a period of time, yes. i am certainly very motivated to visit a lot of places, particularly in england, and decided last year to start spending a month or two over there every year (this year i think i will be in york! maybe i can post a little about that if people care). the history and motivations behind that decision are really personal to me, but it feels...right. i am really looking forward to my time there this year and treasure being someone who works remotely and can make that happen

living permanently, it's hard to say, but speaking for my interests in history, architecture, art, cinema — it would be wonderful to explore those things more in person, yes!

i really think in the 6+ years of this blog this is the first i've ever been asked about music! which makes sense ofc it just took me by surprise!

hmmm i think this playlist most accurately expresses what i'm listening to a lot of the time + a lot a lot a lot of classical music, some dad rock, and a few balladeers like judy garland and rufus wainwright

i don't claim to be the world's biggest comedy buff or keep up the best with all of the comedy coming out of the uk and american industries — even though i do enjoy it so much! — but growing up i was very interested in comedy writing. in high school, i worked at a dvd store where people could trade in their old dvds for store credit to buy new ones, so we had a HUGE selection of not only new releases but older, sometimes nicher stuff that you typically wouldn't see at a suburban american blockbuster-like shop. i can't stress how formative this was! i would always go through the store and "beautify" the shelves (pulling all the spines up neatly, keeping everything alphabetised, etc) just to constantly look through what we had in stock, grab the old black bar criterion films before some movie buff snatched them up, touch all the special editions (physical releases were more than just steelbooks back then, like stuff like this). each of the employees had a little shelf in the back room where you could store dvds you wanted to buy when you eventually had the money, keeping them off the floor so no customer would see and buy them. i was always reserving 30+ dvds at a time and spent my whole paychecks at work hahaha

anyways, that's how i found a lot of the random british films i ended up loving — by people trading them in or me just running across them at the store: a cock and bull story, death at a funeral, this is england, gosford park, monty python, (particularly holy grail and life of brian), confetti (didn't love this one but it had a lot of actors i really liked in it so i remember watching it quite a few times) and more — but especially withnail and i and in the loop. i was fucking obsessed with in the loop, which i watched on a loop (zing!) and was ultimately how i worked my way backwards to the thick of it as well as shows like the office uk, alan partridge, green wing, fry and laurie, peep show, and more. (the thick of it and peep show were particularly everything to me!) i still have all of the dvds from the dvd store i worked at! lol

in terms of american comedy, i was obsessed with the state and then their groups' projects like wet hot american summer and reno 911 (michael showalter is a great example of a writer/director i don't think is one of the greats but follows his heart & vision, and i really respect that; my fave of his, which is genuinely so good, is hello my name is doris! underrated lil treasure). i also really loved it's always sunny, flight of the conchords, party down, arrested development, jackass and wild boys, and house md, and some of the wild characters on bravo lmao. we had this channel called logo that was my lifeline to queer content before i really had full-time access to the internet outside of a shared family computer, so i was always watching reruns of jeffrey & cole casserole, the big gay sketch show, plus the l word and queer as folk, and they also did syndication of reno 911 (but i already had all the box sets of that 😭). i was never heavy into the judd apatow/bro comedy that was so big in the 2000s, and even the 80s–90s american comedy heavily influenced by the talent at snl wasn't particularly engaging to me; of that, my favourites were probably throw momma from the train and a couple of romcoms

+ every panel show i could get my hands on! and i think because i was really engaged with sketch comedy i was also reading a lot of playwrights, especially alan bennett, harold pinter, and edward albee, who i had (and have!) huge collections of

and, yes, so many of these are at the foundation of my very favourite formats and styles of comedy: mockumentaries , black comedy or dark comedy, existential comedy, stories rooted in reality or plausibility / domestic dramedy. i used to be very engaged by sketch comedy and wanted to crack the science behind writing funny sketches, but i do think i've moved away from that format and filled that void with the improv nature of panel shows (it works for me the way i think the format of podcasts work for so many other people... i wonder if anyone will relate to that comparison)

comedy evolves so much by the decade and i appreciate a lot of the ways in which it has grown, so i don't think of it as a then vs now, which is better, whatever. and like you i can't help but revisit my nostalgic faves often!

i do think eventually he will! but rn he's lapping up that tv money hahaha my very fave is firing cheeseballs at a dog, but they're all genuinely great!

[calamity-bean]

A recent experience so embarrassing i could only bear to write it as a greentext.

>be me

>on a date the other night at a nice bar/restaurant

>the hostess leads us to our table. it's a high top.

>it is a VERY high top. and the chairs? the seat is nearly level with my shoulder

>like, i'm not a tall person, but this is absurd.

>date has to help my clamber up (in my heels) (WHY did i wear heels) and drag the table closer to me

>there is barely enough room to get my legs under it, and the arms of the chair (why does it have arms??) completely cage me in

>even our server (fellow short girl) remarks on it: oh my god I know right, these tables are SO tall! and the chairs are IMPOSSIBLE to move once you're sitting down!

>date & i laugh in agreement

>(this is a narrative device known as "foreshadowing")

>halfway through dinner, i need to go to the bathroom. no problem. i've been getting in and out of chairs all my life.

>i cannot move the chair

>it's heavy, i'm pinned by the table, and my feet are a mile off the ground

>but i am a Big Girl! i am a Strong Independent Woman! i can get out of a goddamn chair!

>manage to slip one leg out. aw yeah. now all i gotta do is get the other out and i'll slide down gracefully and—

>i face plant. long story short: i face plant.

>my one foot gets tangled and my other foot (heels!) has no purchase and i fall four feet straight down and smack my nose on the tile floor

>i feel my knees hit. i feel my nose hit. smoosh!

>date is helping me up and my mouth is on autopilot assuring him i'm okay and people are looking soooooo many people are looking and i am dazed but also mortified beyond words

>recover enough to head to the bathroom as planned. some guy by the bar, grinning hugely, asks if i'm okay. i laugh it off. those chairs are just too high for me hahaha!

>get back to the table. date helps me back up. bit hard to smoothly start up the conversation again after that.

>i again assure him i'm fine, but the adrenaline is fading, and...

>tears start streaming down my cheeks...

>and i can't stop them...

>and i just keep repeating i'm okay, really, ahaha! (voice trembling) (smiling but also wiping away tears) i'm embarrassed but really, i'm okay!

...Anyway. Nothing's broken, as far as I can tell, but my knees are purple and my nose is sore. I was able to laugh it off in short order. Even though my dignity may still be recovering from its dent.

Other than that though it was a pretty good date!

[canonsinthehead]

RGG/Yakuza/Judgement at the Olympics

Yakuza

Kiryu: Japanese Micheal Phelps Or Modern Pentathlon Akiyama: Golf Haruka: Rhythmic Gymnastic Nishiki: On The Same Swimming Team As Kiryu, Speed Skating Or Runining Hurdle Daigo: Archery Or Shooting Saejima: Discus Throw Or Wrestling Yasuko: Badminton Ryuji: Weight Lifthing Kuze: Curling Yuya: Long Jump Kazuki: High Jump Minami: Handball Nishida: Bobsled With Majima And Minami Hahaha, Majima: Judo, Karate, Wrestling (All Of Them) Rikiya: Soccer Nishitani: Something Crazy Like Mhhhh Luge Or Freestyle Skiing Mine: Tennis Shinida : Baseball Tachibana: Diving Baba: Cross Country Skiing Makoto: Badminton Shimano: Shot Put Or Javelin Throw Lee: Rugby Or Boxing Mirei: Track Cycling Minami: Taekwondo Kashiwagi: Waterpolo

Yakuza 7/Like A Dragon

Ichiban: 100 M Runner/The Fastest Man In The World (Bronze) And Athletic Decathlon Eri: Badminton Adachi: Shot Put Or Hammer Throw Mitsuo: Shot Put Nanba: Marathon Or Crosscountry Han Jong Hi: Shooting Zhao: Gymnastics (Floor) Mabuchi: Gymnastics (Parallel Bars) Ishioda: Race Walk Tendo: Boxing Saeko: Trampoline (With The Rest Of The Y7 To Catch On The Side) And Figure Skating Seong Hi: Beach Volleyball Ryo Aoki: Figure Skater Taka The Striker: BMX Racer Yumeno: Artistic Gymnastics Hajime Ogasawara : Figure Skater (Rival Of Aoki) Hamako: Snowboard

Judgement/Lost Judgement/Judge Eyes

Yagami: Softball Or Soccer Kaito: Boxing Or Beach Volleyball Tsukumo: Ping Pong Higashi: Archery Or Figure Skating Mafuyu: Volleyball Saori-San:Equestrian Or Fencing Tashiro: Hockey Tesso: Gymnastics (Vault) Hoshino : Equestrian Cane-Man: Fencing / Marathon Kengo:  Bmx Freestyle Or Soccer Sawa-Sensei: Figure Skating Kazuki Soma: Archery, Akutsu Daimu: Basketball Kyoko Amasawa:Artistic Swimming   Mami Koda: Artistic Swimming Sugiura: Mountain Bike

[purplesurveys]

1854

How old were you when you learned how to drive? I was 17 when my parents started to give me practice drills around the neighborhood, but of course I didn't feel confident enough until I got my license, which happened as soon as I turned 18.

Have you ever been to a baby shower? What was the baby’s name? I have never been to any.

What mode of transport did you take to high school? We have private bus services which is more common here. It's basically carpooling but with L300s or Hiaces .

Name a personality trait of yours that you like. I like my resourcefulness.

Name a physical attribute of yours that you dislike. My hair is quite thick so apart from it being a hassle to fix up, it also inadvertently makes me look haggard even though I'm the furthest thing from.

What’s in your purse right now? Wallet, hair serum, lip gloss, comb, bb cream.

Do you vote in your country’s elections? Only in the presidential and senatorial ones. I don't think I've ever voted in the local-level elections.

What was your first kiss like? Innocent.

Shuffle your music and skip twice. What song is playing? My phone is sooooooo far away from me right now haha I'll have to skip this.

Have you ever been a freelancer? No.

What mood were you in when you woke up today? Tired and was kind of dreading that I had to spend 6 hours of my day at the salon since I had booked a hair appointment today.

What story is your bedroom on? Second floor, as with all the bedrooms.

What gifts do you usually receive at Easter? Easter gift-giving is not common here.

Do you use a planner to keep track of your life? The only thing I have would be a work 'planner' in the form of a Google Sheets to-do list. I don't have a file for outside of work.

Who was the last person you sent an email to? Probably a client.

Are there any posters in your bedroom? I have not put back up any of the posters I had when I repainted my room a little over a year ago. I've been thinking of making a wall collage of sorts with the fan banners I've collected from all the K-concerts and fan meetings I've been to, though. They're currently just collecting dust in a pile at a corner and it's been feeling like such a waste.

What was your favourite fairytale as a kid? I was never into fairytales. Even as a kid, all I asked my dad for were almanacs and encyclopedias with giant pictures haha.

Is there anything in your freezer that you really need to get rid of? We have a Wendy's Frosty that's been there for well over a year now, and tbh it's turned into an inside joke/social experiment within the family that we all have just mutually agreed to let it stay lmao.

Have you ever played Second Life? I've never even heard of that.

What do you like about the town or city you live in? It has all the quietness of the province, and yet is so conveniently close to the city.

What do you dislike about the town or city you live in? I mean if you're just here, it's boring. No nightlife, no bars...and every time a niche-y spot pops up, like a record store or a mom-and-pop Korean grocery, they never last long.

Are your parents good cooks? My dad is a literal chef, so.

What’s the first thing you notice about a person? Body language and energy.

Have you ever been to a chiropractor? Did you like it? No.

What is your favourite museum? Ayala Museum is always a great visit. There was also the museum I went to when I was in Fukuoka; shame I forgot the name of it and accidentally deleted all photos from my trip.

Do you know anyone who is an actor? Yes.

Have your wisdom teeth come through yet? I've had two cause their problems and be subsequently pulled out. I'm still waiting for the other two to come out.

How many weddings have you been to? Countless ones when I was a kid since I was frequently a flower girl; but I've also never been able to attend one since I was 9 so it's pretty much stopped there hahaha.

Do you watch Youtube? What channels do you like? I'm subscribed to so many channels as I'm generally open to watching such a crazy wide range of shit. I will say my all-time favorite channels would be Wrestlelamia, GMM, and Oversimplified.

What’s your alcohol of choice? Long Island Iced Tea, or an espresso martini.

Have you ever used a public pay phone? I don't think so.

Which one item would you save from your burning house? Assuming all the dogs got out okay, my phone.

Do you have a Twitter account? Yup.

What is your hair like right now? Awesome. It's purple again and is up to my collarbones so I'm feeling pretty great about it.

How do you like your eggs cooked? Sunny side up, or scrambled.

What’s the longest you’ve been without showering? Like 2-3 days.

Name one of your guilty pleasure songs. Don't have one of those.

Have you ever made an item of clothing? Nope. I mean I've tie-dyed a shirt, but I don't think that counts.

What was the most expensive bill you paid within the last month? My dinner treat for my family on my birthday.

[busterheadspace]

andre and perhaps either childhood trauma or twisted ankle?? whichever strikes out most to you (ty for letting me know btw!! <3)

sorry this took so long but bam. Done.

Note: open to request. Bingo is open. Just send an ask.

——

The world was blurring into rainbow and other colors as Andre made his way to the exit. A few laughs came out of him although he was far from happy. 

Two nights ago, Right-Swap gave him a notification about a woman being interested on a date. He was ecstatic as he jumped during the meeting they were having. Reagan glared at him and said something but he couldn't care. He finally found someone who might like him.

It was at a club. The first floor was a club while the second half was a bar. He  dressed up nicely and looked at himself on the mirror

"We're going to get the girl. Don't fuck this up like you did last time." 

He took a bus there and walked in with a smile. People were dancing, vaping, the music was loud and there were brightly colored lights flickering. He headed upstairs and found the women sitting in front of the bartender.

"Hey! I'm Andre Lee. The guy you meet at Right Swipe" He introduced with a laugh sitting next to her. The woman looked at him, with a strange look but nonetheless let him pay for her drink.

Andre tried to start a conversation however the women seemed uninterested. Her job, her hobbies, all seemed to be responding to boredom. He was starting to think he was doing something wrong.

"Uh.. do you like gardening? I grow stuff for my job" 

"No. You ask that question early." She responded annoyed, playing with her fake nail. "I thought you would be much more charming. Aren’t Asian men supposed to be charming ."

"Uhh.." A little taken back, especially with the last comment but he nervously smiled. "I'm a funny, charming  guy. I know I might not seem like it but I think you'll like me"

The woman rolled her eye standing up. "I'm going to get some fresh air." She said and walked downstairs. Andre watched and sighed. Maybe he could her another and drink. 

He waited. He waited a hour for her to come back and she didn't. Andre decided to find her. He goes downstairs and searches through the crowd until he sees her, although not alone. She danced with an Asian man who wore glasses and had neat hair. He wore a tie around a blazer and cross necklace around his neck. It doesn't give Andre the most pleasant memories but he was mostly confused.

Until the woman placed her hands on the man's chest. They smirk before they come closer and kiss. Andre froze, everything fading to him. His mind spun as he thinks.

'Am I really that shit? What did I do wrong? What, was it because I wasn't a charming asian but how am I supposed to be charming? Is it because he's Christian.. well.. I was.. but no.."

He found himself in a bathroom on the upper bar. His hands went through his pocket as he took a drug. Something to calm him down and not have a panic attack in public. He rocked back and forth until the drug finally activated and he sighed. Fake calmness enter when his mind and he decided to go home 

Through blurred vision, he found the exit from the bar. A set of stairs on the side. Andre walked a few wobbly steps until his feet crashed into each other and he fell down the stairs. His head hurt as he landed but he stand. Pain shoots through his ankle to leg and he falls back 

"Hahaha." He chuckled. That was stupid of him,

Someone apparently finds him. They crouch down asking what had happened but all Andre did was hand them his phone and ask for them to call someone. The phone rang and the person began talking but he barely heard them.

God, He must have looked pathetic. He was some thirty year old guy who got himself high all because of a shitty date. God he really was a stupid disappointment. He closed his eyes, trying not to think. It hurts.

Time passed until he felt a couple slaps on his shoulder. Andre opened his eyes. To his surprise, it was Gigi. She didn’t look too happy, arms crossed.

“Come on. It’s late as hell. Let’s get you home.” She grumbled. Andre tries to stand up, and stumbles back onto the ground. A hand grabbing his foot “You fell down the stairs, didn't you?”

“Yuuupp.” Andre slurred, His friend groaned, turning to the person who found him. 

“Get some ice. I’ll deal with him.” Gigi crouched down, grabbing his shoe and ripping it off. He held back a scream at the sudden movement. “Holy crap, your foot is purple. What the hell happ- You know what never mind. Just stay quiet.”

He was fine with that. Although part of him wanted to ask something. Gigi worked with him. She would know.

“What.. do you think about me?” Andre mumbled. She looked, eyes squinted.

“Annoying? Lazy? A scientist?” 

Typically response. Andre curled up as he continue 

“I knew it. Fuck, I’m.. -never …getting into a relationship because ..I'm an annoying.. piece of shit.” Andre laughed. To his surprise Gigi looked concern as he talked

“What happened? Did your date ditch you?”

“Oh yea. Apparently.. I wasn’t charming enough so she found another handsome Asian guy to make out with. You know, leave me in the bar for an hour, and..then me getting high.. and trying to leave.. falling down the fucking stairs..”

A wave of emotion hit Andre as he tried to hold back tears, although some slipped. Gigi was right beside him, her hand patting his shoulder.

“Screw that bitch. You deserve better than someone who thinks you're not charming. You’re annoying as hell but.. you're a good guy. Don’t take what she said personally. You’ll find someone better than her.”

It was the first genuine smile he felt since he came to the bar. A small one but it felt better than hanging with that woman. Gigi smirked.

The person came back with ice, wishing them good luck before leaving. The ice hurted like hell when it was out on his ankle. Andre held back screams as Gigi wrapped it around before lifting him to lean on her.

“There. Now let’s go home.” 

[twstinginthewind]

Nonverbal asks! Mia getting Paul out of an uncomfortable situation. She seems like she'd be pretty smooth at that. Most of the time.

Nonverbal ways to say "I love you"; number 11 - getting them out of an uncomfortable situation.

Pomefiore students don't often get to indulge in sweets, so when Housewarden Vil Schoenheit uncharacteristically announced a dorm-wide "cheat day", nearly the entire population of the dormitory decided to take advantage of it. As a result, both Mr. S's Mystery Shop and the Mostro Lounge were awash in purple-vested students, all trying to satisfy some long-seated cravings.

One of the tables in Mostro held a gaggle of young ladies from Pomefiore, each passing around different dishes of desserts to share and laughing over the rims of their complicated coffee drinks. At one end of the table, Mia Sealponte perched at the edge of a chair, swinging her high heels beneath her seat. Her little dark brown cat ears swiveled curiously as her eyes scanned the crowd of students. She had one particular fishie within this school that she was keeping an eye out for, and she wasn't about to have wasted putting on her new VL lip gloss for nothing! Paulie usually worked on weekdays, so he was bound to be here, right?

Paulie usually didn't have his phone on during a shift, Mia thought, but she might as well take a chance and send a message to let him know she was among the purple swarm today.

Mia waited a few moments, staring at the screen, then put her phone back down onto the table. She leaned over to ooh at the chocolate mousse cake her sister had ordered, and giggle at a comment from her roommate. Then she heard the tell-tale chime of her text alert, and she jumped in her seat, scrambling to pick her phone up.

Well, nothing else to be done there. He'd message her in time. Might as well just have fun with the girls! A few minutes passed, and a sudden sharp sound shook the room. Mia's head flew up from her double caramel XL iced macchiato to see what it could be.

Floyd Leech had kicked in the door, and he had a couple of smaller Octavinelle students tucked under each arm and thrown over his shoulders. He strode in, and dumped them on the floor in front of an impatient-looking Azul Ashengrotto, who pinched the bridge of his nose, just beneath his glasses. "Floyd, when I asked you to round up some additional help for today, I didn't quite mean—"

"You wanted some little fishies, you got 'em," Floyd laughed, leaning himself over the bar to grab a slice of orange. "I collected aaaaaaaaaall the regulars from around campus, and brought them here to you."

"And did you ask if they wanted to work an extra shift?"

Floyd shrugged, nudging one of the prone students with the side of his shoe. "Oi. Barnacle. You wanna work?"

Mia's ears pricked up. Barnacle? Oh, no. She got to her feet to rush over, heels clicking against the tiles, and wedged herself between Floyd and his target, standing as tall as her little 5'1" frame would allow. "Paulie!! You didn't tell me you were gettin' a ride here!" she squeaked.

Paul looked up at her, somewhat dazed. "Huh?"

She reached out and took his hand, grinning nervously at the two Octavinelle upperclassmen looming above her as she helped him up. "Terribly sorry, fellas, but I'm afraid Mister Pilchard is otherwise occupied this afternoon. Y'know. 'Cause he was meetin' up with me."

"He was?" Azul raised an eyebrow.

"I was?" Paul blinked, shook his head, then grinned at Mia. "I mean, yeah, I was! Right after I finished studyin'!"

"Since he already had the day off, you see," Mia added.

"Barnacle had plans?" Floyd hooted. "I didn't know ya did stuff besides buggin me, hahaha!! Who knew he had a life?"

Mia's head snapped towards the lanky merman. Her ears lay flat against her head, and her pupils narrowed. "Excuse me. Is there a problem with that, sir?" she snarled, a single fang flashing in the light.

Floyd looked at Mia. She looked at him. He looked over at Paul, then back at Mia. And he started howling with laughter.

Azul waved a hand at the two freshmen, shooing them away, as Floyd dropped to the floor, cracking up. As Mia and Paul scurried off, he quietly addressed the other students that had been collected, and they filed into the kitchen to get to work. Azul stood with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot as Floyd eventually wheezed his way to what passed for normal for him.

"A sardine," Floyd panted, "in the claws of that cat?" He chuckled again, wiping one of his eyes. "She's gonna put Barnacle through a heck of a lot more than I ever could. Oh, man, that's funny."

"At least you're pleased. We could have used him on dishes, you know." Azul sighed, and turned back to his paperwork. "As long as you're amused..."

Floyd looked over to the table where Mia and Paul had retreated, and saw his little freshman helper shifting uncomfortably among the society ladies from Pomefiore. "Oh, I think I'll get to laugh about this for a while, Azul..."

[ngenissa]

I’m pretty sure my twenties spent really well on the dance floor. From the beach club to the high land complex, I really enjoyed every kind of morphology, scene and view. Now my thirties started with all the shits labeled as international, global and world. It made me run plenty of businesses (as dreams) hahaha.

Because of the life, now I’m laughing to moon and falling for stars. Couldn’t be more high than this. “Club can’t even handle me~” so I join from one club to another, facing all the best on tabletop. Mostly the bar already knows what I like, they served well.

Now I’m preparing for the atmosphere where I can fallen to. Work my body right! Left people dance!

[fringing-with-mr-dennis]

Catching up with our first Saturday

Day 7

August 5, 2023

We’re coming to the close of our first week of this adventure!!! Last Saturday night, we were performing blood(line) at 59E59 Theater C and on Sunday, we did a matinee and then ran off to Newark to board a plane for Edinburgh. And now, we’ve had two Previews—one for bag— and one for blood(line).  We’ll perform box. on Monday.

Today’s show of blood(line) “went without a hitch!”  Though the space, by 4:20 in the afternoon, was worse than a sauna!!!  There’s absolutely no air moving in that room—other than what I’m pushing through my throat!!!  And that’s not enough to cool down anything. Hopefully, someone will find a solution soon.

Brandon took the photo backstage just before the show started--yes, it looks like I have Spock ears--that's part of the pipes in the background.

But, the audience did their best to keep up—it was a challenge because of the warmth!  Got lots of positive feedback . . . even had one young man say, “This is the best thing I’ve seen at the Fringe!” Course, I had to remind him that we were only on Day 2 – the bar can’t be set too high at this point. HA!  But, several folks in the audience seemed eager to come back and see the other shows in the trilogy.

Earlier, I was reading comments on FB from other companies who were expressing concerns having no one in the audience.  And someone mentioned that the average number of audience members at this point is 5.  At today’s show, we had 10 in the audience—I’m feeling ok!

Bit of housekeeping . . . I’m hoping that if you’re reading these blogs that they’re entertaining and informative.  Of course, you don’t have to read them at all—I just promised I’d keep a blog for you and keep you updated on what’s happening here.

It’s good for me to keep a journal—just to have a record of what’s happening.  Plus, this could be useful when I start working on my memoirs entitled, Synchronized Swimming on the 16th Floor. (Don’t you like that title?!?!?—be sure to buy a copy when it goes to print!  HAHAHA!)

If you’d like specific information on other subjects, please let me know.

Tomorrow is Sunday and we don’t have a show!  I may go watch something . . . or not.  I may go out and explore the city . . . or not. I may stay in bed all day long . . . or not. But tomorrow’s blog will not be about me—you’d like that, right?

[inc0rrect1stgenblackdragons]

Do you have some yakuza! Wakasa headcanons? <3

i'm not gonna take this seriously HAHAHA but it'll turn serious into chaotic into shinwaka fluff

yakuza!wakasa headcanons <3 ft. shinwaka

— as the leader, he sets an example to his members; quiet, reserved, and very smart. (he's actually very stupid but we don't talk about that.)

— his hands are clean, meaning he lets his underlings do the killing for him. but most of everything happening underworld, is his doing.

— he pushes the girls away at every bar he owns. nobody knows why but shinichirou does.

— uses the heels of his high heels to deepen the wounds on his enemy.

— "i hate people" in the morning, "shin-chan where are you i need your hug" in the evening

— no member of the yakuza knows what he's thinking, not even if he wants iced or hot coffee

— he still trips on his high heels. everyday.

— he probably takes 2 cigarettes per day, shinichirou will scold him if he exceeds the maximum amount of cigs shinichirou allows him to take every day. it annoyed him at first but he got used to it...or he's too scared for the punishment (he received it once, and he'll never want to obtain it again)

— from the "white leopard" to the "blood-stained leopard" (shinichirou calls him ube-cheese leopard)

— the only one he can rely on is shinichirou. benkei's in another country and they have no contact with him anymore and takeomi's nowhere to be seen.

— the only person he's scared off is shinichirou. really, shin acts more like the boss rather than wakasa

— no coffee = bad mornings

— his hair is dry from all the dyeing.

— who says he doesn't wear a dress? ok, no one. he wears a dress. and he has this specific favourite because it perfectly shows the tattoo on his chest, arms, and back. and yes, those trendy silk dresses that reach the floor are his favourite. and always in purple. he sometimes forces- i mean persuades shinichirou to join him in parties and meetings wearing a figure-hugging black button-up and a purple silk vest to compliment him. (and oh my, nothing happened after that...)

— he once choked on an orange during a very important meeting.

— the earring he's wearing was a pair, but he saved the other one for his favourite person. you don't need to guess who he gave it to when he was sixteen. shinichirou lost it because of mikey and he went all over japan just to find a new one and give the other to shin. but they didn't find the specific pair and commissioned a jeweller to make a specific one with the finest quality. (he didn't care how much was it, he just wanted to give it to shin.)

— bottom.

[wandaromanova]

jealous!r with nat for smut blurbs? you can map out what happens etc i just want jealous!r hahaha

(18+ Only) Warnings: degradation, marking, daddy kink, face-fucking, praise kink, oral-sex on strap on

A/N: okay so there was another request that asked for jealous!reader as well… but i accidentally deleted it. they asked for marking & face fucking, so i’m combining it with this <3

blurb requests are open

| masterlist | request rules/guidelines | wips |

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You were absolutely livid.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Natasha had been flirting with people left and right the entire night. Of course, you knew she was just doing it to get under your skin and wasn’t actually interested in any of the people she had spoken to, but that didn’t stop the jealousy from completely consuming you.

Natasha had been by the bar of the party that Stark had thrown, leaning over and exposing her breasts to the dingy blonde woman she was conversing with.

You had managed to keep your composure, but that quickly failed when the blonde bitch placed her hand onto Natasha’s forearm.

You walked away from Sam and Bucky, seeming as they were having their own conversation while you just stood there.

You made your way over to Natasha and she let out a gasp as you grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her out of the party.

“Y/N. What’s wrong, baby?” Natasha asked innocently as you pulled her into the nearest empty room; a supply closet.

You shut the door behind you and locked it before whipping around to face the redhead. She was breathing heavily as she took in your angered state.

“God, you’re such a fucking slut. Whoring yourself out to every person you could get your hands on? It seems like you need to be reminded of who you belong to.”

You growled out before shoving her into the wall harshly. You pressed your body up against hers and Natasha let out a gasp as she felt the strap-on you had on, poking against her.

You immediately latched onto her neck, sucking, biting, and licking every inch of skin you could get your mouth on.

Natasha moaned out in satisfaction. This was exactly what she wanted; for you to claim her. She wanted to wear your marks proudly. She didn’t care who would see them; she was yours.

You pulled away with a proud smirk as her neck and the swells of her breasts were a mess of bruises and love bites.

You stepped back, Natasha whining at the loss of contact. You let out a growl before shoving Natasha on the floor.

She landed on her knees roughly and her eyes lit up in excitement as you unzipped your pants and shoved them down just enough for the strap-on to stick out.

“Suck my dick, now.” You commanded and Natasha immediately went to work. She teasingly licked the tip, her eyes never leaving yours.

Natasha took half of the cock in, but she was obviously struggling. You let out a sarcastic laugh at the sight.

“Wow, what a shame. A slut who can’t suck dick? You’re pathetic.”

Your words struck a chord in the assassin. She wanted nothing more than to please you, so, she began to breathe through her nose as she slowly took the rest of the length into her mouth.

She gagged when the back of your strap hit her through, tears springing from her eyes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You wanted to fuck her face so fucking bad; so you did.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You gripped her hair by the roots and began to rut into her face relentlessly. The sound of Natasha’s gagging and the squelching sound of saliva filled the small supply closet. It was straight out of a porno.

You moaned as the strap rubbed your clit in just the right way.

“Such a slut for my cock. You’re just my little toy for me to use whenever I need to get off. Just a hole for me to fuck.”

You moaned louder as you neared your release. Natasha noticed this and began to meet your frantic thrusts, uncaring of the ache in the back of her throat.

You came with a loud groan. You continued to grind the cock into Natasha’s mouth as you came down from your high.

Finally, you yanked the strap-on out of her mouth, Natasha trying to catch her breath.

You smiled down at the woman on her knees, bending down slightly to grab her chin.

Her mascara streamed down her face, a result of her tears. Her lips were swollen after sucking so hard on your cock. Her neck and breasts were littered with your marks.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Good job, pretty girl. You’re daddy’s good girl. You’re mine, never forget that.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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[fablesofkitkat]

pov: keeping it casual with Shiggy and Dabi

warning: suggestive / lime af

DISCLAIMER: this doesn't belong to the [Cherry, I run] timeline nor [can the world cease to exist?] timeline. I didn't want to write this pov because I felt like I haven't done enough character analysis on both Shiggy and Dabi to write them in the same pov; but a friend told me if I keep pussyfooting over writing two characters at once, how can I practice versatility in writing?

everyone is in LEGAL AGE in this pov.

if you want me to tag you on any Dabi povs or Shigaraki povs I'll write, let me know

"You look like you're the life of a party."

Shigaraki takes a side glance at you and a subtle scan to your body. His eyes lighted with curiousity and appreciation with your choice of outfit: a high neck tank top mesh, a dark indigo fitch lace bralette, a black high waisted skirt that hugged your hips nicely and black stilettos.

"And you look like you're going to church." He gave you a smile, turning his whole body to you.

You and Shigaraki were both seated on the bar stools. There were still alot of seats available, not that it was still early, it's just that it isn't midnight yet and clubgoers were only starting to get in. He takes a sip from his drink, tasting the whiskey followed by a hint of sweetness, mixed with herbal, bitter notes.

You giggled. "Amen to that."

It was always nice to meet someone who understands sarcasm, you thought. Your eyes roamed his form appreciatively, his long sleeved shirt fitted him nicely and there was something so charismatic about the man, you couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Sazerac?" He offered, gesturing to his drink. You nodded and he waves the bartender down, buying it for you. "Tell me something, church little miss. Why me?"

"Hmm?" You distractedly watch the bartender prepare your drink.

"You're planning on sleeping with me. Why?" He takes another sip. "We both know interactions like this don't end as innocent."

You demuredly smiled at him, an enticing provocation when you're dressed ready to f–

"I didn't want those guys at the dance floor who grinds themselves all over me. I want someone different, a little intellectual stimulation." You tilt your head and leaned towards him; your lips curled in a secretive smile.  "A little foreplay, ya think?"

A bolt of heat shoots all over Shigaraki. It must be the sazerac. He's gotta admit that your boldness is quite attractive to him.

"You ever had it good?"

You snapped your eyes back to his. He caught you staring at his groin. To be fair, you were curious with his... package."What?" You asked, smiling seductively.

He cocks his head to the bartender.  "The drink. Sazerac."

You flushed, thinking he was talking about sex. Now you're just embarrassed. "Oh, what do you mean?"

Shigaraki leans close to you like how you did earlier. Like sharing a little secret. His breath smells like whiskey, with hints of cherry and spice. A dry sardonic aroma. Dammit, why does the scent turn you on?

He cups your chin with his right hand, the texture of his thumb sleeve brings goosebumps to you. He turns your head to the bartender. "After mixing the sazerac to one of the glass, the other is rinsed with absinthe before finally pouring the drink to it. If the bartender doesn't do that when you order a sazerac,  hop to a different bar."

You watch the bartender do exactly what he just said. You feel his thumb sleeve coyly touching the edge of your bottom lip, slowly following the curve of your chin, down to the curve of your throat, he pressed the spot aligned with your vocal fold that you let out a little gasp, or a squeak. His other hand is grabbing your thigh, preventing your legs from closing to relieve some of the ache.

"Ah-ah-ah." His voice deep but sing-song. "You don't get to close your legs with me here."

---

Dabi was randomly watching himself blow circles to the ceiling in the smoke room. When he hears the door slide open and you appeared, trying to catch your breath. He took an observation at you and found himself attracted to the way your chest heaved. Not that it wasn't a common sight for him, what with women flocking towards him whichever club he went to. He blew a circle in your direction, meeting your eyes critically. He smiled at the snooty, upturned nose you did and the way you rolled your eyes.

"This is the wrong place to try and catch a breath." He greeted.

"I wasn't trying to catch my breath." You patted your chest, slowly getting your breaths to slow down.

He raised an eyebrow at your reply.

"Yes, I was. But I was trying to run from a creep who wouldn't take no for an answer and you're pretty intimidating, so I was hoping to bum on your presence 'til he's gone." You explained.

Dabi couldn't stop staring at how, despite being seen disheveled just now, you casually primped yourself with a compact mirror. It amused him so since no one really cared what people looked like after spending a few hours at the club, usually everyone would be a hot mess. He found you cute.

"What's in it for me?" He drew a breath from the shisha and blew it again lazily at you.

You eye him critically, pursing your lips. "My wonderful company."

"So I get to take you home?"

"No. My company is only available within the duration of my stay here."

"Pity." With mocking a tone, he smirked at you. "But then again, you seem like you're too vanilla anyways. Can't have sex without being in love with someone?"

Dabi watches how your eyes glinted menacingly, a silent vow to prove him wrong. He anticipates how you crossed the room from the door to him, his heart jumped when your fingers brushed his as you took the pipe from his hand. You took a deep long breath, leaned down and blew sweet, sweet smoke in his mouth. He closed his eyes as the tobacco filled his nostrils, along with your scent. It takes everything in him to just let the smoke trail all over his mouth, and not let his lips press against yours.

" Your many piercings seem like you're overcompensating for something. What, you don't want people to know you're the one who's actually vanilla?"

He opens his eyes and a lazy smirk settles on his lips. He grabs the pipe back and blows the smoke to your mouth just hairsbreadth from you. "Why don't we find out then?"

You feel the way the air moved with his lips. It was so close. It was electric. His eyes daring you to close the distance. You took up his challenge of course.

---

"Oh, ffuuuck." You awkwardly stand by the door when you find Shigaraki and Dabi glaring at each other in the living room

"Who the fuck is he?" Dabi demanded

Shigaraki only glares at him and then turns towards you.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. Uhmm Dabi meet Shigaraki, my fubu. Shigaraki meet Dabi, my not-serious bf which basically is just another word for fubu." You awkwardly shuffled your feet. "I guess I had too much to drink, I accidentally texted the other and here you are... two... Hahaha..." Kami, you just made a huge awkward mistake. Dammit, you're gonna lose them both.

"Which one of us did you text first?" Shiggy asked.

"Which one does it better?" Dabi asked.

They exchanged glares at their simultaneous questions.

"Um–"

Suddenly, they are both on you; Shiggy cups your face, kissing you angrily, biting your lips til they bleed while Dabi is behind you, cupping your chest as he slowly takes off your clothes. Dabi kisses the spot behind you're neck, nipping your skin 'til there's all but teeth marks on your shoulder blades.

"I'm not stopping–" Both glared at each other for saying things at the same time again.

You moaned when Dabi starts press his hips on you while Shigaraki's hands unbutton your jeans, and finally touching you there.

"We're not stopping–" Dabi's hot breath fanned your right ear.

Shigaraki's low quiet rasp on your left ear. "–not until you know which one of us can do you better."

---

AN:

[Cherry, I run] Dabi is screaming betrayal at me rn. Dw Dabi, this version of you has less issues than usual. [can the world cease to exist?" Shiggy is ignoring me, telling me he wouldn't share reader. ever.

[boymeetsweevil]

Call me maybe

Grouping: Reader x Namjoon

Word Count: ~6.59k

Warnings/Themes: Club meet-cute AU, 1% angst +99% suggestive fluff, (legal!) alcohol consumption, language, flirting anxiety(?)

Summary: It all started with a stupid drinking game...

A/N: this is the One Direction wattpad-style fanfic that's been haunting me for so long. beware of that and the fact that this is unedited hahaha...

“You know the rules, girls. Whoever wins this round of rock-paper-scissors is It.”

You and your three friends, warm and bubbly from 2 rounds of shots at this point in the evening, assume your battle stances and stick your hands into the center of your table. Four hands make a square over the scattered layer of empty decorative shot glasses from the bar in the club.

There’s an air of electric excitement that comes with this game, lovingly nicknamed Hunter-Gathering. Whoever is It gets a target and has to pursue that target in hopes of bringing ‘home’ free drinks for everyone the rest of the night. But no matter how attractive the target is, you can't ever bring them home.

“Wait, wait!” Lia chimes in. “I can’t be It this time. I did it twice already and my ass still hurts from the last time.”

Dani nods seriously. “Fair enough. That means the odds are upped for the rest of you.”

“So, we’re just gonna ignore that ass thing,” another friend, Alexa, looks around the table with confused eyes.

“Do you actually want me to give you the details?” Lia smiles slowly at her from across the table.

Alexa’s face brightens with her own smile, worry evaporated. “You know what? I don’t! Never mind.”

The game begins and somehow you find yourself the lone rock amongst two pairs of scissors. Alexa and Dani laugh with relief because they don’t have to put in any work tonight. You roll your eyes to the heavens and silently question your karma.

“Are you ready to pick your target?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Nope!” Dani grins.

She steps forward and grabs a clean face mask out of her clutch bag and wraps it around your eyes, careful not to muss your makeup or hair. Three pairs of hands rest on your shoulders and you let them spin you lightly around a few times. Not enough to get you dizzy but just enough to make sure you don’t know what direction you’re facing anymore.

“Alright,” Dani’s voice sounds out over the music of the club. “Take your pick!”

You stick your hand out blindly and someone unties the makeshift blindfold. Everyone follows the line your hand makes all the way to a tall figure standing by the side of the bar.

He’s probably the most handsome man any of you have seen in a while. There's an intimidating aura emanating from him. You figure it's the understated all-black outfit complete with the heinously expensive watch he's wearing and the sheer height of him as he towers over people near him at the bar.

“Oh my god,” Dani whispers as you all take in the stranger’s face.

“We can finally get top shelf vodka,” Alexa pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Not bad,” Lia hums in appreciation.

“Okay, why is everyone acting like I bagged him already?” Your voice grows high with nerves. “I'm pretty sure I have, like, a 2% chance of interesting him."

“What are you so worried about?” Dani crosses her arms at you. “Just do whatever you did to get those history nerds to help you out that one time."

"This is not the same thing. Those guys parted their hair 90/10 unironically and thought Diva Cups are for when you don't want to hold your pee when you stand in line for roller coasters."

"You're kidding," Lia gasps. You wish you were.

"Well, just pretend he's one of them anyway." Dani suggests, "Every guy is the same."

You can't argue with that logic.

“I mean, I can try flirting with him, but he’s probably so used to people throwing themselves at him. I don’t think anything I do would, like, make a dent, you know?”

“Babe, no. No—listen to me, okay?” Alexa takes you by the shoulders and forces you around so you can see how serious she is.

“Tonight is the last free night of vacation. After tonight, we have less than a day to get over our hangovers, pack up the Airbnb, and then catch our 6am flight back home to start the spring term. Our last night of freedom lies in your hands.”

“But, what if—”

“No ‘but’s. Do you see yourself? Do you see your skin in this fresh white two piece? Have you seen how your tits look in this off the shoulder top? That poor man doesn’t stand a chance!”

Lia murmurs her agreement in the background and Dani mentions something about fearing for the guy's soul. You think about the freakishly good pictures you all took in the stylish club bathroom when you first arrived.

“I see your point.”

You turn back toward the bar to review your target. He sips from a dark green bottle as he looks around at the people on the dance floor between your table and the bar. As he continues to scan the room, he locks eyes with you. You hold his gaze even though your instincts are screaming at you to duck for cover. Surprisingly, he gives a small smile and raises his bottle in salute.

"See, you got the hardest part down already. Just fake the rest until you make it."

You chance a look back in his direction only to catch him staring in the direction of the table. When he catches your gaze again, he whips his head away, cheeks tinging pink under the soft yellow lighting at the bar.

Alexa cackles and starts detailing all the drinks she wants made with the top shelf vodka. Lia and Dani discuss leaving early to go back and clean up the apartment so it’s clean in case you break the rules and bring this guy back for the night.

“Uh, aren’t you guys moving a little fast?”

“Aren’t you moving a little slow,” Alexa counters.

“Hold on, Lex.” Dani turns to you. “You know you don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to, right? Hunter-Gathering is just a game, there's no pressure.”

For all their poking and teasing, you're reminded right then and there that your friends would never put you in a situation where they thought you were actually at any risk. The weight you felt on your shoulders lightens somewhat.

“No, no, I definitely still want to play, I just don’t want you guys to get your hopes up.”

“I believe in you.”

Lia bumps shoulders with you quietly. She’s not the most affectionate, so you know she really means it.

“I’ll do my best.”

You let them tweak you a little bit, fixing stray hairs and wiping away smeared lip gloss and hiking up your skirt, giving you their drink orders, before you grab your purse and phone and push in your stool.

When you finally make it to the bar, he’s in the same spot as you first found him in. He spots you once you get close enough and naturally makes room for you. You set your bag on the bar countertop before hopping up on the empty stool immediately in front of him. The movement causes your skirt to ride up even more and you’re glad you only let Lia hike it up one inch instead of three.

Dani's advice about treating this guy like any other scrub from school reverbs in the back of your head right as the nerves start to set in. With the guys in your art history class, your grade was on the line. There was no room for hesitation when you could barely draw a stick figure, much less write an essay analyzing what an old painting style could tell you about the dairy economy in a certain town like some of your classmates were doing. It was because you were desperate that you were suddenly able to transform into a femme fatale. It also helped that these guys quivered at any interaction with an adult woman.

Tonight's drinks are on the line, you tell yourself. As best you can, you try to trick yourself into entering the same mindset you were in when you would lay on the charm extra thick for the art history guys.

You let the corner of your mouth lift up in a coy smile while you survey the bar. The bartender is moving back and forth quickly to handle the high demand. A second later the girl next to you leaves her spot with a tray of 8 bright pink drinks, practically glowing in the dark. You wonder briefly if you should try to get a round of those for the table.

“—one of those before?”

His voice is deep and pleasant. When you give him a look over your shoulder, you have to suppress a gasp. Up close he's even more handsome. You really have your work cut out for you.

“What?"

"That neon pink drink," he nods back in the direction of the girl who'd taken the cotton candy pink drinks with her. "I was wondering if you'd tried them before."

“No, I haven’t,” you smile, letting your lips part slowly. His eyes dart from your painted eyes to the colored stretch of your mouth and then quickly back up. “Have you?”

“No. But I like to try new things.”

You purse your lips as if in thought, something you've seen other girls do while flirting with guys at school. “You must be pretty unpredictable, then.”

“Huh? Well, I wouldn’t say that.” He stammers a bit and nearly drops his beer bottle trying and failing to put it down. All the intimidation you felt coming from him earlier seems to have disappeared.

“I was just kidding.”

Like it has a mind of its own, your hand reaches out to rest on his arm reassuringly while you continue to laugh at him. His features clear up then and a relieved smile blooms on his face, bringing out an adorable dimple with it.

“You’re teasing me,” he realizes with a good natured huff and steps into your touch.

“You seem kinda fun to tease.” You let your hand linger a little longer before finally pulling it back.

“It’s kinda fun. You're pretty good at it.”

Oddly enough, this isn't as difficult for you as you thought it was going to be. In fact, you find yourself naturally tilting your head and fixing him with an intrigued look from under your lashes. He takes the opportunity to look you over as well, a small smile on his lips.

The personal attention does make you a little nervous despite the fact that it’s positive. So you dig in your purse to avoid looking directly at him for too long and to give your hands something to do. You brush up against a tube of lip gloss, pull it out, and reapply some to your lips.

You look back at him when you realize he’s grown quiet, only to find him following the movements of the gloss brush tracing the curve of your lips, cheeks dusted pink and eyes half-closed like he's in some sort of trance.

Experimentally you press your lips together and then purse them to make sure the gloss is distributed evenly. The man doesn't blink once. Suddenly, all his expensive apparel and large stature aren’t so intimidating.

"Is there something on my face," you smirk.

He slow blinks down at your mouth twice before realizing you're speaking again. His eyes grow wide and he raises a ringed hand to rub at the back of his neck. The movement rustles the hair covering his ears, revealing their pink tips. Cute.

"Just looking."

You laugh a little at him again. He marvels at the way the club lighting dances around in your glossy smile.

"So, how come I've never seen you here before?"

"Well...it's the first time me and my friends have come here."

"I see." He pivots to face you and leans his closest elbow on the counter of the bar. "Are you guys new to the area?"

"You could say that, yeah."

He raises an eyebrow when you don’t elaborate. Without looking away, he raises his hand to signal to the bartender that he wants another drink. When the bartender runs right over, you realize this guy actually might be a big deal. Silently you pull your card out of your wallet as the bartender makes their way over. You figure you’ll have to spend some money before you can really ask someone like him to buy drinks for your table.

"What'll it be,” the bartender asks.

"Two of those pink drinks please," he says and before you can place any order the bartender zooms away.

While the bartender starts preparing the drinks, you turn toward him.

"Who said I wanted the pink drink?"

He grins down at you, a dimple now popping up in each cheek. "Who said it's for you?"

"I'm pretty sure it's for me."

"And what makes you so sure?" He takes a step closer to you.

"Just a hunch," you hum before crossing your legs.

The white fabric of your skirt hikes up your thighs again with the movement. You smooth your palms over the soft material.

"Nice skirt."

"Yeah? You like it?"

"I like it," he admits quietly.

"And the top?" You gesture toward the pair of straps on the matching tube top, manicured nails gliding over your décolletage. He wets his lips.

"The top too."

He reaches out one large hand to one of the straps that have fallen over your shoulder. The drag of his fingers against your bare arm as he fixes it makes you shiver. You lament the loss of contact when pulls his hand back.

The bartender arrives with your drinks then, startling the both of you out of the little staring competition that had spontaneously started. The pink drink seems to glow from within, topped with whipped cream and full of little round ice cubes made from some sort of darker rose syrup floating in the liquid like lava in a lava lamp. The color barely prepares you for the thick sweetness that floods your mouth on the first sip.

"Oh, that's kinda..."

He huffs a laugh around his own first swallow and nods in agreement.

"Not what you wanted?"

"It's just really sweet. You like it?”

He shrugs. “It’s alright. But—"

The way he cuts himself off has you confused for a moment before he's reaching towards you cautiously. You're not too sure what's going on until you feel the pad of his thumb swipe over the corner of your lips carrying away some of the whipped topping from the drink. Your eyes widen when instead of wiping the cream on one of the cocktail napkins available on the counter he brings his thumb to his own lips. In a fraction of a second the cream is gone, but you're left feeling a rush of fluttering warmth on the side of your mouth and in the center of your chest.

"You think your friends would like these?” He slides his drink to the side so he can lean on his elbow and turn to you again. Now's your chance.

“Um, I don’t think this is really their style.”

“What is their style?”

You rattle off their drinks of choice, making sure to mention their favorite brands with a sigh. Of course, whenever you play this game, the brands can change depending on the budget of whoever’s buying. This time, you make sure to name drop as much as possible, per Alexa's request.

“Sounds like your friends really know what they like.”

“Yeah, they have really…unique tastes.” You falter a little under his amused stare. “But we don’t always drink that way. I mean, not every bar even carries all those to begin with.”

“That’s true.” He nods. “This bar has every single of them, though. Pretty lucky, huh?”

“Yep,” you chirp. You’re not sure if you’re in trouble or not because he’s still smiling. He seems to be onto the game, but doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Well, it would be a shame not to welcome you all to the city. Get whatever you want. My treat.”

“Are you sure?”

You place your hand on his arm again and squeeze for good measure. You don’t miss the way his large bicep flexes under your touch. After a beat, he brings his hand up to grasp yours and holds it while signaling to the bartender again. You give him a blindingly bright smile and he strokes his thumb over your knuckles.

He asks the bartender to ‘take care’ of your table tonight on him, and you realize then that you’ve won the game. The victory isn't nearly as sweet as the pink drinks from earlier. The rules prohibit you from bringing him home or going over to his place. And even if it wasn't prohibited, your vacation is basically over.

“Where are you and your friends from?

You take his hand between yours and play with some of the rings on his fingers. They’re beautiful together in an eclectic way and you wonder if someone chose them for him.

“It’s a kind of small city, not like this one. It’s really just our university and then a few surrounding towns.”

“What made you guys move here then?"

"Oh, Right." You feel guilty. "Me and my friends are just here for vacation."

He blinks at you but takes the news in stride. "Well, if you want—I know the city pretty well since I have a place here—maybe I can give you a tour of the town later this week."

"I'd love that, I really would. But we're actually leaving tomorrow."

"For real?” His eyes grow wide and he looks down at your linked hands before looking over your face. You're shocked to see his features fall.

"Yeah, it sucks."

“Damn,” he smiles bittersweet at the floor. “I wish we’d bumped into each other sooner.”

“I absolutely agree," the sound of Alexa's voice rings loud in your ear.

“Uh, hello. Did you need me for something?" Your voice is high and tight as you fix her with an accusatory stare. You're not 100% positive, but it seemed like you and he were having a moment.

"No, babe, I just wanted to come over and show you my beautiful drink. I wanted to come show my gratitude to you both for making sure we have a good last night. The girls will appreciate that. Thank you, kind sir."

“Name’s Namjoon. And no need to thank me,” he smiles at the exchange between you two and sticks out his hand. Alexa daintily lays her hand in his and he lets out an incredulous laugh before playing along and raising it to his lips.

"What a gentleman," she coos before pinching lightly at the skin of your exposed back. It's a clear message just for you, telling you that there's about to be a change in plans. "What were you guys discussing?"

"I was actually about to offer up our booth. There's more than enough room for your table if you wanted to move. Me and my team—friends definitely wouldn't mind the company."

“You don’t have to do that!” You pipe up, suddenly shy. But it's quickly dashed away as Alexa pulls out her phone and opens up the groupchat.

"Let me just ask our friends if they’d like that."

You already know the answer, so you sigh quietly and gather up your card, phone, and purse. You can’t say you won’t miss the privacy from when it was just you and Namjoon, but you’re glad to be with your friends again as well.

The move from your little table to the VIP booth is lightning fast. By the time you get your own drink, Lia and Dani are already clutching their things and vibrating with excitement near the ropes leading to the VIP booth. A few of Namjoon’s friends are chatting with them from the other side of the ropes.

Once your group trickles in, you don't miss how they all arrange themselves in the booth so you're forced to sit on the end next to Namjoon with barely any space. The only options are to let one of your legs hang off the edge of the booth the whole time or sit practically half in his lap. Alexa winks at you over the first sip of her next very expensive drink.

Namjoon's friends are occupied by your friends re-telling some of the more exciting parts of the beginning of your vacation. Some story about how 'someone' lost their top while trying to jet ski. You send a weak glare to Lia as she tries to get them to guess just whose top it was. That's what you get for experimenting with spaghetti strings, you suppose.

"Do you guys like to dance," one of his friends says after a while of vibing to the music once the chatter cools down. Hoseok, you think his name was.

"Yes, definitely." Dani remarks while re-applying lip gloss. "You know who's a great dancer?"

"Who?" Hoseok looks around excitedly.

"She's gonna say me," you groan. "Which is not even true but let’s just all move down there already, no more 20 questions."

"Just one more," she pouts. "Namjoon, do you like to dance?"

He looks down at you once he's also out the booth, that little amused smile back on his lips.

"Well, it's not really part of my day job, but I don't mind it too much."

"What's your day job," you blurt out.

"I'm a...musician."

"A musician!" Alexa rushes over to you to link arms. "Did you hear that? Namjoon’s a musician."

"I don't recognize you," Lia says and Hoseok and another one of his friends burst into quiet laughter behind her.

"You definitely won't find Joon’s pics anywhere, that's for sure," one of his friends says. The rest of them dissolve into another fit of giggles.

The club lights hide the muted pink tinge his cheeks take on, and Namjoon leads the way to the dance-floor with a chagrined roll of his eyes.

"You think he's really a musician?” You whisper to Alexa and Lia. Dani is somewhere up ahead, already dancing.

"Maybe technically. Going off the way his friends keep laughing, he's probably, like, a failed SoundCloud rapper or something."

"No failed SoundCloud rapper wears Gucci like that," Lia motions with her chin to some piece of Namjoon’s outfit.

"That's true," you hum.

"Rich parents," Alexa says simply.

You and Lia consider it and then nod.

As you settle on the dance floor, you feel the rest of your nerves drift away. Lia comes over to take a selfie with you, and the two of you flirt with the camera until she's satisfied with the photos you've taken. She grabs your hand and makes a show of spinning you around and you figure that this is how the night will go before you stumble out around 2 or 3am and drunk pack for the flight home the next morning. You let her lead you back, further into the crowd before you bump into someone.

Namjoon's large hand comes to stabilize you at your waist and Lia acts like nothing happened before dancing away, phone light illuminating her sneaky smile.

"You good?" Namjoon's voice is soft in your ear.

"Y-yeah."

"You wanna dance, or should I let you go?"

Your friends shamelessly all look at the way he curves himself around you, all with their thumbs up in encouragement. You're reminded of the way you did the same a few nights prior when Dani was getting hit on by some cute guy at a different club.

At that time it felt fun hyping her up and watching her make a move, seeing how enamored this random guy was with your friend. Of course he is, you thought at the time, she's amazing. And you remember that this is probably what's driving them tonight as well with you and Namjoon.

You chance a look at him and realize that he's come to rest his cheek lightly near your temple, a soft look in his gaze as he awaits your answer.

"Sure, let's dance."

Namjoon was telling the truth when he said he wasn't all that into dancing. But he put in enough work to be able to follow you and meet you halfway while you were grinding on him to the music.

Even when you shyly stepped away after the first few dances to return to your squealing friends, you loosened up over time with more music and drinks and found yourself naturally ending up on him again. The first few songs turned into more and more and soon you were face-to-face, with his thigh wedged between yours and a heavy palm on your lower back guiding you to the beat.

You're not sure when you decided to abandon your friends and his, but at some point you did return to the booth under the guise of checking your phones. And you did check your phone first. But soon he was crowding you toward the wall by the booth and leaving you with no air of your own.

"You're really leaving tomorrow," he sighed into a bruise he was trying to leave near the hollow of your throat. "Or did you just say that because I was some creep at a bar."

"I never thought you were a creep."

He looks down at you with disbelief before getting distracted by your kiss-swollen lips.

"I mean it. I'm just a little shy sometimes."

"What do you have to be shy about when you look like this, huh?"

"Stop," you laugh lightly and look away from him.

He'd made a comment earlier about how much he liked the pristine white two piece you wore, but you'd been inching his hand up your skirt then. Now, one of his thumbs rubs an idle pattern just below the curve of your breast.

"No, but seriously. Are you actually leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah. The new term starts for us all in a few days."

"So, leave in a few days," Namjoon whines.

"That's not enough time to get ready for the term."

"But I'll be so alone without you."

He gives you an exaggerated pout that splits into a real smile when you snort at his stupid expression. He pulls you to him just a smidgen tighter then.

"Does this usually work with other girls?"

"I don't know. Never tried it with other girls," he frowns a little at you.

"Sure."

"You know me and the team almost went to Club BigHit last Saturday?"

"Oh, really? That's kinda funny." You try to imagine what might have happened if he'd come to the same club you went to earlier.

"Yeah," Namjoon's voice grows quiet. "If I hadn't gotten sick then we would have met last week."

"Yeah, maybe."

"You sure you can't miss a few days of the term?"

"Yes, I'm sure." You let out an exasperated laugh. "You can't really be this upset that an actual stranger is just passing through your life."

"No, I know. I just—," he lets his head fall forward until he's touching his forehead to yours. "It was like something clicked when I saw you. I feel like I need more time with you."

"Oh," your voice comes out a little breathier than you expected.

The same look that had flashed across his face when you first came up to him finally gets to rest on his features. You want to let him down gently because you really can't play catch up during the first week of school.

"Tell you what. I can't miss the beginning of the term but if you make a song with my name in it and it gets...say, 50,000 listens, I'll buy a ticket that same day and come meet you. Wherever you are."

He pins you with a look then, inquisitive and dark. His eyes scan your open expression for something, before whatever he finds passes the test. He stands up tall.

"And it just needs to have 50,000 listens?"

In your mind you were thinking it would be too lofty for a failed SoundCloud rapper, but something in his tone sounds like he's rising to the challenge and it makes you nervous. You spent a lot on this vacation, you can't afford to actually fly out so soon if he somehow managed to get the listens and call your bluff. Besides, targets are off limits.

"Um, actually make that 150,000. And it has to have my area code in it too." You rattle off the three digits to him and he quickly types your conditions into the notes app on his phone.

"Is that it?"

"That's it, I guess."

"Deal."

Namjoon pockets his phone and leans back into your space. Any worries you had clawing to the forefront of your mind vanish when he presses soft lips to yours once more.

A month passes.

You don't end up having a one-night-stand with Namjoon because it wouldn't be fair to your friends when they'd clicked with a target but didn't take them home. That and because Dani got sick on the dance floor from mixing strawberry daiquiri with one too many pink drinks. But you do pass on your full number after he very nearly begs you to give it to him while packing into a cab.

And then he never used it.

It's not that you were expecting much, but when a month passes with not so much as word from him, you figure he forgot about you and your little bet.

Then 2 months pass.

Even though you know that you only spent a fraction of a day with him, you can't help thinking about Namjoon. Namjoon and his pretty eyes and pretty words that made you think there was some sort of connection there. You realize after the first two weeks back that you don't have his number but by the time 2 months pass, you realize that was definitely on purpose.

4 months pass.

You're over it, swamped with end of term work like finals and grading and putting in hours at work. But every time your friends suggest a little fun and hooking you up with someone, every time someone asked for your number at a coffee shop, you said no. Because you're over it and you're busy and not at all disappointed for how hard you fell for the lies some failed SoundCloud rapper fed you on a vacation one time.

19 weeks pass.

You're all in Lia's apartment, basking in the first few days of the end of classes even if it means finals are a few days later. Alexa is playing her favorite playlist on the speakers and you're taking a break to get some coffee going in the small kitchenette.

While the coffee machine starts up you wander back to the main room. Alexa is leaning over to turn the music up, one of her favorite songs just now coming up.

"Who's this again," Dani pipes up from her spot on the couch. "It's that one guy's collab with the Bulletproof Girlscouts, right?"

"Yep," Alexa checks the song title before sighing. "This song is so old now."

"True, but it's my favorite one on the whole album."

"I guess it really has been two years since his last album, huh." Dani muses and then goes back to her practice problem set.

You try not to laugh at how cute Alexa looks sulking because her favorite artist hasn't put out any music in so long.

"Why don't you just play his new stuff," Lia says.

"He's on indefinite hiatus. This is as new as it gets."

Lia picks up her own phone, showing it to the group.

"He released a new single this morning."

"What!"

Alexa scrambles from her seat to grab her headphones and jam them into her phone. You all know how she gets about her music and let her have a moment to soak up the new song while you get up to check on the coffee.

It takes a few minutes to get cups out and put everything together since everyone has different tastes, so you're in the middle of pouring creamer when you hear a chorus of screams.

"Why are we screaming?"

You rush into the main room again only to be bombarded with music from the speaker, this time turned up as high as it can go. What must be the new song comes through the speaker, the bass vibrating on the ground as the speaker pumps.

"Okay, yes, new song. It's good but I don't get—"

"Just listen to the fucking bridge," Dani's voice comes out incredibly shrill as she cuts you off.

The beat surges for the bridge and suddenly the lyrics turn into the artist growling about some girl he met at the club with the prettiest little white outfit he'd ever seen. Saying something that sounds oddly like your name, although you figure that can't be right. But then the next verse has your name in it too, and the next one, and the next one.

Your feet take you to where Alexa's phone is plugged in and you pick up the phone to look at the song. It's indeed a song by her favorite artist, a prolific and mysterious rapper who's never shown his face and who'd been on hiatus from making music. The song title is simple, a small string of numbers that look suspiciously like your area code.

When you let out a tiny gasp, your friends let out more excited shrieks. You ignore them in favor of thumbing through the music app to the artist's page where the new single lies at the top of his discography. To the right of all his songs are the stream counts. Most of his older songs have a few dozen million or so. This brand new one sits at a modest 4 million, but the numbers trickle up as the app updates them in real time.

"What the hell?"

"I know!" Alexa cries, tears shining in her eyes. "I can't believe we sat in a VIP booth with him and I didn't even recognize his stupid voice!"

"What are you gonna do," Dani smiles widely at your stunned face. "Are you gonna call him?"

"I don't have his number," you say simply. Your voice comes out monotone with shock.

"You didn't get his number?" Alexa starts crying for real.

"People are blowing my phone up about this," Lia says once the song ends and begins again on a loop. "You might want to turn off your phone. It's just a matter of time until people start snooping around."

"Right."

You grab your phone from your pocket. On instinct you scan through your socials one last time before turning it off. There's a startling number of texts, calls, emails, and notifications on your social media apps. Curiosity gets the best of you and you open up one of them only to find your name trending as the top hashtag. Clicking on it brings up a bunch of tweets both from fans raving about the new song and wondering who the muse is, to random accounts with identical names in the handle all claiming to be said muse.

"Oh my god, he tweeted!" Dani shoves her phone into your hands.

As of right now [2:38pm] we're at 5.76 million streams. That's more than 150,000...

"What does that mean," she asks you.

"It means...he wants me to fly out to see him. Today."

"Oh my god."

Alexa screams again and at this point you've lost count of how many that is. Lia gets out of her chair and tucks her chin over your shoulder to read the post herself.

"You need to go," Alexa shouts. "I'll help you pack, let's go."

"What about finals?"

"Are you—are you actually thinking of not going because of finals?"

"I mean—"

"If you want me die, just say that," she does something with her mouth that looks like a manic smile.

"What Lex means to say is that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'm sure even the profs would understand."

You're not sure what to say. First of all, you still don't have his number. Second of all, you're not sure how to fight through all the other accounts claiming to be you to let him know you saw the song. Third, you don't even know where to fly to. Fourth—

A Twitter notification chimes from your phone and a deadly hush falls over everyone. You go to your DM inbox with shaking fingers only to find a message request from an unknown sender. When you open the request, it's from Namjoon's agency.

Good afternoon,

You are being contacted today because one of our artists wishes to meet you. If you consent to the meeting, please review the flight information and tentative itinerary below and respond with your address and contact information. Please also note that the travel plans are for today [MM/DD/YYYY], so your response at your earliest convenience would be much appreciated. If you would like to go but cannot make it today—

"Do you think they'll send a car or should I book her a ride to the airport now?" Dani turns to Alexa.

"They'll probably send one to make sure the schedule is followed."

"That's true but what about—"

Lia taps you on the shoulder, startling you out of your stupor.

"There's a convenience store two doors down. Whatever you buy we can put in one of my suitcases and you can just take that. There's probably not enough time to go all the way back to your place."

"I—yeah, okay."

7 hours later finds Alexa, Dani and Lia finished with studying for the night. The entertainment channel is playing on the TV and the three of them have their heads bent over their phones and laptops, refreshing all the major gossip sites for updates.

"Maybe she's not even there yet," Dani sighs when the page she just refreshed shows no new posts.

"Yeah, I mean we still don't even know where she is," Lia says while putting her laptop to sleep. "What if they made her sign an NDA?"

"Even if they did, she'd probably still tell us once she got there. She's probably just busy killing time on the plane."

"She's sleeping!" Alexa screams a second later.

"Huh? How do you know that?"

"Check his instagram," is all she says before frantically typing a message to you about souvenirs.

Lia looks over at Dani's phone as she pulls up Namjoon's page. The rest of the layout is bare given his up until recent hiatus and the fact that he never posted any type of selfie. The video uploaded a mere 20 seconds ago undoes all the previous minimalism of the entire account.

The post isn't even of Namjoon. It's a black and white 5 second video of the top half of your naked back and shoulders, the rest of your body covered by the sheets. One of your arms is raised to cover your head with a pillow. The only sign of Namjoon is the arm that reaches out from the bottom of the frame, making it clear that he took the video himself. His hand reaches out to trace a heart over the skin of your shoulder blade. The caption reads:

Thanks for keeping your promise

[stockholmdolly]

EASY PREY (BEWARE OF THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD) 8

Pairings: dark!Steve Rogers x reader; surprise character x reader

Warnings: swearing. Steve’s an asshole and feels threatened although he’s never going to admit it.

Word count: 2,634.

Author’s note: Hello fanfiction world, it is me! Stockholm Dolly. Chapter 8. There’s a visitor?? Another new person and this is shocking, I bet you didn’t see that coming hahaha. Just a reminder I don’t follow timelines or plot, so bear with me. Happy reading...😈

CHAPTER 8/26 DAY 25 IN CAPTIVITY

There are days in your life that are horribly eerie but in hindsight are fabulously comic. Darkly comic, but comic nonetheless. There are people in your life who seem wildly strange, and they too in hindsight are actually darkly comic—they also remind you of your advantages, because they set the bar so low, breathing in your atmosphere, as if entitled to do so.

On Day 25, I had a visitor who I, even as I write these words, snicker in the memory of—this man. Maybe God and his black butterfly felt I needed a break from misery, so they sent me a good laugh, in hindsight. In hindsight. During the ordeal, I spent my energy fighting back fear, constantly flipping a stubborn switch in my brain to off.

There I was late afternoon, the dusk beginning to unfold over the house. My dinner delivery would be coming any minute. As I did every day, I gathered my tools of practice, even the ones I conjured out of air, and placed the physical and invisible implements in their rightful places. I sat on the bed, a palm to each knee, back straight, my belly soaring out like a plump, stuffed teddy bear.

Creak.

Creak, crack, closer.

Creak, crack, loud now.

Metal inserted, turning, seal broken, door opened.

No food.

-  Stand.

I stood.

-  Come here.

I went to the Captain. He put a paper grocery store bag over my head.

-  Keep a hand on my shoulder, one on the railing. I didn’t tie the bag so you can watch your feet down the stairs. Now come on. And don’t ask any stupid, fucking questions.

What the hell? You make me walk down stairs with my vision mostly obscured? What am I going to see at this point that would matter? Rephrase, what do you think I would see at this point that would matter? I know I would find an incalculable number of assets, perhaps a path to escape, but you don’t know I know that. Ape.

-  Yes, Captain.

So, as it was, I garnered no information about the world below the landing outside my jail cell, except that the stairs were wood with a faded middle from a missing runner. The floors on the lowest level were thin oak planks, and certainly scuffed, the varnish all but scraped off, from years of what looked like heavy use. We turned a few corners and entered a bright room. The light surged through the bag. He removed the bag.

-  Here she is, said the Captain to the … other Captain?

What is going on? What the hell? Am I losing my mind? There’s two of them. What?

-  Well, brother, she looks perfectly healthy to me. She’ll fetch us a pretty children to add to the family, said the duplicate of my captor to my captor.

Identical twins. This is a family business. Well dip me in molten metal and bronze me in this spot, my mouth agape.

-  Come, sit here, pleasant panther, my twin captor said to me, gesturing with a extended hand to a chair at an ornate dining room table. I noted his purple paisley scarf.

An odd sound eked through when the tinkling piano of Tchaikovsky met my ear, coming from a warbling record player on a lace-doily-covered service hutch capping the end of the table. Mauve and green floral wallpaper busied the space into an outdated Victorian, the décor antiqued further with a dark and shiny dining set. This room’s veneer, almost black and densely waxed, with creepy roses on the wall. Twelve high-backed chairs with pink-flowered cushions surrounded the table. Casserole dishes steamed in the middle. The heat was cranked to hell.

-  Pretty panther, pretty, pretty panther, come here, sit next to me. My name is Ransom, said Ransom, said the twin. There was a nasal, high pitch to his sing-song voice. His long, tasseled scarf fluttered with his exaggerated movement.

So, this is Ransom. Why is he calling me a panther? Ransom must be the source of the scarf I gathered when I had the ultrasound.

Ransom and Steve were an exact match: same face, same hair, nose, eyes, mouth, same height, even same muscles. The only difference: Ransom was chatty and a little shit; Steve, a moron and violent.

I sat in the chair next to Ransom. He placed his featherweight hand lightly on my elbow; it felt clammy even through the cloth.  He laid a large cell phone on the table, out of my reach.

-  Brother, you didn’t say our precious panther was such a cool diva, Ransom said, as he placed a dinner roll on my plate, another in the toile. I will obliterate these plates someday.

-  Ransom, let’s just eat and get the girl back upstairs. I don’t understand why you insist on eating with these things. They’re as good as dead anyway, says my so very uncouth captor.

-  Tsk. Tsk. Brother, so gruff all the time, Ransom said and then looked at me. “So sorry, growling panther, he has no manners. Don’t mind him, he’s just a brute. Let’s enjoy our dinner. I’m so tired. I flew in from Thailand yesterday. Been at the dentist all day. Old Grumpy makes me stay at a flea-trap hotel in this Godforsaken town. So, so tired, panther. So tired. Leaving on a flight tomorrow to… Oh panther, tsk tsk to me, going on about my fool self. I bet you just want to eat. Tee-hee-hee.

What movie did I watch with Bucky, my boyfriend? Ah yes, Three On A Meathook. The son and mother and father, all killers. A family of psychopaths. Tchaikovsky morphed into the screeching soundtrack of a stabbing knife through a shower curtain.

Ransom uncovered a pile of sliced meat on a platter and placed two pieces on my plate. I hoped the meat was veal, for the slab looked and smelled as such, although I could no longer trust my senses in this den of insanity. Ransom also served a pyramid of glistening green beans, a dollop of mashed potatoes, and a delicate trail of glazed carrots. He cut the meat into tiny bites, leaning in to my side as though he were my doting new mother.

-  Panther lady, my brother and I, perhaps just I, are, am, wondering, and here his high voice switched to a forced, low grumbling, like he was talking funny-serious to a toddler, “why you glare at him with such mean eyes?” He continued in a quick return to a higher voice, “What? You don’t like the food he gives you? Don’t worry, we don’t let him cook. He couldn’t even hold a job flipping bacon! Remember, brother? Remember when you tried to get away from your Ransom-poo? How’d that work out for you?”

Ransom blinked at Steve.

-  Ol’ Captain has to work with me. He’s too dumb. Anyway, anyway, I prattle on. You probably give him mean eyes because he’s such a conceited asshole. Ransom nudged my shoulder to laugh along with him. I exerted a short, “Ha,” only to catch my Steve’s stare, a cold, dead stare, which was scattered with incessant blinking. This was the first time I noted him blinking, blinking, blinking.

-  Shut the fuck up, Ransom. Let’s get this over with. Blink. Blink.

-  Now, brother, relax. The girl should enjoy a nice widdle dinny-poo. Right, panther?

-  Yes, sir.

-  Yes, sir?! Ransom howled. Yes, sir?! Oh brother, oh brother, she’s a little baby, cute baby panther.

Ransom turned to his plate. My hands were on my lap. He took a bite, his eyes darting to my clenched fists. He scowled, losing his tittering lightness in a flash of squinting eyes.

-  Pick your fucking fork up and eat the veal I made you. Now! Ransom screamed in a deep, loathing voice.

I picked up my fork. I ate the baby calf.

-  Now, brother, why is panther here calling me ‘sir’? Is this what you make her call you?

Steve slumped, shoving mashed potatoes into his open, chewing mouth.

-  Brother, brother. You’re never going to get over daddy-poo, are you? Ransom twisted to me. “Pretty panther, my brother here is very scarred. Our daddy, our sweet, sweet daddy, made us call him ‘sir.’ Even when we had the flu and were throwing up in our pressed pajamas, it was, ‘sir, I am so sorry for puking, sir.’ Oh, panther cat, guess what my sweet daddy did to my dumb brother once?”

-  Ransom, if you don’t shut your shit-spewing mouth right now… Blink. Blink. Blink, blink, blink.

Ransom interrupted with a deafening two-palm slam on the table. The glass teardrop chandelier shook as he stood to lean into a scream.

-  Oh, brother, you will shut up, Ransom said, wielding a pointing knife across the table while audibly sucking a shard of meat from his teeth with his tongue.

Steve shut up. Ransom sat down and scrunched his nose in a kitten smile to me.

Hmm, strange dynamic. I leaned a fraction closer to Ransom, perhaps wanting to forge an unconscious partnership in his mind.

-  Brother, brother, brother, so touchy. Tsk, Tsk. Ransom said “touchy” in a higher octave. “Panther cat, listen to this, my sweet baby brother, he had trouble keeping our daddy’s curfew. Oh Daddy, he kept his time on a military watch—one he had since he’d been corporal—and well, I was real good about being punctual. I was Daddy’s favorite. Naturally.”

Ransom said “naturally” while inspecting his nails, pleased with himself.

-  Anyway, dipshit here, well, he’d miss deadlines by a minute here, thirty seconds there, come in all huffin’ and a’ puffin’ out of breath. One night when we were both eighteen—we’re twins, you know. One night when we were eighteen, the day after high school graduation, in fact, Daddy sent him to get us some milk and Sanka from the corner store. Daddy says, ‘Son, I’m timing you. This is your test. You be back here at 0700 hours and not a second after. You hear?’ And my dear brother goes, ‘Yes, sir,’ which was the right answer. So boy goes running out the door. Me and Daddy watch him tear down the street, and Daddy gnarls under his breath, ‘He’s worthless. Slouch. Running like a moron.’ Something musta happen down at the store though. What was it, brother? What made you a whole two minutes late?

Pause.

Brothers staring each other into death. Sweat pouring down Steve’s jowls.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Hatred between two men, twins.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

I caged my belly with my arms.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

-  Doesn’t matter anyway. My dear, dumb brother walks in the door, and Daddy taps his watch and says, ‘Boy, it is exactly 0702. You’re two minutes late. You’re spending a year in the brig.

Steve dropped his fork. This time, however, he glared, no blinking, forcing all of his hatred on me, as though I was the one who sentenced him to the brig. It might have been because I had stopped eating, stalled enthralled, staring at Ransom to feed me more of this story. I fought back asking, what brig?

-  Panthy panther, you know what the brig was? Oh, of course you don’t. Although my brother wailed and begged, Daddy dragged him down the basement stairs, flung open a false wall, pushed him inside a jail cell we’d built the summer before, and locked the door. Was my job to bring ol’ dumb nuts his meals. I really put a lot of care into his food, panther. So, so important to stay healthy when you’re confined. Daddy’s lesson. I hope brother here is feeding you fine. Is he now? Giving you your meals?

-  Yes, sir. I didn’t look to Steve. I didn’t care to collect his approval.

-  If he doesn’t, I’ll step in and take over. So tell me, panther, for real, he’s giving you your meals, yes?

I don’t want you to step in. I don’t want to start my calculations over. Can’t start over with a new routine. Too late. I’m so close to execution day. No, I will not have you step in.

-  Yes, sir.

-  Sweety, sweetypie, just a’runnin’ a well-oiled ship, Ransom said and clapped like a wind-up monkey with cymbals.

-  Anyway, back to my story. Cranky-pants didn’t leave his cell for one full year. Released at exactly 0702, one year later on the nose.” Ransom touched his nose. “Every day, Daddy made him write, ‘The devil keeps my time. He has me under his heel when I’m late.’ He filled up 365 notebooks, one a day, with that phrase. When my brother here was set ‘free at last, free at last,’ boy turns to Daddy and says, ‘Thank you, sir,’ which was the right answer.”

Steve had not released his stare-down on me. His menacing meditation had switched to some deeper level of evil, now that I knew the source of his darkness. Blink. Blink. Blink. His look said he would show no mercy because he didn’t want my pity—pity would mean he was weakened and his daddy was wrong. Blink. Blink. Blink. Pity said he wasn’t good enough, a lower creature. His blinking burrowed a bit of fear in me, something that took a solid ten seconds to bite back and switch off. And switch off again. Blink. Blink.

Someone pushed my plate.

-  Eat your vegetables, panther, we need you healthy, Ransom said.

-  Eat your food because I’m about ready to carve that baby out of you, Steve said.

Ransom did not rebuke him. Instead, he nodded his head in agreement.

I took a sip of the milk Brad had poured me, wishing I could grab the steak knife under his upturned pinky and jam the blade into his scarf-enshrined neck. The red would blend nicely with the purple silk, I thought.

When dinner was done and cleared, Ransom pranced out and back in with a slice of apple pie, just for me.

- Panthy pantherton, take this pie on up to your room. And thanks for having this little dinny-poo with me. I like to meet our product-keepers, here and there. He flopped his free hand to and fro on the “here” and the “there.”

Product-keeper? You mean, a girl-with-children? You mean, a mother? You’re so sick, I can’t even get mad. Sick. So sick it’s hilarious.

When Ransom lifted his hand to rub my earlobe between his thumb and index finger, I contemplated knocking him off his balance and using his forward motion by pulling and twisting his arm so he flipped on his back—all from his very own physics; then I would crush his windpipe with my heel, my physics. Just like my daddy-poo taught me. Once that maneuver was complete, I’d swiftly grab the fire poker at my left flank to impale my captor who would be standing stunned. But again, my condition dampened any chances of this obvious and easy solution, so I took hold of the apple pie as it was offered.

I marched half-blinded, bagged again, carrying my Americana dessert up to my cell, Steve at my back.

Normally he would have shoved me inside. This time he stopped, taking me in from his standing state. 

- You look at me like I’m beneath you, bitch. Since Day One, you don’t blink. Let me tell you something, I will gut you. You will not win. Don’t go grinning over that little story my brother told you.

He left me on this pleasant bedtime wish. Tucked me in with his twinkling, gnashing grin.

I better behave so he sticks with his established patterns.

Taglist: @cjand10

[uweiy]

Upside to the Down - chapter 4

(Chapter 6 on AO3)

Everything in the Harrington house is neat. In the living room is a modern looking granit fireplace, unused, with a glass door. 

In front of it, two white, simple but pretentious slash expensive looking couches, on each side of a round glass table. 

The floor is wooden and vernished, of the same color as the stairs, with a grey carpet on it. There are bookshelves behind the couches. 

It is okay, Eddie guesses, for somebody who has a socially acceptable good taste in interior design.

And so, fucking impersonal.

There is nothing that reminds Eddie of Steve in it.

He peers curiously at the books on the bookshelf.

 

"Ah-ha," he says to himself, as he pulls out something that looks like a photo album. "Bingo."

 

He leans on the backrest of couch and flips through it. 8 year old Steve at a basketball game.

 

Steve kinda looks like his mom. They have the same brown hair and eyes, though Steve's are softer, in a way. The same haircut even.

 

9 year old Steve with a bucket on his head. Eddie snickers. "Hahaha. Cute."

 

The doorbell rings, and Eddie drops the book and ducks behind the sofa. "Jesus." 

 

His heart is racing.

 

The doorbell rings again.

 

Eddie gets to the door, crouched down, as silently as he can. There is no peephole, so he presses his ear against the door. 

 

"Did he run away?" "No way." You sure he's here? "Who is he?" "Eddie. A friend, El."

 

Eddie exhales a sigh of relief, and gets up fully.

 

Then he flings the door open. 

 

Seven, little and not so little, known and unknown faces stare up at him.

 

Dustin's smile is wide, as he holds up a bag "We thought you might be bored so we brought you some stuff."

 

Eddie settles against the doorframe, so it doesn't show that he's still a bit unsteady on his feet.

"Speak Friend, and you may enter," he announces, opening the door wider but barring it with his arm.

 

Dustin answers "Melllll-lon" in a deep voice and Eddie lets him in with a high five. The others follow Dustin, pushing past Eddie and promptly dispersing in the living room.

 

"And take your shoes off!" Eddie yells after them.

 

"Whooaaaah." 

 

"Dude, this house is awesome." 

 

Lucas takes Max's crutches, and a very short-haired girl Eddie hasn't seen before helps Max onto the couch.

 

The others keep looking around, and chatter among themselves.

 

"How come Steve never invites us."

 

"I know right?"

Eddie gives them a moment. Then he claps his hands.  "Attention please!"

Immediately, everyone stops and turns to him.

 

"That's better. First things first," Eddie pauses "glad you doing... okay Red. I think you should pick up a guitar cause you," he points at her "are a fucking rockstar baby. And if you ever decide to play DnD, I'll give you a +6 bonus in courage, no questions asked. " And he bows down, as far as he can, anyway.

 

Sinclair looks at Max proudly, and with so much love Eddie almost wants to barf. 

 

"Name's Max," she says. But she looks pleased.

 

"Sinclair, Henderson, Lady Applejack, Mike," Eddie lists, and twirls his hand from his head down to greet each one of them. They nod back in aknowledgement.

"Now. There are two of you... hobbits that I don't know."

 

"So this is, Eleven my girlfriend. The one with superpowers," Mike explains. "We call her El."

 

"Hello," El waves, a bit shyly, from the sofa next to Max.

 

"Digging the hair," Eddie gives her a thumbs up.

 

"And this is my... best friend Will. He loves DnD." Mike gesturing at the boy apparently named Will, who has never once stopped looking at Mike. Eddie's eyes cross back and forth between the two of them. He doesn't miss the whistful expression that crosses Will's features. 

 

Uh oh. Poor boy.

 

"Heard a lot about you Mr. Munson," Will advances towards Eddie, offering his hand. 

 

Polite. Eddie likes him already. He takes the hand and shakes it vigorously

 

"Great!" Eddie lets go, and turns back to the wider circle. "Now we're all acquainted. I would tell you to make yourself at home but– one it's not mine and two. Seems like you already are so–" he spreads his arms and exclaims "do what you want!" 

 

They all cheer. 

 

"Last one in the pool is a sore loser!" Erica says, and immediately runs past Eddie, almost throwing him out of balance. 

 

Lucas, Mike and Will look at each other. Lucas looks to Max. 

 

She gives him a reassuring smile."Just go. I can take care of myself. And there is El." 

Lucas nods, an unspoken agreement passing between him and El, then they're off.

"I'm gonna watch a movie with Max Mr. Eddie, upstairs" El says, seriously, after a few seconds of whispering with Max.

 

"Whatever you want My Lady. But uh Red these stairs are one hell of— holy fucking shit," he exclaims, as El spreads her arms and Max starts to levitate, just slightly, as if a gentle force was holding her up. 

 

"Told you,"  Dustin says from next to Eddie. 

 

"Nothing. Nothing will surprise me in this life anymore I'm telling you." Eddie says, his eyes not leaving Max who is slowly floating up the stairs, Eleven behind her.

 

"Now Henderson," Eddie bends sideways to whisper confidentially to Dustin "where are my gifts."

 

"Right." Dustin walks into the living room space, up to the couch and sets the bag on the table. Eddie follows, curious. "They're not exactly gifts 'cause they're like, your stuff. But yeah."

 

"Well that kinda ruins it," Eddie says, but still sits down next to Dustin.

 

"So uh, there's have a walkie-talkie, you know, if we're not here and you're bored." 

 

"My trusted companion." Eddie states, as Dustin passes it along, and he weighs it in his hand.

 

"...And if we don't answer" Eddie rummages through the bag, and pulls out... Something, that he waves in front of Eddie's face. "Ta dah! Some of your tapes." 

 

Eddie almost rips them out of Dustin's hands. "Henderson you're a saint." And presses them against his face. "Oh my beloved." 

 

Dustin lowers his eyes a little, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry about your guitar."

 

Eddie has been trying not to think too hard about it. He puts his hand on his heart. "It's okay" he sighs, dramatically. "We had a good run, her and I. Maybe we were just not meant to be. And she had a good ending yeah?"

 

"For sure. For sure she did." Dustin looks up and there are tears in his eyes. He sniffles.

 

Oh no. "Hey hey hey. You don't get to be more heartbroken than me, alright?" 

 

"I'm sorry!"Tears start to run down Dustin's face. "Now that it's started I can't, stop iit—" and there it is, the kid's bawling.

 

"My brother in Christ" Eddie checks quickly — no one around — opens his arms, and draws him into a hug. "Cm'ere."  He pats Dustin's head, keeping him there. 

 

Until the crying dies down.

 

"Thanks man," Dustin says. He shakes himself. "Blblblblvlb." 

 

"You all right there?" 

 

"Yup. All-righty. A-okay. Pheeew." Henderson exhales to steady himself. "Anyway, last thing," he turns back to the backpack, plunges his arm into it, and pulls out a considerably sized box. "your DnD stuff.

 

"Just in case you wanted to... Prepare the next campaign or something?" he says, not managing to hide the hopeful tone in his voice.

 

Eddie takes the box as if frozen. His fingers lightly trace the opening of the red metal Box, feeling where the lid connects to the box. The box pops open with a click, and Eddie sets the onto the couch. 

 

There are all his books, his binders, his papers, his figurines, his set of dice. He sifts through the pages, transfixed.

 

"Eddie?"

 

"Henderson. Uhm," He sounds more vulnerable than he has ever been, with Dustin around anyway. "I love Hellfire with all of my heart, you know I do."

 

"Obviously," Dustin nods. Then opens his mouth as if to speak and closes it again. Eddie can see the gears turning. "I feel like there's a 'but' there." 

 

"You lot... Have been through enough shit," Eddie states. "I mean. The name is kind of sullied now."

 

Dustin mulls it over.

 

"What about the lost sheep?" He says. 

 

"What about them?"

 

"False conformity. That's what's killing the kiiiids"  Dustin mimics. Eddie snorts. 

 

"You taught us that if liking a game made us freaks, then it was okay to be freaks. You made us feel like...  Like we belonged." Dustin asserts.  "Not to mention you are the best and most metal DM I have ever had the honor to campaign with."

 

Eddie doesn't know what to answer to that. He settles for "Obviously."

 

"Yeah. So let's not let them take that away from us." Dustin insists. "Though we could always change the name," he adds.

 

"And what do you suggest, Henderson the Great?"

 

"Hm." Dustin frowns, thinking hard. "Vecna's... middle finger?"

 

"That's terrible."

 

"Oh ooh how about 'Biter Bats."

 

"Right." Eddie shakes his head. "I've decided. Hellfire it was, Hellfire it shall remain."

 

"Yesssssah!" Henderson jumps on the couch and makes a victory fist. 

 

"Better get to work on that campaign then,"Eddie says. Then after a beat,"wanna help?" 

 

Dustin's jaw drops. 

 

"For real?"

 

"Yeahp. Not gonna tell you what I'll be planning, exactly obviously but. I could teach you the basics and stuff. If you want." Eddie rubs his neck. Shit he's getting soft. 

 

But it's hard to not be, with Henderson looking at him with such awe, eyes twinkling with excitement. It feels good to be admired sometimes.

 

"Is that even a question??"

 

"Okay then. Let's get to it."

 

 

__

 

 

"Ooh. Smells rancid in here." Erica comments when she trudges back in a few hours later, hair still dripping.

 

Eddie is laying with his stomach on the couch, propping himself up on his elbows. Dustin has papers sprawled all over the tables the opposite couch, the floor, one pencil behind his ear, and one in his hand, frantically writing down what Eddie is dictating. 

 

"Have you been at it all afternoon?" Mike asks.

 

"Yeah." Dustin answers "We're working on this new monster?"

"It's called—" Eddie interjects, making a 'dramatic reveal' kind of hand movement "the Steve."  

"Seriously?" 

"Oh a Steve can be terrifying, lady Applejack."

"It sucks at close fist-fights, but give him a bat-shaped object—" Dustin reads from the paper he's holding. "—and the Steve becomes unstoppable. The Steve," he continues "is at its most powerful when it has to take care of someone. It then turns into its ultimate momma-Steve form."

 

Eddie nods along. "And voilà."

"Eeeh, seems about right." Lucas agrees.

"So," Mike asks Eddie. "you've experienced it too?" 

"Oh yeah," Eddie agrees. "Terrifying. And kinda hot, if I'm honest?"

Mike, Lucas, and Erica simultaneously pull a face. "Ugh."

"What-ever," Erica says, and it sounds like 'I am already so done with this shit'. "Is there anything to eat in this house?"

Eddie rolls onto his back, grinning. "Kitchen is over here. Oh and get some popcorn for the ladies upstairs." 

Lucas holds his thumbs up, following Erica.

Suddenly, a plastic bag crashes to the floor.

"What," Steve says, looking at the utter chaos that was once his living room "the fuck." 

Read on AO3 (in progress)

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AO3 has two more contextual chapters between the 1 and 2 Tumblr chapters. That is why the numbering is different.