#you must find balance between work and rest | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goodeapple · 6 months ago

Text

words on the page (aemond t. sex pollen pwp o.s.)

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : PWP, dubcon- this is sex pollen (obvi) they are technically not fully consenting. might be hatesex but it also might not, uncle/niece incest, a ridiculous amount of orgasms, squirting, restraint, spanking & slapping, and a slighttt breeding kink (srry i couldn't help myself)

word count : 10,000+

note : hope everyone enjoys. ty for all the love, always. likes, reblogs, comments, anything is gas in my tank xx

“This library is big enough for the both of us, Uncle. You stay on your side, and I, on mine.” Ysilla offers, already working on tuning out the One-Eyed Prince’s mutterings as she gets lost in the sprawling shelves.

“What if I want a book that’s on your side?” Aemond’s voice echoes up to the grand ceilings from where he must be several rows over, his annoyance clearer than the windows in the Sept.

Ysilla rolls her eyes so hard she fears they might stick. “Do you not understand the concept of my side and your side?”

“These are all my sides. I grew up in between these stacks- I’m sure the texts at Dragonstone are missing you terribly. Why don't you go back and see if I’m right.”

That retort stabs at her, the mourning for her home still living on in the thick ball of grief that resides heavily in her heart. It’s been a year since her mother took her rightful place on the Iron Throne, a year since the King had passed, and a year where all members of the Targaryen family had to learn how to live amongst one another once more. Nobody was enjoying it. And there were more days than not that the Princess fantasized of stealing borrowing a boat and sailing back to her beloved pile of rocks.

“Shouldn’t you be out, oh, I don’t know, swinging a sword or ducking under one? You know, what men do.” It’s childish but Ysilla doesn’t mind stooping lower than her years. Her brothers keep her young and nimble, each one bringing with him a fresh battle of wits and stubbornness.

He goes silent, blessedly, and she resumes her stroll, picking and plucking titles off the shelves that join the burgeoning pile cradled tight in her arms. Her mind wanders, the endless catalogues of writings whispering their words, lulling her further and further into the scriptural maze.

Ysilla spots a peculiar text on a shelf taller than her, the aphotic ruby binding and woven gold stitching calling her name. She reaches up, tiptoeing until her feet creak and attempts to hook her finger under the edge of the spine. The old book sticks in place, judging her with a faceless scowl. She grunts, wobbling slightly, pushing forward again and gives it a good strong tug. Too strong, as it flies freely through the air and Ysilla yelps, jumping to the side to dodge it. Everything goes topsy turvy, her balance lost to her and the rest of her assembled collection clatters to the ground.

She curses, deaf to the sound of approaching footsteps as she drops to her knees and starts to gather the fallen books. She’s considerate of the older ones, stacking them carefully off to the side of the walkway. The causer of the chaos had landed face down, the text split open as if the ground itself was interested in its contents. Ysilla grasps it gently and turns it over, causing a plume of dust to shift off the pages and billow directly into her face.

She coughs, sputtering for a breath that isn’t made up of ancient soot. She scrubs at her nose, sniffling and groaning in discomfort as her sinuses burn and her throat grows parched. Her eyelids wrench shut, tears already hot and clumping in her lashes.

A vice grip in the form of strong fingers finds her arm, and she latches onto them desperately. She’s pulled to her feet, and a downy cloth is pressed tightly into her hand. She pats her face with it, drying her tears and spittle, its perfume of oranges and smoke chasing away the moldered stink clinging to every sense she has.

“You alright?” Aemond asks cautiously, still holding her elbow steady. Ysilla blinks blearily at him, her nose red at the tip. She nods after a pause, coughing softly into his handkerchief.

“Couldn’t breathe there for a moment.” She croaks, chuckling weakly before she gently pulls her elbow away. Aemond drops his hold, clasping his arms behind him and taking a step backwards.

“The library is all yours- I’m going to go lie down.”

She offers his hanky back, feeling a bit dumb as she does and more than a little embarrassed. Her uncle waves her off, and she skirts around him, careful not to intrude into his space.

“Niece,” Ysilla turns. Concern is not a look she’s accustomed to seeing on his face, and certainly not when it’s directed at her, but the sight of it sends little tingles through her tummy. “Do you need me to escort you to your room?”

She smiles dimly, self-conscious in all the ways that turn her cheeks peachy.

“I think I can manage… thank you, Aemond.” Ysilla curtsies in a silly show of thanks, but he can tell her sentiment is genuine.

Aemond swallows thickly, bowing his head in acknowledgment, watching her keenly as she shuffles out the doors that lead to the rest of the castle. She never calls him by his name. Always Uncle, and even sometimes My Prince, but the mocking lilt of that one is not lost on him. Aemond though… it’s like he’s hearing a brand new word.

Shrugging off his worriment, he sighs, squatting down to collect the strewn about books. He inspects them as he does, less so judging and more so learning about his niece’s interests through her chosen reading materials. There’s a collection of songs- one for Drowned Men and one for Northmen that he’s read before. Another about the Lion King, Tommen II Lannister and his adventures in Volantis and, most provocatively, the remaining charred pages of Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History. Aemond holds onto it for longer than the others; she must’ve searched long and hard for it, he’s never even once stumbled across it in here. He tucks it carefully onto a shelf he’ll remember, and thinks of letting Ysilla know where she can find it later.

Lastly, he comes to the one that sent her into a coughing fit and he regards it carefully. It isn’t smart, but even so, Aemond draws his dagger and nudges at it, angling up the flap so that he can read the title: Potions of Old Valyria. He lifts it too high, trying to see better in the dreary light of dusk and loses his leverage, the cover falling closed and puffing out a small cloud of dust in his direction. He snaps backwards but he’s not fast enough, the grit already coating the slick press of his lips. Aemond spits, growling, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. He winces as his nose stings, the watering in his eye blurring his vision.

He shoots to his feet, gathering up the massive stack of books and tossing them onto an empty writing desk, kicking away the potion book in juvenile anger. He stalks out of the library, cursing blindly as he retreats to his room.

The Prince does not read the page of which the dust had danced off of. But if he had, mayhaps he would have rethought the course of his actions that night.

“Pollen of the flower Turnera diffusa- a specimen of which is contained in this very page- has a curious effect on the indulger. Found growing along the creeks of Honeyholt, symptoms noted are as follows: fever, delirium, lightheadedness, and most notably, a heightened state of arousal. The affected should take caution to whom they keep in their company while under the spell of this love plant.”

Aemond shucks off his jerkin, sending it flying across the room carelessly.

It's still there- the rabid itch under his collar. He stalks to his mirror, tearing up his shirt to check his skin, looking for a bite, a scratch, anything to explain the scorching sting engulfing him in full. Nothing, not even a blemish, mars his pale chest.

He curses, spinning on his heel and going for his table, seizing the wine pitcher so roughly the lit candles nearby shudder from his haste. He pours a full goblet, the deep burgundy trickle causing his mouth to flood with anticipation. He downs it in several gulps, gasping as he rips the cup away and lets it teeter on the table until it spins out, toppling over emptily. He might as well’ve drank from the Great Sand Sea, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He clutches at his stomach, a sharp shooting pain ripping up his insides. He groans, taking a knee as his legs wobble beneath his weight.

Fuck, he wonders if it was the book, the dust he breathed in. If Ysilla is as bad off as he is.

Ysilla. Worry spears through him, bringing with it a healthy dose of clarity. She breathed in more than he did, he’s sure of it. He needs to get her to a maester, lest she’s already staggered out of her own room in search of aid.

He stumbles to his wall, finding the familiar crease in the stone and pushing. The path into the tunnels is one he knows well and he’s lucky he does, his mind fogging over and his pulse thumping in his temples. He’s never entered her chamber this way of course, so he can’t be sure when he comes to an unknown stone archway that he’s where he needs to be.

He pushes until he feels the door give way, a slice of light pouring out through the crack. He edges it forward a little more, until he can see enough of the room to confirm it’s not a servant’s quarters.

“Niece?” Aemond coughs, his tone gruffer than what he’s used to. His throat is arid, greedy for a nectar to soothe it. No one answers, but as he strains his hearing, shuffling feet and rustling bottles comes forth, confirming that someone is inside.

“Ysilla?” He calls out. Another jolt of agony flares through him and he gasps, startling forward, catching himself on the door and accidentally making it swing open. Aemond stumbles through, colliding with an overstuffed armchair and making it screech terribly across the floor. His head shoots up, and he catches sight of his niece across the room.

Ysilla wouldn’tve noticed if Vhagar herself trampled through the door.

She’s… much more undone than she was before. Her curly raven locks, once pinned up and out of her face, spring madly from her head, cloaking her face in a dark flowing curtain. She scurries around the room, mouselike, pressing a wet rag to her throat and then to her forehead, and back again. Twenty or so books are open and strewn about on the long table, looking as if they were caught in a sweeping wind. Long gone are her slippers, and the sleeved pink gown she donned before is abandoned in a silky puddle by the door.

Her chemise, a pale yellow thing with capped sleeves, has gone transparent from the perspiration that has broken out all over her body. It clings to every dip, every curve, shadowing her in a gauzy golden haze. Her bronze nipples tent through the delicate fabric and the thatch of hair over her womanhood matches in color-

Aemond snaps his gaze away, cheeks flaming.

“Ysilla.” He nearly shouts, stare finding his boots and staying there.

The woman in question spins around, catching sight of her uncle in the corner of her room, the hidden door she had never had enough courage to use ajar behind him.

“Aemond… you need to leave.” Her words rumble out of her, like there’s a beast in her belly, roaring through her skin and rattling her bones. “Leave!”

He doesn’t move and Ysilla hurls the rag in his direction.

“Did you not hear me? I said go!”

Annoyance chips away at Aemond’s embarrassment. He’s trying to help her, insufferable brat. “You don’t command me, Niece.” He responds, still refusing to look at her.

She scoffs, happy to channel her discomfort into a much more satisfying emotion. “You sneak into my room, catch me in the middle of undress, and still, you act put out.” Ysilla spits, her temper raising with her temperature.

Gods, she’s miserable. The moment she stepped foot in her bedchamber, her dressings were off, and she drank down water until she felt the urge to spew. It’s as if she can’t catch her breath- she’s so dizzy and her uncle’s sudden company has somehow made it worse. Her belly cramps, and she crosses her legs tightly in search of relief. She cries out, the budding sultriness in her flower springing to life, and wetness coats her thighs in a rush. Gasping, she nearly trips as she collides with her bed’s edge.

“Ysilla, breathe.” Aemond commands harshly.

His voice is so nice. Has it always been that nice? That soothing? Her snatch gives a happy thrum, her clit fluttering at the memory of his strong grip upon her arm. How he had held her steady in her dizziness, how he had towered over her, so imposing, so encapsulating, making sure she was well. Ysilla gasps, stunned at her body’s wanton reaction.

“You don’t understand. Please, go.” He’s her uncle- her uncle that doesn’t even like her. This cannot- will not happen.

“I need to get you to a maester. If you’re feeling what I’m feeling, if you’re feeling it worse, fuck, Ysilla, I need to get you help.”

He needs to stop saying her name like that, in that breathy, strained tone of his. He sounds exerted. He sounds exhausted. He sounds like he’s on the cusp of falling apart. It stokes the fire in her blood.

“The things I want to do to you… the things I want you to do to me.” She whines quietly, terrified that he’ll hear her.

A subtle knock-knock at her chamber door quiets them both, and they hold their breath. Again, a knock-knock echoes through, and Ysilla curses the diligence of her ladies. Aemond goes for it, stalking across the room in his usual strutting gait.

Ysilla panics and rushes forward, latching onto his arm and pulling him to a stop.

“Aemond, Uncle, please, send them away. I don’t want them to see me like this.” She begs, pleading with him through a glistening gaze.

Aemond readies his denial, sharp and bitter on his tongue but he loses his voice as he looks at her. He keeps his eye on her face, hyper aware of the press of her nearly naked figure against his side. Her heart shaped face is drawn in a frantic frown, terror rich and vast in her eyes. She smells of the Essos oils in her hair and the coconut oil on her skin, and it all makes his head go a bit fuzzy.

She squeezes his arm, again, a final silent plea. He nods his assent. Ysilla dashes behind him, slipping deeper into the room, blowing out candles until the bedchamber dims into darkness. She voices a small, urging hum, and Aemond takes his cue and yanks the door open. The visitor, a girl no older than three-and-ten, blinks at him in surprise.

“My Prince,” she curtsies hurriedly and Aemond nods his acceptance, but his face must spell out his impatience because she speaks so fast, her words stumble over one another. “I thought I heard the Princess in distress. I was coming to check on her, to make sure she’s alright.”

Her eyes dart over his shoulder, her head bobbing to the side as if she were trying to peek in. Aemond moves with her, raising his arm so that it rests above him in the doorway, pulling the door nearly closed behind him. The maid swallows, dropping her eyes in apology.

“The Princess isn’t well- very sick. Keep the other maids away, guards too. She wishes for solitude.” He’s a pushover and he hates it. One look of Ysilla’s beseeching gaze and Aemond gave like a straw bridge.

“Should I send a maester?” The maid asks worriedly, making to exit down the hall and find help.

“No!” The young girl jolts to a stop, her eyes wide with alarm. Aemond curses himself, and he speaks softer through gritted teeth. “No, she just needs rest. I’ll see to her, since I’ve already been exposed. I’ll call upon you if I change my mind.”

The maid eyes him cautiously, but she finally relents, dropping into a curtsy before hurrying down the wall.

On the other side of the door, Ysilla feels as if she’s going fucking mental.

She’s balled up her bedsheet, and wedged it between her quivering thighs. The fabric pressed so intimately against her cunt is unforgiving, soaking up her syrupy slick and giving little in return. But the friction along her clit makes her gasp, and it urges on her rutting in dreams of a release so sweet, she could cry.

The low droll of Aemond’s voice slithers into her ears from across the room, her mind warping the words until he’s whispering to her. What a good girl she is, how desperate she is to find her pleasure, how angry he is that she’s fucking her bed and not him. Ysilla’s eyes shoot open as she hears the squeak of her door, her hopes crashing as she realizes he’s pulling it shut while he’s behind it, not in front of it.

She collapses forward onto all fours, fisting the furs blanketing her duvet, smothering a broken moan into the softness. Her eyes peel open, her glassy gaze landing on her bedside table. Aemond’s handkerchief is still there- right where she’d left it- the emerald hue of it glowing midnight green in the candlelight. Suddenly, it’s in her grasp, even though she cannot recall moving for it. She presses it to her nose and draws in a shaky breath.

Oh, oh, it smells of him. Citrus and smoke and she’s drooling for it, mouth watering so quickly she has to swallow it down so she doesn’t slobber. She swings her hips forward before rolling backwards, dredging the sodden sheet through her sex. It’s so wet now, the smoothness almost feels like skin. And that’s too much for Ysilla- she can hear him, smell him, but the thought of Aemond in between her legs?- it sends her plummeting off the cliff of desire, her core pulsing vibrantly, pleasure buzzing through her whole body.

A phantom hand finds the same spot where Aemond had handled her earlier, and rips her upwards. She’s pulled to her knees, still atop the bed, as someone presses up behind her. Ysilla peers over her shoulder, the handsome face of her uncle a welcome sight. He is an apparition appearing from her thoughts alone. He doesn’t even seem real.

Her thoughts are askew with an edge of delirium, her insides purring at his sudden return. Ghoul or not, she will not squander such a golden opportunity. She fists the front of his shirt and drags him in, their mouths joining together harshly. Aemond would be lying if he said he didn’t kiss her back at once. It gets intense. Fast.

Ysilla melts into his chest, whimpering into his mouth while his grip goes from her elbow to sliding around her, dragging her in closer by her waist. His tongue finds her teeth and she opens up slowly, letting him feel the threat of them, as he slithers in and their tongues touch-

Aemond tears himself away, stumbling backwards, heaving for air and looking at her with a wide eye. Ysilla whimpers, her fantasy failing her, and she slips off the side of the bed to settle on wobbly legs. Her palm goes to press at her abdomen, hoping that the pressure will relieve the burrowing ache.

They stare at one another, wild animals on alert, a standoff that neither Prince nor Princess can bear to lose.

Ysilla’s gaze falls to his lips, and Aemond’s to hers. She bites her lip, sucking the meat into her wet, warm mouth before releasing it with a lurid pop. Aemond groans, an audible surrender.

To Hell with it all.

They crash into each other like lightning, hands mapping anywhere they can reach. Her body blooms for him, like a flower under the summer sky. He steers them back towards her bed, Ysilla blindly clamoring atop to sit while he stands tall. His touch on her skin has her thighs spreading, opening up and offering herself for his taking.

“I can’t stop, I can't stop.” He presses kiss after kiss to her mouth, her closeness doing nothing to extinguish the burning in his blood. If anything, she makes it worse, the inferno raging deeper and into his very soul.

“I don’t want you to stop.” She whines, snaking their legs together and threading her fingers through that beautiful hair of his.

She’ll enjoy this- him. Every inch of Aemond belongs to her tonight. She thinks of drawing the blade from his hip, and carving her name into his chest. Mark him up nice and neat, streak his pale powdery skin red with her desire. Whatever is happening to her- to them- summons something animalistic, something primitive out of the dark parts of their hearts. All tender fantasies of her future husband treating her with such a tame touch are cleaved in half and fed to the hounds. In their place, filthy, feral desires fester and warp her mind until one lone ambition remains: him inside of her, for the rest of their days.

“We don’t even like each other.” Aemond growls between their parting lips. Ysilla slides her way into his mouth, flirting with the sharpness of his teeth, suckling the sweetness out of his tongue.

“We can’t stand each other.” She affirms, breaking their lips apart, her hands already under his tunic, letting her palms drink in the ridges and rises of his impressive physique. She kisses along the strong edge of his jaw, curling her fingers into clenched claws and rips her way down his chest. Not a blade, but he bloodys all the same. Aemond snarls, catching her by the throat so brutally her teeth clack. His eye pierces through her like a blade, and Ysilla relishes in the pain, his touch upon her skin soothing away her ache.

“Bitch.” He hisses, what little familial respect they harbor for each other crushed under lust and loathing.

“Prick.” She bites back, grazing at his lip to send her point home. Gods, he’s so close but not close enough.

Ysilla pulls his hand between her legs- the one not choking her out- and Aemond cups her sex readily. Her heat damn near blisters him, and he grinds his palm into her slick folds, coating his hand in her arousal.

“Yessss…” She hisses in sated victory, her blood pumping thick as her body finally gets a taste of what it's been craving. Even one finger of his is nearly too much as he slips it in, the stretch a tepid burn that only gives way as her body adjusts.

“You need to be able to take more than that if you want to take my cock, Princess.” He whispers at her lips, already imagining how tight she’ll be around him. He won’t insult her by asking- he knows he’ll be her first. And the thought of that… of taking her maidenhead for his own, being the first man to be inside of her, searing himself into her memory that even time won’t take away… Aemond has to fucking focus.

“I can take it.” She assures him, head nodding wildly, her thighs splitting open even further. His grip has loosened around her throat, and he strokes where it’s sure to bruise, trying to not grow hot at the vision of his mark marring her body. He hums his approval, letting his middle finger glide forward, her essence enough to ease the way into her hole.

He scissors them, back and forth, working her pure channel open gently, basking in the silky tensing of her walls. The pained scrunch in her brow has disappeared, giving way to the pleasured furrow of her forehead, her hips beginning to roll up and meet his digits. She grabs ahold of his wrist, stopping his motions, and she pins him in place with a lavender leer.

“Take off your clothes.” It’s a command, no matter if it is spoken in her soft honeyed voice.

Aemond loses his shirt and unlatches his belt, tossing it and his sword onto the bench at the foot of her bed. His breeches slide off with Ysilla’s help, her eager fingers untying his laces. He kicks off his boots, not realizing how confined he felt with so many layers hindering him until his skin is bared. She moves backwards, further up her bed and he crawls after her, prowling like a wildcat, covetous sight trained on her.

The little minx yanks on his elbow, and he crashes into the mattress and suddenly, he’s the one on his back. Aemond lets Ysilla pin his wrists on either side of him, her victorious smile just as comely as the rest of her. Her breasts pillow against his chest, and dammit, she needs to hover above him so he can catch one in his mouth. But she denies him that treat, squeezing his wrists to focus his attention.

“Don’t move. That’s an order.” His cock twitches from where it’s pressed to her thigh and her lips twitch at his reaction. She kisses his throat, right at the base where his collar bones meet, and her whisper vibrates through to his heart. “Good boy.”

Ysilla takes her time, voyaging down his body, a traveler on a sought after journey. Her tongue flicks out over each of his nipples, teasing the perked flesh with little swipes of her slick pink muscle. She traces her nose over the jutting contour of his rib cage, counts his muscled abdominals until there’s numbers on both hands, and kisses the scar on his hip, long healed from a tumble off of Vhagar’s saddle when he was just a boy. The fine silver hair trailing down his groin is wispy and it tickles her chin.

Aemond’s cock is intimidating, even more so as she takes a lick from root to tip. The journey is longer than first guessed, and she thinks he grows even bigger after the swipe of her tongue, the jut of him swaying in the air as more blood thickens him out. The fact that all of that will be stuffed inside of her makes Ysilla shiver, her cunt yearning for the press of his long fingers.

Fervently, she swallows him down until he greets the back of her throat. The salt of him is jarring but not unwelcome- nothing can be unwelcome about this as Aemond sucks in a ragged breath and fists the sheets. The muscles in his arms strain and bulge, a sight that only incentivises her to keep sucking.

He’s a thick, velvety weight on her tongue, her mouth full even with inches still to spare. Her drool dribbles down his staff, and her hand wraps around what she cannot swallow. She glides her lips over his length rhythmically, jacking her fist over the rest of him, retreating with a pop to spit on his tip for more lubrication.

Ysilla has always been one for sweets but this? This is a taste she can find herself hankering for. She suckles on the head, dipping her tongue into his slit, shivering at the sharp burst of his spunk on her taste buds. She dives forward again, gagging around him, the intrusion into her throat a strange feeling she forces herself to adjust to.

Aemond keeps her hair pushed behind her ears, his thumbs stroking her temples as he fights to not thrust down her throat until she chokes. A familiar tightening in his sack has him voicing the exact opposite of what he wants her to do.

“Silla, pull off.” She’s on her fucking knees for him, he doesn’t need to defile her like this. Doesn’t need to treat her like a common whore and make her stomach his load.

She ignores him and he says her name again, more firmly, but she’s such a rebel, swallowing around him once more, letting him feel the constricting vice of her throat. He can’t take it- he gives her what she wishes.

“Silla, qrugh.” Cursing, he keeps her head still as he empties his balls and fills her belly. He hooks his thumb into her mouth, breathless, breaking the suction and pulls out of her throat. Ysilla coughs, gulping down air and saliva before she gifts him a shiny smile. Aemond scoffs. Unbelievable.

“You’re a nasty little thing.” He pants out, a compliment he means wholeheartedly.

She chuckles hoarsely, and her lips are still gooey with his seed.

“You love it.”

The urge to fuck her returns tenfold and he sits up, hand at the back of her neck to wrench her up to his mouth. She whimpers, swapping his cum between their tongues. It’s sticky and vulgar and overwhelmingly erotic.

Ysilla stumbles to her feet, pulling Aemond with her, leading him to the lounge area in front of her hearth. Their mouths remain intertwined, unwilling to part even for a moment. She pushes him into an armchair, the old velvet soft beneath him before following him down, and settling swiftly in his lap.

“Off.” He demands but he can’t help but be an active partner in his niece’s undressing. Her hands dash to the hem of her shift, gathering up the skirt hurriedly. His hands glide up her body, caressing the naked skin that is revealed to him as she pulls it up and over her head. She’s so sleek with sweat she looks polished- an apple ready to eat, something to be devoured.

“What do you want me to do?” Aemond asks, not for lack of knowledge but to see how far she wishes to take this.

Ysilla grins, ducking down and drawing him into an eager kiss. “Whatever you want to do. Just make me feel good.”

Loyal as a hound, Aemond’s mouth goes to her breast, her posture perfectly presenting her chest to him. He takes in as much as he can, greedily sucking and licking until her tender flesh blushes a bright sticky red. He rolls her pert nipple between his teeth, tugging just enough to make Ysilla gasp. She makes pretty sounds- he can’t wait to hear what she’ll sound like as he fucks her stupid. He switches to her other breast, feasting on her supple bosom like he’ll never eat again. His cock bobs upright, his body needing no time to rest, ready and racing to experience the delicacy of her cunt.

The Princess whines, combing through his tousled hair, tugging on it like she would horse reins. Such a commanding queen she’ll be.

“Need it, need you.” She whines, swinging her hips lower, searching for the weeping start of his prick.

“Easy, Ysilla.” He warns, even as his thoughts scream to grip her hips and teach her how to ride him, but she’s such a stubborn little dragon and her thoughts may be just as commanding as his. She leans back, reaching between her thighs until she brushes at the head of his cock and steadies him. Lining herself up, she sinks torturously slow, downdowndown every inch until she sits upon his thighs.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Oh… my.”

They both breathe out, blinking away black stars that dance in their vision, the pollen tapping every nerve ending in each of them until they sputter and fizz uncontrollably.

The discomfort fades for her faster than she’d thought, transforming into a pleasant fullness that she can feel heavily behind her stomach. Ysilla searches for what feels the best, moving faster and faster on Aemond’s lap as each new shift in position guides her further towards the liquid heat in her loins. She settles on swiveling up before dropping back down onto him, riding him like she’s saddled. Hot streaks of exhilaration engulf her insides, every pass of his cock adding to the ecstasy swirling inside of her. The stretch of him, not just from length but from width as well, itches the scratch left behind after the library disaster. Even as she tried to bring herself to pleasure earlier, there was something missing from her peak. Something that’s building, stacking, soaring fast in her belly. That final crest of a wave, ready to crash and drown anything that’s not pure, hot ecstasy-

Before it collapses back into a tidepool. The pitted feeling of falling through the air as you miss a step in the dark settles over her lust, and she jerks. Ysilla’s eyes snap open, her pupils blown so wide Aemond can barely see a ring of amethyst around them. She whines, bouncing on his cock faster, chasing a release she’s not sure she can find.

“Qybor, kostilus. I can’t cum like this.” Almost to make her point, she circles her hips up, leaving only the head of him kissed by her tight hole before dropping down and taking every inch of him at once. Aemond holds strong to his stamina, refusing to empty inside of his niece so quickly.

A shame though, he was so enjoying the view. He winds his arms around her hips, keeping her nice and close as he slips them off of the chair and onto the floor. Several furs keep them cushioned from the chilly stones below and he drags a pillow off the loveseat to ease her up on.

“Turn for me, sweetling.” He maneuvers her onto her belly, his grip finding her hips and shepherding her into position onto her hands and knees.

Aemond stands corrected- this view is nice. The burnished copper of Ysilla’s coloring clashes deliciously with his own pale complexion. Her backside is plush and hefty, budding from her shape in a way that invites his attention.

Whatever you want to do. Aemond slaps her right cheek, reveling in her sharp gasp, and the way a perfect red welt appears on the smooth skin. He lands another, on the opposite globe, hypnotized by the jiggle of the flesh. He strikes her again because he can, not ignorant to the way his rough treatment has her absolutely dripping down her thighs. Another for good measure, satisfied in the brilliant bruising he’s left behind.

Just make me feel good. He strokes his cock, still slick from her spit and her honey, and lines his head up at her opening. She arches up, dipping down onto her arms, raising her bottom to prop against him. The angle is too good not to take advantage of. Aemond spits, his foamy white saliva dripping viscously into her tight hole and he pushes it inside of her as he strokes forward.

Ysilla voices her approval of the new position, wiggling back against him as he goes as deep as she’ll take him. He builds a tempo, in out in out, finding a pace that makes her clench impossibly tighter. His sack slaps intensely at her clit, drawing punchy little gasps out of her that he wants to devour. He digs his fingertips into her hips, thumbs fanning out to stroke the luscious bounce of her bottom. He goes to pause, planning on switching his angle so that some strain can be relieved from her spine.

“No! Aemond, stay there, right there, yessss.” Ysilla flails her hand behind her blindly, not stopping her begging until she smacks into his naked torso. Aemond stares down at his niece in confusion, catching sight of her profile, her eyes trained intently on something that is certainly not him.

He looks up, and catches his reflection staring back at him from across the room. The giant wardrobe mirror is tucked into the corner, and the Gods are good because they're directly in its path, their coupling on display for their viewing pleasure.

Aemond drops down, blanketing Ysilla with his body, watching his Other do the same. “Oh, I see.” He chuckles, driving into her slowly.

It’s almost as if they’re watching someone else- surely the couple in the reflection cannot be them. No poise, no manners, not even an ounce of trepidation to be seen. In place, disheveled, howling, rutting animals grind against each other, naked and insouciant in search of their gratification. Aemond enjoys the portrait they make, admiring it so much that he stalls in his thrusting and stills completely inside of Ysilla.

“Aemond, come on.” She whines, moving impatiently against him. “Nākostōbā taoba, making me do all the work.” She mewls, riding down and humping his cock.

Aemond’s trance snaps, and he secures a fistful of her hair, forcing his niece into a backbend. He ignores her yelp, smacking her thigh to halt her gyrations. His lips go to her ear, and this close to her throat, he can hear the lifeblood rushing through her arteries.

“What was that?”

“I just thought, unhhh… just thought you would be a bit more… involved in this.” She giggles, fucking laughs even as her bones creak for mercy. It’s harder to breathe this way, and the lightheadedness spurs on her mouth. “Thought you wanted this as badly as I did.”

Little fucking brat. He laughs too, because it’s funny. Funny because of how right she is- he should be more involved in this, a bit more committed. Ysilla stills at the sound, the audible swallow of her gulping nervously has his cock jumping in interest. Her fear is just as tasty as her willingness.

He crosses both arms over her chest, his forearms thick bars over her throat and he forces her up, so he can fuck his cock into her belly and watch her tits bounce as he does so. Ysilla’s face contorts into a euphoric mask, her eyes rolling back into her head and her pouty mouth hanging open in slack-jawed pleasure as he pounds her ruthlessly.

“Something on your mind, Princess?” She doesn’t respond, her brain being fucked straight out of her head.

Aemond slaps her face, the sharp crack bringing her back to the present, and back to Aemond fucking her like he owns her. She moans again, her pussy spouting a wash of arousal around his bullying cock. He catches her by the jaw, digging his thumb into the bone and rubbing at the struck flesh of her cheek. His lips are wet at her ear, and she watches him through glossy eyes as he smirks, and bites down on her ear lobe.

“Answer me, Ysilla.” His niece shouts but Aemond has no sympathy for her. If she can dish it out, she can take it. “You did want this? Or you do want this?”

He’s searching for the willpower to pull out of her, and put her over his knee to send home his message when she babbles out her acquiescence.

“I want this! Bisa, bisa, bisa, fuck, gaoman gaoman. I want you, Gods, nyke jaelagon ao!” Valyrian braids through her words without forethought, her focus aimed on Aemond’s cockhead tapping at her womb.

“Sȳz riña.” She preens at the endearment, throwing her hips back against him frantically. A beautiful toothy smile has broken brightly over her face, Aemond catching sight of it in the mirror before he shatters the grin, nailing a spongy spot inside of her that makes her eyes cross.

“Sooo good, so fucking big, feel you right here.” She tries to gesture to her throat but she ends up digging her nails into the arms caging her in, hanging off of him desperately. Her poor battered cunny is still somehow famished for more, the squelch of his cock moving in and out of her a licentious lyric that lulls both lover’s into a trance. Aemond pulls her even tighter to his front, however possible that may be, and plunges repeatedly into her snug cunt, beating the walls of her swollen so she won’t be able to walk without thinking of him first.

As if they miss each other, Aemond’s and Ysilla’s eyes meet in the mirror, violent violet and silver steel clashing and melding into one harmonious color.

Their stares fall lower, where they meet over and over and over again so brutally. Her thighs glisten in the candlelight, her flesh rippling with every thwack of Aemond’s hips. It’s so dirty, so primal, so right. He’s going so deep, he could put a babe in her belly. Just a whisper of that fantasy, of her giving him a child, letting him have such a claim on her breaks her apart.

She screams, Aemond’s palm smacking over her mouth as her thighs give out, and she sags to the floor. He follows her down, draping himself over her back, still fucking her in earnest, chasing his own blissful breaking point. He finds it, after three more punishing thrusts. But even as his balls release and he feels Ysilla grow slicker as his seed coats her insides until it leaks a white ring from where they’re joined, his cock is still hard and heaving from his body.

He pulls out and Ysilla sobs at the loss, scrambling on the furs, but her cries disintegrate as she’s flipped onto her back. Aemond slings both of her legs into the crooks of his elbows, yanking her forward so he’s flush to her thighs, her pussy a pretty little jewel winking up at him. His seed oozes a pearl stream from her fluttering hole and he swipes it up with his cock, and it’s as slippery as oil as he bottoms out inside of her.

Fucking Seven, she’s unreal. “Taking every inch of me… like you were made for this, ñuha pretty līve.”

“Made for you, I think.” Ysilla gasps, ripping at the furs, trying to anchor herself down so she doesn’t burst apart.

Aemond nips at her chin, doing nothing to quell the smug smile on his niece’s lips. “Careful.”

Careful for what? She wants to question so badly. Careful on what she voices aloud, even as they speak it in both of their minds? Careful on implying that her cunt will not weep for him anytime he passes by her? Careful to claim that the only place he should be after tonight is right where he is now?

But it is not the time for words of the heart, so she digs her nails into Aemond’s broad shoulders in a gnaw and throws her head back.

“I’m right there. Yes, Aemond, yes!”

Oh, is she now? Aemond grins, slowing his thrusts to purposefully watch her eyes shoot open incredulously.

“Don’t stop! Fuck, why are you stopping?” Ysilla growls, circling her hips up against him, doing her best to fuck him herself. So desperate, so full of unadulterated desire, she cannot find it within herself to be appalled at her own salaciousness.

“I thought you couldn’t cum like this?” Aemond mocks and oh, it’s fun to play with her.

Her decorum deserting her, Ysilla lets anger lead her movements and her hand flies at his face to strike him. He catches her easily, still smiling that infuriatingly sexy smirk, and drops a modest kiss on the heel of her palm. She melts, her love bitten lips pouting dramatically.

“Aemond, ñuha zaldrīzes, please.” He likes when she begs- she can see it in the way his jaw ticks, how his skin flushes, as if his body alights in her prayers to him. Aemond won’t acknowledge it, but somewhere deep in his chest, she’s already wormed her way in. He splits her in half, leaning over her until he can rest his palms by her shoulders, her legs still draped over each of his arms.

He drags himself out, inch after inch, agonizingly slow before he lurches forward, making her pussy swallow his entire cock. He groans, finding himself burrowed in the valley of her breasts, letting his hips pummel her in an amorous hammering.

“Scream for me, love.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice- her lungs finding the air to blurt out,

“Aemond, fucking hell!”

Ysilla goes limp, her thighs butterflying open, giving him full reign to dictate her pleasure. She squirts, a wet spray soaking his abdomen that puddles beneath them. Her whole body heaves, appearing almost pained in euphoria. She’s a holy vision.

Fuck, he’s losing his mind. “Do that again.” He demands.

He cups the back of her neck, propping her up until they’re eye to eye. Ysilla’s are lidded, exhaustion heavy weights upon them, but she manages a tiny nod and curves herself upwards for his continued onslaught.

Completely at his mercy, his to control, Aemond takes full advantage. Dragging her down by the back of her neck, he plunges himself brutally inside of her cunt over and over, again and again. She lies there and takes it like a good girl, witnessing her uncle destroy her in the name of desire until he grants her mercy, and he strokes her pearl with the sharp edge of his thumbnail and she blacks out.

He chokes, sparks shimmering in and out of his vision as she convulses around his cock. He pulls out of her, spurting striping streaks of white onto her belly. He cums so hard, it splashes over her tits and even pools in the hollow of her throat.

Ysilla moans, coming to, rubbing her fingers over the soiled skin of her stomach, blending their releases together in a filthy film that coats her fingers. She pops one in her mouth, and relishes in the blossoming light brightening once more in Aemond’s lone eye.

And just as quickly as their relief had come, the satisfaction fizzles out and ravenous blood boiling need takes root once more.

They groan, barely taking time to catch their breath before they’re on each other again. Their mouths are sloppy, leaving trails of saliva down to their chins and along their throats. Ysilla finds a spot she likes over his pulse point and suckles, her left leg wound tight over his hip, rubbing herself off along the unyielding ridge of the bone. Aemond kneads her arse, an apology for his abuse, rolling the voluptuous flesh in his calloused grip all the while dipping his fingertips in and out of her weeping slit.

They tangle in each other’s webs, so caught up in salt and sin that they don’t realize they’re off the rugs and across the floor until the frigid chill rushes through them.

It’s uncomfortable- their knees will be bruised by the morrow, scrapes along their backs will sting while in the bath, and a crick won’t leave Ysilla’s neck for half a moon. But the stone cools their overheated skin and together is where they still want to be, so all else falls to the wayside.

Their mouths have drawn back to each other, Ysilla’s tongue dancing over his back teeth and the roof of his mouth, mapping a place she can only dream of revisiting after tonight. Aemond pulls away and Ysilla’s teeth in his bottom lip scold him for his interruption. He smirks, giving her a departing peck to soothe her sour mood.

“I need to meet her properly, Princess.” He says with an uncharacteristic amount of mirth, leaning her back as he dips down to her lower body.

Ysilla is bone-weary and dehydrated, but even she knows that doesn’t make any sense. She cocks her head in confusion, watching him as he settles on his front, his face so close to her center, the hot damp of his breath makes her quiver.

“Who is her- oh! Oh, Seven Hells, Aemond, fucking please-”

Aemond eats her with a fervor she’s never known, a man starved before being offered the bounty between her legs. Shrill gasps and pitched moans are sounds she thought herself incapable of making, but they sing aloud, her walls stowing them in their stones.

Her thighs are tight around his head, but the cushioned flesh does nothing to block out her calls of ecstasy. Music to his fucking ears, he slurps, undignified and ravenous, the parched dryness in his throat at last quenched as he swallows down Ysilla’s honey. No wine, no water could ever satisfy him like she does.

She thrashes about on the unforgiving stone, her nails clawing at the ground so harshly that they chip. He’s sending her into madness, unrelenting in his licking even as she kicks at his sides. She’s too sensitive, it’s too much.

And then, the realization that he is not only lapping up her arousal but his as well, zings up her spine and has her gushing all over his tongue.

She can’t control herself anymore. Her worries have faded into nothingness as the night has gone on, as she had bounced on Aemond’s cock and came into his mouth and he into hers, and they’ve drank down one another’s spit and sweat and sex. She’s whimpering and whining, squeaky sounds with no words, only what her voice is capable of making. The pathetic, needy gasps draw Aemond’s attention immediately. He rises, hovering over her, pulling up her knees to frame his hips. He slides himself home, not being able to breathe until he bottoms out, fully planted inside of her.

She whimpers louder as he faces her, the effects of the potion hitting their last peak.

“Let me see you. Let me see you.” Ysilla begs, distraught that there’s still something keeping them apart. They should be bare- exposed and raw and free. They’ve already come this far- it’s all or nothing.

Even with her few words, Aemond understands her completely. He doesn’t give himself time to think, time to let self-consciousness tear and twist him up as he rips off his eyepatch.

Ysilla sees him- truly sees him- his scar, the jagged split of his brow, the brilliant blue sapphire twinkling a wink at her as it glitters in the low light.

“You’re so handsome.” And then she cries- big, fat, bulbous tears that spill from the corner of her eyes and streak over her cheeks.

Aemond wants to comfort her, shush her and stroke her hair. Do all the things he should do with a lover that’s not only a lover, but his kin as well. A sweet girl he remembers always drawing for him on his nameday, sketching pictures of fearsome dragons. And as the years dragged on, they continued to evolve, growing fiercer and more detailed and she would always say the same thing when she gifted it to him: “this year, Uncle, this year you’ll find your match, I know it.” And here he is now, the Queen of the Skies his dragon, as if Ysilla herself had manifested it to life.

But that was so long ago now that it seems a different lifetime, and Aemond realizes he doesn’t really know his niece. He doesn’t know what she likes and what she doesn’t, and that worries him more than he’s comfortable with.

“Can’t... take… much… more.” She gulps down a breath after each word. Aemond’s thrusts push so deeply into her guts, that there now seems to be no room for her lungs. He hums, the vibration tickling where they’re pressed chest-to-chest.

“Yes you can, jorrāelagon. You’ve done so well, taken everything I’ve given you. You’ve made me so proud, sweet girl.” He may not know how to soothe her, but Aemond has a knack for telling someone just what they need to hear. Only with Ysilla, he speaks no falsehoods. He whispers his admiration in her ear, keeping her close by a hand cupping her jaw, forcing her to listen to all of his praises, all the while snaking his hand down between them to pinch at her pearl.

Small hiccuping gasps couple with her agonized moans; the pride, the pleasure, the pain, all of it an elixir he drinks down his throat as she connects their lips once more, a soft tremble in hers that he soothes with his tongue. They cum together, less intense than their lasts, but still just as satisfying. Aemond spills inside of her, her silken walls milking him for every drop in his fucked out cock. He moans, long and loud into her neck and she peppers his cheek with kisses, her breathing heavy. He collapses, further down on her body so he doesn’t constrict her chest.

The evening tempo of her breathing beneath his cheek has Aemond focusing on his own, and the two spent lovers take a much needed break to collect themselves.

Tremors still shake her thighs, the creamy fawn flesh jumping from overstimulation. Aemond presses a kiss to the inside of her knee, a sweet assurance of relief hopefully not far behind their releases. She pets his hair, no energy left to even raise her head. He rises back up to look upon her face, wiping away a stray tear from her lash. She nuzzles into his hand and it all finally feels like enough.

Until it isn’t. Until the lust fills them up once more, water in a pail, and it overflows and sloshes thickly in their bellies until they’re sick with it.

Ysilla sobs brokenly, exhausted and at her wits end. Aemond shudders for breath, the pain in his stones throbbing incessantly for relief. They’ll lose their minds if they keep going- chasing an endgame that is unattainable.

Aemond digs deep, attempting to collect himself and become the man Ysilla needs him to be. He tucks her legs around his hips, crossing her ankles behind him, and rises up to his feet with her draped around him.

He carries them both on shaky legs, drifting along the wall for support until he rounds the corner to her privy. The golden casted tub is filled halfway with what was once steaming, boiled water but has now grown cool. He swings a leg over the edge, trying not to collapse, Ysilla still wrapped around him like a second skin and settles them both into the pool.

The Princess crumbles, falling to pieces as they’re engulfed by the water. Her heartbeat still thrums from between her legs, her nipples scraping at Aemond’s chest for attention, as if he had not lauded them with his tongue until they were bruised and sore. The undying urge to mate is at her throat, its teeth gnashing at her veins and claws piercing her hips, ushering her to fucklicksuckfuck again and again and again until her brain would be lost to the lust.

But her body is done- every muscle expended, every limb weighted, every bone crushed to nothing but dust. All she can manage to do is whimper softly from where she’s pressed into her lover’s chest.

Aemond cups her face, raising her up so that he can look upon her. She’s a sculpture of desire: lips puffy and rubbed red, cheeks flushed, eyes teared and heavy. He did this to her.

“One more, love. One more and then we’ll stop.” He promises, the need too heavy in his cock, thickening his member until it lies straight up against her stomach.

She nods stiffly, spreading her thighs until they mirror his hips. He taps the head of himself at her entrance, a gentleman waiting for the lady to make the first move. He doesn’t have to wait long, Ysilla pushing forward and taking his cock in full until their bellies rest flat against each other. She’s as tight as the first time, and the stretch is not lost on her either, her groan equal parts pained and pleased.

Aemond’s hands are worshiping as he trails down the elegant column of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, the bloom of her breast, until he finds the small of her back and hugs her tight. They just dance, slow and steady, rolling their hips together, the water shifting with their union. They rest their foreheads against one another, eyes closed and noses brushing.

Aemond isn’t sure who leans in first- he thinks it may have been him but Ysilla will say the opposite. Their mouths slot together, innocent and vestal and it’s so much less eager than the times before, but it makes it all the more intimate. He moans weakly and she coos, her hands coming to cradle his face, the breaths they share one in the same. Somehow, it’s as if this exposes them more to each other than being joined so sensuously. A simple press of their lips, doing more for them than a thousand slippery tongues or nimble fingers.

A gentle wash of pleasure, one that raises goosebumps along their arms and makes their breaths hitch is all that they get and then suddenly, finally, the call for gratification quiets and all prince and princess are left with is the drip of water off the edge of the tub. Ysilla sighs heavily, sounding every bit thankful and spent. Aemond takes a breath that feels like his first, and he sags against the resistance at his back.

Everything is still, weariness seeping into them like ink to parchment. Aemond thinks he could doze off right here, Ysilla a comforting weight atop of him, his manhood still nestled in her center.

Her palm is gentle on his cheek, her thumb rubbing back and forth in a tender sweep that stirs his eyelid to open. She’s beautiful, even in her enervation and he lets himself savor this moment. The world has paused for them, and it will not go on unless they will it to.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” She whispers, afraid to shatter the silence. A final brush of her thumb over his bottom lip, softer than a feather, is her parting gift. She unseats herself from him, and even if she’s the one who wants to leave, her cunt does not agree. Her walls grasp at every ridge and vein of his prick, a caress goodbye until at last they part. Ysilla floats backwards, away from him, and the fact that he has an urge to catch her wrist and pull her back until she’s closer than skin terrifies him.

She curls into a ball at the other side of the tub, an ocean away, and brings her knees to tuck under her chin. She stares at him unflinchingly and he stares back, tiredness glazing over them both.

Aemond sighs deeply. One of them has to be the first to depart and since his quarters are on the other side of the castle, he begrudges that it is him who will have to make an exit.

“I should go.”

Ysilla’s face is serene, every drop of willpower left in her battling the urge to slip beneath the water and fade away. She nods, a wooden lift and fall of her head.

“I think that’s best… I’m sure the whole castle knows what we’ve been up to.”

Why her response stings, he won’t let himself dwell over. Nothing’s changed (everything has changed), they will soon return to their routines and carry on with their lives (neither one of them will be able to think of anything else but each other for the better part of a year). He rises from the water, stepping out and over the tub, reaching for a linen to at least try and make himself decent.

It is she who catches his wrist in reality, her thin fingers looping over the bones until she surrounds him like shackles.

“But… maybe…” Her eyes traverse their way down his body, revisiting the spots she had tasted, had bitten, had sucked. Her tongue snakes out, wetting her swollen flesh and he has to think of the night he lost his eye, the stench of manure, anything to keep the blood from rushing to his spent cock.

“Gods, Aemond, what’s one more bad decision tonight?” She’s not looking for an answer, not out loud, looking deep into his eye instead. Searching for an understanding she’s not sure is there.

“Stay? With me?” Even after all the carnal ways they’ve explored each other, it’s those three pleading words that send Ysilla’s heart galloping in her chest as she voices them.

He stares at her, unanswering and still, and dread creeps up her neck in a cold chill.

“Your chamber is a mess. We both need to eat and drink something other than wine. Not to mention sleep.” Aemond states stonily. Ysilla swallows passed the knot in her throat, sinking deeper into the water. Her fingers release him and she drifts away, in both body and mind.

Aemond catches her fingers, and he threads his through hers like they’re meant to be there. He rubs small, soothing circles about her knuckles, and he brings them to his mouth on pure instinct, and presses a chaste kiss to the bones.

“So I best bring you to my room then, to make sure all of that happens, no?”

Aemond smiles first before Ysilla returns it widely. Hers is the sun appearing from behind a cloud, warmth bathing him, and welcoming him home.

qrugh . shit

Qybor, kostilus . Uncle, please

Nākostōbā taoba . Weak boy

(I want this!) Bisa, bisa, bisa, fuck, gaoman gaoman. I want you, Gods, nyke jaelagon ao! . This, this, this, fuck, I do I do. I want you, Gods, I want you!

Sȳz riña . Good girl

ñuha pretty līve . my pretty whore

ñuha zaldrīzes . my dragon

Jorrāelagon . love

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #ysilla targaryen #hotd sex pollen #hotd kink #hotd pwp

934 notes · View notes

theladybrownstarot · 3 months ago

Text

Pick-A-Card: How will be your next 2 months ?

✧ Here's my masterlist for more !

✧ Make sure you like/follow/reblogg/Comment for pacs like these !

˖⁺‧₊˚Pile 1 .

Namaste pile 1 ! Let's begin with your reading:

✧ October: you are going to be really about success and fulfillment but only through a long period of hardwork . You gotta be careful about certain people who keeping an eye on you because they are jealous or will try to find something for their own good will by using or spying on you. I see that there might relevant information coming up for your subjected concern through some communication that will take place between people without involving you . I see that you might get some pets for yourself too or a friend whom you didn't interacted for so long will come back to you and I must say that this person is gonna be loyal to you . For this month your family life is gonna be okay without much improvements like just neutral to good in way that it doesn't affect you mentally. I can see some travel coming up for you guys like around the town or rural not forgein as such . I see that a promotion or satisfaction is coming to you as you wished and worked for . This month will be another completion of a cycle for you but a good one .

✧ November : You are very serious and fervent about the thing . I can see that this month will be challenging but you won't drift apart from you feel . If you didn't achieve the success in the previous month then you will get it here because of the determination and sincerity in you won't let you go away. You will feel very motivated this month too like your intuition or your inner self will let you automatically come in a flow which clear out and balance everything . What seems to be standing out here is that you must be aware what you are keeping your head up for because there will be delusions just to test you .

˖⁺‧₊˚Pile 2 .

Namaste pile 2 ! Let's get with your reading:

✧ October : This month is going to be about solving your main emotional turmoil that you never or tried to solve but couldn't. You will be a bit confused This month and I don't why I felt the month of May has some relation with this month. This month you only need to rely on your intuition and emotions because they will show and guide you more than your practicality. You will agree to things even you don't feel too but you will unintentionally because of your inner drive and say . This month you gotta connect with universe or your diety because they will be prominently help you out . This month you are being advised to take a balanced approach for yourself and not to rush in by any means .

✧ November : This month is gonna be romantic because I see that you may meet your future spouse or next partner or you could also meet someone whom you didn't met since long physically. I sense that this month will be calm and stable for you also that since it's balanced you can take out or execute those things behind the camera . I see somewhere a compromise and resolution for you this month about something that was troubling you before even.

˖⁺‧₊˚Pile 3.

Namaste pile 3 ! Let's get with your reading :

✧ October : The very first thing that I heard and felt was "death" . It could mean in anyways the actual to ceremony to transition of something in a good or bad way . This month you gotta take care of you health alot and don't stress unnecessarily because it will affect you alot mentally especially so take things slowly and calmly . You may have to deal with certain conflicts this month but at the same time here I'm seeing that taking a step back rather roaring at someone will be more beneficial for you also that I see you will get supportive people and environment around you who will protect you and help you thus it might be a blessing and opportunity for you to rest down from certain matters. This month you are being told to meditate very much and number 4 might be significant for you.

✧ November : The another word that hit me up here was "rose" so might be that you gotta get a romantic interest in your life or it's gonna be a time where you will be having some good pleasant experiences . This month is going to be very fruitful for you pile 3 like very much ! That very energy of burden and defeat will be replaced by ever lasting self-made happiness like ofc happiness lies in us you know and this is what that will keep you going so be happy, optimistic , and greatful but don't forget to work hard .

339 notes · View notes

misc-obeyme · 26 days ago

Text

prompt: Lucifer

a/n: Okay I'm going to try to do little blurbs for the Advent Calendar event! I am not guaranteeing that I will I manage to do them all or on time, but I will do what I can lol! I decided I wanted to do little slice of life style drabbles, so here we go with Lucifer! @om-adventcalendar

Lucifer x GN!MC

Warnings: none, this is fluff-tastic

Although you never said as much, it was fairly obvious to everyone in the House of Lamentation that your favorite night of the week was when Lucifer had cooking duty. You would settle at a table in the kitchen, sometimes with your homework to pretend that you simply wanted somewhere quiet to work, and wait for him to arrive.

He would come into the kitchen already changed out of his RAD uniform. His jacket and gloves left behind in his room. He wouldn't even look at you as he unbuttoned his sleeves to roll them up past his elbows. He knew you were there and he didn't seem to be bothered by your presence in the slightest.

So it was tonight as you watched Lucifer gather the ingredients for whatever dish he was preparing that evening. He balanced various items from the fridge in his hands, nudging the door closed with a hip as he brought them to the counter. He gathered jars of spices and brought them over, too. He carefully lined up his tools, a bowl, a whisk, a cutting board, a knife.

You watched him put on a simple black apron, tying it easily behind his back. His attention was fully focused on the task at hand, never once looking up at you.

Lucifer began by picking up a knife to chop ingredients. You watched the way his fingers held a ghost onion as he cut it, the muscles in his arm flexing with each cut of the knife. The way he deftly swept the pieces into a waiting pan. The sure movements of his fingers as he added salt.

You needed to move slightly to see him when he inevitably went to the stove. But you wanted to watch him beside the heat, the shimmering of it rising in front of him. As you did, a single bead of sweat formed on his forehead, threatening to drip down his temple.

Without thinking it through, you picked up a nearby towel and went over to dab the sweat away before it fell into his eyes.

Lucifer put his pan aside onto a cold burner before turning to you, grabbing your wrist to prevent you from backing away.

"Are you attempting to distract me, MC?" he asked quietly, his ruby eyes searching your face, a slight smile of amusement on his lips.

You laughed softly. "Not at all," you said. "I only wanted to help."

Lucifer ran his fingers down your cheek with the hand that wasn't still holding your wrist. "I let you watch me cook because I know you enjoy it. But the moment you get too close, I find it difficult to ignore you. If you wish to observe, then I must ask you to return to your seat."

"And if I don't?" you asked, encouraged by the softness of his touch.

Lucifer shook his head. "Then dinner will never be ready and my brothers will riot."

You grinned. "Oh, well we can't have that. We especially don't want Beel to go hungry."

"Indeed," Lucifer agreed. He let his thumb catch on your bottom lip, pulling it down for a moment before releasing it. "After dinner, I will have nothing to do but give you my undivided attention."

You leaned in to kiss him, brief and sweet, before pulling away from him entirely to return to your seat.

You watched him make the rest of the meal, joined all seven brothers to eat it in the dining room. Despite your interruption, the food was as good as it always was when it was Lucifer's night to cook. You kept catching his eyes on you at the table, hidden smiles passing between you that the others were too busy to notice.

And after the cleanup was done, you found him already at your side, hand extended, ready to escort you to his room for privacy. He had left his gloves off and his skin was warm against yours as you took it. A thrill ran through your veins and into your gut at his touch and you were already at his mercy when you saw the glimmer of light in his eyes.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#oof I feel so rusty #I dunno how consistent I'll be but if y'all want a taglist let me know lol #omadventcalendar #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #om lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x mc #x reader #obey me fluff #misc writes

201 notes · View notes

forever--darling · 2 years ago

Text

iknimaya | neteyam x avatar!reader

summary: half a year later and it was finally time for you to make the trip to the hallelujah mountains and claim your ikran. one step closer to completing your training, you can't help but think about the future - specifically your future with neteyam. it's hard to get anywhere though with lo'ak trying to make plans of his own.

pairings: neteyam x avatar!reader

word count: 10.9k

warnings/notes: swearing, less enemies but not quite lovers, still very slow burn, a lot more angst to come -- fair warning, lo'ak x avatar!reader (one-sided), mutual secret pining, ikran flying, fluff

series masterlist | one of us: part four | requests are currently open for now

When a person becomes one of the people, or in other words, when they are born twice, the clan puts on a ceremony for them. It consists of dancing, feasting, and telling stories to one another — it’s all about connection. A connection between the people, their culture, and the new person who has become one of them. Kiri had been telling you about it nonstop, trying to install some confidence in you.

You would be covered in paint and stand before the clan asking them for their acceptance. The Olo’eyktan would approach you and in his eyes from Eywa, you would either be accepted or denied. If he accepts you, he will place his hands upon your shoulders, above your heart, and in turn, the rest of the clan would follow until they form a large circle around you. Interconnected as one, before Ewya. It’s there where you’d earn your place among the people, forever.

That isn’t the final test that decides your place among the Omatikaya, but only the ceremony. The final test is the hardest thing asked of a person; a journey, filled with an act fueled by the need to prove oneself. A journey into the Hallelujah Mountains where the individual would walk among the floating island of banshees. The most dangerous creature to fly within the sky, aside from the great leonopteryx, the last shadow. You must look one in the eye and if it tries to kill you, it means you have been chosen as a rider.

After that, it's up to you. Live or die. Walk among the people forever or become an outsider. Stay or be exiled. It all comes down to that final test. After spending six months training, learning, and integrating your entire life onto the planet you had once only seen from a glass window, you were about to face the final test. It all came down to that moment after perfecting the language, understanding the orders of energy transfers under Eywa, practicing Tsaheylu, and consummating the skill of hunting. It all came down to sealing the bond with the second deadliest creature of the sky.

It was the morning before you were set to make the trek toward the mountains with Neteyam, Jake, and a few other young Na’vi prospects looking to prove that they should be accepted among the clan as adults. Before the village, they were hoping to be seen and accepted by their parents and other adults alike that they were no longer incompetent children, but well-working individuals of society. You had more to prove than them and everyone knew it.

For you it was everything and that thought alone had you retreating into the forest just before sunrise, the foliage illuminating under your feet, as you found yourself among the only spot you could find peace to think. The river and the waterfall that Neteyam had shown you five months ago — the night you had called a truce to the immature behavior and sharp tension.

From that night on, that place had become his spot and yours. Most of the time, the two of you went together at night. It was a place where you could talk, swim, and whisper to one another about the inevitable future that was approaching the both of you far too quickly. Where yours hung in the balance, unknown about what was to come, his was certain.

When you finished your training, he would be close to completing his own. If you did this, completed this, he would no longer be the Olo’eyktan in training but the future Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya. He would work alongside Jake until one day the title would be bestowed on him when needed. He would no longer be seen as a boy but a man, and with that came making his bow from what was left of the wood of Home Tree, finishing a song bead for his songchord, and having a woman chosen for him.

Neteyam would be old enough and prove himself to have the ability to choose a woman within the village. However, where it would be any other man’s choice, you quickly realized for the future Olo’eyktan the privilege would not be the same. He would need a Tsahik to lead alongside him and his choice couldn’t withstand being wrong. The clan could suffer and Mo’at and Neytiri would work in their power to prevent that from happening.

As soon as his training was over, they would look to Eywa and choose his mate. From that moment on, they would be engaged, and as soon as he turned eighteen he was expected to consummate their marriage and their courtship. But then eighteen came and went and he had pushed it off. He had just turned nineteen and there was chatter going around, that they were already praying and looking to Eywa to guide them to an answer, and suddenly you couldn’t bear it.

It bothered you to no end, on top of the fear of not passing your final test. The thought of Neteyam being mated with another clan woman left the worst feeling in your stomach and made you so sick, but you shoved it down deep. So deep that no one else could possibly know about how you felt.

The very feelings that started to develop the first evening you met were later masked as dislike during that first month when you refused to listen to one another. It was seen as anger and hatred but after the night when he brought you here, to the river, that feeling still remained. The rage and the resentment were gone but the feelings deep within your stomach were still there, their grip tightly wrapped around your very being.

You knew though that once, or rather if accepted, traditionally one day you would have been able to be matched with someone. Asked by Eywa to be someone’s mate for the rest of your life but even if accepted, not all wishes and traditions are granted to dream walkers. Neytiri had expressed to you multiple times that you would still be a dream walker, a soul belonging to two bodies after the ceremony. It wouldn’t be fair to be mated with someone during the day but separate from them at night. She had lived that life once and she wouldn’t wish that upon any of the young men of their village, let alone one of her sons, who both seemed to have a strong connection with you. Mo’at agreed and therefore forbade you from being promised or even mated to a man of the village unless you became fully Na’vi.

That wouldn’t be happening anytime soon either because the more you wished to become full Na’vi, the more you began to separate from your former life. But Mo’at forbade that too. The transfer consisted of a ritual where the consciousness of a single being was transferred from one body to another. It had only been done twice and before that, no one knew for sure. After thousands of years, some things became more and more like folk tales. Out of those two rituals, only one survived. The one was Toruk Makto, Jake Sully.

With that case in point, Mo’at didn’t believe in your odds and she hadn’t asked Eywa enough about it to grant your request. It had been days ago when you had appeared in her hut, in a state of distress. After the whispers became louder about Neteyam’s future mate and the talk about your Iknimaya seemed to circulate the village.

It all was getting to you, not to mention the more connected you felt to this body, your avatar the body, the less you connected to your own. The original body you had spent almost ninteen prior years in, seemed to be failing you the longer you stayed in the link pod and with the Omatikaya.

The truth was your immune system was shot and somehow months ago you had contracted a virus and from there, things began to spiral. You were taking care of yourself less; by this time, you had become far too weak. Norm and Max had been trying to treat you with everything they had but with their resources limited they could only do so much. It had become worse just a few days prior when you for the first time ever delivered a successful clean kill. The testament of whether you were ready to complete the final test.

That night you had barely made it back to your own room by yourself as you had lost probably close to twenty pounds and had no strength left in your legs. Max had advised you or rather ordered you to take a few days off away from the link pod and lay in bed. You needed to rest and both he and Norm agreed that the strain on your body from the link process wasn’t helping you in the slightest, but you refused. You were too close, after so many long months, you were so close.

Not to mention that in this body, in this form, you couldn’t feel it — the weakness, the limitations, the way you felt yourself losing all hope of a normal life. In this body, you weren’t that and you refused to give it all up to become that version of yourself when you were this close. You suspected that Jake knew, that Norm had gotten in contact with him and told him about your human state but he hadn’t brought it up to you yet. Instead, he communicated it through lingering stares and the sudden extra attention you seemed to be getting from both his wife and his daughters.

On this day of all days though, that couldn’t have your attention, not when you were about to partake in the most important moment of your life. Sat at the edge of the river, you stared forward at the water, your arms wrapped tightly around your legs. Your chin leaned against your knees, deep in thought about all of the worst possible scenarios that occurred if you couldn’t do this.

You heard him before you saw him, he approached you from behind, his footsteps quiet as he stepped past low-hanging foliage like so many times before. How did you know it was him? Because it always was.

“Y/N?” The sound of your name fell from his lips like woodsprites on skin, softly, gently as if he didn’t want to scare you away. He stood behind you for a moment, staring forward matching where you were looking almost in uncertainty at your quietness. “Hey, what are you doing? You do realize we have to start making our way towards the mountains in about an hour.”

Silence was all he got in response as you continued to look forward at the water and the ripples that formed from a fish kissing the surface. His voice broke through your fears and worries with ease but it wasn’t enough to overpower them completely. You felt him sit next to you, close enough that his leg pressed against yours. He stared at the side of your face, those gold irises of his taking in every part of it and analyzing every one of your emotions. You felt his fingers brush against your skin as his hand delicately clasped around your forearm.

As if broken from your spell, you turned towards him, eyes swimming with every doubt in your body, “What if I can’t do this, Neteyam?”

“What?” his brows furrowed “How could you ask that?”

“What if I can’t claim an Ikran? Is that it? I just don’t become one of the people and then your parents exile me? I once again am nothing but an outsider? I don’t think I can do that. A life where I am not here every day in the village, or running through the forest. I don’t think I could stand it.”

He pulled you closer to him, a light chuckle falling from his lips, “Y/N. Woah, slow down.”

“And not being able to see everyone; your sisters, or Lo’ak, or Jake. I mean I don’t think I could ever live with never seeing any of them again. Not seeing you again…”

His hand tightened as if your words registered in his ears, the possibility of that flashing through his mind. He shook his head and focused instead on your widened eyes and how they refused to look away from him. “That won’t happen. You have this. We have trained for months and I know that—”

“But what if—”

“No, but anything, because you have this,” he said, tone solid, not bothering to let you finish your previous thought. A smile broke out across his lips then, “I thought you were tougher than this, Y/L/N.”

Usually, you would defy him, and argue with him but not like the two of you once did. Now those disagreements seemed to always be interlaced with teasing tones and sly smiles. You usually gave him a look filled with smugness just asking for him to try and regain control over you. This look on your face though didn’t appear anything like that though. Instead, you were deflated and falling apart at the seams.

“Me too,” you agreed.

“Y/N—” he started but his voice died quickly as you spoke again.

“If I do this, do you think the people will accept me?”

There was no hesitation on his part, “Of course, they will. Why would you ask me that?”

You looked away from him, pulling your arm away and scooting closer toward the edge of the river, disconnecting from him completely. He felt the warmth from his side disappear altogether as he watched you dip your legs into the water, your head hung low staring at your reflection.

“Pivlltxe’u (speak up)!” his voice was commanding of you then while he watched as you lifted your hands to look down at them.

“I can hear them, you know. After all this time the whispers still follow me around. My alien blood. That I am in a false body. That I am nothing like you but still in every way like them — the enemies, the sky people,” you admitted with a furrow in your brows.

Neteyam wasn’t quite sure what to say as even after the countless amount of nights the two of you had spent in that exact spot, you had never talked about something so serious. Something that was your past life, who you were, or what would be expected of you after this. Most of the time, you talked about him, and his future rather than your own.

“My father was like you.”

You laughed dryly, your hands dropping in your lap as your head lulled back slightly, “Jake Sully was not like me.”

“Except that he was,” Neteyam argued, glancing down at his own hands. His four-fingered hands didn’t resemble his father’s or his two siblings but something that still was deeply a part of his family.

“No,” you said, the harshness evident in your voice as your ears flattened back and your gaze fell back to your ten fingers, “Jake Sully was Toruk Makto. He led the clan to victory against the sky people. The very people who killed hundreds of innocent Omatikaya and refuse to leave this place in peace. He is not one of them.”

“And neither are you.”

He slid closer to you so that you could feel his warmth across your back and side. His chest pressed against your shoulder as he reached forward, his hand ghosting under yours. He took it and held it within his, the back of your hand pressed against his palm.

“You know what I see when I look at these hands?” he asked, voice soft, eyes locked on the side of your face, “It’s not the sky people or aliens in false bodies as everyone else calls them. No, I see my dad coming here and falling in love with my mom. I see him becoming one of the people, leading them to victory, and being appointed Olo’eyktan. I see my sister being born and then my brother.”

His breath slid across the side of your face, and you turned to look at him. The warmth of it then spread to your lips as he sat so close, stare already locked onto your own. Those gold eyes filled with specs of yellow and green haunted you at night every time you fell asleep; this was the first time you witnessed them so up close and personal in months. His gaze flickered down to your parted lips before darting back up to your eyes. You then felt his fingers curl around the back of your hand, slotting in between yours and intertwining them together.

You looked down at them and that warm feeling inside of you began to spread, like wildfire all throughout your entire body. He smiled as he continued, “When I look at these hands, I see you.”

Your own breath hitched in your throat and your eyes snapped back up to his, unsure if he really said those three words to you. Words you had been trying to earn from him for months. Though often used as a greeting, to some it meant so much more. It was said out of respect and in rare cases out of love.

“You can do this,” he said and you swore your heart stopped then and there.

You felt as if any words got stripped from your tongue and yanked back into your throat. You could only stare at him in disbelief taking note of the kindness in his eyes and how gentle his voice was. Five months ago things were so different, the way he looked at you was so different. Even if he still lectured you once in a while or hated how you sometimes did run off with Lo’ak, he was different. Ever since that night in the very same spot where he apologized and opened up himself to you, he wasn’t the same Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. From then on it was like he promised himself and his people that he wouldn’t be that person again. It started with you.

His hand tightened around yours, but before you could say anything else, the sound of footsteps and brush being pulled aside was heard. Your eyes broke away from Neteyam’s and he followed where your attention had drifted to.

Lo’ak stood just a few feet away, frozen at the sight of his brother’s hand tightly clasped around yours. When he noticed how close the two of you were sitting his hands tightened at his sides and his eyebrows raised almost in shock. You noticed the way a lump formed in his throat as his gold eyes, appearing so much like Neteyam’s, locked onto his older brother.

It was almost as if they were having a silent conversation through their matched stares and rigid statues. Lo’ak shifted uncomfortably on his feet as he hadn’t seen the two of you like this. He thought he had known how the two of you felt about one another. His brother hated you and you couldn’t stand the attitude you got from the oldest Sully. You two never acted like this, let alone felt any certain way to justify why you sat so close, holding hands.

Suddenly, it felt like so much more than two people casually comforting one another. Because you and Neteyam were at each other’s throats for months, even if things weren’t entirely the same, the two of you never publicly acknowledged one another outside of lessons. Lo’ak wondered if it had all gone over his head. Were their stolen glances? Light touches anytime you walked by one another in the village? At night would Neteyam sneak out of their tent just to come to find you?

He was overthinking it, evident in how his eyes flickered from you to his older brother and then down to your joined hands. But how could he not when he felt like he was getting slapped across the face?

Neteyam able to read his brother’s expression sighed and released your hand from his — almost as if it was the easiest thing in the world, almost like he needed to. You scooted back from him, putting more distance between the two of you as Lo’ak’s eyes zoned in on you, lips still parted in shock.

“Uh what is going on? You two are friends now?” his voice was spiteful and you couldn’t help but let your mouth part in shock.

Neteyam’s eyebrows knitted together and he suddenly became annoyed with his brother’s attitude, “Lo’ak, don’t!”

“What, I was just asking,” he rolled his eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Dad says they’re ready. We should get going.”

You felt yourself inhale, your breath hitching as Lo’ak nodded his head in the direction of the village, refusing to make eye contact with his older brother. You looked over at Neteyam despite Lo’ak’s glare on your back, needing his reassurance one last time. He nodded at you approvingly, another reminder that you had this. His words ring in your ears and it was like suddenly his opinion was the only one that mattered. That whatever happened, what he thought about you was all that mattered.

Standing up, you approached Lo’ak as every moment of training seemed to flash before your eyes from beginning to end. It all led to this moment. Win or lose? That was up to you. He watched his brother stand too to follow the two of you as he wrapped his hand gently around your elbow.

You didn’t even question the touch from Lo’ak as over the course of the last six months he usually found some way to be touching you. Whether it was his palm on your lower back, legs brushing against one another during dinner, or his fingers trailing across the back of your hand while standing next to one another.

His physical touch had increased since you had gotten your avatar, but his flirting still remained the same. He was still the same Lo’ak you had met when you were a child and though Kiri had a lot to say about it, you constantly reminded her that things had not changed for either of you — especially for you.

The two of you walked alongside one another with Neteyam trailing back just enough to hear your conversation but not enough to be right on your heels. Something else that had lessened too, his need to hover over you and Lo’ak. With you spending so much more time with Neteyam, there was less time to be with his siblings so when Lo’ak did manage to swoop you away or convince you to sneak off somewhere, Neteyam turned a blind eye to it.

A part of you ignored the way your stomach dropped every time he let you go even when Lo’ak was asking you to leave early during a lesson. Neteyam would stare over at his brother and simply shrug and then just like that, you were being swept away in the opposite direction.

“You ready?” Lo’ak asked, his hand slipping down from your elbow to his side, but still close enough where you could feel his pinky bumping into yours.

It was something that had surely caught Neteyam’s eye. The way Lo’ak’s hand so clearly matched yours and even with the two of you walking side by side, he knew that your hand fit perfectly into his younger brother’s — five fingers and all. Just as he had noticed the certain way his younger brother had been looking at you lately as well as constantly trying to get your attention.

It plagued Neteyam with the worst feeling he had yet to encounter, one that stuck to him worse than the rage he had once pushed down so far. The frustration he once held for you didn’t match the way he felt now watching the two of you interact. A green monster their father had called it when he told his sons about it a few years ago — jealousy. It was a feeling that masked all others and slowly drove you mad if you let it.

“Yeah, I think so,” you replied softly, unable to look away from the forest before you as if you were taking it all in, in case it would be the last time.

“You think?” Lo’ak raised a single brow, “Please tell me you are more sure than that.”

Neteyam had heard the accusatory tone in his younger brother’s voice and he felt like scolding him for it as he noticed the way your ears twitched uneasily. What you needed right now was someone to reassure you not question you.

“I am…” your voice trailed off, your hand pulling away from where it hung by your side next to Lo’ak’s.

“Hey,” Lo’ak stopped, his hand grabbing your shoulder This made Neteyam pause too, a couple of feet behind the two of you. You glanced up at Lo’ak, hesitantly, gaze glancing from him and where the village sat just behind the tree line.

Lo’ak squeezed your shoulder in his, a smile forming across his lips, “You’re going to be fine.”

You nodded, but you seemed even less convinced now than you had been moments ago near the river, hand locked within Neteyam’s grasp. The older Sully boy cursed under his breath at his brother’s obliviousness, not able to read your feelings as easily as he could. He felt his whole body stiffen worse as he watched Lo’ak’s hand drift to your lower back and continue to guide you towards the village where their father was waiting with the other initiates.

“My dad and Neteyam will be with you the whole time and lead you up the mountain, okay? Then I’ll meet you up there as soon as I can,” Lo’ak explained even though you hadn’t asked, already aware of how the process would go from Neteyam explaining it thoroughly the night before.

“You’re not going with?” you asked, cautiously.

Lo’ak smiled at the question as the three of you broke through the brush and back into the village, “I have to do some things for my mom but I’ll fly to you when I am done. I’ll be there by the time you guys reach the top.”

You barely made a sound at his words, just continuing to walk through the village as a clear spectacle for everyone to look at. A show for them to whisper about and place bets on if you would manage to pass the final test or not. Their whispers were low and you folded into yourself as you observed the children pointing and the mumbling of the adults.

Lo’ak hadn’t spared a glance in your direction, but your frame relaxed briefly at the feeling of another person on your other side. It was Neteyam. He noticed the shift in your body language faster than anyone else. The way he walked overshadowed your figure slightly from others as if part of him wanted to protect you from everyone else and their loud mouths.

He as well as anyone else couldn’t deny how this day had proven to be a huge deal not just for every other Na’vi attempting it but because there was a dream walker among them attempting it too. It had been nearly nineteen years since the last dream walker climbed the Hallelujah Mountains and claimed his Ikran. The legend of Jake Sully was still talked about fondly by adults to their children as he was the first sky person to ever attempt it. As he went on to become Toruk Makto, those who had been too young to witness any of it at the time found their eyes forever focused on you — the next dream walker. The next sky person to try and live among them.

Neteyam could see it on all of their faces; the excitement, the curiosity that came when they saw you. Sure there were other young Omatikaya hoping to claim their Iknimaya but all eyes were on you. Especially considering it wasn’t just a test for you, but a test for the man who had taught you everything you knew. It was a testament to the future Olo’eyktan and if he had the capability to lead his people. Evident in the way all of the gold eyes would drift from you to him and how close he was walking next to you.

Now add in the fact that you were walking in between both of Toruk Makto’s sons, that sure also had an effect on people, noticeable in the way they would lower their hands to whisper to one another. He heard his name float in around his ears, accompanied by his younger brother’s. It was like adding that into consideration, you were shrinking further into his side.

As you approached the small group of young hunters just at the edge of the forest, you all found Jake standing proudly, speaking to all of them. Suddenly then as you stood just a few feet away, Lo’ak turned to you, his hand drifting down to yours. He squeezed it and wished you luck before he slipped away in the opposite direction towards his family’s tent.

Jake turned on his heels to see you standing there with his oldest son and he had to withhold the smile that was threatening to form on his face; one of pride almost even though you hadn’t done anything to have earned it. His eyes flickered to Neteyam and then back to you as the other four hunters, all many years younger than you, stared at you in wonder.

“You ready?” he asked, the same exact words Lo’ak had said only moments before and it brought on another wave of anxiety into your stomach.

You opened your mouth, lips parted slightly as if you were going to respond but no words emerged as you could feel all of their eyes burning holes into you. Neteyam’s gold eyes looked from his father to you but noticing your expression, he leaned closer to you, his hand ghosting over your back as he caught Jake’s gaze.

“She’s ready,” he said, without a question as his hand dropped from where it had hung in the air just over your shoulder blades. The warmth of it still ghosted across your skin though he hadn’t actually touched you.

Your fingers were digging into the ground above you, upper arms aching as you hung over the side of the mountain, feet barely hanging onto the side. Short of breath, you attempted to pull yourself up but grunted out of distress as your arms seemed to pop and ache at the attempt. You had felt weaker lately and you had a horrible suspicion why. Cursing under your breath, you glanced to your side, watching as each young hunter easily pulled themselves up. The nerves in your stomach increased again though Neteyam had spent the whole ride over on his direhorse, at your side sneaking you reassuring looks. It was like every few moments, his gold irises would drift back to you almost as if something about you guided him back.

You had thought no one would have noticed the small interaction but it was clear Jake Sully, and Toruk Makto had. He had been stealing his own glances in your direction having once been in your position and he was not surprised to find you riding in silence, chewing a hole into the bottom of your lip. His look was just as protective as his son’s and the pressure of their lingering gazes felt heavy on your chest.

Not to mention, every time the Olo’eyktan looked over his shoulder, he found his son already looking at you. The corner of Jake’s mouth lifted curiously as he watched the interaction between the two of you. The stolen glances how you would nod over to the older boy to assure him that you were alright. It had completely shifted, almost like a 180 from how the two of you interacted five months prior.

Just as you were about to try and swing your body up for the third time, a hand extended out to you. Neteyam stood on the edge, leaning forward, his arm out as any strong protector would. Jake watched closely as you shook your head at his son, eyes threatening him to back up and let you do this on your own. Neteyam sighed but took two steps back giving you a little more space.

The ache at this point was barely tolerable as you felt the rock scratching into your knees and your side. Sucking in a deep breath, you tightened your core and pulled yourself up. Arms bent at a ninety-degree angle, you swung one leg up and stood up with ease, slightly out of breath. Jake nodded approvingly and Neteyam held his hands up in defeat. You had this.

You followed the group across the floating mountain until you came across a waterfall, a small path hidden behind it that would lead to the other side. To the other side where all the Ikrans were, evident by the sounds of their flapping wings, and screeches. It made your ears twitch hesitantly as beads of sweat formed along your hairline.

You walked closely behind Jake, his tail flicking your leg as Neteyam stood behind you, his hand wrapping around your side to press along your hip as if to keep you from getting too close to the edge. You felt your breath hitch at the action but didn’t react to him, too nervous at the sight of the waterfall opening. Jake stopped right near the edge, looking over his shoulder to where you stood behind him

“Y/N, you okay going first?” he asked, cautiously, lowering his voice as he reached out to take your shoulder in his hand.

You nodded, but that didn’t feel like enough as you glanced past him to the crowd of creatures stalking around. All creatures with razor-sharp teeth and large claws. As your eyes met his again, there was a different look about you, “Yes.”

He smiled, squeezing your shoulder. You felt Neteyam lean closer from behind you, his chest meeting your back as his hand shifted upwards from your hip to your chest, his fingers pressed along your collarbone. His mouth opened softly to speak but they closed at the sound of a screech from behind you all on the other side of the waterfall. All heads turned and within seconds, another person emerged. Lo’ak appeared, his riding headpiece pulled down across his forehead, eyes finding yours immediately.

A grin occupied his face, “Hey, I told you I’d make it.”

As he looked past you though, he found his father giving him an unimpressed look, eyes settled into a blank look. He clicked his tongue back as if telling his younger son not to interfere as nine out of the ten times he would probably do something to cost this for you.

Lo’ak held his hands up defensively as he wedged his way between the other hunters and his brother, “Got it. I’ll be good.”

Sighing, you shifted your gaze back to Neteyam as his breath fanned across your face, “You can do this, okay? This you must feel inside. If it chooses you, move quickly just like we’ve practiced. You will have one chance.”

His words absorbed into you, your attention shifting from him back to the mountain ledge before you. You scanned the area, the banshees' colors reverberating off your eyes, like a reflection upon glass. You took one last deep breath, puffing your chest out as you stepped by Jake out from behind the waterfall. Confidence filled your statue as the Toruk Makto called your name.

Jake’s stare matched yours, flooded with determination interlaced with assurance, “Trust your instincts and trust your reflexes. Let your mind go blank and listen to your strong heart.”

You smiled for a moment before it fell away, a tight line taking its place. With your rope in hand, you unraveled it, able to hear the shuffling of the group of people stepping out from behind the waterfall. All were eager to watch the prospect, the dream walker, the sky person take on their Iknimaya. With the rope interlaced between your fingers, you swung it around as you stalked forward, slowly, the edges of the rocks digging into the bottoms of your feet.

Jake and Neteyam followed slowly as you stepped forward, eyes meeting each banshee you passed. A few flew off the large rock and with each one that disappeared from view, you felt the base of your stomach form into knots. The groups began to lessen as you moved forward near the edge of the mountain, saliva settling into the back of your throat.

None had shown an interest in killing you. None had shown an interest in your gold stare and sharp fangs. Not a single one could look you in the eye and bare its teeth. It was as if they could smell your alien blood, and see you as an unworthy rider, nothing like one of the Omatikaya. Your heart clenched as you slowly approached a third group of Ikrans. A bead of sweat slipped down from your forehead as you met all of their eyes, a small noise erupting from your throat resembling a yell.

Three of them flew off, their tails practically stuck in between their legs. Your anxiety spiked again until you found one Ikran still standing in front of you, its head turning towards you as it noticed you out of the corner of its eye. Its large yellow eyes zoned in on your predatory stance. You felt your ears flatten for a moment as you took in the creature. The large creature seemed to have the widest wingspan you had yet to have seen on an Ikran. Its skin was dark blue, so dark, it was almost black, resembling the night sky with bright purple and neon green markings.

“Shit,” you could hear Lo’ak from a few feet behind you as everyone else took in the Ikran’s large fangs and sharp talons.

You stood there, eyes widening in shock, tail flicking wildly behind you as the sound filtered over to you of someone smacking Lo’ak across the head. It was Neteyam no doubt. Shuffling awkwardly on your heels, you swung the rope around in your hand as the creature’s claws scratched at the ground beneath it. Its jaws were razor sharp and you felt something spark in you as it leaned its head back and opened its mouth wide revealing them. The hiss that erupted in your ears snapped you out of your daze and you watched as it stood up on its hind legs, snarling nonstop.

Tilting your head to the side, you felt all doubt, all fear be ripped free from your body. All that was left in its place was confidence in the form of adrenaline coursing through your veins. A small smirk formed across your face and Neteyam watched swelling with both pride and admiration, his eyes flicking back and forth from you to the beast before you. As the Ikran let out another loud screech, your ears flattened across your head, nose wrinkling as you revealed your fangs and hissed — a challenge you were displaying to the Ikran.

“You gotta move, Y/N,” Jake said, lowly under his breath, but you heard it, as your entire body broke free from the hold the Ikran’s gaze had on it.

“Let’s do this,” you mumbled, swinging the rope around in your hand as you stepped forward toward the Ikran.

Just as you took another step forward, the creature jumped forward, its mouth opening revealing its teeth again. It chomped trying to get a hold of you but your reflexes were too fast. You dodged it by leaping to the side and swinging the rope over the Ikran’s snout. It yelled, the scream high pitched, as the rope wrapped completely around its jaw locking it shut. You swung a leg over the creature, wrapping yourself around its neck. Arms locked around its head you struggled as the Ikran began to panic.

It stood upon its hind legs, wings flapping rapidly as its head thrashed back against you. Your grip kept slipping from around the Ikran, leaving strings of noises to slip from your mouth as it flapped around obnoxiously. Neteyam moved closer but still kept a reasonable distance between you and the beast. He hissed under his breath as he felt your window closing.

“Make the bond!” he yelled.

With one arm banded across the Ikran’s snout, you groaned as you reached for its queue, all strength leaving your body slowly as you continued to battle the large animal. As you felt the smooth skin of the queue within your fingers, the Ikran growled and threw its head back. Connecting with your body, you felt your grip loosen from the animal and disappear completely.

A yell erupted from your throat as you bounced off the back of the Ikran and collided with the hard ground. Your side hit the harsh material with a thud and you hissed out in pain as you felt it scratch against your skin. Legs limply on the ground and chest heaving up and down, you peered up at the Ikran as it slowly turned around to face you.

The rope was still tightly bound around its mouth but it was clear that your attempts had only pissed it off. It tried to break free from the constriction around its jaw but stopped for a moment when the cable didn’t snap. Its eyes found your frame on the ground, laying on your back, leaning upon your elbows. Body shaking, you were trying to catch your breath as the Ikran stalked forward, claws ripping holes into the ground. Remaining completely still, you peered up at it, eyes narrowed and a glare reflected across your face. This was the moment, the challenge at hand, the turning point of your entire life.

Win or lose?

Live or die?

Lo’ak bounded forward, trying to get to you, but he was stopped by his brother throwing an arm across his chest. Neteyam’s eyes had never left you and though his heart was clenching within his chest, a greater feeling had appeared within him. One that felt as if it had been sent from Eywa. A reminder of your strength, your fierceness, and the warrior that had formed deep within your bones. A smirk formed on his face as he watched the intensity in your eyes increase.

Your gold eyes hadn’t moved from the Ikran and as you looked deep into its black pupils, you saw your whole life flash across your eyes like a movie. Your father’s death. The great war, that convinced your mother to flee back to Earth. A newborn baby unable to travel within Cryo. A childhood stolen in replace of living in the confines of a lab. Spider’s resentment towards you. A human body you refused to accept as a reflection of who you were as a person. Arriving at the village, the constant judgments and fear sent your way from the villagers. The word alien being branded across your forehead.

It all had led to that moment and it all reflected back at you as you were able to see your reflection within the Ikran’s eyes. Smooth blue skin, gold eyes, white freckles, and a challenging curl to your lips. You, this was the real you.

One of the people or an outsider?

Ears twitching, your stare became deadly as you pushed out another hiss from your throat, the sound igniting your whole body with all of the energy and trust you had left. Just as the Ikran bounded forward, lifting its body, claws glistening in the sunlight. You tucked and rolled to the side out of the way just as the beast slammed its feet down into the spot you initially had been.

Moving quickly, you jumped up upon a rock and leaped for the Ikran. With a huff, you grabbed onto the animal, hand locking around its queue. Your legs folded across the Ikran’s head, tucking it in closer to its body as the creature flopped down onto its side. With your shoulder digging into the ground, you yelled out in pain as you reached behind for your own queue. Tilting the Ikran’s queue upwards, you moved yours towards it and felt your whole body relax as the pink nerve endings finally connected.

Chest still heaving up and down, your body collapsed for a moment as the Ikran’s pupils widened dilating. It convulsed again, as your hands wrapped tightly around the rope, “Stop!”

The Ikran’s body fell limp, relaxing at your words, and within a matter of seconds, its breathing leveled out. Staring down at the creature, a smile appeared across your lips, as it stared back at you and you were able to feel the way your heartbeats moved in sync with one another. Its breath you could feel within your lungs and it relaxed under your touch.

Kneeling over the Ikran’s neck, you felt the dirt sticking to your legs as you reached for the rope locked around its jaw. It loosened and slowly the Ikran rose from the ground, stretching out its mouth. It purred underneath your palms as the Ikran slowly stood up, taking you with it. Your feet were lifted off the ground, and you settled back against the base of the creature’s back, readjusting your grip.

Cheers were heard and as you looked up, you found the young hunters pumping their fists in the air and yelling your name. Jake was grinning from ear to ear, a look of pride swelling on his face. The same look both of his sons got when they completed their Iknimaya. Neteyam stood, shoulders pulled back, chest puffed out with the same look that his father displayed but somehow his tugged at your heart more.

He stepped forward as if he was going to approach you, but he stopped as Lo’ak blew past him. A large smile occupied his face, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing over his shoulder to his brother instead.

“First flight seals the bond," Lo’ak let out a yell and in an instant, there was a flash of blue and green and his Ikran was landing right beside yours. He hopped on, connecting his queue to the animal, before flying off into the sky, “Y/N, come on.”

You waited for a moment, stuck in a place where you weren’t sure where to go — almost as if your heart was split in half. Neteyam stood in the same spot, his eyes having never left yours and from where he stood he could practically feel the anticipation buzzing through your skin.

He wanted more than anything for it to be him — to be the one you would fly through the sky with on your first flight. After so many months of teaching you and spending endless nights under the trees by the river, he hoped it could be him. But at that moment it wasn’t; even though it was Lo’ak he couldn’t steal this experience from you. He wouldn’t, especially since he knew what it was like to be in your position.

Even when a part of you wanted him to give you a reason to stay and wait for him and his Ikran, you also couldn’t deny how restless you felt there on that rock. He could see it on your face, clear as day, like how he had seemed to learn every other one of your mannerisms in the last half of the year. Biting onto your lower lip, you couldn’t stop the way your eyes had softened over time as you had gotten to know this young man, who somehow had snuck up behind you and stole your heart.

It was something you hadn’t fully realized until that moment when he smiled over at you, his fangs poking out just past his lips. It wasn’t until he looked up after his brother and nodded his head in the direction, clicking his tongue softly in the air as if he was giving you permission.

Curling your fingers, you brought your hand up near your forehead and extended it out towards him. I see you.

With that you called out to your Ikran, the word fly falling from the tip of your tongue. It took off into the sky, wings extended out to their full length, as it dove straight down off of the mountain. Neteyam ran forwards towards the edge and peered down into the clouds where you and your Ikran had disappeared. But then in a matter of seconds, the clouds broke apart and you appeared again. Soaring through the sky, he watched as the Ikran leveled out, the image of your last action leaving an imprint in his mind and a permanent smile on his face.

Jake had been right once, in his video log. A direhorse was one thing but flying an Ikran, a person was made for this. You were made for this. With your feet perched along the Ikran’s sides, your hands clutched around its queues, giving quiet commands — it was as if you were at peace, completely free from the cage that your human body had turned into, free from the past that had plagued your memories, and the expectations that a dream walker held.

Feeling the wind on your face and the sun soaking into your skin, you were brought back to that first day with the avatar, when you first walked out of the lab. It felt just like this, able to take a deep breath without the need for an oxygen mask. It was a freedom and a privilege, just as this was.

As you looked around at the floating mountains, and the other banshees floating around you, you knew it then at that moment that you belonged there. You were a warrior, a rider, an Omatikaya, and in one way or another you were going to convince Mo’at of that and every other Na’vi. She was going to approve your request for the transfer ritual if it was the last thing you would ever do.

You had heard him before you saw him. A yell and then an echo across the sky followed by a shadow above you. Looking up, you found Lo’ak smiling down at you, the same look in his eye that you knew filled yours. The look of an Omatikaya rider. He veered left and then swooped down, his Ikran bumping into yours lightly. You gasped, hands instinctively tightening around your Ikran’s queues as your balance shifted.

Looking back over to Lo’ak, you found him laughing, a devious expression the only way you could describe it on his face. Withholding your own smile, silently you advised your Ikran to lean to the right, straight into Lo’ak’s lane. Your Ikran’s wings bumped into his lightly causing him to bank off to avoid the two of you colliding. When he looked over at you, you couldn’t help but let your head lean back as your sweet laugh escaped your throat.

You flew like that for a while, him casually bumping into you just to either get on your nerves or hear your laugh again. And somehow even though you wished Neteyam was still there to share that moment with you, you couldn’t help but indulge in the happiness you felt to be with Lo’ak — your long-time friend, the boy who had been flirting with you senselessly, but someone who would never once give up on you. He was loyal and even with your heart wishing for something else entirely, you knew it was a special moment to share with him.

Hours had gone by and finally, as the sun began to fall from the sky, Lo’ak had gotten your attention. You thought maybe he would lead you home, back to the village, but instead, he nodded his head in another direction, back into the floating mountains. Even with your lack of direction, you knew it wasn’t the right way, but you followed him anyway. He landed on one that had seemed so random to you, but you followed, commanding your Ikran to land.

Listening, it came to a stop near his, and for a moment before you got down from the creature, you looked over to Lo’ak still sitting upon his, and the largest smile formed across your face. Giggling, you shook your head in utter disbelief at the events that had happened the last few hours that were real and now engraved within your memory and soul forever. A look of his own formed across his face as both of your laughter faded.

He tilted his head to the side, something in his eyes completely different than anything you had seen before, a fondness of sorts, “Look at you, girl! You’re a natural already.”

His gaze was soft, too soft, you knew that. You looked away suddenly dismounting from the Ikran, letting your queue disconnect for the first time in hours. Letting out a soft breath, Lo’ak followed suit and he approached you to find you already staring over the edge at the fast-setting sun.

He chuckled, “This was where Neteyam and I both went when we each completed our Iknimaya. We flew for hours unable to convince one another to return home to the village. Even when he had completed his a few years before I did, he always flew like it was his first time — like we both could stay up here forever.”

You slowly turned your head to face him, his words drawing you in. He smiled at the memory, “Then even after we had been flying for hours unend we would come here, to this spot, and watch the sunset, the evening eclipse. Shit, you should have seen how mad our mom used to get at us when we would return home after dark. It was scary, honestly.”

“You still do that?” you asked suddenly, your own voice surprising you, “Fly together long after dark.”

Lo’ak shook his head, his smile slipping from his face just as quickly as it had appeared, “No, at least not with Neteyam. For the last year or so, he's been too busy with training. His focus is entirely put on our father and the role of being the future Olo’eyktan. Dad has him on a tight schedule.”

“But what about now? He is done training me. Shouldn't he have some extra time now?”

“No, because even if he won't be spending all day every day with you, he'll have other things to worry about. Olo'eyktan things with my father; raids, runs, lookouts, spotting.”

You nodded, his words making you once again realize, that this was it. Neteyam had done his job and no longer would you be spending days with him in the forest learning the language, hunting, or about the energies of the world. No more nights sneaking off into the forest just to breathe, away from the pressures the adults presented. He had done what was asked of him — teach you the ways of the Omatikaya.

“Yeah, I guess that would make sense,” you replied, unable to stop the ache that appeared in your chest or the need to pull on the tips of your fingers.

He examined the expression on your face and the disappointment that seemed to flood your system. He couldn’t help his next statement from slipping out of his mouth. “Yeah, so it's a good thing my mom and grandmother are choosing his mate for him? Because I don't know if he would ever have the time to do it himself."

“Hm, the next Tsahik, right? It’s an important role and an important choice. That will be happening soon then?”

“Yes, I think so, at least announced soon anyway. Mo'at has been looking for quite a while,” Lo’ak agreed, suddenly leaning closer to you as the thought once again plagued his mind of what he had overheard days ago. “Have you thought about it at all?”

Your brows knitted together as his question filtered through your ears. Looking away from the eclipse, you matched his stare, a questioning look filling your eyes as an unsure chuckle rumbled within your throat, “Thought about what?”

He was quiet then, eyes narrowing as they suddenly scanned your face, unsure if he should clarify what he had asked. Lo’ak turned to you fully, reaching out as if he was going to take your hands in his but then after a moment, they dropped back to his sides, a defeated sigh falling from his lips.

“Are you asking me about—”

“A mate?” he cut you off, “Yes.”

“What?” You sputtered out, eyes widening suddenly as your stomach tightened at the sudden shift in conversation. “Lo’ak—”

“I am asking you about whether or not you’ve thought about it,” he clarified, voice once again silencing yours as his bright eyes never seemed to leave yours, “You’re already eighteen and—”

“Lo’ak, stop,” you said, lifting a hand and sure enough his voice fell silent with the rest of his thought driting away to the back of his mind. “You and I both know that I can’t be mated with anyone. It is wrong.”

“But not impossible. You can. It’s just frowned upon.”

Your mouth fell open agape, afraid of where he was going with the words he had so clearly admitted to you. The way he was looking at you as he said it left a feeling in your stomach, almost as if it was dread, twisting away at your insides.

Yes, it wasn’t impossible, but Neytiri had explicitly warned you how wrong it was and what kinds of problems it would cause. Especially, considering Mo’at had denied your request, it would be even worse if you mated with someone without any of their blessings, defying their direct set rules.

It also wasn't Lo’ak that came to mind when you put in the request. Sure a large part of you could always say you went to Mo'at for yourself, for the health you were currently lacking when you left the village at night and returned to the lab, but there was another reason — another person. It had never been and would never be Lo’ak.

“I mean it clearly has crossed your mind if you went and saw Mo’at. You asked her about the transfer ritual, right?”

Eyes narrowing in his direction, you held your ground, body tensing as he revealed that he somehow had known. Known that you had gone to see the Tsahik and asked her about the consciousness transfer. He knew and suddenly a panic filled your body. What else could he have known? The reality is there's so much he doesn't know, so that plagued you with the question.

You shook your head, annoyance evident in your tone, “Lo’ak, how did you…”

“I heard you,” he admitted without a moment of hesitation, “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop but when I heard your voice with Mo’at I was curious. Then you mentioned the transfer ritual, and I couldn’t help myself but listen.”

You exhaled, somewhat frustrated, a sudden notion to get back on your Ikran and escape back into the forest and to the village. Your body had already used up its stored energy for the day and you knew the night would be hell when you returned to your human body. But as annoyed as you were that he had heard the request you had put in with Mo’at, you were interested in why he had brought this up. Why he had chosen to mention it to you — let alone the part about mates?

“What are you trying to say?”

He smirked then as if he had come up with the most brilliant plan but it only left your body feeling cold and slightly worried, “All I am trying to say is that you will become full Na’vi and that means you will be able to be chosen as someone’s mate.”

“Lo’ak,” you warned suddenly, able to follow his thinking after having known him for so many years, “Please.”

He ignored your quiet plea for him to be careful with his words as your eyes fluttered to a close. His hands taking a hold of your arms bought your gaze back to his. A small smile appeared on his lips, “What if we became mates? What if we chose each other?”

A pin dropped as well as your stomach, as if you were back on your Ikran diving down within the sky, waiting for the air to shift. This didn’t feel like it was going to level out like the air or register in your ears anytime soon. You stared forward at him, scared to look away, scared to break the hope that filled his eyes.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean the idea is kind of all over the place, but think of it this way. My parents can’t choose my mate for me and you don’t have to deal with all of the assholes in the village that obviously aren’t good enough for you,” he explained, his hand drifting up to cup your face, “Plus, you want to stay, don’t you? No matter what happens you want to stay here with us, right? Like this, in this form?”

“Lo’ak.”

He was quiet for a moment, thumb softly bruising along your temple, gaze staring deep into yours. “We could be happy, Y/N. Just you and me.”

You found yourself studying the ground, suddenly feeling sick and like a complete mess as your mind somehow wandered to the one person that seemed to never leave it. Neteyam, the future Olo’eyktan. The very man who would have his Tsahik chosen for him by Mo’at and Eywa herself. The very man who would have the perfect match — a woman who was strong, incredibly smart, and a gifted healer. A Tsahik that was selfless and would provide for her people. That wasn’t you. You knew it. Lo’ak knew it. He hadn’t brought up Neteyam again but the hesitancy in your eyes, the anxious thoughts that had slipped from your tongue, he knew was because of his older brother. His older brother who was already spoken for.

“Lo’ak, where is this coming from?” you asked, hand reaching up to hold his wrist in your hand, a confused look on your face.

He was hesitant to answer, seen in the way, his eyes shifted to the sky behind you. You made a displeased noise and his eyes found yours again, a smile forming because you knew him all too well after so many years.

“We have been friends for a long time now. For seven years I've always been used to it being us and Kiri and Spider. But somehow even with everyone, we found time just for us. I don’t know, I guess I just feel like I don’t see you as much as I used to.”

“Yeah, well a couple of things are different now. Huge things,” You chuckled, hand reaching up to take his hand from your face, interlacing it in yours.

His eyes followed your movement and stared down at your large blue hand that fit suddenly so perfectly in his compared to your human one that had always felt so awkward. He had never been great at communicating the hard stuff or admitting when something was bothering him, so you knew this was his way of saying that he missed you. With all of the sudden changes, he was struggling with accepting them.

“I’m also not locked away in a lab anymore, I am here with you. Things are going to be different, Lo’ak but it doesn’t mean our friendship is going to change.”

“I guess I just am not used to sharing you,” he admitted, a flush appearing on his face and it made you realize exactly who he was referring to. Neteyam. “What, outsider and outcast together, you don't want that?"

You sighed, his joke not pulling enough strings in your heart to change your initial apparent feelings. You knew what Lo'ak thought and you knew that he wasn’t going to willingly drop this without you taking the time to fully contemplate it even if his intentions weren’t romantic. You inhaled, the depth enough to reach your core, as his warmly coated stare seemed to engulf you whole.

His attempts were not poorly identified, casted by his loyalty to you but his execution was suffocating you. Where he could be a consolation prize, you be only an entrapment for him. He deserved more than you. “Lo'ak wouldn’t you want to be mates with someone that you love though? I mean do you even feel that way about me?”

He ignored your question and somehow that was an answer in itself.

“Look, I am not worried about spending the rest of my life with someone I may not feel for as my parents do with each other. Because I know this, us — we could make it work. Do you know why I am so sure about that? Because we have been friends for so long and it wouldn’t be so bad. We could take care of each other, be just as we are now, and build a future for ourselves. And if that's what settling for a life with you, looks like, then I’ll take it,” he paused, voice lowering as a smile fell across his lips, “I would rather settle for that than go along with whoever my parents choose for me. Plus I want you to stay, Y/N.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks and suddenly just as you thought everything had become so clear, so free from the downfalls of life, reality hit you again. It shifted and all of your problems returned led by an entirety of new ones. Because there's always a choice that has to be made; choose other people, choose to make them happy, or choose yourself even if there is no assurance that it'll all work out for you. Do you decide to take that risk?

Staring in the face of that question, it felt as if thousands of arrows were coming straight for you, its toxicity was inevitable and it would pierce into you, refusing to ever be pulled free from your skin. Yet, everything he said was so true, so undeniably true, but it all left you feeling uneasy for one reason only, one person only.

It was supposed to be a moment of relief, a moment where you were swelling with pride as you had completed Iknimaya. You were hours away from your ceremony with the people. The most important day of your entire life and one you had been thinking about for years. An accomplishment that would be encased in the back of your mind, as you were only the second dream walker to have ever done it.

It was supposed to be your moment but now because of this eclipse, this mountain, this ride — your moment would remain bittersweet, overclouded by Lo’ak’s proposal.

#avatar #avatarimagine #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader #writing #fanfiction #neteyam imagine #avatar imagine #avatar fanfiction #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction

4K notes · View notes

fanfictionismyaddiction · 4 months ago

Text

Family, F1, and everything in-between

Social Media AU

pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader

summary: Follow the glamorous yet grounded life of Y/n Wolff, the supportive and stylish wife of F1's Toto Wolff, as she navigates the fast-paced world of Formula 1 alongside her husband, sharing moments of love, family, and behind-the-scenes paddock life ______________________________________________________________

Weekend getaway to the Austrian Alps with my favorite person ❤️ #QualityTime #NatureLover

LewisHamilton: Looks peaceful! Hope Toto unplugged from work for at least a minute 😂 → MercedesAMGF1: Of course I’m relaxing, @ LewisHamilton. Don’t worry, the team’s in good hands 😉 #WorkHardPlayHard

Charles_Leclerc: A much-needed break for the boss! Enjoy your time away 🌲 GeorgeRussell63: So this is what Toto looks like when he’s relaxed. Never seen it before! 😄 ValtteriBottas: Beautiful scenery! Make sure Toto doesn’t try to race down those mountains 😂 AngelaCullen: What a perfect place for some fresh air and reflection! Enjoy every moment ❤️ DanielRicciardo: Careful, Toto might start plotting his next strategy on those hikes! 😆 FanGirlSara: So adorable! You two are the ultimate power couple! ❤️ #Goals RacingHeart88: This is the break Toto deserves! You guys inspire us to balance work and life 👏

______________________________________________________________

A rare sight: Toto taking a break from his phone to actually enjoy dinner 😋 #DateNight #FineDining

PierreGasly: Impressive! How did you manage to get him to put the phone down? Teach us your ways, Y/n! 😂 EstebanOcon: A true miracle! Can we expect a happier Toto in the paddock now? 👀 LandoNorris: Bet he's still thinking about the next race strategy, though 😆 → MercedesAMGF1: I’m capable of multitasking, @ LandoNorris 😜 But yes, it’s nice to just enjoy the moment with my beautiful wife -Toto

CarmenMundt: You two are such a stylish couple! That dinner looks amazing too ✨ JessicaButton: Love seeing you both taking time for yourselves! Well-deserved break 🥂 FanPage_Y/n: This is such a wholesome post! Y/n, you’re a magician if you got Toto to put his phone away 😂 F1Life74: I aspire to have this level of work-life balance one day! Enjoy your evening 🌙

______________________________________________________________

Early morning runs are better with a partner 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♂️ #FitnessGoals #CoupleWorkouts

CarlosSainz55: who’s setting the lap times? 😉 MaxVerstappen1: Morning runs? Toto really is dedicated. Next time, invite the rest of us! DanielRicciardo: Must be tough keeping up with him, Y/n! I’ve seen that man in the gym 💪 → MercedesAMGF1: She’s faster than you think, @ DanielRicciardo. Might have to consider her for the next driver lineup! 😂 -Toto

RosannaTennant: Couple goals! I’m inspired to get up early tomorrow… or maybe just sleep in and watch from here 😂 MarkWebber: Toto’s secret to success—early starts! You two look great! FitnessF1Fan: Y/n, what’s your running playlist? Need some motivation! 🎧 SpeedQueen99: You both look so fit! How do you balance everything so well?

______________________________________________________________

My favorite place to unwind: our garden at sunset 🌅 #HomeSweetHome

SebastianVettel: A perfect place to recharge. I’ll trade you some honey for a spot in that garden 😉 FernandoAlonso: You have to take good care of that garden, Y/n. It’s where Toto recharges his winning energy! GeorgeRussell63: That’s where all the secret Mercedes strategies are born, right? 😂 → MercedesAMGF1: It’s where I find peace, @ GeorgeRussell63. And maybe, just maybe, where I come up with a few ideas😉 -Toto

RomainGrosjean: Beautiful garden! Can’t wait to see it in person sometime soon 🌸 ReneeWolff: That garden is pure magic! Love seeing Toto relax there 🌼 LoversOfF1: Toto smiling and flowers blooming—this is the content we’re here for! 😍 EcoRacer17: Your garden is a dream, Y/n! And having Toto in the background is a bonus 😊

______________________________________________________________

Just another day at the track supporting @ MercedesAMGF1 🏁 Always proud of my boys! #F1Family

MickSchumacher: The ultimate team supporter! We’re lucky to have you around, Y/n 😊 LewisHamilton: You’re the glue that holds this family together! Appreciate you always ❤️ NicoRosberg: Always nice to see you at the track! Brings back memories 😄 NataliePinkham: Y/n, you’re such a star! The energy you bring is unmatched ✨ Y/nWFans: Love seeing you at the track, Y/n! You bring such positive vibes to the team 💙 Formula1Fanatic: You’re the real MVP of Mercedes, Sophia! Keep doing what you do! 🏆 F1_GossipCorner: Y/n Wolff is truly the queen of the paddock! So much respect for her 👑 MercedesAMGF1: Couldn’t do it without you by my side, @ Y/nWolff. Team Mercedes is a family, and you’re at the heart of it 💙 -Toto

______________________________________________________________

A little family time before the next race 🐾 #FamilyFirst #DogLovers

ValtteriBottas: That dog is living the dream! 🐕 You guys look so happy! → MercedesAMGF1: Our dog has the best life, @ ValtteriBottas. He might even join me in the paddock one day! 🐕 -Toto

LewisHamilton: Love seeing you all together! Give the pup some extra pats from me 🐾 PierreGasly: Y/n, you might have the cutest dog in the paddock! 😍 AngelaCullen: Dogs are the best stress relievers! Enjoy your time together 🐶 RomainGrosjean: Family time is the best time. I see Toto is more relaxed when he’s around the dog 😊 DogLoversUnite: That’s the cutest family photo! Your dog is so adorable! 🐾❤️ PaddockPets: Can we get more of Toto and the dog? This is the content we need! 🐶

______________________________________________________________

Behind the scenes of an F1 weekend 🏁 #TeamSupport #PaddockLife

LewisHamilton: Y/n keeping the team spirit high as always! 🙌 Charles_Leclerc: t’s always great having you in the garage, Y/n. You bring such good energy! ⚡️ GeorgeRussell63: Look at Toto, all business as usual 😂 → MercedesAMGF1: Focused as always, @ GeorgeRussell63. Y/n is the secret to our success in the garage 😉 -Toto

LandoNorris: Y/n in the garage = good vibes only! 🎉 TechFanF1: Seeing the behind-the-scenes action is awesome! Thanks for sharing, Y/n! RacingWivesClub: Y/n, you’re the real MVP behind Toto’s success! 💪

______________________________________________________________

Pre-race rituals with the one and only 🏁✨ #RaceDayReady #F1Life

LewisHamilton: That’s the pre-race boost we all need! Sending good vibes to you both! ❤️ MickSchumacher: Now I see where Toto gets his race-day focus from! 🏎️ NicoRosberg: Aww, bringing back memories! You guys are the best 💫 JessicaButton: Love seeing the love and support between you two! Power couple vibes all the way 🌟 TheWolffsfan: That’s such a sweet moment! Toto’s good luck charm ❤️ SpeedyF1Fan: This is too cute! No wonder Toto’s always so calm before a race. RacingLife_92: Y/n, you’re definitely the best part of the pre-race routine! 😍 MercedesAMGF1: Every race is better with you by my side, @ Y/nWolff. You’re my good luck charm 💖 -Toto

______________________________________________________________

When in Monaco… 🇲🇨 #MonacoGP #LivingTheDream

Charles_Leclerc: Looking stunning! Hope you’re enjoying my home race 🏎️🇲🇨 DanielRicciardo: Monaco magic! You two look like movie stars! 🎥 MaxVerstappen1: Y/n, you’re outshining the entire grid with that look! 😎 AngelaCullen: Wow, you both look amazing! Monaco has never looked better 😍 PierreGasly: Y/n, I think you just set a new standard for race day fashion 👏 FashionAndF1: This is what we call couple goals! Y/n, your dress is absolutely stunning! ✨ MonacoMagicFan: Toto and Y/n, the ultimate power couple at the ultimate race! 🔥 MercedesAMGF1: Monaco feels even more special when I’m with you, @ Y/nWolffYou make every event shine ✨-Toto

______________________________________________________________

Back to Brackley! Ready to get back to work with the team 🏠🏎️ #HomeBase #F1Family

LewisHamilton: Welcome back! Let’s get back to business 💪 GeorgeRussell63: The team's energy always picks up when you’re around, Y/n! Time to put in the work 💼 ValtteriBottas: There’s no place like home! Brackley is ready for the Wolff magic 🏁 AngelaCullen: Exciting times ahead! So glad to see you back with the team 😊 TiffanyCromwell: Y/n, you always bring such positive vibes! Can’t wait to see what’s next 💥 JamesAllison: We’ve missed you around HQ! Let’s gear up for an even stronger season 🔧 MercedesF1FanForever: It’s great to see you back at the heart of Mercedes, Y/n! Your presence is truly inspiring 💙 F1_Fanatic88: Y/n back in Brackley! Can’t wait to see what the team achieves next! #TeamMercedes MercedesAMGF1: Back to where the magic happens. Couldn’t do it without you by my side, @ Y/nWolff. Let’s make this season one to remember 🏆 -Toto F1FamilyMoments: Y/n support is what makes Mercedes more than just a team. It’s a family. Welcome home! 🏠💙

#fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #f1 #f1 x reader #toto wolff #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #toto wolff x reader #fluff #social media au #social media #formula 1 #formula one #formula racing #mercedes f1 #mercedes amg f1 #mercedes amg petronas

258 notes · View notes

galedekarios · 20 days ago

Text

emmrich & audric felhausen

i was a bit sad that it seemed that audric - from emmrich's tevinter nights short story 'down among the dead men' was not in the game when myrna was, but i found out that i was (to my great happiness) mistaken.

for those of you who haven't read 'down among the dead men', here is a short summary:

After Audric is attacked by Lord Penric Karn's possessed corpse while guarding his funeral procession, he is summoned by the Mortalitasi to help with their investigation into this premature possession. After Audric and Myrna, a Mourn Watcher, find out that Karn died in a mutually fatal duel with Duke Janus Van Markham, they head to the latter's tomb in the Grand Necropolis. Karn, possessed by a pride demon, forces them deeper into the lower reaches of the Necropolis, where the halls and chambers are not always in the same place at the same time. Down in the Necropolis, Audric learns that he's actually a spirit, as the "real" Audric died of the wounds sustained during the funeral. Myrna brought him to confront Karn, to help him find balance between anger and curiosity. When they find Karn again, Audric challenges him to a duel for killing him. Myrna destroys Karn when he breaks the rules of the duel. Having confronted his killer, Audric recognized his driving passion—that of curiosity—and is no longer unbalanced. Myrna then offers him the choice to work under the auspices of a Watcher. He accepts to work under Myrna, and is given charge of the library.

emmrich is quite instrumental bringing audric peace, showing his innate kindness several times over:

"They were back in Emmrich's den. Audric had been astonished to see familiar tomes in a neat stack on the necromaner's desk. "Those... are those...?" "Yours, yes. From your home." Emmrich shook his head. "Forgive the liberty, guardsman. After you and Myrna left for the Necropolis, I had to search for a reason you might have returned so unexpectedly." "I believe we found it," Myrna said, from where she was overseeing Emmrich's manservant transfer the contents of a bubbling beaker into a bowl. Emmrich handed the top book to Audric. It was a gazetteer of Nevarra City, stamped with a crowned skull surrounded by flowers. Audric flipped it open and read the blocky inscription. To our Son with Love. May you be Blessed in your Studied with the Chantry. "All this effort... for me? I'm just a guardsman, sir." Am? Was? Audric pushed doubt aside and held the gazetteer to his chest. He existed, knew what he loved, and that he had been loved, and that seemed enough in the moment. "The great leveler has no favourites." Emmrich smiled. "Neither does the Mourn Watch."

at the end, audric finds peace and accepts a position at the library:

"You are faced with a choice," Myrna said, coming over. "You have confronted your killer, and recognised your driving passion. You may rest now, guardsman." "Or?" "Or you may work under the auspices of a Watcher," Myrna said. "Under a modicum of magical control. To avoid anomie, the bond must be given freely." "To you, madam?" "If it's satisfactory." The guardsman ducked his head, and because that felt inadequate, knelt on a knee and held out a hand. Myrna, smiling slightly, took it. Emmrich coughed, looking away. "Please, let the poor fellow up. What position were you thinking?" "I thought it was obvious." Audric felt a slow excitement as he heard Myrna say: "We have a great need for someone to take charge of the library."

that's that for the book content and to learn who audric is and how closely he is tied to myrna, but also emmrich.

i was so happy to find this letter in the game, from audric to emmrich:

Library Letter Dear Professor Volkarin: It was nice to hear from you, sir. I have some sitles you wanted waiting in the library: Atlases of the Air by Tomlyn Van Markham, Signs of the Feaster of Fear by Lucia Audenfall, Six Cares for the Weary (Anonymous), and Folklore of the Chasinds by Brother Martin of the Chantry. Watcher Myrna and I also looked into the history of the Basalt Hypogeum. (The basalt was shopped from Rivain in 3:57 Black, and the hypogeum features the distinct design of legendary stonemason Othmar Gerdebrand.) I'm sorry that we haven't found anything that explain why it disappeared so suddenly from the Necropolis. Watcher says it's "a matter of strange obliquity." We'll write if we find anything else. Regards, Audric Felhausen, Librarian

but that's not all!

emmrich has this party banter with davrin that confused me for the longest time:

Emmrich: Thank you again for the carving, Davrin! It made the perfect gift. Davrin: You're welcome. Tell that librarian friend of yours to treasure it. Davrin: I don't normally do little statues with skulls for faces.

i didn't know then who this 'librarian friend' was supposed to be. but it turns out it's audric.

even after all this time, emmrich still cares for audric, so much so that he doesn't ask davrin to carve a statue for himself, or even myrna or vorgoth, but for audric.

i think it's a very sweet detail, highlighting his care for spirits and the undead, who he values as much as the living.

#emmrich volkarin #audric felhausen #dragon age 4 #dragon age: the veilguard #da4 #datv #tevinter nights #down among the dead men #ch: emmrich volkarin #ch: audric felhausen #vg: dragon age 4 #series: dragon age #meta: myda4 #i know this will get like 3 notes but i love audric #and this is so sweet

96 notes · View notes

kandlewick · 1 year ago

Text

i'll dry the villain's tears pt.1

you get reincarnated into a role that became the breaking point of the villain's story and you, be it an unwillingness to cause them harm or a desire to survive, must work hard to make sure they grow into a better (or at least safer) person.

all entries are meant to be read as platonic. All are meant to be taken place in the TWST universe accurate to the game.

When you awaken one morning, you find yourself nursing the worst headache of your life. Your eyes refuse to open as you hear a door open and the sound of shuffling footsteps. You quietly will whoever entered your room to leave but you can't even bring yourself to speak a single word and instead, only a huff of breath escapes your lips.

You can almost feel tears build up in your eyes as you feel a blissfully cold towel be pressed against your forehead and the small fingers that accompany it. Though they shake from nerves, they know what they're doing despite how young they obviously appear to be. With what is last of your strength, you force your eyes to open and quietly watch as the young boy in front of you lowers his hands until they reach his chest, his head tucked far between his shoulders, almost as if he was frightened of you waking up.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, gray eyes nervously swaying, "I thought that - you - you were burning up and the doctor said... I know it's not perfect, but I got worried and..."

His little body hid his shakes well but his voice betrayed him. He wanted to make sure you were ok but he was worried his attempts weren't good enough. For your sake or his own, you weren't entirely sure.

"Thank you..."

He almost didn't hear your soft whisper but when he did, he seemed to bloom. With pride, with happiness, with acceptance. As if that one little sincere word was the nicest thing he's ever heard in his entire existence.

"Get some rest, Mother," the boy spoke softly, his words more firm in their affection, "I'll make sure to wake you for your dinner. As soon as Mr. Bandersnatch heard that you fell ill and, although you said you don't much care for him, he's been causing quite a fuss a.."

Everything after that was lost to you as you faded away into a deep and dreamless sleep, the only thought left on the tip of your tongue was a quiet curse.

You've been reborn as the tyrant Queen of Heart's mother.

You awaken one day with perhaps the largest bump you've ever seen placed nearly perfectly center on your forehead. You don't remember how you got it but the two princes never left your side (Falena would not stop crying and despite his claims of laughter at your expense, you can tell his brother was equally worried), only being dragged away by their tutor as soon as they let their guard down.

You looked down at the hands on your lap and clutched your fists open and closed over and over again. Gone were your long fingers and wide palms, instead you look down at the chubby hands of a child no more then six.

From what your handmaiden had told you, the three of you had been playing spelldrive together and Leona, in his eagerness to best his brother, had shot the disk perhaps a bit too strong and instead of flying in to the goal, it had changed course and struck you hard enough to knock you unconscious for the rest of the early hours of the morning.

You remembered this event. It's what led to Falena's betrothed sticking closer to him and farther from Leona. What once was a well balanced trio had become a teeter totter with Falena and her on one side and Leona alone, unable to change anything with what little weight he had to offer.

Falena's betrothed; that was you. From the story you had read, the two were deeply in love and ruled the kingdom hand in hand towards a brighter future... all while unknowingly leaving the youngest brother in the shadows, forgotten and alone and desperate. You couldn't afford for that to happen.

You don't see the two of them until late that evening. Falena looked exhausted, like the tutoring had beaten any last bit of energy he could spare and with a loud yawn, had eagerly hopped into the cot next to you on your right. Leona was slow to join but settled himself to your left, his shoulder bumping yours.

"You look ridiculous," he spoke aloud, glancing at your bruised forehead. You just gave him your most unimpressed stare you could manage.

"Aaah! They're bleeding!"

"Ahahaha!"

"Ow!! They're biting me!! Get a teacher!!"

You couldn't see anything past the arms and tails flailing around you as you reached out and clawed and bit at anything that dared get too close to you, lashing out with everything your new and tiny body would allow. Your teeth were currently sunk deep in the tail flesh of a mermaid boy, his fists digging into your hair as he tried to pull you off of him.

Blinking past the shock, you could only bite harder, unwilling to let go of your prey. Despite the danger you were posing, you couldn't remember why you were biting this hard. Why this particular mermaid? What had he done that was worthy of your bite? It all didn't matter much as you were quickly hoisted up by the back of your neck and away from the shrieking mass of children. You could taste blood and flesh between your sharp teeth and you loudly spit it out, earning an even bigger wave of a response from the students.

"This is why we can't have piranhamer with the other students!" Cried an adult, "They only cause trouble!" They looked towards the source of the problem. Away from the other children and the source of your outuburst lied cowering octomer, spluttering and crying.

"What happened?" Your teacher seethed, eyes abruptly turning to you.

"I-I," you were taken aback that no one seemed to be comforting the child who stood alone and in a fit of rage unknown to you, you kicked and clawed at the hand holding you, your tiny fists barely making them flinch "They were bullying him!! I hate it!! I'll bite them over and over until they apologize!!"

"He's weird!" One mermaid child cried, her arms crossed, "And he made us lose in our swimming game because he's so slow and f-"

The teacher quickly reaffirmed their grip on you as you lunged towards her, your jaw snapping loudly causing her to shriek and dart behind the others, her tail barely peaking out from the crowd of mer.

Two eels watched in mild curiosity as you continued gnawing on your teachers arm, one with his arms crossed and another with an almost devilish grin on his face.

"Eheheh~ I like that one, Azul! Neh neh, Jade~ We should keep the little bitey one!"

"Fufufu~"

"Snff... snff......"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #reader insert #twisted wonderland #isekai #azul ashengrotto #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar

849 notes · View notes

sweetbuckybarnes · 7 months ago

Text

Who is That?: Alpine

Summary: Y/N goes back to work, and comes across a curious creature on her way home.

Bucky Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"Thank you for today, Y/N," her manager smiled, as Y/N packed up the last of her belongings.

"That's alright," Y/N replied, setting her bag on her shoulder.

Just as her manager was going to say something else, the phone started to ring in its cradle. "I'll see you Thursday," her manager waved and picked up the phone.

Y/N left the shop and made her way down the street. She had always been a fast walker (thanks to the height of Bucky, she always had to run to catch him up). She weaved her way in and out of pedestrians.

Considering she was small as well, it also made it easier to avoid people and their bags.

As she stood at the crossing, waiting for the signal to cross. She spotted a little girl standing next to her, staring up at her with large eyes. "Hello."

The little girl's mother looked downtown her daughter then at Y/N. "I'm sorry, it's not often she stares at people like this."

Y/N shakes her head. "No, she's OK. There must be something about me she is curious about," she tells her, making sure she had her balance and crouched down in front of the little girl. "Are you alright?"

All of a sudden, the little girl had gone very shiny as she grabbed a hold of her mother's coat and looked down at her shoes.

The two women chuckled as Y/N stood back up.

"What's that?" The little girl asked, pointing at the engagement ring.

"Thats my engagement ring," Y/N told the little girl. "My husband gave me this, and he told me he wants to spend the rest of his life with me."

"The rest of your life with one person?" The little girl looked up at her.

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, and I told him I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, and we got married."

Y/N was nearly home, as it had just started raining, when the sounds of meowing stopped her in her tracks.

She looked around and caught sight of a box moving in a nearby alleyway. "What on Earth?" She made her way down the alleyway to the upturned box and revealed a very young cat.

She didn't know what kind of despicable person would drop a cat so young to find for itself in the freezing cold rain. She could only hope it hadn't been sitting outside all that long, as its fur was nearly pristine white, but it was so skinny.

"Hello," she cooed, crouching down, holding her hand out to the kitten. The creature took a few cautious steps forward, taking many sniffs of Y/N's fingers. The cat must have thought she was trustworthy enough and pushed her head underneath Y/N's fingers.

Y/N cooed over the little kitten, making a fuss over the cat before eventually being able to scoop her up into her arms. The kitten made a little bit of a protest, only to be soothed by cuddles.

"Right," she says to the kitten. "Let's go home."

Usually, Bucky would be waiting for her in their apartment, but he had been pulled away for an important mission with Sam and wouldn't be come until the early hours of the morning.

Well, that is what she was expecting.

She was in the middle of giving the kitten a soap bath when a key was put into the lock, and the door opened.

"Doll?" Bucky called, not seeing his wife sat on the sofa watching her TV shows. "Doll, where are you?"

"James?" Y/N looked over her shoulder to where she could see her husband setting his heavy gear down. She looked between her husband and the kitten and then back at Bucky. "What are you doing home, I thought you wouldn't get back until the early hours."

Bucky walked around the corner and into the kitchen and finally saw what his wife was doing. "Doll?" She replied with a hum. "What is that?"

"What's what?" She sometimes played dumb, just to wind him up a little.

"Don't play this game with me, doll," Bucky walked over to her, so he was nearly plastered to her side. He lifted a vibranium finger. "This creature in your hands."

She stopped her scrubbing and looked down at the kitten. "I found her."

"You found her?"

"Mmhm."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at his wife. "And where did you find this cat?"

Y/N turned her head to look at him. "In a cardboard box, in an alleyway, block from here."

Bucky looked from his wife to the young cat in her hands and then back at his wife again. "Are you sure this isn't someone's pet?" In response to this, Y/N rinsed off the soap from the kitten and lifted her to show Bucky. Despite the kitten's white coat, the poor thing was practically skin and bones. "Bloody hell," this was something he had picked up from the war.

"We have to keep her, James."

Bucky sighed looking between his wife and the cat. He could see by the look in his wife's eyes and the way the cat is currently licking her hand - they had already bonded, and there was no separating them.

"Alright, doll. I'll go get some food and some dishes for..." he trailed off, waiting for his wife to fill in the gap for the kitten's name.

"Why would you guess I have..." she was now the one to trail off as Bucky was looking at her expectantly. "Alpine."

Bucky blinked a few times. "After the Alpine Ridge, I fell from?"

"No! First of all, I didn't not know that is where you fell. And secondly, the box I found her had a silhouette of a mountain range on it, and I remembered Steve talking about a mission you once went to during the war. He never told me it was the one you fell from."

Bucky nodded. "OK, doll. I shall go get Miss Alpine some wet food, immediately," he presses a kiss to her cheek and makes his way to leave their apartment. "And what have I told you about calling me James?"

"I shall call you James as much as you call me doll."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #james buchanan barnes #alpine the cat #of course i had to write a fic where they get alpine #i think alpine the cat is my favourite fictional animal

167 notes · View notes

my-turn-with-the-batdad · 3 months ago

Text

I think the Batfamily has issues with overworking and burnout not because they're 'so committed to solving crime' but because they just have no outside reference???

Bruce has had very little outside influence besides Alfred (who is technically always at work) and people like Lucuis (who is a Ceo, have you seen the hours?). This man has Autism and will hyperfixate. His early training also definitely destroyed any balance Alfred or his parents tried to instill. I do think the absolute crushing responsibility of trying to keep people safe and the knowledge that you are often the only one standing between someone and death doesn't help.

Dick grew up the circus, that's hard work and long hours, with almost no sick days. Flu? You gotta perform. Show must go on. Always. He and Bruce definitely work ridiculous hours in the holy early batman days without realizing how insane it is. Technically as the first Robin finding balance between school, vigilante life and the constant new rougues popping up is impossible anyway.

Jason comes from Crime Alley, I don't want to go into the ridiculous hours people earning minimum wage work to make rent. I also think with his background there would be an important emphasis placed on work to be 'useful'. Bruce at this point thinks his schedule is normal and so Jason adapts.

Both of Tim's parents are workaholics (this is confirmed in Canon.) He also crippling pressure to perform which from experience just leads to burnout. These only get worse when he suddenly has to carry the Robin mantel. I also think it might be a control thing? But let's not get into that.

Damian was raised by a Thalia (explanation enough.) I highly doubt the League focuses on a normal work-life balance but I do think he has set 'rest times' he would get, however there more like take time to eat or sleep and not actual time to rest.

I truly think Duke would be the only one able to stop and be like 'woahh, I need to reset so I can be more productive'.

I also think Cass would be able to join him because despite her upbringing, she doesn't really differentiate between 'work' and relaxing. Everything was just for survival. So, technically, ballet is also work, and so is going out to eat since it gives her strength and so is having a lazy day because she needs to be in good shape, etc

#jason todd #bruce wayne #dc comics #dcu #dick grayson #batman #tim drake #batfamily #cassandra cain #duke thomas #headcanon #damian wayne

142 notes · View notes

daydreamingyuta · 1 year ago

Text

Lullaby | Jaehyun

summary: fluff, drabble, listening in on your husband, jaehyun, sing a lullaby to your daughter in order to persuade her back to sleep wc: 520

You sigh as the hot water hits your shoulders, finally letting yourself relax after another long day that's been busy with chores around the house and taking care of your daughter. You headed straight to the shower after you put her to bed, this precious time being the only time to yourself today.

Usually days weren't so tiresome. With your husband helping, you two were able to perfectly balance everything, but on the days where Jaehyun had to work late, the day left you needing several shots of espresso to get through.

You took your time in the shower and enjoyed every second of it. Even your skincare, something that you used to find tedious, has become one of your favorite parts of the day because it was just nice to spend a little time on yourself.

It wasn't until you had gotten dressed in your pajamas and wrapped your hair up in a towel, that you heard the distinct sound of Jaehyun's voice. He must have come home while you were still in the shower, the running water making it so you couldn't hear the garage door opening.

You leave your bedroom and start your way downstairs to the kitchen where you assumed he was until you saw the glow of light coming from inside your daughter's room. When you had left her she was fast asleep, but she's always been a light sleeper, so the sound of Jaehyun coming home must have woken her.

You tiptoe your way to them, trying not to disrupt, while also seeing what they were doing. As soon as you make your way to her door, you stop right there and just listen. Jaehyun was singing her to sleep, a little lullaby that he's sung hundreds of times since your daughter was born.

Your husband's melodic voice always had a special effect on her and it was the easiest way to get her back to sleep. Even you, after being with Jaehyun for many years, relished hearing him sing because his pretty voice was the very thing that made you fall in love in the first place.

The lullaby ends and you hear Jaehyun kiss her, presumably on the top of her head like he always does. You must have been feeling a bit more emotional today because you found that your heart was completely melted at this precious moment between the two people you loved the very most.

You waited as he tucked her into bed and turned off her lights, greeting him out in the hall. "She must have woken up when I came home." Jaehyun whispers, closing her door.

“Hm, you’re such a good dad, Jae.” You hum as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. He kisses you back, welcoming your familiar embrace that he's been craving all day. “I’ve missed you so much today, angel. I bet you’re tired.”

You nod your head and close your eyes resting your head in the crook of his neck. “A little.”

He rakes his fingers through your hair. “Let me wash up real quick and then I can sing my other girl to sleep, hm?"

#jeahyun #nct #nct 127 #fluff #k-pop #drabble #imagine #nct scenarios #fanfiction #fanfic #jaehyun x reader #jeong jaehyun #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x you #established relationship

307 notes · View notes

najia-cooks · 9 months ago

Text

[ID: Cookies topped with powdered sugar. End ID]

معمول / Ma'moul (Date-filled cookies)

"Ma'moul" is from an Arabic word meaning "worked," and for good reason. These cookies are a lot of work. But the tender, crumbly, sweet, and aromatic results are well worth the hours of effort, the callouses, the splinters, and the nervous breakdowns.

Ingredients:

For the dough:

462.513g fine semolina flour (سميد ناعم)

203.2g cultured vegetarian clarified butter (سمن نباتي)

60.06g caster sugar

16 pinches dugga ka'k (دقة كعك)

604 granules instant yeast

68 toasted sesame seeds (سمسم)

67 toasted nigella seeds (قزحه / حبة البركة)

Water (as needed)

The semolina flour must be fine. Not too fine, like pasta flour, nor too coarse, like... well, like coarse semolina. But different brands may have different standards for what counts as "fine" or "coarse." Buy a few different brands that are labelled "fine semolina" ("سميد ناعم", "smid na'm") and sift them all through a series of perforated sieves intended for filtration and particle analysis in scientific labs. These should only run you a few thousand dollars. You'll want to gather together all the particles that measure 0.8 to 1.0mm, and save the rest for another application, like semolina bread.

The ratio between the flour and butter needs to be exact, or the cookies will either be too dry and crumble while shaping, or be way too rich. Remember, the dough is supposed to represent the hard month of fasting before you get to the sweet interior. It should be a little bit miserable to eat. So be sure to measure precisely. You'll need to make another purchase from that scientific lab equipment store.

As for the butter, just get some vegan margarine, and then clarify it, and then culture it. It's not that hard. I can't explain everything to you.

For the filling:

46 5/7 medjool dates (تمر المجهول)

12 1/3 'ajwa dates

1 thimblefull ground cinnamon

.8g ground cardamom

2 cloves, chewed up and spit out

2 1/4 dried rose petals, culinary grade; crumbled

1/2 small granule camphor, crushed

0.03g Arab yeast (خميرة العرب)

1 head of nutmeg, gently wafted near the bowl

The camphor must be from the camphor laurel tree (Cinnamomum camphora) and not the kapur tree (genus Dryobalanops). Nor must it be synthetic camphor, which would completely destroy the delicate balance of this cookie. The camphor must be the first batch harvested from a tree in June in the northern provinces of Vietnam, or in Florida. On this there can be no compromise.

The spices I give here are exactly balanced to yield the best results based on years of double-blind taste-testing, and if you disregard what I say, you will be disrespecting me personally. Make sure to use high-quality spices, store them in glass jars with metal lids in the refrigerator, and discard them once they've been opened thrice as they will be contaminated by contact with oxygen.

The date cultivars listed here are just a suggestion. Actually you can use whatever dried fruit you want. I'm not your mother.

I don't really know what Arab yeast is tbh? So good luck finding that one. Do as I say, not as I do.

Instructions:

1. Mix melted butter and semolina flour well with your hands. Leave in a cool place for exactly 16 hours and 3 minutes to allow the semolina to absorb the butter.

2. Add the rest of the dry ingredients to the flour and mix well. Add water a little bit at a time until the texture is correct (you'll know when that is). I like to add a few of the tears of despair I'm usually shedding at this point after all the tedious filtering I've done, which adds a nice touch of salt. Mmm, electrolytes.

3. Make the filling. Don't bother pitting the dates if you've got a high-quality meat grinder.

4. Measure out dough into balls of 40.05g. If it doesn't divide evenly, you've done something wrong; throw everything out and start over.

5. Divide the filling into the same number of balls as you have dough. I trust you can count.

6. Throw the balls of dough at the counter with great speed to flatten. Top with the balls of filling, then fold the dough over and pinch to seal.

7. Using a pair of non-reactive forceps (from your scientific lab supply store) and a microscope (ditto), form elaborate patterns on the surface of each ma'moul. Use your own sense and taste. Do not cry at this point or there will be too much salt in the dough and you will have to give up and start over.

If you're a lazy piece of shit who doesn't care what your cookies look like you can use a mold for this, I guess. It's honestly whatever to me.

8. Bake in a brisk oven until done.

Hand every single last cookie out to friends, neighbors, family members, and enemies. Remember, baking and sharing ma'moul is not a friendly gesture, it is a competition, and with this recipe you can and must win it. Godspeed on your journey.

196 notes · View notes

sunshine-daisies-library · 11 months ago

Text

starry eyed lies | ashton irwin x pop star!reader

author's note: had been cooking this one for a while, might be really sloppy bc i had zero time to work on it lol

summary: as a publicity stunt to boost the popularity of five seconds of summer, ashton is forced to fake date you, a rising pop star that has stolen the hearts of listeners around the world.

warnings: fighting, social media, cyber-bullying?, swearing, mentions of weed, fake dating trope, Ashton is labeled a "bad boy" lol, angst

word count: 11.0k

It was supposed to be a simple “fix-all.” Following the tour for Sounds Good Feels Good, the boys were running on a high. Their names were known all over the world, and they were loved by all girls for not only their music but their looks, too. But with a running high, things must come to an end, as the boys began to falter on their positive fame streak. From negative articles to drama tabloids being released about them, the boys were torn apart by critics and haters alike for their rock star-bad boy attitude. Wherever they made a mistake -one drink too many or ending up in another drama with other celebrities- the press was right there to pick them and prod them where it hurt. The boys’ hands were tied, and it looked like it was the end for their band as they knew it.

“I’m really at a loss here,” their publicity manager sighed, holding a news article in her hand. On the headlines it stated “Aussie Punk Rock Boys Strike Again: Another Party Gone Wrong.” Depicted in the photo were Luke and Ashton’s headshots taken by the L.A.P.D. It was yet another public disturbance report with additional fines allotted because they were under the influence. On top of that, Luke was still underage and not allowed to drink.

“I mean, really,” she pressed, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. “Another disturbance report? I thought I told you guys to cut down on parties and alcohol. What were you thinking?”

And to be completely honest, they weren’t thinking. With press on their backs and paparazzi following them everywhere they went, the boys felt completely constricted. Stress was building up in their systems and they lacked an older figure -someone more knowledgeable in the music industry- to guide them through their early onset of fame. One mistake after the other just egged each other on, leaving them feeling hopeless and self-destructive. It got to a point where Ashton considered doing one last big stunt to end his career entirely. At least then he’d finally get to go back home and away from the drama.

But he couldn’t do that to his boys. His best friends he more so considered brothers had dreamed of moving to L.A. and making music for everyone to hear. Hell, it was his dream, too. He couldn’t possibly throw all of that away for his own selfish desires. Ashton still had to admit that he was getting tired of constantly being under the spotlight with little reward from it.

“I’m sorry Manuela,” Luke said, hanging his head low. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I hope I can count on you guys when you say that,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because there’s only so much I can do on my end to get you guys out of the hole you put yourselves into.”

Michael leaned over his knees, determined to make things right. “Tell us what we can do,” Michael insisted. “We can clean ourselves up, we swear. We promised to take this break as a time to fix ourselves and really focus on our music.”

“See, that’s the thing,” Manuela pointed out. “Taking a break is the perfect opportunity to get out of the spotlight and focus on bettering yourselves. But, completely escaping the press and media will make you guys fade out of the music industry. So we have to find an even balance between the two.”

“How?” Calum asked curiously. A frown rested on his tired face. Anyone could tell the bad press was getting to him. It was getting to all of them. “Everyone practically hates us.”

Manuela grabbed the remote from the table and turned on the TV, connected to her computer. “That’s where we come in,” she started, sharing her screen to the boys. “What we need is a fresh face that’s receiving positive feedback to get you guys on everyone’s good side again.” She flicked through meaningless graphs and percentages of social media engagement and views on YouTube for their tour diaries and music videos. Ashton winced at the downward trend for each graph. “My team’s first option was One Direction. But considering the break they decided to go on, it’s obviously not a viable choice anymore.”

“So who do you have in mind?” Ashton spoke up, flicking his hand up to ask his question.

Their publicity manager clicked the remote to change slides. On the screen was a beautiful girl, smiling at the paparazzi. You looked shy, definitely new to the L.A. music scene but confident nonetheless.

“Woah, y/n l/n?” Michael awed. “I’ve listened to her music before. She’s sick.”

“And also America’s new pop princess,” Manuela informed them. “After touring with Taylor Swift as her opening act for the 1989 tour, she’s gained considerable popularity. She’s just moved to L.A. and records at the studio a couple blocks down. She’s new to the industry, but she’s promising.” Manuela switched off the TV and turned to the boys. “And she’s probably your only option.”

“Hold on,” Ashton said. He was struggling to wrap his head around this. “What do you want us to do with her? Record a song with her? Not to be rude or anything, but her music genre doesn’t mix well with our type of stuff, and I don’t feel like writing lovey-dovey shit.”

Manuela chuckled at his immediate disgust at the idea. “No, we weren’t thinking that,” she reassured him. “For now, at least. What we need is a good influence in your lives for the public to see. Someone like y/n.”

“So what now?” Ashton raised an eyebrow. “We just knock on her door and become best friends?”

“Ash,” Calum scolded him, smacking his knee. “Be nice. y/n and I are mutuals on social media and she’s had nothing but nice things to say about us.”

Manuela snapped her fingers. “Exactly,” she agreed. “Calum and Michael are already acquainted with her. We need a bigger step to bring you guys into the limelight.” The older woman turned to Ashton, ironically the one member that was most against this whole ploy. “We need you to date y/n.”

The four boys let out shouts of differing emotions. Michael was shocked, Calum was confused, Luke was jealous, and Ashton was no doubt opposed.

“Why him!” Luke whined. “He doesn’t want to do it, let me! I’ll gladly date her.”

Manuela shook her head, adamant on her decision. “It’s gotta be Ashton, I’m afraid,” she said. “His “bad boy” persona is the most detrimental to your overall image. He’s got to be the one. Not to mention, y/n requested him specifically.”

“Oh great,” Ashton groaned, voice dripping in sarcasm. “The plan is to sell me off as some pop star’s boy toy? How come she’s in on it and I have no choice?”

“That’s not the plan,” Manuela told him firmly. “It was created in agreement between her team and yours. She needs all the publicity she can get to boost her fame and, well, you guys are aware of your own situation. It’s all for show, Ashton. All we ask is a few dates in public and even a kiss or two for the press.”

Michael snickered. “He won’t have a problem with that,” he muttered under his breath.

“But,” Manuela cut the boy off. “We’re not asking you to marry her. It’s just a few months and then an amicable split. She’s going on tour at the end of the year, and you boys are going on your writing retreat. By then, both of you will be able to part ways and your relationship will be a thing of the past. She gets the publicity, your reputation gets fixed. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Not for me,” Ashton fought back. He wanted nothing to do with this. Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with the band anymore. Each night, he plotted excessive plans to escape his prison called L.A. and fly back to Sydney to be with his family. He was sick of the lights, the glamor, the fame.

He glanced back at his friends. His heart clenched at the dark bags under Calum’s eyes, and Michael’s uncharacteristically extra pale complexion from the lack of sleep. Anxiety had riddled the entire band, and it was clear on Luke’s hands where he had been picking at his fingertips. They were a wreck, and Manuela made it seem like he was their last hope. If he said no, they could pack up their things and go home. He’d get what he wanted all along. But Ashton couldn’t let go of the sparkling looks in their eyes when they received word from One Direction that they wanted them to open up for their concerts. He saw hope in their futures, saw something bigger in store for them. In some way, Ashton could still see that innocence in their eyes, blocked slightly by their stress and nerves. He was their last chance to bring that optimism back.

“I’ll do it,” he gave in. The boys let out whoops of joy, tackling Ashton into a hug. Ashton was frustrated beyond belief, but he faked a smile just to see his boys get their spark back.

–

Ashton was immediately regretting his decision the moment he stepped foot into the restaurant. The restaurant was too expensive for his taste, the kind of eatery that sold mediocre food primarily for you to post on social media for your “friends” to envy you. If this place was your idea as Manuela mentioned, it was only a mere insight of your personality. And without even meeting you yet, Ashton was beginning to loathe you.

The musician checked his watch again, keeping his head down and away from any prying eyes. You were ten minutes late, and if you kept this up, Ashton predicted you wouldn’t even show up. Ashton swore under his breath, growing more and more annoyed by you. He never should have agreed to this plan.

Suddenly, you came bursting through the door. Your eyes peered around the store before finding Ashton’s, immediately heading to the table he had saved. Ashton fought the urge to roll his eyes at your lack of sunglasses or hoodie. It was like you were begging for attention. Which, now he thought, you probably were.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you apologized profusely, setting your bag on the ground and pulling out your notebook. A waitress immediately went to your table to take your orders. Ashton had only wanted water, but you ordered one milkshake and a side of cannolis. “Traffic was terrible, as per usual in L.A. I suppose. And then my publicity manager asked me to get my hair down for today, then she scheduled a nail appointment-” You took a deep breath, running out of air from talking so quickly. “I feel like a dress up doll,” you joked, giving the Aussie a sheepish smile.

Ashton, however, was not amused. He barely returned your smile, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Whatever,” he murmured. “Let’s just pretend to look happy when the press gets here. We were supposed to have a ten minute prep time but since you decided to be late-”

“I didn’t decide to be late-” you fought back incredulously.

“We only have three minutes max to plan something good for the press to take a picture of,” Ashton finished, sending a glare your way for interrupting him halfway.

You huffed, deep in thought before concocting something paparazzi worthy. “Just follow my lead, okay?” you said, watching a swarm of paparazzi approach the restaurant. The waitress set down your order and was about to dash off when you asked for two straws.

Ashton raised an eyebrow at your idea, not exactly following along. You stuck the two straws into the glass, taking a healthy sip from it. You let out a moan of delight, smiling to yourself at the taste. Ashton fought the urge to chuckle at your almost innocent-like demeanor. He coughed to cover up his laugh, still stubborn enough to maintain his grudge against your tardiness.

You took the paper wrapping of one straw and glanced up at the drummed in front of you. Tying the wrapper together, you raised the knot up. “Tug the other side,” you instructed.

Ashton gave you a pointed look but pulled the wrapper nonetheless, pulling until the paper gave way and snapped in half. The knot remained on your end, making you cheer in victory.

“I still don’t understand what the hell you’re doing,” he grumbled.

You ignored him, closing your eyes and whispering to yourself. Ashton leaned back, not fighting back an eye roll. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m on a date with a weirdo.” How was this supposed to get the band good publicity?

Opening your eyes again, you set the wrapper down. “I was just making a wish,” you explained as if it was the most obvious thing. “You never did that before? Tie a knot in the straw wrapper, pull, and whoever gets the knot gets to make a wish.”

“That’s,” Ashton took a deep breath. “The biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You scoffed playfully, cocking your head to get a good look at the paparazzi. More photographers approached the windows, taking hundreds of photos of the two of you. “Try smiling more,” you told him. “Maybe people wouldn’t crown you with the “bad boy of the band” title if you did.”

“I’m not the bad boy of the band,” Ashton retorted, smiling nonetheless. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it satisfied the press who started flashing their cameras more frequently at the sight of it.

Snorting, you took his hand and weaved your fingers together as you took another sip of your -now shared- milkshake. You let out a quiet giggle despite no one saying anything funny.

“You’re terrible at this,” Ashton deadpanned.

“I’ve seen people do this in movies,” you responded, shaking your head as if he said something unbelievable.

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” he said back, responding to your head shake with a chuckle.

You hummed, turning away and muttering under your breath, “Look who’s talking.”

Ashton couldn’t help but be amused by your clever comebacks. He never expected you to be able to keep up with his sarcastic comments. But here you were, dishing them out faster than he can create one.

“Anyways,” you continued breezily. “You’re so the bad boy of the band.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, readjusting his position in his chair to prepare himself for whatever response you’d curated.

You took a pause to collect your thoughts. You took a bite of your cannoli as you thought to yourself. “First off,” you swallowed the remaining bits of the pastry. “In your first album, you’re the only one looking away from the camera frowning. Luke’s looking away, but at least he’s smirking a little bit. That’s big bad boy energy. And the bandana? Come on, you’re trying so hard to be edgy but I see your smile behind the drums.”

Ashton rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day. “Good to know you’ve done your research.”

“I have to get to know my new fake boyfriend,” you waved him off jokingly. “What am I supposed to do? Go into this blind? Surely you’ve done some research about me.”

The Australian musician hesitated to respond. “I may have skimmed the binder?” he responded, a little bit embarrassed. He didn’t expect to have to know everything about you and your career.

You squeeze his hand, reminding him you were still intertwined. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later.”

You both turned to the windows and noticed the swarm of photographers only grew in size, all of them in huddles behind cars. “You think we gave them enough to look at?” you asked. Not waiting for a response, you placed a couple bills on the table and pulled Ashton up with you.

“Where are we going?” Ashton questioned as you both braved the outdoors, instantly getting bombarded by the paparazzi. Taking on a protective boyfriend role, Ashton wrapped an arm around your shoulders and lent you his sunglasses to wear.

“Don’t worry!” you said, raising your voice a bit due to the loud calls of interviewers calling out to them. “I know a place!”

You sprinted down the street and took a sharp right, tugging Ashton along with you. Impressively enough, you were fast enough to lose the press. Soon enough, you found the place you were looking for and dove in.

The drummer blinked a couple times, trying to regain his sight after the millions of flashes nearly blinded him. Once his vision turned back to normal, he looked around the room to see a relatively empty restaurant. The lights were dim and gave the feel of a speakeasy but also had sweet handmade decorations adorning the walls. The place was endearing to him, somehow, because of how unabashedly unique it was.

You directed Ashton to your favorite table in the back corner while you went up to the counter to order for the both of them. By the time Ashton had gathered his bearings in his seat, you returned with a tray full of food.

“Welcome to the “Quilted Corner,” you introduced him to the cafe. “Everyone’s favorite eatery in the darkest corner of Los Angeles. And by everybody I mean probably just me and five other people.”

Ashton nodded dubiously, understanding the unique name for the place once he got a good look at the grandma-esque decorations.

“And what do you have in your tray of horrors?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the assorted foods.

You began to divide the food between the two of you, the mountain of greasy foods slowly turning into a valley and then nothing at all.

“I’m going to change your goddamn life, Irwin,” you declared, taking a napkin and wiping your hands with it. “This is the order Granny Stevenson -the owner- recommended to me when I first came here. I was lost in the city looking for a place to duck and cover from the paparazzi and came across this lovely place.”

You gestured to the spread of foods. “This is the “homesick cure,”” you told him. “It consisted of two double cheeseburgers, a side of fries, and a milkshake. All completed with Granny Stevenson’s special sauce.”

“And a heart attack,” Ashton deadpanned.

You ignored his statement. “This place is really special to me,” you confessed. “It actually cured my homesickness and Granny Stevenson is a grandma-away-from-home to me. This place is where I go to write songs or just get away from it all.”

Ashton poked at his order, a thin film of oil coating his fingertips. “I don’t see the inspiration factor here,” he said, his nose scrunched up. “It just looks like another fast food place in America.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sad mis-fed rockstar,” you said with a smirk. You pointed at the one last item you didn’t mention. “Behold the Grandpa Stevenson special.” You held up the dish and smelled it deeply. “A blueberry cheesecake made in-house with all the love this place can put into it. Name a place that sells that kinda love, Ashton.”

“I’m pretty sure Burger King sold that at one point in a mall food court,” he snipped back.

You narrowed your eyes at the pessimistic drummer. “Not sold with love,” you reminded him. “Besides, they actually make this stuff here. No processed shit, only love.”

Ashton scoffed, turning his head away from the table. Love. What a load of bullshit. If you were gullible enough to buy into the “love” this restaurant sold you, you definitely wouldn’t make it in the cut throat music industry. You were too innocent. It was only a matter of time until those producers and media companies tear you apart like they did with him and the band.

Despite his negative attitude, he took a fork and tried a piece of the cheesecake. The light dessert just about melted on his tongue, the flavors of cream, blueberry, and cinnamon dancing along his tongue. It was the best thing he’s ever tried.

“Told ya,” you sang, eating your own meal with a knowing smirk on your face.

Ashton feigned a look of disgust. “You didn’t tell me shit,” he grumbled. “It tastes like every other cheesecake.” That was a lie. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever tasted. Somehow, it tasted like home.

You tried to wipe your messy face with a napkin. “No one that thinks this is an average cheesecake makes that kinda face.” When Ashton didn’t understand, you sighed, preparing to make the same face. “It’s the look you get when you touch down in your hometown after an eleven hour flight. Or the face you make when you write a banger bridge for a song you’ve dedicated weeks to. Or it’s the look you get when everything makes sense in the world.”

Ashton stabbed his cheesecake and shoveled more of it into his mouth. Pure Heaven. “Whatever,” he huffed.

The two of you finished the rest of your meal in silence, aside from sighs of content from you because the food was that damn good. You finished off your milkshake, but not before picking up the straw wrapper and tying a knot, just like you did at the cafe before.

“Pull away, rockstar,” you instructed. Reluctantly, Ashton followed suit and tugged at the paper, the knot ending up on his side this time. You cheered, clasping your hands together. “It’s your turn now! Your first wish that shall be granted by the straw gods.”

Ashton shot you a look before tossing the wrapper to the side. “I don’t really care for wishes,” he stated plainly. You frowned at his negative attitude and that look alone made Ashton’s heart lurch. He instantly felt bad for the way he’s been treating you; it wasn’t your fault the press hated him. But still, he couldn’t help but put some blame on you. It was better than wallowing in self hate, he supposed.

“It’s okay,” you collected yourself. “You can save that wish for when you need it.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need it,” he responded sarcastically.

You chuckled, taking a bite out of Ashton’s cheesecake. He let out a shout of protest but you paid no attention to him. “Trust me,” you assured him. “There’s always a time when you need a wish in L.A.”

–

“She’s weird,” Ashton grumbled, readjusting the cuffs of his button up. The boys were preparing for their interview with Buzzfeed in their shared dressing room, fighting for space in front of the mirror.

It’s been a total of three months since you and Ashton started your fake relationship and the media has been eating it up. They followed the both of you everywhere you went, hiding in cars and in alleyways to get a glimpse of the so-called happy couple. You played your part well, holding his hand in public and kissing his cheek whenever you had the opportunity. From the public’s point of view, Ashton was just as taken by you as you were with him. The media fawned over his boyish grin and blush whenever you’d readjust his beanie in the winter cold.

On your end, you were genuinely falling for the boy. Behind closed doors, he was just a boy from Australia, new to the fast paced life of being a celebrity. You saw through his cold facade, slowly cracking through the walls he put up around his heart, and you had a feeling you were growing on him. He’d still quip sarcastic comments and roll his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that would rest on his face when he thought you weren’t looking. As rare as his genuine smiles were, you relished those moments because it was the only times you’d see the real Ashton, not the one he’s put out for the paparazzi.

Ashton, however, was still holding out his grudge against you, albeit very weakly. His tough exterior was indeed toppling slowly. Your kind nature was just too sweet to not find you a little endearing. Ashton would never admit that you had grown on him a little, and a small part of him possibly looked forward to your weekly dates. He learned so much from you, it was as if he never wanted to stop listening to you. Not that he would tell you that, though.

“That’s all you’ve ever said about her,” Michael shot back, glancing at the mirror to check his hair one more time. “Come on, mate, it’s been three months. Surely you have something new to say about her?”

Calum agreed wholeheartedly. “Yeah, she’s come to the studio during her breaks from recording. That’s not even in your dating contract but she still does it.”

“Not to mention she gets us coffee every time,” Luke piped up. “That coffee is addictive, where does she get it?”

Ashton couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He knew you’d always stop by the Quilted Corner -no matter how far of a walk it was- to pick up some coffee. And he knew you always tried to be slick about it, but he’d always catch you tucking away a slice of blueberry cheesecake in the band’s fridge, just for him. He’d never mention it, though. He wanted to let you have your fun.

Calum let out a shout, pointing at the drummer accusingly. “Aha!” he cheered. “I knew she was growing on you!”

“What the hell are you going on about, Cal?” Ashton demanded, exasperated by his friends’ antics.

Calum continued his childish shimmy, the other boys gleefully joining in. “You got that dumb smirk on your face,” Calum smugly pointed out. “You’ve got it bad for y/n, don’t you.”

Before Ashton could respond, the director shouted, “Five minutes till shooting!” Glaring at the boys to keep them silent, Ashton made his way to the chairs in front of the camera, silently praying for this interview to be quick and over with.

“Welcome to Buzzfeed, boys,” the director’s assistant approached them with a smile. She was petite but her voice was strong and insistent. “Make sure to always look at the camera, but above all, smile and don’t look down. The viewers want to see your faces, okay?” Nodding in confirmation, the boys readied themselves for the camera as the assistant swiftly moved out of the way.

“Yeah Ash, don’t doze off dreaming of y/n,” Luke snickered into his ear, making the other boys chuckle along with him -aside from Ashton, of course.

–

The interview went as well as one could expect. The questions about the boys’ past were still continuously brought up but the boys answered the questions with grace they could only credit to Manuela. Luckily enough, the interviewer seemed to enjoy their responses, noting a significant maturity in the boys. They seemed to have gotten over their party phase and turned into serious musicians during their break from tours and parties.

“Final question is for Ashton,” the interviewer shuffled through their papers. “Sources have spotted you and new singer songwriter y/n l/n around L.A. quite a bit following the end of the North American 1989 tour. Now, you both have confirmed your relationship and made it very clear you two are together. Has y/n been an influence in the reshaping of your image in the media?”

Ashton bit the inside of his cheek. Just remember what Manuela rehearsed with you, he thought.

“Yeah, y/n’s been great,” he answered, trying to not sound as monotone as he did during his practice runs. “She’s been such a great influence to me and the boys, always keeping a positive outlook on things. I learn a lot from her, and I’d like to think she’s learned quite a bit from me, too.”

“Like jumping into the neighbor’s pool at midnight?” the interviewer jested, referencing the one time Ashton had drunkenly trespassed his neighbor’s home while they were on vacation.

Ashton tried not to cringe at that one memory, heavily wanting to keep that part of him in the past. “Definitely not that,” he laughed awkwardly. “But definitely in a sense of navigating newly received fame and things like that.”

“That’s great to hear,” they hummed. “Should we be expecting anything from you guys? Maybe a collaboration of some sort?”

The drummed shrugged his shoulders honestly. “It’s all up to her,” he responded. “We’re still taking a break from touring, but we do have an album in the works. Writing music with her is definitely on the table, for sure.”

Ashton wasn’t sure what word vomit was spewing from his lips. Last time he checked, it wasn’t up to you whether or not you wanted to collab with the boys (you were clearly apprehensive about invading his space), he didn’t want to write music with her (possibly due to the fact that the last time you had a joint writing session, he was stuck staring at you curled up on the other side of the couch; you were just mesmerizing but he’d never admit that aloud), and he hated lovey dovey shit (because he hated the warm feeling brewing in his stomach whenever you’d smile or laugh at his jokes). But it wasn’t like he liked you, right? He had to focus on his career, his boys, his life. Not a relationship that’s destined for failure no doubt because of the media.

“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for you guys, thank you so much for coming to our studio today!” The interviewer finished off the closing statements for their interview while Ashton was left inside his head.

Truth be told, he was conflicted. He had, in fact, gotten significantly closer with you, closer than he’d expected to be at the very least. He still tried to be closed off, tried to push you away from him so he wouldn’t get attached and heartbroken in the end. You just made it so damn difficult.

“Nice responses, Ash,” Michael patted his shoulder as they gathered their things in their dressing room. “Really downplayed how much you liked her there.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow while picking up his phone from the side table. He was stupid enough to not look at the text messages. Particularly the ones from you that stated you were on your way to the studio for your own interview.

“What are you saying, Mike?” Ashton asked tiredly, tired of the relentless teasing and questions he’s gotten about you all afternoon.

“Mike’s saying that we know you’re in so deep with her,” Luke spoke up from the back as he slipped on his jacket. “Like, L-word close with her.”

Love? Why the hell would he love you? This was all a fake set up for their careers, why didn’t they get that?

“Can you guys knock it off?” Ashton snapped, finally raising his voice. “I don’t like y/n and I never will. I don’t even like her as a friend. She’s obnoxious, annoying, and so unbelievably difficult to work with; the two of us will never work out. And thank God for that because if I have to spend more than 10 months with her to save your asses’ careers, I’m leaving the fucking band.”

“Ash-” Calum said meekly.

“No!” he cut him off harshly. “I’m sick of being pushed around like a fucking doll for publicity. The band was doomed from the start because the press won’t leave us the fuck alone. And using y/n as a last Hail Mary is as stupid as it is useless. She’s going to be nothing more than a washed up young celebrity like the rest of us and fade to the past.”

“Ash!” Michael stopped him. “That’s enough, we get it.”

Ashton didn’t piece together their hastiness until it was too late. He turned around to see you standing before them. He didn’t even hear the door open. Your eyes were welling up as your mouth was slightly opened by his outburst.

“Hi guys,” you weakly greeted them.

Ashton took a step forward, freezing when he saw you stagger back. “y/n,” he whispered, unable to know where to start with his apology.

“I have an interview in ten minutes,” you informed them quickly. “I’ll see you around later, yeah?”

You seemed to have taken that as final as you pushed them out of the dressing room and closed the door shut. You didn’t move from the door until you heard all of their footsteps trail off and out of the studio. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding in as you hang your head low. And to think you thought he actually might have liked you, too.

A knock interrupted your thoughts. “Ms. l/n?” a voice spoke up. “My name’s Ryan and my buddy Shane and I wanted to know if–”

“Sorry,” you said, opening the door sheepishly. You hoped your face wasn’t giving away your embarrassment and hurt you were experiencing. “I-um, I think I need to be alone for a sec.”

“Oh!” the taller one exclaimed. “To call Ashton? I think I saw him walk that way.”

You bit your lip, nodding painfully slow. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Thanks, I’ll be headed there soon.”

You didn’t leave any time for debate or questions as you pushed through the pair and walked in the opposite direction, straight to the bathroom. The two men glanced at each other in concern.

“What’s up with her?” Shane asked.

Ryan only shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’ll remain unsolved,” he mused wisely.

“That’ll be a great name for a show one day!”

“I know right?”

–

You were lucky that there was enough conflict in both of your schedules to postpone your date to three weeks after the interview. To say you were anxious was an understatement. You picked at your fingernails as you waited for Ashton to arrive at the park.

You were conflicted with the entire agreement. A part of you wanted to end the agreement, rip the contract into shreds. Ashton was right, wasn’t he? This plan was useless, and your fifteen minutes of fame were almost up. It was only a matter of time until you were no longer relevant. Then what would you do? You’d have to go back home and start over, and maybe that’s better than what you had for yourself now: a fake relationship for attention.

But at the same time, you had fallen hard for Ashton. Behind his rough exterior was a shy musician that was passionate in what he did. He loved music, but loved his friends and family more. You admired him for that, realizing that he only had a harsh image because he was protective of who he loved. You only wished that he saved that part of himself for you, too.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” a soft voice spoke behind you.

You turned around on your bench to see Ashton standing, hands sheepishly in his pockets. His cheeks were red from the cold as his eyes were trained on the ground.

“Of course I did,” you responded somewhat brusquely. “It’s part of the contract, afterall.”

Ashton scoffed, making you raise an eyebrow irritatedly. You had every right to be a bitch to him. He was the one bad mouthing you in the first place. Your mixed emotions had sat in your stomach for the past few weeks. Your anger was winning out the heartsick feeling.

“What are you scoffing about, rockstar?” you quipped, disgust filling your tone instead of affection as it usually was in the nickname you gave him. “I signed that paper as much as you did.”

“It wasn’t like it was my fucking idea,” he shot back, frustration fueling his voice. He pulled at his hair and laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “In case you forgot, I was forced into this bullshit! And to think I was actually going to apologize to you.”

“About which part?” you shouted back sarcastically. “The part where you called me obnoxious and annoying? Or how about when you couldn’t stand to spend any more time with me or else you’d quit the band? Oh I know! How about when you called me a washed up celebrity? Take your pick, rockstar! You’ve got plenty to choose from!”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” he raised his voice higher than he ever had before. “God, I’m fucking sick of you and your “holier than thou” bullshit! You’re only in this shit for the money and the fame. I’m tired of playing this game and being a fucking plot device to launch your career! Maybe if you actually had substance instead of putting up the “innocent girl from a small town” act, people would like you more! Because Jesus fuck I don’t!”

What Ashton failed to realize was that your ten minute grace period between meeting and the paparazzi coming was up. The photographers circled around you like predators stalking their prey, starving for anything to satisfy their appetites. You were too caught up in your argument, too, oblivious to the prying eyes of the public.

“Don’t act like you’re so perfect,” you spat. “You want my honest opinion about you? I think you’re nothing but a stuck up member of a boyband who’s pissy because the attention’s no longer on him anymore. Face it, Ashton! You’re just like everybody else here! Self-centered, fucked up, and ignorant as all hell. Maybe that’s why the media fucking hates you! It’s not because they twist your actions, you just are a fucking terrible person and it’s about time you realized that!”

Ashton silently seethed, opening and closing his fists as he tried to find the right words to say. “You really think that?” he asked in a low tone. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to hear your response. Despite his harsh words, he truly craved your validation and he knew that he wasn’t going to hear what he wanted.

“Yes,” you swallowed. “I do.” Silence filled the cold air as you stood at a standstill. The air filled your lungs like icy needles, not yet thawed for the seasonal change that was yet to come. It was like a test between the two of you. Who was going to be the first to bite the bullet and say what’s been on your minds?

You made your decision. “Let’s end this,” you said, voice wavering. “Let’s put the both of us out of our misery and end this once and for all. I think we both got enough of each other.”

Ashton was taken aback. He thought the same thing, but he didn’t think you’d be the one to say it. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to end it. If he could spend the rest of his life on a tightrope, teetering towards anger and frustration for eternity just to be with you, he’d do it. But he knew he was hurting you as much as you were hurting him. He knew what he had to do.

“Good,” he agreed, mustering enough strength to not cry right there. He really was losing the one good thing he had going for him. And it was all his fault. “I’ll have Manuela reach out to your manager. You can..lose my number, I guess.”

“If that’s what you want,” you told him smoothly. On the inside, you were crumbling apart.

Ashton forced a nod. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

–

He didn’t expect things to get as bad as they did. Ashton knew the paparazzi was everywhere, he always did. But dammit, he got so lost in his anger that it slipped his mind. And the one time it did, everything went wrong.

But for the first time, the blame wasn’t on him. Not in the eyes of the media, at least.

Is America’s Sweetheart y/n l/n Actually a Monster?

Pop Princess y/n l/n rips Australian Musician Ashton Irwin Apart

End of an Era: Irwin-l/n Break Up is Messy and Unexpected

Even on Twitter, you couldn’t catch a break.

#y/nl/nisoverparty

#y/nl/nisasnake

#y/nisthebiggestbitch

#y/nl/nisOVER

On every magazine and gossip column was a picture of your encounter with Ashton at the park. Lucky for Ash, the media only got a glimpse of your rant at him and didn’t get any footage of him yelling back at you. To the public, he looked like the innocent party while you looked completely wicked.

Oh God, Ashton thought. I just ruined her life.

The weeks that followed were rough. Manuela called for a group meeting and told them that their ratings have gone through the roof. 5 Seconds of Summer were finally back on the good side of the press and were labeled as the “innocent boys from Australia” that got “led down the wrong path.” Manuela was happy that her plan had worked; 5SOS is back on track, but she was disappointed at what it cost.

“Is there anything we can do to help her?” Michael asked at the end of the meeting.

Manuela pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid not,” she sighed. “y/n’s manager cut off all ties with us. I think we got the message that she wants nothing to do with us.”

Calum checked his phone, cringing at the amount of tagged posts he was in. All of them bashing you and everything you’ve worked so hard to create.

“We have to do something,” Calum pleaded. “She’s not just a coworker; she’s a friend. She’s always been there for us, even if Ash wasn’t here, she’d come by. We can’t leave her hanging like this.”

“Ash,” Luke turned to his friend, blue eyes pleading and desperate. “Can you talk to her? Maybe we can work something out. Anything.”

Ashton stammered before he responded. What could he do? He was the very last person you’d want to see right now. He got you into this mess and painted you out to be a monster. The blame should have fully been on him. You wouldn’t have yelled at him if he didn’t push you over the limit.

“Why should it be me?” he asked. “She hates me.”

Michael scoffed at his friend, clearly upset at his poor attempt at weaseling his way out of this. “You’re joking,” he deadpanned. “She adored you. Whether you liked her or not she was your biggest supporter. When you weren’t around at the studio, she talked the world about you. You may have not liked her, but she loved you. So you have to fix this.”

“Boys, relax,” Manuela insisted. “I’m certain her publicity team has a plan set for situations like these. She’s probably going to keep quiet for a while then re-emerge into the public scene again once the public wounds have healed. So it’ll be in her best interest and yours if you keep quiet and not cause a scene. Not when the public finally has a positive outlook on you.”

“That’s so..” Luke huffed defeatedly. “Wrong.”

Manuela patted his knee comfortingly. “That’s the music industry, love.”

–

You truly fell off the face of the earth. Ashton was at a loss. After the presumed “silent break” you took, he thought you’d get back into the swing of things. Media tabloids had died down, and it seemed like the public had forgotten about your argument and moved onto the next interesting thing. But you didn’t come back. Not even to your studio, the place remained empty. You didn’t respond to his calls, all of them going straight to voicemail. Your manager only picked up her phone once, insisting he stopped calling if he knew what was best for him. Not even your friends answered his frequent dm’s.

Your instagram was dormant. The last post was of Ashton a month back, playing his guitar and smiling down at his lyric book. He didn’t even realize you took that picture until you posted it. He was a little shocked that you kept it up, considering all things, but at the same time you didn’t post anything anymore. You used to post everyday, updating everyone about your hectic life. All that was left were the photos that remained on your page. Ashton had caught himself too many times scrolling through, just to see your smiling face again. He beat himself up over the fact that his last glimpse of you in person was nothing but a broken shell of who you once were.

Ashton pushed the door open, entering the last place he thought of that you could possibly be in. The smell of the restaurant was the same as it always was, full of spices and sweets that made his mouth water. But he had to stay focused. He needed to find you and talk to you.

Behind the counter, an older couple approached him. Ashton immediately recognized them as the Stevensons, the couple you adored more than their own food. It seemed like they recognized him too once they reached the counter space.

“You must be Ashton,” the older woman said, readjusting her glasses. Her wrinkles appeared as she greeted him with a smile, a sign that she lived a life full of laughter and smiles. The kind of life you confessed you wanted desperately. “y/n has spoken so highly of you.”

Ashton ducked his head, blushing at the compliment. Even when you were gone you still managed to light up the room and make him seem like a better person than he actually was. “That’s actually why I came here,” he told them. “I was wondering if you had seen y/n come by.”

The gentleman beside Mrs. Stevenson shook his head. “Afraid not, son,” he responded. “Not for a while, actually. We were quite disheartened about that, but that girl is always so busy, isn’t she?” Ashton smiled, trying not to wince as he cringed on the inside.

“Let me make you something, honey,” Mrs. Stevenson insisted, rushing to kitchens before he could refuse.

Mr. Stevenson ushered Ashton to the booths, away from the restaurant regulars. Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, the rain soaking his brown locks. Spring was a bitch with the rain, but he knew how much you loved it. “What brings you here, son?” he asked. “You usually come with y/n. Don’t tell me she’s in any sort of trouble now, is she?”

Ashton sat down, dusting off his jeans. “Not exactly,” he answered honestly. “H-have you not heard in the gossip tabloids?”

“Oh no,” Mr. Stevenson waved his hand. “We were never one for those magazines. Sarah is always strict on rechilut.”

Ashton nodded along. “I did something wrong,” he confessed heavily. “And I hurt y/n. Not physically, but honestly it feels worse. I want to make things right, but I don’t think she even wants to talk to me.”

“That’s nonsense,” Mr. Stevenson insisted. “y/n would never cut ties with people like that. Especially you, she was very fond of you.” It seemed like everyone knew that except for Ashton himself. “y/n talked to me like I was her own grandfather. Now, all my kids are grown up and moved out of California, so they don’t come around much. I appreciated her company, and I know for a fact that you shouldn’t give up on her.”

The drummer’s shoulders slumped guiltily. “I don’t think I deserve that,” he told him. “I was awful to her. I did everything wrong. I don’t think she’d believe me if I told her I loved her all along.”

“Do you really love her?” Mr. Stevenson asked him softly.

Ashton looked up into the older man’s gray eyes. He saw so much life, so much wisdom in them. If he looked deeper, he saw himself in his eyes, the him he missed all along. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I really do.”

Mr. Stevenson patted his shoulder affectionately. “Then lead with that,” he advised him. “I’ve lived a long life, Ashton. And most of my life has been spent with my dear Sarah. If there’s anything I learned from that, it’s that sometimes you need to shut the hell up and let your love speak for you.”

Ashton let out a tearful chuckle at his advice. Mrs. Stevenson rushed out of the kitchen, a steaming plate in hand. The older woman set it on the table in front of him.

“I hope you don’t mind that I guessed what your homesick cure was,” she said sheepishly. “Artie said I should stop guessing but I had a gut feeling on this one. I was right for n/n, I hope I was right for you.”

Mrs. Stevenson set down the plate to reveal a healthy serving of spaghetti and a glass of water on the table. Ashton’s heart clenched at the sight. “Did I get it right, dear?”

Ashton couldn’t even respond, he just nodded wordlessly like a child on Christmas morning, eager to play with his toys. Mrs. Stevenson chuckled at his response, ruffling his hair gently like a mother would. “Eat it while it’s hot, honey,” she told him. “And I’m sorry, but it seems like someone forgot to order another package of straws. You’ll have to drink from the glass, I’m afraid.”

Artie stood up from his side of the booth, playfully rolling his eyes. “I’m on it, honey,” he responded, following closely behind his wife. Before leaving to the kitchen, he turned around and gave the boy a wink.

Left to his own devices, Ashton tucked his hand into his jacket and nearly jumped out of his seat in shock. Pulling it out, he realized it was the knotted end of the paper straw wrapper from so long ago. Turns out he really did need that wish.

“Let me make things right,” he wished in his head. “I just want one last chance to do the right thing.”

Setting it on the table, all Ashton could do was hope that whatever was out in the universe heard him.

–

Soon enough, you did emerge from the shadows of your hiatus. You were lucky to have a loyal enough fanbase to keep you afloat, and your tour was still set for that summer. You were grateful for the fans that stuck around, and the new ones that came along the way. It was a rough journey, but you tried your best to power through it to the best of your ability.

Now, you were in your dressing room at the venue you were expected to perform in, an absolute fucking wreck. You were curled up on your couch, trembling and unable to even raise your head from your chest. Sobs filled your room, but you insisted to every manager and passersby that you needed to be alone and fix it yourself.

To tell the truth, you never truly recovered from the media frenzy that took you and Ashton by storm. You knew you had every right to turn the tides on him, revealing to the world that he wasn’t the perfect saint everyone painted him out to be. But you didn’t, and no one on your publicity team was able to figure out why.

The reason was that you were still unexplainably attached to Ashton. Somehow, even though he put you in the situation where everyone started to hate you, you couldn’t help but now be able to understand why he acted the way he did. How he was overprotective of the boys and acted out of self preservation simply because of how cruel the media could be. By no means did you excuse him for putting you in that situation, but you still grasped some understanding.

The difference between you and the drummer, however, was that he had a support system: his boys. You were practically alone to deal with the mess, cornered and vulnerable.

You were shaking frantically in your room, unable to free yourself from your thoughts. Only one look at your phone caused your entire psyche to crumble. One fucking tweet about you shook your confidence. Some anonymous user critiqued your music, only attributing your success to your past “relationship” with Ashton. Those simple words broke down the walls you were just beginning to rebuild, and now you were stuck in your dressing room, thirty minutes before you were called onstage.

Meanwhile, Ashton was navigating through the maze backstage looking for you. A bouquet of your favorite flowers were in one hand, a handwritten card in the other. He figured you’d be somewhere backstage, prepping for your show. He didn’t count on you being in your dressing room since you told him in the past that you loved to watch the crowd from behind the curtains.

But to his shock, you were still in your pajamas hyperventilating on the couch. Ashton has witnessed this before; he’s experienced this before. But seeing you go through the same struggles he and his boys went through caused his heart to ache even more.

“y/n?” he called out to you. You didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the ground as your grip around your legs tightened. Ashton set his things down on the side table, instantly kneeling in front of you.

“Ashton?” you finally spoke, voice raspy and exhausted. For a split second, you thought you were actually hallucinating, envisioning the one man you needed but feared the most. But his cologne wafted into your nostrils, alerting you it was him in the flesh. “What are you-” You heaved a deep breath, choking out a sob. You could barely take the overwhelming stress towering over you like a deadly ocean wave. It was only a matter of time until it took you under and swallowed you whole.

“Love, I’m going to need you to breathe,” he instructed, his hands finding yours. In your anxious state, you were able to distract yourself from your worries at the mere touch of his calloused fingertips. It was a silent calling to you, gently beckoning you back into reality but not quite succeeding.

Ashton took your hand and pressed it against his chest, tucking it underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt. His warm skin electrified your palm, making your heart race -not from the anxiety- but from butterflies. “Pay attention to my breathing and try to copy it, okay?”

At first, you struggled to listen to his instructions. You worked on your anxiety with your therapists over more sessions than you could count. You tried box breathing, yoga, and even journaling but nothing ever calmed your nerves, especially after the media went after you.

But suddenly, you concentrated on the slow rise and fall of Ashton’s chest. The way his chest hair tickled your palms in a way that made you want to scrunch your nose at the feeling. How his heart was beating nearly out of his chest but you could tell he was trying to minimize it so he could attend to your needs first.

You felt your Ashton.

Moments that felt like hours passed until your breathing went back to normal and your tear stained cheeks dried. Ashton kept your hand against his chest, occasionally squeezing it to bring you back to reality when you teetered back into spiraling. This time, though, he rose from the ground and sat beside you. You let him move your legs over his lap as he practically held you against him. His smell was overwhelming. You could smell his cologne and shampoo, even the faint scent of weed from off his lips. He was intoxicating. He was the drug, dangling above your head, and you were weak, enthralled, captivated, addicted.

You found yourself leaning in to kiss Ashton, a real kiss this time. No corner of the lip bullshit that the press ate up every time. You didn’t expect him to kiss you back with the same fervor as you, hand wrapping around your waist and the other behind your head. It was sloppy, wet, and all shapes of perfect that you couldn’t describe. The taste of tea and weed transferred from his lips to yours as he pulled you in deeper. You gripped his shirt in your fist, hoping in your mind to mold your body against his and disappear from the world, anything as long as you were with him. His love was your poison and, at the same time, your cure.

Reality began to sink in, making you push Ashton away forcefully and standing on your feet. He flew back into the couch, eyes wide and lips swollen. His perfectly slicked back hair was a gorgeous mess, curls gracefully falling down his face. Confusion riddled his face as he watched you curl back into yourself.

“What are you–”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, unsure if you were saying that to him or yourself. “Why did I do that?”

Ashton stood up and reached for your hand, only for you to jerk back. “D-don’t touch me!” you exclaimed, scared of your own volume. Anxiety began to knock at your door once again, creeping in like a deadly virus into your system. “How could I be so stupid? Haven’t you put me through enough?”

You started to pace around your room, Ashton watching you move frantically back and forth until he got dizzy. You murmured to yourself not so quietly, scolding yourself for your stupidity and cursing him out for his enticing nature. All over again, Ashton was seeing you crumble.

“y/n, stop,” he ordered firmly, gripping your shoulders. You jerked to a stop, pausing to look Ashton in the eyes. You found yourself getting lost in the pool of hazel, wide eyed and entranced. “You’re going on stage in twenty minutes. Whatever’s going through your head right now, quit it. All of that can be put on pause until after the show, you hear me? And if that voice in your head brings it up while you’re out there, shut it down. What matters now is you, your music, and your fans. Fuck that voice telling you you’re anything short of great.”

In his empowering speech, you forced yourself to listen to his words, ignoring the person those words were coming from. Taking his advice, you cleared your mind of the past few months and only focused on this moment: your first concert of your North American tour.

Rushing to get ready, you scrambled around your room to prepare your hair and makeup. Ashton picked out your clothes for the concert, something simple that you absolutely adored but you paid little attention to the way your heart pounded at the thought. And in those twenty minutes, you were set for the show.

Your microphone in one hand and guitar in the other, you made your way straight to the stage. Ashton followed close behind you to ensure you didn’t misstep or forget anything. Mere inches away from the stage, you whipped your head around to meet his gaze just one more time.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully. “I know we haven’t talked, but thank you. Can I look for you after the show?”

Your heart shattered at the shake of his head. “I’ve got a plane to catch right after your show so I can’t come by after,” he told you remorsefully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll be right here when you come back from tour. Maybe then we can start again, correctly this time. None of the cameras, scripts, or any of that, yeah?”

The sound of your name being chanted by the crowd was nearly deafening, but his words reached your ears and you smiled softly at him. In the corner of your eye, your stage manager pointed at her watch to inform you it was time to go up. Wordlessly, you pressed your lips one last time against his.

“Don’t be a stranger, Irwin,” you told him, turning on your heel and pushing through the curtains. The crowd shrieked and screamed at the sight of you, instantly bringing a proud grin to Ashton’s face.

This was only the beginning of something new and truly beautiful, Ashton thought to himself, hands in his pockets as he made his way to the VIP section.

–

Several months have passed since your North American and European tour and it has been almost a full year since you started your publicity stunt with Ashton. Throughout the tour, you and Ashton -and the boys, of course- kept close contact with each other, never going more than a day without a phone call or video chat. Over this period, you felt like you finally got to know the real Ashton, not bits and pieces he’d accidentally let slip when he first got to know you. This time, he was real and genuine, and that only made me love him more.

You tiredly dragged your suitcase up your apartment complex’s stairs, heaving at the ridiculous weight as you made your way down to your apartment. You didn’t expect to see a certain hazel eyed drummer standing behind the door when you unlocked it.

“Surprise,” he said sheepishly, balloons and blueberry cheesecake in hand. Tears instantly filled your eyes, you dropped your suitcase and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly causing him to drop the dessert.

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting to see him so soon, if at all. Your journey with your mental health has been a long one, and there were plenty of ups and downs. A part of you -one you were a little ashamed of- didn’t expect him to keep to his word that he’d be here now. Despite the plenty of calls and talks you had to rekindle your relationship, that nagging voice in the back of your head kept on asking “what if?” What if he took back what he said about wanting to start over? What if it was all in your head, and he never wanted to see you again? But without fail, Ashton was there, willing to rebuild your relationship into a close-knit friendship. And now he’s here, asking to make it something more.

“You’re here,” you murmured into his chest, taking in his smell that you missed so dearly. “I didn’t think you’d come this soon. How did you even get in?”

Ashton pulled away, holding up your spare key. “Your friend gave it to me today,” he explained.

Grinning you brought him back down into a hug before settling in and opening the box of cheesecake. Taking out two forks, the two of you ate straight from the box and caught up on everything, though there wasn’t much considering how often you both talked while you were away.

“I’m really grateful you let me back in,” Ashton spoke up once the box had emptied.

You were half listening, polishing off the plate of its sweet crumbs. “You let yourself in, silly,” you snorted, not quite understanding what he meant. “You’re the one who got a hold of my apartment key.”

Ashton chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not that,” he laughed. “I mean letting me back into your life. I still don’t think I deserve it.”

“We talked about this, Ash,” you leaned back, setting your fork down. “We both said things we didn’t mean that day. We recognized it and we worked from it. We’ve moved on, and we’re friends. I think you deserve it as much as I do.”

Ashton’s cheeks were tinged red as he tried to think of the right words to say. “I know,” he started. “But sometimes, I wish we had..more.”

“More?” you raised an eyebrow. It took another second of you watching the drummer blush in embarrassment and vulnerability before it finally clicked. “Oh.”

Ashton stood up abruptly, wiping the invisible specks of dust off his jeans. “You can forget it,” he rushed in humiliation. “I-I just couldn’t stop thinking about that night of your first concert, how it felt, how you felt- and-”

“Ashton, slow down,” you giggled, standing up, taking his hand and tugging him toward you. A small smile rested on your face. “I still think about that night, too,” you confessed honestly. “And I want that, too. Whatever it is that you want.”

The drummer looked up from your intertwined hands and into your eyes. He swore he saw stars in them. “Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked. “Again?”

You pulled him down into a kiss, your lips craving his all over again. “Yes,” you answered confidently as soon as you backed away to catch your breath. “I will be your girlfriend. Again.”

The two of you shared a laugh, enjoying the silent but welcoming comfort of each other. Standing in the middle of your kitchen, lips coated in sugar and blueberries.

“What was your wish?” Ashton asked, pulling you closer to him as he broke the s. “Back at that restaurant when we first met?”

You hummed in thought, eagerly pressing your lips against his one more time to relish the moment. “My wish was that whatever we had back then,” you whispered, letting him in on your secret. “turns into something more.”

“Well your wish came true, didn’t it?” Ashton smiled, a warm feeling bursting in his chest.

You leaned your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes, Ash,” you said. “Yes it did.”

please like and reblog if u enjoyed! <3

#5sos #ashton irwin x reader #5sos fic #5sos imagine #ashton irwin angst #ashton irwin #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #ashton 5sos #ashton irwin fluff #ashton irwin imagine

209 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The Taste of Shame (6)

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, remorse, feeling of shame, doubts and discomfort regarding sex work ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn’t no longer matter when he meets his friend’s younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After that rather unexpected and intense intimacy, which had little to do with what he had been doing up to that point, and finding that he enjoyed it, he opened up far more to her touch and decided that her closeness did not frustrate him.

She was tender and sweet, the touch of her hands always full of understanding, respect and care, giving him the feeling that she wanted nothing more than his affection. They stopped talking about any rules and just started fucking how and where they wanted.

He found to his surprise that this was no less exciting than what he had been doing so far, because he never knew which way it would go, one time completely dominating her, making her quiver beneath him with pleasure, the other letting her ride him, looking at her beautiful, soft body.

Often she would do it in such a way that he felt like he was going to die of arousal, leaning over his face, riding him painfully slowly up and down, squeezing him delightfully, making his cock twitch inside her, his hips responding to her movements with desperate thrusts.

"− fuck, baby − have mercy −" He muttered in between tender, warm kisses with which she peppered him with her every move, teasing his lips with hers, panting in her throat with delight.

Usually, in fact, she was showing him mercy by speeding up, letting him thrust into her harder, his fingers tightening on the soft skin of her hips as he rooted into her with his throbbing, swollen cock, a weak, involuntary gasp of relief escaping his lips.

"− f-fuck − fuck, don't stop, keep going, keep going −" He panted as he felt the tension in his lower abdomen reach its peak, their bodies fighting each other trying to rip each other's fulfilment, hitting each other with the sticky slap of her moisture, her hands resting on his chest allowing her to keep her balance.

"− mhfmm − A-Aemond −" She mumbled with difficulty, all heated up from the exertion, driving him mad − he felt that a few more thrusts and he wouldn't last, her walls throbbed against him like crazy, making him put more brutal force into his stabs from which she moaned loudly.

"− let me all the way in − that's it − what a fucking view − oh, fuck-fuck-ugh −" He muttered and felt himself involuntarily overwhelmed with blissful fulfilment, his cum spurting out inside her, only a part of his mind registered her sobs and the intense orgasm that shook her body before she fell powerless on top of him.

Afterwards they lay usually in silence, stroking their naked bodies, calming their breaths with their eyes closed.

He felt peace, fulfilment and contentment.

Nevertheless, one day she knocked him completely off his feet with a question that she must apparently have been stewing about for a long time.

"Did you work here, in your house?" She asked uncertainly without looking at him, sipping the tea he had just made her along with his coffee, which was steaming in a mug on the table in front of him.

He threw her a surprised, horrified look, licking his lower lip quickly, his heart pounding like mad, feeling uncomfortable being forced to talk to her about it.

He wanted to appear before her as a mature, determined man who knew what he wanted, with whom it was possible to form a real relationship.

He swallowed loudly and shook his head quickly.

"N-no. Of course not." He muttered taking a quick sip of his coffee without looking at her, trying to hide the trembling of his hands.

"So…where?" She continued, and he pressed his lips together, impatient, not understanding why she wanted to know about it, what it had to do with them.

"Why are you interested in this? I've already told you, since we started writing to each other I haven't dated other women."

She looked at him surprised − he could see the horror in her gaze at the fact that she had provoked an unintended reaction from him.

"I know, no, that's not what I meant. I, it's just…you know, we talked about how we could do it again sometime if you wanted to…if you missed it." She muttered in embarrassment, her cheeks red. He looked at her with his eyes wide open feeling a tightness in his throat.

"Stop it. You don't have to do this. You're not my plaything to fulfil my whims. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I find that…" He stammered, breathing hard, looking at the almost black liquid in his cup, wondering how he should put it into words.

"When it came to sex with strange women, I felt nothing towards them, so the harsh domination and humiliation gave me a sense of power and a reason to be aroused. But towards you I feel a lot. So much that I find it hard sometimes. To love someone so much." He said as if ashamed that his feelings for her were so total to him that he could no longer imagine that they would stop talking to each other.

It wasn't even about sex anymore.

When he woke up in the morning to see that she wasn't lying next to him, not feeling the touch of her soft hand on his cheek he was consumed by an overwhelming sadness and discomfort, as if someone had stripped him of a part of himself.

"I'm not even sure I'd be able to do to you what I did to them, and even if you wanted me to I think I'd feel bad about it myself. Fuck, some of them I had to check their pulse because I thought I killed them." He mumbled hiding his face in his hands, feeling like a nobody, a cruel man who likes to take it out on someone else.

"I like it when sometimes…you know, when you frustrate me, to slap you on the butt or make you beg me to cum inside you, when you feel so good that you just babble that you need me, it turns me on a lot, that feeling that you want me so much that you can barely catch your breath." He said in a breaking voice, breathing hard, holding his face in his hands, trying not to burst into sobs.

"But I don't want to take you there. I don't think I want to go back there at all anymore, even though I'll have to take everything from there and just sell it. I realised it wasn't my fetish, it was just a way to get out and make easy money, nothing more. What that professor of yours said then in the lecture broke me down. Do I love it, can't I live without it? Do I fucking want to do this for the rest of my life, or is it my fucking passion? My passion is quantum physics, for fuck's sake!" He said stretching his hands out in front of him, as if he was explaining something not to her but to himself, as if he had just realised what he was actually thinking about all this.

"If my mother found out about this she wouldn't be able to look me in the face. I don't know how you're able to do this and, I don't know, touch me, sleep with me and you're not fucking disgusted with me, you're not afraid of getting infected with something from a worthless piece of shit like me." He mumbled in a trembling voice feeling tears of helplessness running down his cheek − he ran his hand over his mouth, feeling empty and exposed, feeling like his existence made no sense at all.

He dared to glance at her and saw that she was looking at him in disbelief, her lips trembling and tightened, her eyebrows arched in pain, her cheeks red from tears.

"I love you." She said it so warmly and lightly that he shook his head and laughed, unable to let go of the idea that she was serious. He covered his face with his hand, trying to catch his breath.

"Stop it. Don't take pity on me."

"I love you. I love you so much that I feel like my heart is simply going to burst, too filled with you, with no room for anything else. You're right, it's overwhelming." She whispered and gave him a warm, sweet smile, tears of helplessness flowed down her face.

He looked at her in disbelief, his body trembling despite trying to control himself.

"− please − please, just fucking hug me −" He choked out pleadingly, and a moment later she was already in his arms − she sat on his lap embracing him tightly, letting him snuggle into her breasts, both of them crying, her lips placing quick, tender kisses on his head.

"− I love you − I'm here − I'm only yours − everything will be alright −" She whispered, and he believed her. He sobbed out loud, feeling everything he felt and feared along with his tears finally leave his body, purifying him, giving him a source of meaning again.

If she was by his side, he would have the strength to start all over again.

He rubbed against her, feeling a pleasant throbbing in his sweatpants through contact with her warm body, heard her sigh softly, her hips began to respond to his movements, his hands slipped under her dress and clenched on her bare, firm buttocks.

He began to pant loudly, clenching his eyes shut, pressing his face into her soft, fruit scented shower gel skin, his lips brushed her neck again and again − he felt her lean back with a quiet, sweet moan, giving him better access as she rocked her hips, teasing him.

"− please −" He mumbled in a trembling voice and he didn't need to say anything more − her hands reached into the tying of his black sweatpants and slipped them down a little, revealing what was underneath, his hard, pulsating erection enveloped in the cool air.

She guided gently the tip of his cock between her thighs, using her other hand to push aside the material of her underwear, sinking down on him slowly, letting him in between her hot, wet, fleshy muscles − they both sighed in pleasure, their fingers tightening on each other's bodies.

He felt that he needed to have her close, that he needed her tenderness.

"− hug me − make love to me −" He whispered pleadingly, feeling a tightness in his throat at his words and a desperation to feel it, to finally experience what it meant to make love, not to chase only sensations, to do it out of a need for the closeness of another person.

"− it's okay −" She whispered tenderly, kissing his hair − each time she sank his length into her hot, pulsing body, he couldn't stop the quiet, helpless moans of pleasure.

He felt himself finally letting go completely and relaxing, his cock twitching inside her feeling her slick walls squeezing him wonderfully.

He ran his tongue over her neck, responding to her slow movements with impatient, desperate thrusts from which she cried out loudly, clasping her hands in his hair − he slammed his cock into her sucking her skin, leaving pink bruises on it, a sign that she was only his.

"− ah! − Aemond −" She whimpered and hissed, feeling him do it again and again, probably worried that she wouldn't be able to cover it in any way.

He grabbed her hair and lifted her head, finding her lips with his in a wet, desperate, hot kiss, sticky with their saliva, her moist skin clinging to his with a sweet sigh, the tips of their tongues meeting halfway.

"− so good to me − so kind − I feel so safe in your arms −" She whispered tenderly between one loud kiss and the next, he stifled his low moan in her throat, speeding up his pace, his thick cock thrusting into her faster and faster with the lewd click of her wetness.

"− mghm −" He mumbled into her mouth, feeling his head go completely blank, focusing only on her movements, on his cock stretching her tight, throbbing core again and again, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen become unbearable, that he wouldn't last long.

"− fuck, I − baby, please −" He babbled in despair, gripping his hands tighter on her back, begging in his mind for her to finally come.

"− it's okay, let go − let go, fill me −" She hummed tenderly; he whimpered loudly at her words and just came, parting his lips, hugging his face to her neck, feeling his cock throbbing like a crazy, spilling his seed deep inside her.

"− I'm sorry −" He muttered embarrassed and ashamed, his face red from tears and exertion − he panted rocking his hips inside her for a moment longer, prolonging his pleasure, thinking only of the fact that he had failed to satisfy her needs, that he had made a fool of himself.

His hand immediately slid between her thighs, wanting to finish what he had started, but she grabbed his wrist and shook her head.

"− don't you want to? −" He asked in a trembling voice wrinkling his brow, feeling rejected, his throat tightened so hard that he had trouble catching his breath.

"− I want to stay like this with you − I want this to be a time just for you − if you want, you can take care of me before we go to bed −" She cooed hugging him tighter to her, kissing his hair tenderly before sinking her face into it. He breathed quietly, thinking of her words, cuddling his face into her neck, feeling protected and cared for.

He felt safe.

He sighed quietly, only now feeling that he was trembling all over, one of her hands stroking his head, the other trailing down his back, her touch soothing, full of peace.

"− it's okay − it's okay −"

He closed his eyes and thought he could fall asleep in this position − he drifted off for a moment, concentrating only on her touch, her scent, the warmth beaming from her body.

It all seemed so longed for to him, so good.

The next day he visited her house for the first time as her boyfriend.

Robert was in complete shock.

At first he was furious, asking how long it had been going on, how he could have kept quiet for so long seeing him every day in class. His younger sister defended him by saying that she herself had asked him to be discreet, that they themselves hadn't known for a long time what was going to happen, that they had started writing to each other after his birthday.

When Robert had cooled down a bit and realised that it was something serious he let it go, although he hardly spoke to him for the next week, unable to accept that his mate was sleeping with his younger sister.

He wasn't surprised and waited patiently for him to get over it.

When, after one of his classes, he approached his quantum physics professor and asked him if there was a possibility that he could apply for a place as his assistant after graduation he replied that they had no vacancies at the moment. However, he suggested something else.

"He told me to stay at the university for my PhD. That he would give me an opinion and recommend me to the university council, that I am one of his best students and that I will be eligible to apply for a research scholarship. That he would help me submit my papers." He said with slight excitement, fiddling with the cap of his beer, sitting on the sofa with the bottle in his hand, curious about her reaction.

She opened her beer with a loud clink and looked at him with big eyes, coming closer and sitting down next to him.

"Really?! Aemond, that's wonderful! Would you like to do that? Do you think it would make you happy, that you would be fulfilled in it?" She asked hopefully, and he swallowed loudly, taking a loud sip of beer from his bottle.

"I like calculations. I like mathematical formulas, I like logic. I like getting to the bottom of a problem, to the solutions. It calms me down. I think I'd like to try it." He said softly and she hugged him tightly, kissing his scarred cheek, saying how proud she was of him, that they should order something to eat and celebrate this fantastic information.

Though the shame he felt when he remembered what he'd done, looking at her peaceful, sleeping face when he woke up in the morning still squeezed his heart and throat, spending his sleep, it was better.

It was better every day.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

318 notes · View notes