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yoursweetheartsrevenge · 4 months ago

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The Academic

Summary: He’s gorgeous and silent. The perfect patron. But the underlying mystery of why this mysterious silver haired stranger spends entire days seated in the library fascinates the staff. One librarian takes it upon herself to see who this mystery man is and what exactly he desires.

Read on Ao3

Written for @hotd-bigbang

Taglist: @sepherinaspoppies

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: smut (face sitting, creampie, cowgirl, public sex), MINORS DNI, 18+

Word Count: 10.9K+

Author’s Note: Written for @hotd-bigbang.

Week 4: Free Space - Wanted to write another Modern AU. Besides, ever since Ewan answered with the library as what Aemond would love about modern society I was itching to write him in a modern library setting. This really got away from me.

The Academic

“He’s back again.”

She turned to look at her co-worker. Her dark haired co-worker was slowly sipping her coffee while tilting her head in the direction of the he in question. The librarian adjusted her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose as her light eyes fell in the direction of him.

Their silver haired frequent researcher had a decent looking spread across one of the library’s wide tables. She held a series of poor condition large print titles that were due to be recycled. She plopped them on the dark book cart hearing the hardcovers echo against the howl metal.

He remained concentrated. His long curtain of white blonde hair did not even deter him from his studies. He scribbled notes before flipping one page then two pages in another book. She could definitely see a range of atlases and maps he had somehow found within the public library walls.

“The Academic.” Her co-worker nearly chuckled in a posher than normal voice.

“A nickname just because he is doing a research project?” She said with a sigh. Her fingers tickled the edges of the cracked veiny spines. She slowly shifted the titles to be in alphabetical order.

“Yes, but you see the assortment of books he has piled up, maps, business proposals, history books, and I am pretty sure he’s found every title older than seventy years old not in a glass case.” She gave her coffee a loud sip again. They both looked toward their mystery researcher.

Still very concentrated.

“He’ll come looking for one of those titles in the historical room one of these days. I’m sure of it.” There was a soft smile on her co-worker’s face that nearly looked dreamy.

“You just think he’s attractive.” She whispered in a hiss. Her hands gripped the metal handles of the book cart.

“Oh please,” She settled the cardboard coffee cup beside her desktop at the reference desk. “I see the way you make eyes at him. I’ll turn on the fan for you.” Her fingers clicked on their small fan at the desk.

The librarian huffed pulling the cart away. One wheel spun out as she moved it across the carpet. It echoed softly hitting bumps every so often. Her french tip nails clicked against the cart. There was a slight pause in her pathway when she realized she would have to pass “the academic” to get to the back office.

The library was nearly empty on the creeping autumn mid afternoon. The trees had just started turning that crisp orange with yellow veins along the leaves. The large framed windows let in the shadows of oranges that made her feel cozy to be inside. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment.

He had his hair half up in a small ponytail. He wore a soft green sweater with two navy stripes nearly hidden beneath the fluff of the sweater. She could see white cuffs peeking through the cuffs on the sweater. He had before him an array of different colored pens and highlighters lined up in a nearly perfect line.

Her lips settled into a soft smile seeing it.

There was an appreciation there in seeing organization.

She loved seeing how he had lined them up, placing them back in order as he went.

Not as if she were looking.

Slowly she pushed her cart past the front of his table. Her soft heels settled on the hard carpet making an easy click as she moved.

He looked up.

She saw him then.

The librarian wasn’t sure why she hadn’t seen the eye patch, leather and etched with an embroidery of leaves along the edges. The design work was actually quite beautiful. His soft violet eye slowly blinked at her.

She felt caught somehow as if she were doing something wrong instead of her job.

Her throat rolled out a quiet whimper. She winced, feeling her covered big toe knock against one of the wheels. She nearly tripped. Their mystery researcher began to stand. Her hands pushed the cart further until she passed his table.

He was standing, watching her go.

She didn’t want to look back.

Her mind wandered to imagining that he was looking at her behind in the long skirt skating at her ankles.

In the window of the office she could see, he was doing just that.

He was outside before they opened almost every day now. She always thought the silver haired researcher looked dashing in every outfit he came in with. Her co-workers would swoon with curiosity at what exactly he was working on.

Librarians were always up for a good mystery.

He never spoke to a single employee. His long fingers and brilliant mind seemed to navigate the shelves with great ease as if he had been here since the building opened and had not just appeared two months before.

She noticed the things her co-workers seemed to ignore in favor of his physical traits.

They, of course, had noted the eyepatch, but she had noticed how he seemed to not touch it as if it were an old wound he was used to when the world seemed too silent around him.

She noted what kind of bags he came with. A green leather briefcase and a canvas messenger bag always accompanied him to his table. His table was nearest to the non-fiction materials. She noted he remained close to the history section. He never took too many steps from his table to what materials he needed.

While her co-workers continued to be curious what the handsome stranger was researching, seeing him devoted to taking every copy of the history section on The Conquest to his table to study and topical maps of the surrounding areas of Westeros, she had been curious how he researched.

He did not come in with a laptop, but instead a smattering of over used notebooks that were dog eared and sticking out papers at the edges. There was organization there. She could tell as he maneuvered between each notebook with ease pulling out different writing utensils with each different book.

There was no doubt he remained very concentrated about his work.

“How does he know where it all is?” Her co-worker had asked while in the break room. She was looking between the blinds at him.

There were only the two of them in the break room. While her co-worker was nearly glued to watching the handsome researcher, she continued to eat her tuna fish sandwich shrugging slightly.

“He seems intelligent enough to figure it out.” It was an obvious statement. She heard the blinds snap closed. “What?” Her co-worker stared at her rolling her eyes.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” She picked at the crust of her bread looking down.

“Pretend like you have some special bond with him. Like you know him.” Her eyes narrowed as if trying to decide if her words might be true.

“I just appreciate how self-sufficient he is. It’s rare.”

That seemed to be the end of the conversation.

She had the night shift that evening. It was always quiet toward the end of the night. This was the time she could do her displays. She was pulling some titles for non-fiction ghost stories as autumn continued to linger into the spooky season. Her short list of titles was nearly finished, but she was missing one.

Her feet padded over to the section, checking the early 100s for about the fifth time. Her fingers wiped over the empty spot which should have held, Most Haunted Places of Westeros. It was a loose spot with several titles leaning into each other for support. She didn’t know why she was so keen to find the title. Perhaps it was because the records said it was checked in and it was not exactly where it was supposed to be.

It frustrated her when things were out of place.

She clicked her nails against the wooden shelf. Her eyes wandered beyond that spot to the other side. Her eyes caught the side profile of a curtain of silver hair as he stood looking over a title. Her eyes caught his eye for a sharp moment staring a bit caught in the moment. She saw the twitch of a smile on his face. Her fingernails scratched the wood watching him walk away.

Maybe . . .

Her body moved automatically putting the books on display at the end cap of the non-fiction shelving unit. She smoothed out the display sign indicating what kinds of titles were on display, a black inky paper filled with white cartoon ghosts flying out of a white lined Victorian house. There was that missing spot though. It made her lips twitch a bit. She turned the corner to look for the title thinking it may have been mishelved.

She wasn’t sure how long she was looking or when she had gotten on her hands and knees to obsessively check the bottom shelves. Her hand caught her sneeze hearing the tail end of a clearing of a throat.

“Sorry,” His voice was not familiar to her, but it was higher than she imagined it. She sniffled, turning to see the silver haired stranger holding out exactly what she was looking for. “I took one of your books for your display, didn’t I?”

Her mind blanked for a moment looking up at him from on her knees on the hard carpet. She sat back on her ankle booties. Her glasses, silver framed completely on purpose since she had to stare at his silver hair all day and every week, slid down her nose. When she adjusted them she could see he was wearing a black button up with every button fascinated tight. So tight in fact she could see that his biceps and pecs were straining.

She nibbled at the side of her lips before realizing his words.

“Oh it is no trouble I can -”

“No, please. I’m finished. Besides, you are closing soon.” He nodded his head curtly holding out the thick yellowed paged book. She could smell the age of it from here, but it was a perfect addition for her display which she desperately needed.

She shifted upwards, unable to stop herself from witnessing the way his violet eye seemed to follow her. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Gods, he was tall! Nearly a foot taller than her, but she could have imagined that by the way he was slumped over his studies.

There was more she could say, but instead she mumbled a soft thank you letting her fingers grasp the book from his hand. She pressed it to her chest letting her feet take her back to the end cap.

He watched her.

She felt that soft eye on her making sure the book returned to where it needed to be.

“You know we close in fifteen minutes. Don’t you, Sir?” She said merely so she could break his little stare. She was aware he knew this information.

“Oh yes, right. I should start packing up my things. Apologies again for the book.” He nodded awkwardly before returning to his table where he did in fact have a large spread of items.

While he packed up she looked up at the cover of the book they had both been desperately clinging to.

She wondered what a man like him could need a book about supernatural locations for.

He had finally checked out a book.

It was the gossip of the day among all the curious library workers. He had come up to the circulation desk with one paperback fiction title tucked at his hip. It was before he went on his two hour lunch break to the local coffee shop. Upon handing his library card, everyone now knew the name of the silver haired patron who graced them with delicious eye candy for months.

Aemond Targaryen.

It wasn’t long before everyone knew quite too much about the no longer stranger. She had sat back and listened as they listed his accomplishments and failures. The Targaryens were nearly celebrities, but the silver hair while hereditary wasn’t exactly an indication of a true Targaryen. Many people dyed their locks to look like the semi celebrity royals of Westeros.

It didn’t bother her much that they were searching for juicy gossip about the long haired Aemond Targaryen. That was simply human nature. People were curious when strange people came in. Aemond was an interesting fellow. She could admit that.

What bothered her most was when they discussed his eye.

It was no secret Aemond Targaryen was missing one eye.

She had never been curious about the cause of it.

What good was knowing the nature of his disability?

Her co-workers seemed obsessed over knowing how the eye was lost.

When they were discussing she had taken to leaving the room or planting herself on the large circular reference desk in the middle of the library that always faced him. Everytime she did she saw him catch her with his one good eye.

She was beginning to notice it more and more ever since the first day she spoke to him.

Aemond Targaryen was curious about HER.

Her co-workers were so wrapped up in knowing him more that they had not noticed that they had now taken to exchanging soft smiles. It was a small gesture, but one she seemed to look forward to. She had also taken to going to lunch around the same time as him. She would whisper her request for an early lunch knowing he would softly gather his things before heading to the coffee shop within walking distance. It may have been her imagination, but when she lifted herself from the squeaky wheeled chair at the desk he’d look up and begin to pack up as if on an automatic timer.

There was an unwritten rule not to scold him if he came back with his flat white latte with the lid firmly on. Now that they understood he was a Targaryen the rule was very widely known among patrons and the staff.

She had settled herself at the desk beginning her desk shift for the day. Her items were always well placed beside her. Her notebook containing her to-do list was open on her left while her cold brew with a light pink reusable straw was settled to her right on top of a tissue in an attempt not to make a stain on the ancient desk. She was typing her password in the computer when she felt his warm shadow.

“I was looking for a book.”

Aemond Targaryen liked to wear black and green. It had something to do with the heraldry of their house in Old Valyria. Not that she had scrolled on her phone late one night to discover the reason. However today he was dressed in a rather plain looking mock grey turtleneck and dark jeans. His eye patch however was a faded olive green leather bordered with little vines at the edges.

“Oh, of course,” His question caught her off guard. He never came looking for a title. Aemond Targaryen was used to navigating the library on his own. It seemed to function as a second home to him. She suspected if he could sleep here he would. “Do you know the -”

“It says it is in special collections.” He answered as if seeing the curiosity on her face. She saw his head tilt slightly. “It’s on The Conquest.” Her brain worked to guess what he was talking about. There was a small smile peaking at the corners of her lips as if he were enjoying seeing her mind sort through all the titles.

“We have many titles in our historical archives on The Conquest. Did you have a specific one in mind?” She hated to give up and not give him an answer, but -

“How many titles?”

“Twenty six.” Her eyes nearly widened at her own memory.

His lashes fluttered as he chuckled softly.

“You know the collection quite well, Miss . . .”

She spoke her name. Her voice cracked a bit at the letters.

Gods was he handsome.

She hated that.

“Perhaps you can show me the collection?” There was a softness in his voice as he asked, a politeness she rarely heard in the few times they spoke.

She simply nodded shifting to put up the sign at the desk signifying she was off desk. Her fingers shuffled for the keys to the private room and various locked cabinets in the drawer. He waited and watched her as she moved. She momentarily thought to break the silence of the soft echo of their heels by asking him of his research, but slowly thought it was none of her business.

The historical archives room was a space on the opposite end of the library. Individuals rarely went in there, but there was the occasional reporter or request that came in from across the country asking for a scan of a record. Generally civilians didn’t ask too much for the room unless they were doing family research.

“Conquest.” She muttered under her breath a few times in a sing-song tone.

She noted he was leaning against one of the shelves before she turned to give him a stern look.

“Please be careful. That is original furinture.” She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. It appeared to work though. Aemond Targaren acted as a caught child straightening up, folding his hands behind him. “Now as I said we have a number of titles on The Conquest.”

“Twenty six.” He repeated her own words.

The high ceilings seemed to echo those words.

“Yes,” She swallowed, moving to tap her fingers along the first of several glass cases that bordered the room. “Most are in these cases, if you want to -”

“I know what I am looking for.” Aemond said.

He scrolled confidently over to a small cabinet near the exit of the room. It held many titles that were distinguished as being from two hundred years ago. She hesitated before going to the cabinet to join him. She followed his line of sight to see that he was eyeing the only spine with no title.

“These are rarely looked at.” The librarian started out loud. “There is a procedure if you wish to look at them.” She started to move to the small drawer underneath the cabinet pulling out supplies. There was a small pink plastic bin she settled on the table. The brunette could feel his eyes watching her. She adjusted her glasses hoping he did not notice they were fogging.

“I’ll need your id.” She shifted the little card bin brushing off some dust from infrequent use. “You’ll need to wear these gloves to look at the item.” Her finger shifted the small pump of hand sanitizer and box of tight blue latex gloves. “Put the sanitizer on your hands before the gloves.” She lined the items out in the order he needed to use them. Her eyes fluttered up to him. Aemond slowly turned his head toward her, eyeing the items. “The item must remain in this room. Any damage -”

“I will not damage the item.” He stated coldly.

“Any damage to the item will be noted. There are cameras in this room.” That last line was one she should not have stated yet she still pointed them out to the man. He did not follow her finger, but instead remained looking at her. His focus made her cheeks hot. “Do you have any questions?”

“Will you be watching me the entire time I read?” There was a cheekiness there in his tone.

“Only if you would like me too.” She wasn’t sure where her own flirtation had come from.

“Hmmm . . .” He wondered if he wanted that. “I should not keep you. I will not be long. I simply need to make some notes.” His hand patted his jean pocket where she could see the spirals of the notepad sticking out.

The librarian shifted her keys hating how close he leaned to her, hating more how she could very much see how her fingers trembled as she opened the door. She could smell his cologne on him, something she had not noticed before. It was soft and musky like a forest after a very heavy rain when every pine was fresh and wet. She shifted to put the gloves on herself retrieving the delicate item from the cabinet.

He did as instructed. Aemond Targaryen placed his driver’s license in the bin. He wet his hands with a slow spurt of santizer rubbing it between his two hands while watching her. He slipped the gloves on with ease.

“I will come check on you in fifteen minutes.”

With that she left him to his business fully aware that his eyes trailed after her when she left.

Her mind could not focus on the tasks she had left. Her emails remained a blank white screen. Her voice trembled slightly as patrons came to the desk asking computer based questions and looking for titles. One young woman even asked if she was alright.

Gods, what was this man doing to her?

It had been exactly sixteen minutes when she had a chance to go check on him.

He was maneuvering from the table of contents to numbered passages. She was fully aware that was what he was doing as she noticed the gesture. Aemond Targaryen did that often with other books at the library.

“A minute late. Tsk, tsk.” Her heart jumped at the disappointment in his tone before she noted his little smile.

“Patrons can be quite needy.” What was she saying?

“Am I a needy one?”

“No. You are quite self sufficient. It is very much appreciated.” She shifted on her heels before deciding to approach him. “Did you need more time or . . .”

“Hmmm . . .” He looked down at his small notepad. “Perhaps another five minutes. That should give me enough time to take my final notes. Would that be sufficient?” When he looked at her she felt her heart in her throat. His hair was perfectly laid back across his toned shoulders.

“Of course. Please let me know if you need anything.”

She walked out fast knowing if she lingered too long he may say something cheeky.

The librarian settled at the desk noting the time. She wrote one email in those five minutes that she immediately erased seeing how it almost read as nonsense.

“He asked for a book?” Her co-worker wondered as their shift was beginning to change.

The librarian explained what had transpired, noting the title.

“He checked out a fictional recount of The Conquest. I saw he’s getting a dual master’s in history and philosophy.” When she inquired how her co-worker knew that she simply winked.

“I’m going to check on him then go to lunch.” The librarian shifted up the pink bin containing his id to bring back to him.

When she entered the room he was not at the table. The book was left abandoned. He was looking through the shelves at other titles, hands behind his back.

“All finished, then?”

He simply nodded. She handed him back his id. He reached for his wallet, putting it back inside. She could not help seeing the wads of large bills sticking out from there. Yes the Targaryens were quite well off, but it was one thing to have the knowledge and another to see the cash in his wallet.

“Did you find everything you needed?” She couldn’t help herself. She wanted to talk to him more.

“I did. Have a good lunch, my dear.”

With that he left, letting his dress heels echo in the room. The librarian began to put on the gloves to return the book when she found the edges of a ripped out spiral piece of paper sticking out.

Surely this didn’t belong.

She pulled it free seeing that hand writing was not only beautiful, but the message caused her cheeks to flush.

If you are able to get away please meet me for lunch today. I suspect you know the spot. - Aemond Targaryen

She rubbed the message between her fingers lingering over the thought that he knew that she watched him so closely.

Dare she answer this request?

Her heart fluttered widely at the thought of it. Her mind raced thinking that she could not get a coffee as she had already had her caffeine for that day. Why was she focused on coffee when Aemond Targaryen had asked her out to lunch?

Instead she let her mind focus on the task at hand. She put the book away. As she ripped off the gloves she felt unsettled on her feet.

How long had it been since she had been asked out?

How long would it be if she rejected this request?

Soon she found herself by her locker contemplating exactly what she should do.

“I’m going out to lunch today. Be back in an hour.” She told her co-worker at the desk before heading out the front doors into the chilled November air.

She shifted on her feet in line unsure what exactly she expected when entering the small cafe. It smelt of fresh coffee and cream with the steam of the espresso machine calling out to her. The clattering of plates settled on the counter for bussers to shift freshly pressed pannis and bowls of over grown gourmet salads to tables.

Her eyes raked over the scene spread before her. It was a small smattering of people in business suits mixed with friends chatting over wide brimmed cups of hot coffee. Despite it being a short five minute walk from her library she had never been inside. It felt cozy and warm, especially on such a chilly day.

“You came.” She barely noticed as he settled next to her in line.

The librarian only nodded.

“I’ve never been here.” She mused.

“I’m as much a regular here as the library. Let me buy you lunch.” His hand seemed to hover behind her back as if wishing to touch her.

“No, please, I couldn’t -”

“But you will. Let me. Please.” The sparkle tangled in that violet eye making her sigh aloud. She blinked letting strands of her brown hair fall into her eyes clouding her sight as they settled on her glasses.

Aemond started small talk about what he had liked and disliked so far in his several months coming to the location. He pointed out his favorites. She noted he settled on healthier menu items, turkey sandwiches or salads with fresh fruits. They were in a bit of a heated discussion on whether fruit belonged in a salad when it was their turn.

“The usual Mr. Targaryen?” The young woman with a nose piercing and big bright eyes asked him. Her eyes looked curious at his lunch companion.

“Yes, but I will also be getting lunch for my date here.”

The noise of the place roared silent in her mind, though she suspected the world continued around them.

Date?

Date?!

Date . . .

“My dear, what would you like?” He asked it as if he had asked her several times.

“Oh, um . . . caesar salad, no croutons, add avocado.”

It was her go to with any location, though avocado was not usually something many cafes could accomedate. This place seemed able to provide her with it. When asked for her drink she had ordered a tea. It seemed like the correct beverage for a location such as this.

Aemond found them a table. One that she suspected was another regular spot. It had an amazing view of a small garden outside. She tugged at her coat as she prepared her tea seeing that they had quite an assortment of flavors. She tried not to focus on how nice he looked with the sun shining in his long silver locks. She certainly wasn’t watching his lips against the cardboard cup sipping at his latte.

She settled her tea on the table before removing her coat. His eye watched her every movement as if taking in each small gesture to memory.

“I’m so glad you came.” She swallowed at the words looking at him. “I really didn’t think you would.”

“Why’s that?”

“You are . . . hmmm . . .” He hummed into his cup before taking a deep sip. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Very professional. I did not think dating a patron would be something you would consider.”

It wasn’t.

She sipped at her fruity tea without saying those words.

“Why did you come to lunch with me then?” He scratched at his cup.

“Curiosity.” She hummed with a shrug.

“Is that all?” He nearly laughed at the notion.

“I would not have come if I thought I wouldn’t enjoy myself.” It was true. Why would she waste her time on a boring person? Aemond Targaryen was intriguing. She could not deny him that.

“You are so kind to say that. Not many people would have taken the offer.”

They watched as their food was settled on the table. Another young girl seemed to let her eyes linger on him as she placed his roasted turkey sandwich with kale chips in front of him. Her salad was nearly a second thought.

“You see.” He told her motioning as the bus girl let them be.

“See?” She positioned her utensils beside her just as she liked.

“Do not play dumb with me, my dear. I know you see.” His voice was lower, harsher, filled with a feeling she could not put her finger on.

“You do not need me to tell you that you are intimidating and handsome.” Her fork stabbed at her salad as she used her knife to cut it into smaller pieces.

“Handsome?” He cooed.

“Don’t get a big head about it. I am aware you know everyone at the library is nearly falling over themselves to bask in your presence.” She was nearly bitter about it as she spoke.

“Not you.”

“No, I’m just better at hiding it.” She was. She had taken the time to hide any feelings she had, bury them deep until she could not feel them any longer. Many of her therapists called it unhealthy, but it never stopped her from doing it.

“What else are you hiding, my dear?” He hadn’t touched his food. Aemond Targaryen was looking at her with a bewitched look as if he could fall in love with her at any moment.

“Keep taking me out on dates and maybe you’ll find out.”

He did just that.

Aemond Targaryen, the more she thought about it, seemed to be enchanted by her presence. They had taken to going out to lunch twice a week. Occasionally they would hold hands on line as they ordered, but it was nothing more than that. Aemond was a true gentleman letting her guide every touch and subject they settled on.

She learned his father had recently passed on leading to a fight within the family for the wealth he left behind. Aemond wanted nothing more than to continue his education. He was in a very intense dual master’s program with a hope to someday become a professor or work in another program in his field. They discussed their favorite museums and topics they both loved.

She was surprised how easy every conversation was.

It was as if they were good friends rekindling their friendship into a romance.

She told him how much she adored every aspect of her job. Organization and learning were her favorite things in the world. His organization was something that caught her eye long before his beauty.

As December approached, he began to ask her out for dinner and cozy outings. As Christmas approached she could very much feel that Aemond Targayen was more than a friend and rather a boyfriend. It was made very apparent when they walked hand in hand in the Christmas market. He had given her a kiss, their first, before letting her drive off home.

They hid their relationship well as he still came to study in the library. He explained he could not resist being close to her, but also he still had much to study. She never truly hid the relationship from her co-workers. Right before Christmas some of her co-workers seemed to figure out her and Aemond were dating.

They didn’t say much.

They could be as coy and silent as her.

On Christmas when she visited her family she received texts from him wishing her well and wistfully waiting to see her again. After Christmas he began to come into the library less though they continued their dates after work with dinners out. He explained his absence due to the fact that he was dealing with the inner workings of his family’s estate due to the sudden inability of his elder brother, Aegon to handle manners.

On New Year’s Eve, Aemond Targaryen took his girlfriend out to a bar, Storm’s End. It wasn’t a typical location they went out to. He usually took her to historical locations buzzing to discuss the history behind the restaurant or museums with elegant restaurants attached. Storm’s End was a bit seedy with shaded lights and a smoky atmosphere.

He had picked her up after work not telling her this was where they were going.

Aemond had pulled out the bar stool and ordered for them. He knew her drink order by now. She loved a fruity martini after a long day. That night she sipped on a mango martini and watched him order a very expensive scotch that made the bartender’s eyes widen. He repeated the price several times before believing that the Targaryen man actually wanted it. Her hand traveled up Aemond’s thigh as the liquid in the glass seemed to disappear at her lips.

She could hear his breath grow a bit heavier as she squeezed his toned thigh.

Alcohol always loosened her inhibitions.

They had not done anything quite sexual as of yet, but it did not mean she didn’t want to.

The opportunity had never truly arisen.

The hottest they had gotten was making out in his car before she decided she needed to go inside and his lips were bright red with her pretty lipstick.

“You keep that up and I’ll have to take you into the bathroom.” He teased brushing his fingers along her knuckles.

“What if that’s my goal for the evening?” She leaned forward feeling tempted to tease him further. “Have you fuck me against a dirty wall in a seedy bar? Is that why you brought me here, Aemond Targaryen?” It was only a tease as she kissed under his ear.

Before anything further could settle between them, a large order of chicken wings settled between them. She was starving. Her fingers pulled apart the wings eager and hungry not caring if hot sauce coated her fingers. He couldn’t help himself watching her. He was glad when she offered her dirty fingers to him to suckle. The way his lips moved made her twitch a bit under her skirt.

It wasn’t a foreign feeling. She wasn’t a prude. Her sexual history was wrought with playful exploration and deep desires. Aemond had occasionally squeezed her thighs as they kissed. His fingers would gently stroke her sex as well. Nothing more had come of it which had been a bit of a disappointment.

She suspected tonight they could take their relationship further.

It was especially true when Aemond seemed to take her chin in his hands. He began to kiss her right there at the bar letting his tongue explore her. The martini was empty by now, giving her a pleasant buzz that allowed her arms to wrap around him to settle into the pleasure of feeling him. Her breath was hurried as her fingers pulled at his long locks. Aemond didn’t seem to mind how enthusiastic she was being. His hands anchored her hips to the stool even as she tried to lift up to crawl into his lap.

“You are so fuckin needy.” He said between kisses. “You want me so bad don’t you, beautiful?” She licked her lower lip at his words. “Come on now. Let’s get you home, my dear.”

She saw him fish out a single bill from his wallet. Her hands stroked his thigh feeling how toned he was. She would not get used to feeling the muscles on his thigh and under his shirt. He was so fuckin’ toned for a man who seemed glued to old dusty books.

“Gods,” He whimpered. Her cold hands were inching under his now untucked button up. “Relax. I’ll take care of you soon enough.”

It nearly sounded like a threat.

She didn’t mind it. It was very clear how badly she wanted him. She should have been embarrassed. There were whistles across the bar. All eyes on her as she was being quite bad feeling him up in front of every living person in this bar. It didn’t matter to her. She’d never see these people again. If she felt the need she could dry hump her boyfriend here if she thought he wouldn’t spank her later.

Though she wasn’t against spanking.

“Aemond.” She whispered against his ear.

“Fuckin’ don’t,” He cooed. Aemond Targaryen pulled her off the bar stool. “I’m glad I drove. You’re a mess and only from one drink.” She had forgotten what martinis did to her. She had gone out with Aemond having a glass of white wine, but the harder stuff made her a bit handsy.

Well maybe more than a bit.

He drove her back to her place, a small flat not far from the bar.

When he parked she nearly crawled on top of him whispering his name against his pretty lips.

“Do you want to come inside?” There was a lilt of naughtiness in her tone.

“I feel if I don’t you’ll have all kinds of fun without me.” He grabbed her chin looking her over. “Your glasses are all fogged up, silly girl.” He kissed her cheek then down her neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.” She shivered as he licked and kissed her neck, teasing the fur around the collar of her coat. “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up.”

Her mind at the thought of going inside became more focused. She didn’t want to feel too needy and desperate their first time having sex. She wanted to be able to feel every second of Aemond Targaryen taking control of her body or however he wanted her. She shifted taking the lead to pull him inside. Aemond surprisingly let her take control letting his hand rest eagerly in hers.

The key pushed into the lock with ease.

Her mind floated to the idea that he would be pushing his cock inside her in a similar manner later tonight.

She settled beside the door looking about for a moment. Panic rose in her thoart at the thought that her flat might be a nightmare. There were some piles of books beside the sofa in the living room, but not much else was out of place except . . .

“Samson!” She hissed seeing her lithe black cat hop on the counter in the open kitchen just as she removed her last shoe. “Psst! Get down.” The cat looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Gods!”

She started padding her feet over to the cat who immediately retreated into the living room. Aemond gave a soft chuckle watching the ordeal unfold.

“Oh you think this is funny?” Her grin softened slightly.

“Yes. You are quite adorable when you are a bit mad.” His eye watched the cat slink under the couch. Samson watched him with yellow eyes as his tail swished back and forth. “He’s a bit skittish.” She threw her coat toward the couch, though Samson was so used to the gesture he did not move from under it.

“You aren’t around cats a lot are you?” She took his hand in hers trying to pull his attention away from the suspicious feline. “Let me show you the bedroom. Kitty will be fine.” Her mind thought about saying something lewd about a different kind of pussy cat, but she was too needy for words any longer.

It seemed to work. His eye settled on her following like a lost puppy ready for a delicious treat. She’d give him anything he needed tonight while not compromising her desires. Despite her up tight demeanor she was curious to see what Aemond Targaryen desired in the bedroom. He seemed quite enamored with her thighs, squeezing and caressing them any chance he got.

When she pulled him into her bedroom she did not give him a chance to look around. Her arms pulled him down to crash into her lips. Her tongue was eager to push inside his mouth and whimper small noises against his plush lips. His hands settled on her brown checkered dress pushing her close into him.

She could feel how hard he was for her.

It was pure desperation.

Her arms pulled him down, nearly ready to jump on him.

“Mmmm. . .” He hummed against her lips. “Wait.” She let herself obey even though her body wanted to reject his words.

He pulled from her letting his gaze settle over her. Aemond licked his lips. She could see him breathing so heavily. He was struggling to gain his composure, to obey his own word of warning. He hummed again before licking his lips again. His finger pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. It was then she noticed how hard she was breathing.

“So bloody gorgeous.” He said in nearly a single breath.

“So are you.” She mused with a soft innocent smile trying her best not to touch him again.

“Don’t do that.” He warned. Aemond straightened letting his eye tease across her bright face.

“I’m not doing anything.” She shifted on her sock clad feet.

“Yes, you are.” Aemond tucked her hair behind her ear. “Just standing there with that little smile.” His fingers traced her lips as he spoke. “And your glasses framed silver as if I wouldn’t notice.” He tapped his finger at the corner of the glasses, a reflective silver frame. “You’ve wanted me for so much longer then I realized, haven’t you? I should have noticed sooner. I could have been doing these things,” He moved his other hand up her skirt passed her panties to her wetting slit. “To you so much sooner.” She gasped feeling his finger slip inside her. His palm held her face as he fingered her.

“You are so fuckin wet.” His voice was low and teasing. His nose nuzzled against her cheek. “You want me to fuck you? Hmmm . . . tell me what you want me to do to you.” She couldn’t think as he pumped his finger inside her. “Oh, my dear. Can’t tell me hmmm . . .” She shook out her hair. He tucked it back together into that little tight bun atop her head. “How about I make a request then?”

She nearly cried out when he pulled his hand away from inside her. His hand started to unbutton his black dress shirt. Aemond pulled it off tossing it to the floor. Her eyes raked over his toned chest for only a moment. He was fluid as he undressed taking his shoes, socks, pants, then boxers off until he was completely nude in front of her. He stroked his cock, from base to tip slowly watching her squirm to move under his gaze.

“I want you to sit on my face.”

He moved to her soft white comforter settling on the pillow on her bed.

She blinked for a moment taking in his request.

“Did you not here me, love?” He sat up slightly looking her over. “Come sit on my face, my dear. Let me eat that sweet cunt of yours until you are trembling.” She blinked again before letting her fingers pull off her silk panties. She reached behind her to find the zipper of her dress.

“No.” He said sharply. “Keep the dress on.”

“You don’t want to see me?” It was an automatic reaction of self doubt that bubbled at her lips.

“That’s not it, love.” She started to kneel on the bed as he spoke. He took her hands in his. “I have a bit of a fantasy.” Ah there it was.

“Librarian fetish?” She was no stranger to that sort of thing.

“Not exactly.” His soft blush told her differently though.

“No shame in expressing what you like, my dear.” She used his own words against him. “Tell me. I suppose you want me to keep my glasses on too.” She adjusted said glasses up the bridge of her nose. She watched him swallow. His cock even twitched. It was such a simple gesture and he had nearly creamed himself.

“Please.” He was nearly begging now. “Sit on my face. Let me make you feel good.”

She hiked up her skirt rolling the fabric as she moved over him. She let her pussy lips skate across his cock as she moved. The groan was so low and needy she wondered if she needed to settle on his long hardness right then and there. Instead she settled for lowering on his face.His lips suckled her loudly causing her to gasp deeply.

“Oh, so fuckin’ good. Yes.” She tried to focus on her breathing. The skirt blocked her view from his lovely face, though she could still feel how good his lips were treating her. “Let me know if I’m too heavy or you need a - ahhhhhhh!” She felt her hips moving against his mouth riding his tongue out as it found her clit to suckle.

She had never ridden a man’s face before. Yes she had gotten eaten out, but this was a very different experience all together. Her hands positioned themselves against the plush headboard of her bed. It rocked banging softly against her egg shell colored walls. His hands held her steady and close to his face. She could not help herself in leaning into his mouth that latched onto her. His nose flicked back and forth stimulating her clit that she felt was just as needy as her.

Her breath heaved in and out trying to focus on being able to breath. Her whimpering was a bit pathetic, but the more noises she made the more vigorous Aemond seemed to become. His hands were under her dress holding her hips against his mouth. She could hear the loud suckling against her cunt along with the slobbering mess he was drooling over her cunt. His moans and delicious little noises spurned her on.

“Aemond, I’m close. Aemond . . .” There were no words any longer, but she could feel him move her skirt. Her eyes closed as she felt herself unravel on his mouth.

Her hands laid flat against the headboard. Her hips rutted against his mouth riding out her little high. Her eyes finally settled downward to see he had moved her skirt to watch her face as she came undone. She licked her lips seeing how latched he still was on her cunt. It felt raw feeling her cunt in his mouth, seeing him looking up at her with blown back black eyes.

She started to move, but he anchored her there in his mouth, moaning in protest. He closed his eye, beginning to kiss and lick her cunt then slowly toward her inner thighs.

“Aemond . . . please.” She didn’t know what to say after. He was moaning and licking. She felt her face flush as she could feel her arousal leaking from her. “Let me . . .”

“You are behaving perfectly for me.” He said between kisses on her cunt. “Ride my face again. Just like before.” He moaned into her again.

“Don’t you want me to ride your cock?” She groaned so sweetly as she nibbled her bottom lip.

“Fuckin’ temptress.” He groaned, releasing her. “Go on then. Get on it.”

She pumped her hips a bit over his lips letting his nose tease her clit before maneuvering to where he wanted her. She hovered over his cock. Her hands skated over his toned abs not able to help herself in giving a tone that spoke to her admiration of his body.

“If you liked how my pussy tasted,” Slowly, ever so slowly she lowered herself despite the impatience that screamed across his features. “You’ll love how it feels.”

He cried out with her as she sank on him in one quick motion. Her cunt was used to a slow easy stretch that she wanted to test herself to see how she might react if she let his cock in with a singular motion. It felt unexpected, a bit unpleasant, and incredibly satisfying.

“Gods, you are so full of surprises.” He groaned under her. She saw tears catch at the corner of his eye. He let out a little whimper again. His hands snaked to her hips, so round and canting. “Shit, you feel . . . Gods . . .” She was moving. It was causing him to groan and lose his words. “Please don’t stop.”

One hand anchored her hip while the other moved to knead her breast. She helped him find the right rhythm of squeezing and brushing his thumb over her nipple which was rapidly hardening under her bra and dress. Her hands caressed his torso wanting so badly to feel him inside and out. Her hand occasionally raked through his long silver hair.

“So beautiful.” She mumbled. “All mine.” She loved to be a little possessive when it came to the people she loved. Her mouth pulled close to him testing to see if he would let her say those words to him without wanting to turn the tables on her, possess her fully.

“I’m . . . yours.” He breathed between her kisses.

It prompted her to ride him hard. It allowed him to curse. He let out words in a language she did not understand. The tone of it sent her out of control. His hands were against the small of her back pushing over her clothes harder against him. She kept kissing him, riding him, and calling out his name. Her body skated past an orgasm. Her hand snaked under the skirt nearly crushed by her own movement.

She stroked her clit, but he came before she had a chance.

His softening cock made her whimper.

He hummed as he let himself fall back on the pillow.

Aemond pushed her hip slightly, a gesture for her to dismount from him. She suddenly didn’t feel so in control or sexy rolling onto her back beside him.

“Good?” She wondered nuzzling her nose to his throat.

“We’ll get there.” He chuckled. His eye watched as her face grew near offensive. “I prefer to have my partner orgasm first, but first times are about learning. You are such an interesting subject. I can’t wait to study what makes you tick further.” He wrapped her in his arms, snuggling her.

She felt his lips kiss her forehead.

“Happy New Year, my dear.” He whispered against the shell of her ear. “Let me know when you are ready to go again.” His lips curved against her cheek. She could feel his silver hairs tickle her neck.

“Ready whenever you are, love. This time I want you to see all of me.”

The sex was good.

The sex got better with each passing day.

Every date ended at her place, in her bed. His appetite for her was nearly all consuming. The little brunette was able to put the Targaryen man in place if he came on too strong. It was rare though. Her hunger for him was just as dark and consuming.

She had yet to see his place, which bristled her only when her co-workers mentioned it.

“What’s he hiding over there, huh?” They asked.

Her mind often wandered of what she truly knew about Aemond Targaryen besides the surface level things she saw or read. She knew he was intelligent, but that was clear seeing him study every day or looking at his various professional profiles online. He was well mannered. He loved to touch her any chance he could get. He desired her openly when they were sitting at a bar or in a restaurant or at the theater.

She didn’t mind constantly being touched. There was a sweetness in having a needy man at her heels wanting her so badly he’d do just about anything. It felt a bit possessive at times, but when she told him to stop he was very obedient. She suspected being told what to do turned him on.

Her little dirty talk in the bedroom had kept him coming back for more. Or maybe it was her alone. He made her feel so special. He was beginning to lavish her with gifts besides fancy dinners and mind blowing sex.

Fuck he ate her out so fuckin good.

He never gave her a single piece of jewelry. Every gift was thoughtful and exclusive to her. Aemond had her favorite Jane Austen book rebound and custom made. It was etched in a solid gold cover looking like a glorious piece of art. She had nearly cried when he given it to her. Aemond gave her a small custom set of seeds with men he hired taking over her outdoor garden when he saw her reading over how to grow her own food.

She was waiting until the spring to plant them on her little porch outside her flat, but the landscaping had been a delight.

“He’s too good to be true.”

The words echoed in her head from her mother, her co-workers, and anyone else who seemed jealous of her happiness. Those little words ticked in her brain every time she felt too happy with her silver haired beau. Her heart pounded at the thought she might lose him to her own inability to take happiness at face value.

Her fingers still trailed in her overthinking.

Curiosity itched at her brain, but she refused to let it win out today.

He was taking her to Rook’s Rest, the most exclusive and expensive resturant. On Valentine’s Day no less. She had questioned how he could get in several times. He had simply told her he knew she would love their menu and he wanted nothing but the best for his woman.

Aemond had started out the day sending a delivery of a dozen perfect roses in a hand blown glass vase that appeared as the open mouth of a dragon.

He didn’t spend all day at the library instead letting her anticipate his arrival when he picked her up from her flat.

She wore a long black gown with silver collared jewelry and pearl earrings.

“The things I am going to do to you tonight . . .”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time Mr. Targaryen.”

He did.

Fuck did he know how to show her a good time.

Perfect dinner.

Perfect atmosphere.

Perfect company.

When he pulled up to the high rise penthouse she was surprised. It was gorgeous, tall, and a bit overwhelming in the moonlight.

“Let me show you where I live.”

Her heart pounded as she craned her neck. He pulled her into the elevator finding her lips and hips. He grabbed her, whimpering low and needy. Her toes curled as she perched on her toes. Even though she had heels on she was still so much shorter than him.

She barely had time to truly take in Aemond’s penthouse.

She knew that when the elevator opened it was to his entire room.

Everything else blurred.

There were certain aspects of the night that stuck in her brain.

He had put a red ribbon around her throat requesting that was all she wear.

His hand squeezing and spanking her ass.

His lips eating her out like she was his dessert.

His cock so hard bending her over the bed as he fucked her from behind.

His cum flowing against her cheeks.

It happened over and over again until she wanted to beg him to stop, but didn’t because deep down she felt so incredible.

She felt his hands grip around her waist in a semi possessive, semi comforting gesture. He nuzzled his nose in the crock of her neck where the ribbon met her skin. The librarian took the opportunity to let her curiosity win out deciding to scroll through her phone.

Her mind fell down a curiosity hole going over that strange bar on New Year’s Eve. She researched the bar itself learning it had a nefarious history. Since it first opened back in the 70s there had been an insane number of bar fights and alleged murders that occurred both inside and outside of Storm’s End.

Her fingers halted on the most recent death that had lingered on Halloween night just a bloke away from the bar.

A stabbing.

Lucerys Velaryon.

Aemond Targaryen’s nephew.

Several articles indicated Aemond Targaryen as a person of interest citing a childhood rivalry and -

Her fingers clicked out of the article.

She looked over to the man cuddling beside her.

Did she really know him?

She blinked away that thought. Her eyes settled onto the room. Her mind noted details. It was dark. The walls were coated black. His bed wasn’t high, but low. It was the easiest bed to get on for her tiny frame. He had no doors in his penthouse. Everything was open including the bathroom. She peeked in from the bed, seeing that instead of a mirror above his sink there was a painting of a beautiful landscape of a dark stormy night over a looming castle on a monstrous island filled with mountains.

There were no mirrored surfaces. She could even see from here that his kitchen was so bare. She decided to slowly wander over once Aemond entered REM. She felt his little lashes twitch against her backside. Her hips slipped out of his grasp easily though she could feel his exhale of hot breath at her back.

She ventured into the kitchen, nude and feeling out the rest of the penthouse. The little brunette had suspected his place to be spotless, but she could see now Aemond Targaryen had an organized mess. His books were not on his empty shelves, but instead piled at each side of his love seat. The titles were very much him, textbooks on history, books of maps, of business proposals, and titles on real estate.

On the counter top in his beautiful kitchen were a smattering of menus. Upon entering she could feel a sense of coldness there. Aemond had never been shy about his lack of cooking skills. Now she could see how truly bare the environment was. He had a smattering of greasy take away menus on the counter, folded and unfolded as if he had looked over them too many times. Each drawer she opened showed her the studio penthouse’s kitchen had never been touched.

Every utensil had a newness and shine to it that verged on disturbing. In the refrigerator laid takeaway leftovers, a case of beer, and a bottle of overpriced lemonade. In the freezer were microwaves meals, a stockpile as if he were preparing for an apocalypse. They nearly fell atop her when she opened it.

Her body, nude and slightly vulnerable, moved to the open walk in closet between the kitchen and living room.

No door.

No secrets.

It could be the reason he waited so long to bring her here.

Aemond Targaryen was a bare mess here. Her eyes faltered to his position in bed. He pulled the expensive silk sheets to his sweaty form. Her feet felt warm on the heated floor. He had bragged about installing it letting her mind wonder what it felt like to wiggle her toes on such warmth. Her hand flicked on the light.

It wasn’t the contents of the closet that struck her first.

Those were boring and unremarkable. She had seen his entire wardrobe at this point in their relationship. What she had not seen was the newspaper clippings that pressed firmly against the wall of the closet’s entryway. The articles were of take overs of large corporations from his father. There were articles that mentioned the name Aemond Targaryen, tabloids that talked about the day he lost his eye in a simple minded childhood fight with his nephew, Lucerys. In the middle of it all was a blown up article of the night his nephew died.

Every mention of Lucerys was underlined in red ink, over and over again.

He could not forget.

He could not forgive what was done to him.

“Naughty little girl.” She felt his weight against her back. His hand played with the bow loops around her neck. “Too curious for your own good. Hmmm . . .” His kiss was sloppy at her throat. Her eyes closed on instinct.

“Don’t act surprised.” The librarian was constantly looking for more information. The academic was always looking to learn. It’s what made them good together. It’s what made her terrified and aroused as he pinned her against the looming article on the wall.

“I don’t have to explain myself like some villain. You understand, my dear. You understand what needs to be done to you.”

There were two options.

Another article to the wall for discovering what she knew.

He was responsible for his nephew’s death.

Or . . .

“You can feel my choice right?”

His hand snaked between her legs to her soaked sex.

It didn’t matter what he had done.

She was too curious to find out more.

“Sir, the library is closing.” It was a soft tease on a summer Friday.

Aemond Targaryen looked up from his reading, no more studying.

Graduation was tomorrow.

He had on an expensive gold plated eyepatch. His silver dress shirt and pressed pants showed her he was ready for their evening out. Aemond now spent his time reading books she liked. She had given him a list. He was a fast reader and was nearly done with the several titles of what she deemed as classics. He loved talking to her about them, especially the non-fiction ones though there were not enough to his liking.

Her little mouth still frowned at his short hair, but he had insisted on a shorter look for his graduation.

A new start he had teased.

“I’m aware. I just need some assistance with an item.” He let the thick romance book snap closed.

Gods she hated that he didn’t use a bookmark.

The words were a beacon for her to follow. Her confidence with him had grown enough that she didn’t sheepishly look around her anymore. She followed him with a small spring in her step. He now was used to looking behind him for her, admiring her long pleated blue skirt and button up that had resewn buttons.

Aemond Targaryen loved pulling her little buttons off.

They were in a corner of the library. She instantly aware of why.

No cameras.

He pushed a metal step stool in the corner, never moving his hands.

“Up you go.” She obeyed.

The gesture was unfamiliar, but a fantasy he had spoken so many times. He looked her over for a moment, observing her on the stool. She could nearly hear his heart pounding with desire. They were eye to eye in this position, no longer was she a little meek thing looking up at him.

“You know what I want.”

“But it’s more fun if you take it.” Her response made him started to undo his pants.

The movement was quick as he took his fantasy into reality, fucking her in the corner of the library, no camera, no condoms, just pure desire. It might have taken him a moment or two to get his cock hard, but she barely noticed. She felt his spit coated cock rut inside her perfectly.

“You know what I’m going to do to you?” It was hardly a whispered question against her ear.

“I’m going to cum so hard inside you, you’ll be leaking my cum from your pussy until we get home.” He called his house their home even though she hadn’t moved in yet. “Then I’m going to fill you up again tonight and tomorrow and every night until I get bored. But you know I’ll never get bored of you, my dear.” She held back a whimper.

“Then you’ll move in at the end of the summer. I’ll keep you as my little whore and you’ll continue to be a good little librarian here.” He started to move faster. “I’ll marry you in a year’s time so I’ll truly be yours.” He loved being hers. “Then I’ll fuck this cunt up with baby after baby. I think four would be well within your threshold.” He palmed her belly. The thought of being full of his children made her bite her lip.

“You’ll be so happy. I’ll be so happy.” He grunted as if the thought of their shared happiness got him close to his orgasm. “I’ll work as a curator at a museum, preferably one with ancient weapons and about history. You’ll remain here, my little personal librarian. A mother. My little perfect wife.”

She was so close. She whispered his name.

“You’d like that, my dear. A family, love, discovering new things about each other every day. Would that sate your curious mind?”

“Yes . . .” It was so soft and wanting of the future, the future he imagined.

“Milk my cock then. Let it be the start of our future together.” He pounded into her making lewd noises in the corner.

Her mind felt white as she unraveled around him.

He gave her what he promised.

Not only his cum, but the promise of a future of curious behavior and his utter devotion.

#vbbships #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #ewan nation #ewanverse #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond targaryen #modern aemond x reader

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 9 months ago

Text

leather's in season

pairing: re8! chris x reader

tags/cws: semi-clothed sex, semi-public sex, implied to have had sex in the past, coworkers, p in v, cockwarming, the gloves stay on! (until they don't)

summary: chris and reader are bored on a stupid stakeout on a mission, waiting for hours in chris' car, and they're cold, pent up with frustration, and...

a/n: the gloves have me in a chokehold (jk but i wish they did)

div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 1.6k

tags: @vaaaaaiolet @faysslut @leonfucker3000 @rigorwhoring @withonly-sweetheart

Contrary to popular belief, the worst part of fighting BOWs for a living is not the constant threat of death. It's the boredom in between the thrill of fighting — protecting the world from alphabetical viruses that can turn cities into zombies overnight gives you a sense of purpose. Sitting in the passenger seat of Chris' jeep makes you feel… absolutely nothing.

Okay, fine. It makes you feel something. It wouldn't be that big of a deal if you weren't trapped in the car with this man, with nothing to talk about, nothing to even think about besides the one drunken night you've avoided discussing for almost two months. You could go the rest of your life without mentioning it, and so could Chris. Except, when he takes his coat off, it's impossible not to notice his muscular frame, and when he groans in exasperation, it sounds so similar to that one time when —

"What?" Chris says, sounding ticked off, though you haven't done anything. You've only thought about doing things. Things you know he likes, for that matter.

"What do you mean 'what'?"

"You're staring at me."

"There's not much else to look at, since you're taking up like half my field of vision."

An exaggeration, of course, but he is a large man. In many ways.

"It's fucking cold in here. Can I turn on the heat?"

"No. You'll burn through the battery. And it's not even that cold."

Men. They'll wear basketball shorts in the snow. Of course he'd say it's not that cold.

Chris pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Could you at least roll down a window if you're going to do that in here?"

"No," he says, "it's cold out there."

"I thought it wasn't that cold," you mock him.

He lights it despite your protests. He's the boss here — a fact he reminds you of at every opportunity. "It isn't. But it would be—"

You snatch the cigarette from between his lips, take a drag and blow the smoke into his face.

"What the fuck was that for?"

You not-so-subtly go into a coughing fit, having never smoked before. You hand it back to Chris, looking off to the side, knowing he'll make fun of you if you look at him. He takes it from you gingerly like it's a prized possession.

Minutes go by, the cigarette discarded in the ashtray in the center console, you pop a stick of gum in your mouth.

"Can I have one?" Chris asks.

"It's the last piece. Sorry." You're not really that sorry.

Chris is almost 50, but he pouts like a baby. It's almost cute. Almost. It would be if he hadn't made a fuss earlier.

"You can have it," you say, "I don't really want it anymore."

"Okay…" he says, suspicious — no, curious — about how you plan to exchange the gum you're offering him.

"Come here," you beckon him with a finger.

It's a trick as old as he is, but if nothing else, sitting in this car has made the both of you desperate, so he takes the bait and lets your lips touch.

It's quick, you play it off as a simple transaction, but Chris is nothing if not predictable. He grabs you by the cheek and kisses you again, harder this time, just as you expected him to — he takes control because he can.

"Get in the backseat," he says with a commanding, yet matter-of-fact tone that sounds similar to the one he uses with you in the field.

"Is that an order?" You ask, teasing him as he gets out of the driver's side, closes one door, opens another, and slides into the backseat.

Your eyes meet through the mirror on the windshield.

"You wanna stay warm, I'll help you, but I expect you to drop the attitude."

You want to be warm, and more importantly, you want to be closer to Chris, so you shut your mouth and get in the backseat.

Age, for Chris, just means extra gray hairs on his head and a greater proclivity for aches and pains after long days in the field. He's yet to lose that animalistic urge to tear your clothes off your body.

Your gear is long forgotten, lying idle in the front seat, but your turtleneck – skin-tight like Chris' – is very much still covering your top-half, a hindrance to Chris. His fingers fiddle with the fabric but you're quick to push his hands away.

"I told you, it's fucking cold."

"But I wanna see you," he says, with the voice of a middle-aged man, but the conviction of a whiny child, "I bet you look so pretty."

"You already know what I look like," you say, "unless you've forgotten."

"I could never forget that," he says between hungry kisses, "I've been thinking about the way you looked that night everyday since, which is why I want to see you like that again."

His lips find your neck, then his teeth tug your earlobe. "I'll make it worth your while," he says into the shell of your ear.

You agree to let him take your shirt off because when he's not demanding, he's convincing.

But he can't will his hands to heat up and he can't convince you that they're not cold. You shiver against his touch.

His solution is simple: keep the gloves on.

The feeling of leather against your skin is new, but Chris' deft touch is familiar. You know what his fingers feel like inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, making you cum with his hand over your mouth in the fucking supply closet. Only the location has changed, instead of a door, there are tinted windows. No one else is around (you hope), you can only hear the occasional voices of members of your squad coming from the radio.

You agree to strip when Chris offers you his coat (in addition to a place on his lap) to keep you warm. With you head tipped back, resting on his shoulder and his hands between your thighs, you say, without a thought in your mind, "I want you to fuck me."

You hear his breath hitch and feel his cock strain against his pants and you know he feels the same.

"Fuck, okay, but I'm not waiting for you to get comfy. I am not getting frostbite on my dick."

"Don't worry, I can handle it."

He hums, knowing you're likely overestimating your abilities but dying to be inside you nonetheless.

He lifts you up momentarily and you hear the clink of his belt and the zipper of his pants. He takes them down just enough to get his cock out. Without warning, he takes your hips and shoves it inside you, one deep thrust burying himself to the hilt.

It makes you gasp, it makes you whimper. Arousal makes you overconfident and the stretch is payback for your hubris.

"You're fine," he says. "You can take it."

"It's too much, I-I can't."

"Not my fault you're so fucking tight. Shoulda known based on your attitude."

"Well, your dick is almost as big as your ego."

It's hard to insult him when you're naked – aside from his coat – perched on his cock.

He laughs, rare and sweet – and proud. "Not my fault, either."

Chris' fingers, still covered by his leather gloves, play with your clit, making your walls flutter around him, every spasm elicits a grunt from him, and it only spurs you on – you try to lift yourself up, prepared to ride him like it's your life's purpose, like it's the mission you're in the middle of fucking nowhere to complete. He stops you, grabs your hips and holds them steady against his.

"What the fuck?" you say, pissed off (about how much his insistence on controlling the situation turns you on). "I thought you were gonna fuck me. This isn't fucking, I'm just sitting on your dick."

"Oh, it's not fucking?" he says. "Guess you're easy to please then, 'cause all I've done is stick my dick in you and you're about to fucking cum."

"I am not," you say, in a whine, as your cunt betrays you, clamping down around him, making it nearly impossible for him to fuck you if he wanted to.

Instead of taunting you, he takes his gloves off, shoves two fingers in your mouth and rubs your clit with more precision, more dedication to this mission.

"Cum for me," he whispers in your ear when he knows you're close.

You try to talk back. "Is that an or– oh my fucking god," your orgasm cuts you off. His hand covers your mouth before you can scream his name, and it's probably better that way. You're embarrassed enough as it is when you notice that you've soaked the front of his pants.

"You didn't–" you start, realizing he didn't cum. You're not sure if you should be grateful or offended.

"No, I have self-control," he says.

It's fucking reverse psychology whether he intends it to be or not – insulting you just makes you even more determined to make him cum, to pay him back.

"Oh yeah?" you challenge him as you sink to your knees.

He doesn't respond, doesn't protest. He lets you suck him dry.

You watch him go through the stages of pure bliss while you bask in the knowledge that you did this to him.

It's quiet finally, no arguing, no skin-on-skin, no moaning.

Except for the radio, which you realize you forgot to silence.

"I guess we have some explaining to do," you say to Chris.

"No need," says the voice on the other side, "we heard you loud and clear."

#chris redfield smut #chris redfield x reader #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #chris redfield #liztober

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fashionteahouse · 5 months ago

Note

Ahem.. I'm not gonna say anything important (tbh) but.. I've been looking for a vampire reader (like a Cullen) x Paul or Embry and I can't find anything. I'm dying. Like.. WHYYY?? WHY ALWAYS HUMAN READER😭💔

i like this idea ! hope you enjoy :)

next part

secret - paul x reader

Eyes rolled hard.

You were tired of the same routine.

How foolish was it to continue to have to move. You actually liked Washington.

“It’s unsafe for me to stay.” Edward says in deep sorrow.

The family were actually considering.

“We just got here three years ago. One human and you’re ready to crumble.” you mutter. Rosalie snickered at this.

“Don’t be so hard on him.” Carlisle says with great reasoning.

“While you all figure out the next location again, I’m going for a run.” you say.

You out in a flash.

You sulked high in the trees with a crouch. It was completely unfair how when Edward said jump, the rest of the Cullens had no problem asking how high.

It was clear favoritism.

You understood that he was the first adoptive child, but it was as if no one else’s opinion mattered. Your mind thought about just leaving, but Carlisle taught you everything you knew about the life of a vampire.

You were grateful, you were on the brink of death with all hope loss. It wasn’t until he was your doctor, nursing you back to health. You weren’t getting any better and he had taken a liken to you. He saved you. You will always be thankful to him for that.

A sound of a set of paws made you snap out of your head. You peered down and it was one of the biggest animals that you have seen.

You had already fed so you weren’t in the mood to hunt for it. But, you didn’t feel the need to even if you wanted to.

Its large head seemed to know right where you were. It didn’t run or scurry away like other animals did.

You got to see the color of their large eyes. It was as if everything was in slow motion. It was a sensation that vibrated throughout your frozen body.

It ran away before you could question any further.

Your mind was preoccupied as you went back home.

Paul was pissed.

He shook and trembled as he cursed.

“A fucking cold one.”

He felt that the spirits above were messing with him. Punishing him even

“No fucking way.”

He kept it a secret from that day forward.

You didn’t tell the Cullens about the animal you had seen. You instead thought of each animal in alphabetical order.

“I’m so glad you’re back. Your vision went to black.” Alice says with worry as you went to your room.

“I’m fine.” you say.

“Just be careful.” she warns gently. You wave her off.

As the rest of the Cullens went to hunt, you stayed back. Your mind thought back to the wolf.

You tried to read a book but your mind kept thinking about its gorgeous fur. It looked soft to the touch. It was an animal. Why you were so fixated on an animal, you just didn’t know.

You kept it a secret from that day forward.

The Cullens were packing up the home. You didn’t start packing your room. You stood stubbornly as Esme tried to convince you.

“I want to stay here. I don’t want to leave.” you say. You felt the need to stay.

“Y/N, we’re a family. We can’t just leave you behind”.

“It’s unfair Esme. Had Edward not been so blinded, we would still be able to stay.” you say with frustration.

“You can’t help who you love, Y/N. Had this been you, we would support you 100%.”

“But, I wouldn’t fall in love with food. A human.” you say bitterly.

“You don’t know that for sure. We all don’t know who we end up falling in love with. Alice is worried that if you stay, you will be in great danger. Your future isn’t clear.”

“I think we rely on Alice’s visions way too much, don’t you think?”

“Please, Y/N.” Esme begs softly.

You watch as she retreats.

You leave out as the rest of the family is preoccupied.

Ithaca.

You rolled your eyes even harder. All for Edward. The golden child. Letting him pick the location and all.

You crouched high on the tree again. A small part of you hoped that the animal stumbled upon you. But, you figured that chance was slim to none.

That’s when you heard the crunches of leaves and branches. The large animal froze. It was same one. You felt yourself get excited.

“Beautiful.” you whisper to it. The fur was silver and the body was majestic.

You watched as the animal cocked its head to the side.

Before you knew it, you watched in shock as the shimmer of the animal became a human. A muscular human. A naked human.

He covered his center with a large hand. He looked up at you with hard eyes. It was as if he tried to glare at you but he couldn’t bring it to his face.

“Are you stalking me or something?” he asked.

“No.” you say in a small voice.

“This is my second time seeing you.”

“This is my second time seeing you as well.” you say to him.

You jump down to get a closer look. He still kept his distance but he was even more beautiful up close.

Paul felt ashamed. He felt ashamed for feeling himself grow, he felt that his ancestors was looking down at him, shaking their heads.

For a bloodsucker, he genuinely felt you were beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous. He felt his curious mind get the best of him on how it could work. He shook his head.

“You turn into…?”

“A wolf.” he answered.

“A beautiful wolf.” you say as you look at him and his chiseled chest.

“You checking me out, too?” he asks.

You look up and you see a faint smirk.

“Maybe.” you say with your own smirk.

“Heard your family is leaving. Too bad the fun can’t begin.”

Your eyes grow wide a bit as you roll them, “Yeah..I don’t want to leave…It’s all because of..” you grumble.

He chuckled at your attitude. He was amused.

“If you don’t want to leave, why are you leaving?” he found himself asking. “Can’t even keep my fucking mouth shut.” he scolded in his brain.

“Because apparently Edward runs the household. It’s totally unfair…We warned him to stay away from….Bella Swan…But he was oh so curious of why he couldn’t read her mind.” you say.

“Read her mind?” he asks as you both walk.

“Yeah. That’s what he can do. Everyone except hers.”

“Vampire have superpowers and shit now?”

“You know..?” you ask in surprise.

“That’s why I transform into a wolf. To kill your kind off.”

You halt your steps as he takes a predatory step towards you. It wasn’t fear that you felt, it was rather excitement.

“Can you spare me? At least?”

“I’ll think about it.” he says in a seductive tone.

“A flirt, I see.” you whisper. His slow smirk was handsome on his face.

You hear your name ring out. The man turns away and you watch as he’s off on his own. You find out that he’s fast.

Alice rushes towards you and gasps, “You smell like..A shapeshifter. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s probably why I can’t see you. Come on, we have to get back.” she says.

You look in the direction he left. You felt yourself get sad that you never caught his name.

It was like his own dirty little secret. Paul soon found out he liked secrets.

He liked whatever game it was, he didn’t want it to end.

“We leave in the morning.” Carlisle announced to everyone. Edward seemed pleased.

“I’m staying.” you announce.

Shock surrounds the room. Rosalie stands next to Emmett with her arms crossed as he has an arm around her shoulders.

“Me and Emmett aren’t coming to Ithaca.” Rosalie announced.

“We can’t separate! We’re a family.” Alice says.

“Well, I don’t want to go to Ithaca.” Rosalie says.

“Yeah, me neither.” you say.

“And I’m going wherever Rose goes…We’ll see each other again. It’s happened before. We always reunite.” Emmett says.

“But..But..But it could be years before that happens.” Esme says sadly.

“I will stay and keep the house in order.” you offer with a small smile.

“Are you sure, Y/N…?” Carlisle asks.

You nod.

“I’m worried Y/N. That’s why you need to come with us. A shapeshifter was close to you and anything could happen while we’re away. I can’t even see your future anymore. Just please, come with us.” Alice begs you.

“Y/N, is that true?” Carlisle asks you.

“Maybe? That’s what Alice says. I was only lounging in a tree.” you say and you kept picturing deers because you could tell Edward was searching through your mind.

“Please don’t leave Forks. Got it? I personally will come to check in on you from time to time.” Carlisle says.

You nod with an, “Okay.”

You say goodbye to them all before the sunrise.

Edward watched you closely.

“What?” you ask annoyed.

“I know you’re up to something.”

“You always think I’m up to something.” you say as you remember the times he tattled on you time and time again.

“I always catch you…..I will miss you, Y/N.” he says.

You’re shocked.

“You will?”

He nods once. He even gives you a quick but sincere hug.

“Like Emmett said..We will reunite.” you say softly.

Edward grinned only slightly before he’s off right with the other Cullens.

The home was empty. You looked around. The patter of rain started to pour down.

You go out since you liked the feeling of rain on your skin.

You choose another spot, you were surprised that you felt the presence of the wolf.

You turn around and give it a brilliant smile. You watch as they slowly trot to where you were. It was much bigger up close.

Your hand reach out and the feeling of the fur almost made your golden eyes roll to the back of your head.

“They all left. It’s just me.” you say.

The wolf doesn’t say anything and you noticed something tied around their ankle.

They shimmer back to a human and the handsome man is back in your view. You saw a quick peak at his center before you turn your head. A deep chuckle hits your sensitive ears and you look again and this time shorts is on his body.

You stand up from where you were sitting and he raked his dark eyes up and down at you. You shift on your feet.

“A leech that’s nervous?”

“Is that what you call us?” you ask.

He nods.

“What do you call us? Giant dogs?”

You snort, “No….Alice said a shapeshifter so…?”

“That’s what I am.”

“Huh.” you say in thought.

“It’s just you at the house?”

“Yeah…Do..You…Want..To come over?” you ask shyly.

“Yeah.” he says.

You both walked back to the Cullen household. His eyes take in the home.

You watch in amazement as he was already dry. No towel needed.

“Like what you see?” his deep voice echoed in the home.

Your breath hitched, “You dried off so fast.” you say.

He takes your wrist, pulling you close and you felt a tad bit nervous. He pressed your cool hand to his chest. You both groan a bit at the difference in body temperature. You cooled him down and he warmed you up.

“You’re…Hot.” you say.

His smile made you feel excited and you playfully roll your eyes as he took the double meaning and rolled with it.

“They really left.” he says as he still had a hot hand on your wrist.

“Yeah.” you say quietly.

“So…Do you have a room?”

You nod with a slight smile.

He walked close behind you up the stairs, his hand grabbing onto the railing, very close to yours.

“This is my domain.” you say with a humorous tone.

He walked in and he looked around. Picking up things and observing them.

“You’ve been to…A lot of places.”

“Yeah.” you say.

“What’s your favorite place?” he asks as he looks back to you. He’s close to you again and your eyes settled to his chest.

“Here.”

You felt his warm fingers lift your chin up, “My eyes are up here.”

You breathe out a small chuckle as his dominant eyes search for yours.

“No bed..” he says as he walked around you.

“Yeah…I don’t sleep.” you say with a slight laugh. He flops down on the couch you had in your room. He was comfortable. Too comfortable. You enjoyed the sight as he had his hands behind his head.

“Where am I gonna sleep, then?”

You froze. You watch as his smirk grew.

“I can…I can buy you a bed.” you offer. He gets up and walks close up to you and you felt the heat come off of his body. His eyes were fierce with dominance.

“Alright I’m off.” he says. You rush as he was already outside.

“Wait!” you say. He stops and turns around.

“What’s your name? I’m Y/N.”

He gives you a look that made your legs wobbly, you hold onto the outside stairs railing.

“Paul.”

With a blink, he’s gone. He stayed in your brain as you slowly close the front door, as you whisper his name. You lean your back to the door as you felt a smile crept in your lips as you whispered his name again. It felt great coming out of your mouth.

#paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x you #paul lahote x y/n #x reader #x you #x y/n #y/n imagines #y/n #twilight #twilight saga #wolfpack #fanfic #fanfiction

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destielmemenews · 8 months ago

Text

2024 Presidential Election Results

A single, frequently updating post that will have the result of each state, in alphabetical order, as they come in. Check in often for updates!

CURRENT ELECTORAL VOTES, 270 TO WIN

🟦Harris: 226

🟥Trump: 312

Alabama - 🟥Trump

Alaska - 🟥Trump

Arizona - 🟥Trump

Arkansas - 🟥Trump

California - 🟦Harris

Colorado - 🟦Harris

Connecticut - 🟦Harris

Delaware - 🟦Harris

Florida - 🟥Trump

Georgia - 🟥Trump

Hawaii - 🟦Harris

Idaho - 🟥Trump

Illinois - 🟦Harris

Indiana - 🟥Trump

Iowa - 🟥Trump

Kansas - 🟥Trump

Kentucky - 🟥Trump

Louisiana - 🟥Trump

Maine - 🟦Harris (district 1)(at large) 🟥Trump (district 2)

Maryland - 🟦Harris

Massachusetts - 🟦Harris

Michigan - 🟥Trump

Minnesota - 🟦Harris

Mississippi - 🟥Trump

Missouri - 🟥Trump

Montana - 🟥Trump

Nebraska - 🟥Trump (district 1 and 3) 🟦Harris (district 2)

Nevada - 🟥Trump

New Hampshire - 🟦Harris

New Jersey - 🟦Harris

New Mexico - 🟦Harris

New York - 🟦Harris

North Carolina - 🟥Trump

North Dakota - 🟥Trump

Ohio - 🟥Trump

Oklahoma - 🟥Trump

Oregon - 🟦Harris

Pennsylvania - 🟥Trump

Rhode Island - 🟦Harris

South Carolina - 🟥Trump

South Dakota - 🟥Trump

Tennessee - 🟥Trump

Texas - 🟥Trump

Utah - 🟥Trump

Vermont - 🟦Harris

Virginia - 🟦Harris

Washington - 🟦Harris

Washington, D.C. - 🟦Harris

West Virginia - 🟥Trump

Wisconsin - 🟥Trump

Wyoming - 🟥Trump

270ToWin

Bloomberg

NPR

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todays-xkcd · 1 year ago

Text

Poor Weeoming.

Alphabetical Cartogram [Explained]

Transcript Under the Ground

A More Fair Map Instead of giving more area to larger states, this map improves fairness by sizing the states alphabetically.

[A labeled map of the United States where states are resized based on their alphabetical order. Hawai'i, is noticeably large, and Delaware stretches down to where Virginia would be in a normal map - meanwhile Washington, Wisconson, Wyoming, West Virginia, and Texas are comically tiny.]

#xkcd #xkcd 2927 #alphabetical cartogram #webcomics #maps

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genevievefangirl · 9 months ago

Text

Master Post - Gen's Top 100 DBDA Fics!

It is finally here! My personal top 100 DBDA fics!

My friends in the DBDA Haunt Discord server know that I am an avid fic reader. I read multiple hours every day and have read a very large chunk of all the DBDA fics out there (that are tagged Payneland). I constantly recommend fics in our fanfic channel and thought, "Well, why don't I make a huge rec list in recognition of how wonderful the fic writers of this fandom are?" And thus the idea for this list was born!

I have been working on this since the cancellation announcement almost 2 months ago. It has taken me that long to go back through my over 350+ DBDA bookmarks and select only the best of the best to be featured here.

Thank you to every fic writer in this fandom! You are all amazing and I love your work! Your creations are what keep the fandom alive and healthy!

Some caveats before we begin:

These fics are in alphabetical order by title.

I have a Payneland bias. All of these are Payneland fics. Maybe I will make a list sometime that has more ship variety, but for now, that is what is on the list.

I also have a very strong hurt/comfort & angst bias, so there will be a lot of that on here as well! But there are a few fluffy fics too!

There is no smut on this list. Sorry, smut just isn't my thing. There is exactly one fic rated E on here.

Not all tags are listed! I have selected the ones that I feel are the most important and in some cases added some that I felt were missing. But please read the full tag list on the fic itself!

I will be releasing 10 fics a day for 10 days, to make the posts more readable and to have some fun!

And now... THE LIST!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11 - WIPs

(and yes I will link a google sheets version once all the parts are out)

#gen's 100 DBDA fics masterpost #gen's 100 DBDA fics #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #payneland #charles rowland #dbda #dbda fanfiction #dbda fanfic #save dead boy detectives #paineland #fic rec #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #the dead boy detective agency #the dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

Note

could you, perhaps, talk a bit about Middle English? thank you, you're so cool

Writing Notes: Middle English

Middle English alphabet

The chronological boundaries of the Middle English period:

Not easy to define, and scholarly opinions vary.

The dates that OED3 has settled on are 1150-1500.

Before 1150 being the Old English period, and after 1500 being the early modern English period.

In terms of ‘external’ history, Middle English is framed at its beginning by the after-effects of the Norman Conquest of 1066, and at its end by the arrival in Britain of printing (in 1476) and by the important social and cultural impacts of the English Reformation (from the 1530s onwards) and of the ideas of the continental Renaissance.

Two very important linguistic developments characterize Middle English:

in grammar, English came to rely less on inflectional endings and more on word order to convey grammatical information. (If we put this in more technical terms, it became less ‘synthetic’ and more ‘analytic’.) Change was gradual, and has different outcomes in different regional varieties of Middle English, but the ultimate effects were huge: the grammar of English c.1500 was radically different from that of Old English. Grammatical gender was lost early in Middle English. The range of inflections, particularly in the noun, was reduced drastically (partly as a result of reduction of vowels in unstressed final syllables), as was the number of distinct paradigms: in most early Middle English texts most nouns have distinctive forms only for singular vs. plural, genitive, and occasional traces of the old dative in forms with final –e occurring after a preposition. In some other parts of the system some distinctions were more persistent, but by late Middle English the range of endings and their use among London writers shows relatively few differences from the sixteenth-century language of, for example, Shakespeare: probably the most prominent morphological difference from Shakespeare’s language is that verb plurals and infinitives still generally ended in –en (at least in writing).

in vocabulary, English became much more heterogeneous, showing many borrowings from French, Latin, and Scandinavian. Large-scale borrowing of new words often had serious consequences for the meanings and the stylistic register of those words which survived from Old English. Eventually, various new stylistic layers emerged in the lexicon, which could be employed for a variety of different purposes.

One other factor marks out the bulk of our Middle English evidence from the bulk of our Old English or early modern English evidence, although it is less directly a matter of change in the language than in how it is represented in writing:

the surviving Middle English material is dominated by regional variation, and by (sometimes extreme) variation in how the same underlying linguistic units are represented in writing.

This is not because people suddenly started using language in different ways in different places in the Middle English period, but because the fairly standardized late Old English literary variety broke down completely, and writing in English became fragmented, localized, and to a large extent, improvised.

Some Terminology

Great Vowel Shift - A systematic change in the long vowels in late Middle English that resulted in a new array of vowels, which includes diphthongs and tense vowels but which no longer generates a systematic distinction for length. Also called the Tudor Vowel Shift.

Lengthening - The change of a short vowel to a long vowel; it took place systematically during Middle English.

Levelling - The loss of distinctions in inflected endings, especially in early Middle English.

Thorn - A letter from the Germanic runic alphabet added to the Latin alphabet in Anglo-Saxon England to transcribe dental fricatives. It was used through the Middle English period and was gradually replaced by the sequence [th].

Wynn - A letter form adapted from the Germanic futhorc to indicate the sound [w] in the writing of Old English. It was used up to the Middle English period.

Yogh - A letter form used in Middle English and derived from the earlier insular letter form for [g]. In Middle English it was used for one of several consonant sounds.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Some French Loans in Middle English Part 1 2

Some Renaissance & Latin Loan Words in Middle English

"Beautiful" Middle English Words

You are too sweet (I'm farthest away from the definition of "cool" haha). Do go through the links above for more details as well as an online Middle English dictionary. Hope this helps with your writing!

#anonymous #middle english #literature #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing reference #dark academia #langblr #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing inspiration #language #linguistics #history #writing resources

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littlesparklight · 8 months ago

Text

Got the (foolish lol) idea to go through some of the works I know give physical descriptions of at least some Trojan war characters and collate them. They aren't in alphabetic order, sorry, but the works/authors are colour coded, at least!

Trojans in this post!

Priam The Iliad: "beautiful as a god" = theoeides Dares: a handsome face and a pleasant voice. He was large and swarthy. Malalas, Chronographia: tall for the age, big, good, ruddy-colored, light-eyed, long-nosed, eyebrows meeting, keen-eyed, gray, restrained. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: meeting eyebrows and large nose, a fiercely glaring, flame-coloured skin and an admirable face, well-equipped, with thick hair and beautiful eyes.

Hecuba Dares: beautiful, her figure large, her complexion dark. She thought like a man and was pious and just. Malalas, Chronographia: dark, good eyes, full grown, good nose, beautiful, generous, talkative, calm. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: dark skin, tall and pretty, of a mature age, ambitious, gentle though.

Hektor Dares: Hector spoke with a slight lisp. His complexion was fair, his hair curly. His eyes would blink attractively. His movements were swift. His face, with its beard, was noble. He was handsome, fierce, and high-spirited, merciful to the citizens, and deserving of love. Philostratus, Heroicus: [Hektor and Aeneas] were both of the same age and height, and although Aeneas's appearance seemed less radiant[…], He was smaller than the son of Telamon, but not at all inferior in fighting, […] Short hair. His ears were damaged, not by wrestling […] but he fought against bulls and considered engagement with such beasts warlike. […] He died probably at the age of thirty. Malalas, Chronographia: dark-skinned, tall, very stoutly built, strong, good nose, wooly-haired, good beard, squinting, speech defect, noble, fearsome warrior, deep-voiced.

Andromache Dares: bright-eyed and fair, with a tall and beautiful body. She was modest, wise, chaste, and charming. Malalas, Chronographia: above average height, thin, well turned out, good nose, good breasts, good eyes, good brows, wooly hair, blondish hair long in back, large-featured, good neck, dimples on her cheeks, charming, quick. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: spirited, of middle age, with a long face, delightful; she had dimples on her cheeks when laughed.

Paris/Alexander The Iliad: "beautiful as a god" = theoeides, (beautiful hair - not direct quote, merely taken by how his hair is talked about) Dares: fair, tall, and brave. His eyes were very beautiful, his hair soft and blond, his mouth charming, and his voice pleasant. He was swift, and eager to take command. Philostratus, Heroicus: appearance was most pleasing, and his voice and character were charming[…] He had a rather aquiline nose and white skin, his eyes were painted, and his left eyebrow rose above the eye. […] at eighteen he also sailed to Hellas, […] not yet thirty years old when he died. (calls him as good as Pandaros as an archer. He also gets compared to a peacock lol (for the beauty AND the (supposed) vanity of the bird) Malalas, Chronographia: well-grown, sturdy, white, good nose, good eyes, black pupils, black hair, incipient beard, long-faced, heavy eyebrows, big mouth, charming, eloquent, agile, an accurate archer, cowardly, hedonist. [He is in his early thirties when he goes to Sparta, due to being confined until that age, when he's brought back to Troy] Tzetzes, Antehomerica: had his beauty from the Graces. He was white, of a proper age [he is in his early thirties when he goes to Sparta, due to being confined until that age, when he's brought back to Troy], charming and well-bearded; he had his hair long and blond.

Deiphobos Dares: Deiphobus […] looked like [his] father, but [his] character(s) were not alike. Deiphobus was the man of forceful action[…] Malalas, Chronographia: above average stature, keen-eyed, somewhat snub-nosed, dark-skinned, flat-faced, brave, good beard. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: with a large face, with a small nose and dark skin, beautiful face and well-bearded.

Helenos Dares: Helenus […] looked like [his] father, but [his] character(s) were not alike. […] Helenus was the gentle, learned prophet. Malalas, Chronographia: tall, well set up, white, strong, blond, wine-colored eyes, long-nosed, incipient beard, slightly stooped, sensible, warrior. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: well-adapted, tall, with the beard just sprouting, white, blond, with a big nose and a pale face. He had a soft back, he could escape notice of many.

Troilos Dares: a large and handsome boy, was strong for his age, brave, and eager for glory. Malalas, Chronographia: big, good nose, dark, good eyes, black hair, thick beard, strong warrior and runner. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: big, of quick feet and dark skin, with a delightful face, shaggy-bearded and with long hair.

Kassandra The Iliad: like to golden Aphrodite Dares: moderate stature, round-mouthed, and auburn-haired. Her eyes flashed. She knew the future. Malalas, Chronographia: shortish, round-faced, white, mannish figure, good nose, good eyes, dark pupils, blondish, curly, good neck, bulky breasts, small feet, calm, noble, priestly, an accurate prophet foreseeing everything, practicing hard, virgin. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: a small bodily frame, like of a man, whiter than the milk with perfectly round eyes, she had huge breasts, a small face and she was gentle.

Polyxena Dares: fair, tall, and beautiful. Her neck was slender, her eyes lovely her hair blond and long, her body well-proportioned, her fingers tapering, her legs straight, and her feet the best. Surpassing all the others in beauty, she remained a completely ingenuous and kind-hearted woman. Malalas, Chronographia: tall, pure, very white, large-eyed, black-haired, with her hair worn long behind, a good nose and cheeks, blooming-lipped, small-footed, virgin, charming, very beautiful, 18 years old when they killed her. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: a beautiful aspect and a really long neck; she was tall and white; She had small feet, beautiful breasts and lips like flowers, so outstanding. She was eighteen years old, the age of the youth.

Laodike The Iliad: the most outstanding in beauty of [Hecuba's/Priam's] daughters.

Aeneas Dares: auburn-haired, stocky, eloquent, courteous, prudent, pious, and charming. His eyes were black and twinkling. Philostratus, Heroicus: [Hektor and Aeneas] were both of the same age and height, and although Aeneas's appearance seemed less radiant, he resembled Hektor more when that man had settled down, and he wore his hair long without offense. He did not adorn his hair, nor was he enslaved to it. Instead, he made virtue alone his adornment, and he looked at things so vehemently that even his glance itself was sufficient against the unruly. Malalas, Chronographia: shortish, thick, good chest, strong, ruddy, flat-faced, good nose, pale, balding, good beard. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: short but fat and had a big chest. He had white skin; he was bold with a large face.

Antenor Dares: tall, graceful, swift, crafty, and cautious. Malalas, Chronographia: tall, thin, white, blond, small-eyed, hook-nosed, crafty, cowardly, secure, a story-teller, eloquent. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall, slim and had the skin like the milk, white, with a curved nose and blond hair.

Euphorbos The Iliad: His hair gets compared to the Graces' hair. Philostratus, Heroicus: His hair […] he dyed golden-yellow […] He says that his beauty charmed even the Achaeans, for he resembled a statue whenever Apollo appears his own most lovely self with unshorn hair and grace. Protesilaos thinks that Euphorbus was his own age [adolescent]

Briseis/Hippodamia The Iliad: like to golden Aphrodite, a woman like the immortal goddesses Dares: beautiful. She was small and blond, with soft yellow hair. Her eyebrows were joined above her lovely eyes. Her body was well-proportioned. She was charming, friendly, modest, ingenuous, and pious. Malalas, Chronographia: tall, fair, beautiful-breasted, well-dressed, with close-knit eyebrows, a good nose, big eyes, eyelashes with kohl, curly hair worn long in back, with a ready smile, age 21. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: tall and white, her hair was black and curly; she had beautiful breasts and cheeks and nose; she was, also, well-behaved; her smile was bright, her eyebrows big; […] she was twenty-one years old.

Diomede of Lesbos Malalas, Chronographia: fair-skinned, round-faced, blue-eyed, fully grown, not quite blonde, a little snub-nosed, 22 years old, a virgin.

Chryseis/Astynome Malalas, Chronographia: rather short, slender fair, blonde, with a nice nose, small breasts, 19 years old. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: very young and thin, with milky skin. She had blond hair and small breasts; she was nineteen years old; she was still a virgin.

#greek mythology #the iliad #trojan war #priam #hecuba #paris of troy #hector of troy #andromache of troy #deiphobus #helenus #cassandra of troy #aeneas #troilus #briseis #antenor #polyxena

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espressheauxs · 1 month ago

Text

we came close from far || samira mohan

summary : serendipity and samira go hand in hand

words : 1.3k of whatever nonsense this is lol

pairing : samira mohan x fem!reader

warnings : nothing explicit, lots of queer yearning, it's all very fluffy, really.

notes : wrote a little something for our resident cutie patootie for Pride ever since finding out her actor is part of the alphabet mafia IRL lol not beta read but fuck it we ball

a/n : if I see you reposting, stealing, feeding my FICS into AI or some other fuck shit, don’t. 👀🫵🏽

---

Unlike most people, Samira didn’t hate Mondays.

Ever the positive person, she saw them as a way to refresh and restart. A new start to a new week with a clean house and a newly stocked fridge.

Hopefully she could get to actually eating the food before it went bad.

There was a small coffee shop on the way to work that she liked going to on Mondays. The baristas there knew her order ( “iced London Fog with regular milk, please!”) , and she even got a sweet treat today - a scone studded with candied oranges and a raspberry glaze, warmed up just right.

It’s as good as her Monday seemed to go, until she grabs her order and turns to leave. But the scone and the coffee clatter to the ground as she bumps into someone.

Phones clatter to the ground, and there’s a blur of rushed apologies and “oh god I’m so sorry that was so fucking stupi–”

“Samira”? is chorused from your lips at the same time she calls your name - like an unsure, delicate thing.

Like she couldn’t believe her eyes.

The shock melts from her warm, brown eyes as she quickly scans over your body before they land on your face. It happens so quickly, so minutely, really, and then it’s like the sun beams on her face before she realizes it really is you.

Of all places.

“Wow, h-how have you–oh sorry,” The both of you move to the side to let the poor barista clean up the mess. She looks back to you, happy surprise painted all over her face, “how are you? It’s been years.”

“It really has, geez.” You motion for a hug and she eagerly accepts. You didn’t realize how much you missed them, missed her until that moment. Samira was known for giving the best, and the right kind of hugs.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, “Just visiting?”

Samira doesn’t really want to think about when you left. It was all a huge fit of tears, hugs that were hard to let go and words that were hard to say in case they weren’t real.

“Just moved back, actually.” Her eyebrows practically are up to her forehead, and her warm, brown eyes sparkle with shock. It makes you laugh bashfully, hands itching to wipe at the sheen of sweat on your nose , “Few weeks ago, haven’t really had a chance to get settled yet. It’s hard to keep track of time when you’re so busy.”

“I feel that, honestly.” She laughs, forgetting about her caffeine conundrum, but you did not. “Ugh, I really am sorry about that mess, ‘mira. Can I get you another?” You offer hopefully, not really waiting for her answer as you step back into line with her.

Coffees and sweet treats back in hand, Samira somehow finds herself magicked into one of the booths near the large window, sat across from you. It’s then she finally gets to take in all the details of your face, how it’s not really changed at all except for the slight signs of sleeplessness around your eyes.

Samira catches you up on her life, her job at the hospital. You tell her about yours, and how it’s brought you back to the place you can now call home again. It’s like time between you two hadn’t passed at all, and yet there is a frail, fragile bubble of promise of tomorrow, hopefully of something more floating between you two again.

“I gotta go,” You mention, your voice wistful as you glance at the time on her watch, “Maybe we can exchange numbers? Catch up some time?”

Samira’s eyes light up, “of course, yeah. I’d love that!”

You pat your pockets to find your phones, and the both of you laugh, realizing that you’ve got her phone and she has yours. The exchange is quick, and the both of you walk out of the coffee shop together.

There’s a small pick up in the conversation as you walk down the block together to the corner light, and then the disappointment bubbles up again.

She can see it all over your face, and it reminds her how you truly couldn’t hide anything you felt. It always showed.

“I’m going this way.” You practically mumble under your breath, motioning with your head.

“I’m that way.” She adds, also feeling strangely disappointed despite the connection hanging between you two again.

Why was it always so hard to say goodbye to you?

“I’ll um…call you later? Or text?” She adds, “I have a double today, but um..yeah, I’ll let you know when I’m done, if that’s okay?”

“Of course, yeah.” You laugh a little, wondering if the anxious perspiration is on your nose again. “I’ll be around.”

Of course you are, she thinks. You always are. Somehow.

Half way down the block, you can’t help but look back to just watch, and appreciate her a little before she’s gone for most of the day, and night.

The texts that follow that day into the following morning are not frequent, but they’re thoughtful. Even when Samira only had a small window for a break, she’d send a laughing reaction to a meme you’d send, or a heart emoji to help you decide on what kind of plates to get for your kitchen.

Samira practically yelps when Dana scares the ever living shit out of her at the station, stuffing her phone away guiltily into her pocket.

Dana raises a knowing eyebrow and laughs, as if she knew Samira was going to pretend she wasn’t smiling at her phone, “Yeah, yeah.”

—

Once Samira finally gets a break and isn’t on doubles, the texts and calls are replaced with video calls when she gets home.

On more than one occasion, either one or both of you would fall asleep while still on the call. It was the same now, with Samira getting ready for her night shift at the hospital, and you’re all but dead on your feet as you drag yourself over to bed.

You’re dozing off when she calls your name, and you only manage to look at her long enough to watch her gather up her beautiful, soft curly hair into the claw clip she always uses.

“..mira, I’m so sleepy.” You mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open as you look at your phone, propped up against the lamp on your bedside table. “but I wanna keep talking.” Samira would really rather not think about the way her heart squeezes a little as she watches you curl into the blankets, half of your face hidden by the fluffy duvet.

“Let’s keep talking this weekend,” She says without really thinking , “I can come over, or you can come over mine.”

“Are you really asking me to netflix and chill?” You wheedle, and the both of you burst into a small fit of giggles.

It was always easy to joke around with her like this. Had you been anyone else, it would’ve flown over her head. But she knew you far too long to not understand your sense of humor.

“I have a golden weekend coming up, let me know?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” You yawn again, “Goodnight, ��mira.”

It’s a little easier saying goodbye this time, but not so much when Samira tries to shake the feeling that’s creeping up in her chest. Or the way you seem to come up in her thoughts as she’s charting during a rare lull in the night shift.

She feels a little silly, or even presumptuous to think you’d want to spend time hanging out with her after work. But having her friend (yes, a friend) back in her life after all that time apart sparks a little thrill in her heart she didn’t know was there.

She feels Dana’s eyes on her again. Only this time, it seems like Perlah and Princess know without knowing too.

Samira rolls her eyes, continuing her charting as her proverbial middle finger to them.

Yes, a friend is what you are.

And catching up, she hopes in whatever way that means, is the only thing that’s happening.

Wait, what the fuck?

#samira mohan x reader #dr mohan x reader #espressheauxs writes #samira mohan x you #the pitt fanfic #the pitt fanfiction

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almondamaretto · 1 year ago

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hii i loved ur crossfaded story, do u think u could do some stoner matt bf hcs? 🫶🫶

YESSSSS omg girl u have good taste

i was looking for an excuse to write ts. also not proofread!! and not good because i was high!!

stoner!matt x afab!reader

warnings: use of weed, smut

— ok lets get one thing straight, this man is one of those deep thought, random fact stoners that make you rethink everything about the world.

— "who decided that the alphabet was in alphabetical order? maybe we wanted e first, yknow?"

— always has at least one joint or the makings for one joint on him at all times. not as bad as chris who i would imagine carries around like 2-3 all the time.

— i would give anything to see this man rolling a fuckin joint.

— feels like an unpopular opinion i'm not sure, but he definitely thinks watching his girl roll one is hot. especially if you're not as experienced as him, yet still make an effort to try and impress him.

— if you're a stoner, he's buying you cute shit. cute papers, a cute grinder, lighters and stash boxes.

— is either non-verbal while high or actually yapping with no in between, but the simple truth his, he wants to be touching you at all times.

— imagine js sitting there, chatting his ear off, reflecting on your day n he's just staring, completely engrossed. meanwhile his fingers have been trailing up and down your thigh...

— or, he's running his mouth while taking a hold of your hand, leaving chaste kisses all over your hand, face, neck, and lips, only quiet whilst doing so.

— would def always be down to smoke w you, he could never say no to his sweet girl.

— loves to smoke in a group with his brothers, closest friends, and you cause he is a big quality time guy, but there is something so satisfying about being alone with you, watching the way you move through the haze filling the room.

— i think he would get more jealous while under the influence, you just look so good and he knows what every other guy is thinking.

— he is obviously very touchy and needy when he's high, but he also speaks in such an insatiable way, voicing all his dirty thoughts with no reserve.

— "and that's when- wow i can't shut up" "i could think of a few ways to shut you up."

— and you're gagged. figuratively and literally.

— one day, the friend group is at a party or some type of event. you and matt are nowhere to be found though, tucked away in some large room behind a locked door, the window cracked open.

— the roach of a used up joint was thrown onto the bedside table, hands now busy with pulling each other impossibly closer.

— he had pulled you up onto his lap, large hands gripping your ass as you pressed against his hard-on. your lips were quickly pressed together in sloppy kisses, your hands exploring his torso enthusiastically, his grazing up your sides and ass.

— "you were sittin' so pretty down there for me doll. did you really expect me to not pay attention?"

— he grumbles out while his lips ghost over your neck. you practically melt into his hands.

— chris came banging on the door, talking about something neither of you had interest in. matt never faltered in his movements, continue to squeeze your ass and nibble on your neck and chest.

— "matt!" "shh, stay quiet for me baby, he'll leave soon."

— when chris persists, he's groaning loudly and laying you gently on the bed, leaving a final kiss to your lips. he swings the door open to reveal only himself, blood-shot eyes and lip gloss smeared over his lips. his hair was jostled every which way, chest heaving slightly.

— chris just grins and shakes his head, mumbling something to matt that undoubtedly makes him roll his eyes.

— "nick and i wanna go to this other party madi's going to, you gotta drive us."

— he immediately refuses and goes to shut the door, but somehow chris convinces him with the reasoning of "less people means less chance someone tries to barge in."

— side note, you always get whichever seat you want and aux when matt's driving, it makes the other two go insane.

— mornings when you both don't have anything important to do or wake up a little earlier than usual, he wants to do two things.

— 1. wake and bake

— 2. morning sex.

— i mean seeing you first thing in the morning, getting high, and then fucking you dumb? thats his own personal heaven.

— it's doesn't take long for you to end up face down whimpering into a pillow while he drills into you from behind, senses heightened by the drug.

— he's struggling himself to keep quiet, opting to let out small grunts and whimpering into your ear, otherwise biting his lip to stay quiet.

— you fill all of his senses so well, your sounds sounding so heavenly to him, your walls squeezing him so well while he thrusts into your tight cunt.

— "doing so good for me mama, takin' me so well." he strains out as he gets close. you're both especially sensitive, highs coming all too soon.

so sorry if this is bad y'all 😭

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff

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christopherisfoive · 2 months ago

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could u maybe do a seungmin or minho with prompt(s) 10,14,15? thank u i love ur work <3

☕ Order’s up, angel! Your Seungmin enemies-to-lovers tension just got topped with a dash of soft candlelight and a near-kiss that almost changes everything. Hope it hits just right. ₊˚ෆ

Snow Lines

Pairing: Kim Seungmin × Reader Setting: College Friends • Spring‑Break Cabin l Prompts: 10 “Were you just about to kiss me?” • 14 Enemies‑to‑Lovers tension • 15 Sharing a bed for the first time

The old van sputtered and rattled its way up the narrow mountain road, each bump jolting you awake from your half-sleep. Through the fogged windows, the surrounding pines stood like silent sentries under the weight of fresh snow. The distant lights of the cabin gradually appeared, blinking softly between branches.

"Almost there," Chan announced from the driver's seat, his voice laced with exhaustion but still warm enough to feel comforting. Behind you, Felix mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, head lolling against Hyunjin's shoulder, while Jisung recorded the moment, whispering dramatically into his phone camera.

Nine friends crammed into one cabin for spring break—what could possibly go wrong?

The van finally came to a halt with a final exhausted wheeze. Doors swung open, unleashing a flurry of boots hitting gravel and laughter mingling with the sharp mountain air. Felix's camera swiveled around, capturing everything from Changbin’s exaggerated stretch to Jeongin slipping on the icy patch, his startled laugh echoing into the night.

“Careful, I.N!” Chan called, chuckling as he pulled bags from the trunk. “We’d like to keep everyone alive this week.”

Inside, the cabin air was tinged with the scent of pine, dust, and years of vacationers before you. It felt cozy in a worn-in sort of way, wooden walls adorned with outdated ski lodge posters, rugs faded by footsteps. Hyunjin, already comfortable in his role as unofficial trip leader, waved a laminated floor plan triumphantly over his head.

“Gather round, peasants,” he announced dramatically, spreading the map across the battered coffee table. “Bunks go to pairs. And the lucky winners get the queen bed in the loft.” He reached into his beanie, revealing folded slips of paper. “Fate decides tonight.”

You watched the draw unfold with mild amusement, too tired from the trip to mind much either way. Felix cheered when paired with Jisung; Hyunjin high-fived Changbin as if they'd won a grand prize. Jeongin, Minho, and Chan took the triple bunk room in resigned acceptance.

Only two slips remained. Hyunjin grinned as he pulled them free, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And for the queen suite—Y/N and… Kim Seungmin.”

A collective "oooh" filled the room, Jisung’s camera swiveling rapidly between you and Seungmin as if hoping to catch a dramatic reaction.

You glanced at Seungmin, who stood with an unreadable expression, eyebrows raised just slightly in quiet resignation.

“Try not to kill each other,” Chan said with a tired smile, earning scattered laughter.

Seungmin only sighed lightly, picking up his neatly packed suitcase and heading for the stairs without another word. You grabbed your duffel and followed slowly, already mentally preparing yourself for the days ahead.

Upstairs, the loft held a simple warmth, slanted ceiling lined with exposed beams, the bed large enough to dominate the small space. Seungmin placed his suitcase precisely at the foot of the mattress, claiming territory without hesitation.

You dropped your bag next to the window, making sure to stake your own claim. Silence lingered, awkward enough to make the space feel smaller.

“You don't snore, right?” Seungmin broke the quiet, voice dry yet edged with just enough sarcasm to remind you of your usual dynamic.

“You don't alphabetize your dreams, right?” you shot back lightly.

His lips twitched slightly, neither fully a smile nor a frown, but it eased the tension slightly. Outside, snowflakes began tapping softly against the window, creating a gentle rhythm.

"Come on," he finally said, tilting his head toward the stairs. "If we don’t hurry, Felix will eat all the good snacks."

You hid your surprise at his easy peace offering, simply nodding as you both headed back downstairs—uncertain allies, at least for now.

By the time you and Seungmin stepped outside, the bonfire was crackling to life. The firepit, ringed by snow-dusted logs, bathed your friends’ faces in flickering amber. Sparks spiraled gently into the velvet darkness above, vanishing into the cold night air.

"About time," Changbin called out, eyes playful as he threw another log onto the fire. "We thought you'd already started arguing about room decor."

"Don’t worry," Seungmin answered smoothly, tugging his beanie lower over his ears. "We've saved plenty of arguments for your entertainment."

You rolled your eyes, though your lips curved upward slightly. Seungmin caught your expression, the corners of his mouth lifting briefly before he turned away, adjusting the cuff of his jacket.

Felix, ever the unofficial videographer, waved his camera excitedly, catching the moment. "Did you two just smile at each other?" he asked, pretending disbelief. "The plot thickens."

"You’re hallucinating, Lix," you called back, voice dry as you took a seat on a log opposite Seungmin, the fire between you feeling both literal and symbolic.

Chan distributed steaming mugs of hot cocoa, the warmth radiating comfortingly through your gloves. You wrapped your hands around the cup gratefully, inhaling the rich scent. Across from you, Seungmin carefully stirred his cocoa, movements precise even in casual comfort.

"Alright, gather round," Changbin announced dramatically, leaning forward with a mischievous grin, flames casting dancing shadows across his face. "Who’s ready for ghost stories?"

Jisung raised his phone instantly, eyes sparkling in anticipation. "Wait, wait, wait—let me get the right angle."

"Are we sure that’s wise?" Jeongin asked, eyes wide and playful. "Last time Bin told ghost stories, Felix didn't sleep for three nights."

Felix looked affronted but nodded in solemn agreement. "It’s true. My sleep schedule has never recovered."

Hyunjin tossed a marshmallow toward Changbin, narrowly missing the firepit. "I’ll risk Felix’s sleep for the sake of tradition."

As Changbin launched into a tale, voice theatrically deepened, your gaze drifted across the fire, landing on Seungmin. He sat quietly, half-listening, half-watching the flames. Shadows danced across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the gentle sweep of his eyelashes. When his eyes flickered up, meeting yours unexpectedly, your stomach tightened in surprise.

Caught off guard, you quickly looked away, heat rising in your cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire.

Hyunjin interrupted the ghost story abruptly with an exaggerated scream, sending Felix into startled laughter and Jisung toppling backward off his log. "That’s it, no more stories for Hyunjin," Chan declared firmly, though his voice was warm with amusement.

"You’re banned," Jeongin agreed, mock-serious as he helped Jisung up from the snow.

Seungmin's low chuckle drifted across the fire, quietly amused. The sound was unexpectedly gentle, a stark contrast to his usual dry remarks. You glanced at him again, curiosity piqued.

"You didn’t find that scary?" you asked, hoping your voice sounded teasing rather than genuinely curious.

His eyes flicked to you, a small, knowing smile appearing. "Ghost stories? Not really. Hyunjin’s scream? Terrifying."

You laughed softly, the moment of unexpected camaraderie surprising you both. "Agreed. Gonna have nightmares tonight."

"Good luck with that," he replied lightly, stirring the cocoa again, gaze dropping to the swirling liquid. "I’m not rescuing you from nightmares."

You raised an eyebrow playfully. "Who said I'd need rescuing?"

He glanced up again, eyes glinting softly in the firelight. "Just a guess."

Changbin interrupted, waving his hands dramatically. "If you're done whispering sweet threats at each other, maybe you'd like to join our marshmallow roast?"

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks as your friends laughed good-naturedly. Seungmin, for once, looked equally caught off guard, hiding his face partially behind his mug.

"You heard him," you said, forcing casualness into your voice and standing quickly. "Time to burn marshmallows."

You grabbed a marshmallow from the bag Felix offered and poked it onto a stick with determination, refusing to glance back at Seungmin, though you felt the warmth of his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary.

As the snowflakes thickened, floating gently through the firelit air, Chan finally stood, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Alright, team, time to head in before we freeze."

A chorus of playful complaints rose immediately, but Chan, ever practical, simply shook his head with a smile. "Tomorrow’s snow-day chaos will be more fun if we actually survive the night."

Slowly, everyone rose, stamping cold feet and dusting snow off jackets. Seungmin stood across from you, eyes briefly meeting yours again over the dying embers. He hesitated a moment, as if considering something, then gave you the slightest nod, quiet acknowledgment passing silently between you.

You nodded back subtly, not fully sure what had changed, only knowing that it had—just a little, just enough.

Together, the group trudged toward the warm glow of the cabin windows, laughter and teasing trailing behind you like footprints in the fresh snow.

By the time you climbed the stairs to the loft, the cozy warmth from downstairs had already faded, leaving behind only the chill of the mountain night. Through the thin walls, you could still hear the faint sounds of laughter as the others settled into their rooms, a comforting murmur that only underscored the awkward quiet now stretching between you and Seungmin.

He moved around the room methodically, setting his phone carefully on the bedside table, stacking books with precise corners aligned, pulling a charger from his bag with practiced efficiency. His calm organization seemed almost exaggerated in contrast to your own quiet hesitation, and you found yourself watching him, half-irritated, half-curious.

“Are you always this meticulous?” you asked finally, breaking the silence as you unpacked your pajamas, trying to keep your voice casual.

He glanced up, eyebrows raised slightly. “Does it bother you?”

You paused, considering his question for a beat longer than you intended. “It’s…intense.”

He smiled faintly, clearly amused. “I prefer ‘efficient.’”

“Of course you do.” Your reply slipped out dry and automatic, prompting another quick twitch of his lips.

Turning your back, you changed quickly, trying to ignore the prickling awareness of Seungmin moving quietly behind you, the rustle of fabric as he slipped into sweats and a faded university hoodie. When you turned around again, he was already climbing under the quilt, sitting up against the headboard with a book in hand. The image felt strangely intimate, far more so than you’d prepared yourself for.

Swallowing awkwardness, you slid into your own side of the bed, carefully pulling the blankets around you, leaving a deliberate space in the center as if to mark an invisible boundary. Seungmin noticed but said nothing, simply flipping a page, seemingly absorbed in whatever he was reading.

Silence stretched again, softened only by the gentle sound of snowflakes tapping rhythmically on the skylight above your heads. You found yourself hyper-aware of every sound—his slow breathing, the faint rustling of pages, your own pulse thudding in your ears. It felt oddly tense and yet strangely peaceful at the same time.

Finally, he placed his book on the nightstand, clicking off the small lamp and plunging the room into quiet darkness. You lay still, staring upward into shadow, your thoughts spinning quietly. Sleep felt miles away, your mind refusing to settle, body stubbornly shivering despite the layers of blankets.

Several minutes passed—maybe more—when you heard Seungmin exhale softly, clearly not asleep either. His voice drifted quietly from the darkness, low and tinged with reluctant amusement.

“You realize you’re shaking the whole bed, right?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, embarrassment heating your cheeks even in the dark. “It’s colder than I thought.”

A moment passed, then you felt the blankets shift as he moved beside you. Before you could ask, the gentle weight of another layer settled over your shoulders—his fleece blanket, still warm from his side of the bed. You froze for a moment, surprised at the small act of kindness.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said quietly, as if reading your hesitation. “If you freeze to death, I'll have to explain it to everyone.”

You relaxed slightly, grateful for the way humor eased some of the awkwardness. “How thoughtful.”

He hummed softly in reply—a gentle, amused sound that vibrated through the silence, relaxing your tense shoulders a little further.

Quiet settled back around you again, this time softer, easier. Your shivering slowly eased, replaced by the comforting warmth of shared blankets and quiet breaths syncing unconsciously in the dark.

Just before sleep began pulling at your consciousness, his voice came again, barely above a whisper. “Better?”

“Much,” you murmured quietly. “Thank you.”

There was a pause, and you felt him shift slightly closer, not enough to bridge the gap between you, just enough that you felt his presence more clearly beside you.

“Sleep well,” he finally whispered, voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

You smiled slightly in the dark, letting yourself relax fully for the first time all evening. “You too, Seungmin.”

As you drifted off, warmth cocooning you comfortably now, you wondered briefly at how something as simple as a borrowed blanket had shifted the boundaries you thought you'd clearly drawn—softening a rivalry into something much harder to define.

The cabin woke late the next morning, lulled by thick snowfall and the promise of no real schedule. Sunlight filtered through the frost-glazed windows, bouncing off snowbanks stacked like walls around the house.

You lingered in the loft a little longer than usual, reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth and blankets. Seungmin had already slipped out, quiet as always, and by the time you joined the others in the kitchen, Felix was declaring war.

“I’m serious,” he said, tossing a pair of gloves at Jisung. “Full-blown snowball fight. Team rules, field boundaries, the works.”

“Didn’t you almost cry last year when Hyunjin hit you in the face?” Jeongin teased, dodging a sock Felix hurled in retaliation.

“I’ll wear goggles,” Felix declared.

“It’s happening,” Chan said around a mouthful of toast, barely hiding his grin. “No backing out.”

The teams formed quickly, almost instinctively—Chan, Jisung, and you on one side; Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Changbin on the other. Felix declared himself the ‘official cameraman,’ strapping on his GoPro like a war correspondent and giving a serious nod.

Outside, the snow was soft but deep, perfect for ammo. The teams split to opposite sides of the yard, forming makeshift forts behind sleds, overturned bins, and chunks of fallen branches. Breath fogged in the air. The only rule: no mercy.

You launched the first snowball—direct hit to Changbin’s back.

He yelped. “Oh it’s on!”

Chaos erupted.

Seungmin was strategic—calculating angles, leading attacks, covering Hyunjin’s blind side with frustrating precision. He dodged with ease, barely mussing his hair, which irritated you far more than it should have.

“Can you at least pretend you’re having fun?” you yelled, packing another snowball as fast as you could.

“I am having fun,” he replied calmly. “Watching you miss.”

Your next throw veered wide, and you hissed under your breath.

“Rough morning?” he teased.

You gave him a look that promised revenge.

Jisung was hit mid-dash and collapsed in the snow for dramatic effect, yelling, “Tell my story!” as Chan pulled him to safety. Hyunjin slipped, face-planted, and popped up with a snow-beard that sent everyone into laughter. Somewhere in the chaos, Jeongin switched teams, claiming it was for “balance” but mostly for fun.

You spotted Seungmin crouched near the porch and sprinted for cover—only to misjudge your step on a slick patch of ice. Your foot flew out from under you, and you landed hard on one knee. Pain spiked immediately, sharp and burning.

“Shit—”

The laughter stopped.

Seungmin was at your side before you could even brush the snow off. He didn’t say anything at first, just crouched, eyes scanning your face and the awkward angle of your knee.

“Stop moving,” he said, voice clipped but low.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, even as your hands trembled slightly in the cold.

“You’re not,” he said, slipping a gloved hand beneath your arm to steady you. “Can you stand?”

You nodded, but the second you shifted weight onto your leg, pain shot up your thigh. You hissed, and without another word, Seungmin pulled your arm over his shoulders and lifted you partially off the ground, supporting your weight as if you didn’t weigh a thing.

Felix abandoned his post to open the cabin door while the rest trailed in behind you. Inside, warmth hit you like a wave, along with the low murmur of concern.

Chan brought ice. Felix fetched painkillers. Hyunjin patted your head like a scolded puppy.

“Nothing’s broken,” Chan said after checking you over. “Just a nasty bruise.”

You offered a stiff nod, pulling the blanket Felix draped around your shoulders tighter.

Everyone laughed when Hyunjin replayed the GoPro footage of your fall in slow motion—except Seungmin, who leaned against the far wall, arms crossed.

“She’d have dodged if she trained more than her sarcasm,” he muttered when Changbin jokingly called him a hero for rushing in.

The room laughed. You didn’t.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t meet Seungmin’s eyes. Instead, you offered Felix a strained smile as he handed you a hot drink, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere else.

He hadn’t meant it cruelly—not exactly. But it hit in a way nothing he’d said before had. Maybe because he was supposed to be the one who noticed when he went too far.

You sipped the cocoa, staring at the steam curling above it. The laughter around you resumed, but it no longer felt as warm.

Dinner prep fell to you and Seungmin. Of course it did.

Chan claimed he was on firewood duty. Jisung and Felix volunteered for playlist curation, which somehow turned into a hallway dance-off. The rest conveniently vanished to “tidy up” or “take inventory,” which you knew just meant avoiding the awkward silence brewing between you and the guy currently chopping garlic like it had personally offended him.

You stood at the stove, wooden spoon stirring pasta that had long since finished cooking. The steam fogged the tiny kitchen window, leaving only your reflection staring back—tight mouth, unreadable eyes.

“You’re still mad,” Seungmin said without looking up.

“I'm not mad,” you replied too quickly, too sharp. “I’m fine.”

He glanced at you then, long enough to see through it. “Right.”

You tightened your grip on the spoon. “Why would I be mad? You just embarrassed me in front of everyone and made a cheap jab while I was literally in pain. That’s nothing, right?”

The air shifted.

He set the knife down slowly, wiping his hands on a towel as he turned toward you. “It was a joke.”

You scoffed. “No, it wasn’t. You meant it. You always mean it. The sarcasm, the digs—they’re not always harmless, Seungmin.”

His jaw tensed. “I thought that’s how we worked.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, blinking quickly. “Maybe I’m tired of being the joke.”

That landed. You saw it in the way his mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

The pot bubbled over. You moved to shut off the heat, wiping at the mess with shaky hands.

He stepped forward, voice lower now. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.” You didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t need to. The disappointment clung heavier than anger.

“I don’t know how to…” he trailed off, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. “Sometimes I say things because I don’t know what to say when it actually matters.”

You exhaled slowly, finally turning to face him fully.

“I’m not asking you to say the right thing. Just don’t say the thing that makes it worse.”

He nodded, quiet, gaze falling to the floor.

The door creaked open behind you.

“Dinner smelling good in here?” Felix called out cheerfully, poking his head in.

You stepped aside, gesturing toward the food. “Yeah. It’s done.”

The others filed in, laughter and music quickly filling the kitchen again. You and Seungmin didn’t speak for the rest of the meal. Not out of spite, but something quieter. Something still mending.

He passed you the salt once. You said thanks. He didn’t correct your pasta portion like he normally would. You didn’t tease him about his precision chopping.

Small things. But different.

After the dishes were cleared, you slipped back upstairs early, your bruised knee aching and your mind heavier than you cared to admit.

You expected the cold. The silence. The usual friction.

What you didn’t expect was a soft knock at the door an hour later.

The knock was gentle—barely there. But the cabin was quiet now, most of the others tucked away in their rooms, laughter from earlier faded into sleepy murmurs behind closed doors. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, hoodie wrapped tight around you, your knee propped up on a pillow, phone screen dimmed to black long ago.

The door creaked open just enough for Seungmin to peek in, candle in hand, his hoodie sleeves pulled down past his palms.

“The power’s out,” he said quietly. “Storm took it.”

You nodded once, voice caught somewhere in your chest.

He hesitated—then stepped inside.

“I brought this,” he added, holding the candle forward. The warm glow cast soft shadows across his face, making his usual sharp features look a little gentler. “Couldn’t find the lanterns.”

You reached out, fingers brushing his as you took it. He didn’t let go right away.

“You okay?” he asked finally, gaze dropping briefly to your knee.

“I’ll live,” you muttered, setting the candle down on the nightstand. “Not sure about the ego though.”

He gave a soft laugh, just enough to break the quiet tension.

“I was out of line,” he said, voice low. “I know I was.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched him as he stood awkwardly near the end of the bed, like he wasn’t sure if he should sit or leave.

“I didn’t mean to say something that would stick like that,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “But the truth is… I don’t always know how to talk to you.”

That surprised you.

“You always seem so sure,” you said slowly.

“I fake it,” he replied, smiling ruefully. “I thought poking at you was the only way I could… get to you.”

You blinked. “Get to me?”

He finally sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away slightly, hands braced on his knees. “Yeah. Like maybe if I kept pushing, you’d push back. You always do. And I’d know where I stood.”

You looked at him carefully. “And where do you want to stand?”

He turned to meet your gaze then, expression open for once—not defensive, not sarcastic. Just honest.

“Closer,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

Your heart thudded unevenly in your chest.

“You don’t make this easy,” you whispered.

“I never said I was easy,” he murmured, voice low. “But I meant what I said earlier—I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I don’t always know how to show when I care.”

The candle flickered beside you, painting golden light across the quilt. The air between you shifted again, quieter now—like the moments that come after storms, when the world feels new and tentative.

You reached for the blanket between you, tugging it slightly so he’d get the hint. He blinked once—surprised—but didn’t hesitate to shift under it with you.

You lay side by side in silence, the closeness unfamiliar but not unwelcome. His knee brushed yours, and this time, you didn’t move away.

“You’re warm,” you muttered sleepily, voice softer now.

He chuckled under his breath. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” you replied honestly. “You give off strong cold-shoulder energy.”

Seungmin smiled. “Maybe just for everyone else.”

The silence returned—not heavy, not awkward. Just quiet, and kind. And slowly, as the candle burned lower, your eyes began to fall closed.

Just as sleep tugged at you, you felt his fingers brush lightly against yours beneath the blanket. Barely touching. But there.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered, voice a warm hush against the cold night.

You didn’t answer. But your fingers curled softly against his. That was enough.

It was hard to say how long the two of you had been lying there, but the storm outside had calmed. Only a few stray gusts still rattled the windowpane, and the candle had burned itself down to a waxy stub on the nightstand.

You thought Seungmin had fallen asleep. His breathing had gone quiet, even. But then—

“You’re still awake,” he said, voice low, barely above the hush of the wind.

You turned your head slightly, your cheek grazing the pillow. “So are you.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Been thinking.”

You shifted slightly to face him, just enough to see his profile in the pale blue-gray light leaking in through the curtain. His brow was relaxed, but his lips were drawn tight—like he was holding something in.

“About what?”

A long pause.

“…That maybe I don’t want to go back to the way things were,” he said.

Your breath caught a little. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.

Seungmin kept his eyes on the ceiling, but his voice was steady now. “All we ever did was get on each other’s nerves. But the last couple days… I don’t know. You don’t feel that shift?”

You did. You had.

And it scared you a little.

“Maybe,” you said, your voice quieter now.

He finally turned to look at you fully. The space between you had narrowed over the past hour without you realizing. Now, your faces were inches apart, pillows cradling your heads at the same level, the blankets pulled up to your shoulders like a shared secret.

Your gaze flicked to his mouth for just a second—just a second—and you could feel the tension rise instantly.

Not uncomfortable. Just heavy with something new.

Seungmin’s voice dropped even lower. “You keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to do something about it.”

You felt your chest tighten. “Do you?”

His lips quirked—not in his usual sarcastic way. Just the faintest smile, touched with nervousness. “I might.”

His hand moved beneath the blanket, fingers brushing yours, pinkies hooking without full contact. You could feel your heart hammering, your skin humming.

And then he shifted forward, barely closing the distance. His forehead nearly touched yours, breath ghosting across your lips. You could feel everything—the pause, the hesitation, the hope. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

And that’s when you asked, barely above a whisper—

“Were you just about to kiss me?”

Seungmin’s voice came just as soft, just as close. “…Was kind of hoping you’d beat me to it.”

You opened your eyes, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

Then there were footsteps in the hallway. A floorboard creaked, someone’s voice muttering half-asleep.

Seungmin pulled back just enough to breathe. Not retreating, not hiding—just waiting. Respectful. Intent.

You smiled faintly, heart still pounding. “Maybe tomorrow.”

He nodded, voice warm and low. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

You didn’t fall asleep right away—but you didn’t feel the cold anymore either.

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