#through it all you’ve still come out on top

[synvil]

Recording.. // Pornstar! Rafe Cameron x Pornstar! Fem! Reader

a/n: welp, this will be interesting. there’s so many ways this can go but let’s see which one i came up with.

synopsis : getting to work with the famous, most current top rated star in the porn industry was a dream. Let’s see how it turns out for you. pornstar! au!

warnings : explicit content! penetration, choking, cunnilingus, afab!, multiple orgasms, roughness, squirt, etc.

“[Name], thank you for coming. Did you get the email regarding today’s content?”

Shaking hands with the producer, you share a smile and nod, pulling away. “Yes, I read through it. I’m alright with it all.”

“Great, and I take it you’ve already showered and cleaned up before coming? Any questions?”

You nod again to the first part before thinking for a moment and parting your lips to speak. “Actually, I just wasn’t sure who I would be working with today. That wasn’t clear in the email.”

The producer exhales in understanding and hears the door opening, “Actually, we needed confirmation that he was willing to come in today,” and a tall, muscular and toned male steps out, a towel around his neck and in nothing but boxers and some gym shorts. “And there he is. Cameron!”

“Cameron..?”

The male who steps out looks up as he ruffles one end of the towel against his head of hair. “Yeah?” Almost immediately, he locks eyes with you.

Holy shit.

THE Rafe Cameron. The highest rated star in the industry, where every man and woman alike would kill to meet the handsome stud, much more, to work with him.

Must be a fever dream.

When you first auditioned to be part of this industry, Rafe was only beginning to take off.

And now that you were one of the top stars alongside him, Rafe was the highest rated one, and every woman who ever had the chance to work with him, could never be the same.

Thing is, you had no idea what he was like. Was he rude? The pompous kind of asshole? Or was he charismatic and sweet? But if he was, was it just for show?

Many thoughts begin to flood your head until you realize the producer and Rafe have been talking, and now he’s coming over to you, hand extended out.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Y-Yeah, same.” You mentally curse yourself out for your anxiety and shake his hand but even more for the fact that you have yet to make eye contact, still glazing over his dripping wet bare body.

Rafe follows your gaze and gives a small chuckle, a charming smirk following it as he pulls away. “Sorry, thought I’d get a quick shower in before we start our filming.” He explains but you just manage a small nod. “R-right.”

The producer comes over and pats both of your shoulders. “Alright, now that we’ve done introductions, we’ll go over the scene once more with both of you and we’ll get started. Rafe, why don’t you go get dressed and I’ll get [Name] prepped?”

Rafe nods and gives you one more glance, his smirk still shining at you. With a wink, he turns away and takes his leave.

That smirk.. it sends a certain thrilling feel of desire in your stomach and you swallow thickly before attempting to focus your gaze on the producer, who begins to instruct the scenes.

Here you are..

“I can’t believe you!”

You shout as you slam the front door behind you, just for it to open a second later and Rafe coming in. “God, you’re insufferable!”

The current scene was you and Rafe coming home from the bar, celebrating a night of a special occasion, you had gotten a promotion at work.

And now you were rushing inside, having caught your on and off boyfriend of two years, openly flirting with another woman right next to you, once again.

At least that what it looked like to you, but your boyfriend has cheated before, and you weren’t going through it again.

“Would you just listen to me for one second?!”

Rafe’s voice follows after you while you take off your heels and throw it his way. “Don’t fucking talk to me!”

He narrowly dodges the heels thrown at his face before the expensive bag in your hand is also aimed for his head.

“What are you doing?” He asks, catching the bag with a scoff as you retreat to the kitchen.

“Take it back. I don’t want it anymore, we’re done.”

“Done? So you’re just giving all the things i bought you, back?” Rafe looks at you in disbelief as you begin to take off the jewelry on your person and drop it on the counter with a clink.

“I’m done with second chances, you asshole. You can’t just do one nice thing for me, one night.” I curse, slamming my hands down on the countertop as I turn to face him.

Rafe calmly sets the bag down as he stands opposite of you of the counter and sighs softly. “Baby, you’re not thinking straight, just let me explain before you-“

“Before I what? Break up with you for the final time?” You pull off the bracelets until you’re finally free of any jewelry and slide it towards him. “Take it all back.”

This time, Rafe can’t help but curl his lips into an amused smile, as he watches you return everything on you that he had bought for you.

“All of it?”

You tsk and point to the doorway. “The heels are back there.” You remind him though he was obviously aware.

“Alright, everything.. then the dress is included, right?”

. . .

“W-What?-“ Clearly taken back, Rafe’s lips forms a smirk at your clear surprise.

“Last I checked, I bought that stunning black gown you’re wearing tonight.. to celebrate.. remember?”

His words cause you to purse your lips and you’re aware of his slow advances towards you as he rounds the island counter in the kitchen. Rafe doesn’t break eye contact, keeping his eyes trained on you as he does this.

Tensions are high and you know he’s right, but you also know what will happen if you take off the dress.

However, behind the facade, behind the cameras rolling, your inner self is ready to burst. Your cheeks are beginning to flush and you can feel the intensity of his gaze on your body, trailing up and down your figure. Whether or not he was in character was unclear but it still made you wet with arousal at the sight.

Reluctantly, you bring your hands up to the straps, pulling it to the side of your shoulders and down slowly.

Rafe’s eyes hungrily takes in your fully naked form, you weren’t even wearing panties.

Your lack of undergarments weren't part of the script, which you can tell catches Rafe by real surprise momentarily, but it quickly dissipates into a smirk instead.

“No underwear?.. How naughty of you..” he murmurs as he finally makes it to your side and you fight the blush that’s threatening to spread and darken further.

“Shut up-“

Rafe just chuckles at your reaction as his hands sneaks around your bare waist. He looks down from his height with a certain glint in his eyes. “Hey, i’m not complaining..” He says as his head moves to your neck, kissing your collarbone softly. “it's kinda sexy..”

What the hell, I can’t respond.

He’s so hot.. i need to talk.. but im speechless..

My heart is pounding so hard— Relax, [Name], this is all just acting- Rafe Cameron is just acting.

You’re overthinking, stay professional!

But the next thing you knew, Rafe Cameron’s lips were smashing against yours in an intense, heated kiss.

And the faint whimper that escaped your lips wasn’t fake.

Needy hands roam your body everywhere, his lips planted on your neck and kissing every inch of your skin. He raises his head up to your ear and whispers, his breath hot. “You good?” It was quiet and subtle, not loud enough to pick up on the microphone hanging near us.

You nod faintly, and he grins, not waste another second ravishing you.

All the prior anxiety and worries you had faded and you found yourself melting into the kiss, Rafe’s muscular arms lifting you up by the waist and placing you on the counter, the cold touch making you gasp.

That gasp was enough time for him to allow his tongue to slip in, the muscle exploring inside your mouth, making you moan lightly.

Every movement was full of passion, Rafe fondling your breasts, giving each mound a full squeeze. His fingertips pinch your buds, a gentle twist causing you to send a breathy sigh. Your hands find their way to his hair and tangle your fingers in the locks of his dirty blonde locks.

Rafe's low chuckles reaches your ears again as he travels up to nip at your earlobes. His right hand goes down to dip between your thighs, his index finger planting itself right at your clit. He rubs it a few times before whispering, "So wet.. I can't wait to taste your pretty pussy.."

It's almost a growl when he says it, sending rushes of adrenaline through your body and the boost of arousal grows further in you.

The Rafe Cameron gives you one last kiss on the lips before he slowly slides down to his knees, muscular hands grabbing a hold of your thighs tight and firm, and being face to face with your already glistening pussy.

He licks his lips and doesn't hesitate to dive face first, tongue taking a long lick to your folds before going down on you. "O-oh, fuck-" Your eyes flutter shut at the wet sensation, a sharp inhale slipping out.

Holy shit, it felt incredible.

Rafe's tongue moves in circles around your clit a few times before continuously slurping up your juices that leaked from your folds, devouring your pussy like he was starved.

Your hands prop up your body by placing it firmly on the surface under you, but you can't help the hand that goes to tug on his hair and push his face deeper in, which causes him to chuckle deeply, the action creating vibrations through you.

"Oh god, Rafe." You breathily pant, his grip forcing your thighs to remain spread while his tongue prods at your entrance, pushing in and out. "Shit.. you taste incredible.." He mutters as his nose buries itself against your clit. The feeling is enough to send you into overdrive, your head tossing back and a tightening in your stomach makes you cry out.

"R-Rafe, I'm so close-"

Grinding your hips against his face, you illicit a loud mewl of pleasure, your body sending shocks throughout as you tremble from a hard orgasm.

Despite your fluids gushing down his chin, he continues to delve deeper in, overstimulating you, causing your thighs to shake as you cry out again, making him laugh.

“Aw, was it too much for you, sweetheart?” He grins mischievously and you flush, ignoring the way your heart flutters at the nickname as you attempt to catch your breath, watching as he licks his lips and stands up straight, ripping off his button up.

You can feel your mouth going dry at the sight of his toned, chiseled abs, the sweat glistening on his skin but what widened your eyes was the sight of his hardened bulge through his trousers, and you reach for the hem of his pants and pull him close, wrapping your legs around his torso.

Remembering you’re still on camera, you speak, “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.” You mutter, staring into his eyes while your hands palm him softly, working to unzip his zipper. But your words only cause him to flash a smirk as he helps you undo his trousers. “Oh don’t worry, sweetheart, by the time i’m done with you, you’ll forget about tonight.”

Crashing his lips with yours, you grunt but let him pull you even more towards the edge before pulling you down to the ground, his hands pulling the waistband of his pants and boxers down.

He strokes himself a few times, your eyes unable to help itself to the sight and you swallow thickly.

“Something wrong, baby?” He hums in amusement and you turn away a bit bashfully. “Not at all.”

Turning you around so you faced away from him, he breaks into a smirk as he wraps his arm around to give you a hand necklace, your throat firm in his grasp. Lining himself up at your entrance, he leans in close and speaks lowly. “Good, because I don’t intend to stop.”

Without warning, he inserts his length inside and you cry out a noise of pleasure. Your back at arches and he tightens his grip on your throat, but not enough to hurt you. “Heh, shit, you’re so fucking tight..” It almost seemed like it was actually Rafe saying this to you, instead of his character, but you didn’t have much time to think about it after as he begins to thrust into you from behind.

“F-Fuck-!”

One hand goes up to grab ahold of his arm that was holding your neck, and the other holds onto the counter for support. Every hard thrust causes your breasts to bounce as you two move in sync, Rafe doing deep but slow thrusts. His other hand is firming holding your waist but it travels up to grope your right breast, squeezing it hard.

Strings of moans are filling the room, and you momentarily forget the audience and cameras on you as all you can focus on is Rafe’s cock penetrating you hard.

He’s so deep.. i-i can’t think straight- it’s too much..

i’m so close- no wonder he’s so popular..

Rafe pulls away from your neck to use both hands to hold your hips firmly, his own picking up the pace as he begins to fuck you fast, the wet juices squelching each time your skin makes contact.

His hand goes down and his finger flicks your clit and it’s starting to send you over the edge. “Rafe..” Whimpers escape you as you dip your head down, clenching your fists on the countertop tightly.

“R-Rafe, fuck, you’re so deep.. i-i’m gonna cum-“

Rafe just smirks as he rubs your clit further, continuously thrusting you harder and faster until he feels a gush over your release and he pulls out, watching as your pretty glistening pussy squirts all over the floor.

“Fuck.” He bites his lip at the sight as he feels his own building up, and he spins you around while you’re panting. “Get on your knees,”

You fall to your knees to his command, and watch as he strokes himself fast and seconds later, his cum spurts its white salty liquid over your face, painting it like a canvas.

He pants heavily, catching his breath while you do the same, eyes fluttered shut at the warm liquid drips down.

“And cut! That was great, now get cleaned up you two!”

“You alright, [Name]?”

Still on the ground, you barely register a voice is talking to you while you appear dazed and confused.

Rafe has some skin-sensitive wipes in his hands, gently rubbing your face to wipe off any of his fluids before carefully helping you to your feet. “Did I go too rough on you?”

“I’m alright, thanks..” You whisper, feeling the exhaustion take over you. You lean onto Rafe, who holds you securely against his chest. “If it’s any consolation, today was fuckin’ amazing..” He chuckles lightly as he presses a tender kiss to your temple before guiding you to the couch where you can rest for a bit.

“Yeah?.. I think i understand why so many women gush over you after working with you.” You giggle weakly, sending an appreciative look when he sets you down gently, placing a blanket over you. He also chuckles lightly. “Yeah, but I think i’d like to work with you again, sometime soon. Maybe we can talk about our next filming together over dinner?”

Your stomach feels as though butterflies are doing flips inside you at the assumption of his words. “Are you asking me out, Rafe Cameron?”

Rafe merely shares a wink before pecking your forehead and getting up. “I’ll let you figure that out. Meanwhile, I’ll head to your room and draw you a bath to clean up.”

He takes your hand to press a soft kiss to the back of it before smiling your way and then turning to leave. Maybe he wasn’t acting the whole time.

“.. Rafe Cameron just asked me out..”

Best filming job ever.

a/n: hello all, hope you enjoyed! :) merry christmas. i shall have the first post of my camgirl series out soon!! <3

i’m sorry if this seems like such a rushed abrupt ending but i wanted to finish this in time for christmas :)

[blackdykegirlblogger]

vi who is the biggest, fattest, meanest bottom leaning switch of all time. i don’t make the rules, fortiche does. i always knew girlie pop was a switch, but originally i assumed she was more top leaning if anything. but then s2 came along….i don’t even ship caitvi but that kiss???? changed my perspective on a lotttttt of things. 

she was also a stone cold virgin when yall first got together. she’s gotten a smooch or two from some pretty girls around the lanes when she was younger (maybe had the chance to grab a tit here and there. maybe.), but outside of that? she’s never been touched. 

it’s not that she’s unattractive or that she doesn’t have options, she’s just traumatized with extremely strong attachment issues (which i honestly feel like isn't acknowledged enough). trust me, plenty of fine candidates have attempted to shoot their shots over the years. and maybe she would talk to a girl or two for a little bit, testing the waters and such, but it never lasted very long.

this. bitch. whimpers.

^^^ at even the slightest of touches. try it out. stroke her hair, adjust the collar on one of her jackets, kiss her on the cheek. she sounds like a kicked puppy.

like previously stated, while she doesn’t top as often as most fics would have you believe, she’s still a switchy switch at heart. she’s also an absolute demon with the strap, don’t get it twisted.

she will turn your stomach inside out and leave you unable to walk for several days afterwards. she will grind your cunt against her thigh until you’ve soaked the fabric of her pants. and she will slurp on your clit like it’s a damn jolly rancher for hours at a time. don’t test her. please test her. 

anyways back to her being a bottom <3

she has pretty pierced nipples! tug on them with your mouth and she will cream her pants in record time. she’s also against wearing bras ever at any point in time, so they always poke through whatever shirt she’s wearing. (not counting pitfighter! vi, in which case she binds her tits with bandages. the point still stands tho).

as a matter of fact, it’s actually a running gag between the two of you. she’s an ass girl (I DON’T MAKE THE RULES), and you’re more of a tittie lover yourself. she slaps your ass whenever you’re bent over or walking by, and you pinch and twist at her nips until they’re pebbled and sore. 

has the stamina of a fucking horse, regardless of if she’s above or below you (or behind you hehe). the type of mf to finally agree to take a break 3 rounds in for like 4 mins, and before you know it she’s looking at you with those big sparkly eyes asking if you’re ready to go again. smh damn nympho. 

is actually a puppy dog. like, when she isn't at the gym she is 100% glued to your hip at all times. you say jump, she leaps. you say run, she sprints faster than usain bolt. you say "vi can i have a little head 🥺" and the bitch doesn't come up for air for the next 3 hours.

she will deny having a favorite position until she's out of breath, but secretly she lovessss her some backshots. like i said earlier, she loves her some ASS. and what better way to admire yours than constantly slamming it back into her hips until you're sore?

backshots with her sound like fucking bombs going off but moving on

is a squirter <3 now it doesn't happen very often and you really have to wreck her in order to get her there but when you finally do? she becomes a watergun. she hates talking about it or even admitting that it happened but you think it's the hottest thing in the world (vi squirt on me pls-)

has a daddy kink lwk but that's like a special feature you can unlock after being with her for a good amount of time (maybe like a few months or so).

will give strap but has reservations about actually taking it. getting finger fucked until she's crossed eyed? yup. head until she passes out? fuck yeah! tribbing until she's whimpering and begging you to cum all over her? sounds like a perfect friday night. what who said that . but idk, as evil as her strap game is...the idea of getting that energy thrown her way intimidates her. but hey, that's between her and her therapist.

vi's body is actually tea and we as a fandom don't appreciate it enough. it's always "caitlyn kirramountains" this and "thick thighs sevika" that, but are we ignoring how this bitch is shaped like a damn hourglass???? her ass is fat, waist is gone and she just loves whenever you take the time to acknowledge it. bc of this she ADORESSSSSSSSSSS body worship bro. like she melts for it.

[dearru]

holiday festivities | ft. hq boys 

pairings: suna rintaro, miya osamu, and hinata shoyo x gn!reader | sfw | cw: cursing, idk how to write for suna or how to snowboard, osamu's part is kinda suggestive (#freakmas), reader implied to be shorter than osamu, shoyo is a sweetheart, not proofread | genre: fluff | wc: 1762 | masterlist

synopsis -> enjoying various holiday festivities with the hq boys!

❀ SNOWBOARDING w/ RINTARO SUNA !  

“I’ll strap you in, okay?” Rintaro says, bending down to adjust the bindings from the snowboard his cousin had loaned you snug to your boot. His hands, large and efficient, work quickly but gently as they clip the equipment into place. The board itself is scratchy and faded from years of wear, evidence of the Suna family’s years-long tradition of snowboarding every Winter. You look down as he adjusts the straps, trying to focus on him instead of the pit of dread forming in your stomach. 

It would be a nice sight, him on his knees for you.

If only you weren’t currently on the verge of a breakdown.

Looking downhill, you realize that you might have bit off more than you could chew when you agreed to accompany him. The height from the top of the hill seems daunting, and you’re not sure why anybody in their right mind would do this for fun. 

“It’s the bunny slope,” Rintaro had told you on the ski lift up, His voice casual and cool, “Babies do it.” 

The babies that do this must be pretty remarkable– because you, at your big age, are currently shaking from fear as you stare at the bottom of the hill. 

“All done.” Your boyfriend's voice rings clear in your ear, snapping you out of your frenzied thoughts. He brushes snow off his gloves, eyes flickering to your figure, “You good?” 

You muster the largest smile you can and nod, not trusting yourself to speak. 

Rintaro hums in reply, moving behind you to reposition your form. His hands settle on your waist, a comforting and familiar touch. It almost quells the anxiety you feel. Your body warms when he leans into you. Softly, he presses his lips against your ear and whispers, “You’re shaking. Nervous?” His tone is resonant and raspy, accompanied with a hint of amusement. 

Your heart drops. Does he think you’re ridiculous for acting this way? 

Jumping slightly from the feeling of his warm breath, you shake your head– but the way you stare down the bunny slope like you're about to march to your death betrays your attempt at nonchalance. Cheeks warming from embarrassment, you look down at the floor and mumble, “‘M not, Rin. Swear.” 

He snorts, dropping his hands from your waist. You shiver and feel a strange emptiness from the ghost of his touch still lingering on you. 

“Want me to hold your hand or somethin’?” He teases, tilting his head.

You groan, shifting your weight from side to side. Your gaze fixes downward. The snow is smooth and powdery and you wish it would swallow you whole. Squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers dig into the palms of your gloves, the rough feeling of the material sobers you, but doesn’t make the anxiety any less prominent. The desire to turn around and run away is as strong as the sting of the cold air on your skin. 

You can’t leave, this is important to him. You’ll have to find a way to bear it. You’ll have to figure it–

Your thoughts come to a halt when a warm, gloved hand envelops your own. Startled, you look over at Rintaro in awe. The weight of his grip grounds you, allowing you to breathe for the first time since you’ve gotten to the slopes. He’s adorning a faint smile now. It’s light-hearted and gentle. He offers you a reassuring nod, squeezing your hand. 

“We’ll go on the count of three.” 

❀ BAKING COOKIES w/ OSAMU MIYA !  

The smell of sugar and molasses wafts through the Miya family kitchen, adding to the already festive ambiance that envelops the home in a cozy glow. Osamu’s mother always had a knack for decoration, her ability put on full display during the holiday season. Room buzzing with warm energy, your eyes dart over to Osamu, who’s humming a tune while balling the malleable mixture with diligent care. He places them delicately on a buttered tray, a content smile on his face. 

Nudging his shoulder, you call his name out softly, “‘Samu.” 

He hums. 

“Let me try some,” You giggle, reaching to dip your finger in the bowl. 

“Ya gotta wait” He chides, snatching the dish away, but you’re too distracted by the dough to listen. The raw mixture’s enticing scent overrides your capacity for logical reason. Tilting your body forward, you try your luck again and swipe your fingers at the dish. 

Chuckling at your desperation, he shifts the bowl out of reach again. “Be patient,” He says, lips turning up into a teasing grin. His eyes taunt you as much as the dough in his hand does. 

“But your cookies are so good,” You whine, “Can’t I have a taste?” 

You feel his palm rest on the top of your head, laughing heartily at your antics, “I’ll give ya the first one after they're baked. Don’t want ya gettin’ sick.” His eyes gleam with a soft affection, but you don’t give in.

The compromise isn’t good enough. Pouting, you fold your arms and look at him with mock indignation, “Please?” 

You see him debating something within himself as his gaze searches for any reprieve to your plea. Sighing, he rolls his shoulders back and scoops one of his fingers into the dough. Waving it in front of you like a white flag, he offers you a taste of the batter. 

Squealing with delight, you take his finger in your mouth, savoring the sweetness as it melts on your tongue. It’s rich and spicy. Humming in satisfaction, you smile triumphantly at your boyfriend, “Tastes good.” 

“Yeah?” He laughs, warm hands wrapping around your waist. He pulls you in and kisses you. Giggling, you lean into his touch, returning his sweet kiss with one of your own. 

Pulling away, he licks his lips and whistles low. He grins softly and says, “Ya taste like cookies.”

You chuckle, feeling a surge of affection at his remark. Letting your head settle in the crook of his neck, you breathe him in. He smells like flour and chocolate chips. His thumb brushes idly against you, hands lingering on the small of your back. 

The moment is gone as quickly as it came when a horrified voice cuts through the air.

“What the hell?!”

Startled, you and Osamu turn to see Atsumu– white-faced and disgusted– standing by the doorway. 

“Yer fuckin’ gross. The both of ya!” He shouts, pointing a finger at the two of you like he’s caught you committing a crime. 

You can’t help but laugh. 

❀ WRAPPING PRESENTS w/ SHOYO HINATA !  

“Teach me how to wrap presents, please!” Shoyo exclaims, holding a cardboard box up for you to see. His eyes plead with you, expression contorted into an adorably desperate look. Your boyfriend, while talented in many respects, wasn’t the most detail-orientated individual. He was rough and often rushed delicate tasks. It makes sense that he’s not inclined towards wrapping gifts. 

Laughing, you smile at him, “You want me to teach you?” 

He nods excitedly, “Yeah, you’re really good!” His voice is breathy and reminiscent of when he was younger. Shoyo has changed in many ways since High School, but in others he’s remained exactly the same. Right now, he has the same eager look plastered on his face as he did back then, hungry for information– for a chance to grow. 

How could you deny his request? 

Taking the box from his hand, you saunter over to the makeshift wrapping station in the two of your’s apartment. Humming thoughtfully, you pick out some ribbon and giftwrap, careful to ensure they match. Shoyo watches your every move intently, drinking in your apparent wisdom. 

“First,” You say, placing the box delicately atop the wrapping paper, “You measure out how much you need.” Eyeing him, your voice drops to a low warning, “Try not to be wasteful, okay?”

He leans slightly into you, holding on to every detail. It makes your heart warm at how much this matters to him. Minutes pass, and you continue to walk him through the steps of giftwrapping. You delicately fold the paper in place, press tape to the box when needed, and tie a cute bow as a finishing touch. 

“Ta-da!” You sing, holding the gift up proudly. 

Shoyo’s eyes glimmer brightly, in awe of the present. He takes it in his hands, observing it closely, like if he looks hard enough, he too will become a master at wrapping presents. 

“Okay,” You chuckle, “Your turn now.” You run to grab another unwrapped box, placing it in front of him. He looks at you with too much determination for this mundane of a task, but it makes you smile regardless.

Getting started instantly, he bites his tongue in concentration. His face scrunches cutely, and he manuevers his body to shield you from his work.

Raising your eyebrows, you snort, “I can’t watch?” 

“It’s a surprise!” He answers, and he looks so sweet that it’s impossible to deny him the pleasure of amazing you with his gift. Relenting, you resign yourself to scrolling on your phone until he finishes the task at hand. You can’t help but steal glances every once in a while, smiling as he fumbles with the paper and grunts in frustration. Dutifully, his rough hands fiddle with the gift and you can tell he’s trying his very best. It’s sweet. 

After a while, he approaches you, eye glimmering with pride. And you can’t help but feel excitement to see what he’s accomplished. 

“Done!” He beams, “How’d I do?”

Looking at the gift, it takes all your willpower not to laugh.

It’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.

The paper is misshapen and wrinkled, like he had to fight to get it to bend to his will. Twine is littered about the gift in a way that feels intentional, but falls short of being aesthetically pleasing. Eyes softening, a smile captures the entirety of your face. 

“It looks great.” 

You can’t tell him the truth. You don’t have the heart to. 

Grinning widely, he starts to ramble about how hard it was to remember all the steps you had given him, and that he’s relieved it all worked out. It’s so endearing that you can’t help but press a kiss to his cheek. 

In response to your display of affection, he tilts his head at you curiously, and you chuckle. 

“It looks great,” You repeat, “But maybe I can wrap the rest while you hand me the tape?” 

He nods dutifully, “Okay!” 

Smiling to yourself, you decide that Shoyo may not be the best giftwrapper, but his undying enthusiasm and desire to please you is the greatest gift you’ll ever have.

a/n: happy holidays to all who celebrate :3 also, i do have a part 2 ready to go so expect that soon LOL. shoutout iris ONCE AGAIN for helping me brainstorm @cherrysurf i would be nothing without u.

[heart-eyed-love]

Charms

Summary | Eddie has a small gift for you before you both leave for Christmas break

Contains | Fem!Reader, Friends-to-Lovers, Cursing

Word Count | 1.2k

An | Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates, this is coming out late :( but I hope everyone had a good day!

It was the last day before Christmas break, and you were more than relieved to say the least. You need a 2 week break away from this shit hole. And while you had your friends, you still needed a break from this place.

You were gonna go visit some of your family members during the break, not the plans you had originally hoped for, but in your opinion just about anything was better than this school.

You had slightly brought up to your friends in passing that you were gonna be out of town during break, but it wasn’t something you had necessarily thought they’d care to remember. And it wasn’t something you’d be offended about them forgetting either way, you knew something you tend to fade to the background of settings.

So that afternoon, as you shoved all the books and papers you’d no longer need in your backpack over this break back into your locker, you let yourself sigh in relief as you now held a significantly lighter backpack.

“Hey…” The voice sneaks up behind you, causing you to jump. And when you turn to look at the source and smirking Eddie comes into view.

“Hi?” You answer back, raised brows at the boy in front of you, “What’s up?” You ask, shutting your locker as you do, and he can’t help but take notice of the jangling of your charm bracelet he knows all too well.

“Oh you know, nothing much. Excited to get out of here?”

“Yeah, I mean, who isn’t? It’s school… so I’m pretty sure everyone is eager to get out of here… aren’t you?” You ask back, looking up at the boy in front of you. Even after hanging out with him and the hellfire, you still feel a little awkward around him.

“Oh yeah totally, I’m gonna spend my whole break probably getting high, and doing jack shit, you know, basically the whole point of the break for me, right?” He’s all smirky and it’s so distracting when he gets like this… well when he gets like this with you. You never completely got used to the times where you’re the center of his attention.

“Yeah, right… Sounds nice…” You nod softly as you throw your backpack over your shoulder.

“It will be… if you weren’t going out of town I’d invite you over…” He’s hasn’t necessarily gone shy but he’s not as confident as he normally is and it’s throwing you off a bit. And If what he says is true, and he’d really like to invite you over, you’d take that over this trip to see a few family members who don’t necessarily give too much of a shit about you. But no. Now you have to miss out on the one thing you’ve always wanted.

“That sounds a lot better than having to go hang out with a bunch of family members who don’t even know who I am…” You chuckle slightly to yourself, and he smiles sweetly back at you and you can’t help yourself from feeling distracted from the look on his face.

“Yeah? Well that’s kinda why I came over here…” He pulls his back from his shoulder and unzips it, digging through it for a second, before pulling out a poorly wrapped box. A small bow sitting on top of it. Your brows raise in question, “Uhm… I got you something… you know, for Christmas.” He smiles.

“Oh shit, really? I- I didn’t get you anything….” You feel bad immediately, you had no idea he was gonna get you a gift, if you had you wouldn’t allow yourself to go all out for him like you always truly wanted.

“Oh no! No, don’t worry about it… it’s more like just so you don’t forget about us while you’re gone…”

“Forget about you?”

“Yeah, you know… Hellfire… me.” He smirks. To be quite frank he didn’t give a shit about Hellfire in this stance, forget about them all you want just don’t go forgetting about him.

“I’m only gonna be gone for like 2 weeks, if that.” You say with a teasing laugh, that has the soft smile reappearing on his face, and you don’t notice it, but his face heats up.

“Yeah, well here anyways…” He hands the box with a shrug.

You grab the box from him with a smile, “Do you want me to open it now?”

“Yeah, go for it…”

You pull the nicely tied bow from the top, leaving only the terribly wrapped box, and you couldn’t help but feel a swarm of butterflies. It was cute. He was cute. “Sorry, apparently I’m shit at wrapping.” He chuckled lightly.

“It’s alright.” You smile up at him, before looking back down to ripping the paper off the gift and a small box is now in front of you, Eddie grabs the wrapping paper from your hands for you, shoving it into his backpack.

You open the box and a small charm is revealed to you, it’s a small black bat. It’s beautiful, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a charm. It reminds you more of Eddie than the rest of the boys and you can’t help but like it more for that fact.

Eddie inspects your face as you look at the charm. He saw it at the mall while he was trying to find something for Wayne and for some reason he just needed to get it for. But damn, for some reason this small piece of metal was more expensive than he thought it needed to be.

But whatever it was for you anyways.

“You like it?” He asks, slightly nervous at the lack of words coming from you.

You look up from the charm in the box and see that smidge of fear in his face, “What? Oh my gosh! Yes, of course!” And the smile you love so much graces his face, “I love it, thank you, Eddie.”

“I’m glad you like it… thought it would go nice with all the other ones you have…” He lets his fiddle with the charm bracelet on your wrist, and you blush a tad bit at the feeling of his fingers against it.

“I really do…” You watch as the hallways drain of students and you know your time with him is limited, your bus is gonna leave soon, “My bus is about to leave… but thank you again, Eddie. It means a lot…”

“Yeah, of course… Uh, I mean I could drive you home if you want? Are you leaving today?”

“Oh, uh… No, we’re leaving tomorrow. Like ass crack of dawn.” You roll your eyes.

“Damn, first day of break and you’re still having to walk up early?” He laughs, and you can’t help but smile at the sounds.

“Right? That’s what I said, she just told me to get over it so it looks like I’m waking up early… but uh, yeah… a ride would be really nice…” I nod with a shy smile.

“Sweet, follow me…” He leads you out to his van, one you’ve seen time and time before but only ever rarely been in it. Definitely never just the two of you. He opened the van door for you and everything.

You were definitely gonna come back from break with a gift of your own for him.

[chiumii]

in sickness and in health ~ sim jaeyun x reader

౨ৎ inspiried by this request ! ♡  .⋆。⊹ ଓ ⋆˙⊹ [ 제이크 ] ☆ in which your lovely husband decides to take care of you when you are sick, in more ways than just one

word count ; 1.8k

softdom! jake x sick! reader drabble. sleepy fingering , Jake is so so sweet gag me w a fork , established marriage , praise , begging , hickeys / markings , begging , slight daddy kink , more .

as you hear the front door open and close, you begin to stir into consciousness after being in and out of sleep for the past few hours. your nose is clogged as your throat feels raw and sore, your head feels like a hollow balloon and your entire body aches. you had found the strength to get up out of bed and change into warmer clothes - settling on one of jake’s larger hoodies simply because it had the familiar scent of his cologne lingering on the fabric, and a pair of sweat pants that were two sizes too big.

you had fallen asleep on his side of the bed, missing the familiar warmth of his body that brought you indescribable comfort every night. your eyes flutter open, instantly finding the faint figure of a silhouette lingering in the door way. your arms reach out on instinct, jake’s figure slowly coming into view as he begins to take his suits jacket off - hanging it on a hanger before putting it back up in his closet. you smile at your husband , a soft pout prominent on your lips. jake chuckles at you before he puts his hand on your forehead, checking to see how hot you were.

“are you feeling any better baby?” you shake your head no with a shrug of your shoulders, a stinging sensation forming in the back of your nose. jake inwardly smiles at you, his eyes watching your face contort into squinted eyes and lips slightly ajar - the face you normally make when you try to force a sneeze out.

after you sneeze a few times, he kisses the top of your forehead longingly before peeling away from you

“i’m sorry sweetheart, do you need anything?” your husband asks you as he begins to unbutton his collared button up shirt, the sight of his forearms exposed making you feel all sorts of things after being left alone all day confined to your bed. you sit up slightly, your eyes gawking at him as he begins to strip himself of his clothes.

“i dunno, maybe now that you’re home ..” you say quietly, but jake hears you as clear as day. he spins around, the first half of his shirt undone and his nice black dress pants unbuttoned and zipped all the way down. your face heats up at his disheveled appearance, drinking in the delicious sight. Jake can tell by the look on your face that you want one thing and one thing only; knowing you like the back of his own hand. jake chuckles at you before sitting down at the foot of the bed, his hand coming up to rub comforting circles on your calf.

“baby, you’re sick. we can’t” he pouts , tilting his head to the side as he speaks. you huff and cross your arms over your chest, turning your head in order to look away from him. you sniff your nose, finding it difficult to breathe in.

“oh honey, don’t be a brat. i’m going to go heat you up some soup and i’ll be back. after that i’ll run you a bath and we can sit together okay?” your lips remain in a pout, still not turning your head to look over at him. jake sighs at your lack of response, his hand still rubbing gentle circles on your calf through the warm blanket.

“baby, i need you to answer me” you huff again, finally deciding on turning your head to face him fully. you look down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with one another as you remain pouty-faced. you’ve been left alone all day with your thoughts being your only source of company. every time you got on your phone; your head would start to hurt.

throughout the entire day, your mind was filled with jake and jake alone; how well he takes care of you in so many more ways than just one. how he goes to work in order to fuel your shopping addiction, how he makes you your favorite dishes and runs to the store to get you medicine when you’re sick- and especially when he’s buried between your thighs, his fingers reaching so deeply inside you, jake’s name dripping from your tongue.

you were too tired to touch yourself, and fuck the way jake’s hand lightly gripped your jaw in order to tilt your head up this morning to give you a good-bye kiss was the cherry on top.

your face flushes a deep shade of red as you look up at your husband through your eyelashes, a sigh escaping your mouth. jake tilts his eyebrows up at you, amusement flowing through his veins.

“been thinking about you all day… and you come home looking like this, it makes me feel.. i don’t know. crazy…” jake smirks at your words, his free hand coming to rest on the bed behind him as he leans backwards, his eyes racking down your figure.

“what have you been thinking about love?” you whine in frustration, not wanting to elaborate. you kick his thigh that rests next to your foot jokingly, flustered out of your mind.

“uhm… how well you take care of me, all the time. ‘nd how bad i’ve been needing you…” you speak honestly. the two of you haven’t done anything recently because of your fever and sickness, jake being caught up in the worry of hurting you . jake smiles fondly at you, his heart swelling in adoration and pride. he knows your words are the truth; everything he does- he does it for you. he’s your biggest supporter in everything you accomplish, and he would take care of you always.

"yeah? how do you need me pretty?" he asks, leaning down to crawl over your smaller frame - making you sink further into the mattress below you in silence. jake takes your lack of response with a small smirk that spreads slyly across his face, one of his hands coming to trail its way up your thigh in order to find its way under the blanket.

"where do you need me baby?" he asks once more, your breathing coming out in ragged, shallow breaths. your eyes look up into his, pleading with parted lips.

"here?" he asks, his fingers coming in contact with your clothed heat making a whimper drip off your full lips. you hum in response, your head slowly nodding up and down.

"yes please.." you say under your breath quietly. your pussy pulsates at the contact. jake smiles down at you, pressing his forehead against yours. he begins to massage slow, concentrated circles through your sweats, making your yes fall closed. after a moment of agonizing teasing, he pushes his hand under your sweats, making your stomach flip in nervousness.

"please.." another plea sounds from just under him. jake's hand makes its way down to your panties before pulling them to the side in order to snake his cool fingers through the folds of your wet pussy. your back arches off the mattress slightly in anticipation. neediness slips into your veins like a drug, making jake lowly chuckle.

"such a needy girl, aren't you?" he teases, making you pout. jake focuses his attention to your desperate clit, rubbing focused circles gently on your bundle of nerves that has you moaning out his name. your hands snake up to the square of his shoulders, grabbing onto him in order to ground your mind from slipping away from your body.

you can hear your own wetness as he plays with your swollen pussy, the disgusting sounds were like heaven to jakes ears that he could never, ever get enough of.

jake opts in sliding one of his long fingers into your walls, sliding in with ease thanks to the slick you had provided all for him, because of him. your nails scratch at his back, a tired whimper leaving the back of your throat. his fingers work their magic inside your tight, velvety walls, fingertips softly grazing the sweet spot deep inside you.

your body shakes in his hold, making jake kiss your temple. he trails his kisses down the side of your face - resting on the skin of your neck to leave faint, purple marks. you squirm underneath him as another one of his fingers enters your pussy, fingering you from the inside out.

"my girl just wants to be taken care of huh? wants me to help her in every way possible?" you nod your head, a soft 'yes' incoherently leaves your mouth.

"gonna take such good care of my little angel, make her feel so, so good" and thats exactly what he does - fingering your needy pussy so well that when you close your eyes - you're sent seeing stars on the undersides of your lids. jake has that effect on you - knowing your body better than you possibly could. every inch of you engraved into his mind like an open book he just couldn't seem to forget.

"feels so good, i love you s' much" jake's heart feels like its going to explode, his chest tightening at your words.

"i love you sweet thing" he responds, speaking into your skin while his fingers working faster at splitting you apart. your pussy squeezes his fingers delicately, your desperate cries of his name come to a sweet crescendo.

your body curls into jakes front as he detaches from your neck, letting you bury your face into his chest. everything feels overstimulating and warm, making your mind cloud over with lust.

a warm feeling begins to spread throughout your lower abdomen, your hips bucking up into jakes palm in order to chase after the sensation.

"you close angel?" you frantically nod your head, legs shaking and spreading apart further to grant your husband more access to your body.

"yes,,, yes please... wan' cum please... please let me cum" your begging makes jake feel some sort of power, fueling him into his next choice of words.

"i dunno, have you been a good girl recently?" your eyes fly open, the fear of jake denying you permission to cum makes you pout immensely.

"yes.. been such a good girl f' you" your voice is whiny and desperate, making jake mimic the pout plastered on your face. he ponders for a moment before smiling at you fondly.

"yes you have. been such a patient girl for me recently. don't worry baby, daddys gonna make it all better" his fingers reach a deeper spot inside you, making your toes curl and your back inch further off the bed and right into the palm of your husbands mind.

"cum for me baby" is all he says before your pussy clenches down on his digits that work diligently within your gummy walls, your juices squirting out to signal the snap of your release.

"good girl, let me take good care of you" he whispers into your ear, his movements coming to a slow halt. your body collapses back onto the bed, chest heaving up and down in search of much needed air. jake pulls his fingers out of you with a hiss.

"i love you baby, in sickness and in health" he smiles fondly before kissing the skin of your sweaty forehead.

"i love you more"

[berberriescorner]

Shadows and Starlight✨🎄♥️

Character: Husband!Simon Riley (Ghost) x Black!Reader.

Word Count: 500+.

"A Season of Love Christmas Series 🎄♥️"

The quiet hum of the heater filled the room, mingling with the soft glow of fairy lights strung across the window. It was the kind of serene, peaceful morning you rarely got to enjoy, and for once, you’d slept deeply, cocooned in the warmth of the heavy blanket and the presence of the man beside you.

Or so you thought.

You stirred, reaching out instinctively, but the bed was cold and empty. A soft sound—almost imperceptible—came from somewhere nearby, setting your senses on alert. Years of being with Simon had trained you to notice even the faintest disturbances.

“Simon?” you called, your voice low and groggy.

“Right here, love.” His deep, familiar voice rumbled from across the room.

You turned to see him standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. He was still dressed in his signature black hoodie and sweatpants, but his ever-present mask was nowhere to be seen. The sight of his uncovered face—something you still weren’t used to, even after all this time—made your breath catch.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

He stepped into the room, the corner of his mouth quirking into a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d get a head start on making the morning a bit more special.”

Your gaze flicked to his hands, where he held a tray with two mugs of tea, a small plate of biscuits, and… a small, neatly wrapped package.

“Simon Riley,” you said, sitting up and narrowing your eyes playfully. “What are you up to?”

He set the tray down on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed, his broad frame making the mattress dip slightly. “Figured we’d start Christmas morning off right,” he said, his voice softer now. He handed you one of the mugs before carefully placing the gift in your lap.

You glanced up at him, your heart already melting. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “I wanted to. Now open it.”

You tore the paper carefully, revealing a small velvet box. Your heart thudded as you opened it to find a delicate silver bracelet, the charm shaped like a shield.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your fingers brushing over the intricate detail of the charm.

Simon shifted slightly, his gaze steady but vulnerable as he spoke. “I’ve spent most of my life being someone people need protection from. But with you… I just want to protect you. To make sure you’re safe. This felt… fitting.”

Your chest tightened, and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “Baby…”

He reached out, his hand warm and steady as he brushed a curl from your face. “You’ve given me something I never thought I’d have—a reason to come home. You’re my safe place, love. My light.”

You couldn’t speak, overwhelmed by the quiet intensity of his words. Instead, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. He held you tightly, his strong arms enveloping you in a way that made you feel untouchable, invincible.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” you murmured against him.

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

As the morning sun peeked through the curtains, you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, the shadows of the past giving way to the light of the moment—your moment. Together.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, my babies! MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄♥️!!

Tagging some lovelies:

@darqchilddaydreamz @astoldbychae @starrynite7114

@johnnyshoe @sunshine-flower @ravennaortiz

@bxdbxtxh15 @dc418writes @phoenixhalliwell

@drewsmusee @magicwriterinspo @m150-50up

@readernimsblog @chosoloveletters @msdrpreist

[jburrgf]

About You II — The Love Trope Series

“Do you think I have forgotten about you?”

◦pairing: ¡lsu! joe burrow x ¡ex situashionship! reader

◦summary: second change trope, college relationships, slow burn love, right person wrong time.

◦description: after the dinner at Malone’s, your best friend and you go to the biggest party of the year, and there, you find out why you can’t forget Joe — at all.

◦playlist: About You - The 1975, Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Golding, Like Real People Do - Hoozier, I Bet You Think About Me - Taylor Swift, Called You Again - Lizzy McAlpine, Tolerate It, ImGonnaGetYouBack, Clean - Taylor Swift

PART TWO: FRIENDS

Joe and I didn’t happen overnight.

It was a slow burn, full of late-night conversations, stolen glances, and an undeniable pull neither of us could explain. He was juggling the pressures of being a star quarterback with the weight of expectations I couldn’t fully understand, and I was caught between wanting to be a part of his world and keeping my own identity intact.

We weren’t perfect. We fought. We drifted. We came back together, only to drift apart again. And then, just before graduation, Joe started pulling away for good.

I didn’t chase him.

And that was the end of it.

Or so I thought.

The faint hum of music and muffled voices filtered through the walls of our shared dorm as I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the pile of clothes Maddie had dumped on me earlier. A crop top, a leather skirt, and heeled boots that looked like they belonged on a runway rather than at a party in a dingy warehouse.

Maddie was pacing, a hair curler in one hand and a bottle of glittery body spray in the other, a force of nature in her pre-party ritual. She was dressed to perfection already, wearing a sequined halter top and ripped jeans that made her legs look a mile long.

The mirror in Maddie’s dorm room was barely big enough for one person, but tonight, we were making it work. Her makeup brushes, palettes, and lip glosses were spread across the desk like an arsenal, the tiny lamp casting a warm glow on the chaos.

“Y/N, come on,” Maddie groaned, holding up two options—a cropped black sequin top and a deep green halter. “Which one says, ‘I’m here to have fun but also break hearts’?”

I glanced up, her mind still clouded, offering a weak smile. “The green one, I guess.”

Maddie frowned, dropping the tops onto her bed and placing her hands on her hips. “Okay, what’s going on with you? This is the biggest party of the year, and you’re sitting there like we’re about to go to a funeral.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Just tired.”

Truthfully, exhaustion wasn’t the problem. My chest felt heavy in a way I couldn’t explain—like I was carrying the weight of something I didn’t have the courage to admit. Joe. His name felt like a forbidden word, a ghost haunting the edges of my thoughts as Maddie flitted around the room, oblivious.

“Liar,” Maddie shot back, narrowing her eyes as she crossed the room to sit beside Y/N. “You’ve been weird all weekend. Let me guess…” She tilted her head, a knowing smirk spreading across her lips. “This is about him, isn’t it?”

The mention of his name made my stomach flip, but I kept my face carefully neutral. “This has nothing to do with him.”

“Bullshit,” Maddie said, nudging her shoulder. “I know you, Y/N. You’ve been moping around ever since Malone’s friday. Did something happen with Joe that you’re not telling me?” she said, rolling her eyes. “Look, I know he’s... complicated. But tonight isn’t about him. It’s about you having fun. Forget about the past. It’s just one party.”

“Exactly. Just one party,” I said, grabbing the crop top she’d picked for me and holding it up with skepticism. “And I’m not even sure I want to go.”

Maddie marched over, snatched the shirt from my hands, and tossed it on the bed. “Oh, you’re going. Whether I have to drag you kicking and screaming or not.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to enjoy myself, but something in me felt heavy, like an anchor tied around my chest. Maddie didn’t need to know how often my mind drifted to Joe—how his face had been etched into my thoughts since that night at Malone’s, how his stupid note was still folded in my desk drawer.

“Y/N,” Maddie said, her voice softening as she sat beside me. “I know you miss him.”

I blinked, startled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, nudging me with her shoulder. “But trust me, wallowing isn’t going to help. You need to let loose, have a drink, and dance with someone who’s *not* Joe Burrow.”

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It *is* easy,”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my jeans. “It’s… nothing happened. It’s just—ugh, I don’t even know, Maddie. I don’t want to talk about him.”

Maddie raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Instead, she stood, grabbed Y/N’s hands, and pulled her to her feet. “Okay, fine. No more Joe talk. But I’m not letting you go to this party looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

“You know i’m not thrilled about frat parties.” I said

“This isn’t just any frat party,” Maddie corrected, grabbing a curling iron and plugging it in. “It’s in the Kappa alumni barn. Do you know how hard it is to get invited to this? People are literally selling wristbands for $50 just to get in. We are *elite,* babe.”

“Lucky me,” I muttered under my breath.

”Come on, I’m going to pick out the perfect dress for you.” She threw open her closet, rifling through the racks of clothes like a woman on a mission. “We need something that says ‘I’m hot, but I don’t care if you notice.’”

“I was just going to wear jeans,” I offered weakly.

Maddie spun around, her expression scandalized. “Jeans? To this party? Y/N, we’re not freshmen anymore. This is senior year. Go big or go home.”

Before I could argue, she pulled out a sleek black dress with a subtle shimmer. It was simple, but the cut was flattering, and the fabric looked soft enough to melt into.

“This,” Maddie declared, holding it up like it was the Holy Grail.

I hesitated, glancing at my reflection. “I don’t know...”

“Trust me,” Maddie said, shoving the dress into my hands. “You’ll look amazing.”

With a reluctant sigh, I headed to the bathroom to change. The dress clung to my figure in all the right places, and when I stepped back into the bedroom, Maddie let out a low whistle.

“Y/N! You look... Wow. Just wow. Girl, if Joe doesn’t come crawling back to you after tonight, he’s an idiot.”

I finally turned to face my reflection, and to my surprise, I didn’t hate it. The dress hugged my figure in all the right places, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like maybe I could blend in tonight.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my llips. “It’s not about Joe.”

“Sure, it’s not,” Maddie teased, returning to the mirror to finish her makeup. “Now, sit down. I’m doing your hair and makeup.”

As Maddie curled my hair, the mood in the room shifted slightly. The music softened, and for a moment, it felt like the old days—just us two, laughing and talking about nothing.

“Listen,” Maddie said, her tone gentler now. “I know you’re going through it, but you deserve to have fun tonight. Forget about him, or at least try to. This party is going to be amazing. Everyone’s been talking about it for weeks. The lights, the DJ, the whole vibe—it’s gonna be insane.”

I nodded, her chest tightening. Maddie was right. I needed to let go, even if just for one night. “You’re right. Let’s do this.”

Maddie grinned, placing the final curl in my hair and fluffing it out with her fingers. “Now that’s the spirit. Look at us—two bad bitches, ready to take on the world.”

I laughed, feeling a flicker of excitement for the first time that night. Maybe this party wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe I could forget about Joe, even if just for a few hours. Maddie got all the makeup things right in front of us, and started to do my makeup.

Hold still!” Maddie ordered, her hand steady as she worked on my eyeliner.

“I am holding still,” I mumbled, trying not to blink.

“You keep flinching every time I get close. Do you not trust me?” she teased, stepping back to inspect her work. “Did you know they rented an actual DJ for tonight? And there’s going to be this crazy light show. Plus, rumor has it the football team’s throwing in a ton of money for drinks and food. This is basically LSU’s version of Coachella.”

I hummed noncommittally, watching her in the mirror as she worked. Her excitement was contagious, even if I wasn’t quite ready to feel it yet.

“Y/N,” Maddie said after a moment, her tone more serious. “Promise me you’ll try to have fun tonight. For real.”

I met her gaze in the mirror and nodded. “I’ll try.”

She smiled, satisfied. “Good. Now, glitter or no glitter?”

“No glitter,” I said immediately.

Maddie rolled her eyes but relented, finishing my makeup with a swipe of lip gloss.

Maddie, of course, looked flawless in her emerald green romper and heels, her hair styled in loose waves that framed her face. She had a way of commanding attention without even trying, and tonight was no exception.

“You’re stunning,” I said honestly.

“So are you,” she replied, grabbing her phone to snap a picture of us. “Okay, let’s take a pre-party selfie. Smile!”

I forced a grin, but even as the camera clicked, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“You’re thinking too much,” Maddie said, catching my expression.

“I’m not,” I lied.

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her purse. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before you change your mind.”

By the time we were both ready, the campus was already buzzing with energy. The party was being held in an old warehouse on the edge of campus, the kind of space that was only used for events like this—loud, chaotic, and slightly dangerous.

As we stepped outside, the cool evening air hit my skin, and for the first time all day, I felt a flicker of anticipation. Maddie looped her arm through mine, grinning.

“Trust me, Y/N,” she said as we made our way toward the warehouse. “Tonight’s going to be unforgettable.”

The walk to the party was electric. The campus buzzed with excitement, groups of students streaming toward the barn like moths to a flame. Maddie chatted nonstop, filling the silence with stories and jokes that I barely registered.

But as we approached the barn, the music growing louder with each step, I couldn’t ignore the way my heart began to race. Part of me hoped Joe wouldn’t be there.

And another part of me—a part I hated—hoped he would.

I caved, mostly because Maddie was impossible to argue with, and by the time we arrived at the warehouse, I was already questioning my decision. The music was loud, the drinks were cheap, and the place was packed with bodies moving to a beat I couldn’t place.

It was an underground-style party. Everyone was wearing colorful, fluorescent paints, and the music had heavy beats. It was a fraternity party, but it wasn't at a house. Everything took place in a warehouse, surrounded by a parking lot that was already full when we arrived.

“Loosen up,” Maddie said when we got out of her car and were walking through the parking lot, heading to the party entrance. My friend showed something on her phone to someone, and we went in.

She dragged me toward the makeshift bar. “Come on, Y/N, I know why you're like this. But remember, we have to have fun, right?” she said, shaking my shoulders from side to side as electronic music played.

I rolled my eyes, letting out a small smile because the beat of the music was really contagious.

“Alright, but I’m not going to drink much!”

“I love you!” And that was what Maddie said before dragging me to the fraternity's makeshift bar, preparing something for me to drink.

I downed a few shots, one after the other, laughing and speaking loudly as people came over to greet us. I danced to a few songs with Maddie, swaying from side to side.I felt the urge to go to the bathroom, so I asked her to wait for me close to the bar. I started walking, looking for something like a bathroom, being careful not to open doors to already occupied rooms.

I found an empty bathroom at the beginning of one of the hallways. I fixed my makeup, washed my hands, and got ready to leave. I closed the door behind me, starting to walk down the hallway.

When I returned to the party, the music was louder, and people were dancing more. By that time of the night, the bar was even more crowded than usual, signaling that the party had reached its peak.

I tried to. I really did. But I wasn’t a natural at these things, and it wasn’t until I stepped outside onto the quieter patio that I felt like I could breathe again. I walked out of the warehouse, exiting through makeshift tarp doors. Outside, in the back, there was an Olympic-sized pool, illuminated and filled with inflatable balls.

The air outside was cool against my flushed skin, the sounds of the party muffled behind the thick metal doors of the warehouse-turned-dancefloor. I leaned against the railing near the Olympic-sized pool, my chest rising and falling as I tried to steady myself.

The stillness of the pool was a welcome contrast to the pulsing energy inside. Its surface reflected the night sky, fractured by the faint ripples of the water, and for a brief moment, I felt at peace.

“Finally found you!” Maddie shouted from afar, stepping out of the warehouse with a red cup in hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… it just got way too crowded all of a sudden.”

“Yep, it’s about time for us to head out.” She patted my back, as if she knew me well enough to understand exactly how I was feeling.

The bass of the music hit me like a wave as soon as I stepped through the doors, the lights swirling in hypnotic patterns that danced across the crowd. The air was thick with heat and the mingling scents of sweat and cologne, and I almost turned back around.

I tugged at the hem of my dress, suddenly feeling too exposed in the sea of intoxicated strangers. Maddie was nowhere to be seen— I lost her when I got back inside. I should’ve texted her to meet me outside, but I didn't want to ruin her night.

The overhead lights twisted and flickered in a kaleidoscope of colors, casting long shadows that danced across the packed room. People swayed and spun to the beat of a song I didn’t recognize, the energy electric and wild.

And then it happened.

The opening chords of Innerbloom by RÜFÜS DU SOL floated through the speakers, and it was like the entire atmosphere shifted. The crowd slowed, their movements taking on a dreamlike quality as the tempo of the song washed over the room.

That’s when I saw him.

Joe.

He was standing near the edge of the dancefloor, just beyond the reach of the flashing lights. His blond hair caught the faint glow of the strobe, his tall frame relaxed yet commanding as he talked to someone I didn’t recognize. But it wasn’t the way he stood or the casual confidence in his posture that froze me in place. It was his eyes.

Because, as if sensing me, he looked up—and our eyes met.

Everything else faded.

For a second, I thought I was imagining it.

It was instant, like a magnetic pull I couldn’t fight even if I wanted to. The room, the music, the crowd—all of it faded away. All I could focus on was him.

Why does it always feel like this?

The way he looked at me was almost unbearable—like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as I had dreaded it. His gaze was steady, unflinching, and for a second, I thought he might come toward me.

But he didn’t move. Neither did I.

My breath caught in my throat. We just stared at each other, the space between us suddenly feeling both infinite and too small.

I wanted to run. I wanted to stay.

The flicker of the lights seemed to sync with the thrum of my heartbeat as he started walking toward me. Everything was in slow motion—the sway of his body, the way his hands slid casually into the pockets of his jeans, the way his jaw tightened when our eyes locked again.

The music, the crowd, the swirling lights—it all blurred into the background, like the universe itself had tilted to make room for this one moment.

*If you want me, if you need me... I'm yours.*

The words felt like a taunt, an echo of everything I hadn’t allowed myself to admit.

Joe’s gaze held mine, steady and unyielding, as though he could see every thought racing through my mind. His expression was unreadable—calm, almost curious—but his eyes told a different story. They were searching, pulling me in, and suddenly the space between us felt both infinite and far too small.

I couldn’t move. My feet were rooted to the ground, my pulse hammering in my ears as the world seemed to slow to a crawl.

He took a step forward.

The lights shifted, casting his face in shadow, and for a second, I thought I might faint. My breath hitched, and I gripped the edge of a nearby table to steady myself.

Another step.

The crowd parted like water around him, the sea of bodies moving in rhythm with the music but leaving him untouched. It felt unreal, like a scene from a movie, the kind you tell yourself could never happen in real life.

But it was happening.

And then he was in front of me.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, almost lost in the swell of the music. But I heard it. God, I felt it.

“Joe.” My voice came out softer than I intended, almost shaky.

Neither of us said anything for a moment. The room seemed to spin around us, the world a blur of light and sound, but we were still. Anchored.

“You came,” he finally said, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.

“You called.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying me in that way he always did, like he could see straight through every wall I’d put up. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

Why did he have to be here? Why did he have to look at me like that? Like he was still holding onto something I’d been trying so hard to let go of.

The muffled beat of the music reached me even out here, but it was quieter now, easier to ignore. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the image of Joe—his face, his voice, the way he said my name. It lingered like a ghost, refusing to let me be.

“Neither was I,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.

Another beat of silence passed, heavy and charged. His gaze flickered down to my lips for a fraction of a second, and my stomach flipped.

The song swelled, the lyrics a haunting echo in the background: If you want me, if you need me, I’m yours

The silence stretched between us, filled only by the song and the pounding of my heart. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. All I could do was look at him, and all he could do was look at me, like we were the only two people in the room.

Something flickered in his eyes—relief, maybe, or something deeper. He stepped closer, and I felt the warmth of him, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the humid air of the warehouse.

The words hung between us, heavy and unspoken truths laced beneath them. I wanted to ask him why he cared, why he’d left that note, why he was standing here now, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered. But I couldn’t.

The music swelled, the lyrics wrapping around us like a cocoon.

“I’m glad you did.”

The words hung between us, heavy and unspoken truths laced beneath them. I wanted to ask him why he cared, why he’d left that note, why he was standing here now, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered. But I couldn’t.

The music swelled, the lyrics wrapping around us like a cocoon.

It felt like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of us to make the next move.

And then, without thinking, I took a step closer.

“Joe,” I said again, my voice steadier this time.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper now, lost beneath the music but somehow still clear as day.

For a moment, neither of us moved, the world narrowing down to just us.

And then someone bumped into me, breaking the spell. I stumbled, and Joe’s hand shot out, steadying me with an ease that made my stomach flip.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

I nodded, my cheeks flushing. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But I wasn’t fine. Not even close. Because standing this close to him, feeling his hand on my arm, hearing the way he said my name—it was all too much.

And yet, I didn’t want it to end.

He held out his hand. “I…”

“I can’t do this, Joe. I have to go,” I said, finally creating some distance between us. I walked out of the warehouse, but I knew he was following me.

“CAN YOU STOP?”

He froze, started, coming to an abrupt halt behind me. Even in the dark, I could tell he was looking at me with shock. I could see the way he looked at me, and it made me feel nauseous. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I missed it. God, I missed it so much.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, and I could feel the honesty in his voice eating away at me.

“You haven’t talked to me in months, and I’m not going to let you do to me what you’ve done before,” I said, stepping further away. “You forgot about me, Joe. Completely. You pushed me away, and now, I don’t want to come back. Just… stay away.”

Maddie came running after Joe soon after. With a confused expression, she purposely bumped into his shoulder as she walked past him toward me.

“Let’s go, Y/N,” my friend said, still shooting side-eyes at Joe, who stood there frozen. “Leave her alone, Joe. She doesn’t need you anymore.”

Maddie grabbed my hand and started walking with me through the parking lot. I got into the passenger seat, still dazed. It had been almost seven months, and that was the first time he had spoken to me.

When I looked in the rearview mirror, he was still standing there, in the middle of the street.

I knew I would see him again. I just didn’t want to believe it.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Rumor Has It

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: minor angst

Summary: Your boyfriend is a well-known street racer who will never back down from a challenge. When someone new comes to town challenging him, he’ll do anything to come out on top… and that includes giving you up.

Square Filled: street racing (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Harry straps on his racing gloves as you’re watching him from your spot on the bed. He spent the last two hours getting ready for what will be a disaster waiting to happen. Your boyfriend is known for his love of cars. There is a group of guys that pick a spot in every city and race their precious cars. It’s illegal as shit and nearly gets someone arrested every time they do it, but there is no stopping him.

He quickly climbed the ranks of being one of the fastest yet riskiest racers this town has ever known, and now there aren’t many who want to go up against him. These days, he races with friends in a friendly game rather than for money. Not this race. This race is different. Someone new came into town last week and has been passing rumors to everyone.

Rumor has it that this man is a beast. Rumor has it that no one has lost against him. Rumor has it that someone like Harry is child’s play compared to the men he’s been up against. The racers always pick a desolate part of town to race in knowing there won’t be anyone on the road to block them, but not this man. He’s known to race in the open with other cars on the road.

Not once has he crashed and not once has he been caught. His name has been filtered through every town he’s been in, and it managed to reach all the way to your small town in the middle of nowhere. Of course, as soon as Harry found out that he was coming to town, he had to challenge him to a race. There is something Harry wants, and he’s going to make sure he gets it after he wins this race.

Harry’s good but he’s not Dean Winchester good.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you ask. “Do you not realize who you’re going up against?”

“I’ve been preparing for this all week. I can do it.”

“You’re either going to lose or get caught. The police have been cracking down on these races lately.”

Harry turns and glares at you through his shaded glasses.

“The only one who is going to get caught is Dean. I don’t need you worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

Normally, you never go to these races because you don’t like them. In one race, someone crashed into a pole and lost his life. It was cold outside and he slipped on a patch of black ice. Ever since that, you’ve been asking Harry not to race. Still, he won’t listen to you. Lately, he’s been dismissing your every thought. He’s been more distant since Dean got to town, and you tell yourself it’s because of the race. Dean will leave soon and he’ll go back to being yours.

Why is it that when you think about that, you become empty inside?

Harry is a good boyfriend but he’s not the best. He’d choose racing over you any day. Why do you stay with him, then? Maybe being in a relationship with him is better than being alone. If you think that, you shouldn’t be in a relationship. What else are you going to do? You moved to this town for Harry so your entire family is on the west coast.

You can’t go back to them no matter how much you’re hurting here.

The only reason you’re going to this one is because of Dean. You can’t help but be intrigued by the mystery surrounding the man. You’ve heard he’s a ladies’ man and oozes sex appeal. Guess you won’t know until you see him, huh?

You and Harry leave for the race that’s happening on the outskirts of town. There is a guy who runs in Harry’s circle whose father is the chief of police. He knows he won’t be sticking his nose in their business tonight because of some case they’ve been working on for weeks, so this race should be free of police. There is already a crowd forming when you get there, and an even bigger following since Dean is here.

Harry’s prized race car is a 1987 Chevy Monte Carlo SS that he only uses whenever he’s racing. She hasn’t let him down since, but you think that’s all going to change. Dean’s prized possession is a 1967 Chevy Impala that Harry has always wanted. It’s one of his dream cars. The fact that Dean has one and is flaunting it here pisses Harry off.

Harry leaves your side and approaches Dean with the intent to trash-talk him. The crowd forms around the two men, and you stand on a few rocks to get a better view of Dean. His back is turned to you but from what you can see, he is a beastof a man. Tall, muscular, and not at all fazed by Harry’s attempt to shake him down.

“Is this supposed to make me fear you?” Dean chuckles.

“No, but you better watch your back, Winchester,” Dean smirks but he doesn’t say anything. “Care to make this interesting?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“A bet on who wins. If you’re not scared, that is.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who gets scared?”

The crowd whispers to each other at his comment, and Harry glares at him. You push past the crowd to get to the inner circle where you have a full view of Dean. Damn, he looks even better from the front. Sharp jaw, short hair, and bright green eyes. Harry might be threatening him but there is a mischievous glint in Dean’s eyes.

“Alright, Winchester. If I win,” Harry looks around the crowd and smirks, “I get your Impala.”

The crowd gasps and chatter picks up. There is no way Dean will ever give up his precious car, so most think he will back out on this deal. Dean knows he’s going to win but it’s amusing to play Harry’s game. His eyes scan the crowd and they land on you, and you freeze from the intensity of his gaze. There’s something… primal… with the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re his prey but you know he won’t hurt you if he catches you.

“Okay,” he draws his gaze back to Harry, “if you win, you get my car.” Again, the crowd gasps. “If I win,” he looks at you with a smirk, “I get your girl.”

“Fine, yes, she’s yours. Take her.”

You gasp at the audacity your boyfriend has for just giving you away like you’re property or something to own. Someone blows a whistle and the crowd disperses to the side since the race is starting. People push past you but you seem to be rooted where you stand. You can’t take your eyes off Harry.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” You look at Dean who winks. “I don’t lose.”

You find your footing and step back to the sides where everyone else is. Harry and Dean get in their cars and start them up. Harry revs his engine loudly to show off but Dean stays calm. He doesn’t win races by being cocky. The race is twenty miles long, and there are people every couple of miles to track their progress who will then report back to the announcer so he can inform the crowd what’s going on.

The person who whistled whistles again and they’re off. Dean and Harry take off down the road, the crowd cheering for both of them. Half think Dean is going to win while the other half cheers for Harry. Harry passes the fifth mile first with Dean right behind him, but Dean passes the tenth mile first. They’re neck and neck with one passing the other constantly. Once they reach ten miles, they have to turn around and come back, so that’s what they’re doing now.

You bite your thumbnail nervously as you wait for someone to come around the corner. Do you want Harry to win? Absolutely not. You can’t stand the idea of him getting his way after he pulled that shit with you. Do you want Dean to win? Maybe? Maybe he’s the reason you’re looking to end things with Harry. He’s the courage you never knew you had.

The entire crowd falls silent when they hear the rumble of an engine approaching. Five seconds later, the sleek black Impala comes racing around the corner, picking up a shit ton of dust. The crowd erupts in cheers knowing Dean is going to win this race. Harry is less than half a mile behind him but it’s too late. Dean crosses the finish line and screeches to a stop. He hops out of the car and stalks over to you.

Harry’s scar screeches to a halt right next to Dean’s car, and he gets out with an angry red face. Dean grabs your waist and pulls you in, kissing you deeply. He slides his hand into your hair and holds your head steady so he can control every aspect of the kiss. To say you’re surprised is an understatement. He’s a great kisser, better than Harry, and you’re wondering if he’s like this in the bedroom.

“Call me when you break up with him,” he says when he pulls away. “You might be my good luck charm.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He walks toward the crowd and accepts his victory while Harry hangs behind with his close friends. You touch your lower lip and watch Dean reap the rewards. Yeah, Harry’s gone. He’s no one compared to the great Dean Winchester.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[anyarose011]

"I Would Not Change it Each Time" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: After the assault you faced, all you wanted to do was crawl into your childhood bed and never come out. Yet, as days pass in with your absence, a certain prince regent takes notice.

Part 4 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Past attempted SA, past grooming, emotional manipulation, coercion, and spoilers for future seasons

Heyyyyyy, it's meeeee. I'm SOO sorry it took almost 3 months for this entire chapter, but besides wrongfully starting/continuing other series, school has also been killing me. Also, despite this being a long ass chapter, I do not mean for it to sound rushed. I feel like how I ended this may be controversial, but I also wanted to keep it both happy and realistic; so please keep that in mind. I also imagine the character Evrin to be played by Assad Zaman, but you can imagine just any actor you personally find beautiful.

Word Count: 10.1k

You were still covered in his blood when you awoke, your wrist had turned brown, and you had finger shaped bruises on the inside of your thigh.

It was strange…despite ripping a man’s throat out with your teeth, you didn’t have any nightmares. What woke you up was having to use the chamber pot. Something so small and natural.

Dragging yourself out of your room, you stumbled through the hall and went into the closet with the chamber pot and shut the door. After relieving yourself in darkness, you left and was greeted by-.

“Seven Hells!” Your grandmother gasped. You jumped a little, only to then hiss in pain, clutching your stomach.

She held you up as best as she could. “Vivi, sweetie, what happened to you?”

You shook your head, only groaning and trying to escape her hold. Despite being in your state, you managed to slip away from her. She tried to follow after you, but you slammed the door in her face when you were back in your room.

Something caught your eye, and when you looked down, you were met with a sapphire; Aemond’s eye. You bent over slowly, picking up the gem with your unbroken wrist.

Without thinking clearly, you hobbled over to your dresser, opened the top drawer, and buried it under what little clothing you owned.

The dress on you had become too heavy, so you slipped it off your body and collapsed onto your bed; falling into the darkness of sleep once more.

You must have been dreaming, because you thought you heard your grandmother call you by your name for the first time in a while.

Opening your eyes, you were too weak to even sit up in alarm at her standing over you. Your heart quickened and soon slowed once you realized it was just her eyes staring back at you (and not a man’s).

“What happened?” She touched your face.

You groaned, turning away. “Really bad job.”

“Let’s clean you up.”

“Tired.” You inched yourself under your covers, hitching your breath with each movement.

Gigi frowned. “You’ve slept the day away; the sun will set soon.”

“It hurts to move.”

“Then I’ll bring in the pail and rag.”

“Just let me rest.”

She placed her hands on her hips, glaring. “You’re covered in blood that I hope is not yours.”

“Most of it isn’t.”

Sighing, Gigi begged. “At least eat something.”

You laughed painfully. What was there to eat? You only had but a few slices of bread, two carrots, and a little less than a pound of cheese. You were considered wealthy even by those standards. Aemond had closed off all the ports…

No one could get in, and no one could get out; including food.

“It’s not funny.” She frowned. “I’m going to make you something, and you will eat it.”

Gigi didn’t give you enough time to say ‘no’. She wandered out of the room, leaving you alone. The only time you moved to get out of bed that hour was to force yourself onto your feet and lock the door.

No matter how much she banged on wood or cried and begged for you to let her help, you did not open it.

It hurt to cry, but how else would you mourn your old body before it had been bruised and beaten?

You heard countless horrific memories the girls in Sylvi’s brothel would share of being violated; many worse than yours. Still, just as how nothing could’ve prepared you for how pleasureful sex could be, the same was for the pain it brought.

Gigi lessened her attempts in trying to get you to come out of your room. She’d manage to slide food under your door, and you only would eat when you were sure she was away.

Most of the days (how long had it been since you last saw a familiar face?) you spent under the covers in your bed. If you were not sleeping, your mind would wander. Seldomly, it would be to happier memories of your childhood, your mother, Aemond…

And then they would turn cold and dark; especially at the thought of him.

And then you would cry again, and then your eyes would hurt.

It wasn’t an hour later when you were still under the covers that you heard a man’s voice coming from outside your door. No, he did not knock, he kicked it open. You only had time to flinch at the abrupt entrance before Gigi’s voice broke through.

“How dare you! You’ll frighten her even more than she already is, you mindless oaf!”

“I worry for her.”

Aemond…what was he doing here?!

“Do you think I have been neglecting her all this time?” She dared.

“No.”

“Then…please be gentle with her.” Gigi gritted her teeth, and you heard her leave the room, shutting the door but it creaking slightly open.

Sighing, you pictured Aemond turning to look at the lump on the bed that was you. “Do you have any idea the troubles your grandmother would have faced if I were not outside the Red Keep today?”

Silence was your reply.

“It’s almost sunset, if you were wondering.”

You said nothing again, and that was enough for him.

“There I was, heading to spar and clear my mind from the past few days, and I see her rattling the gates, begging the guards to speak to Jahearys.” He hissed. “Had I not rushed over in time, they would have seen it as insult and…”

Though you had no more tears left to cry, the pain in your chest was heavier than ever at the thought of your grandmother being killed like a dog simply for her dwindling mind. Aemond sighed, and you felt a dip at the foot of your bed.

“It was already a risk to travel into the city now. Many of the smallfolk are…troublesome. I’ve neglected you for a day, and I apologize for leaving without telling you two nights ago, but you should not hold that against me. I went to see you last night and you were not there. I asked every girl in that brothel, and they either did not know, or refused to tell me anything more than that you were hurt. I offered coin, and they did not take it.” He scoffed. “I’ve never seen a whore turn away gold. You must mean the world to them.”

Never in your life had you thought that.

“Will you look at me?”

You didn’t want him to. He had caressed and gazed upon every inch of your body, but you wanted to sink into the mattress underneath you, and then into the earth so he could never find you.

But you didn’t get to do that.

The blanket was ripped off you, the cold air of your bedroom penetrating your bare body. On your back, cradling your wrist to your chest, you watched as Aemond sat above you. The eyepatch he wore only proved that he had rushed over from the Red Keep. For the first time since you had known him, you saw that look on his face: Fear.

His mouth parted as his wide eye ran over your body; every bruise and scratch, and all the blood that had tried to meld itself into your skin. His eye lingered on the inside of your thighs, and you whimpered when he placed his hand on the bruises of it.

“Who did this to you?”

His voice hadn’t changed. He asked it as if he was wondering how your day had gone.

Your breathing stuttered when you attempted to glare at him. “The man you sent to have pleasure with me.”

Aemond’s eye softened. “What?”

You forced yourself to sit up despite your painful cries. “Leave me.”

He said your name, sitting at your side and placing his hands on your shoulders. “I haven’t sent anyone-.”

“-Stop!”

“Wait-!”

“-Go away!” You shoved him, trying to stand, but his hands gripped your waist too tightly as he forced you back down onto the bed.

“Listen to me when I speak to you.” He commanded, but you still struggled beneath him. When you were nearly out of his grip, he gripped your face in his hands. “I said listen to me!”

You were both out of breath, huffing together as you calmed your racing heart. His voice was heavy with emotion, and tears were beginning to form.

He took a shuttering breath. “When all of this is over, it’s you who will bear my children. Even if I have to marry a Lannister or a Martell, I will not lay a finger on them. I will be king when Aegon is dead, and it will not matter what my mother, fucking Larys, or any of them think! Centuries will pass and history will remember you as my wife. How could you believe I would ever send a man to taint you after everything you have done? You-you have been the first and the only to ever show me kindness. Do you hear me?! I love you.”

“You’re hurting me.” You sobbed as he squeezed you tighter and tighter.

Aemond immediately loosened his hold but held you close. You placed your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself through your sniffling breaths. He dried your tears with his hand. “Avy jorrāelan. Say it.”

“Aemond.” You shut your eyes.

“Avy jorrāelan.” He kissed them both and trailed his lips over every inch of your face.

Relaxing into his embrace, if you cradled yourself any closer to him you would sink into his skin. He held you for what you wished was the rest of your lifetime.

He set you down too quickly but shushed you when you protested. “I need to fetch hot water to clean you and wrap your wrist. It’s broken.”

Aemond disappeared from your room. When you finally managed to sit up with the pillow supporting behind you, he came back in with a bucket of steaming water, some cloth, and two sticks from the fireplace.

He first began on your wrist, wrapping the cloth around your elbow to your wrist. He then placed the sticks alongside your arm, securing them with more of the cloth tied tightly around on the ends.

After that, he took another spare piece of cloth and dipped it into the water, wringing it out and placing it upon your face. You inched away, hissing.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

“A little.” You whispered. “It’s warm and…and…”

“What is it?”

“It’s silly.”

“Tell me.”

Swallowing thickly, you professed “I feel-I feel like I’d be more relaxed if I wasn’t the only one…bare.”

He looked at you, nodding. “You’re right, that is silly.”

You thought you were being overdramatic how you felt in that moment; you had just gone through something frightening, of course you would be red in the face at his comment.

Still, you weren’t for long. The Prince Regent, the kinslayer who could wipe out all of Kings Landing with just the snap of his fingers, slipped off his eyepatch and his shirt.

“Is that better?” He grinned.

You nodded. Aemond tried his best to be gentle as he cleaned the blood off you. There were times though he’d have to scrub until your skin turned red. When he was finished, he tossed the cloth onto the floor.

“Your nose is bruised, along with your ribs. Besides your wrist, nothing is broken; just abrasions.” He explained.

Again, you merely nodded. Aemond titled his head before unlacing and kicking his shoes off, then bringing his hands to the ties of his trousers. Once untied, he pulled them down along with his undergarments, his cock springing free.

You sat up, your body tense. “No. I-I don’t want-.”

“-Neither do I.” He sat on the empty side of your bed, lifting up the blanket. “Let us hide and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

You didn’t have to be asked again. Slowly as to not damage yourself, you finally slipped yourself under the covers, and Aemond followed.

As soon as you were completely covered, you enveloped yourself around him; your legs intertwining each other and pressing your chest against his. He wrapped his arms around you, fingertips traveling up and down your back. You hid your face within the crook of his neck, and it was then, when you felt safe, did tears fall.

“I didn’t send him.” Aemond repeated into your hair. “You must know that.”

“Where were you?” You cried.

A shameful sigh escaped him. “The Red Keep. A messenger came for me; my brother had taken a turn for the worst.”

“You said you would stay.”

He only pulled you closer. “Tell me what happened.”

“He-.” You took a quaking breath. “He tried to rape me.”

“But you didn’t let him.”

Your lips moved, but barely a sound let them.

He hummed. “What was that?”

“I’m a monster.”

Aemond shook his head. “There is nothing you could have done that would be more horrific than anything I would do if he were still alive.”

“I ripped his throat out with my own mouth.” His gaze traveled down to you, and you shrunk under it. “I-I had to pretend I enjoyed kissing him; I had nothing to defend myself but my teeth.”

“Fine then; you’re a monster.” Your eyes grew round with fright, but before you could refute, he continued. “You are a monster who fought for your survival and won. I know a number of men who would have crumbled if they wore your skin that night. You bared your teeth and refused to lie down and let him steal you. I’ve been told until my ears bleed that every woman is the image of the Mother, but I have not believed it until I saw you tonight. Painted in the blood of the man that had tried to taint you, you have never looked more beautiful.”

Tears had returned to your eyes before you could stop them, and he kissed each one that fell. You pulled away from him to lie flat on your back but clutched his hand.

“It was the man at the brothel when I was first wounded. The one who said he’d give me a little death.” You whispered. “Sylvi came in after I killed him. She-she said you left with a man and…”

His hand went to your cheek, making you look at him. “I did not send him.”

“I know.” Your words were immediate. “I…I think she did.”

“Why?”

You covered your mouth to swallow a sob forming. Breathing deeply, you took your hand away. “She was envious of me, she was envious of you, maybe she thought I was distracted-.”

“-Why would she be envious of me?”

“She had feelings for my mother.” You admitted tiredly. “She was drunk one night and told me. I jested in my mind that perhaps those feelings carried over to me because she’d constantly tell me I looked exactly like my mother. I don’t know for certain but…”

He ran his fingers through your hair. “Every ounce of struggle you have faced has only made you even more fierce.”

“You are not the first nor the last man who will tell me that.”

Aemond hummed, interested in your words. “How old were you when you first heard it?

“Ten, when I went to the pleasure house to find my mother. Thank the Seven I didn’t wander into any men wanting to bed me, but I found a few who were fine speaking to me about their life; their wives, children, and how they hated them. Maybe they wanted to fuck me, maybe they didn’t; I don’t know. All I knew was that I was excellent at talking to them; and I shouldn’t have been.”

He said nothing, nor made a sound. No words of comfort, no verbal indication of anything.

No, he did something far greater.

Aemond moved down the bed until he came to your legs, parting them gently. As you were raising your neck up to see what he was doing, you felt his lips on your stomach. He kissed your skin then up to the scar on your side.

Your breath hitched as he covered it with affection, all the while, tenderly stroking your hip. There was something else that weighed on your mind. Something that wouldn’t matter to him, but it mattered to you. Your hand trailed down into his hair, stopping him.

“You need to tell me the truth with what I ask you next.”

He glanced up at you as his head was still between your legs. “Go on.”

“Would-.” You sniffled. “If that man had violated me…would you have been disgusted with me?”

 He lowered his mouth to your center. He didn’t kiss your cunt, but instead, the bruises close to it. “I will skin the part of any man that touches you, even if it is his shoulder that brushes yours in a crowded street.”

You hated how often you cried that night, more so from his tenderness than of sorrow. Still, it was perhaps the first time in all your life you felt cherished. You felt safe.

“Av-avy,” You babbled, both from the overwhelming emotions and the already difficult pronunciation. “Avy jor-joral.”

Aemond trailed his kisses up your body until they hovered over your mouth, his hands by your head to hold himself above you. He said the words again, slowly.

“Avy jorrāelan.”

You repeated after him. “Avy jorrailaan.”

He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb caressing your lips and whispering into them. “Avy.”

“Avy.” You matched his volume.

“Jorr.”

“Jorr.”

“-āelan.”

“-āelan.”

“Say it to me.” His mouth was so close to yours.

Sighing at the feeling, you finally said. “Avy jorrāelan.”

He kissed you like you’d never been kissed before. He kissed you before with shyness, vigor, passion, but never like this. It was a kiss that held a safety to it; where you felt as if he could protect you from the darkest corners of the world, and the darkest parts of your own mind.

When he pulled away, he rested beside you, running his fingers through your hair. You wrapped your arms around him, trapping him in your embrace.

“I wish we knew each other when we were children.” He gently confessed in the silence of the night.

You nodded against him, then asked. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

He kissed the hollow of your throat. “I’ll be here when you awake.”

“Thank you.”

“You do not need to.”

“No,” you corrected. “thank you for being the first to kiss me. If not…then it would’ve been with the man a few nights ago.”

“Sleep.” He uttered your name into your ear.

And you did.

You don’t remember what you dreamed of, but you know that it wasn’t either bad nor good; it was just strange.

What you certainly remember was Aemond stirring beside you.

You were on your back, but you hadn’t opened your eyes when you awoke. His arm that was once draped over you left, and he slid out of the blankets. You listened as he tried to quietly shuffle around the room, putting his clothes back on. When you heard him sitting to put his shoes on, you finally looked at him.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was hoarse.

He glanced up at you, his eyepatch already on. Sighing, he finished lacing up his first boot. “The sun will be rising soon.”

“How do you know that? You said you’d stay until I woke up.”

“And you’re awake.” He moved onto his other shoe.

“Because of you.”

Aemond groaned your name. “I cannot spend the morning here and cook you and your grandmother breakfast. My brother is on the brink of death, the realm is in shambles, and I don’t even want to ponder what Rhaenyra’s next course of action is.”

“You gave me your word.”

“Did you even listen to any of the words I said just now?”

“I was almost raped and murdered!” You cried, sitting up. “You cannot do this one thing I-?”

“-And how many women will be if I am unable to prevent the Pretender from stealing the throne?” He challenged.

Your face dropped along with your heart. If your body wasn’t weak, you would have left the bed, your room, and perhaps even the house. You wouldn’t know where to go, but you just had to be away from him.

It scared you how that was your first thought.

Upon seeing the fear in your eyes, Aemond sighed, shaking his head. After finishing with his other boot, he sat on the side of your bed.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He ran his finger over your arm. “I do not want what happened to you to happen to any other woman or child. I only want you to be safe.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your lap.

He put his hand under your chin to look at him, saying your name. “I do love you. You must understand that.”

You took his hand, lightly kissing his palm and whispering into it. “Avy jorrāelan.”

A hint of a smile spread across his cheeks, and he stood swiftly. “I will not be able to see you on the morrow, but the day after that, I will meet you at Sylvi’s.”

“I-I won’t be able to perform-.”

“-Does it surprise you I only wish for your mere presence?” He questioned. “You’re not a whore; you are perhaps my greatest treasure.”

With one last kiss upon your head, he left. You heard the front door shut, and you were left stark naked in your bed.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t even feel like wanting too. You had never felt the way you had with him. You never laughed like that in your life until you met him, you had never been so in love with someone. He was a perfect match for your intelligence and your humor.

He never hurt you as you made love. He’d leave his own marks, but the moment you told him ‘no’, or said that you were in pain, he’d stop. He’d pull every orgasm out of you with such ease, like your bodies had been made for each other.

Gods above and devils below, you wanted to wear his skin and become one with him.

And yet…you still felt strange.

You were just sitting there in your darkened room, wrapped in your blankets and staring at the blank wall in front of you. You hadn’t even noticed Gigi came into your room until she was right beside you, holding a tray with two slices of bread and a steaming bowl.

“They say a Targaryen sent ships to feed us.” She smiled, sitting at the foot of your bed and placing the tray down. “Marija managed to fight some men for vegetables and chicken of all things!”

The soup was thick and filled with all the contents she mentioned that Marija fought for. It took everything within you to savor it and not burn your mouth while devouring it. You ate silently while Gigi took a slice of bread and dipped it into the soup.

“I thought Jaehaerys would never leave. He’s a nice young man, but-.”

“-How did you know you were in love with that Dornish man?”

She glanced up at you, and after getting over her initial shock, she smiled. “You mean my Qoren?”

“No, that’s not his name.”

“But it is.” She beamed. “He gave me a false one at first but then told me after he had enough drink.”

You giggled with her, despite already being told the story several times. Still, what she was saying was new.

Gigi continued. “Oh, he was so lovely. You know they say Dornish men are passionate, and Seven Hells he was. There was one night after he walked me home-.”

“-What else?” You asked, not particularly wanting to speak of her intimate life and categories of men from Dorne.

“He was gentle with me.” She recounted, grinning shyly. “Not just with my body but with my mind. He loved me proudly too, and loudly. If there were any other men in a tavern who tried to grab onto me, he’d tell the lot of them I was his and that he was mine.”

You smiled. “He sounded very kind.”

“He was.” She nodded. “His eyes were green; very unusual for anyone from Dorne…or were they blue? Or-or were they just brown?”

Sighing you set your meal aside, embracing her. “Were his eyes nice?”

“They were my favorite part of him.” Gig admitted softly.

You hummed, pulling away. “I wish to be alone. Is that alright?”

She rubbed your cheek. “Of course. Please come get me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

She left the half-eaten supper with you, and walked out of your bedroom, trying to shut the door completely.

As you lay in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind began to ponder. You had been a secret to everyone in Aemond’s life. You were certain no one within the Red Keep knew of your affair, let alone your existence.

But the people in your life, Sylvi, the girls, even your own grandmother? Of course they were aware of you two.

You understood to an extent; what would the royal council in their fancy castle think if the prince regent had fallen in love with a member of the Smallfolk? Would it be better if you were a prostitute?

Immediately, you thought ‘no’ because of Lady Mysaria. There would be past gossip you’d hear throughout the silk street of the whore who had been married to one Prince Daemon and had nearly birthed his child.

It was then that you remembered the war that had been simmering within the walls of Kings Landing for weeks at that point. No doubt, with so much death from both sides, would it finally take place. Thus, you were forced to determine what would happen with only your personal knowledge of the situation.

The best outcome is that the Greens win the war, Aegon dies one way or another, and Aemond is named king. You are his royal concubine while he marries a noble girl, but he never beds her. You are the mother to all his children, and you live comfortably in the Red Keep for the rest of your days.

You would have done the impossible amongst the Smallfolk; be chosen by the prince out of genuine love and not of lust or a weapon in an issue of the family.

Yet, you had many concerns. The first being you didn’t understand how he could be married to a woman from a different house yet not have her produce an heir without being ridiculed by her family. Was that unimportant?

And how was Aemond so certain of his own brother’s passing? Would he be responsible for it if he were to make a recovery?

As these questions rattled on, you then had to face the worst outcome.

On the off chance they would lose, and Rhaenyra was to take the throne as you were officially Aemond’s lover…you had read it in one of the books Aemond had brought you to teach you his mother tongue.

‘When the winners slaughter and maim the man in battle, they shall rape and torture his woman in her own home.’

That was what made your head ache, and you try to sleep. The phrase plagued your mind for hours as you tossed and turned.

The next day, you finally left the house. Draped in the same hood you stole on your night out with Aemond, you entered Sylvi’s pleasure house with your heart churning in your stomach. You felt sick as soon as you stepped into the doorway. A young girl whose name you couldn’t remember was sweeping the entrance.

“We’re not opened yet,” she said. “the men and women need to rest before you can dive your cock into them.”

You pulled your hood down, revealing your bruised and battered face. She stood still at the sight of you and said your name softly. “What happened?”

“I need to speak with Valda and Chansey.” You uttered.

She swallowed, nodding and dashing up the stairs. You leaned against the wall to steady yourself, your wounds still extremely tender. Sooner than you thought, the two women came rushing down the stairs.

Valda’s face fell upon seeing the state of you, and she was by your side in a moment. “Gods above.”

“Is Sylvi here?” You questioned.

Chansey took a quivering breath, coming to your other side and resting her hand on your cheek. She whispered your name. “She…she’s gone.”

Your stomach only tied itself into more knots. “What?”

“No one’s seen her since last night.” She explained. “We looked in her room, but she wasn’t there.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor as they led you to one of the curtained off rooms in the great hall. Normally, you would’ve refused to even step foot into one of them, but your need to sit was far greater.

“You limped out of here after being brutally raped, and you haven’t been here for days.” Valda scolded, but you could hear the pain behind it. “Aemond comes in demanding where you are, and we are none the wiser. What exactly happened?”

Your eyes furrowed as you glanced up at her. “I-I wasn’t raped. I mean, I was almost, but I killed him.”

“You what?!”

“I ripped his throat out.” You explained. “Sylvi came in soon after and said it was Aemond who sent the man. I went home, and a few days later, Aemond came to tell me he didn’t. I-I think it was Sylvi.”

The girls glanced at one another as they processed your account. Valda spoke first. “It…it doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. There was one night when Aegon arrived with other men, seeking Sylvi. Unbeknownst to him, Aemond was here with her. After being taunted, Aemond let them do whatever they wanted to her.”

You didn’t know that, and if you had been told it prior to being attacked, perhaps you would’ve looked upon Aemond with more disgust. What you felt was more so perplexion; did Sylvi send a man to assault you to get back at Aemond for letting men do the same, or did Aemond only see you as a warm place for men to stick their cocks?

No…he loved you. He told you in Common and in High Valyrian.

“You believe she did it to spite him?” You asked.

Valda shook her head. “I only tell you what I know. We all know how dangerous a woman is when she is scorned.”

“I wouldn’t preach the importance of consent and then send a man to molest a girl I’ve known since she was a child!”

“Is it easier for you to believe that Aemond sent him then?!”

You never heard Chansey speak so desperately. What she meant to yell in anger, she instead cried in shame. Her breath quivered in an attempt to repress tears, and both you and Valda coddled her.

“What is it?” You questioned.

She swallowed before speaking. “There was one night but a week ago you hadn’t met with Aemond here, wasn’t there?”

“Chansey-.”

“-You weren’t here one night because he told you the one prior he had to attend to a council meeting.”

Your mouth parted. “How-how did you know?”

 “He asked for eight girls to be sent to the Red Keep.” She whispered. “I was one of them. There was no meeting; we were there to entertain and to please.”

“What do you mean?”

Chansey said your name softly, taking your face into her hands. “I had no say in what he wanted to do to me, or what I to do to him.”

It would have been gentler for her to stick a dagger into your heart and twist it. You thought you had used up all of your tears days prior, but as you sat in that curtained room, you were proven wrong.

You sank into her embrace, feeling Valda wrap her arms around you from behind. Tiny sobs left your throat, but that was it.

“Did he hurt you?” You managed to ask.

She shook her head. “I was worried about hurting you.”

“No.” You pulled away, wiping your face. “You didn’t want to. He…he…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop!” You cried. “Stop it. It’s his…he…what?”

Valda brushed your hair. “May I ask you something?”

“Okay…”

She took a deep breath, dropping her volume. “The three of us and all of King’s Landing knows that the war has already started, it is just a matter of time before it comes here. One of the captain’s my brother works for has offered us passage out of the city; I am allowed to bring one other person.”

“How? You asked first. “They’re not letting any ship in or out of King’s Landing.”

Valda smirked. “Who says they won’t?”

“What?”

“No matter.” She shook her head. “We will make for Pentos first, and then after, everyone may go to where they desire.”

 “That-that will take weeks-.”

“-Weeks to be free over years of possible suffering.” She said your name. “You do not need to say yes…but please think of it.”

Your eyes drifted to Chansey. “Are you not jealous?”

She smiled. “When she thought you were in paradise with the prince, she asked me. My answer is no; my life is in King’s Landing, whether the Targaryens want to make it a living hell or not.”

The offer was tempting…start a new life, leave everything behind and be anyone you wished to be. Still…

“My grandmother.” You stated. “What of her?”

She sighed. “You stay with her or leave without her.”

“But-but is there any way you can speak with your brother? You mustn’t be letting on too many people-.”

“-They are sailors making a profit off of people’s fears.” She interrupted. “Where they are merciful in the offer, they are still greedy.”

It was then that it hit you; the genuine possibility of leaving her behind. What were you to do? She couldn’t take care of herself, but what would happen if the Greens lost? What if they won?

How much of Aemond’s vow was true?

Would it be kinder to tell her you were leaving, or just running away?

Would she even notice?

“When can I give my answer?” You asked.

She swallowed thickly. “We’re leaving tomorrow at the crack of dawn.”

So…no time to ponder what to do. Taking a deep breath, you folded your hands and nodded. “My presence or lack thereof will be my answer.”

“I understand.” She held your face in her hands, saying your name. “The third tower on the left of the Iron Gate. That is where we shall meet. Do what you must.”

You embraced her and then Chansey as if your final answer was that you were staying; it wasn’t, but you decided to act as if it was. The whole day had exhausted you, and you didn’t even want to try to find Sylvi; what would you have even said to her? So, you merely made your way back to your house.

You sat there on your bed, holding yourself and pretending your arms were someone else’s; but whose? Gigi? Valda? Your Mother? …Aemond?

Sighing, you had gone over in your head for the hundredth time the endless possibilities of either staying or going.

If you stayed, no matter what, there would be war.

If you left, no matter what, there would be war.

If you stayed, Aemond would possibly keep his promise and treat you like a queen once he was king (though, he never promised you would be the queen).

If you left, you could travel outside of King’s Landing and perhaps be the first in your family to ever do so; see the beauty of all of Westeros.

If you stayed, you could die (but you’d be with Gigi).

If you left, you could die (but you’d be with Valda).

And those were the thoughts that flooded your mind for hours, even when the day bled into night, and with the absence of the sun, came the coldness of the moon.

You got up once you began to shiver, and the blankets weren’t enough to shield you from the freezing air. You pulled out the top drawer of your dresser, pulling out the few clothes you had to layer up.

Something blue fell to the ground with a ‘clang!’

Looking down, it shined in your eyes, blinding you momentarily. You bent down and picked it up.

The sapphire…the forgotten sapphire.

Just as soon as the air had left your lungs, it returned with vigor. You left your room, and knocked on the door of Gigi’s. You didn’t wait for her answer before barging in.

She lay on the bed, knitting and looking up at you.

“Vivi?” she questioned. “What is it?”

You showed her the gem in the palm of your hand, and asked quietly as if you were a child again. “Would you like to visit Dorne with me?”

You didn’t sleep that night; and perhaps that is horrible, but you are still alive. After packing lightly, you and Gigi left an hour before dawn; having enough time to quietly navigate the streets of King’s Landing, all the while avoiding the City Watch, and helping Gigi.

Once you arrived at the third tower on the left of the Iron Gate, you saw perhaps four people there in total. All bearing similar, darkened cloaks that you and Gigi wore.

Immediately, you recognized Valda’s eyes. They were filled with joy for only a moment until they saw Gigi.

She said your name with a warning. “She can’t-.”

“-Let me speak to the captain.” You bargained.

The tallest man among you approached, a straight look on his face. “I assume you are the one Valda requested?”

You nodded.

“So then…why have you brought an old woman with you?”

“Wherever I go, so does she.”

“We cannot-.”

From your pocket, you took the sapphire and held it in front of his eyes that had grown to the size of plates.

“The Eye of the Prince Regent.” You affirmed. “If you wish to not call it that when you sell it for hundreds if not thousands of dragons, that is fine by me. Just know that if you do not take the both of us, I shall return it to Prince Aemond myself and perhaps I shall tell him of who refused to take it.”

It was a horrible thing to say, especially with Valda staring at you as if you were carrying a disease. The captain eclosed his hand in yours that held the jewel, shaking it,

“There’s no need to threaten, now.” His smile tightened. “It’ll just be a tight fit.”

You didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, but you didn’t have any other choice than to trust him. Soon after your bargain, the now six of you approached the gates. The captain had paid off one of the guards, because that was the only explanation you could draw from how the gate was opened.

All of you moved swiftly to the beach, and there waiting on the shore, was one of the ships Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen had sent to feed the Smallfolk. It had been pillaged clean, and the captain was right; it was certainly a tight fit.

Yet…everything somehow fell into place. You would make way to Sharp Point first, where the captain had a contact and could only hope would give him a bigger ship. Still, just the mere thought of escaping King’s Landing was enough.

You spent nearly a week on that small boat, and it was a miracle you did not run out of food to feed all six of you. You had grown seasick for the first few days, but it soon surpassed.

Your stay in Sharp Point was short. Gratefully, the captain had managed to convince his friend to give him the ship he hoped for.

Not from the kindness of his heart; only from the sapphire he had recently obtained.

Much debate had gone into how long the five of you should stay in Sharp Point to recover from the week long journey. The ship had also gained a few other travelers who wished to board, considering its size.

Once the ship was acquired, it was settled that you would all leave the next morning.

You would make for Pentos first, then Tyrosh, and finally, Sunspear. It would take a month at least, two at most. You assumed that nothing noteworthy would happen on the journey until perhaps a week or two while at sea.

Never did you expect, as you sat above deck with your grandmother on the first day, to watch as Vhagar soared through the sky above you. You didn’t even see Aemond as he rode her.

To the majority of the people on board, it was an hour-long conversation of excitement and fear. To the few who knew of what had happened between you and the Prince Regent…it kept the lot of you up the whole night.

It wasn’t until you passed by another ship a week later, that it was revealed Aemond Targaryen had set fire to Sharp Point. If you had stayed in the city just a day longer…

The thought alone kept you up for two nights.

Nothing else happened until you awoke one morning having to throw up. It perplexed you; you hadn’t gotten sick from the motion of the boat since journeying to Sharp Point. You grew weary after it stayed with you for a few days, assuming it was a sickness.

When no one else showed any signs of illness, it only wore on you even more. Valda had brought the one doctor on board to you, and he confirmed something you always knew but never wanted to speak aloud:

You were with child.

You were a foolish girl; of course you thought he had genuinely loved you, he was the person you gave your maidenhood too. Still, you had Valda and your grandmother to support you through the long days of sickness and hormonal shift, as well as the nights of depression.

Rumors spread across the ship when it had been evident you were pregnant. Luckily, orders from Valda and the captain (because you were the sole reason he had gotten the ship in the first place), commanded that if there were to be any more gossip around the father of your child, they would be thrown overboard.

The captain was bluffing of course, but you knew Valda wasn’t. Still, the rumors began to stop.

 It was a long month and a half on that boat, only with a few days on Pentos and Tyrosh. Yet finally, you landed in Sunspear; the capital of Dorne.

To your dismay, Valda wouldn’t be staying with you. Deciding that she enjoyed traversing the sea with her brother, she said it was better for her to stay with him.

“We will see each other again.” She held your hands tightly. “Even if it is when you are holding a swaddling child. There are always rich lords and ladies who wish to spend their holidays in a beautiful place as this.”

You wiped your tears away. “I love you. Please don’t do anything rash to get yourself killed.”

“When have I ever?” She kissed your cheek, walking backwards to still look at you. “Bringing you and Gigi was completely sound.”

With what little money you and your grandmother brought, you secured a room in an all-women’s boarding house. Even with it being only for women…that did not stop them from inviting partners over; men or women.

You had known how free people were with affection and sex in Dorne, yet it was different seeing, hearing, and gods above, even smelling it. Despite working in a brothel since you were essentially a child, it more so off put you how…how happy people were.

It should come as a surprise to no one; not every girl working in a pleasure house wants to be there. Almost every sexual act you witnessed was one where the girl wasn’t so willing or desiring to do. You thought that part of you had been healed with Aemond, and perhaps it was…but of course you felt tainted at the end of all things.

Perhaps you were jealous, perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones, or perhaps it was just culture shock.

You never found out what had happened to Sylvi; although, you had a suspicion Aemond had something to do with her disappearance…you do not know how you would handle it if it were ever confirmed.

The one large difference that eased you within Dorne, was their treatment of bastards. Seven Hells, most of the women at the boarding house had bastards, yet were never treated any differently when they would go outside.

Yet…if your child were to be cursed with their father’s white hair…than you weren’t sure how well they would be treated.

You spent more time trying to find Qoren, the man who was Gigi's first love. It did not take long before it was revealed he shared the same name with the current prince of Dorne; making him the grandfather to him.

So there was a reason he had given Gigi a fake name…and there was little chance you would get a meeting with him of all people.

Still, you did not drag your ailing grandmother across the sea only to escape possible prosecution in the Dance of the Dragons (that was what the Smallfolk were calling it as you overheard conversations of whether or not the war would come to Dorne).

With a large amount of luck, you secured a job as a tailor for the prince’s daughters. With a miraculous miracle…you were to be welcomed with a feast.

You brought Gigi without question, wearing both the finest outfits you could find. Another thing about the Dornish was how extravagant in joy their festivities were. Even though it wasn’t anything like a fancy ball you assumed many of the lords and ladies in Kings Landing would host, it did not make you feel less alive.

You had almost forgotten your entire purpose for being at the feast as you socialized with several people, until the music suddenly stopped along with the excitement. At the head of the room where the members of the Martell family sat, you watched as the old Prince Qoren slowly made his way through the crowds of people who were once dancing.

He stopped in front of your grandmother, who was sitting by herself, and kneeled down to be at height with her. In the quietness, everyone heard him utter with his throat growing tight.

“Yelena?”

You’d nearly forgotten that was her true name.

Gigi's mouth parted at the sight of him, and with no shame or hesitance, she gently placed her hand upon his cheek. She smiled.

“I knew your eyes were green.”

20 Years Later

“Mama, may I speak with you?”

Despite your eldest daughter Siobhan, named after your mother, being nine and ten, she still spoke to you with the same gentleness she had as a child.

Oh…and how beautiful she was even then.

She was born with her father’s curly hair that was white as Northern snow, and his mouth; yet, she had your eyes and nose. When she grew up, there was no possibility in hiding who she was; considering no other children or adults for that matter shared her hair.

Stil…with the help of the Martell family, and the overall understanding of the Dornish people, neither you nor Siobhan were ever ridiculed.

When Gigi and Qoren were reunited at the feast, you and she were essentially treated like royalty. You lived in the palace with them, spending most days exploring and learning of your grandmother and her lover’s history as they begun to rekindle their relationship.

They never married though; a mere four moons after they found one another…Gigi died.

To try and soothe yourself and Qoren, you had accepted she passed after fulfilling her lifelong goal to find her true love again and felt safe to finally leave this earth once finished.

You were surprised yourself that your birth had not been premature from the stress…but you had someone else to guide you through your grief.

Evrin Sand was the leader of the Dornish Guard, and close companions with the younger Prince Qoren. When you first met him, he presented himself as stoic and silent. Yet, there was something that attracted you to him.

Call it an interest in mystery, call it your past self being drawn to the quiet ones, but it felt different.

It certainly was different; the more you got to know him, the gentler you found him to be. He smiled more often around you, and he never needed to pull you into private areas so much as to speak with you.

He was the first person you confided to about Aemond while you were pregnant, and he never once judged you. When Siobhan was born, he raised her as if she were his own; after you consented of course.

You knew he had a deeper fondness for you, and you with him. Yet, he understood the torment you went through with Aemond and was patient with you.

Three years later, and after much time for healing, you found yourself marrying him. Not so long after, you were blessed with your first boy, Leandro.

Another three years after that, your son Yeray came. Four years later, Yanette was your first and last daughter with Evrin; deciding that four children was perfect.

She was six when Siobhan entered the dress store you owned, and she immediately ran to her older sister.

“Shivi!” Yanette cheered, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Siobhan laughed, the tension leaving her shoulders as she picked her up. “Hello, my little darling! How are you?”

“Mama’s being mean.”

“I’m simply teaching you how to sew a button!” You laughed, standing. “What is it, Siobhan?”

Her smile dropped, and she set her little sister on the ground. “Could you go upstairs and help the ladies with the dresses for the other little girls? I need to speak with mother.”

You knew that if you were to have made the same request, Yanette would throw a tantrum. Yet, because it was her older sister who she aspired to be, she gave no complaint, running up the stairs and leaving the two of you alone.

“What ails you, child?” You questioned yet began to clean up your workspace.

“I don’t know what I want to do with me life.” She sighed, sitting at your desk.

“You are not alone in that.” you tried to comfort, placing rolls of fabric back onto their respected shelves. “I have spoken to numbers of mothers and daughters who both worry about that. Do you remember Lumila? You used to walk to the beach together during holidays and-.”

“-I was thinking of leaving.”

You finally looked at her, and though she stood tall, the moment her eyes met yours, she shrunk.

“Leaving?” You repeated. “Leaving Sunspear?”

“Dorne…” She corrected.

Setting the rest of the fabric down, you placed your hands on your hips, thinking. You had often heard of the fear and grief parents would go through in letting their children go, but never knew you would feel it so immediately.

Wasn’t she just a babe in your arms a day ago? Not even able to open her eyes and gaze upon just how much you loved her?

“Where would you go?” You questioned.

She picked at her nails, and you took her hands into yours, halting her bad habit. “Aunt Valda said I could travel to Essos with her and the cousins…and we would be in King’s Landing too.”

Valda was nearing five and forty, yet she still traveled the same path you both took in your escape from King’s Landing. She had become the captain of the ship after her brother, and had somehow found a husband, birthing a few children of her own.

Of course you were still the closest of friends with her, after all those years.

“When did she tell you that?” You questioned.

“Two moons ago when she last visited.” She explained. “She’ll be here in another one, and who knows if her offer still stands-.”

“-Is it what your heart desires?”

Siobhan titled her head. “What?”

You repeated. “If it is how you want to live your life, who am I to stop you?”

“But I don’t know!” She exploded into tears, and you immediately embraced her. She sobbed. “I don’t want to leave you, and-and father and everyone, but-but-but-!”

Shushing her, you pulled away only to reach for a handkerchief on your desk. You handed it to her and she blew into it until all the snot left her sinuses. She pocketed it, and wiped her eyes.

“Why else are you in such turmoil?” You questioned, knowing it wasn’t simply the question of if she should stay or go.

Siobhan took a shuttering breath, saying softly. “I’ve heard rumors of a boy at Harrenhal…one who shares my hair.”

It wasn’t news to you, although hearing it always brought another thorn into your heart. It was common knowledge that, not long after your departure from King’s Landing, Prince Aemond Targaryen retook the castle Harrenhal from Daemon, as well as the castle’s nurse, Alys Rivers.

As years had passed, it was apparent that there was a possibility in her birthing Aemond’s child after his death. It was only luck that you had heard that rumored uttered years after Siobhan’s birth. If the word had spread quickly…the heartbreak and shock surely would have overtaken you.

He had taken Harrenhal only a few weeks after you left Aemond.

“And you wish to find him…” You finished for her.

She sat down on the steps, and you sat beside her. “It may be pointless, and I may not find him…but I wish to know. I love my home with all my heart, but it also longs to live and breathe in places I have only seen in books and heard from travelers.”

You sighed. “I cannot promise you that people will be as accepting as those in Dorne.”

“And I know that.” She ran a hand through her curls. “Papa has trained me well enough to defend myself, you know this. I will travel with Aunt Valda and her children, so I will never be alone.”

“Then you have your answer.”

“I don’t.” She shook her head. “I do genuinely love working with you. I love creating the most beautiful gowns, I love going to the beach every day, I love my friends, I love Leandro, and Yeray, and Yannette, and you and papa.”

You giggled, taking her face into your hands. “And we will all still be here when you come back! Shivi, you’re so full of life. You can decide one day you’re tired of me yelling at you in the store and decide to pick up your things and go on an adventure of your own. You can decide too as you’re traveling all of Westeros, whether it’s a moon, or a year, when you want to come home.”

She looked at you as if you were somehow the only person in the world who understood her completely. Then, with a nod, she said.

“Okay.”                                                                                                                

Smiling, you kissed her forehead and embraced her once more. It was when she pulled away did Siobhan ask.

“Mama…can I ask about Aemond?”

She never referred to him as her father. It was always easier to speak of him as if he were just the historical figure everyone viewed him as. Yet, it was also strange to do that, knowing that he was a part of her creation.

It was strange for you too.

“Well,” you folded your hands in your lap. “what would you like to know that you already don’t?”

In her defense, you did not tell her that much prior. It wasn’t as if you had much to say in the first place; in hindsight, you only knew him for a month at the most, yet that doesn’t mean your time with him didn’t matter.

Siobhan began. “I know you said he was mean at times, and you thought he would hurt you…but did he love you?”

“…Yes. I like to remember that he did, and it being real.” You answered with a far off look in your eyes. “If I second guess that it was for himself and not for me, then it would tear me apart.”

“And you loved him?”

“I…I think I did. He was the first person to make me feel good, and we had moments where we would just talk, and I’d selfishly wish everyone else in the world turned to dust just so I could have him to myself.”

“Do you think he felt the same?”

You shook your head. “Not in the way I did.”

She drew her eyes away from you, taking it all in. You reached out, holding the back of her head so she would look at you.

“I do not regret any of the time I have spent with him.” You solidified. “It led me to a safer place, and to having you.”

“He wasn’t a good person.” She whispered.

“No.” You shook your head. “He was mistreated as a child, and even when he was older, but you’re right, he wasn’t a good man.”

“Still, I…I wish I could’ve met him. Is that bad?”

“No.” Was your immediate response.

She smiled. “I mean, besides the obvious, it’s for one reason.”

“And what is that?” You chuckled.

“I’m really a princess.” She said with false pride. “And if Aemond was meant to be king, do you think he would’ve let me ascend to the throne?”

You sighed, both out of playful and genuine surprise. “Shivi, if you keep looking into ‘In another world’s-.”

“-Then what world would it be for it to have been true?”

“…In another world where his mother and father were different.”

She looked at you in question. “As in…not the king and queen?”

“No just,” You shook your head. “different choices. Even so, perhaps many things would’ve been changed for your father to be content in being the youngest.”

You don’t know if it was ever possible for Aemond to have not been blinded by a lust for power. You liked to think so, but the more you dwelled on it…the more you began to believe there was no universe it which it was possible.

“I understand.” She said softly. “I just wished to know.”

You combed her hair through your fingers. “And there is no harm in curiosity. So…do you know if you want to leave or not?”

Siobhan sighed, laying her head in your lap. “I don’t. At least I have another moon before Aunt Valda comes to visit.”

“You will.” You comforted. “I have faith you’ll know what to do.”

She hummed, and the two of you stayed in silence together for perhaps another minute before your eldest daughter rose to her feet.

“I promised my friends I’d visit them in the market this afternoon. I’ll see you at supper?”

You nodded. “I’ll make your favorite tonight.”

“I love you!” she kissed your cheek before waving goodbye and rushing out the door. There you were, alone again with your own mind.

It drifted back to when you had heard the news of Aemond’s death. It had been nearly a year since you lived in Sunspear, holding Siobhan was she was just a moon old. When the Dance of the Dragons ended, there wasn’t much of a celebration or mourning, for Dorne had decided not to participate at the start of it all.

So, to hear the news that the Prince Regent Aemond had died spoken so suddenly…you felt your body grow cold. There was a shame in admitting that some of you still loved him.

How couldn’t you though? You held the proof of it in your arms as you cried. You dreamt of him that night, and it was strange. He didn’t do anything but stare at you.

Night after night, you would see him. Sometimes he would talk to you, other times, touch you; again, most of all, he would just look at you.

Apart of you felt like you only slept just to see him.

Yet now, as you sit in your dress shop, and hear your youngest daughter (the proof of Evrin’s unconditional and unselfish devotion to you) rush down the stairs in excitement…

If you were given the choice to go back to the night you first met Aemond Targaryen at the well, you would not change a single thing.

[jhyoos]

Dreams Come True

Chapter 3 : I Still Love You

summary : (y/n) goes partying with jinx and the friend group.

warning: LOTS OF ANGST, jealousy, sevika with a eyebrow piercing 😫

Chapters: one, two, christmas special, three

The moonlight streamed through the large windows of Mel’s apartment as you stood in front of a full-length mirror, arms crossed, staring down at yet another outfit. Piles of dresses, skirts, and tops were strewn across the bed and floor, each rejected with a shake of your head. Jinx was sitting cross-legged on the bed, tossing discarded clothes to the side with little care, while Mel stood beside you, her sharp eyes appraising the options with a discerning gaze.

“Come on, Tinker, this is the third dress I’ve tried on. None of these are it,” you groaned, tugging at the hem of the bodycon dress you currently wore.

Jinx, twirling a lollipop between her fingers, raised a brow. “First of all, don’t call me that while I’m working my magic. Second, you’re being too picky! Just wear the red one.”

You turned to glare at her. “I am not being picky. I just... don’t feel like myself in any of these.”

Mel placed a hand on your shoulder, her polished nails glinting in the sunlight. “That’s the problem. Tonight’s about stepping out of your comfort zone. You’ve been working yourself to death, and you deserve a break. Trust me, darling, once we find the right dress, you’ll feel unstoppable.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, hopping off the bed. “She’s right, you know. Besides, we didn’t drag you out for nothing. You’re going, no matter what.” She rummaged through a bag of dresses she brought, muttering to herself before pulling out something sheer and black.

“Here we go,” she said triumphantly, holding up the dress with a dramatic flourish. It was a sheer, black mesh dress adorned with velvet floral patterns, delicate yet daring. The intricate designs wove across the fabric like vines, and the ruffled hem added a touch of flirtiness.

Your eyes widened. “That’s... bold.”

“Exactly,” Jinx said with a mischievous grin, holding the dress up to you. “You’ll look hot, confident, and like you’re ready to own the night.”

Mel stepped forward, smoothing the fabric with her fingers. “It’s perfect. Feminine but edgy, and the black will make your features pop under the club lights. Try it on.”

With a reluctant sigh, you took the dress and stepped into the bathroom to change. The moment you stepped back out, silence fell. Jinx’s lollipop nearly fell out of her mouth, and Mel’s lips curved into a satisfied smile.

“Holy crap,” Jinx said, standing up and circling you. “You’re gonna turn every head in that place.”

You glanced in the mirror, smoothing down the delicate fabric. The way it hugged your figure and the subtle hints of skin peeking through the floral patterns made you feel more confident than you had in months.

“I don’t know...” you started, but Jinx cut you off, placing her hands on your shoulders.

“Nope. None of that. You look amazing, and you’re going. End of story.”

Mel handed you a pair of black heels and a delicate necklace. “She’s right. Now, finish getting ready. The night won’t wait for you.”

You hesitated for a moment, but Jinx gave you her best puppy-dog eyes. “Come on, you owe me for being the world’s best hype woman.”

Finally, you laughed, throwing your hands up. “Fine. I’ll go. But if this night ends in disaster, it’s on both of you.”

Jinx clapped her hands in victory, already grabbing her phone to blast the news to everyone. “You won’t regret this, Tinker guarantees it!”

-

The club was alive, a pulsating maze of neon lights and pounding bass that thrummed through your body. You arrived with Jinx, Ekko, Jayce, and Viktor, all of whom were already buzzing with excitement. Vi was there too, along with two of her hockey teammates, Ellie and Abby. The sight of her made your chest tighten. She looked effortlessly cool in a leather jacket, her confident smirk drawing attention from nearly everyone in the room.

Jinx grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the bar. “Drinks first, dancing later,” she declared, ordering for both of you.

You couldn’t help but glance at Vi as she leaned against the counter a few feet away, laughing at something Ellie said. Fans recognized her almost immediately, a small group approaching to take pictures and ask for autographs. You watched as she charmed them effortlessly, even flirting with a few, her grin sharp and full of mischief.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t jealousy—not entirely. It was the sharp reminder of the space between you now, the way she had moved on while you were still trying to piece yourself back together.

“Don’t even look at her,” Jinx whispered in your ear, nudging your drink toward you. “This is your night, Superstar. Not hers.”

You smiled weakly and raised your glass. “To surviving your plans,” you teased, and she laughed, clinking her glass against yours.

Vi stayed on the sidelines for most of it, sipping her drink and talking with Ellie and Abby. But every so often, you felt her eyes on you, a magnetic pull that you tried to ignore.

As the night went on, every so often, you caught sight of her leaning close to one of them, that damn smirk of hers lighting up her face as they giggled at whatever she said.

“Tinker, get me another drink please,” you called out to Jinx, needing something to numb the ache clawing at your chest.

“Sure thing, Superstar!” she replied, darting off with her usual energy.

As you stood there, sipping your drink and trying to shake off the bitterness creeping in, a deep voice broke through your thoughts.

“Not having fun, doll?”

You turn to see a beautiful woman her tall, muscular frame contrasts with the softness of the dim, colorful lights. A silver eyebrow piercing glints when she raises a drink to her lips, the small detail adding to her rugged, almost dangerous charm. She extended a hand toward you. “My name is Sevika. Dance with me. You look like you need it.”

For a moment, you hesitated, glancing toward Vi out of the corner of your eye. She was still at the bar, laughing with her fans, entirely unaware of you.

Screw it, you thought.

You took Sevika’s hand, letting her lead you onto the dance floor. Her grip was steady, her movements confident as she spun you around. The two of you fell into a rhythm, her low chuckle meeting your laughter as she teased you for stumbling over your own feet.

But the moment didn’t last.

Out of nowhere, a blur of motion interrupted your dance. Vi’s voice cut through the music, sharp and furious.

“Back off, Sevika!”

You turned just in time to see Vi shove Sevika, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and jealousy.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What’s your problem, cupcake? She’s the one who said yes.”

Before you could intervene, Vi swung at her, landing a solid punch to Sevika’s jaw. The crowd around you gasped, forming a loose circle as the two of them grappled.

“Vi, stop!” you shouted, trying to push your way toward them. But Jinx was faster, grabbing your arm and pulling you back.

“Let them work it out,” she said with a grin that suggested she was more amused than concerned.

“Are you kidding me?!” you snapped, trying to break free. But Jinx held on tight.

The fight escalated, with Sevika throwing a punch of her own and Vi retaliating without hesitation. The bouncers were already moving in, and you knew it was only a matter of seconds before they were thrown out.

-

You couldn’t watch anymore. Frustrated and embarrassed, you tore yourself away from Jinx and stormed out of the club. The cold night air hit you like a slap, cooling your flushed skin and giving you the space to breathe.

You leaned against the wall, staring up at the stars as you tried to steady your racing heart.

“(Y/N).”

Her voice was soft, hesitant. You didn’t turn around.

“What the hell was that, Vi?” you asked, your voice trembling with anger. “You couldn’t just let me have this one night?”

She stepped closer, but you still didn’t face her. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice raw. “I couldn’t stand seeing you with her.”

You laughed bitterly, finally turning to look at her. “Oh, you couldn’t stand it? That’s rich coming from you. Do you have any idea how it feels to watch you flirt with everyone in sight? You act like I don’t even exist.”

Her expression crumpled, guilt flashing across her face. “It’s not like that,” she said, her voice breaking. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up,” you interrupted, your voice rising. “Just shut up, Vi. You don’t get to be jealous. You don’t get to act like this when you’re the one who left me!”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I know I messed up, okay? I know I hurt you. But I still—”

“Don’t you dare,” you cut in, your voice trembling. “Don’t you dare say you still love me. You don’t get to say that after everything you put me through.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you continued. “Do you even know what it was like for me? After you left, I barely ate. I barely slept. I was falling apart, and you—” Your voice broke, and you took a shaky breath. “You were out there, living your life like I didn’t matter.”

“I never stopped caring about you,” Vi said, her own tears spilling over. “I tried to move on, but I couldn’t. No one else compares to you, (Y/N).”

You shook your head, the anger and hurt bubbling over. “That’s not enough, Vi. Love isn’t enough if you’re just going to leave the second things get hard.”

“I was scared,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I was scared that I wasn’t enough for you. That I’d hold you back.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make!” you shouted, the tears streaming freely down your face now.

She stepped closer, her voice desperate. “I know I can’t undo the past, but I need you to know that I’m sorry. And that I still love you. I never stopped.”

You closed your eyes, the weight of her words crashing over you. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whispered.

She reached out, pulling you into a hug before you could push her away again. You froze, the warmth of her arms both comforting and painful.

“Please,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “Let me make it up to you.”

For a moment, you let yourself lean into her, the familiar scent of her bringing back memories you had tried so hard to forget. But then the reality of it all hit you, and you pulled away, shaking your head.

“I can’t do this, Vi,” you said, your voice trembling. “Not again.”

Vi’s hand shot out, grabbing (Y/N) by the wrist before she could pull away again. This time, it wasn’t a comforting hug she pulled her into, but something different. The force of it made (Y/N)’s heart race, and before she could fully process, Vi’s lips were crashing into hers.

The kiss was messy—drunk and desperate—but there was a passion in it neither could deny. (Y/N) hesitated for a moment, caught off guard, but the heat of the moment, the softness of Vi’s lips, and the way she felt so close made (Y/N) give in, kissing her back with equal intensity.

When they finally pulled away, both panting and slightly dizzy, Vi looked at her, her voice low and serious despite the alcohol. “Come back home with me.”

(Y/N) nodded, not trusting herself to speak, but the promise in her gaze said everything.

mini tag-list 🎀: @snowbunnyboo @taurtel @justsomegaygirlig

[rayhalloffame]

The people have spoken! Part two of this. I’m also going to make this a series so there will be another part, my brain is thinking about this version of Art so much, it’s so serious >:/

…

Despite his confidence and the fact that he really did cover your tab all night, you only grant him a quick peck when he walks you to your uber. You take his phone and put your number in. Right then and there you set your contact picture to a flirty photo of yourself taken at a high angle that leaves just enough to the imagination. You tell him you’ll reply in the morning if you really like him. Art texts you to tell him when you’ve made it home safe. He’s unsurprised when you don’t answer.

He is surprised when he wakes up at nearly 8am to his phone buzzing. He silences it but a minute later it goes off again so he picks it up without looking. “What?” he groans into the receiver. His head is turned on his pillow so that he can rest the phone against his cheek.

“You promise you’re not a murderer?” comes a small, crackled voice from the other line.

Art pauses, picks up the phone to be greeted with your pretty face. It snaps him right out of his slumber. “G’morning, birthday girl,” he murmurs. He hears your deep breathing through the phone but you don’t respond. “I promise I’m not a murderer.”

“I need a bagel and a cherry coke,” you whine. You say nothing else. Art takes the hint.

“What kind of bagel, sweetheart?” He’s already swinging his legs over the side of his bed, waiting for your reply.

“Bacon, egg, and cheese. And it has to be a fountain soda, with crushed ice to the top.” Your voice sounds so pitiful. Art tells you to text your address and he’ll bring you whatever you want. You send it as soon as you hang up the phone.

When he makes it to the door of your apartment he doesn’t know what to do. Art is simply mystified by you, doesn’t understand how a pretty little thing has him by the throat when she’s the hardest chase he’s had since going pro. He knocks on your door anyway.

He can hear your groan through the wood, and is chuckling by the time you swing the door open. You don’t even look at him, really, just shield your eyes from the outside light and retreat back into your dark apartment. Art follows you in and locks the door behind him. He toes his shoes off before entering further.

You’ve already dropped yourself on your couch by the time he’s passed the foyer. There’s a garbage pail by the arm of the chair, a bottle of Advil and a water on the coffee table. “Rough night?” Art jokes.

You don’t even have the energy to glare at him, just make grabby hands for your treats. He meets you at the couch, putting the bag and drink on the coffee table. Unable to help himself, he crouches at your head and brushes sticky hair back from your face. He expects you to stop him but you nuzzle into his palm when it passes over your cheek. “You’re not as scary as you pretend to be, are you?” He sounds curious, like he’s perplexed by you but wants to figure you out.

You peek an eye open at him and shake your head. “Only sometimes. Like when men are cocky. Have to knock them down a peg.” Art laughs through his nose, tells you he’s learned his lesson. He opens the bag with your bagel and hand feeds you a bite. You moan. Art puts the bagel down and stands. He’s going to be tenting his pants if you make more of those noises with his hands so close to your mouth.

You sit up enough to take a sip of your soda, a sigh of relief leaving your throat. “How much do I owe you? From last night and today?” You look up at Art from where you’re half-laying, reaching absently for your phone to Zelle him. Somehow, even with your skin flushed and your mascara streaked, he still wants to eat you up.

Art clears his throat. “Nothing,” he says, “I’m happy to treat you for your birthday.” You sit up fully and shake your head at him. You tell him you got a little too cocky yourself last night, that you feel bad and you owe him. Art smiles at you, a genuine one. “Go on a date with me,” he says.

“Wait. What?” Confusion is a written all over your face. Art rocks back on his heels, suddenly bashful, but repeats his request. “When?” you ask. You’ve abandoned your phone to sip more of your carbonated beverage.

“Tonight,” Art says. “I have training this afternoon, but I should be done by 7, the latest.”

You hum in acknowledgement, picking apart your bagel and popping small pieces into your mouth. “You’re not worried someone might see us? Fans, paparazzi?” You pick up your cup and shake around the ice inside. “You know, your name is carried on the wind. There’s not much that’s private about you.”

“Yeah?” Art asks.

“Mhmm,” you hum, accompanied by slow nods of your head.

Art can’t stop looking at your lips. “I don’t know how true that is,” he continues, “let me take you out. There’s a lot to know about me. My life isn’t as public as you imagine.”

You tilt your head, considering. Art’s eyes follow the stretch of your neck into your large white tee, which is almost see through. He returns his gaze to yours and finds you watching him. You flash him a knowing smile, then nod your head. “Sure,” you say, “let’s go on a date.”

[feather-dancer]

Tales of Arcadia fanfic recommendations part 8

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

If at all interested in my own writing you can find it here! Several of my own are currently getting scrubbed for improvement to make them more readable. Currently goal is for all of Spotlight being completed by the end of the year.

Been a while huh? This has still been sitting in my drafts though even when my brain decided “Nope not reading” for a while. Still got quite a hefty backlog to read through along with authors I’m subscribed to for their most recent works as and when they pop up. Regardless, determined to get back on top of it and unearth things I want to give a shoutout to because it’s cool shit :)

To you, fans past and present and surviors of RotT Tales of Arcadia fandom.

General Tales of Arcadia

But Everything Hurts - You don’t come back from death with a free pass and Douxie’s fall from the castle cost was chronic pain for an immortal’s lifetime. He was told to learn how to live once, now it is learning to manage.

Of Hunger Pains and Old Habits - Food is hard when you’ve spent a very young life without it until life takes a strange turn and it becomes plentiful. Died in habits are hard though, Douxie will hear the unconvinced whispers for the rest of his life.

almost there - When Jim heads off until the Darklands alone Toby and Claire try to hold themselves together not knowing if he’ll ever return. This is set post season 1 and is wonderfully bittersweet.

Our Little Viginette - Moppet faces the end of an era with the fall of Camelot and (Temporary) loss of Merlin after the Battle of Killahead.

A way to cope - Jim pretends to cope with the trauma of being in the Darklands a lot better than he actually is, as long as he keeps the breakdowns out of sight then nobody can worry right?

dandelion eyes - In which Bellroc discovers the concept of nail polish.

Adieu - The final moments of Angor Rot

Saudade - It’s perfect. They beat Gunmar, nobody died and he can finally enjoy being a teenager again, Thinks Jim. Then why if he stops ignoring the feeling for even a few seconds does it all seem so hollow...?

Rise of the Titans

The Last Changeling - Jim escaped the timeline filled with mistakes in hopes of making things right. He didn’t account for those left behind to grieve or the changeling that suddenly found himself as the last.

I Can't Pull the Sword From the Stone - Jim went back and now Toby is the new Trollhunter which should be smooth sailing right? Except history is refusing to repeat it’s self exactly, little elements are already changing and Jim’s experiences have left him tainted with magic he can’t control along with all the memories and traumas. It’s hard to grieve for someone who is technically still alive but everything you had is gone without a soul out there to understand.

More is all you need - Jim has gone back, something stupid by his own admittance, however in sorting through his thoughts he comes to a realisation.

Stricklake

Comes Around - Post Trollhunters season 3, it’s a struggle to figure out what to do when you have a cradlestone full of babies and a changeling that no longer is but you have to just try and muddle through somehow... Perhaps a chance to try figure out what your relationship is meant to be too now things have calmed down a bit.

Media Consumption - Wholesome fluff that also involves Wally and creating an addict to the HtTyD franchise early on.  

A Measure of Intellect - The goblins are breaking into the stricklake household and they’ve already stolen the blender. The fun part is figuring out exactly what they’re up to. Related to Media Consumption.

enough - Figuring out a normal in the mundane of after everything has happened is quite a lot for a jaded changeling. Very fluffy.

The Wild Hunt - Letting your troll boyfriend hunt is good enrichment but the prize for capture is even better.

The Armour of Daylight - A little glimpse into a high fantasy world where everyone might just be a little bit cursed.

The School Of Janus - This is an AU while also being Stricklake so it lives here. The Darklands are the most prestigious educational process in the world according to their promo material and Jim is prepping to head there while putting off most of his packing as long as humanly possible. Good thing he does really the banter is delightful.

Ink Stains - An AU making an escape in the name of shipping again. Here Barbara married into court politics with her husband being an heir for Camelot and changelings are a secret guard force protecting those important hiding away in plain sight. Incredibly cool world building going on here.

Keen Swimmers 2023 - A collection from last year mostly in AU territory and very tasty. Read the summaries and off you go!

Special Delivery - Very short and sweet, if you’re interested in the ship just trust me and click it.

Locked Rooms - Barbara lost her memory. She doesn’t know how and she doesn’t really know why either. All she does know is that whatever they are seem to be behind a locked door and that strange imagery is leaking into her dreams.

Alternate Universe

Dig your eight graves - It was only supposed to be a fun trek out for Halloween for the Arcadia kids, test out the set up and give feedback so the owner could improve them for when it would officially open the next year. Nobody could have predicted how it’d go so horribly wrong.

Content warning: This fic is marked Mature for character death, body horror, desecration of corpses and for being of the general slasher genre. Please check the tags before proceeding.

Between Daylight and Darkness - The Sunshine AU is back and it’s time for the team to go Trollhunting.So how many spanners can Jim being the nearest equivilent to a were-troll throw into the works of canon? Well hopefully nothing fatal...

Toby's Appointment - Sometimes you need to read very silly things and this is probably the funniest possibility you could find in the dentist waiting room.

The Grave of the Felled Forest - A boy and his familiar go to check out Merlin’s places of power/various stash spots to make sure all is still well. They are not anticipating visitors or his intent to be poked. Part of The Heart of Janus AU.

[confirmeddead]

Armand’s whole Fascinating monologue to Daniel is very telling.

Why should you live? What makes you fascinating (or not)?

Your past, your present?

(My past, my present?)

And suddenly to latch onto that very person he questioned all those years ago who’d gone onto unravel his life. Maybe Daniel has the answers to help him continue.

[imaginedisish]

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know. 

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic. 

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth. 

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment. 

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours. 

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him. 

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.” 

Anything. You wish he really meant it. 

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint. 

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind. 

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this. 

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly. 

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind. 

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind. 

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly. 

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—” 

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier. 

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out. 

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to. 

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows. 

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you. 

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most. 

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.” 

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—” 

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close. 

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?” 

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw. 

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.” 

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours. 

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought. 

“Please.” 

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut. 

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room. 

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down. 

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough. 

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next. 

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties. 

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most. 

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them. 

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move. 

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard. 

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core. 

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt. 

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for. 

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance. 

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess. 

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.” 

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds. 

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck. 

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough. 

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you. 

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time. 

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.  “I’m right here. I’m yours.” 

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him. 

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation. 

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core. 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. 

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.” 

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?” 

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning. 

 “Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire. 

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping. 

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together. 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.” 

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[heylittleriotact]

The only reason Emmrich isn’t a puddle of grief on the Lighthouse floor the way he should be in his non-lich resolution is because he cheated death - this time. He has a legacy in Manfred and makes peace with the fact that with training, Manfred will be able to care for himself when he eventually dies, but he only got here in the first place by fucking around with the natural order.

The playing field is still even in this outcome between he and Rook: they’re both mortal, and they will both inevitably die, but they may choose a life together that could be prosperous and joyful and all the other sentimental shit Emmrich has yearned for.

If he “accepts” Manfred’s death and becomes a lich, he does actually mourn him. There’s the banter where Davrin remarks that he heard crying coming from Emmrich’s room, which implies that he’s privately confronting those feelings of loss. Some people read this as regret, but I honestly think it’s grief presenting itself in a complicated manner for Emmrich.

Emmrich’s grief in this case is complicated because not only is he dealing with the emotional complexity of grieving a child who isn’t *technically* his child, but we’re adding survivor’s guilt on top of that, and the fact that Manfred’s sacrifice was ultimately his ticket to immortality.

That’s a-fucking-lot to unpack.

Is it any surprise that he’s weeping alone in his room when he thinks no one is around? How could ANYONE understand? WHY would anyone understand? So he hides it away and doesn’t even talk about it to Rook, his partner, and man… that is a slippery ass slope to some wildly unhealthy coping behaviours.

In real life you might see someone stuck in complicated grief become depressed, socially withdrawn, emotionally erratic, fall into substance abuse, self-harm, self-destructive behaviour, or suicide. Complicated grief is a bitch. Because remember - grief is vital: it is personal, but it is also communal, and Emmrich starts out his journey into lichdom by slipping into complex, isolated grief over Manfred’s passing.

So now instead of a regular person, you’ve got an immortal super-mage who can never die dealing with death TERRIBLY. This forms the foundation for his approach to death for eternity. Of COURSE he’s going to be insufferable to Rook. Of COURSE he’s going to take a holier-than-thou “be more careful please” stance without any thought to the staggering power imbalance that exists between them now.

It’s the most tragic, self-destructive ending for Emmrich, framed in a way that’s almost poetically cruel. He’s fucked himself, and he can’t un-fuck himself, and he has to live with that forever. He might be in denial about it for a month, a year… a century - but he’ll get there eventually.

You finally found the love of your life that you yearned for desperately for decades? You will smother them. Burden them. Shackle them unwittingly with your own shitty, shitty insecurity because even though you’re immortal you refuse to accept the natural order.

Regardless of which outcome you go with, Emmrich is in dire need of therapy. Luckily, as a human and not an immortal undead lich, he can do a lot less damage to himself and those he claims to love. But he really does need to work through his issues around his fear of death, his denial of mortality, and his insecurities in relationships, and I think if he stays mortal it’s more likely that in time once the world is saved and he and Rook settle down, he would be open to addressing those things - or hell he might even identify and work on them himself because he’s got the support of his partner - his EQUAL - who will stand by him and help him navigate things however they can.

Lich Emmrich though? He doesn’t feel like he *needs* to. Rook is no longer an equal, they are someone to be cherished and protected like an exceedingly old and rare edition of a book. They lose their personhood in EmmLich’s eyes and eventually become a possession, which should disgust him and he’d deny it vehemently but it’s true.

This is very rambling and badly worded and I’m just spewing random disjointed thoughts without any real point, @aldisobey I really loved this and how insidiously sweet it was. It’s just perfect. Thank you for writing it 🤍

Fuel to Fire

AO3 Link - Fuel to Fire

A gift on this eve! Finally got it to a point where I don't mind sharing. Emmlich content, come get some Emmlich and Rook angst. It's got comfort and warmth and I've been with it too long just take it before I start hating it again. Tagging @emmg you asked for it! (oh yeah and the title is just the song I listened to the most, it's how I'm naming things because eugh naming things how). Technically part two in a series, check out Nascent Blight if you need more.

Word Count: ~3k

Relationship: Rook Thorne x Emmlich, M/M

Full story below because why not

Emmrich paced the room, green flickers of his skull mixing light with the soothing glow of the water’s reflection on the ground. Rook sprawled out on the divan, head back on the armrest, eyes closed, and rubbed at his temples. Peeked a moment at the towering necromancer gleaming soft in the muted room.

“Rook.” Emmrich’s stern tone made him squeeze his eyes shut. The lich ceased pacing and stood near the small table at the center. Hands folded behind him he faced the waters. “That was reckless.”

The Warden was still coated in lingering blight from the Wetlands. He’d meant to clean up and go celebrate the Eruption’s destruction on return to the Lighthouse, but it was all he could do to drag himself here. He could still feel the echo of it. Too close, too much.

He gripped his head, pressed hard as he dared to drive away the thrumming recollection of whispers. Thank whatever luck graced him it hadn’t…his hands dropped. One to the ground, the other his chest. Their pressures had provided no relief. It would fade, always had, should have stopped when they burned the thing, but something of it’s nature let that damnable echo persist. That or a head injury, he’d taken some hits.

He sighed. Slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to glance at Emmrich’s back facing him.

“Had to be done.” Equally stern in a quiet way, exhaustion clear.

“You might have left the matter to Davrin.” A resounding voice. The folded hands clenched, then released, flicked to the side as Emmrich turned round to fix Rook with his hollow stare, “Or Evka and Antoine, or any number of other Wardens in Lavendell.”

“Emmrich,” Rook responded more softly, slowly, but kept firm, “I had my reasons.”

“And?” The skull tilted, frustration snipping, “Were those reasons worth it?” Emmrich gestured towards Rook, everything said in that tone and movement. Today had not been easy for the rogue. Taash had to half carry him back.

“Yes.” Grumbling, he swung his legs off the divan, sat up properly to face Emmrich’s accusations. “They were.” He straightened his back and squared off his shoulders, suppressed the pulse built on his forehead with a heavy blink. “Look. I brought Taash because they can burn whatever comes their way. And I brought you because you’re undead.”

Emmrich twitched, almost imperceptibly, at that. Rook might’ve missed it had his attention on the lich been less than absolute, but the movement sent his stomach falling. He bit at his tongue and rushed on.

“We got the job done alright? Lavendell can thrive. Everyone safe.” He rushed the words. Kept them short. Folded his arms. He might’ve looked petulant, but the wear of the day was too loud. Holes in the sleeves, tears on the sides, slash on the leg, all red stained, all healed flesh below, but memories of wounds. Everywhere.

“Darling. What about you?” Emmrich’s voice shook, seeing more than the evident physical. Undead eyes exposed a roiling of lingering red pain whispers, swirling confusion, exhaustion like a leaded blanket.

“Hmm? I’m already blighted, it was no concern.” Rook shrugged, doing his best to appear at ease. Brush off the worry, confirm the wellness of the situation. They were here, they were whole, they…

“Enough.” A snarl of exasperation, Emmrich stepped closer, seeming ever taller as he approached, “Davrin would have joined us had it been no concern. You brought Taash.” There was finality in the words, a stillness as the simmering anger evened and burned with purpose, “I was there, Rook. Your Warden friends were quite clear on the danger that Eruption posed to you.”

Rook grimaced, rubbed his hands, felt over callus, cut, and bruise. It hurt. He added pressure, focused the pain there.

Emmrich was right of course. The lingering pounding in his head was testament to that. What if the Eruption had sparked something? It felt safer for Taash to be there with their fire. Why put more than one Warden at risk? How many was it if not him? If not Davrin? Thoughts roiling he shrank below that green gaze burrowing into him feet away. Rook realized then he’d gone slack jawed, unable to think of an acceptable excuse. But no. He had made the right call.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“Fine!” Rook growled and stood using the armrest with a stifled groan. Patience worn thin after all the drumming in his skull he put his hands to his hips when he reached his full height and glared up at Emmrich.

He didn’t shout, but matched the steaming frustration, “I knew it was dangerous for me. Alright? But I had to do it.” The words came out through grit teeth, biting back the desire to escalate.

Emmrich drew back. Not a step, but into himself. “Dearest...”

“No, don't dearest me.” It came out like a hiss, and Rook leaned the smallest degree forward, “The Grey Wardens need every last person after all this.” His hands flailed out, gesturing vaguely to the world at large, “After Weisshaupt…” A breath found him. The fury caught on his tongue. This shouldn’t be so hard.

He cleared his throat, kept strong, “My jobs done once we’ve killed those gods.” His hands returned to his temples for a moment to steady himself, applied pressure to calm the beat. The blood flushing to his face couldn’t be helping.

Rook gave his head a shake and looked askance, maker how did a skull appear sad, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Unable to face Emmrich in that hunched posture before him. Bent, mourning, pathetic…no, Rook swallowed. Not that. The necromancer didn’t stand alone. The lean was enclosing him, protective. He dared a glance forward.

The lich stood draping the Warden in shadow like some gilded ribbed vaulting. And Rook, an insignificant supplicant come, with soft flesh aching, stinking of blight. Before a cathedral.

“Davrin’s got a book in the works!” He sputtered before he forgot all of the pieces reinforcing his decision. “Antoine makes such things?” Because it had been the right decision, “Can you imagine things if left to Evka’s hands?” They would all flourish after he did his part.

“You think I’d risk a single one of them?” Voice a hushed whisper of desperation. He couldn’t bear it.

No. The gods died next. No one else.

Tomorrow. His mind kept at a furious pace. A last check on Lavendell. Then Treviso, the Crows had word. He could feel cold sweat on his neck, they might have a location. Almost there. Not much longer now, almost safe, and all at once his legs went weak. Rook sank, barely controlled, back down to the divan. He settled with elbows on his knees, hands holding his head, and stared down at the floor. Could feel welling in his eyes, blinked it away.

“Rook,” Emmrich’s voice was slow, the gentle echo of a creek; water over stones as it traveled through him, “I’m sorry.”

Sincerity. Rook could feel it. Feel his nerves still at the serene appeal, “You carry the weight of every decision. Don’t you?” Not a question, a declaration, and in hearing it, so firmly spoken, Rook quaked.

“You were exemplary today.” Finally. A shuddering breath, a tiny lift, that voice of praise, a warming balm.

“My love,” The words sank deep past the skin, something in the tone kneading them firmly within the chest, past bone and into heart where a soul might sit, “let me help you.” Rook sniffed, didn’t trust his voice, dipped a nod once. Emmrich extended his hand, gestured towards Rook’s head.

Movements small, close, Rook leaned in, but then gave start, bit his lip, froze, “..wait.” He still needed to scour, make sure every speck of blight was gone, that could take awhile for hair.

“That’s of no concern.” Emmrich smirked.

Rook looked up as that comforting palm settled soft on his head. Peered past the linen, memories flashing of that arched brow, those lidded eyes, and met a crowned skull, flickering flame. He’d heard it in the tone.

His eyes went wide, tight pain gripped his chest. That was the cost wasn’t it? But then, he felt his heart beat. There was that…the desire...ever since…

'Rook’s Necromancer. An excellent subject to test how long one could go back and forth between life and death.'

Rook blinked at the perfect, beautiful, loving undead skull staring back at him, the whisper of hope escaping from dreams and solidifying here and now.

“You’re safe.” Rook choked out the words.

Then collapsed. Gone so limp he would have fallen from couch to floor had Emmrich not anticipated the movement and dropped to his knees to catch him in his arms.

They dropped together a moment, Emmrich’s arms a cushioning guide. And once stable, once still, he lifted, held the trembling man close, and carefully settled down on the divan with him. The Warden, for his part, was all snot and tears, clinging to the lich’s robes. His arms wrapped tight around the ribcage as he pressed close as he could.

"Emmrich, it can't…” His voice and body shook, words closing off in the shudder of relief.

Emmrich cradled Rook as tight as he dared, a soft hush drifting from him as he brought calm in his firm embrace. There was no measured breathing to guide the man hiccupping into his cloak, so Emmrich purposefully rubbed Rook’s back in the rhythm of a breath, and with a few extra movements green sprites darted from his fingers. All at once sound was still and calm around Rook’s hearing, and then began the sigh of trees, wind through leaves, in measured cadence to help level the rogue’s racing heart.

Rook almost felt a cool breeze on his skin same as he heard it, and the glow of water and flame mixed like light through the leaves to his eyes. He sighed, then lifted his head, buried it beneath the lich’s chin, felt his final quivers fade as a hum traveled in waves through the bones embracing him, back and forth, kissing skin where it touched, a fleeting doting touch. The beginnings of a smile and easy breath came to him at last.

Emmrich’s voice sounded quiet around…in…where his head lay. The traveling hum returned deep and pleasant, warming the skin where it passed. “My love. To think…you worried over me, to such...” Disbelief mixed with adoration, Emmrich’s voice eased its way into Rook’s waiting ears, pure love. The lost words saying more than any uttered.

Rook was steady now, melting instead of shivering, he clung to that genuine smile dawning on his lips, he could have this at least. They couldn’t take this. Rook tilted his head up to whisper to the air where Emmrich’s throat might’ve been.

“I love you.”

He put his head back down as he felt both of Emmrich’s hands move up to massage his scalp. The room was incandescent with green, the necromancer’s palms the epicenter of the glow. Focused. He plied at the Warden’s head. His movements were rhythmic, the magic alive with a pulse and rippling at his direction.

Rook could feel the echos become sated, the answering ebb of the necrotic channeling a path of release, carrying the riptide tight and rebounding in his skull back out to sea. Ease and push, gentle waves of magic and fingers worked the movements with Fade and physical, gently towing that ache out from the Warden’s skull.

Rook yawned, almost a thrum while in Emmrich's care, “Of course I was worried.” And he stretched in small movements, “You immortal fool.” His voice was low, pining, enraptured by the fool he entrusted with his care. Emmrich didn’t reply, his voice occupied in the ending incantations. Otherwise they kept in silence, the soft green glow encasing Rook’s scalp continuing to pulse, dancing with the shimmering from the tank.

“Darling,” when Emmrich's voice finally graced Rook again it sent warmth flashing through him, “I’m safe.” A rolling delight, the aches and pains losing hold, Rook groaned, toes curled as every muscle seemed to tighten, and hold. Then release.

The magic dimmed. Rook breathed heavy, then slow, then measured, calm. Almost asleep.

Emmrich sighed, his voice an echo that resounded through the room. He took a long laborious moment to take off his crown, and with utmost care placed it on the table behind them. Then, barefaced as possible, spoke gentle, the deep echo private now, tumbling only to the Warden’s ears, “But, Sir Thorne.” He looked down at Rook, tilted the man’s face to look up from where it lay on his sternum, kept his tracing fingers there, touch yearning. “You are most unsafe.”

Rook felt his eyes go hot at the words, if only because Emmrich’s couldn’t, and he could hear the despondent tears held in the lich’s tone. He tried to look away, but that meant leaving that soft touch on his chin, he pressed down into the palm instead.

“I’m sorry.” he twisted his head deeper into the hand, whispered the mumbled words into Emmrich’s thumb. The thumb traced Rook’s lips a moment, but seemed distant, moving further away.

“Those are words, Rook.” Emmrich’s hand withdrew, Rook looked up, sensing the gravity in the next words had been stressed by absent touch. “Please. If only out of love for me. Take more thought and action towards your safety?”

Rook gave the barest of nods, mind rebelling against the gross hope of self preservation. He nestled back down and away from the skull’s sight. Emmrich’s voice grumbled in old exasperation, his hands moving to cradle the Warden’s skull and massage along his neck. “If you remain so determined to put your life at risk I’ll have no choice but to drag you to the deepest tombs of the Necropolis. Seal you there until you develop a modicum of sense.”

“That a promise?” Rook’s voice surprised them both, and had Emmrich been able to feel heat his hands might have burned from where they held Rook. So quick and fierce was the flush on the man, so immediate the reply, it came without thought, driven by something deeper.

He could feel the lich’s fingers dig hard into his skin. Maker he really did want...The skull was staring up and away from him now. But Rook could hear the words resound in his own chest, “Don’t tempt me.” A low rolling warning, like thunder from a storm still away. But Rook could sense the ache, felt his heart quicken at what some choice words might lead to, felt the barest tremor in the hands holding him, but then they were gone. The storm gave way to trickling laughter at the thought.

Emmrich moved to extricate himself from the divan, took extra care to settle Rook comfortably in place. Hummed away the lighthearted mirth as he stood free and took off his cloak, gently draped it over the fading Warden, “Seriously, dearest, you mustn't jest.”

Rook held tight to the lich’s cloak and burrowed into it, buried his face deep in the lapel as he muttered half asleep already, “Don’t tease, you started it”.

He yawned. Felt warm, eased his mind to think of falling quiet, but the shiver of dreams crept up at him. The Fade always awaited, didn't it. Rook bit at his cheek, blinked an eye open to peek out from beneath the cloak. Emmrich was still there, though his back was turned to him now, he had taken to quiet pacing again, fish in the tank following as he glittered in the pale light.

“Emmrich.” Rook whispered.

“Hmm?” Emmrich paused midstep, fish paused midswim.

Rook stifled a chuckle, overcome at that moment with overwhelming adoration. He could ask this, a beaming smile hidden beneath the cloak, eye twinkling from beneath the fabric he muttered, “You once comforted me by saying the lich lords were, ‘Unlikely to visit your slumber’.”

Rook mused, calling back to that first time, that first terror. Emmrich had been so excited to share, so animated when explaining, the first time Rook heard the word ‘Lich’. Ice had taken Rook’s veins then. Fresh terror, new fear, but what emotion did he know better? And what a blessing it could be? His blood ran cold. Something deep in his gut warned him, but he ignored it. Looked long at the lich before him, fish following Emmrich’s concerned sway, and let the prickling sensation thaw, there could be warmth here, “Is that…something…you could do?” He finally asked.

“Oh.” The lich seemed to stand taller, an edge of excitement to his tone. “I hadn’t the time to consider it.” He started towards Rook, came to kneel at his side, put a hand on the cloak where the man’s shoulder lay, head tilting in question, “Would that interest you?”

Rook poked more of his head out so that his lips could be read, voice a hush, “Maybe…if you can, just uh check in?” He swallowed, “That song, it's in dreams…it’s worse…” Emmrich’s hushing tones cut off Rook. One hand going so far as to pull the cloak back up to cover the Warden's mouth and tuck him in.

“My love, speak no further. Sleep. Nothing will dare trouble your dreams.”

“Thank you…you know you can troub…”

“Another time darling. Please. Rest.”

Eyes closed Rook could hear the smirk again, felt a heaviness settle in his limbs, swore he was already dreaming when he heard the warmth in the immortal’s voice holding him, was that a lullaby? And sleep took him.