#the yearning is palpable i swear

[karnaca78]

Aaaaah I just woke up to this and it's the best thing ever!! I was so curious to see how you'd handle the topic. It's so bittersweet... Mico is very cute with his plant but I want to shake him so he admits his feelings. :smear: Poor Damian must be so jealous too LMAO.

I love this so much omg thank YOU for drawing the silly and his silly dandelion. ✨

Little sketchy micolaurence comic based on a conversation I had with @karnaca78 :smear: thank you for the brainrot, friend!

Dialogue below the cut since the font can be hard to read but I wasn’t about to use arial 🤧

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Wednesday, December 6th: The provost has found another new obsession to indulge himself with, in the form of gardening.

He concerns me.

The plant in question is a common dandelion.

He has named it “Laurence”

He tells me that any connections of that name to the Vicar of the Healing Church are entirely coincidental. The name is a placeholder, nothing more.

…but I have my suspicions.

[berryispunk]

Insomniacs

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: friends to lovers, insomnia, mental health struggles (ptsd, depression), soft! Frankie, kissing, yearning, swearing, nicknames (hermosa), fluff, idiots in love, no smut, no physical description of reader apart from having hair

summary:  What if you can’t sleep and you call for your best friend to come over and suddenly everything changes ?

word count: 3,1 k

It’s nothing new that you can’t sleep. Dealing with various mental health stuff over the years and chronic pain on top, you should know better. 

You tried every sleeping aid under the sun; meditation, counting sheep, lavender on your pillow and melatonin. Nothing worked, so you started to build your life around it. Midnights became your afternoons to quote Taylor Swift. 

But you were creative, somehow still holding up the hope that it magically gets better or you’ll just get used to it. But it never happened. 

So tonight as the red numbers of your digital alarm clock illuminate your face, mocking you once again, you groan in frustration. You stare at the ceiling, watching the various colored lights of the cityscape dancing around and if you weren’t so damn defeated you would be able to find beauty in this, but you can’t. Not today. You reach for your phone charging on your nightstand and scroll mindlessly through social media. Minutes turn into an hour and you finally sit up in your bed, opening your messages app. It’s 2:30 a.m., who could possibly be awake at this hour? Your international friends? Yeah, for sure. But as you go through your various contacts you stop at one name, smiling to yourself as you press the call button. 

It takes three rings until a familiar deep voice fills your ears. 

“Hello?” the voice murmurs and you immediately feel guilty because you didn’t expect him to have been asleep. His voice sounds exhausted.

“Oh my god. Sorry Frankie, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you apologize and he chuckles softly at the other end. 

“‘s alright, wasn’t really sleeping just… dozing off. What’s up, hermosa? It’s….” he pauses shortly. “It's, fuck, 2:32 at night. What is going on? Are you alright?” The worry in his voice is palpable and it’s one of the things you admire about him.

“Yeah, it’s the same old insomnia again and I figured why not call the one person that gets my pain?” you say apologetically and you can practically hear his smirk. 

“Us good old insomniacs, huh? Is it your brain or the pain this time?” he asks and you sigh heavily in response. 

“Probably a mix of both…” you sink deeper into your cushion. 

Frankie might be the only person you ever met who understands the struggles that come with lack of sleep. His military background and the resulting nightmares made him an ally in the cruel game that called itself life. The two of you spent countless nights like this, on the phone or texting, watching nonsense over whatever TV channel was on but you’ve never done one thing: late-night meetings. 

You weren’t sure if it was a secret agreement the both of you made that late night meetings were off-limits in all the time you’ve known each other, but tonight something felt different. 

“Hey Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Why have we never met? At night, when we weren’t able to sleep… I mean, you only live on the other side of the city, not the world.”

The other end stays silent and you think you may have overstepped an up-to-now invisible line by asking. 

Then he clears his throat. “Would you want me to come over? You never asked and I never did, because no way in hell I let you wander alone through the night…” he clarifies and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course, ever the gentleman Frankie Morales did not want to risk your safety. 

“Well, what if I’d ask you to come over now?” You hear him swallowing heavily at the other end of line. 

You don’t even know why you’re wanting this all of a sudden, maybe you’ve finally lost your mind. It’s not like there isn’t some underlying tension between the two of you anyway. Mindless flirting and playful teasing is all part of your friendship. 

Frankie is way too trusting for his own good, getting screwed up by his lack of judgement concerning other people and his soft heart, even if he would never let the boys know. They would give him hell about it. But around you he’s let his guard down and you have deep conversations with him about all things going wrong and the few that haven't. He’s one of the few people who know about your troubled youth and strained relationship with your mother. You in turn are one of the few people that know the severity of his PTSD. 

He makes you feel heard like no guy has ever managed to do. He really looks at you when you’re talking and it always makes you feel giddy when he remembers little things you told him a while back. 

You like his attentive nature, but somehow you have never found yourself thinking of him as a potential partner, even if he’s awfully attractive with his broad shoulders and unruly dark curls. His million-watt smile that, if it’s honest, creates little wrinkles around his eyes and makes your own smile widen every damn time in return.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice strained and uncertain. 

“I am,” you say boldly even if you feel anything but.

Fuckin hell, why does your heart beat so fast? 

“Give me 20 minutes,” is the last thing you hear before the line goes dead. 

You immediately jump up from your bed and panic takes over. What were you thinking? What do you even expect to happen when he’s here? Or worse, what if he expects something to happen? No, he would never. It’s Frankie after all, he would’ve had plenty of chances to make approaches but he never has, always keeping a respectful distance. And now you wonder if he only kept it because you made it seem like you weren’t interested in more than a friendship? 

When you first met him, you actually had a little crush on him but held yourself back because you told yourself he was out of your league and he was in a relationship. Then they broke up, but he was in a new one only a few weeks later. It went on like that for a long time until you were taken. Your ex never liked the boys so you kept your distance and the estrangement grew until you broke up with the guy and picked up your friendships where you left off. 

It’s always been so easy to be with Frankie. You could be yourself around him, no need to pretend to be someone you’re not. He saw you in every state: drunk, crying, bed head and pajamas or all dolled-up for another unfulfilling date. He still looked at you the same and it gave you some sort of confidence you’re usually unable to muster. So right now you don’t even think about changing. You stay in your sleep shirt and shorts, no underwear whatsoever, because it doesn’t matter anyway. The only thing you do is brush your teeth and open the messy bun your hair has been in, making it fall loosely over your shoulders.

For a moment you wonder whether he wants anything specific to drink, but as you check your fridge you see that you have plenty of soda and beer - both beverages you know he enjoys. So you sit down on the sofa, only the soft dim light of the standing lamp in the corner illuminating the room and you grow nervous again. Why, you can’t tell. This isn’t different from all the other times you’ve met him, the only difference being it’s late at night. But then you remember the saying ‘nothing good happens after 2 am’ and you get restless all over again until a soft knock on the door announces his arrival. 

With a few quick steps you open the door, but only a crack and Frankie looks at you, tired brown eyes mustering you. He’s smiling as per usual and holds up a plastic bag. “I brought the pretzels you like so much.” 

You open the door all the way to let him in. He’s wearing grey sweatpants, the standard oil cap which has to be glued to his head at this point, and one of his worn-down band shirts. Sometimes you “borrow” one of them when he doesn’t notice. You’re actually wearing one right now. 

“Hi,” you grin as he places the plastic bag on the coffee table. 

“Hi yourself,” he grins back and his eyes wander over your figure for a moment as his smirk widens. “Is that my shirt?” he asks, one eyebrow raised questioningly. 

“Maybe,” you tease back, mirroring his smirk. “You want it back?” 

He shakes his head, lifting his signature cap to run a hand through his curls before he puts it back on. “Nah, looks better on you anyway,” he says and somehow it makes your cheeks turn a bit warmer.

“You want something to drink?” you ask, clearing your throat. 

“Yeah, a beer maybe? But please tell me you’ve got more than the muck from the gas station? Because that tastes like piss,” he complains and you laugh as you walk over to your kitchen, opening the fridge. 

“Well, good for you I have actual beer, some Corona even if you’re feeling fancy.”

“Oh, I feel very fancy, hermosa,” he laughs and leans over the kitchen countertop as you reach for the beer. You feel his gaze on your backside, but decide to say nothing. 

You place the beer on the counter, a soda in your hand, and the noise of it opening echoes loudly through the apartment. He opens his beer with a lighter before he takes the first sip. 

It’s quiet for a moment before you ask, “How’s that girl you were talking about last week? Cindy or what’s her name?”

He shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. “You’re asking me about my dating life?” 

You frown, tilting the soda can in your hand before answering “Guess so.” 

“Didn’t see her again,” he simply states and something blooms inside of you. Is it relief?

“Ah, okay…” you say, trying not to let your emotions show too much. 

“And… you? How’s that guy you told me about? Jack?”

“Jacob,” you correct, not that it would matter. You met him once and it’s clear that he’s still very much in love with his ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah, Jacob, sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “How is he?”

“Guess he’s fine…I wouldn’t know, as I only went on a date with him once.”

“Oh.” “Oh?” you scoff and he chimes in with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, what else should I say? He didn’t seem like a good match for you.”

“You know, you never said that about any of the guys I dated.”

“They were all losers.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Shit, I‘m sorry…” he babbles but your eyebrows are furrowed.

“So tell me who’s a good match for me then?” You glare at him. It’s infuriating that he even thinks he’s allowed to judge you when he clearly isn’t better with all the girls he’s dated in the past. 

“Someone who really cares for you and sees you for who you are. Someone who treats you right and would do anything to make you happy, you know…” He’s fiddling with the label on the beer bottle. You just watch him, too stunned to speak as his words strike a chord. You know he’s right and that makes it hurt even more. 

“Maybe I’m just not made for a relationship,” you sigh as you take another sip of your soda, mimicking his stance by leaning across from him against the counter. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

“So what? You’re gonna tell me that there’s someone for me whom I just haven't met yet? That I didn’t search long or hard enough? I am 28, Frankie. I am tired of being in the dating pool. I just want… “ you exhale defeatedly. “I just want someone to come home to and who’s as happy to see me as I am to see him.”

“I am happy to see you,” he says quietly and it makes your heart miss a beat. 

“Yeah, but that’s not the same and you know it.”

“Why not?” he asks back, your eyebrows shooting up as he finally looks up from the bottle in his hand and places it onto the next available surface. “You’re a smart girl, hermosa. Don’t tell me you don’t know?” There’s indignation in his voice.

“Don’t know what?”

With one big step he closes the distance between you, standing so close to you you can clearly smell the last bit of his perfume he’s probably worn during the day and most of all you can smell him. The earthiness, musk and warmth are weirdly comforting as he looks down at you. 

“Do I have to spell it out for you or can you feel it as well?” he murmurs when you finally have the courage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching. 

“Frankie, I–”

Suddenly he’s so close, so all-consuming it makes it hard to think. 

“Tell me you don’t feel it and I stop,” he whispers. You feel his breath on your face and the warm feeling inside your chest spreads further. 

Of course you’ve felt that way before, but you didn’t think too much about it, not wanting to risk this friendship that's so important to you. 

“I won’t,” you croak out and he smirks in response, the cocky smile he always has when he is certain about something. 

“Figured,” he continues before adding, “So tell me, how many of these dickheads do you want to date until you give the one guy a chance that really cares about you?” 

“But.. We are…”

“Friends? Yeah, and I want to be so much more than that to you. Do you really think I would drive through the city at this ungodly hour for just anyone?”

You search for his eyes again, slightly blushing and shaking your head. 

He starts playing with a lock of hair, curling it around his thick fingers which makes you incredibly nervous.

“I woke you up, didn’t I? And now you stand here at 3 in the morning… I feel horrible.”

“Well, I don’t. I’m glad you invited me over. Who needs sleep if I can be with you instead?”

You smile at that. 

“I’m still sorry.”

“No need,” he assures you. “There’s no place I’d rather be right now…” 

And his voice drips with honesty as his eyes lock with yours and the intensity of his gaze paired with his words make your breath hitch. Your eyes flick onto his plush lips which look so much more kissable up close and you bite your own lips. He mirrors the movement and suddenly his big hand rests on your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheek bone as he pulls you a tiny bit closer. You reach for his cheek in return, his patchy stubble tickling your hand and you part your lips as he takes the cue, dips his head and his lips are only a hair's breadth away from yours. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he whispers hoarsely against your lips and you just nod in agreement.

His lips capture yours in a soft, tentative kiss and your stomach does somersaults. You’ve wondered in the past what kissing him would feel like, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He knows exactly what he’s doing, his lips moving with purpose without being overbearing. The softness of his lips is a stark contrast to the slight scratch of his stubble against your skin. You practically melt into the kiss and you’re certain that no one has ever kissed you like this, so soft but purposefully determined it makes your head spin.

You tangle your hands in the soft locks on the ape of his neck as you deepen the kiss. He’s parting his lips voluntarily so you can invade his mouth with your tongue as his hand wanders from your cheek into your hair, cradling the back of your head. He presses you against the counter with his body weight as his other hand wanders to your hip, his fingers digging into the tender flesh under his shirt. As your tongues dance feverishly his breathing gets uneven, panting into the kiss and you can’t help but smile softly that he gets so worked up over a kiss. 

“You okay?” you whisper as you part to breathe, your foreheads touching. 

“Yeah,” he breathes “It’s just.. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long so I wanna get this right.”

You take his head between your hands, your thumbs stroking his cheeks now. 

“You’re doing everything right, Frankie,” you smile softly and his face lights up.

“Can I maybe take you out on a date first before I ravish you right here in your kitchen?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, an honest laugh not many people are able to elicit from you. 

“I’d love that,” you say softly and nuzzle your nose against his while his thumb draws small circles over your hip where your shirt rode up. 

Suddenly the tiredness comes back to you as you yawn heavily and he creates some distance to be able to look at you. 

“Do I bore you, hermosa?” “No!” you quickly protest. “But I’m tired all of a sudden…”

“No shit, it’s late. Let’s get you into bed, yeah?” 

He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom where you fall headfirst into the pillow with a groan. 

“Frankie?” you call for him, lifting your head up slightly, his name suddenly sounding so big in the quietness of the night. 

“Yeah?” you hear faint footsteps as if he’s about to leave and the thought makes you sad.

“Would you mind staying?”

It’s deadly quiet for a moment before you hear the rustling of sheets and his weight next to you on the mattress. “Not at all,” he murmurs softly and you scoot closer to him, cuddling into his side as he puts his arm around your shoulders, his chin resting against your head. It feels so natural. It feels like coming home. You yawn and close your eyes again. 

“Thank you,” you murmur softly as your hand rests on his chest. 

“Anytime,” he says and then adds, “And just for the record, her name was Clara.”

“What?” 

“The girl I was on a date with, her name was Clara not Cindy. Not that it’d matter anyway because the only person I go on dates with from now on will be you,” he chuckles softly and you grin widely, even if he can’t see it. 

“Good to know,” you say sleepily and for the first time in weeks you drift off into a deep, restful sleep.

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[blackynsupremacy]

SHY LITTLE THING

pairing: nicholas a. chavez x black!fem!reader

summary: nicholas tests to see how quiet you can really be for him after he catches you reading an erotica.

contains: based on this request, short blurb, 18+ content mdni, college au, smut, fingering, squirting, mention of female masturbation, cum eating/sucking, risk kink, public sex, praise, degradation, swearing

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @thabiddie23 @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @supaprettyg @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @venic-bxtch @stargirl-mayaa

“shhh…y’know you gotta be quiet, don’t you?”

the man beside you whispered in such a demanding, but coaxing tone as his large, two fingers slowly slide along the dampness of your entrance that was still clothed behind your black, lace panties. you held back a moan, yearning for his touch, but still not wanting to get caught.

you’d never thought you’d find yourself in this type of situation. you’d never thought the sensual experiences you’d read in the filthy eroticas you possessed would become a reality as the school’s heartthrob, nicholas alexander chavez, had successfully seduced you within the smallest corner of the semi-crowded campus library. he was just supposed to be your study partner, but there was no denial that in all of the prior occasions of you crossing paths with him that the sexual tension between you wasn’t palpable. his lingering gaze, grazing fingers across your skin, and his close proximity to your body whenever he was close by were obvious signals of his desires. you tried to deny all you could because you were uncertain that you were ever his type. he was part of the scholarly, yet popular crowd, so of course he had girls flocking around him. you were just as studious as he was, but you kept to yourself in your own little box just trying to get your degree without any complications.

nicholas knew that you loved to read in your free time. when you’d meet to study, he’d encourage you to accompany him to a campus party whenever you’d feel comfortable of course. he just wanted to see you out of your comfort zone—maybe even see you move in a sexy, red number on the dance floor, but for you, he was patient in his persistence because you always gave him this response,

“i’ll think about it, nick.”

the weekly meet-ups for studying started to become less about academics and more about getting to know each other as people. nicholas being the social butterfly he is would ask you personal questions such as,

“i don’t wanna come off as pushy, but do you have a boyfriend?”

you hastily shook your head in response,

“it’s no worries and—no, i don’t. guys at this school don’t really look at me that way. i mean, look at me.” you confess with a shrug of your shoulders, a soft nervous chuckle emitting from your full, glossed lips. nicholas could only carefully examine your entire figure with his intense, brown gaze.

“i am—and they’re fucking blind.” he blatantly stated and smirked at your surprised, speechless reaction.

that’s when nicholas started his flirtatious behavior around you, getting you flustered every time. you were both in the library studying late for midterms, you were trying to quiz him on a question about a theory that was from the study guide only to look up to see his eyes never pulled away from you.

“nicholas? are you listening to me?” you inquire, the brown skin of your face heating the longer he held his stare.

“mhm, m’listening.” he responds before proceeding to answer the question correctly. his fingers softly guide your chin to face him when you try to go back to your book. he leans in slowly to whisper as his lips were mere centimeters from touching your own,

“here’s a theory i want to test—i believe you’d have the softest, most kissable lips than any girl i’ve ever met. would it be okay with you if i tested that, doll?”

that was the first of many acceptances to his advances which got more intense with every encounter. nicholas loved to hear any type of sound that came from you. he thought there was no way in hell that someone as enchanting as you wasn’t getting what she rightly deserved:

pleasure.

which now brings you to this moment of him teasing you after he caught you in the corner indulging in a filthy paragraph of one your erotica novels. you were embarrassed beyond belief, thinking that he would see you as this creep reading such things in public. what you didn’t expect was his reaction,

“you have no idea how hot that is—so, that’s what turns you on, yeah?”

he took the opportunity to sit beside you on the floor, the fabric of his jeans grazing the bare skin of your leg. you instinctively clench your thighs because you were already aroused from the content you were reading, now with nicholas close by, he was adding fuel to the fire. you confessed that you started reading this genre ever since your freshman year, it was your own guilty pleasure. at these words, nicholas had one burning question,

“do you—touch yourself when you read that?” he asked, his lustful, curious eyes peering down at the book within your grasp. you weren’t sure what it would lead to, but you ended up confirming with a deliberate nod,

“yeah, i do. it must be nice to have some experience.” you trail off, your eyes shifting from his lips before quickly looking back into his eyes.

nicholas raised a brow in piqued interest, a smirk playing on his handsome face.

“would you like to know that experience?”

it wasn’t long before you gave in to your desires when you took his face within your grasp, desperately planting your lips on his in such a fervent manner. you try to keep quiet as he kisses your neck while his hand slides under your black top, fingers intruding into your bra to firmly grasp onto your breasts.

“go on, keep reading.” he’d murmur, now trailing his hand from your chest down to the warm, brown skin of your thigh. the higher his hand travels, the wider your legs start to spread to ensure him access to a place no one, but you has dared to go to. it’s ironic that the character you’re reading about was about to receive the same treatment from her lover as you were from nicholas.

“fuck, baby, you’re soaked.” nicholas whispered, the tips of his fingers caressing your slit through your panties. “m’bout to get these out the way, you good with that?” he inquired in your ear, you don’t make a sound, but give him a nod to signal your consent. your legs were propped and your knees slightly bended as he started to pull your panties away from you. nicholas softly cursed in satisfaction when he saw the long, clear string of your arousal appear the further he pulled until they were at your ankles. he didn’t waste time when he brought the rough pad of his thumb to caress pressured circles on your clit. your breath hitches within your chest as you try to keep quiet while focusing on the page.

“look at you, reading that filth while you’re letting me touch you like this—you’re not as innocent as i thought you were.”

god, he was making this so much harder than it has to be. his voice alone was like sex itself. you try to lean to your head back against the bookshelf behind you.

“oh, no, baby, keep reading f’me.” nicholas softly demanded, deeming you ready enough to effortlessly slip a finger inside of you while his thumb was still working on your clit. he briefly praised at how tight and warm you were for him, driving your desire for him to be more intense than before. your shaky hands turn the page and your breathing starts to get ragged as he now has two fingers performing a scissoring motion deep inside of you. due to your silence, you could only hear the soft sound of squelching that emitted from your sex as people carried on with their casual conversations unbeknownst to the unholy act that was occurring in the corner of the library. you start to buck your hips as his fingers increase in tempo, you want to cry out each time they hit the spot that even you couldn’t reach when you attempted to do so in the past. nicholas had noticed the your yearning to make a sound, still with the rush of not getting caught he had a solution.

“you’re being a such good girl—you gonna cum soon, yeah?” with a rapid nod, you don’t hesitate to grab him by the shoulders to silence every lewd sound you wanted to make into his mouth. as his tongue skillfully caressed around yours, your walls grew tighter around his fingers as the heat within your abdomen grew stronger. nicholas made sure to hit that spot repeatedly while making all sorts of shapes on your sensitive bundle of nerves as you drew closer,

“go ahead, beautiful. cum f’me.” he coaxed after pulling away from the kiss, not stopping his movements as you coated his digits and your inner thighs with your slick when he took you to your climax. your mouth was wide open, but no sound dared to come out. nicholas pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you to feel empty from the loss of his touch. he put his glistening index within his mouth to silently indulge in the taste of your nectar, you observed as he hummed in contentment before he guided his middle towards your lips,

“c’mon, i bet you never tasted yourself. trust me, you’ll love it.”

he was right, you never went that far, but for nicholas, you were ready to explore the uncharted territories of pleasure in which you were happy to follow his lead. your hands grasped onto his wrist, taking both fingers in your mouth to suckle off the rest, your eyes dare not to leave his amused, yet intrigued gaze.

and to think that you were just a shy little thing.

[thewulf]

Teaching Trails || Azriel

Summary: Request - can i request a teacher reader x azriel where she's Nyx's teacher/tutor and feyre or rhysand asks az to pick him up since they're busy and he swears he falls in love on sight seeing reader be so sweet on Nyxie and how comfortable Nyx is around reader? just something sweet and fluffy and maybe a super nervous az when reader notices him at the doorway?? You can decide the rest. love your work!

A/N: Ahhhh I loved writing this. Idk I just picture Nyx as a sweet bubbly 5/6 year old in this. Adored writing this!

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Night Court Reader)

Word Count: 5.0k +

TW: Use of Magic (fluffy!!)

As you stand at the edge of one of the many expansive terraces of the House of Wind, the air around you is crisp, the sky a clear, deep blue above the sprawling city of Velaris below. This majestic residence is perched like an eagle's nest atop a solitary mountain and commands a breathtaking view of the Night Court. Its beauty a sure giveaway to ancient power and elegance. Yet despite its grandeur there’s a poignant isolation to it. Especially for young Nyx, whose days are spent within these walls that soar closer to the stars than to the streets where other children play.

Inside the palace is a labyrinth of ornate halls and vast chambers. Each room a masterpiece of art and architecture designed for gods rather than a playful child. The echo of Nyx’s laughter often bounces off the high ceilings. A reminder of the solitude that accompanies his royal upbringing. He is a small but vibrant figure roaming the endless corridors exploring shadowed corners and hidden nooks. His solitude veiled by the splendor surrounding him.

It's during one such quiet evening as the horizon painted a watercolor of twilight hues that Feyre brings up her growing concern to Rhysand. They are in their private chambers. A place where the masks of High Lord and Lady can be set aside. Where vulnerabilities can be voiced without the weight of a crown.

"Nyx needs more than just us. He needs more than this palace," Feyre starts with her voice steady yet filled with an urgency that draws Rhysand’s full attention. "He’s missing out on normal interactions. The kind that happen away from royal duties and ceremonial greetings. He’s a child. He should be learning through play, through friendships formed in mud and laughter. Not just in state rooms and formal gardens."

Rhysand’s expression is torn. As a father he yearns for Nyx to have every happiness the world can offer. But as a ruler the thought of his son, so precious and so exposed, wandering beyond the enchanted safety of their home is daunting. "It's dangerous, Feyre," he counters. His voice laced with a protective edge. "The world isn’t always kind, especially not to those of royal blood."

"But isn’t it more dangerous to raise him in a bubble? How will he learn to lead? To understand his people, if he only ever sees them from a balcony or at formal events?" Feyre’s hands gesture emphatically. Her eyes alight with passion. "We need to let him explore, Rhys. We need to let him be a child. Not just a prince." Their conversation stretches into the night. Debates entwined with silent contemplations until a resolution begins to dawn much like the first light over the Sidra. Rhysand’s fears don’t dissipate entirely but his love for Nyx and his trust in Feyre’s instincts lead him to a concession.

"Alright," he says finally. A reluctant smile breaking through his concerns. "We’ll find him a teacher. Someone who can guide him, teach him, yes, but also someone who can take him beyond these walls. Let him learn about life. About our people through his own experiences. Not just through stories and reports."

Feyre’s relief is palpable and together they set out to find the perfect candidate. The search is exhaustive with candidates from across Prythian and beyond interviewed. They seek not just an educator but a guardian of sorts. Someone who understands the delicate balance of nurturing a child like Nyx. Someone who can foster his curiosity and protect his spirit.

The search for a tutor for young Nyx was not a decision taken lightly. Within the ornate conference room of the House of Wind, Feyre, Rhysand, and other key members of the Inner Circle—save for Azriel, who was away on duty—gathered to commence the rigorous interview process. The room was filled with an air of solemnity as each candidate presented themselves. Their credentials scrutinized not just for academic excellence but for a deeper understanding and alignment with the values of the Night Court.

Mor, with her keen sense of people, led the questioning. Her bright eyes missing nothing. Cassian injected moments of levity lightening the mood with his humor. While Amren's piercing gaze seemed to delve into the very souls of the candidates searching for sincerity and resilience. Each member of the Inner Circle brought their own perspective ensuring that the chosen teacher would not only educate Nyx academically but would also nurture his emotional and cultural development.

Then you entered the room. With a demeanor both warm and composed you introduced yourself. As you spoke about your educational philosophy making sure to emphasize experiential learning and emotional intelligence the panel was visibly impressed. Your background in educational psychology coupled with your years of experience teaching in diverse environments highlighted your capability to adapt and thrive in any teaching scenario. More importantly your genuine passion for fostering young minds resonated deeply with Feyre who nodded appreciatively at your thoughtful answers.

Throughout the interview, your approach to education which focused on developing both the intellect and the heart of a student was clearly aligned with the Night Court's ideals. You spoke of the importance of understanding each student's unique needs and adapting lessons to fit those needs. Even suggesting outdoor classes and cultural excursions that would allow Nyx to learn about his heritage in a tangible, engaging way.

As the interviews concluded and the candidates departed the room buzzed with discussions. It was clear to everyone that you stood out not just for your qualifications but for the gentle strength you exhibited. A trait they all deemed perfect for handling the sensitive nature of their prince's education.

When the decision was made Feyre personally reached out to offer you the position. The joy and excitement in your voice as you accepted was palpable. Aware of the immense responsibility of teaching the heir of the Night Court you were nonetheless thrilled by the opportunity to make a significant impact in a young child's life.

As you prepared to step into this new role your heart was buoyant with anticipation. Not just for the challenges ahead but for the chance to contribute to shaping a future leader of the Night Court. The trust placed in you by such revered figures was not just an honor but a truth to your life's work and passion igniting a fervent desire to start this new chapter.

In the heart of Velaris away from the towering isolation of the House of Wind you spend a delightful morning with Nyx at one of the city's lush public gardens. The day is warm. The gentle buzz of the city a distant backdrop to the laughter and learning that fills the air around the two of you.

You laid out a picnic blanket under the shade of a towering silverleaf tree. The spread covered with books, sketchpads, and an assortment of colorful pencils. Today's lesson is about the flora and fauna of Prythian. A topic that has Nyx bubbling with excitement and curiosity. As he sketches a butterfly that landed briefly on the edge of your blanket you explain the role of pollinators in the ecosystem, delighted by his insightful questions and the meticulous care he takes with his drawing.

"Nyx, do you see how the colors of its wings can tell us about its environment?" you ask as you were pointing to the delicate patterns that mirror the blooms around you.

"Yes!" he exclaims. His eyes lighting up with understanding. "It’s like camouflage, right? They blend in to stay safe from predators!"

"Exactly," you reply. Your heart swelling with pride at his quick grasp of the concepts.

The lesson shifts seamlessly from science to history as you guide Nyx through the stories of the Night Court. Each tale woven into the landmarks visible from your spot in the garden. Nyx listens, rapt, as you tell him about the ancient fae who once walked these paths. The battles they fought and the peace that now thrives in their stead.

As the morning progresses Nyx's natural curiosity leads him to a question that makes you pause. His small voice tinged with genuine wonder. "Why don't you have wings like my mom, dad, Uncle Cassian and Uncle Az? Like that pretty butterfly?" he asks. His head tilting as he regards you thoughtfully.

You smile softly, touched by his innocent inquiry. "Well, not all fae have wings, Nyx. Just like not all flowers have thorns," you explain using an analogy you know he'll understand. "Each of us is unique with different abilities and gifts. It’s what makes us all special in our own way."

Nyx nods considering this. "I think it’s cool you don’t need wings to fly. You have books and stories that can take you anywhere," he decides with a wise look crossing his features that makes you chuckle.

"That’s a wonderful way to put it, Nyx. And remember, we all have our own ways of soaring," you say ruffling his hair affectionately.

As you begin to pack up the day's learning materials you lean closer to Nyx with a conspiratorial whisper. "Tomorrow, we’re going to do something special. We'll join a class with other children your age. You’ll get to play and learn together with them," you tell him watching his face light up with sheer delight.

"Really? I'll have friends to play with?" His voice is filled with excitement. His earlier thoughts about wings forgotten in the anticipation of meeting new friends.

"Absolutely," you assure him sharing in his excitement. "It’ll be a lot of fun and you’ll make lots of new friends."

Nyx's eyes sparkle with anticipation as he begins to imagine the possibilities. "I'm going to tell mom and dad all about it tonight!" he exclaims already planning out his evening conversation. "And I’ll tell Uncle Az too. He likes hearing about my adventures."

The mention of Azriel, whom you've only heard about through Nyx’s enthusiastic stories, adds an interesting layer to your perception of the mysterious figure. "That sounds like a great idea," you respond, amused, and intrigued by Nyx’s affectionate mention of his uncle. "It seems Uncle Az is quite the hero in your stories."

"Yeah! He’s really cool! He can disappear like a shadow and is always on secret missions," Nyx says. His admiration for Azriel evident in his wide eyes and animated gestures.

The day ends with Nyx bouncing along the path back to you classroom chatting animatedly about all the things he hopes to do with the other children. His excitement about sharing his upcoming school day with his family, especially with his beloved Uncle Az, whom you've yet to meet but feel like you already know through Nyx's tales, fills the air with joy.

Your heart warms at his enthusiasm knowing that these new experiences are exactly what he needs. As Nyx sketches another flower with his small hand moving confidently you know these moments of joy and anticipation are as precious to him as they are to you, nurturing not just a young prince’s mind but also his spirit. The connections he's building with his family, with you, and soon with his peers are shaping him into a thoughtful, well-rounded individual, ready to explore the world with confidence and curiosity.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon casting a warm, golden light through the windows of your classroom the day's adventures wind down to a quieter, more reflective pace. You sit in a cozy corner of the room on a soft, plush cushioned area you've set up specifically for reading. Nyx nestles beside you as his energy from earlier now softened into the gentle tiredness of a day well spent. In your hands a beautifully illustrated book about the legends of Prythian opens to a page where the heroic deeds of ancient warriors are painted in vivid colors.

As you read aloud, your voice smooth and soothing, Nyx's eyelids begin to flutter gently. You notice his weary smile as he listens. The adventures of the day transforming into the adventures in the pages. Gently, almost instinctively, you begin to caress his hair. Smoothing it back from his forehead in a tender, rhythmic motion. It's a peaceful scene, the kind of simple, heartfelt moment that often goes unnoticed in the bustling life of the Night Court.

Unknown to you his Uncle Azriel stands at the doorway having arrived to pick up Nyx. He pauses there, a silent observer, taken aback by the tranquility and warmth of the tableau before him. His task had been simple. He was to retrieve Nyx and bring him home but the scene he encounters tugs at something deep within him. A longing for such unguarded peace.

Azriel watches as Nyx's breathing deepens, the sweet child drifting closer to sleep with each gentle brush of your hand. Your care for Nyx, so natural and affectionate, strikes a chord in Azriel. He's seen many facets of life. So many forms of relationships and bonds but the simplicity and purity of this moment resonate with him profoundly.

He remains there at the threshold hesitant to interrupt the moment. He was captivated by the gentleness of your interactions with Nyx. The world he usually inhabits—one of shadows and secrets—feels miles away from the soft warmth of this sunlit room. In this pause Azriel realizes that his task isn't just about escorting Nyx. It's about respecting and appreciating the sacred, everyday magic that people like you bring into Nyx's life.

Eventually though the story comes to an unfortunate end, and you close the book before looking down at Nyx to see him fully asleep. A contented expression on his young face. As you carefully consider how to wake him Azriel finally clears his throat softly announcing his presence.

You look up, startled slightly, your eyes meeting his for the first time. There's a moment of mutual acknowledgment. A silent appreciation for the scene he's just witnessed. An understanding that while your worlds may be different the care you show to Nyx bridges them beautifully. Azriel steps into the room. His movements gentle as he did not want to disturb the serene atmosphere you've created.

"Thank you for taking such good care of him," Azriel says quietly. His voice carrying a warmth that surprises even him. "He obviously treasures these moments with you."

"You're welcome. It's truly a pleasure teaching him," you reply with a warm smile. Your eyes reflecting genuine affection for Nyx.

As you gently wake Nyx his eyes flutter open gradually clearing as they adjust to the presence of another in the room. When he spots Azriel standing quietly by the door a bright, sleepy smile spreads across his face. He quickly scrambles to his feet, excitement replacing any remnants of sleepiness.

"Uncle Az!" Nyx exclaims. His voice filled with delight as he runs into Azriel's open arms. Azriel catches him effortlessly before lifting him into a warm hug. They share a moment, uncle and nephew reunited, their easy laughter filling the room. You grin recognizing him as the infamous Azriel in Nyx’s life.

Then as if struck by a sudden realization Nyx turns back towards you with a look of proud excitement lighting up his features. With a firm grip on Azriel's hand he pulls him closer to you and announces, "This is Miss Y/N, my favorite teacher ever!" His voice carries through the room filled with genuine admiration and joy.

Azriel's gaze shifts to you. A slight tension beneath his calm demeanor as he processes Nyx's enthusiastic introduction. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he says, his voice steady but softer than usual, a subtle undercurrent of nervousness mingling with his words.

You smile warmly, extending your hand in greeting. "I've heard a lot about you, Azriel. Nyx tells me you're quite the hero," you say. Your tone light and inviting.

Azriel takes your hand and for a moment his usual composure falters under your gaze. He's momentarily taken aback not just by the warmth of your smile but by the unexpected impact of your presence. She's beautiful, he thinks, and kind... The realization that he's slightly awestruck surprises him. He finds himself momentarily lost for words.

"And I've heard you've been learning about heroes in your lessons with Nyx," he manages to say his voice carrying a hint of warmth that rarely surfaces. Nyx obviously pleased with the exchange claps his hands excitedly.

"Can we all walk back home together?" Nyx asks looking up at both of you with hopeful, bright eyes, “Please!” He adds in for good measure as if you weren’t going to immediately say yes to him.

"Of course, Nyx," Azriel responds after looking to you for confirmation.

You nod, gathering your belongings, and the three of you step out into the cool evening of Velaris. As you walk Nyx fills the air with chatter about his day seamlessly weaving together his two worlds with tales of butterflies and ancient warriors. Azriel listens with a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His initial nervousness easing as he's drawn into the simple joy of the moment. His thoughts linger on you, intrigued, and unexpectedly moved by the genuine connection forming between you, Nyx, and himself. A beautiful end to an enriching day.

As the three of you begin your walk back through the twilight streets of Velaris the usual calm that Azriel embodies seems to waver slightly. He is typically a figure of stoic composure, his presence both commanding and elusive shadowed by the mysteries of his duties as the Spymaster. However, today, as he walks beside you, something is distinctly different.

Azriel's steps are measured. His usual fluid grace tempered by a hint of uncertainty. His glances towards you are quick, almost cautious, as if he's trying to decipher an unfamiliar script. The conversation flows easily around Nyx's enthusiastic chatter about his day but each time you turn your attention directly to Azriel a subtle tension flickers across his features.

"You really have a wonderful way with Nyx," you say hoping to bridge the gap with kindness. "He's always so excited to share what he's learned with you."

Azriel nods. A slight flush visible beneath the dusky hue of his skin. "Thank you," he murmurs as his voice is softer than usual. "It's... it's good to see him so happy. You do a lot for him."

The simplicity of your interactions, the easy smiles and gentle teasing you offer to Nyx, resonate with Azriel in a way that is both heartening and unnerving. He's unaccustomed to feeling this way—unsettled yet drawn in, eager yet shy. His hands though normally steady and sure whether wielding a weapon or a shadow clench slightly at his sides betraying his internal struggle.

As Nyx runs ahead a little, bursting with energy as he recounts another part of his day, Azriel takes a moment to compose himself. He glances at you again. This time holding your gaze a moment longer than before. The vulnerability rarely seen by others is palpable now as it was a quiet admission of his nervousness.

"I'm... not usually this unsure," Azriel confesses quietly almost to himself. "But there's something about these moments…. seeing Nyx so at ease with you. It's more comforting than I anticipated."

Your response is a gentle smile, one that acknowledges his admission without pressing further. It's a smile that seems to say you understand that the quiet spaces between words can be filled with kindness, not just silence.

The rest of the walk continues with a softer ease. A budding respect forming amidst the shared glances and the fading light of day. Azriel's initial nervousness slowly ebbs away instead replaced by a quiet appreciation for the unexpected warmth this evening has brought into his usually guarded world.

As the three of you approach the grandeur of the House of Wind, the towering structure casts long shadows over the cobblestone paths. It’s presence as awe-inspiring as it is imposing. Nyx who was still bubbling with energy despite the day's adventures, rushes ahead. Clearly he was eager to recount his tales to Feyre and Rhysand. You pause at the entrance. The vast doors open as if welcoming back its prince.

"It's been a wonderful day, Nyx," you say, giving him a soft hug. "Don't forget to draw that butterfly we talked about!"

"I won't, Miss Y/N!" Nyx promises. His voice echoing slightly in the vast entryway. He turns and dashes inside as his laughter lingered in the air.

You turn to Azriel with a smile gracing your lips. "Thank you for letting me share part of your evening. I should head back home now."

Azriel’s expression shifts. Concern etching his features. "It’s getting late," he observes while glancing at the skies, now painted with the deep blues and purples of dusk. "Please, allow me to walk you back to your home. The streets can be less than forgiving at this hour."

You pause appreciating his concern but ready to reassure him of your safety. "That’s very kind of you, Azriel, but it’s no worry. I know these streets well," you say as you turned to make your way down the path.

Before you can take more than a few steps a subtle but firm presence stops you. Looking down you see one of Azriel’s shadows has stretched out across the path in front of you almost playfully barring your way. It's a gentle unspoken plea that catches you by surprise echoing Azriel’s silent wish for you not to go alone.

Azriel takes a step forward. His gaze earnest. "I would truly feel better if I could ensure your safe return. Please," he adds. A rare hint of vulnerability in his voice that you hadn't expected.

Seeing the genuine concern in his eyes and touched by his quiet insistence you nod to him with a smile spreading across your face. "Alright, Azriel, if it means that much to you then I’d welcome the company," you agree. The warmth in your tone matching the softness in his eyes.

"Thank you," he replies visibly relieved. He quickly steps inside to ensure Nyx is settled and returns to you with a more relaxed demeanor ready to accompany you.

As you and Azriel begin the walk back to your home the streets of Velaris are bathed in the gentle glow of the stars and softly lit lanterns casting an enchanting light over the cobblestones. The atmosphere lends a serene backdrop to the conversation that begins to unfold between you.

"You know, Nyx speaks so highly of you," you start by breaking the initial silence with a warm tone. "He's always so excited after spending time with you. You must have some exciting tales from your duties."

Azriel chuckles softly. A sound so serene that it seems to dance in the night air. "Nyx has a way of making everything sound more thrilling than it might actually be. But yes, there are times when my duties hold some... intrigue." He pause, as if weighing what to share. "Mostly, I'm just ensuring that the court and our lands are safe. It's not always as adventurous as Nyx might depict."

"And what about when you're not cloaked in shadows and mystery?" you ask genuinely curious about the man beside you beyond his role as the Spymaster.

A hint of surprise flickers across Azriel's face. Surprised yet pleased by the interest you’re showing in him. "I enjoy solitude, usually. Reading, training... Though I have a fondness for sword making. It’s a craft that requires precision and patience much like my usual work but with a more tangible, creative result."

"Sword making? That’s fascinating," you remark smiling at the thought. "It must be rewarding to create something so intricate and vital."

"It is," he agrees. His voice softening ever so slightly. "And what about you? What do you enjoy doing in your free time?"

You nod before reflecting on your simple pleasures. "I love hiking and just watching nature. There’s something peaceful about observing the natural world. Just seeing how it exists so beautifully without any need for interference."

The conversation flows naturally from there. The earlier apprehension melting into a mutual appreciation for each other’s hobbies and life outside of official duties. As you talk Azriel’s steps seem to synchronize with yours. His presence an incredibly comforting shadow by your side.

When you finally reach your doorstep the city around you has quieted even further. The only sounds being the distant murmur of the Night Court's nightlife and the gentle rustling of leaves. Azriel pauses, standing just a bit closer than before. His usually guarded demeanor dimmed under the starlight.

"Thank you for allowing me to walk you home," he says. His voice sincere and gentle as if reflecting the calmness of the evening.

"It was my pleasure," you respond, finding yourself reluctant to end the conversation. "I enjoyed our talk, Azriel. It’s nice to see the person behind the shadows."

He smiles. A true smile that reaches his eyes making them sparkle with a rare lightness. "I did as well. More than I expected. Perhaps we could do this again, maybe take a hike together?"

"I’d like that," you agree. Your heart light with the promise of future conversations, of shared paths both literal and metaphorical.

"Good night, Miss Y/N. Take care," Azriel says as he steps back ready to meld back into the shadows from which he came.

"Good night, Azriel. And thank you… for everything tonight," you call after him. A smile still playing on your lips as you watch him disappear into the night. The connection between you both stronger and sweeter for the shared walk under Velaris’ starlit sky.

In the days that follow Azriel finds himself inventing reasons to visit your classroom or accompany Nyx to his lessons more often than strictly necessary. Each visit, purportedly to check on Nyx’s educational progress or to discuss scheduling with you becomes a cherished opportunity for him to engage in brief, yet meaningful conversations with you.

Each encounter, ostensibly casual, subtly deepens his affection and admiration for you. He begins to notice the small details: the way your eyes light up when discussing a new teaching method, the gentle patience with which you guide Nyx through difficult lessons, and the enthusiasm that bubbles up when you talk about your nature hikes. Azriel who was typically reserved and composed finds himself drawn into your world of vibrant enthusiasm and heartfelt dedication.

One afternoon as Azriel stands somewhat hidden by the doorway of your classroom just like he did that first day he met you observes a particularly touching scene. Nyx, having mastered a particularly tricky spell, turns to you with a triumphant grin. You laugh, your joy as vivid as the sparkle in Nyx's eyes. He swears your laughter seems to light up the room.

Watching this Azriel feels a warmth spread through him. A warmth that has little to do with the sun filtering in through the windows. It’s in this simple, unguarded moment that he realizes his feelings for you have deepened beyond mere admiration. He's not just falling for your kindness towards Nyx but also for the genuine spirit and infectious joy you bring into every interaction.

As he steps away from the doorway with a thoughtful smile playing on his lips Azriel knows that what he feels is something profound and undeniable. Your spirit which was so vibrant and full of life calls to him in a way that no one else ever has. And as he walks away with his shadows trailing behind him he’s certain of one thing. He wants to explore where this connection might lead not just for Nyx's sake but for his own heart’s as well.

After ensuring that Nyx was safely back at the House of Wind you begin to make your way back towards your home. The day's light is waning casting long shadows that stretch across the cobblestone streets of Velaris, adding a mystical allure to the city’s evening charm.

As you step forward, the sound of your footsteps is a soft echo in the quieting city. You're lost in thought pondering the pleasant interaction with Nyx and looking forward to the solitude of your evening walk home. However, before you can get far you hear Azriel’s voice calling out from behind you.

“Wait, please!” His tone carries a blend of urgency and hesitation that halt’s you in your tracks.

You turn around surprised to see him approaching quickly. His usually composed demeanor replaced by a slight breathlessness. The shadows that always linger around him seem to pulse in sync with the heightened beat of his heart.

Azriel catches up to you. His expression earnest. “I just wanted to ask properly,” he starts, his voice steadying as he meets your gaze. “Would you join me for a hike this evening? There’s a trail not far from here that’s especially beautiful in the evening light. I think you’d really enjoy the views, and...” He pauses before taking a breath reassuring himself, “I would really enjoy the company.”

Your smile deepens, touched by his sincerity and the vulnerable way he presents his request. The softening of his features and the hopeful look in his eyes paint a picture of a man stepping beyond the shadows that define him.

“I would love to, Azriel,” you reply warmly. Your voice filled with genuine excitement. “It sounds like a perfect way to end the day.”

Relief washes over Azriel’s face. His usual stoic mask giving way to a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you,” he says as if a weight was lifting from his shoulders. “Shall we meet at the edge of the city in half an hour?”

“That sounds wonderful,” you agree already anticipating the quiet beauty of the trail and the shared moments ahead.

As you both part ways to prepare for the evening hike the anticipation of the upcoming adventure brings a new spring to your step. Azriel turns back once more watching you walk away, his heart lighter. He realizes just how much he’s looking forward to exploring not only the natural wonders of Velaris but also the potential of a new and blossoming relationship with you. The thought brings that rare and hopeful smile to his lips. One that he carries with him as he disappears into the shadows to ready himself for the evening.

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[blingblong55]

Sweet sounds- König NSFW

middle photo credit to @/glutt_r on X

Kinktober Day 9 Based on a request: Hi Hi! can i please get dom reader with sub konig? I think it'd be hot if we were in his office and had him moaning for us as he jerk him off? it brings me pleasure to have a sub man so please kasper give me good boy konig ---- F!Reader, MDNI, 18+, sub!König, dom!reader, handjob ----

Teasing him all day, letting him know what was to come later, is perhaps the best and worst thing you’ve done to him. Every glance, every subtle touch, sent him spiralling into anticipation, each passing hour making him more desperate.

“Scheiße…” König mutters as he glances at you from across the room. He can’t hold on any longer, and with no patience left, he abruptly dismisses the rest of the team from the debrief, not caring about the confused looks they give him. His mind has long left the meeting.

The moment the door closes behind the last person, his eyes fixate on you. His desire is palpable, his need overwhelming. Within seconds, he crosses the room, dropping to his knees before you. His large frame looks almost submissive as he kneels, his gaze filled with raw hunger and helpless yearning.

“Bitte…” His voice is strained, and needy. “I can’t wait anymore. I need you to take control… to fuck me hard.” He rests his hands on your thighs, looking up at you with a desperation that sends a rush of power through you. “I’ve been good all day, just like you asked. Please… use me however you want.”

You smirk, leaning casually against the desk, glancing down at his jeans. “Take them off. Touch yourself for me.”

His breath catches, a flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. You see the firelight in his eyes at your command, and without any hesitation, he unzips his trousers, releasing his hard cock. His hand wraps around it immediately, stroking himself, his movements growing more frantic with every second. The low, guttural moans that escape him as he jerks his cock fill the room, each sound laced with need.

He bites down on his lip, barely able to contain himself. “Bitte, meine Liebe… more. Could you punish me? I’ve been so naughty,” he murmurs, his voice catching as he stares up at you, completely vulnerable. “I’ll do anything for you.”

You lean down, your fingers lifting his chin so that his wide, pleading eyes meet yours. “Beg more. Convince me that I should touch you the way you want.”

His heart races as your words sink in. His strokes falter, becoming more erratic. “Please… I’ve been aching for you all day. My cock’s so hard, I can’t stand it anymore. I need you to wrap your hand around me, just like this.” He strokes himself, showing you exactly how he wants you to touch him, his breathing coming in short gasps. “Then… squeeze my balls, make me whimper, beg for more. Spank me until I’m red until I feel you marked all over me.”

His breath quickens as he trembles before you, willing to submit completely to your whims. The tension in his body is nearly unbearable as he continues, his voice shaking with desire.

“I’ll be the best for you, your good boy. Just… just give me what I need.”

You lean in close, pressing your lips against his, a soft yet commanding kiss. Your hand trails down, wrapping around his thick shaft, teasing him with slow, deliberate strokes.

König gasps at the contact, his body jerking as a rush of pleasure courses through him. “Fuck… yes, meine Liebe,” he groans, his cock twitching in your grip as you control the pace. “Rougher… please, I can take it. I need it.”

He begins to grind his hips against your hand, desperate for more, but you keep your movements slow and controlled. It drives him wild, the mixture of pleasure and torment too much for him to handle.

“Please…” he breathes, his voice raw with need. “Don’t make me wait anymore. Let me cum for you. I’ll clean it all up, I swear, just please… let me cum.”

You tilt your head, amused by his desperation. “Now, now,” you say with a slow shake of your head, “where would the fun be if I let you cum so quickly?”

He whimpers, his entire body shaking as you push your thumb against the sensitive tip of his cock. His hips buck involuntarily as your free hand fondles his balls, squeezing just enough to make him groan.

“I… I can’t take it anymore,” König gasps, his voice cracking as he struggles to keep his composure. “You’re driving me insane, meine Liebe. Please… just let me cum.”

You smile wickedly, enjoying every second of his torment. His cock pulses in your hand, pre-cum leaking as he fights to hold back his orgasm. His eyes are wide, brimming with helpless desperation, knowing he can’t release without your permission.

“Please…” he whispers, barely able to form coherent words. “I’m yours… your best boy. Just permit me. Let me cum. I’ll do anything you want, just say the word.”

You kiss his forehead softly, still stroking him at that agonisingly slow pace. “No, Mein Liebling,” you whisper, your voice soft yet firm, watching with satisfaction as his body trembles under your control.

His reaction is instant, a broken moan escaping his lips as you play with his swollen tip. His balls tighten, his cock throbbing with need, but still, you deny him.

“Please, I’ve been so good to you,” König pleads, his voice almost breaking. “I’ll be better… anything you want… just let me cum. I need it, I need you.”

You watch him for a moment longer, relishing the sight of him on the brink of collapse, completely under your control. Finally, you nod.

“Fine… Mein Schatz.”

His breath catches in his throat as he realises you’ve granted him permission, his body tensing in anticipation. Just as his relief begins to wash over him, you push two fingers into his mouth, silencing any words he might have uttered. His eyes widen in surprise, his mouth instinctively wrapping around your fingers, gagging slightly.

That’s all it takes.

A deep, guttural moan erupts from his throat as his orgasm hits him with force. His body jerks violently, cum spurting from his cock, coating your hand and the floor in thick ropes. He shakes uncontrollably, his hips bucking as he rides the waves of pleasure, completely overwhelmed by the intensity.

When it’s over, he slumps forward, his chest heaving as he fights to catch his breath. You gently remove your fingers from his mouth, wiping away the stray saliva. “Danke…” König whispers, his voice hoarse and exhausted. “That was… incredible.”

His eyes shine with adoration as he gazes up at you, still kneeling, his body spent. “You always know how to make me feel… needed. Thank you, mein Schatz.”

With shaky hands, he begins to stand, quickly straightening his clothes as he regains his composure. “Now… if it’s alright with you, may I clean up for you?” he asks, his tone filled with reverence. “I want everything perfect for our next time.”

Tags: @liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @katybaby00 @spicypicklesoh @viomast @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @undercover-smutlover @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @saoirse06 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @Llelannie @Macnches2 @skelletonwitch @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @lovelyvqer @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @luvecarson @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @tuihiatus @iruzias @sleepyycatt @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate @azkza @VampyTheGoth

[riboism]

haunted ═╬ act I: the arrival

♱ content tags: centuries old vampire! seonghwa x fem reader, vampire au, gothic romance, gothic horror, story takes place circa early 1900s, reincarnation, smut, angst, forbidden love, slowburn, lots of yearning, no happy ending, blood, satanism, animal cruelty, nosferatu/bram stroker’s dracula/edward scissorhands vibes

♱ wordcount: 5.2k

↳ series masterlist

A wave of relief swept over you as the crisp, refreshing breeze of late October kissed your cheeks. The train ride to Cromer Ridge had been a seemingly endless ordeal—stuffy, suffocating, and filled with doubts that gnawed at your tenacity. Every mile of the journey was shadowed by second-guessing and an almost unbearable longing to turn back. Yet, deep down, you knew there was no returning to the life you had left behind. Starting over was daunting, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on your spirit. But you also knew it was time to release the past, to embrace the opportunity for renewal. Though your unfamiliar surroundings felt discouraging, you steeled yourself to take the first step forward.

Your first task upon arriving at your new home was clear: find a job. The urgency of the times was palpable, and the job board near the platform was already surrounded by a crowd of weary, determined faces.

A sigh escaped you as your shoulders slumped in quiet defeat. The list of available positions read like a declaration of exclusion. Coal miner. Machinist. Bricklayer. Though the words “No women inquirers” weren’t printed, the message was clear. And who would hire you anyway? You were a woman, expected to secure financial stability through marriage—or, if desperation struck, by selling yourself in ways too degrading to voice. Your only skills were the domestic trifecta of sewing, cooking, and cleaning—skills instilled in you by a mother who saw no greater purpose than preparing you for marriage, a means to lighten the financial burden of an unwanted daughter.

Just as hopelessness began to settle in, something caught your eye. At the far end of the board, a single yellowed flyer flapped in the breeze, its ink faded and edges curling. It seemed forgotten, avoided even, as the crowd conspicuously steered clear of that corner. Curious, you stepped closer, your heart inexplicably quickening. The faded words were difficult to make out, but you pieced them together as best you could:

Live-in housekeeper needed. Inquire at the Park Estate.

⸺

“Excuse me, sir, can you tell me how to get to the Park Estate?”

The lively chatter and rhythmic clinking of shot glasses halted. One by one, the tavern’s patrons turned their attention toward you, their eyes narrowing with suspicion. The bartender froze mid-motion, his dishrag suspended above the bar as he gawked at the wide-eyed newcomer who had dared to ask such a question.

“What business do you have there?” he asked, his voice laced with thinly veiled disgust.

“I’m inquiring about a position there,” you replied, the words tumbling out sheepishly as the weight of the room’s gaze settled on you. “The one posted at the rail.”

A ripple of murmurs coursed through the crowd.

“Someone really oughta take that flyer down.”

“I heard that’s how he gets his victims—lures them up there with promises of work, then poof, they’re never seen again!”

“You know, he harvests human limbs for the black market! That’s how he keeps that eyesore of a castle funded.”

“Did you hear what the butcher’s wife said? She swears she saw Count Park skulking around town weeks ago, creeping like a ghost!”

“No way. He wouldn’t dare come down here. He knows he’s unwelcome. That’s why he stays up there, feasting on stray cats and whatever he can find.”

The whispers swirled, growing darker with every utterance. The stories painted a picture of a man—or perhaps a creature—that was nothing short of monstrous. The rumors about Count Park were wild and fantastical, their macabre details echoing the haunting bedtime tales your grandmother once told of strange creatures lurking in the shadows, snatching disobedient children to devour.

The bartender hesitated, his brow furrowed. You didn’t know it then, but you’d made a mistake by asking about what the townsfolk referred to as the “Dead End of Cromer Ridge.”  Park Estate was no ordinary home; it was a brooding castle perched on the edge of town, shrouded in mystery and whispered fear. No one dared to venture close, and few could even confirm whether Count Park was still alive. Some said he’d gone mad with grief after the death of his wife, his isolation breeding festering darkness. Others insisted he had dabbled in Satanic rituals, turning himself into a vampire—a bloodthirsty creature doomed to stalk the night.

Every tale was more grotesque than the last, but one truth remained constant: the very mention of his estate sent a chill down the spines of the townsfolk.

After a long pause, the bartender finally relented. “Straight down, take a left at the old sign, and head west. It’s a steep climb—I doubt it’ll be easy to make it up there.”

You murmured your thanks and quickly exited, trying not to let the hushed gossip of the patrons unsettle you. But as you stepped into the cold evening, a sense of unease lingered. The townspeople weren’t just unfriendly—they seemed haunted, consumed by fear of the Count. And their fear had a way of clinging to you, no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

⸺

The bartender hadn’t exaggerated—the hill was brutal. Each step felt heavier than the last, your calves burning as fatigue clawed its way into your limbs. The path grew darker with every stride, the last rays of sunlight vanishing beneath the horizon, leaving only the oppressive gloom of night. In the distance, the castle loomed, stark and unwelcoming against the dusky sky. Its jagged silhouette seemed carved from shadow, a brooding presence that radiated unease.

As you drew closer, doubt began to fester. A small voice in your mind whispered to turn back, to abandon this unsettling journey. Something about the air felt off—thick and heavy, as though it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken warnings. Perhaps the townsfolk’s sinister murmurs had worked their way into your head, or perhaps it was the creeping dread that came with nightfall. Yet, no matter how many reasons you found to retreat, one undeniable truth remained: you’d come too far to turn back.

The promise of a warm bed, of shelter from the biting chill, was enough to propel you forward. Where else could you go? Who else would take you in? Pushing your unease aside, you pressed on, even as every instinct screamed otherwise.

The moment your foot touched the porch, an icy shiver raced down your spine. The boards groaned beneath your weight, the sound sharp and accusatory in the oppressive silence. The castle’s windows were boarded up, their blackened edges like gaping scars. The wind howled through unseen cracks, coaxing eerie creaks and groans from the ancient structure, as though it were alive and watching. The bushes lining the walkway were disturbingly pristine, their neatness at odds with the house’s decayed and foreboding aura. If not for their immaculate care, you might have thought the place was abandoned.

Your breath hitched as you reached for the door. The metal hoop of the knocker was freezing against your palm, and for a moment, you hesitated, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. With a trembling hand, you lifted it and knocked, the sound reverberating through the still night like the toll of a bell. A death bell, perhaps. 

You stood there, waiting. Seconds stretched into an eternity, the silence amplifying every stray sound—the rustling of leaves, the creaking of old wood, the faint whisper of the wind. Your nerves began to fray, and just as you were about to knock again, a sudden noise made you whip around.

A crow landed on the railing with a thud, its black eyes glinting like polished onyx. It tilted its head, staring at you with an unnerving intensity, as though it were delivering a silent warning: Turn back. Leave now.

But you couldn’t. It was too late. The journey here had already cost you too much, and the thought of retreating to nothing—a cold, inhospitable town, a life of uncertainty—kept your feet rooted in place. Even as dread coiled tighter around your heart, you remained, the weight of your decision pressing heavier than ever.

You jolted as the grand doors creaked open, the deep, groaning sound echoing in the stillness. The noise rooted you to the spot, your pulse hammering in your ears. Until this moment, you hadn’t stopped to consider who would be behind the door. What sort of person lived in a place like this? Why was he so hated? What if the rumors were true—what if he was dangerous?

Your imagination conjured a monster—sharp yellow teeth bared in a sinister grin, hollow eyes that seemed to pierce the soul, leathery, pale skin stretched tight over angular bones. His voice would be guttural and broken, a sound that carried only misfortune and dread. You sucked in a breath, bracing yourself for this creature to appear.

But the door stopped after only opening slightly, leaving just a sliver of darkness visible beyond. No figure emerged, no silhouette loomed. Silence followed, heavy and expectant.

“Hello?” you called, your voice trembling.

There was no response. You hesitated, glancing back down the shadowy path you’d climbed. The idea of retracing that perilous journey in the dead of night frightened you. Desperation flared within you, pushing you to speak again.

“I saw your ad on the job board. For a housekeeper? I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” you began, the words spilling out quickly. “I-Is the position still open? I’ve been cooking and cleaning all my life. I can stitch a warm coat in two days, and hats, gloves, and scarves in less than one. I noticed your bushes—they’re well cared for. I know a lot about gardening; my father taught me—”

The door suddenly widened, cutting off your nervous rambling. A rush of frigid air spilled out, carrying with it the faint scent of damp wood and aged stone. You hesitated, then stepped inside, expecting warmth to greet you. But instead, the chill intensified, the air biting at your skin like icy needles.

The man who had opened the door had vanished, his presence already dissolved into the shadows. The heavy doors groaned as you pushed them closed, their weight demanding your full effort.

Turning back around, you finally took in the house. In the dim flicker of candlelight, the interior revealed itself in pieces, like a dream shifting into focus. The grand entryway was vast, yet suffocating, the kind of place that seemed to watch you back. The floor was a checkered sea of black and white marble, cracked in places and dulled by time. A massive staircase dominated the space, its dark oak banister coiled like a serpent rising toward the upper floors. The air smelled faintly of wax and mildew.

Dust clung to every surface, turning once beautiful furniture into ghostly relics. A cracked mirror hung crookedly on the far wall, its gilded frame tarnished and webbed with cobwebs. A dark red, velvety tapestry drooped sadly from its mount, its colors faded and threads unraveling. Scattered across a long wooden table were odd, forgotten items: loose buttons, dried ink bottles, and what appeared to be a single leather glove, stiffened with age. Despite the grandeur, the house felt as though it had been abandoned to the passage of time, its opulence rotting away in quiet decay.

You held your chest tightly, your pulse quickening as you tried to quell the unease clawing at you.

“Eighteen dollars a month.”

The voice came from above, low and rich like the stroke of velvet against bare skin. It was smooth, refined, and utterly at odds with the house and its rumors. You snapped your head up, your eyes darting toward the staircase.

There he was. A figure stood at the top of the stairs, his silhouette cloaked in the shadows. He was too far away to make out clearly, his back turned to you as he rested one hand lightly on the banister.

“You start tomorrow,” the voice continued, steady and composed, though tinged with something you couldn’t name. “Do not wake me. Your quarters are down the hall to your left.”

With that, he was gone, disappearing into the upper darkness as quickly and silently as he’d appeared.

You stood there, rooted in place, the chill of the house seeping into your very bones. The unexpected smoothness of his voice lingered in your mind, disarming in its elegance. And yet, it wasn’t enough to shake the oppressive weight of the home, with its decayed grandeur and shadows that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking.

Your quarters, tucked away at the far end of the hall, were modest compared to the rest of the house—but that was to be expected for the help, you supposed. The space was sparse yet functional, its simplicity offering a quiet reprieve from the unsettling grandeur outside its door.

A soft white bed stood against the wall, its quilt worn but clean, promising a much-needed rest for your aching body. Beside it, a small desk sat neatly, complete with an oil lamp and a sheaf of blank paper, an unspoken invitation to write letters you weren’t sure would ever reach anyone. A large armoire dominated the opposite corner, its dark wood polished to an eerie sheen, its brass handles shaped like twisting vines. Though you had packed light, the armoire’s cavernous emptiness made your belongings seem smaller still.

You settled into the room cautiously, smoothing your hand over the quilt as you perched on the edge of the bed. Despite its simplicity, the room felt...off. Perhaps it was the silence that hung so heavily in the air or the faint chill that lingered, despite the walls being thick and the windows shut tight.

Your mind churned as you tried to make sense of everything—the decayed opulence of the house, the cryptic demeanor of the Count, and the strange, fearful gossip that followed his name. What kind of man was he, truly? You realized with a sinking feeling that you still had no idea what he even looked like. The thought nagged at you, stirring up an unease that clung to the edges of your thoughts like cobwebs.

The strangeness of it all—the place, the person, the situation—was unnerving, and yet, there was a small part of you that whispered it was too late to turn back now. The journey had been long and unforgiving, and there was no guarantee of shelter if you left.

Your body, however, had little patience for your anxious mind. The weight of the day bore down on you, and your fatigue eventually overpowered your worries. You stretched out on the bed, its softness wrapping around you like a cocoon. As your eyes fluttered closed, the strangeness of the house loomed over you, lingering in your thoughts like a shadow.

But soon, the stillness of sleep claimed you and the unsettling mysteries of your new life were left to haunt the night.

⸺

You awoke just as the first rays of dawn slipped through the cracks in the heavy curtains, casting faint golden streaks across the room. To your surprise, you felt well-rested, the ache of yesterday’s journey soothed by the quiet stillness of the night. The house, with all its looming shadows and unsettling whispers, had not disturbed your sleep.

Sitting up slowly, you stretched your arms overhead, feeling the stiffness melt from your shoulders. A yawn escaped your lips as you rubbed the lingering drowsiness from your eyes, the warmth of the quilt still clinging to your skin. For a brief moment, the morning felt almost normal—peaceful, even.

But as your feet touched the cold floor, that fleeting comfort dissolved. The air in the room was still and heavy as if the house itself had been holding its breath while you slept. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been watching, waiting.

Shaking off the thought, you steeled yourself for the day ahead. Whatever the peculiarities of this house or its master, you had work to do.

In the cold kitchen, you set the tea kettle over the fire, the soft crackle of the flames breaking the otherwise oppressive silence. As you watched the water begin to simmer, a thought crept into your mind: should you prepare a cup for the Count? It seemed polite, perhaps even expected, but then you remembered his firm instruction not to wake him.

Maybe he simply valued his solitude—or his sleep. You could understand that; mornings were a sanctuary for some. Still, the uncertainty of your role gnawed at you. What kind of man didn’t even outline what he wanted from his housekeeper? You glanced at the kettle again, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.

You reassured yourself that time would bring clarity. By nightfall, surely, you would understand his routine and expectations. For now, you took comfort in the steady rhythm of small tasks, grounding yourself in the familiar while the unfamiliar loomed just beyond your reach.

As you moved around the kitchen, its grandeur dulled by the thick coat of dust, the scale of your work became painfully clear. The counters, once polished to a gleaming finish, were now layered with grime. A tower of mismatched dishes teetered precariously in the sink, their surfaces streaked with stains that told of long-neglected meals. The pantry was nearly bare—just a few stale loaves of bread, an old jar of jam, and some long-forgotten tins tucked into the corners.

You sighed, shaking your head as you rummaged through the cabinets. At least there were some spare biscuits, and with the tea brewing steadily, you’d make do for now. A trip to town for supplies seemed inevitable, though the thought of braving the peculiar townsfolk again didn’t thrill you.

After nibbling on the dry biscuits and sipping the hot tea, you wandered through the halls, taking in your new surroundings. Even as the sun’s rays peeked over the horizon, the house remained shrouded in shadows. The wooden panels nailed over the windows blocked most of the light, forcing you to rely on the flickering glow of the few lit candles. The air felt thick and heavy, the faint scent of mildew lingering in the corners.

The living room, if you could call it that, was a chaos of clutter. Melted candle wax had pooled and hardened on the floorboards, books lay scattered across the furniture, and a once-elegant rug was curled at the edges, its patterns obscured by dust. A broken clock leaned precariously against a wall, its glass face cracked and the hands forever frozen in time.

You crouched down to scrape some of the hardened wax from the floor, the task already feeling endless. A sigh escaped your lips. Yes, there was much work to be done—more than you had expected.

But as daunting as it seemed, you reminded yourself of the warmth and security that this place, for all its strangeness, provided. Rolling up your sleeves, you resolved to tackle the disarray piece by piece, determined to bring some semblance of order to the house. Whatever secrets this place held, at least you’d have the satisfaction of a clean floor beneath your feet.

⸺

The afternoon had slipped away, and your work felt far from done. The kitchen and dining room had consumed the better part of the day, leaving your back aching and your hands stiff. The thought of tackling the grand living room and foyer loomed over you like a heavy cloud. You’d been busy with the senseless tasks of cleaning and reorganizing, but there were still errands to run. The idea of facing more work in the house was enough to make you pause. 

You slipped into your warm coat, wrapped a scarf tightly around your head, and stood at the door, pausing for a moment. You glanced up the staircase, half-expecting to see a glimpse of your master. But there was only silence. No movement, no sign of him. Perhaps he was still asleep. 

With a loud sigh, you grabbed your purse and stepped out into the chilly air, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders. The path down to town felt long, but it was a welcome distraction from the house and the work that awaited you when you returned.

The journey down the hill felt longer today, your never-ending thoughts slowing your steps. You passed the same familiar buildings, the same curious eyes peering at you from behind the small shops and homes, but today, there was a different sort of tension in the air. You knew the townsfolk still whispered behind your back, their words like echoes of a story you couldn’t quite grasp. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the task at hand: groceries. Yet, their comments continued to swirl in your mind.

“Don’t meet her eyes, she carries his curse within her,” one of the shopkeepers muttered under her breath to a customer as you walked past. You caught only fragments of their conversation, but the few words you did hear made you shudder in place. 

Their whispers were distinct—filled with warnings, judgments, and fear. It was as if the townspeople saw you as a shadow of the Count, carrying with you a dark energy that left them uneasy in your presence. Their words wrapped around you like a curse, as though you, too, were tainted by something malevolent. They spoke of you as if you were a mirror of the Count’s darkness, forcing them to avert their eyes and steer clear of your path altogether.

You pushed yourself forward, determined to finish your task. The items you needed weren’t difficult to gather, but the weight of their gaze made everything feel heavier. You hurried, and by the time you reached the shop’s counter, you realized you had forgotten a few things, the very basics that had slipped from your mind in the rush of the day.

With a sigh, you made your way back to the estate, the basket of groceries now even more cumbersome. The long hill back up to the house made your legs ache, but it wasn’t just your body that felt worn—your mind too felt numb, with feelings of anxiety and uncertainty making it impossible to think about what to do for dinner. 

When you returned, the sun was already making its way down, and the house was as silent as before. You set the groceries down in the kitchen, eyes wandering over the untouched spaces, the dust that still lingered.

You quickly got to work, preparing a simple dinner for yourself and your master. The faint smell of burning wood and the steady crackle of the fire filled the air, offering you little comfort as you set the table for one. The clink of the dishes was the loudest sound in the room, your own heartbeat keeping time with each dish you placed.

As you adjusted the final details on the table, you heard the soft creak of the door. The flames flickered unexpectedly, casting dancing shadows across the room. A chill swept over you, settling in the pit of your stomach as the temperature seemed to drop with his arrival.

You turned, and there he stood, filling the doorway with a presence so striking it almost stole your breath. His gaze locked onto you, and the cold that had crept in from the draft seemed to melt away, replaced by something much warmer—an almost familiar tension that pulled at your chest, making it harder to breathe.

He wasn’t what you had expected. His appearance was nothing like the monster the townspeople had whispered about. There were no signs of age or decay, only ethereal beauty—as if he was sculpted by some divine hand. His skin was pale, smooth like porcelain, with a soft glow that seemed to catch the dim light from the candles. His dark, glossy eyes were like deep pools, glinting with a mystery that held your gaze far longer than you intended. His perfectly sculpted cheekbones added to the sharpness of his face, giving him a sense of quiet nobility, yet there was something undeniably otherworldly about him.

He lingered at the doorway for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—shock, maybe, as though he hadn’t expected you to be there. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you, and the weight of his gaze made your shoulders tense. Your fingers found the hem of your apron, fidgeting as you tried not to squirm under his scrutiny.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he seemed to catch himself. His posture straightened, and his expression softened, the sharpness of his gaze retreating behind a veil of composure, as though he’d realized he might have given too much of himself away.

Your heart pounded as you thought of what to say. Gathering your courage, you managed a small, polite smile. "Good evening, sir," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I—I prepared some soup and fresh bread. I thought it might be to your liking."

He approached you slowly, each measured step echoing in the room, the sound of his heels against the wooden floor making your chest tighten with anticipation. As he drew nearer, the air seemed to shift, heavier with every step. Just as he reached your side, he stopped abruptly, his gaze dropping to the dinner you had so carefully prepared.

"Thank you," he said, his voice smooth and velvety, resonating like a soft hum that seemed to linger in the stillness. There was a pause before his eyes flicked back to you, and his next words came softly but firmly. "What is your name?"

The weight of his presence pressed against you, and your nerves heightened as you whispered, “Y/N, sir…” You kept your voice low, unsure whether to meet his gaze or keep your eyes lowered. The tension prickled at the back of your neck, your hands clasping tightly before you.

He didn’t sit immediately but instead lingered at the head of the table, his long fingers idly tracing the wood of the chair. When he finally spoke, his voice was commanding yet smooth, every word material.

“I apologize for meeting you so late,” he began, his dark eyes briefly glancing at you before settling on the untouched bowl before him. “I work well into the night and, as such, must sleep during the day.” His tone carried authority, leaving no room for argument.

He picked up the spoon, stirring the soup languidly, the movement unnervingly slow. “You’ve done well so far,” he remarked, the faintest trace of approval in his words. “The dining room is spotless. It has been far too long since I dined in here. My work consumes my time, leaving my poor estate neglected.” He paused, his gaze sharpening as it flicked back to you. “Cleanliness is paramount. My work demands focus, and I will not tolerate distractions. I trust you will uphold these expectations.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hope to please you and exceed your standards.”

His jaw tightened subtly, and for a moment, you worried you had misspoken. But he continued, his tone precise. “As I said, I cannot tolerate distractions. You are not to enter my workspace or my chambers. The entire upstairs is off-limits. There are valuables there that require privacy and care.” He hesitated briefly, his mouth parted slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “There is little up there that requires your attention.”

The restriction struck you as strange, but you nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“Your duties,” he continued, his tone crisp, “include daily cleaning, maintaining the estate grounds, and running errands in town as needed. For groceries and supplies, bring back receipts, and I will reimburse you with your pay.” He paused, his voice growing softer but no less firm. “There are also a few rules you must follow.”

“Yes, sir?” You straightened slightly, bracing yourself.

“Firstly,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “I am not to be disturbed during the day. My rest is crucial, and interruptions will not be tolerated unless it is a matter of life or death.”

“Yes, sir,” you said quickly, nodding.

“Second…” He cleared his throat, “Do not touch the wooden planks. The windows are boarded up due to a previous mishap, and unfortunately, there aren’t many architects nearby to fix it.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“And finally,” his voice dropped lower, carrying an ominous edge, “do not venture outside after sunset. The forest is dangerous—predators prowl in the dark. You would do well to heed my warning.”

A chill coursed through you at the severity of his words, the weight of his warning making it clear he meant every syllable. “I understand,” you murmured.

He gestured toward the table before finally lowering himself into the chair. “You’ve done well today,” he said, adjusting the napkin in his lap with methodical care. “I trust you’ll continue to prove yourself capable.”

“Thank you, sir,” you replied, your voice steady despite the unease curling in your chest.

He picked up the spoon again, swirling the soup without taking a bite. The hesitation made you anxious—had you made the wrong choice of meal? Your mind raced back to the town, chastising yourself for forgetting to stop at the butcher. You watched as the vegetables spun lazily in the broth, but his expression remained impassive.

“That will be all for tonight,” he said abruptly, his tone cool. He set the spoon down, folding his hands over the edge of the table. “You may take your dinner to your quarters.”

“Goodnight, sir.” You nodded, retreating with careful steps, the weight of his presence lingering long after you exited the room.

⸺

You eased your tired body onto the mattress, but sleep eluded you. The encounter with the Count played over and over in your mind, every word, every glance dissected in the stillness of your room. There was something peculiar about him—his aloofness, the subtle weight in his voice, the way he seemed to measure his every movement.

What exactly did he do? He hadn’t mentioned it, though whatever it was must be lucrative, given the grandeur of the estate. Yet, that same home felt hollow, like a gilded cage rather than a place of comfort.

Your thoughts wandered to his appearance—so striking, so unexpected. He was undeniably beautiful. How could someone so captivating hide away in such a bleak and isolated castle, so far removed from the rest of the world? And why was someone who seemed so young living alone in such a vast and lonely estate? Where was his family?

And then there was that look he gave you—just for a fleeting moment, but enough to unsettle you. It was as though he was disappointed upon seeing you, his dark eyes carrying a strange mixture of pain and defeat. You couldn’t name it precisely, but it lingered in your mind, an odd tension you couldn’t shake.

Everything about him was odd—the house, his demeanor, his rules. And yet, there was something magnetic about him that kept your thoughts tethered to him, even as your body begged for rest. It would be no surprise if you dreamed of him too. His image lingered in your mind like a shadow cast by moonlight—too vivid to ignore, too enigmatic to understand. You closed your eyes, trying to banish the thoughts, but his face remained, carved into the fabric of your imagination as you fell deeper into sleep. 

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act II: the count ➜

[aegoniiwifey]

Anon who requested the chubbydaddy!aegon and his daughter <3 you did my request justice and way more I'm obsessed- I literally reread it like ten times I love it. Also another chubbydaddy!aegon request: Aegon getting requests to court/ wed his precious girl, and he ignores them all, ignores what the Small Council wants, etc and goes to her after a long day, letting her ride his belly, then breeding, then cumplay, and whatever your genius mind comes up with <3

Wanna Be Yours

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x daughter!fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,944.

WARNINGS: incest, swearing, angst, breeding kink, praise kink, stomach riding, cum play, titty sucking, p in v sexual intercourse. indented parts are previous scenes.

A/N - I am so so sorry for responding so late, I took a little hiatus with tumblr and am starting to find my rhythm again. I absolutely adore this trope and your ideas. so happy you enjoyed the first piece, it was an absolute privilege to write! hope this is just what you imagined also xx

Apologies I have not reread this as I finished work and my eyes are about to shut! will proof read tomorrow ♥️

credit to my beloved BOOBIE @bnb-atnite for making this godly image of my man CHUBBY! ilysm!

"Your Grace, it is highly frowned upon by the Seven that you wed your daughter! We have given many exceptions to your ancestors for upholding their queer customs, but this- This arrangement we do not condone!"

Aegon's deep exhale as his eyes darkly snapped towards the elderly maester, was enough to silence the room with his palpable vehemence. He was beyond tired and irritated by the constant nagging of his esteemed Council, of their blatant disapproval of their King's intentions to wed his beloved... His only surviving blood, his daughter.

Throughout the war, Aegon had grown insatiably protective of you: in addition to having a special place in his heart as his eldest born, you remained the last remaining figure in his previous life, despite his mother and himself. As your grandmother silently fell into madness, in the privacy of her chambers, where she preferred to seclude herself, Aegon had no other person he soulfully cherished than you. And as he was to you, the feelings had become reciprocated. Your father loved you dearly: since becoming of age, a young, matured woman, his advances had grown more intimate and lubricious. You owed him your life, and wished nothing more than to devote yourself to him. No man could have done what he did for you...

"It is done, Maester Orwyle... I will wed my daughter in the ancient traditions of our House, if it be the last damned thing I do. I am the fucking King!" Aegon loudly asserted, slamming his pudgy hand against the solid, wooden tabletop, as his words simmered the Council into a fright.

Aegon was known for his temper, although it took a great deal for him to raise his voice: he was a stubborn man at that, also...

"My dearest, what is it? What have they done now that troubles you so, hmm?"

Aegon defeatedly relinquishes in the wooden rocking chair by the stoking fire: it’s orange-red tinged flames being the only source of light emitting in the room.

You walk up behind your father, his face stern and unmoving besides his closed eyes as his hand rubbed at his temples. Your hands find their way to his broad, thick shoulders, giving them a gentle massage as you knead the tension.

“So-So tense, my beloved. Tell me what is wrong, so that I may be of some help. Let me ease your mind, Daddy.”

Aegon’s shrugging shoulders said plentiful, as he opened his eyes once more, head turning slightly to its side so that you were in his peripheral vision.

“There is nothing to be sorted, my love. I am to wed you, and as their rightful King, it is my final word above all else. Those elderly cunts can yap all they want. I will have you.”

With his final word, a yearning flare brews between your thighs, aching for one particular thing. Your father always had a way with words, especially with you.

“Is that so?” You teasingly utter, as you straddle yourself comfortably on his lap. Your arms grip the overarching wooden frame of the chair as you swiftly lift yourself up, before plopping back down, although this time elevated by your father’s overgrown, rotund belly.

Your earliest, core memories of your father had always been admiring him at feasts and family dinners. He never denied himself a hearty meal, and his grand appetite never ceased during the war. Inevitably, as the years went by and his youth disappeared the weight remained and latched on with each mouthful. The intimate moments your attention would linger onto him, as he savoured each bite, the way he'd unashamedly lick the grease and crumbs off his chubby fingers, even off the rings that had fit him a time before... Now that he had sized up immensely, most treasures and clothes that he had worn, he had rapidly outgrown. None of his rings could go beyond the tips of his fingers, and he was in great denial about it, refusing to resize until you had convinced him otherwise. The way he had often rubbed his aching, bloated belly: swollen beneath the restricting fabric, a somewhat elevated and satisfied look strewed across his handsome, fat face as he would pat himself proudly.

"But I want Daddy all to myself. I want Daddy to fight the whole realm for me, if he has to. Can Daddy do that for me?" You utter closely into his hear, your hot breath dense against his earlobe: after hastily hiking your skirt up [wearing nothing below, as you instinctively anticipated this precise moment], you unbuttoned his top garment, only to expose his rotund, plush belly. The handful of rolls engulfing his sides, the grip-able hips that accentuated his width, streaked with raw, red stretch marks all across his love handles and lower belly. His tits were double your size, nipples sensitive under your gentle touch, even a flick of his nipple was enough to make him moan. It made you flustered, the sheer sight in evidence of your father's blatant growth... And he had no shame in admitting it.

"Of course, baby. Anything for my sweet, little princess. Daddy would burn the entire realm if he has to for you... I'll repopulate the world with my princess, if needs be."

With each of his longing words, you pressed yourself down deeper, sinking your bare cunt further against his naked belly, causing him to whimper. His pudgy hands found their way beneath your layered gown, each palm rested atop your cheeks, firmly cupping and squeezing at your flesh.

"My princess knows just what to do, to make her Daddy happy, huh? My only joy in life, is you."

Your grinding rhythmic, the pace begins to quicken with excitement, as your throbbing cunt becomes moist, the wetness stirring and oozing beneath, against the warm friction. As your cum coats his smooth fat, slowly it becomes more tolerable.

"I-I just wanna make m-my Daddy proud- D-Daddy can s-say whatever, a-and I'll do as I'm t-told-"

"Is that so?" His mimicking voice, a deep growl wretched from his throat, as his hands find their strength, shoving you deeper against his swallowing frame. He always admired how tiny you appeared in comparison to him, how fragile it made you look. He rejoiced it was a symbol of how he could protect you, that he was your shelter.

"Daddy wants to fuck Princess senseless, all night long. Fill my Princess up with my hot, hot seed until I'm certain she takes. Daddy wants Princess to swell with his child, and show her off to the realm. That the babe kicking in her belly, is all his undoing, hmm."

"A-Anything for Daddy- Just f-fuck me, Aeg-"

Although it drove Aegon wild to hear you mindlessly moan and whisper Daddy, something in particular, whenever you called him by his name, would often trigger something more insatiable in him. He could devour you in the spot, like some afternoon tea honey cake, whenever you spoke of his true name.

"Undo my pants-" Immediately without sparing a thought more, you obeyed. As Aegon's plump belly expanded over his thick, wide lap, his portly fat pad beneath had somewhat engulfed his cock. It made it difficult for him to even try to locate or masturbate himself. For now, you had both learnt tricks to overcome the obstacle, having your father lean in a certain angle, as you put in the effort to locate his fat, hard cock, plunging it deep between your walls.

As he tried to reposition himself with great difficulty, in the faint space left remaining in the seat with you atop: breathless by the end of all the moving, you managed to pluck out his cock. The sheer sight and tension beneath your gentle stroking grip, its reddened, blush tip oozing with a sheer-white, translucent reside, palpating with excitement.

"Don't keep Daddy waiting, Princess. I need to feel your walls take my cock. Make you so fucking full of me, I'll make you a human waterfall."

The raw feeling of his cock between your inner walls, clenching to adjust to its girthy, solid size: although it could no longer delve as deep as it used to, the friction of his fat pad against your clit, and the pressure of his mass against your lower stomach, made it invigorating nonetheless.

"Th-That's it, Princess. S-So tight for me. All fucking mine, and the w-whole world will know it-"

"Y-Yes, Daddy-"

"If I need to fuck you with the eyes of the Court watching, I will."

As means to muffle your moans and loud pleas for Aegon, bashfully mindful of the servants and Kingsguard stationed beyond the inches of the door outside, your mouth latched onto Aegon's porky tits.

Suckling at his tender flesh, as your tongue licked at his nipple, causing him to wince and growl in eager approval, one hand left your ass cheek, gripping close your bucking hips, and found its way snaking behind your back, before pulling at your loose hair.

Tightly tugging at the free strands, mottling between his pudgy fingers, he once more, gave gentle encouragement, shoving your face down deeper against his tubby chest.

"F-Fuck Y/N. S-So impressed by Daddy, huh, Princess? You keep going at this rate, I'll be making my own damn milk for you and the babes."

Noticing the glistening residue of your cum spilled across his rolls and paunchy stomach, his other hand cleaned the mess up over with his bare hand. Before hungrily licking off your wetness with his tongue, licking his hand clean free.

"Delicious."

With his heavy, dense weight keeping him pinned down against the chair, he made no effort to thrust himself inside as he once jovially could. Alternatively, the chair swayed with his potent motions, as he would subtly buck his ample hips forward into your frame.

"My sweet, beautiful girl is gonna cum already. I can feel you swallow my cock whole, your walls suffocating my cock. Take me, princess, take it all-"

With the finish of his words, signalling his epitome, Aegon shot his hot, fresh seed into you: warmly coating your inner walls, as your own wetness gushed over his eager, hard cock. Catching a minute to regain your breaths and thoughtless mind, you lifted yourself off, and instantly the mess began to pool across your inner thighs.

Almost on cue or from impressive instinct, Aegon began to scoop at your inner thighs, sensitive from his touch, its abrupt presence startled you.

"Did I not teach you about letting things go to waste, baby? Never let this out. This is as precious as Valyrian steel. I ought to keep you plugged up with my cock..."

The tips of his fat fingers tease at the entrance of your folds, softly tracing over your stained, painful walls: impressed with your sudden shiver and moan, his deep chuckle left you feeling reminiscent of your first time. How nervous you felt, inexperienced against your father's wit.

"I-I want this to take. I want to have as many babes as the Gods see fit with you, Aeg... I want to swell healthily with child, and give you the heir you want... As many as you desire-"

As one fo your hands remained nestled against his chest, tracing soft, random lines against the crevices of his rolls: the other travelled its way to his face, pushing aside a random strand of hair, away from his handsome, fuller face.

"I want our sons to be the spitting image of their father, and our daughter's kind like their grandmother... Will Daddy fuck me day and night, to make my wish come true, hmm?"

"Of course..."

credit for dividers - @/valeskafics

[thepaperpanda]

Welcome back home || Lucifer x f!reader

Summary: You find yourself eagerly awaiting Lucifer's arrival back home

Warnings: praise kink, rough sex

Word count: 750

Authors: Bear

A/N: I'm so happy to partake in this exhilarating Kinktober '23 Collaboration. My prompts were: praise kink & rough sex

Masterlist

"Welcome back home," you say, your voice breathless with excitement as you catch sight of Lucifer. He's beaming, swiftly kicking the door shut before pulling you close and claiming your lips in a passionate kiss. Your anticipation for Lucifer's return is palpable, as you detest the solitude that accompanied his business absences. You crave his presence and the excitement it brings, making the moments apart feel like an eternity of isolation.

"You look absolutely stunning, Y/N," he whispers, his lips trailing down the side of your neck. "Exquisite. It fits you perfectly, doesn't it?"

You're adorned in the lingerie he thoughtfully sent you, and nothing else. It's a delicate ensemble of strappy lace that barely qualifies as panties, a matching bra, and a short silk robe. Even when he's away from Devildom, he still loves to spoil you. You pull back just enough to give him a little twirl, and his dark eyes devour every inch of your body with hungry desire.

He licks his lips sensually, wrapping his arms around you once more, his hands eagerly squeezing your enticing curves. Your entire being feels ablaze with desire. "Did you do as I asked?"

"Yes," you reply, your voice a sultry whisper.

"Really? For three whole weeks?" He teases, sliding a leg between yours, allowing you to rock your hips against his thigh. The heat between your bodies intensifies, and you can't help but fear you might leave a telltale wet spot on his impeccably fitted uniform pants. "You didn't make yourself cum?"

"I promise," you swear, trying to contain your excitement.

"That's my obedient girl," he grumbles. "Just give me a few minutes."

Lucifer's shower seems to be over in a flash, yet the minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity for you. The anticipation hang heavy in the air, making your heart race.

As soon as you hear the water cease, a surge of desire compells you to action. Your hand find its way between your thighs, fingers delicately tracing the path along your slick, heated pussy. You gasp. "Lucifer..."

The panties he had sent are far from ordinary; they are crotchless, leaving your pussy exposed and framed by their sensual lace. Every movement seems calculated to draw attention to the treasure concealed within, and you can't help but feel the excitement building inside you. The knowledge that he will soon walk through that door, catching you in this passionate act, send a shiver of excitement coursing through your body. With bated breath, you continue to explore your own desires, slowly succumbing to the intoxicating sensations that radiated from your wet, warm core.

And then, like a perfectly orchestrated moment, he appears, his intense black eyes immediately locking onto the very place where you were pleasuring yourself with a deliberate and sensual rhythm. He didn't bother with a towel, standing there completely naked, his dick rock hard, already leaking precum from the slit on his tip.

It's clear that he had missed you just as intensely as you had yearned for him. The electric chemistry in the room crackles, a magnetic pull drawing you both together.

“That’s my girl,“ he says, in a sinful low rasp. "Good, little girl."

He gently caresses himself, his own touches sending shivers down his spine. Slowly, he ascends the bed, his desire evident in every calculated move. Hooking his strong arms under your knees, he skillfully spreads your legs, granting him an unobstructed view of your eager pussy, clenching aroung nothing. The head of his throbbing cock brushes against your longing entrance, and an involuntary, passionate groan escapes your lips. “Is this what you want?” he asks, eyes dark as he looks down at you.

“Please,” you gasp. “Please, I was so good!”

“I know you were, princess,” he soothes, and fucks into you with one smooth thrust.

In the throes of passion, you can't help but moan, your body arching upward in anticipation. Your desire brings you to the brink, and you tremble with the intensity of it all. "Please," you gasp.

Lucifer engages in an unrelenting, rhythmic motion, his hips swaying back and forth with precision as he fully penetrates you. A series of subdued grunts escape his lips as he revels in the incredible sensation of your wetness enveloping around his throbbing cock.

"Oh, Lucifer!" You moan, yor head rolling back to the mattress.

“You can come, sweetheart,” he says, and you’re clenching around his dick, seeing white sparks of unbearable pleasure even before he says, “You earned it, my good, little pet.”

[eveomo]

bounties and blessings - arthur morgan x f!reader

chapter 2 (SFW)

previous chapter | next chapter

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ synopsis : after meeting a seemingly dangerous yet kind outlaw during a bounty, your world seems to get turned upside down after you can't seem to stop running into each other. could this be the beginning of something you've both been longing for?

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ warnings/tags : MINORS MAY INTERACT WITH SFW CHAPTERS (NSFW WILL BE TAGGED), depictions of violence, arguments, angst, eventual smut, unprotected piv sex, guns, gun violence, swearing, mutual pining, strangers to lovers, soft arthur, animal death, PTSD, mentions/depictions of abuse, attempted SA (very brief and for plot purposes only), NO PREGNANCY, NO BABIES, MC isnt a frail weak girl who constantly needs saving, often grammatically incorrect (probably)

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ contains : arthur morgan x f!reader, no use of y/n, reader changes the plot for the better

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ wc : 2.3k

About a week after your first encounter with the outlaw, you decided to make your way into Valentine, intent on picking up a few provisions from the general store—namely, coffee—while also taking the opportunity to visit the sheriff’s office in search of a new bounty. The weather stood in sharp contrast to your previous visit, with the sky darkening under the weight of the swelling clouds and a menacing raincloud casting a shadow over the landscape. Mud squelched under the hooves of your Arabian, the damp atmosphere wetting the earth below. 

Arriving in Valentine, a palpable sense of tension hovers in the air. You briskly hitch your horse, your eyes flicking around the street as you advance towards the general store. Your hat is lowered to obscure your eyes, and your dominant hand hovers over the holster at your hip, prepared for any confrontations. As you push open the door to the general store, you give a curt nod to the clerk and begin to browse the shelves. You quickly gather coffee, canned peaches, a pack of premium cigarettes, and, of course, apples for Lenora. As the clerk mutters the total, you barely register it, sliding the required amount onto the counter before turning and departing without a goodbye, your heart beating in your throat.

‘Why am I so anxious?’ you think to yourself, promptly deciding to seek refuge in the saloon for a drink or two to steady your nerves. It’s raining now, soaking your coat and sending an icy chill through your bones. You yearn for a drink to warm your insides and chase away the cold. Lost in thought, you suddenly notice a crowd gathering around the saloon. Intrigued, you quicken your steps to discover the cause of the excitement.

“Come on, pretty boy…” 

“Pretty boy? You’re kiddin’ me. Pretty boy?”

Ah. There he is again. Arthur. You weave your way through the crowd, keeping you hat pulled low to ensure your face remains concealed. A sharp intake of breath accompanies the sight of Arthur’s fist colliding with the larger man’s face—a solid, resounding blow. Watching in amusement, you hear multiple men cheering him on, seemingly from all directions. What once appeared to be a lone bounty hunter now seemingly revealed himself as a gang member, and a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

Your dominant hand instinctively drifts toward your holster, fingers hovering as the larger man grabs Arthur by the neck and slams him to the ground. He quickly pins him, pressing his neck down and holding an iron grip on his arm, dwarfing Arthur’s frame beneath his bulk. However, before he could land a single punch on Arthurs face, he breaks free using his free hand to swing a right hook into the bigger man’s jaw, the sickening crunch echoing through the street as the larger man crumples to the ground. You wince involuntarily, your hand brushing your own jaw as if soothing an imaginary pain.

A voice called out to Arthur, yelling “Put his face in the mud!”, and boy did he ever. You watch with a raised brow as he pins the man, his left hand tightening around the man’s throat as he rains down punches. For a moment, you consider stopping him, but the thrill of the flying blood and teeth is paramount. The man cries out in pain, a pool of blood collecting around his head as it pours from his many lacerations. Thankfully for him, a man runs up and grabs Arthurs arm, preventing him from throwing another punch.

"Stop! Stop! Please!" the man pleaded desperately, his voice cracking as he searched Arthur's eyes for a shred of mercy.

"Come now, sir, you've won the fight—surely that's enough?" His hands were raised defensively, as if to protect himself if Arthur decided he was next.

"What business is it of yours?" Arthur snarled, releasing the man, watching as he fell to the ground. With a dismissive shove, Arthur limped past him, making his way toward a storefront. The crowd, sensing the confrontation was over, quickly dispersed. You casually sauntered over to where Arthur had paused, leaning beside a nearby barrel as you struck a match to light your cigarette.

Sucking your teeth, you thought about how fortunate you were that your previous encounter with the outlaw had ended smoothly. Before Arthur could notice you, a man in a suit and top hat called out, his cheerful voice grating on your ears.

"Making new friends again, I see, Arthur." The man’s overly chipper tone made your ears ache. Arthur froze as the top-hatted man approached, accompanied by someone far better dressed. The newcomer's attire caught your eye, and after a moment's observation, you decided you didn't trust him. His thick, well-groomed mustache and surprisingly clean suit stood in stark contrast to the rougher looking men around him—definitely a gang member, but one who knew how to keep up appearances. 'Never judge a book by its cover,' you thought to yourself, taking another long drag of your cigarette.

"Look who we found sniffing about," the mustached man chuckled, gesturing toward the other man. He dipped into a bow as Arthur spoke his name, his southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine.

"Josiah Trelawny," Arthur said with a hint of amusement. "Well, well... I thought you'd gone to New York." Arthur finally straightened up, his hunched stance making your back ache just looking at it.

"And miss all this glamour?" Trelawny replied, eliciting a quiet chuckle from you. You flicked the butt of your cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with the toe of your boot as you struck another match to light a fresh one. Taking a long drag, you watched as Arthur approached the two men. The man you didn’t trust exuded charisma, making it clear he was likely the leader of their gang (if they're even in one). Arthur was undoubtedly some sort of right-hand man, and Trelawny, with his sly demeanor, must be their informant.

You turned your gaze away as they spoke in hushed tones, wrinkling your nose at the pungent smell of sheep shit that permeated the air, made worse by the rain. Your interest piqued as you caught sight of three more men approaching out of the corner of your eye. Trelawny was the first to speak.

"Ah, Javier and Charles. I've missed you... and Bill, looking well as can be." It quickly became clear to you that this was indeed a gang. You began to reconsider your impulsive decision to try and approach Arthur when the conversation was over, wondering if the risk was worth it. But against your better judgment, you stayed, lighting your third cigarette and watching as Arthur soothed his sore jaw, the men continuing their conversation.

The discussion soon ended, and the leader of the group told Arthur to go wash up. 'Perfect,' you thought as he made his way toward the barrel you were leaning beside. He didn’t even acknowledge you as he leaned over it, splashing his face with water to rinse away the dried blood and mud caked on his rugged features.

"Thought you were gonna lose for a second there, Arthur," you said, pushing off the wall with your foot and stubbing out your cigarette. The moment his name left your lips, he looked up, water dripping down his face.

"Gotta say, I prefer this look to the bandana or muddy face," you continued, hooking your thumbs into your belt as the slow recognition of who you were dawned on him.

"You again," he muttered, a dumbfounded expression crossing his face. You winked at him and gestured toward the saloon.

"Drinks? Or is it too soon for you to head back in there?" A small smirk appeared on his face before he nodded in agreement.

-

You and Arthur approached the bar, and you tossed two quarters onto the counter, requesting whiskey. The bartender quickly poured two glasses, condensation beading on the sides.

"Didn't think I'd see you again," Arthur said, studying you over the rim of his glass. He seemed intent on memorizing every detail of your face, for reasons even he didn’t fully understand—your eyes, your lips, the small moles on your skin.

"Hoped I wouldn’t," you joked, taking a sip of your whiskey. You raised an eyebrow as he continued to study you, causing him to quickly avert his gaze. "Were you hopin' you would?"

"Nah," he replied flatly, downing his glass and flicking another coin onto the counter. He scratched his stubble as he watched the bartender refill his glass with amber liquid.

"What brings you to Valentine?" you asked, pushing another coin toward the bartender as he refilled your glass as well. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and turned to look at you.

"Could ask you the same. I’m just workin'," he said, pushing more coins toward the bartender. "Shots."

"Didn’t know bein' in a gang counted as employment," you mumbled under your breath, lifting your glass to your lips. Arthur raised an eyebrow, taking his shot and sliding the second small glass toward you.

"Now who said anythin' about gangs?" he questioned, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve before taking his second shot. You took yours and chased it with more whiskey, the alcohol creating a much-needed warmth inside your body.

"I’m not dumb. An outlaw shows up in town, chats with his posse after beatin' a man into the ground—pretty obvious. Lucky for you, most people 'round here lack the intelligence to connect those dots." Arthur glanced around the room, taking a sip of his drink before responding.

"Fair enough. You never did say why you’re here, though," he remarked, a smile creeping onto your face. For a moment, you considered fabricating some grand tale about who you were and what you did. But instead, you opted for the truth.

"Bounties."

"All by yourself?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

You paused, inhaling as if to answer, but then you pursed your lips and took a shot instead. Not even liquid courage could make you tell him the truth. He may be an outlaw, but your story was a heavy one—too heavy, something that had driven away person after person, leaving you alone time and again. So you lied.

"Prefer it that way." Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you ordered another round of shots as the world began to feel fuzzy. Arthur raised an eyebrow but pushed a coin onto the counter before your inebriated self could get the chance. You didn’t protest, instead downing your two shots back-to-back, watching as he did the same.

"Why are you in a gang?" you asked, turning the uncomfortable questioning back on him. He leaned back slightly, glancing at you before turning his gaze to the bar counter.

"Mama died and Daddy got hung. Didn’t have no other choice, really," he replied coolly, placing his hat back on his head—a clear signal that he was ready to leave.

"How long will y’all be around?" you inquired, but Arthur just shrugged, standing up and heading for the swinging saloon doors.

"See you around then, Arthur," you called after him.

He nodded once before stepping outside, the doors swinging back and forth as if beckoning you to follow. Instead, you slid more coins across the counter, requesting a room for the night. The bartender pointed you in the right direction, and you stumbled your way upstairs, collapsing onto the hard mattress that felt like a cloud in your intoxicated state.

Lying there, you couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur—his piercing blue eyes, the scar on his chin, the strength in his hands, the way he scratched his stubbled cheeks when deep in thought. Damn. How had you found yourself sweet on a man you’d only met twice?

-

Arthur Morgan found himself the target of lighthearted jabs around the campfire that evening. The teasing started innocently enough—John, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, asked Arthur if he'd had a "romantic rendezvous" in town. Soon after, the others chimed in, with Javier playfully raising an eyebrow and claiming that Arthur must have found himself a "lady friend." Even Dutch, usually more reserved, joined in with a chuckle, suggesting Arthur might be going soft. Arthur, grumbling under his breath, shot them all a look that could cut through steel, but the good-natured prodding continued. Despite his attempts to brush it off, the image of you lingered in his mind, you sharp wit and piercing gaze far from forgettable. The more the gang teased, the more he found himself both irritated and amused, though he’d never admit to the latter.

"So, did you get lucky, amigo?" Javier asked, draping an arm over Arthur’s shoulder, the strong scent of alcohol on his breath mingling with the night air. Arthur chuckled, scooping another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

"Nah. Just talked," Arthur replied, trying to push thoughts of you from his mind. "How’d y’all even know?" He could already picture it—Javier, Charles, and Bill huddled near the gate, watching him converse with you.

"Bill spotted you on his way back to camp," Charles chimed in. "But hey, if you won’t take the plunge, we might," he added with a wink and a hearty laugh.

Arthur rolled his eyes, rising from his seat and heading towards his tent, ignoring the chorus of cheers and crude noises the trio made as he settled onto his bedroll. Once inside, he retrieved his journal from his satchel and began sketching you. He started with your hair, the way it fell over your shoulders, then moved to your hat, the brim that shielded him from your gaze, and finally, your lips.

When he finished, he tucked the journal away and snuffed out the cigarette he had been nursing during his sketch. Resting his head on his hands, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep, already anticipating your next fateful encounter.

finally out after 3 months sooooorry.... u can probably expect same timeframe for future chapters bc my life is hell right now ^_^

i added some dialogue from the actual game which was fun will def continue doing this.... YIPPEE i also tried a more descriptive writing style but lmk if its too wordy.....

hope u liked it!! pls like + reblog <3 ok baiii!!

[youling-the-ghost]

fresh start - a hareth ficlet

Between his life being flipped upside down and having to work a completely foreign job, Hank was struggling. (this is mostly for @i-may-be-an-emu since you're like the #1 hareth shipper here lol) word count: 893

"Will ya quit looking so down, mate? People are gonna think that we abuse you or something."

"Sorry, Gareth."

Hank huffed out a sigh and leaned across the counter, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and mustering a sorry excuse for a smile.

He wondered about things. How were Thaddeus and little Betsy Sue doing? Do they miss him? Or were they living their best lives, playing Sunday board games with their new pops? How was it possible that his piece-of-shit cheating ex-wife won the custody case?

Hank had no answers.

"Oi, stop standing around and get back to work!" Gareth's words pulled Hank back to reality.

"Sorry, Gareth."

"Jesus fuck," Gareth breathed exasperatedly. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"Look, I'm sorry, Gareth, but it's been rough for me, y'know? From a businessman in Texas to—"

"Lovely story, but tell it after your shift, will ya? For fuck's sake."

"Sorry, won't happen again."

"Yeah, it better fucking not."

It was almost impressive, Hank thought idly as Gareth went to inspect a different section of the bar, how many swear words his boss managed to fit in one exchange.

A young couple walked in, arms hooked around each other and bodies practically melting into one. Something twisted in Hank's chest.

"Howdy, what can I get ya?"

The girl scoffed. "'Howdy'? What are you, a wannabe cowboy?"

"Uh, no. Not a cowboy, ma'am. Just a Texan."

"A Texan!" It was the boy this time. "Tell me, what's an American doing in London?"

Hank coughed not-so-discreetly. How much was he allowed to share?

"I just needed a change of pace, y'know?" was what he eventually settled for, and the couple seemed content with the reply.

There was something palpable between the young couple, like a taut rope stretched across a cliff, ready to snap at any moment. Neither person ordered anything, though both had a visible yearning for alcohol on their faces. Although the girl was sitting on the boy's lap and their limbs were so intertwined that it was hard to tell whose was whose, there was a gaping chasm between their souls. Hank could tell from the way their hands hovered over the counter and on each other's arms, but never intertwined with each other.

The eyes might be the windows to the soul, but the hands were the doors, Hank would so often say when his friends used to as him for relationship advice.

No one asked him for relationship advice anymore.

Hank let out a deep breath. It didn't matter, anyway. Those friends had long since stopped talking to him.

"Okay, that's it." Gareth's words cut through Hank's racing thoughts. "Finley, could ya cover this section for a bit? Hank, you come with me."

Oh fuck, was Hank's immediate thought. Second day on the job and he was already being reprimanded for misdemeanour. He gave Finley, his surly co-worker who definitely did not look happy to have to cover two sections, and followed Gareth to the back of the building.

"Okay, listen—" Gareth groaned. There was something unsure in his voice, something shaky and uncertain. It was nothing like the Gareth who yelled at him for staring off into space or sharing too many disturbing details about his personal life.

After a heavy pause, Gareth spoke up again: "Are you sure you're up for this job?"

Hank blinked. "Um, what?"

Gareth sighed and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "You've been spaced the hell out all day. If something's going on then I'm fine with giving you a break or some—"

"Wait." Hank could hardly belive his ears. "I'm...not gettin' fired?"

"'Course not." Gareth furrowed his brows. "What kinda boss would I be if I abandoned a struggling employee like that?"

"Oh." This was...different than what he expected. "But you're givin' me a break on my first day?"

"Look, I'd much rather have an employee take a day off than an employee half-assing all of his drinks and spacing out all the damn time."

"Ah. Right."

It was damn near impossible to snap himself out of the corporate mindset, Hank realised, but he was starting to get the hang of it. If his boss was okay with him taking a day off on his second day at the job, maybe he would also be okay with other stuff as well?

"Listen, Gareth, I don't need a day off—"

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. But, uhm," Hank awkwardly massaged the back of his neck, "could we grab a drink after my shift? I-It doesn't have to be at a bar or anythin', we can like—go bowling or somethin' too. I just—I need someone to talk to right now."

"Ah." Something about Gareth's posture shifted. He became softer, gentler, more welcoming, as if he was putting his guard down for the first time.

Then, Gareth chuckled, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. "Of course. I told you, didn't I? You can tell me your story after your shift."

"Oh. I thought you were just jokin' when you said that."

"Please, I'm always dead serious." The slightest hint of a smile on Gareth's lips vanished. "All right, now quit yapping and get back to work."

Hank couldn't help but laugh. "You got it, Gareth."

Maybe this change could be for the better, after all.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

I know it's been done quite a bit but

Soft!dom Aemond please? Modern or canon era your choice ❤️ maybe some degradation???

is there really any limit to soft!dom Aemond tho? I hope you enjoy this nonnie xx apologies me writing smut is so shit, I wish you guys could just see what I see (that sounds weird but you get me) !!!

Serve Me.

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x Servant!fem!Reader

WORDS: 3,477.

WARNINGS: soft!dom Aemond, degredation kink, p in v sexual intercourse, swearing, fingering, hint of power kink/dynamics.

A/N - I left this in the HOTD universe, but please feel free to request for a modern AU version / HC :) BIG BIG THANK YOU to my soulmate @sahvlren for helping me to jump start this, I was experiencing terrible writer's block and my main girl pulled through. I love you baby <3 sorry if there are mistakes, I'll edit tomorrow LMAO but enjoy this heinous writing for now x

Aemond Targaryen, the notorious one-eyed Prince, was an enigma to many... Including yourself. You had only ever known him as your Lord or Grace, and you as his mere servant. Aemond scarcely spoke to you unless to give orders. Although from much close observation, you'd figured, he hardly spoke to anyone at all, unless to command or vex. His endearing silence, and impenetrable demeanour itself was quite intimidating, let alone the nobility and authority the young Prince possessed, did not help to ease your fears of the man.

Aemond often would use this to his advantage to seek out what he sought for, so you've heard.

You knew from your upbringing and low social standing, not to dare provoke such a man. Being trained the etiquette to serve and obey was all you'd known, and that would remain unchanged. Much to your oblivious nature, however, Aemond had been carefully watching you. He hadn't spotted you initially, amongst the servants that greeted him in the morrow, for it was difficult to decipher who from who, as you all moved about in haste and in identical, ragged uniforms. Yet the moment, you caught his eye, a yearning began to ignite in the pit of his stomach. With each passing day, of your close presence, this feeling began to stir into something more palpable. Whether it was the blatant vulnerability or the innocence in your eyes, [he had yet to determine] something about you had intrigued him to no end.

Not to mention, you were some sight for sore eyes...

In comparison, to most of his servants that he had been raised with, some far older than he and others not suited to his acquired tastes, you, you had captivated him. He had no idea where his mother had found you, and yet he never fathomed to question her decision. Aemond did also often prefer, if given the chance, to gather some background on servants, that had been newly entrusted to serve beneath him. He knew their day-to-day service would mean he'd be exposing himself to vulnerable situations, whether it be to help run a bath, attend to his wound care from training, or even so, if the Prince had fallen into illness [although rarely]... He refused to oblige in trusting others so lightly.

And yet, he made the exception with you. He wanted to directly hear your story from your own words, as he could envision your luscious mouth moving, forming the words as you spoke gently. In actuality, he'd only would’ve granted you the chance to speak so freely, for he knew you were just a helpless maid: he knew could easily overpower you, even if you foolishly attempted something... Aemond felt he could read you like a book, the evidence was blatantly obvious in your frightful, uneasy eyes. The way he gave you orders, he'd paid close attention to how often your eyes would dart and flutter to his voice, your body shuddering when nearby, unable to maintain even a minute of contact. It drove him wild, that he had such a profound affect on a woman. He could understand that perhaps it was an authorative play, and yet, he enjoyed it immensely. His curious mind often pondered over devious thoughts, endless possibilities of what other things he could compel you to do...

Attending to such time consuming, domestic duties, you'd often be accompanied with a few other maids or servants, although after some time, they began to disappear one by one, until only you were the only other being presenting yourself to Aemond in his chambers. It was only after you had questioned your fellow colleagues about there whereabouts after, that they'd openly disclosed, "the Prince has solely requested for you".

Gradually, you began to notice subtle changes in his routine. He would now often, or what you felt, was an attempt to delay your dismissal from his duties as much as possible. Spoling himself longer in your presence, if he had called you in initially for one thing, you'd end up having a thousand other tasks set to do, as he lurked on. During these moments, Aemond remained persistent in not talking, just observing you with a watchful eye, from a reasonable distance, as though not to pounce on his prey just yet...

Unlike his elder brother, Aemond refused to lower himself to such vile behaviours. There was no denying, if he wanted to, he could've easily forced himself onto you. Yet, was adamant to control his urges. Intending to take his sweet time with you, although that primal, almost animalistic part, was weaning less and less in patience. Whether he sat by the fire, immersed in some ancient text, or as he roamed by the windows and balcony of his quarters, he was always there, never ceaselessly leaving you alone. You could always sense his firm gaze subtly lingering over your body.

Now, he got bold...

As you tended to the adjusting the white, soft sheets on his king sized bed, as you did each morning, you’d heard the faint eerie creaking and sudden thud of the door shutting. Your attention snapped towards to see Aemond stood by the door, returning from his familial breakfast feast, watching you unfalteringly, before you refocused your attention to the task at hand.

He had never shut the door before... Always leaving it even just the slightest bit agape, it made it less daunting.

Trying desperately to avoid lurking towards his unnerving direction, you were oblivious to his faint footsteps creeping up behind, as the sheets rustled in your shaky grasp. You felt an instant, light graze against the tight, thick fabric of your waist, an arm snaking its way around, prompting you to straighten your posture up. Feeling his lean body against your frozen state, his firm grip felt incredibly tight around you, although bearable enough to breathe.

"Hmm, tell me who you are...Strange girl."

You remained silent, paralysed in both movement and speech, you felt your courage melt away, if there was even an ounce of it.

His hand that remained free, gently rubbing down the side of your clothed thigh, found its way, firmly clenched around your jaw. Guiding your face slowly towards his menacing gaze, his height over-towering you. Your teary eyes gradually wandered up to find the Prince looking hungrily down at you. You could feel him devouring you, just with his eye.

Qilōni issi ao? [Who are you?] He lowly growled, feeling the warmth of his breath against your tender, flushed cheek.

Pathetically whimpering out your name in a quiet stutter, caused the one-eyed Prince to grin. A wicked grin.

"Gevie hāedar [Beautiful girl]..."

You had no comprehension whatsoever of the meaning to his words, although you were wise enough to know the words he spat belonged to his Mother Tongue, remnants of Old Valyria.

Oddly enough, it sounded poetic to your foreign ear, how eloquently Aemond was able to pronounce the words, the way the words rolled off his tongue.

"You are going to listen to every word I say. If you disobey me, rest assured Y/N, you will be punished."

Again, you struggled to formulate the words nor found the pluck to speak. Simply nodding to his words, as he nudged your body to turn, now completely facing him.

Pathetic, the dreadful thought echoed in your mind... Aemond probably thought the same.

"Take off your rags, you filthy girl," His words spat like venom, and yet the devilish smirk on his face said other wise, as the young Prince found himself comfortably seated on his wooden chair by the fireplace.

Reluctantly your body obeyed, loosening the straps and ties of the run down dress you called uniform. Lost in your thoughts of what was to come next, you hadn't realised that you'd picked up speed, until Aemond uttered "slowly."

You paused for a mere few seconds, registering his words before realising that as the seconds zoned by, you'd given Aemond the faintest idea that you may have been refusing him.

As you hastily resumed, although this time taking extra caution in slowly removing each layer of fabric, you realised you that you did not consider to fight back.

You had heard of rumours, of many servants attempting to fight back against their higher class lieges, only to have either been dismissed, silenced or even some disappearing for good, especially those bestowed upon Aegon as servants. You heard no such accounts of this kind, relating to the Prince that you had served, and yet you so easily succumbed to this. Perhaps you were not as brave, as you had naively convinced yourself to be...

As you finished taking the last of your garments off, nervously standing bare naked in front of Aemond, your eyes reluctantly fell on him. You observed him watching you, relishing himself in the passing time, as he examined each crevice, detail and flaw etched to your body.

Say something, you desperately thought. What is it you wanted the Prince to say, you had not the faintest idea...

"Gevie [Beautiful]."

The foreign tongue yet again, cursed your ears, you remained clueless and at a loss to its meaning. Did he enjoy his view? Was he satisfied with how you were? Did he relish in stripping you bare of not only your rags, though of your dignity?

His stoic expression did nothing to relieve the tension, you could feel your breathing growing heavier, as your bare chest heaved deeply with each long breath.

Instinctively, your arms began to cross, folding over your front, you felt it did minimal help to maintain some last delusional thought of integrity that you'd had. Aemond immediately pounced off his seat, gracefully striding towards you in a few, short steps. There he stood, in all his clothed glory, as his rough, large hands reached over gripping your wrists as he guided your arms back down to your sides.

One hand released its grip over your wrist, reaching up as his palm lightly cupped your breast, his thumb gently stroking, flicking your sensitive nipple.

He was amused at how you winced under his touch, a blatant smirk on his face.

"Hmm-"

Slowly glancing up at Aemond, you could've sworn you saw the young Prince licking his lips lustfully, convinced that there was a slight possibility may-haps, he was satisfied with the sight before him.

"Lay on the bed."

"Yes, your Grace," You softly whipped back, in a timely manner and without much consciousness to your words.

As you were about to turn to kneel yourself into the bed, his grip on your wrist tightened once more, this time tugging you aggressively, as you felt your body pull to face him, in a swift reaction.

"No, 'your Grace'-" He mimicked, in his same, deep tone.

"Just...Āeksio [Master]."

Repeating his words mentally, you were smarter than to dare question Aemond again, not inclined to vex him in the slightest.

Y-Yes... Āeksio" You anxiously stutter. That familiar, devilish grin reappearing on his chiseled face, almost amused by your poor attempt of a pronunciation of his Mother Tongue. He should be insulted, not amused, you figured. Yet you obediently stammered onto the soft bed, sprawling yourself on the newly clean linen, your back towards the mattress, as your hands kept you propped up.

"Spread your legs."

Your breath got caught in your throat at his words, refusing to maintain eye contact, as Aemond unbuckled his coat and leggings. Your legs quivered with reluctance, and he had noticed your delay immediately.

"I said spread-"

Leaning himself forward on the thick mattress, his clenched fists keeping him balanced, his threatening gaze remained fixated on your, showing no signs of mercy or remorse for what he was capable of. He'd exhaled a deep sigh, almost signalling a refusal to jest with commands longer, your legs began to slowly part in distance, exposing your bare cunt to the Prince.

"Do not dare to test my patience ever again, disobedient girl."

You responded, whimpering with a nod, sensing hot tears pooling in corner of your eyes, desperately trying to hold them back. One escaped, streaming down your blushed cheek, as Aemond removed his shirt and leggings completely. Now the Prince, just as bare as you, except for the remaining leather eye patch, his body was as you had imagined it, even more perfect in reality.

Chiseled and lean, his muscles prominent from the long days of training had paid off. The appealing sight before you, acted as a distraction to the situation at hand.

"Hmm-" Aemond lowly growled, as he steadily kneeled over the bed now on all fours, his attention spanning from your face to your cunt.

"I own this cunt, just like I own you..Ñuhon [Mine]."

Without a minute to spare, he crawled himself closer, his head hovering above your lower abdomen, as one arm wrapped beneath your tender thigh, tensing under his grip, he pulled your thigh further apart. His other free hand slowly reached towards your entrance, the cold tips of his long fingers, gently tracing over your moist folds. A tingle coursed through between your thigh, his thumb swiping over the skin.

"So you are wet for me? And I haven't even started... My pathetic, innocent girl."

"M-Master- Àeksio-" You squeaked urgently, remembering his command.

"Please, I-I am just here to serve you, b-bid me leave and I shall not tell a living soul."

Immediately, Aemond shot his eyes up at you, and he was far from impressed. Fury streaked across his face, he looked even more forbidding than initially, if it was even possible, his eye slightly squinting as though in shock that you'd even attempt to bargain for freedom.

He exchanged no words, only hastily shoving two, long fingers into your cunt, without even a merciful warning. You could feel his fingers, slowly swirling between your folds, circulating in sensual slow movements, before he began to found some pace, thrusting them in and out.

"A-Aemond-"

"Insolent girl, you were doing so well taking orders. And now that you've given in to me, you've lost all your senses.”

His fingers began to pace faster, although now he added an extra digit, widening your entrance even more, as your wetness began to pool, lubricating your cunt and inner thighs.

As you pleaded for Aemond to stop, refocusing your attention from the stony ceiling, to his handsome face, that wicked smile was once again, struck beaming up at you. This time he even let out a sinister chuckle, amused at how effortlessly your body caved under his touch.

Instantly pulling all three fingers out, his hand had been coated in a viscous clear-white film, eyeing his glazed fingers hungrily, Aemond looked to you menacingly, before lapping your sweetness with his tongue.

"Hmm-" He moaned, closing his eye for a split second as he took the time to savour the taste.

"Just as I thought... Delectable."

Wiping away the last remnants of your taste from his lips, Aemond relished in the moment. His eye fixated on you, he began to crawl himself up closer, your faces now only inches apart, as his fingers reached for your cheek, grazing your soft skin before combing back the mottled strands of your hair.

"Beautiful."

His word nor did his tone feel venomous, you earnestly stared at Aemond, as your eyes scanned over his features in greater depth. You'd never been this close to the Prince, and you'd been working with him for months now. His healed scar now peaked your intrigue, instinctively, your hand reached over cautiously, as though not to startle him, although more as a precaution for you.

Your fingers gently traced over the prominent, scarred line down beneath the patch, careful not to provoke any potential pain, as Aemond had initially winced beneath your touch, only to gradually lean into you.

"Are you frightened by it?" Aemond uttered, almost in a sorrowful tone.

"No, Āeksio."

"Are you disgusted by it?" He once more woefully questioned, his eye yearningly lingered over your lips, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

"No," You softly whispered, still reluctant out of fright to speak.

"Where have you been, you."

Hastily he removed his eye patch, flinging the material to the floor, revealing a mesmerising blue, sapphire gem stone carved perfectly, in place of his lost eye. You were not startled at all, although enthralled. And he had acknowledged your response pleasantly. Without a second to spare, Aemond found himself plummeting his lips down against yours, in a passionate kiss. His heavier mass weighing down ontop of you, caused you to lay back completely on the bed for support. His tongue slipping into your mouth, exploring and swirling inside, as his semi-hard cock weighed atop of your lower abdomen just above your cunt.

His breathing became slower and heavier, unable to take breaths in between, similarly your chest began to heave against his, your breasts caressing, pushing in towards his lean chest, as your back gracefully arched.

Your legs instinctively began to pull apart once more, as he adjusted himself below, feeling his throbbing cock, pulsating against your sensitive spot. His lips finally left yours, as he left a wet trail against your soft skin, trialling down the crook of your neck, to your breasts. His hands gripped to your wrists, as he pulled your arms overhead, pinning you down,one hand freed itself, reaching down below as he gripped at his hard cock, causing him to moan, he positioned himself at your entrance, adjusting himself to plunge in, before taking one final glance at you.

That was his warning.

His cock felt long and girthy, as he shoved himself in, your walls stretching to fit his pleasurable mass and length. It hurt, for this was the first time you had laid with a man, unimaginably, it also happened to be the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. And yet, it felt so wildly right. An electrifying jolt coursed through your body, although it was tolerable and became enjoyable the more time you spent immersed to this new sensation.

"A-Aemond-" You breathlessly moan, a satisfied look appearing on Aemond's face, as he watched you intently from above, your reaction to his movements: causing you to arch once more, bucking your hips upwards as your face turned up towards the ceiling in retaliation.

"So needy for me, needy for your Prince. You'd be nothing without me, no one."

"Y-Yes-" You agreed bashfully, although at this point you'd agree to anything Aemond proclaimed, so long as he kept this steady and slow pace up.

"Such a needy whore, Y/N. My needy whore, who takes such good care of her Prince."

"Y-Yes, I forever w-will."

His thrusts became faster and he kept steady at it, his endurance was unfaltering [you'd come to be most thankful to all the years of training he endured]. His groans and growls became louder and more frequent, as your walls clenched tighter, feeling more of your warm cum coating his cock inside, oozing from your entrance coating your thighs and his balls.

"Forever mine. You belong to no one else-" He grunted, struggling speak in coherent sentences as he tried to manage his breath.

"Understood?"

No response. This only infuriated him once more, causing his grip on your wrist and one on your waist, keeping you planted, to tighten, as he squeezed firmly for your attention.

"Yes, Āeksio! Yes!" You delightfully cried out, reaching your climax.

A few long minutes went by, and Aemond felt himself releasing his cum inside of you, a breath of relief escaping his mouth, grunting in pleasure, as his grip still remained firm on you.

"Fuck, now you are definitely mine."

You knew the potential consequences, although in the moment you could not fathom nor consider what may occur. You were concentrating on your breathing, just as Aemond was, relinquishing you from his claim, pulling his cock out carefully, he hastily stood himself up out of bed, reaching for some sheet, to clean himself.

"If the Gods be good, you'll carry my child. Bastard or not, you are mine, regardless."

Your breathing now steady, you felt your sweaty body cooling in the air, as the rush had settled, nodding to Aemond's words, although it still felt more like commands.

"Wh-Whhat will the others think of me? What excuse shall I say? Your Mother, the Queen, what will she say if-" You worryingly stutter, as your consciousness begins to return, seating yourself up, as you shakily wrap the dampened sheet around your naked body, still petrified of Aemond's judgement.

"These matters must not concern you anymore, Y/N. I will see to take care of it myself. Your only duty remains the same, to serve me faithfully."

You simply nod against Aemond's words, as he wipes himself with a wet cloth at the basin set by his table. His leggings now on, he remained but shirtless, walking back over towards you, as he comfortably seated himself down beside you. He brings forth a wet cloth to your forehead, wiping away the sweat beads. Lustfully, he gazes over you, a genuine, heartfelt smile on his face, before he succumbed to planting a small, soft kiss on your clean forehead, before refocusing his attention on you.

"Understand this, you belong to no one, Y/N. You will continue to serve me, as I see fit. In return, I will take care of you... Alas, as I see fit."

[cherubiyeon]

petrichor | newjeans hanni pham x gender neutral reader

caught in a downpour of emotions, can y/n and hanni weather the storm and find the sunshine within their hearts, or will the rain drown out the love they once knew?

✩ warnings. non-idol!au, established relationship, slight angst?, arguments, like one swear word?

✩ word count. ~2.8k words

the compact car's interior was charged with an unmistakable tension— so thick it seemed to suffocate the space. y/n's fingers danced lightly on the steering wheel, each tap betraying the unspoken frustration between them. the engine's gentle hum only served to underscore the emptiness that engulfed them. it was an orchestra of discontent, performed by a couple on the precipice of an argument.

beyond the car's windows, the passing landscape blurred into an abstract painting. the steady movement of the car contrasted sharply with the tempest brewing inside its confines. an argument had erupted earlier that morning, sparked by a mix of miscommunication and stubbornness. canceling the meticulously planned camping trip was on the verge of becoming a regrettable reality.

hanni's sullen form slouched in the back seat, her gaze fixed on the world outside, but her mind seemed adrift in her own thoughts. her posture betrayed a silent protest, an armor of resentment guarding her emotions. y/n, as the driver, glanced at hanni in the rearview mirror, exhaling a heavy sigh that spoke of exasperation tinged with longing.

"can we just talk?"

in the stillness of the car, y/n's voice broke through the heavy silence like a gentle ripple on a tranquil lake. their words carried a mix of apprehension and a genuine desire to mend the growing rift between them. hanni's response was a wall of silence, a fortress of refusal to engage in conversation. it was a defense mechanism, a way to shield herself from the raw vulnerability that awaited if she allowed the words to flow freely.

y/n's knuckles tightened, the supple leather of the steering wheel yielding slightly to the pressure. it was as if they were trying to hold onto something tangible, to ground themselves amidst the emotional turbulence. their breaths came in shallow, unsteady rhythms, each exhale carrying the weight of unspoken feelings.

in the distance, a meandering stream sparkled like liquid diamonds, caught in the embrace of the waning sunlight. its gentle ripples whispered tales of resilience, a timeless dance that mirrored the ebb and flow of life's currents. outside, tranquility reigned as if nature herself had painted a masterpiece, a serene symphony of colors and textures.

yet, within the car's intimate confines, a different melody played—a storm of emotions gathering momentum, like clouds heavy with unspoken words. the world beyond the windows remained blissfully unaware of the conflict brewing within, its beauty a stark contrast to the emotional struggle that had taken root, silently threading its way through the hearts of the two souls on this uncertain journey.

y/n glanced briefly at hanni, her profile etched with tension and guarded emotions. they saw a glimpse of the vulnerability that lay beneath her defenses, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. it was a tender vulnerability that mirrored their own, a shared yearning for connection amidst the barriers that had risen between them.

"i don't want to fight," y/n spoke again, their voice softer this time, like a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves outside. "i just— i just want to talk,"

hanni's grip on her emotions tightened, her silence stubborn and unwavering. it was as if she feared that any words she spoke would shatter the fragile peace that barely held their hearts together. the tension inside the car was palpable, a delicate balance of emotions that hung like a delicate thread, one that could snap at any moment.

y/n's heart weighed heavy with the unspoken words that lingered on their tongue. as they parked the car in the secluded camping ground, a deep sigh escaped their lips, dissipating into the crisp air like a wisp of smoke. the tension from the car's interior seemed to linger, a subtle reminder of the emotions left unresolved.

hanni wasted no time, stepping out of the car and striding ahead, the distance between them widening with each step. y/n hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady themselves, before following quietly in hanni's footsteps. y/n watched her silhouette recede, feeling a mixture of reluctance and determination welling within. with a deep breath, they swung the car door open, the soft creak breaking the lingering silence.

the campground stretched out before them like a vibrant tapestry woven by nature herself. the air carried a hint of earthiness, mingled with the faint aroma of pine. a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves of trees, creating a soothing melody that harmonized with the distant chirping of birds. the ground beneath their feet was soft, a carpet of grass and wildflowers that seemed to welcome their arrival.

hanni's figure was a solitary silhouette against the scenic backdrop, a lone figure standing at the edge of a tranquil lake. its glassy surface reflected the azure sky above, the gentle ripples casting dancing shadows that seemed to playfully waltz upon the water. a wooden dock extended into the lake, its weathered planks echoing the stories of countless moments spent in quiet contemplation.

y/n followed hanni's path, walking a few steps behind, their footsteps light as they ventured into the heart of the campsite. the landscape unfolded like a painting brought to life. wildflowers painted the ground in a vibrant palette of colors, their petals swaying in the breeze like a chorus of delicate dancers. tall trees stood as silent sentinels, their branches reaching out like welcoming arms.

as y/n stood at a distance, their gaze fixed on hanni, a bittersweet smile graced their lips. the soft sunlight cast a warm glow on hanni's figure, illuminating the gentle curve of her shoulders as she rummaged through her bag for her fishing rod. the air seemed to hold its breath, mirroring the delicate balance of emotions between them.

"i'll set up the tent," y/n offered, their voice gentle but carrying a hint of vulnerability. hanni's response was a nonchalant hum, her focus solely on searching for her fishing rod in her bag. the cold shoulder she gave y/n was like an icy gust in the warm summer air, stinging with a subtle rejection.

undeterred, y/n made their way to the campsite, the soft grass cushioning each step. the tent lay folded neatly, an unassuming canvas that would soon become their shelter under the night sky.

as y/n struggled with the tent's assembly, frustration surged through them like a rising tide. their hands trembled with the weight of inadequacy as they cursed under their breath, unable to suppress the growing anger at their perceived incompetence. "fuck," they muttered, the word escaping their lips like a sharp exhale of defeat.

the metal poles seemed to taunt y/n, mocking their attempts to align them correctly. each failed attempt chipped away at their confidence, and a voice in their head berated them for their perceived stupidity. "why can't i do this?" they thought, the self-doubt swirling like a relentless storm within their mind.

but despite their best efforts, y/n's attempts at assembling the tent faltered. the metal poles seemed to have a mind of their own, refusing to align and cooperate as they should. frustration crept in, an unwelcome guest to the intimate tableau that unfolded on the campsite. y/n's brow furrowed, fingers fumbling, as they wrestled with the stubborn contraption before them.

meanwhile, hanni had retrieved her fishing rod from her bag, her focus fixed solely on her own task. the tension in the air seemed to have created an impenetrable barrier between them, a distance that stretched beyond the physical space they occupied. her silence spoke volumes, a deliberate act of withdrawing from the connection that had once been their sanctuary.

y/n's sigh was a mixture of defeat and exasperation, a concession to their lack of expertise in tent assembly. their gaze shifted from the stubborn fabric to the serene lake, a momentary reprieve from the mounting frustration. the ripples on the water's surface seemed to echo the turbulence within their own hearts, a reflection of the unresolved emotions that had brought them to this point.

hanni's muttered grumbles continued, her determination unwavering even as her efforts yielded no results. her brow furrowed deeper, each motion precise yet fruitless. y/n watched her with a mixture of amusement and endearment, their laughter growing as they observed her persistence. it was as if the universe had joined in on the unfolding comedy, for just as they were caught up in the spectacle of hanni's fishing endeavors, the sky itself began to participate.

the first drops of rain fell, their gentle pitter-patter echoing against the backdrop of the campsite. the sound was a soothing prelude to the impending downpour, a melodic symphony of nature's elements. the sky, heavy with rain-laden clouds, had chosen this moment to release its captive droplets. with each raindrop that landed on leaves and grass, y/n's laughter slowly faded, replaced by a sense of wonder at the beauty of nature's orchestra.

y/n's gaze shifted upward, the raindrops refracting the fading light like a curtain of diamonds. the realization that they were about to be caught in the rain hit them, and a glance towards hanni revealed her own recognition of the impending deluge. without needing to exchange words, their eyes met, a silent agreement passing between them.

"hanni!" y/n called out, their laughter now replaced with urgency. "come here!"

hanni's gaze shifted towards y/n, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. following y/n's lead, she abandoned her fishing rod and swiftly made her way towards them. as the first raindrops started to cascade down, they both found refuge under a nearby tree, its thick foliage offering some protection from the rain.

the sound of rain hitting the tree leaves and the earth was a symphony in itself, a rhythm that enveloped them in its soothing embrace. y/n and hanni stood side by side, their proximity creating a sense of intimacy that was both comfortable and tinged with the awkwardness of the moment. the silence between them was heavy, a mix of shared amusement and unspoken tension.

y/n's mind raced, searching for a way to ease the tension that hung in the air. with a soft exhale, they turned to hanni. "this rain caught us by surprise, huh?"

hanni's lips quirked into a small smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "yeah, i guess nature had other plans."

the words hung in the air, and y/n felt the silence that followed like a heavy curtain. hanni's gaze remained fixed on the rain, avoiding the direct connection y/n was seeking. it was as if she had built a fortress around herself, a defense mechanism to shield her vulnerabilities from the world, and from y/n in particular.

as if sensing the opportunity for connection, y/n glanced around the area, spotting a cluster of branches and leaves. a sudden idea took root, and they began to gather the materials, their movements deliberate yet tentative. y/n's hands worked with a mix of determination and uncertainty, the leaves rustling as they constructed a makeshift shelter under the tree.

hanni, perhaps sensing y/n's desire to bridge the gap between them, joined in quietly. her fingers worked alongside y/n's, the sound of their combined efforts like a shared language. with each leaf placed carefully, the tension between them seemed to lessen, replaced by a sense of unity and purpose.

finally, the makeshift shelter took shape, a canopy of leaves and branches that offered some respite from the relentless rain. y/n and hanni ducked under it, their clothes already soaked from the earlier rain. the space was cramped, but the warmth of their closeness felt like a refuge amidst the storm.

as they huddled together beneath the shelter they had created, raindrops drumming softly on the leaves above, a sense of accomplishment washed over them. their faces were still wet from the rain, but the smiles that graced their lips spoke of a shared triumph. the awkwardness that had lingered between them seemed to dissipate, replaced by a renewed sense of connection forged through mutual effort.

the silence between them, now less heavy with tension, still held a certain vulnerability that they both acknowledged with silent glances. y/n's fingers traced the damp leaf's intricate surface, their gaze wandering along the pattern of raindrops. hanni, too, looked down, her focus on a small insect seeking shelter amidst the leaves.

taking a deep breath, y/n finally broke the quiet, their voice gentle but carrying a weight of sincerity. "i'm sorry about the tent," they admitted, their eyes still fixed on the leaf. "i should've been able to set it up properly, but..."

hanni's shoulders relaxed slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. she met y/n's gaze, a mix of understanding and acceptance in her expression. "it's not just about the tent," she replied, her voice equally gentle. "we both played a part in this... argument."

the tension that had clouded their interaction earlier seemed to have loosened its grip, leaving behind a space that was ripe for a real conversation. under the shelter they had created, a comfortable silence enveloped them, the rhythmic sound of raindrops on leaves a soothing backdrop. it was a moment that felt tender and fragile, like the calm after a storm, both outside and within.

y/n took another deep breath, summoning the courage to breach the emotional barrier that had kept them apart. hanni's gaze remained focused on the ground, a mixture of vulnerability and guardedness evident in her posture. the atmosphere was charged with a blend of apprehension and a desire to mend the rift that had emerged between them.

"hey," y/n started again, their voice soft and sincere, "i don't want us to stay like this, you know?"

hanni's lips parted, but she didn't immediately respond. the silence held weight, an acknowledgment that they needed to address the underlying issues that had brought them to this point.

"i understand that we had our disagreement," y/n continued, their tone gentle, "but i don't want it to define our whole trip. we've faced challenges before, and we've always found a way to work through them, together."

hanni finally looked up, meeting y/n's gaze. her eyes held a mixture of longing and uncertainty, as if she feared the vulnerability that lay ahead. y/n's words had touched something deep, stirring memories of shared experiences and the strength they'd drawn from one another.

"i'm sorry," hanni whispered, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the rain. "i know i let my frustration get the best of me earlier. i shouldn't have shut you out like that."

y/n nodded, a soft smile easing onto their lips. "i'm sorry too, for not being able to set up that tent. i was frustrated with myself, not with you."

hanni's shoulders eased, the weight of her own guilt beginning to lift. "we're in this together, right?"

y/n reached out, their fingers brushing against hanni's hand in a gentle reassurance. "always."

the simplicity of that word, always, held so much meaning, a reaffirmation of their commitment to face challenges hand in hand. the rain continued to fall outside, but within their makeshift shelter, it was as if the storm had washed away the walls that had separated them.

hanni's lips broke into a tender smile, a spark of playfulness lighting up her gaze. "so, about that tent," she began, her voice laced with a teasing tone that carried warmth.

y/n's laughter danced in the air, a genuine expression of relief at the shift in their exchange. "yeah, perhaps we'll have better luck once the rain decides to take a break."

as if in sync, their eyes turned towards the rain, watching the drops create ripples on the lake's surface. hanni's fingers traced an absent pattern on y/n's arm before she leaned her head gently against y/n's shoulder, finding solace in the simple act of being close. the rain continued its gentle symphony around them, a backdrop to the quiet moments that seemed to stretch, offering them the space they needed to rebuild what had temporarily wavered.

minutes passed, an unspoken understanding flowing between them. y/n's hand found its way to hanni's, their fingers interlacing in a silent promise. the rain outside may have been unrelenting, but beneath their shared shelter, it was as if the world had softened, cocooning them in a realm of their own.

as they remained nestled under their makeshift canopy, a feeling of peace settled upon them, a reminder of the unbreakable bond they shared. and in the midst of the rain's soothing embrace, y/n finally turned to hanni, their eyes locking in a moment of perfect connection.

"i love you," y/n whispered, the words carrying a depth of emotion that transcended the simplicity of their syllables.

hanni's heart swelled, the tenderness in y/n's eyes an affirmation of the love they felt for each other. a soft smile curved on hanni's lips as they met y/n's gaze, their voice a gentle echo of the sentiment that had been hanging in the air.

"i love you too."

[burkhxrts]

IMGONNAGETYOUBACK! [chapter two]| A. Judge

"the lips I used to call home. so scarlet, it was maroon." -taylor swift

summary: seeing Aaron after all these years leaves you stuck In a time warp.

warning(s): flashback!!!! cursing (wow) awkward tension...

authors note: I need to do homework but im yearning for a 6'7 baseball player help.

February 5th, 2024

The cold February breeze stings your face as you head into Yankee Stadium, Your hands clammy and shaking. Your shoes squeaking with every step. 

You’ve already made a good impression at the initial interview with the lead reporter for the Yankees. Now, this follow-up is crucial — this could be the job that gets you into the sports reporting world you’ve always dreamed of. You walk into the building, the hum of excitement from the sports world around you palpable. You have your notes, your passion for the game, and the goal of landing this coveted role in your hands.

The head reporter, Elizabeth Beck, shakes your hand.”Ms. L/n! It's so great to finally see you in person!’

You weakly return her handshake, scared your hands might come off as clammy. “You as well, Mrs. Beck. It's an honor.”

She guides you to her office, a comfy room on the left side of the building that's covered in warm lighting that contrasts with the bright white LED’s right outside.

Let's do this.

The conversation flows smoothly. You talk about your past experience in journalism, your love for the sport, and your unique perspective as someone who’s followed the team for years. They seem impressed. Elizabeth asks insightful questions, gauging not only your knowledge of the game but how you’d handle the pressures and high-profile nature of covering the Yankees.

Things are looking great. You're confident, but there's a subtle undercurrent of nerves, knowing that this could be your big break. She wraps up the interview with a positive note, hinting that she’ll be in touch soon.

Your body feels light, walking out of the office with a relieved sigh. You turn a corner — and there, just a few feet away, is him. 

holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit-

He's standing with his assistant, chatting casually, but as soon as he sees you, his face shifts slightly. His assistant, clearly not recognizing you, looks around, distracted by something on their phone.

Aaron stands frozen for a moment, almost as if he's processing the surprise of seeing you here, of all places. The air around you both feels charged with an unspoken history.

September, 23, 2011

You think you might collapse.

It's late September, and the air is still warm but carries that subtle crispness, hinting at the fall season that’s just beginning.

It’s a quiet afternoon in the library, and you’re tucked away in your usual corner, surrounded by piles of books, your laptop open in front of you. You’re working on an insert for the school newspaper, your mind absorbed in crafting the perfect article. You barely notice the sound of footsteps approaching until your friend Penny drops down into the chair next to you, sighing dramatically.

“I swear, if I have to write one more paper about the Industrial Revolution, I’m going to lose my shit,” she groans, slouching in her seat. “How did we get stuck with all this history stuff?”

You glance over at her, smirking. “You’re in a history class, Penny. What did you expect?”

She scowls. “Ugh, I thought it’d be fun history. Not a whole semester of dates, names, and dead people. Just… boring!”

“Guess you should’ve taken that elective on underwater basket weaving,” you tease, typing up the last sentence of your article.

“Don’t tempt me,” Penny grumbles, pulling out a notebook. “You have it easy, though. You’re actually doing something cool. You’re always so busy with that newspaper stuff.”

You shrug, trying to focus on the task in front of you. “It’s not that exciting. I’m just writing about campus events and stuff.” You pause. “Which reminds me, I need to call Professor Martin to get the details for this feature on the team’s upcoming charity event. I was hoping to get an interview with a few of the players.”

Penny tilts her head. “Wait, like the team? The baseball team?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s a pretty big deal. But they’re all super busy, so I don’t even know if I’ll get the chance. But it’d be cool.”

Penny perks up. “Oh my god. You could interview Aaron Judge?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I mean, I could, but that’s not guaranteed. I’d probably get the third-string pitcher or something.”

“Are you kidding? Aaron Judge? He’s like the most famous guy on campus. If you get an interview with him, I might just die of jealousy.”

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes on the table, and you pick it up without thinking. The name on the screen makes you freeze. Professor Martin.

“Hold on, I need to take this,” you say to Penny, stepping away from the table for a moment. You swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Y/n?” Professor Martin’s voice is warm but business-like. “I’ve got great news. I’ve managed to secure you an exclusive interview with the team, and we’re setting it up for tomorrow afternoon. You’ll be speaking with Aaron Judge, along with a couple of his teammates. This is a big deal, so get ready.”

You blink, feeling your heart skip a beat. “Wait, Aaron Judge? As in the Aaron Judge?”

“That’s the one. Make sure your questions are good, Y/n. This could be the highlight of your semester.”

The moment you hang up, your hand is shaking slightly as you slide the phone back into your pocket. Penny’s watching you, her eyes wide.

“Well?” she prompts. “What happened?”

You stare at her, trying to keep your composure. “Penny, I just got an interview with Aaron Judge... and his teammates... tomorrow.”

Her eyes widen, and she gasps. “HOLY SHIT! Oh my god, are you serious?!”

You nod slowly, still processing the news. “Yeah. I—this is crazy.”

Penny bursts out laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. “You have to tell me everything. I can’t believe this is happening.”

You start to grin, your excitement starting to match hers. “I know, right? This could be huge for the paper.” You pause, your mind still racing. “I guess I’ll finally get to meet him...”

Penny wiggles her eyebrows. “Oh yeah. You’re totally going to swoon when you meet him. I can already see it. You won’t be able to form a sentence.”

“Okay, calm down,” you say, though you can’t help but feel your heart racing at the thought of meeting Aaron Judge. He was undeniably attractive, but you’d always just admired him from a distance, like everyone else. The idea of actually interviewing him, sitting down to talk with him one-on-one, felt surreal. What would he be like? Would he be different from the athlete persona he portrayed?

September, 24, 2011

The next day arrives, and the library is a distant memory as you step into the campus sports complex. You’ve never been here before, but the atmosphere is buzzing with energy. You find the media room, and there he is: Aaron Judge. He stands tall in a team hoodie, his presence commanding the room, his smile easy and relaxed.

You try to keep your composure, but the nerves are starting to show. As you approach him, you catch his gaze, and for a brief moment, he looks at you with that trademark smile.

“You must be Y/n,” he says, his voice deep and warm, reaching out a hand to shake yours. His grip is firm, his hand just slightly larger than yours. "Nice to meet you."

You blink, a little caught off guard by how genuine he seems. “Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you, too.”

He chuckles at your awkwardness, and you feel your cheeks flush. Penny’s voice echoes in your mind, and you mentally tell yourself to pull it together.

“Ready for the interview?” he asks, guiding you to a quiet corner of the room. His teammates are gathered around, chatting with reporters, but Aaron’s focus is entirely on you.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing the nerves to settle. “I’m actually really excited. Thank you for taking the time.”

“No problem,” he replies, his easy smile still in place. “Let’s make it a good one.”

As you begin to ask him questions, you realize just how down-to-earth he is. He’s funny, humble, and genuinely interested in talking about the causes he supports. Your nervousness starts to fade as you settle into the conversation, realizing that Aaron Judge—the star athlete—is just another person, someone with a passion for the game and a lot of heart.

By the end of the interview, you’re laughing, exchanging thoughts on everything from baseball to your favorite movies, and you can’t help but notice how natural the whole thing feels.

When it’s time to wrap up, Aaron gives you a small, playful wink. “I’d love to keep chatting, but I’m gonna have to let you go for now. You’re a pretty good interviewer, though,” he says, his tone light and teasing.

You grin, trying to keep your cool. “Thanks. Maybe we’ll do this again sometime?”

“I’d be down,” he replies, his smile widening.

As you leave the sports complex, your heart is still pounding from the conversation. It hadn’t just been the interview—it had been the way he made you feel seen, like you were more than just a reporter.

“I’m so fucked.”

February, 5th, 2024 

You’re frozen in place, unsure of what to say. How do you even act around him now?

Aaron doesn’t seem to know what to say either. He’s already looking at you, and you can see the familiar flicker of recognition in his eyes. That same warm smile you remember, the one that used to be so easy, appears. But it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

“Hey,” he says, his voice calm but with a hint of uncertainty.

You swallow hard, forcing a smile that feels stiff on your face. “Hey, Aaron. Long time no see.”

He nods, his posture a little more guarded than you remember. “Yeah. Been a while.” There’s a pause. “How… how are you?”

You want to say fine, but that doesn’t quite feel right. Instead, you shrug slightly. “Good. Busy. You know, new job, new city. Same old stuff.” You wince, internally cursing yourself for sounding so nonchalant.

“Yeah, I get that,” Aaron says. “I saw you started reporting for the Yankees. Congrats. That’s awesome.” He seems sincere, but his words are measured, like he’s choosing them carefully.

You smile, but there’s a tightness to it. “Thanks. It’s… definitely a dream come true.”

There’s a beat of silence that stretches between you both—uncomfortable, like a piece of tension is hanging in the air. You want to say something more, ask him how things are going with the team, make a joke like you used to. But you can’t. You can’t bridge the gap between who you were before and who you are now.

"Um- I heard you got married. Congratulations." You stretch a smile onto your face. Aaron's smile drops slightly, a look in his eyes you can't quiet place.

"Thank you."

"And the team? Big game tonight?" you ask, the question feeling a little forced.

Aaron nods, his lips pressing together in a tight smile. “Yeah, we’ve got a big one. Just another day at the office, though.” He shifts on his feet. “You... still writing about them?”

You nod quickly, gesturing to your notepad tucked under your arm. “Yeah, covering the team. It’s a lot of work, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

He studies you for a moment, like he’s trying to find something familiar in the way you stand, in the way you talk. The way your eyes meet his now. But whatever connection you used to have—whatever unspoken understanding or easy rapport you’d shared—feels... fractured.

The awkwardness lingers, hanging between you two like a thick fog.

“Listen,” Aaron says, taking a small step back. “I know we didn’t exactly... end things on the best note. But, uh, I hope everything’s good for you. Really.”

You nod, your throat tight. You never expected him to bring it up, but hearing it spoken aloud feels like a sudden reminder of all the things you never said, the things you never had the chance to explain. You never talked about what went wrong, never unpacked the loss.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, trying to sound more confident than you feel. “We both moved on, right?”

Aaron hesitates, his gaze flickering for a second before meeting yours again. “Yeah... guess we did.”

You feel the weight of his words, heavy and final, and you wonder if you’ll ever really be able to move on from what you had. Because even though you’ve kept it together, even though you’ve thrown yourself into your work, there’s still this quiet ache every time you see him, every time you think about the way he used to make you laugh, the way he made you feel like you mattered.

“Well...” you say, your voice suddenly small. “I should get going. Got to head to the press box before they start the warm-ups.”

Aaron nods. “Yeah, of course. I... I’ll see you around.”

You swallow hard, nodding, but it feels like you’re saying goodbye in a way you never expected. Again.

“Take care, Aaron,” you say, your voice soft but steady.

He smiles again, but this time it’s tight, like he’s forcing it. “You too.”

As you turn to walk away, you feel a familiar pang in your chest. You keep your head down as you move through the hallway, but the image of Aaron standing there—like a memory you can’t erase, even after all this time—lingers in your mind.

There’s no going back to what you had, no undoing the past. But, somehow, the ache still lingers. And as you move forward, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever truly stop thinking about him, about what might have been. 

[littlejuicebox]

I want to hold your hand.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character/Ranger AKA AstarionxWren

Chapter number: Ten

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / All fluff no smut in this one / Act 1 Spoilers / Angst / Anxiety / Feelings Realization / Violence / Gore / Past trauma / Alcohol / Swear words / Lae'zel being a butthole again (I promise I actually really love her character but, come on, the behavior in this chapter pretty in character for her.) Word count: 2.8K Masterlist: Click here. Song inspiration: "I Want to Hold Your Hand" - The Beatles (But really, more so the version in Across the Universe because the yearning is palpable in that version.) Notes: LMK if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series in a message. :)

-----

Astarion took a long time gathering enough gumption to finally exit the Druid’s bedchambers. By the time he made his way toward the center of the grove, all the stars were gleaming in the sky, and more than one campfire had been lit. It appeared everyone already ate dinner, made evident by the empty tables full of used crockery and roasts picked nearly to the bone. He heard faint notes of music and an increasing amount of chatter as he made his way up the stone steps to the camp… it sounded like a party.

His other traveling companions were already there, and their tents had all been pitched. He spied Karlach kindly putting his tent up, and Astarion walked over to help her finish the job. Typically, he would've just left the tiefling to the grunt work and walked off to flirt with Wren or merely lounge about, but since Wren had stormed away from him earlier in the evening after their little tiff… he had nothing better to do.

Apart from Wren, Karlach was probably the vampire's favorite companion. Her easy-going nature made it so he didn’t have to perform too terribly hard around her, and he appreciated their rare moments together. Shadowheart was good for some quick banter, of course, but now the cleric’s preoccupation with Lae’zel made that relationship less ideal and he'd found himself avoiding the cleric whenever her green guard dog was around.

The silver-haired elf took one of the tent ties from Karlach and scanned the crowd for Wren. He spotted her sitting by an attentive Halsin. The unexpected sight created a dull ache in his chest, right around where his undead heart sat stock-still. Gods, he had to find a way to fix things before she found herself enamored with someone that was clearly a better alternative and he wasted all his time and effort for… what exactly? What was this thing between them?

The Archdruid towered over the little bird, especially when she was in a seated position. But despite the size difference, the mountain of a man held her arm in a remarkably gentle grip. The vampire tried to ignore the new duo as he thanked Karlach and then meandered toward the pile of booze. Maybe if he just… loosened himself up a bit, he’d be able to talk to Wren about what he was feeling instead of putting his foot in his mouth again. But what was he feeling, exactly? Astarion didn't have the words. Perhaps that wasn’t the point. Perhaps the point was that whatever role she wanted him to perform, he would do it, if it meant he would stay in her good graces. Surely that was a fair price to pay to be rid of the ache in his chest.

As much as the rogue tried to ignore the scene that was making his insides churn, his eyes kept roaming back to the two of them. The vampire watched as Halsin thoroughly, too thoroughly, spread some kind of salve on Wren’s forearm while she occupied herself with chugging whatever she had in her cup. Astarion had a fleeting thought that it should be him applying that salve on Wren's arm, not the big bear. If not him, then surely Shadowheart. Who the hell was this druid, anyway?

Wren had changed from the chemise he’d given her a few days back and into an entirely different, and significantly more revealing outfit. Where the hells had she even found a set of leather trousers? And was she truly just wearing the bodice she wore under her armor on her torso?

After Halsin was done playing doctor with the little bird, the pale elf was sure the sickening rendezvous would end. But then Wren was digging through her bag and revealing the pipe she’d stolen from Halsin with a guilty grin. The Archdruid seemed very entertained by this; he threw his head back as he laughed in pure delight. Halsin said something with a lifted eyebrow and then smiled and returned the pipe back to the little bird.

Gods, Astarion wished he could hear what they were saying from here. He had the strange sensation of being left out, and he bristled at the thought. ‘They are getting along far too well.’

The vampire reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the scene and snatched a bottle of wine from the booze pile. He was in no mood for this little party, but he supposed he would play this part if he had to.

-----

Wren was tired of performing. The whole self-sufficient, strong ranger woman act was getting exhausting. What was the point? She kept making mistakes, anyway… first losing her own eye, then blowing their cover with Minthara, and then the absolute dragonshitshow of a conversation she’d just had with one of her strongest and most versatile campmates. The campmate that she’d bedded the day before, effectively ending her entirely too long streak of voluntary abstinence. But… had her time with Astarion really been a mistake? She couldn't be sure.

Truly, Wren just wanted someone to hold her. And maybe Halsin wouldn’t hold her, but he’d hold her arm with his warm, comforting hand… and slather some sticky, honey-based salve on her charred skin while she chugged whatever Alfira had just poured into her cup. She liked Halsin. He was nice. He was mature, kind, and held an attractive air of relaxed confidence. It was easy to be drawn to his comforting energy; she saw why the grove trusted him.

Before long, the Archdruid wrapped her arm in a bandage, refused the return of his pipe with an explanation that he had several more, and told her that he didn’t know how to remove the parasites, but he had some ideas they could discuss tomorrow. He cut the conversation short and pushed her into the party, insisting she go and have some fun before returning to business-as-usual tomorrow morning.

Wren wasn’t in any mood for this party, but she begrudgingly obliged. After downing whatever was left in her cup, she found herself roped into a few dances with some of the tieflings and one with Gale. By the third cup of — what was it, wine? — she and Karlach tried to dance without touching, mostly just shimmying and spinning around one another like lunatics before falling on the ground laughing at the stupidity of it all. She needed that laugh, and if she could’ve hugged the tiefling woman then, she would’ve.

After the chortling was over, and the ranger's ribs hurt beyond belief, the two women wandered back to the libations. Karlach flicked her gaze over toward Astarion, who appeared to be brooding and trying to hide the fact that he was brooding, and then she looked back to a buzzed Wren. She filled two more cups with some cherry-scented liquid as she addressed the half-elf. “What’s going on with you and Fangs, anyway, soldier? Normally you two are attached at the hip… or the lip.”

“Karlach!” Wren yelped, her eyes widening as she quickly glanced around to see if anyone else had heard the Barbarian. Her already alcohol-flushed face began to trail the rosy blush up her ears and down her neck.

“Oh, come off!” Karlach exclaimed with a chuckle, rolling her eyes at the ranger. “First of all, you’re a grown woman, so you can do whatever and whoever you’d like. Second of all… it’s not really a secret, Wren. We all know. You should’ve seen the absolute state Astarion was in for those few days you were knocked out after that Gur encounter. I doubt he’s like that for just anyone.”

Wren didn’t know what to say in response to Karlach’s revelation. Her fingers moved up to nervously touch her lip scar and then she shrugged, “I guess… I didn’t know how he felt. I… don’t know how he feels.”

“Well… did you ever really ask him?” Karlach responded with a shrug, as if the answer were quite simple to her, cocking her head just slightly at the ranger before shoving the filled cup into her hand.

Wren almost laughed as she lifted the cup to her lips for a drink. She didn’t ever ask him; she’d been too preoccupied by the parasite, and then losing her eye. She didn't stop to speak to him at all, really. The archer soaked in the irony of her own words from her earlier encounter with Astarion swinging like a boomerang right back to her. The substance in her cup tasted better than the previous drinks she’d been given, and the brunette woman eagerly took another sip as she considered her friend’s words with a soft hum. “Alright. I'll ask him."

-----

Astarion watched Wren dance with more than one partner. Should he ask her to dance? Would that smooth things over? He knew how to, of course. But then, if she was so angry with him that she rejected him in front of everyone… well the rogue’s pride truly couldn’t stand for that to happen.

The vampire sat frozen in indecision, sipping from his bottle as his eyes tracked the little bird around the camp. She and Karlach had a bit of conversation by the booze table — it must’ve been about him, because Karlach looked his way more than once. Annoyingly, he couldn’t pick up what they said from this distance over the clamor of other conversations and Alfira’s music. The knowledge that he was being discussed made him uneasy, and he huffed, suddenly scanning the party for a distraction. Just as he was about to throw a line at some tiefling in a futile attempt to stroke his own ego, he heard Wren’s enraged voice thundering through the party.

“What the hell did you just say, Lae’zel?” The little bird was standing face to face with the Githyanki, hands clenched into tight fists.

“You heard what I said. I do not need to repeat it.” Lae’zel responded coolly, stepping even closer to the ranger, answering their group leader’s challenge.

The entire crowd had fallen silent, watching the scene unfold. Wren quickly hooked her right arm, and Astarion stared in a ridiculously juxtaposed mixture of horror and delight as it connected with a solid pow on the other woman’s eye socket. Lae’zel, to her credit, took the punch with barely any reaction and then returned it with one of her own. It landed on the ranger’s nose with a sickening crack.

Astarion rushed forward, along with Karlach and Shadowheart, just as Lae’zel was about to withdraw her blade. But Astarion was faster than the alien and he pressed the edge of his dagger against the Githyanki’s neck in warning.

“Now, now, I think not, little viper. You’re clearly drunk. Go lay down with mommy Shadowheart and take a nap before we all do things we will surely regret in the morning.” His voice warned, tone measured but scarlet eyes heated as they glared into Lae’zel’s.

Shadowheart had hold of Lae’zel’s forearm, staying her blade, while Karlach stood a few paces behind the half-elf. Wren was holding her nose, which was now pouring thin streams of crimson. Astarion couldn’t see the blood from where his face was pressed so closely to the alien, but he could easily smell it. Oh, how his fingers positively ached with the desire to slice into Lae’zel’s neck and repay the debt.

Shadowheart spoke, trying with all her might to remain calm and be the voice of reason. “Come on, Lae’zel. You’re drunk… you didn’t truly mean it. Come with me, let’s go lay down.”

The Githyanki relented, inhaling deeply and stepping back, away from Astarion’s blade. The cleric offered an apologetic look to her other campmates before grabbing her lover’s hand and pulling her away from the party, towards their tent.

“Sorry about that, folks! You know how it goes among family!” Karlach shouted, and soon everyone shrugged off the dispute and resumed their conversations, followed by another swell of music.

After Astarion stowed his blade, he turned to check on Wren. She’d already walked towards her own tent and hidden herself inside the little nest. He followed after her, swiftly ducking himself into the canvas shelter before kneeling down to face the little bird. She’d held a cloth over her nose and fixed her closed eyes toward the ceiling, hoping to slow the bleeding.

“I heard it break. Can’t you heal it yourself?” He murmured, cocking his head slightly as he lifted his hand toward her face, removing the cloth for a moment to examine the damage.

“I tried. But it seems I’m out of spellcasting power. I used it all up at the goblin camp. I’m obviously not going to Shadowheart for help, Halsin already helped me with my arm, and fuck Nettie. So… here I am.”

“Hold on.” Astarion murmured, exiting the tent with no further explanation. Wren’s brows furrowed in confusion as she watched him exit, but that caused a sharp pain in her nose, so she groaned and looked back at the ceiling.

The vampire returned a few minutes later, wearing a large amulet with a jade-colored stone that Wren didn’t recognize and carrying his own backpack. He sat back down and moved his slender hands forward, bidding the little bird to lower the blood-soaked cloth. Long, lithe fingers pressed to the woman’s nose and then Astarion uttered a healing incantation.

Wren blinked in surprise as she felt the familiar warmth of a healing spell seep through her skin and into the fragile bones along the center of her face. Soon enough, her nose felt practically back to normal. Astarion seemed to be watching her for an indication that his efforts worked before lowering his hands. She nodded subtly.

The rogue quietly removed his hands and quickly undid the clasp of the heavy amulet, stowing the piece of jewelry back in his pack. Then he rustled around, withdrawing a small bottle of water and a small scrap of cloth. After dampening the cloth, he lifted it to Wren’s nose and began tenderly cleaning the dried blood off her face. He saw the question in her eyes and answered it without her prompting.

“I found it among Counsellor Florrick’s things, when I found your chemise. Seemed worth keeping, but it’s awfully noisy when I move so I don't wear it all the time.” He says in a hushed voice, pausing for a moment when Wren winced as he pressed too firmly to her still-tender nose. He looks at her for a beat and then continues, “Figured I would hold onto it, just in case...”

'Just in case I end up on my own and I don't have Shadowheart or you to heal me.'

A bit of quiet fell between the two as the elf focused on his task, and the woman focused on one of her pillows instead of the rogue. Astarion noticed this, because she normally watched him so intently with those two-toned eyes of hers. It stung, her lack of attention on him, but he kept working, hoping somehow this was a step in the right direction. At least she hadn’t pushed him away. It was clear that in the thick silence of the tent, which was such a sharp contrast to the raging party outside, that the two of them felt the weight of things unsaid hanging between them.

“What did she say?” Astarion questioned in a low murmur, scarlet orbs wandering from Wren's upturned nose to her distant stare, pulling her attention back to him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Wren huffed, beginning to bristle in response and starting to pull away from the vampire, but his other hand clasped onto her forearm and kept her in place.

The rogue paused for a moment, squinting his eyes at the ranger. Wren could see the subtle prickles of annoyance on his face; her eyes took in the scrunch of his nose and the clenching of his jaw. His tone was stiff, curt, as if he were trying to maintain hold over his emotions. “You said you would tell me anything if I bothered to ask. So, here I am, asking.”

Wren fell silent, as she felt the sting of her own words flipped against her for the second time that night. She moved to thumb her lip scar, and Astarion’s eyes followed her finger for a moment before returning to holding her own eyes in an unyielding stare.

“She…” The little bird looked up at the tent and sighed. Hells, it was going to sound so ridiculous when it came out.

“She overheard Karlach asking what happened to Kol, and I told Karlach that Kol had died. I told her what I told you about the ambush. And then Lae’zel said that I have a type… elves with silver hair and red eyes. And that my history of poor leadership would probably get you killed, just like it had the first one.”

Wren’s mouth hardened into a line, and her voice crackled at the end. Fuck Lae’zel for knowing exactly how to cut into her with words and lay bare one of her biggest fears. Wren didn’t want to be the leader… she didn’t fucking want it! So why did Lae’zel or anyone else have to make it so hard? Didn’t they know she was already beating herself to a pulp for every misstep along the way?

Astarion watched as the little bird rolled her gaze up to the ceiling where she stayed intently focused on the canvas of the tent, trying to conceal her tears. He had half a mind to storm across the camp and cut out the Githyanki’s tongue. Maybe they would all be better off for it; her pessimistic nature wasn’t doing the group any favors, after all. But instead, he sighed, grabbed Wren’s hand, grabbed his own pack, and then stood up, pulling her with him.

“Come on, darling. Let’s get away from this party. The wine is shit and the only company really worth keeping is in this tent, anyway.” He grumbled before walking out of the canvas shelter and heading away from the crowd, toward the grove exit. He kept his fingers wrapped around hers as he led her along.

Wren followed without much of a thought. She spent so much time being a leader, she supposed she basked in the few moments when she got to be a follower. She didn’t know where they were going; she didn’t care. She just wanted Astarion to keep holding her hand for as long as possible.

-----

Taglist: Hiii @mancsunite

[kira-dofc]

Chapter 4 You Worried?

"Y/n," Yunah began, her voice trembling slightly. "This is a lot to take in. I always wondered if I had any family out there, but I never expected this. I know for a fact that I don't know much of my past, but this is still confusing me."

"I know," you replied, your own voice heavy with emotion. "It's a lot to process, but please, I just wanted to see if you're okay. You're the only family I have after that incident."

Yunah raised an eyebrow in question, "Incident?"

You took a deep breath and began to recount the traumatic event. "Our parents died, and our house burnt down. I was still inside there, but luckily I got out. Unfortunately, I lost some of my memories. I can only recall the fire blazing around me and the times when we used to play ball together. You also got out, but you were lying on the floor when I last saw you."

Yunah glanced at Kuroo, who stood beside her with a dark expression. His eyes narrowed as he looked at you, clearly unimpressed. "Yunah," he said, his voice low and hard, "maybe we should take things slowly. Sure, you forgot your past, but that doesn't give you a reason to trust this guy right away. We hardly know him, and who knows what's lurking in that damned mind of his."

"That's enough, Kuroo," Yunah said, a small frown forming on her lips. "He's just trying to reconnect."

But Kuroo wasn't having it. He stepped forward, his posture aggressive. "You don't understand, Yunah. This isn't just some reunion. This guy shows up out of nowhere, claiming to be your brother, and you just believe him? What if he's lying? What if he's here to hurt you?"

You raised your hands defensively. "I understand your concern, Kuroo. But I swear, I just want to reconnect with my sister. I don't mean any harm."

"Don't mean any harm?" Kuroo spat. "You think just saying that makes everything okay? How do we know you're not some kind of threat? How do we know you're even telling the truth?"

"Kuroo, please," Yunah pleaded. "I need to figure this out on my own. You don't have to be so hostile."

"Hostile?" Kuroo's voice rose. "You don't know what hostile is. I care about you, Yunah. I'm not going to let some stranger waltz in and turn your life upside down."

"I get it," you said, trying to stay calm despite Kuroo's anger. "I understand why you're protective of Yunah. But I'm not a stranger. I'm her brother, and I just want to be a part of her life again."

Kuroo glared at you, his eyes filled with suspicion. "Fine. But one step out of line, and you know what's going to happen to you."

"I understand," you replied, meeting his gaze. "I just want to take things slowly and get to know Yunah again."

Kuroo snorted, clearly unconvinced. "We'll see about that. I'm watching you, and if I see even the slightest hint of trouble, you're out of here."

"I'm sorry about him," Yunah said, her tone apologetic as she looked at you. "He can be cranky at times, but he's a nice person underneath it all."

"'Nice' isn't in his vocabulary, I guess," you whispered to yourself, barely audible.

The tension in the air was palpable, and the silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words and emotions. You both stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, each lost in your thoughts. You couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and anxiety. Finding Yunah had been a monumental task, and now that she was here in front of you, it felt almost surreal. You were desperate to connect with her, to fill the void that had been left by the loss of your parents and the fragmentary nature of your memories.

Yunah, on the other hand, seemed overwhelmed by the sudden revelation of having a brother she never knew existed. The look in her eyes betrayed a deep-seated confusion and a yearning for clarity. She glanced at Kuroo again, seeking his silent approval and support. Kuroo, ever the protective figure, stood with his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving you. There was a fierceness in his eyes that spoke volumes about his determination to shield Yunah from any potential harm.

"I understand if you need some space," you said, breaking the silence. "It's a lot to take in all at once. I don't want to pressure you into anything. I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you, whenever you're ready."

"Thank you," Yunah replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I appreciate your patience. This is just... a lot."

"Take all the time you need," you reiterated. "There's no rush."

Yunah nodded, looking down at her feet as she processed everything. The room seemed to close in on you, the weight of the past pressing down heavily. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. This wasn't how you had imagined your reunion with Yunah, but you had to remind yourself that these things took time. Building a relationship, especially one based on a fractured past, was a delicate process.

Kuroo cleared his throat, drawing your attention. "Look, Y/n," he began, his tone slightly softer but still firm. "I get that you're trying to do the right thing here, but you need to understand that Yunah's been through a lot. She's got a life here, friends, people who care about her. You can't just waltz in and expect everything to fall into place."

"I understand," you replied, meeting his gaze. "I'm not here to disrupt her life. I just want to be a part of it, in whatever capacity she feels comfortable with."

Kuroo nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "Good. Just remember that we're watching out for her."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," you said, offering a small, tentative smile. "She deserves to be protected."

The conversation began to wind down, and you could feel the exhaustion setting in. It had been an emotionally draining encounter, but you were grateful for the opportunity to reconnect with Yunah. You just hoped that, in time, she would come to see you as the brother you wanted to be for her.

"We should get going," Yunah said finally, glancing at Kuroo for confirmation. "I need some time to think about all of this."

"Of course," you replied. "Take care, Yunah. And thank you for listening."

"Goodbye, Y/n," she said softly. "I'll be in touch."

You watched as Yunah and Kuroo walked away, their figures disappearing into the distance. The air felt heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. This was just the beginning of a long journey, and you were determined to see it through, no matter how challenging it might be.

As you made your way back home, you couldn't help but replay the encounter in your mind. There was so much more you wanted to say, so many questions left unanswered. But for now, you had to be patient. Rebuilding a relationship, especially one fractured by time and trauma, required time and understanding. You were willing to give Yunah all the space she needed, even if it meant waiting in uncertainty.

When you finally reached your home, you sank into a chair, feeling the weight of the day's events. You were filled with a mixture of hope and apprehension. Finding Yunah had been a step in the right direction, but there was still a long road ahead. You were ready to take that journey, one step at a time, and hopefully, one day, you would find the family you had lost.

For now, all you could do was wait and hope that Yunah would find it in her heart to let you in. The future was uncertain, but you were determined to face it with courage and resilience. After all, family was worth fighting for, no matter how difficult the path might be.

-

You planned to see your sister on weekends, to get to know more of each other. You invited her to go to a restaurant near their place, and she luckily agreed.

-

You picked Yunah up from her house, then drove to a rather classy and glamorous restaurant. It was much fancier than the usual places you frequented, but sometimes that's what people with money did—waste it on small portions of extravagant food.

"This place looks expensive," Yunah mumbled as you both stepped inside, taking in the opulent decor and soft lighting.

"It's on me, don't worry about it," you replied with a reassuring smile.

"So, how's life with your new family?" Yunah questioned as you settled into your seats.

"It's fine, I guess. I don't really miss our family since I never got to spend much time with them, but I still do in a way. Part of me thinks that you're still special to me," you said, your voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and hope.

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way because it's the same for me. I love my adoptive family, but I want to get to know you again," she said, her eyes earnest. "Mind if I ask, how old are you?"

"I'm 18, turning 19 next month," you replied.

"What? I'm way older than you then. I'm 21!" she said with a tone of excitement.

"It was obvious, you look old," you remarked with a playful smirk.

Yunah's eyes widened in mock outrage, and she started screaming at you for the words you had spoken. "How dare you! I do not look old! Take that back!"

Before you could respond, a sudden female figure walked up to your table. "Hey Y/n, fancy seeing you here!" she exclaimed.

A surprising look came upon your face as you recognized Sana, a friend of yours, who seemed genuinely excited to see you.

"Not the time, Sana. Get lost," you said bluntly, trying to focus on your time with Yunah.

"No need to be feisty! Fine, I will. See you tomorrow, honey!" she teased with a playful wink before walking away.

"Your girlfriend?" Yunah asked with a smirk on her face.

"Ugh, no. I'd rather die," you replied, rolling your eyes.

Yunah laughed at your reaction, and the mood lightened considerably. As the evening progressed, the two of you continued to talk and laugh, sharing stories and memories. Despite the initial awkwardness, you found that you enjoyed her company and the opportunity to reconnect.

After finishing your meals, you both started to leave the restaurant. The conversation continued as you walked to the car, filled with the excitement and nervousness of rebuilding a sibling relationship.

-

As you and Yunah headed to your car, you were suddenly startled by a man standing in front of you, brandishing a knife. His eyes glinted maliciously as he sneered at you. "Hey, give me your money, and I might as well touch your girl while I'm at it," the man smirked, his voice dripping with menace.

Your heart pounded, but you didn't let fear show. "Yunah, move," you ordered, your voice steady and firm. "I'll handle this."

-

Yunah hesitated for a moment, her eyes wide with fear, but she obeyed, stepping back to give you space.

The man lunged at you with the knife, aiming for your midsection. You managed to sidestep just in time, his blade slicing through the air where you had been standing. You grabbed his wrist with one hand and twisted it sharply, forcing him to drop the weapon with a grunt of pain.

He retaliated quickly, swinging his other fist toward your face. You ducked, feeling the rush of air as his fist narrowly missed your head. You countered with a punch to his gut, making him double over in pain. The man was tough, though, and he quickly recovered, charging at you with renewed aggression.

You blocked his wild punches, your arms absorbing the impact. Each hit sent a jolt of pain through your body, but you stood your ground. With a surge of adrenaline, you delivered a swift kick to his knee, causing him to stumble. Taking advantage of his momentary imbalance, you landed a solid punch to his jaw, followed by another to his ribs.

The man let out a pained grunt, but he wasn't finished yet. He grabbed a handful of gravel from the ground and threw it in your face. You flinched, momentarily blinded, and he seized the opportunity to tackle you to the ground. You felt the sharp sting of the pavement against your back as he pinned you down, his fists raining down on you.

Gritting your teeth, you used all your strength to roll over, reversing your positions. Now on top, you delivered a barrage of punches to his face and torso, each one fueled by the need to protect Yunah and yourself. The man struggled beneath you, but your determination and anger gave you the upper hand.

After what felt like an eternity, the man finally stopped fighting. He lay on the ground, bruised and unconscious from the beating you had given him. You stood up, breathing heavily, and wiped the blood from your face with the back of your hand. Pain radiated from your wounds, but you didn't let it show.

"God, Y/n, you're bleeding!" Yunah exclaimed, rushing to your side. Her eyes were wide with worry as she looked at the stab wound on your side and the bruises forming on your face.

"It's just a scratch," you said with a grunt, trying to downplay the severity of your injuries. "Come on, I'll get you home."

"But what are we doing with the guy? Leave him here?" Yunah questioned, glancing nervously at the unconscious man.

"Yes, I called the police. They can handle the rest," you replied, trying to sound reassuring despite the pain coursing through your body.

You got into your car, wincing as you moved. Every movement sent sharp stabs of pain through your body, but you ignored it. Yunah climbed into the passenger seat, still looking worried.

The drive to Yunah's home was quiet, the tension from the fight lingering in the air. You focused on the road, trying to keep your mind off the pain and the blood slowly seeping through your clothes. Yunah kept glancing at you, her concern evident.

As you pulled up to her house, you turned to Yunah and managed a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine," you said, though the strain in your voice betrayed your words.

"Thank you, Y/n," Yunah said softly, her eyes glistening with unwashed tears. "I don't know what would have happened if you weren't here."

"Don't mention it," you replied, your voice gentle despite the pain. "I'm just glad you're safe."

-

"Do you need help?" Yunah exclaimed, her voice filled with worry as she looked at you.

"No, I'll just come inside for a moment," you groaned, feeling the sharp pain where you had been stabbed. She opened the door to her house, and as you stepped inside, you were met with the sight of a familiar tall figure, clearly very worried about Yunah.

Kuroo's eyes widened in shock at the sight of your state, but his concern was directed at Yunah. "What the hell happened? Yunah, are you okay? What did this bastard do?" he demanded, his voice tense with worry.

"Relax, Kuroo. He just fought some creep while we were going back to his car," Yunah replied, trying to calm him down. "It's Y/n you should be worried about right now. He's all bruised up, and he even got stabbed!"

Kuroo scoffed but softened slightly. "Come on, I'll go treat your wounds. I guess. Don't get any other ideas," he said bluntly, turning and walking towards a room. You followed him, your steps heavy with exhaustion and pain.

Once inside, you noticed the room looked like an office of some sort, with a desk, medical supplies, and various items neatly arranged. "Sit here," Kuroo instructed, pointing to a seat next to him.

You sat down with a groan, feeling the pain intensify as you moved. "Stay still," Kuroo said firmly as he began to assess your wounds. "How did you even get stabbed? Damn, that's deep. Do you want to go to a hospital? I think you need some professionals."

"I'll be fine," you said, a small smile forming on your face despite the pain. "You worried about me, Kuroo?"

Kuroo blushed at your words and looked away, clearly flustered. "What!? I— SHUT UP!" he snapped, throwing the cotton ball he was holding in irritation. He turned away, trying to hide his embarrassment.

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction, but the movement caused another wave of pain to wash over you, making you groan again. "You’re pretty funny when you’re flustered, Kuroo," you managed to say through the pain.

"Who the hell told you to move? I'm not done," Kuroo yelled, his tone exasperated but tinged with concern. He continued to clean and bandage your wounds with surprising care, despite his brusque demeanor.

As he worked, you noticed Yunah hovering nearby, her eyes filled with concern. "Thank you, Kuroo," she said softly. "I really appreciate this."

Kuroo grumbled something under his breath but didn't respond directly. Instead, he focused on finishing the task at hand. "This should hold for now, but you need to take it easy," he said, finally stepping back. "And you should definitely see a doctor to make sure there's no serious damage."

"Thanks, Kuroo," you said sincerely, feeling a bit more at ease now that your wounds were tended to.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude. "Just don’t go getting yourself stabbed again."

Yunah smiled at the exchange, feeling a sense of relief now that you were taken care of. "I'm glad you're okay, Y/n. You were really brave out there."

"It was nothing," you replied modestly. "I just did what I had to do."

Kuroo rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, his way of acknowledging your bravery without making a big deal out of it. "You should get some rest," he said instead. "Both of you."

"Agreed," Yunah said, looking at you with a mixture of gratitude and concern. "Come on, Y/n. I'll make sure you get home safely—wait, what if you stay here for the night?"

"It's okay, I don't want to be a burden to you guys, taking care of me and all of that," you mumbled, feeling guilty about imposing.

"No, really it's okay! I can contact your dad," Yunah said, while Kuroo shot her a glance, clearly against the idea. But her determination won out as she went ahead and made the call anyway.

"Good news! Your dad said yes, but he said you should go back by afternoon tomorrow," she announced with a tone of excitement.

"Sure, but where do I sleep?" you questioned, eager to find an answer and not wanting to make things difficult.

Kuroo then replied, "Where else? On the cou—"

"In Kuroo's room! You can share!" Yunah cut him off, her voice filled with cheerful authority. Kuroo's face turned a shade of red as he tried to protest, but her decision was final.

Of course, by all means, Kuroo was in shock, trying to cancel what his sister suggested. "Yunah, seriously—"

But in the end, you still ended up in his room. "I can sleep on the floor if that's what you want," you offered, trying to be considerate despite your condition.

"No, sleep in the bed. You're hurt," he said in a small voice, blushing slightly.

"Are you sur—?"

"Just get in before I change my mind!" he blushed while looking away, his voice carrying a mix of annoyance and concern. "I sleep on this side, and you on the other."

You nodded in response and carefully laid on the bed, trying to avoid aggravating your injuries. As the lights were turned off, you smiled to yourself, feeling a strange warmth from Kuroo's concern. Despite his rough exterior, he clearly cared.

You could hear Kuroo's breathing next to you, and the proximity was oddly comforting. "Thanks, Kuroo," you whispered into the darkness, unsure if he could hear you.

"Just shut up and sleep," he mumbled back, his voice softer than usual.

You closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion from the day's events wash over you. The pain was still there, but it was manageable now, especially with the knowledge that you were safe and being cared for.

The night passed peacefully, with you drifting in and out of sleep, comforted by the presence of your newfound family. You dreamed of the earlier fight, the adrenaline, and the fear, but now it was interspersed with the warmth of Yunah and Kuroo's concern. A/n: The brain juice is done I think have none anymore :(( I still will be posting and probably be posting updates so dw! Word count: 3300

[living-dead-girl7]

Notes: I am so deranged for this man right now... anyway probably occ, typos because I am a busy gal who doesn't proofread, mention of blood, softness, and probably some canon divergence . Also I am not even going to try and use Russian words for this so just imagine any terms of endearment that are italicized are in Russian lmao

Moonlight filters into the room and casts a soft hazy glow across Nikolai's bruised face as a cigarette dangles from his lips. His hands find themselves tangled in your hair, as you gently rest your head on his chest. The delicate manner in which your fingertips trace the ink that decorates his skin makes him shudder.  It's foreign to him, after so long you forget what it is like to be loved. His life is not his own, yet it feels all too real. His scars and tattoos are palpable, but the lies they tell deceive him.

Your soft voice interrupts his thoughts, "What's wrong?"

Nikolai looks down to be greeted by your half lidded eyes and a sleepy smile. He sets his cigarette down on the ashtray sitting on the nightstand with a small smile, "Nothing. Go to sleep dear." His gruff voice is like a lullaby to your ears, familiar, warm, and feels like home.

Your head lifts from his chest and your full body sits in front of him. "Nikolai-" you gently coo.

Before you can finish the question he shifts his body and opens his arms in a silent question. You happily indulge him, wriggling your way into his arms to gently rest your forehead against his. It's pointless to push him even more, so you resign to indulge him.

He wanted to answer you, but he couldn't find the words. In the back of his mind, he wonders what you truly think of him. You know of his work, what it entails, and the fictional nature of his whole facade. But truth and lies often fade into each other and form a murky pool that's easy to drown in. He wonders if you truly believe his words as he bares his scared and tattoo skin that screams the opposite. A constant reminder that tomorrow is not promised, it's a wish that crosses his mind every time he sees a star. He wonders if the blood on his knuckles make any difference.

There are times he knows you believe him, late nights when your limbs are tangled together and the only sounds are your soft snores. Or when you gently trace his scars and tattoos asking what they mean. Or like last month when you shoved your face into his chest after you shyly told him I love you in his native tongue. To him, it's tangible evidence you believe his word. If you didn't trust him, you wouldn't love him. 

He knows that if he asked if you truly loved him, it would break your heart into a million pieces. Hot tears would run down your cheeks and he would look away because he can’t bear to see your cry. The first time you cried in front of him it felt like he was having a heart attack. His chest was tight and constricted, it ached to see you smile again, it ached to hold you in his arms and cage you in so nothing could hurt you. He yearns to protect you, he knows he has too.

 Your devotion can be heard in every word uttered in his ear, every hug, kiss, and night spent awake waiting for him to walk through the door bleeding out. He knows that everytime he walks through that door, there is someone worth living for. 

The sound of your soft snores break him from his thoughts. Gentle inhales and exhales grace his ears and he swears that you said his name. Before he can fight himself even more, he lays back down with you cradled in his arms, for now, its heaven and always will be.