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galene-gothic · 3 months ago

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𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾

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⊹ ! ೀ Pile 1 ꒱

You’re someone who will know everything about everyone. It’s actually sort of funny. You’re a very curious person and it leads to you finding things out about other people in an almost intrusive manner in order to feed it. You will do so in a very innocent manner. Like, for example, you were talking to a guy and happened to really like him but you got ghosted or he just didn’t stay in touch with you even though he seemed really interested in you while you were around each other. You’re going to be emotionally affected but will lean more towards seeking the truth. You won’t let it show externally just how much it affected you, instead, you’re going to find out that they entered a relationship with someone after losing touch with you and it will happen very casually. Like, the person who broke the news to you will have no idea what they just did. It will cause you to connect dots and things will start making more, and more sense the more that you do this. You’ll also know more about people than they’d like you to because of this quality of yours but they’ll have no clue that you know all of these things about them. For example, if you knew that a professor was dating a student, you’re going to continue acting as if you know nothing about it until one of them says something to you. Even so, you’re going to be like “oh really?” Or another example, supposing you were on a date with someone who you knew a lot about because of your top notch research skills, you will continue acting like you know nothing about them, asking them basic first date questions. You’re going to be someone very passionate and fun loving, causing you to talk a lot or/and loudly when you’re excited, and comfortable causing you to be perceived as almost dumb by some people or too busy living in the moment, pursuing goals, living life and having fun to keep a mental note of things but you’re going to be someone who will keep things in your mind even if others think that you’ve missed their words or the details of things completely. It’s almost as if even your perceived innocence and dumbness is a calculated strategy. I think it comes or will come naturally to you but it’s going to be as effective as carefully woven and well thought out strategies. They might assume that you’re a bit more naive and might think that you’re not keeping a mental note of things but they’ll be so wrong. Once they get into a relationship with you, they’ll learn that you’re the most sharp person who memorises every little detail and thinks them through. The closer that they grow to you, the more that they’ll realise that you’re not as dumb as others consider you to be. In fact, you’re quite the opposite, you remember every little thing, connect the dots and overanalyse the situation if required. You might say something that makes them realise how much you analyse people and situations, and don’t forget even the smallest things. “She said this to me and she said that behind my back but she’s not aware that I know what she said.” It’s not going to be a one time thing, you’ll say things like this a lot, making them realise that you’re mentally really analytical. The duality will be wild though because on the surface, even if you know certain things about other people, you will continue acting normal and oblivious. Even if you dislike them because you know what intentions they hold towards you or are at least cautious in your interactions with them, you’ll seem very carefree and will interact with them like normal as if you don’t know shit.

They’ll be highly attracted to you physically and energetically right away. It will simply just be a primal attraction. I don’t think that I can put it into words and even need to. They’ll just be attracted to you in a way that is undeniable, exciting and comes naturally to them. You’re going to be a very passionate and adventurous person, simply just being around you will make them feel something stir within them and they’ll even be able to feel the heat physically. For you, passion, fun and inspired action will be very important. You’re going to be flirty but also the type to disappear because you’re busy doing other things. You’re going to push their boundaries and challenge their authority but it’s going to be almost a method of flirting for you, they’ll really enjoy it. You’re going to be impulsive sometimes but will embrace passion wholeheartedly and naturally act with it. They’re going to be looking at you with soft heart eyes and a soft, natural smile while you’re talking about something that you’re passionate about or while you’re having fun because it will genuinely make them feel warm on the inside. They’re going to adore you so much. Also, you’re going to be someone who is able to self validate and doesn’t seek external validation but will seek praise, and attention from them. It is actually so cute. You’re going to be someone who is unapologetically living life. You will be following the philosophy of “my life is not mine if I care too much about what other people think” and will just be doing you. You’re not going to be one of those wannabe nonchalant people, instead you’re going to think that “nonchalance is the death of passion” and will be accepting, and embodying your nature as it is. If you want something, you’re going to pursue it with passion. If you feel excited about something, you’re going to express that excitement wholeheartedly. You’re going to be very wholehearted about expressing love to them as well as physical passion. They’re simply not going to be able to get enough of you. Everything will feel fun with you and they might assume that you’ve forgotten certain things that they’ve told you about but you’ll remember every little detail about them despite your passionate way of living, and the way you’ll also seek for them to see, notice and praise you will make them feel oh so special. I hope that the reading resonated. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 2 ꒱

You’re someone who will be very ‘no bullshit’ but not in an egoistic and bitchy manner. You’re going to be a very hopeful person who will have walked away from a lot and will be willing to walk away despite any hopes for the future that you may have had if it starts affecting your mind and peace negatively. I’m not sure if you’ve reached such a point yet but by the time you meet, and get with them, you’ll have experienced life, learned lessons and are going to believe in consequences over negotiations. That’s the best way to be respected because most people don’t believe that they’re worthy of being forgiven and given a second chance so if you let their behaviour slide once, they’re going to do something worse next time. Due to this, your future spouse is going to see you cutting people off left and right. The fact that you respect yourself so much and are still choosing them is going to be a matter of pride, and a point of attraction for them. You might also help them transition away from something that affects them this way for which they’ll be very grateful. You’re going to be their peace and they’re going to love you so much for it. You’re going to be very influential and will truly convince them to let go of whatever is not serving them. I just heard ‘joru ka gulam’ which means ‘wife’s servant/slave’. I don’t think that that’s exactly true but the thing is, sometimes when someone is taken and they start acting differently, they believe that the partner must be controlling them or influencing them in this way, and that will be the case for the both of you as well but it’s not going to be like you’re literally controlling them. It’s more so that you are so convincing and influential that they willingly want to move on, away, and seek peace in whatever way that they can. You’re also going to be someone who is deeply romantic and obsessive but only they’ll get this side of you. Actually no, others will also get this side of you but they’ll get it in a different way. You’re going to be idealistic and will romanticise your life but you’ll do it in a way in which you do not seek attention from others, and instead self validate. Most people do not understand this way of living because they’re very externally focused and so to them you might seem… I’m not even sure about what word to use but it’s just that others won’t get it. Are you the type of person to “OH MY GOD, I HAVE EXPERIENCED THIS BEFORE. I JUST GOT DEJA VU!” Even if you’re not, you might be that way with them throughout your relationship and marriage, and they’re going to find this side of you to be very adorable because you will look genuinely excited and amused every time this happens, no matter how many times you may have experienced it already. Wide eyes and all that but back to what I was saying. Many different energies are coming through but I’ll just put forth the one that is coming through the strongest. Overly soft, dreamy and sensitive, that’s how some of you may be perceived by some. Like, they might just assume that you’ve not had to deal with the harshness of life and so you have not matured much but gosh, there’s this duality in which you seem so open but you’re so selective with people. You are going to be very closed off to connections especially romance or will seem like such to them. If not, that’s just not going to be your priority and you will not even give a single fuck about the attention. If you don’t like someone, you are going to make sure that you don’t lead them on even if it may come off slightly tactless or mean. Some of you may not seem soft, dreamy and sensitive but the truth stands, to some level no matter how approachable or unapproachable you may be, you’re going to be closed off to connections especially romance and will not care about external validation so you’re going to seem hard to reach to some extent.

You’re going to be enjoying life wholeheartedly when you’ll meet them, not giving into loneliness and will be validating yourself instead of chasing external validation. That’s something that they’ll find extremely attractive about you because initially, you might be a bit closed off and cautious despite your romantic desires. Like, even if you desire romance, you’re not going to be desperate for it and you’ll be fine without it so you may not display your romantic, flirty, and sexual side right away but when you open up, you’re going to be deeply romantic and also obsessive over them. You, who doesn’t seek or need external validation is going to want it from them and gosh will they feel so prideful of it. They’ll really enjoy giving you this attention because they’ll feel special knowing that it’s only them who you share such a side with. They’re going to feel as though they’re living in a romance movie with you and this side of you will be theirs, and theirs alone. The sex is going to be really good too. That’s all I’m getting. Either or both of you could be a bit more on the private side when it comes to your sex life together but they’re going to enjoy it thoroughly. Actually no, you’re going to have a praise and degradation kink, and they’re really going to enjoy this back and forth. In fact, you might have either or both of these kinks even outside the bedroom. If you have a praise kink, you’re going to want them to compliment, praise and just look at you endearingly, and with pride like a kid who just got an A+, and a star sticker on their exercise book showing it to their parents xD. You might enjoy feeling as though they’re proud of you, when they show you off and also appreciate you equally in private, you’re going to really enjoy it. Something like “good girl” might make you very happy or “I’m so proud of you”. If you have a degradation kink, you’re going to like it when they put you in your place by firmly scolding you in some way while you’re acting like a brat and well, if you have both, you will enjoy both. This is honestly so adorable. You’re going to have many different sides to you and they’ll be contradictory. You’re going to be out of control and the connection is going to be one in which the both of you are going to be opposites of each other or just contradictory and will clash a lot with each other. You will also be highly dramatic at times but it will bring out their own dramatic side too or will just give them an adrenaline rush, and they’re going to love it. You will have a very high ego but maybe it’s only when it comes to them but even so, you’re going to want something real with them and they’re going to want the same with you, and the connection itself will feel very real. It’s also going to be a connection that brings about many new things emotionally and just in life. You’re going to meet them and it’s like seeds will be planted that will cause the both of you to grow through each other, and it is going to happen throughout the connection. It’s going to be thrilling but also grounded and the growth that you’ll both experience with each other is only going to make things seem realer than ever. Not to mention, you’re going to be consistently building together too. If you want kids or ever have them, they’re going to find you very attractive when you’re pregnant with their kid or will just enjoy raw dogging and creampie-ing you, or it might just be a fantasy of theirs. I just heard “my vanilla kink is breeding.” Also, if you use an earthy or woody scent, I specifically heard ‘soil after the rain’, they’re going to find that very attractive. I hope that the reading resonated. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 3 ꒱

Your future spouse is going to greatly desire you. That’s for sure. You’re going to be someone very sexual and will really enjoy… sex. I’m sorry but there was no better way to put it. You’re going to enjoy sex in many ways but all are very intimate. The first one is sort of rough with a lot of manhandling but them holding you close, one in which you can feel each other very deeply and in a primal manner, deep but rough thrusts, and a lot of passion, the type in which you can feel each other’s breath, feel consumed by each other and get lost in the throes of passion. There’s a lot of moaning in this one. Another one in which you might be in bed after a long and tiring day of work but are still enjoying each other in the sideways position, and missionary but you’re just lying there and taking it. Another one in which the sex is fiery and similar to the first one but you’re a bit bratty, talking back, scratching, biting and whining. Another one in which you are enjoying each other sensually and passionately but it is more breathy than filled with moans, if that makes sense. This is likely not all but I’ve now gotten a feel of your sexual nature, the first thing that I got here is that you enjoy being manhandled but are not the type to be passive and not engage either, you instead partake by touching, feeling, rubbing their back, running your hands all over their body, biting, kissing, moaning, talking back and just whatever you can do. The second thing that I picked up on is that you also have days when you’re very horny but may have no energy or just prefer not having to do much and being taken care of, or just lazy sex to put it bluntly. The third thing is that you really enjoy sensual and intentional sex too. One with a lot of touching and rubbing on the right areas, and a more breathy feel. Well, the most important thing is that you’re going to be sexual and they will be too, and the physical connection between the both of you is going to be very strong but besides that, you’re going to be a place of rest for them. You’re going to place a lot of value on intimacy and not just sexual, and will give them the space to lead you but you’re also going to be willing to step up if and when needed, and they’ll be able to lead you in a way in which it favours the both of you. You’re going to be a visionary, offering ideas and sometimes questioning things, and will have a lot of integrity but also a lot of faith in them, and their leadership. Only weak people who don’t trust their own vision get mad when their followers question it, they’re not even leaders, they’re just dictators. Your future spouse going to be a leader so they’re going to take your concerns into account or will explain things properly to you for you to understand it better. They’ll enjoy being a protector and provider to you. They’re going to learn a lot from you and will be taking your ideas, your vision into consideration, and bringing them to life, as well as their own which will make them a really good leader and partner. I’m honestly so happy for you. Also, another thing is that they’re someone very charismatic, they have a big aura and warm, in fact even hot presence, and they’re used to being a leader in various places and situations but even they need a place to rest, rejuvenate, and relax and you’re going to be that for them.

You’re going to be a contemplative person and will need a lot of solitude. Your contemplation is going to give them the insight, ideas and vision that they need to lead you effectively, and your need for solitude is going to be attractive because it will make them crave you more. When you’re going to meet them, you might be going through a period during which everything fell apart and you’re a bit guarded, and wounded. I believe that they’ll have gone through something like this and will still be going through this period of extreme changes, and falls too so they’re going to be wounded and guarded too but meeting each other is only going to cause things to fall apart harder. Even if your physical and emotional world had changed in many ways, you both were deeply stuck in your own ways and meeting each other may cause resistance but will somehow still bring about changes intensely and easily. It is not going to be easy, it will be very hard but it will just happen easily after meeting each other despite any pain or intensity is what I meant. They’re going to love you and find everything about you to be very attractive. They will have experienced intensity with you and will have witnessed you undergo such intense experiences, such falls, and instability and come out of it. They will also feel a sense of familiarity and connection with you, having seen you through such changes that it will feel very deep because even they themself will have experienced such intensity and changed as well. There is a chance that some of you will go through a no contact period before getting together officially. Whether that happens or not, they’ll remember you as being very defensive, wounded and guarded, and they’ll have been that way too but you’ll both have changed, and grown, and the changes will be all thanks to you. In your connection with each other, once you’re finally officially together, you’re going to have a lot of strength and resilience, and will not be willing to let the connection go just because troubles occur. You’re going to push forward stubbornly and courageously, wanting things to work. The thing about connections is that you cannot make excuses. You either make it work or you don’t. “Life happens sometimes” okay, life will continue happening, will you abandon them again and again? Blame the connection and yourselves, not life. Knowing that you’re willing to fight for the connection and truly try, they’re going to be able to do so too, making you both a power couple. It’s not going to be 50-50, 60-40 or anything, it’s going to be 100-100 from both sides. Emotionally, they will have changed so much because of you but also not, you will also have changed so much but also not. It’s like, you’ll either still feel young with and towards each other, having seen each other at such intense, and dramatic yet young times. This does not have to mean that you’ll meet your spouse young, even if you meet them in your 30s or 40s, you’re going to be younger than when you’ll have spent years together. You’re going to have internally changed a lot and so will they, even externally actually but with each other, there’s still going to be a lot of drama. However, there’s also going to be a place to rest at, a person who is a sanctuary and feels like a safe haven :,).

You’re going to act very intensely with them, bringing out an equally intense side of them, there’s going to be a lot of stubbornness but oh cara mia, how they’ll love you. You are going to cause them a lot of turmoil and make them experience a lot of drama, and intensity but they’re going to share something real with you because of this. You’re going to cause them to feel very mentally vulnerable and vice versa, and this will cause you both to grow individually, as well as develop deep intimacy. You’re going to have them on your mind and in your heart even when they’re away, and will not do anything to breach your connection. The intimacy you both share and the trust you’ll have is something that you’ll not even think about breaking because you are going to be fine with being alone but if there is a genuine connection, that’s all you’ll need and it will be just them that you’ll share such a thing with. They’ll share this sentiment and you’ll have the realest connection ever in which you both grow, avoid showing vulnerabilities and changing but end up deeply changing, and showing your vulnerabilities. Things will be dramatic and intense but you’ll both be stubborn, and determined to make things work no matter how much you may get on each other’s nerves sometimes. You’ll love, adore and desire each other so much. I’m not sure if I expressed the “no matter how much you change, you won’t change” part correctly but what I mean is that they’ll still see you as that vulnerable baby that was going through hell and was overwhelmed no matter how much time passes by. Yes, they’ll see you as who you are in the present too but they’ll be very soft with you because they’ll remember the past soft yet wounded and ‘trying to be hard’ side of you. They’ll also remember how vulnerable, chaotic and intensely they felt, and changed so they’ll feel young and I keep on hearing ‘like a child’. They’ll feel so vulnerable yet so manly yet so fragile yet so strong yet so soft yet so authentic yet so changed with you. They’ll also see you as being the same way with them. How could they not find you attractive? They love you in every way. Oh my god, I’m crying. There may be this thing in which you’re overly submissive with other people which is why you push all your intense energies on them anyway but they’re going to see how meek you tend to act with others and will fiercely protect, and stand up for you. “What did you say to my wife?” “Don’t talk to my wife like that.” “Apologise, right now.” “On that gentle body of yours, I want to fall. Forgetting everything for a while, I want to get lost. Even if it’s just a few steps I want to walk with you, in the depths, I want to dive and see. Your arrival in my life has caused a different effect, look into my eyes, you’re going to clearly see, your own name. Even the fate that won’t bend in my will, must not be deaf. This is my oath to you, I will never leave your side. Whether we have to laugh or cry, it wouldn’t matter. The steps that we are taking together, will not divert for as long as I live.” “Be it joy or sorrow, I’m going to be with you. Whenever you need my support. I can’t love anyone else the way I love you. These are my last words.”

#pac reading #tarot pac #pac #intuitive readings #pick a card reading #tarot pick a card #pick a card

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lambilegs · 7 months ago

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listen, lowkey, I feel like sevika would love interacting with a feisty!reader. like, I get why people headcanon her as preferring a partner who's more submissive or, like, lenient with her. but, I don't know, something tells me she'd relish in having a partner who gives her a hard time. someone who she can bicker and argue with back and forth, someone who doesn't just ride with her shit no matter what. she'd like having someone who actually challenges her, and questions her stances, opinions and strategies. someone who gets her to reflect on her actions and give them even more careful consideration than she already does on her own. someone who makes her think even harder.

and aside from a moral standpoint, she would just playfully love it too. something about you looking up at her with a glare whenever she messes around with you has her abdomen stirring with desire. she feels like a teenager again, vying after the attention of someone who is constantly tiring of her. but, she can't help it. she likes when you punch her arm after she makes a cheap shot at one of the guys she's gambling with at the last drop. when you scoff at something tough she says, and teasingly coo that she's just a big softie, dammit, she can't help but feel like one with the way your words are affecting her. when she jokingly wraps an arm around your shoulders, you shrug her off with an eye roll, and when she props her elbow on your head as though it's an armrest, you pretend to bite at her wrist, to which she laughs and wiggles the mechanical fingers, saying, "you sure you wanna do that?"

sometimes, she tries to flirt with you. she'll ask you to go on a walk with her, or sit with her in her corner of the bar when she does repairs on her arm. hey, who said romance is dead? there've been times where you smile, heave a sigh and drawl out, "well, since there's nothing else better to do," which usually incites her pulling out a chair for you and gruffly sitting on her own, getting to work. it's nice, really. you chatter away, she learns more about you, gets more intrigued, then you leave, and she feels just a bit more hollow. it's a vicious cycle. but, she can't resist going back to it, over and over again. especially when there are little moments where it feels like her feelings might be returned. like when she asks you to do one of the above, and you scoff and say, "why don't you ask one of the girls you saw at the brothel today?"

it surprises her the first time, to say the least. but, she grows to like it. a lot. the way you stiffen up next to her when another woman eyes her with desire, how you snap and glare at her when you hear from babette that sevika paid a visit the night before. it feels like you already have your claws sunk into her before she even got the chance to ask you out. and shit, does she really enjoy that. how possessive you are, how livid you get with her for showing attention to anyone who's not you.

she nearly likes it just as much when you direct that anger to someone else. an ex-friend you're steaming with rage over, a disrespectful enforcer, someone who gives sevika, or actually anyone else in the undercity, shit. the way your nostrils flare with the deep breaths you take, how sweat lines your brow, that motion when your eye twitches. she can't help but admire the intensity of what you feel, and how you have the courage to deliver it to someone who deserves it. whether they fuck with you, your people or the city. and on some occasions, with sevika.

#have sooo many more thoughts omfg but I shall refrain for now #s.writing #my first non-lee post omg :((( this is kinda bittersweet WAHHHH I STILL LOVE AND WANNA WRITE FOR LEE GUYS #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane #sevika arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x you

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grimeshound · 6 months ago

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UNDER YOUR SPELL.

masterlist.

word count: 4,329 (someone got a little carried away...)

pairing: in-ho x you.

summary: you haunt in-ho’s every thought, an obsession he can’t shake no matter how hard he tries—you have no idea the hold you have on him. when you get drunk for the first time, in-ho seizes the opportunity to show you just how deeply you’ve affected him.

cw: 18+, age-gap, dubcon (forced intoxication), mirror sex, first time, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, stomach bulge, semi-public sex, dirty talk, corruption, manipulation

a/n: i’ve had this plot simmering in my head over the past few days ever since i wrote my in-ho hcs and it was practically begging to be written … manipulative in-ho my beloved

title from ‘under your spell’ by snow strippers, everytime I see an edit to him with this song it always eats so hard

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Ever since he first laid eyes on you, In-ho thought you were the prettiest little angel to ever step foot in this hellhole.

You were nothing like the others. Kind, wide doe eyes, sweet smile that radiated innocence. He wondered how a pretty thing like you had ended up in a place like this. In-ho always did pride himself in his appreciation for the arts, all things with beauty. The moment he took notice of you, it didn’t take long for him to wonder what it would take to make you his.

You had joined a small group, after having met a kind man named Jung-bae who graciously let you in. Everyone shared their names, and that’s when you learned his. Oh Young-il. Except, of course, that wasn’t his real name. Just a guise, a character to play during the time he spent amongst the players. That didn’t matter, though, since you rarely used his name.

“Sir,” you’d say. The times you did call his name, it’d be “Mister Young-il.”

The first time you spoke to him, you were nervous. It was hard not to be, something about his piercing gaze had a hold on you. Yet, you couldn’t help but admire him. The way you looked up at him, your voice so soft and deferential, made his pulse quicken. He’d do anything to protect you, and he did. Each time the games forced you apart, you’d come running to him the moment you returned to the main hall, your face lighting up with relief.

“I’m so happy you’re okay, sir.” You’d smile at him, and he’d smile back, gentle and reassuring.

You hadn’t realized it, but your attachment to him was carefully orchestrated, a product of all the high-risk situations In-ho would engineer to put you through. He’d swoop in at the perfect moment to save you, it made you trust him, made you depend on him more than anyone else. It also nurtured the little crush you were already dewasveloping, and he noticed. You couldn’t help it. He kind to you, protective, and so devastatingly handsome.

Behind the scenes, he dug through your file. Orphaned from a young age, too naive to understand the world’s cruelties. Trusting the wrong people, you had fallen into debt, landing here. The more he learned, the more he was convinced—You needed someone to take care of you. Someone like him.

One night, In-ho just couldn’t take it anymore. After hours of keeping up his cold, calculated facade, he found himself teetering on the edge of his own sanity. The stress of orchestrating the games was always a burden he bore in silence. But lately? It wasn’t just the carnage and strategy that weighed on his mind. On top of all that, now there was you. Every stolen glance, every soft word you uttered, every moment in your presence had burrowed under his skin. You consumed him, invading every thought until there was no room for anything else.

He knew he was losing control.

When the last murmurs of conversation faded throughout the main hall and the players around him drifted into an uneasy sleep, he finally gave in to his impulses. He had a guard sneak him a bottle of soju, not caring how inappropriate or risky the request was. Rank had its privileges, and he wasn’t above abusing them.

Even in the dim light he spotted you, laid in your bed not too far from his own. All curled up and completely unaware of the monster disguised as your guardian angel watching over you. He swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching as he tried to steady his breathing.

He listened to the sound of your breathing as a guide, the quiet rhythm of inhale and exhale filling his ears before finally pulling the bottle from its hiding place beneath his pillow. With a sharp twist, he uncapped it, the faint scent of alcohol wafting into the air around him. Sitting up in his bunk, he took a long, deliberate swig. The burn of the soju as it slid down his throat was a welcome distraction, albeit temporary. He exhaled, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

The alcohol dulled the edges of his stress but sharpened something far more dangerous, far sicker. Desire. Thoughts of you came to surface before he could resist, vivid and unrelenting. He thought of your wide, trusting eyes looking up at him, the way your voice wavered when you spoke his name. He didn’t stop his thoughts when they turned more and more depraved. Your quiet utters of his name turning into obscene moans, innocent brushes of skin escalating into him fucking you like a madman into the crummy bed he sat beneath. The way you clung to him, so innocent, so naive, so completely unaware of just how sick his thoughts would turn because of you.

He took another long swig, his grip tightening around the bottle as his frustration intensified. How could you do this to him without even realizing? Without even trying? It was maddening, the hold you had over him. And now, with the liquor loosening his usually taut held control, he found himself wondering how much longer he could resist. How much longer he could keep his hands to himself.

And then, as if summoned by his desires, your voice broke the silence.

“Sir?”

He turned to see you turned towards him, rubbing your eyes like a sleepy child. He softened instantly, smiling lazily as he called your name. “You’re awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” You climbed up to his bed without hesitation, settling beside him. “What about you?”

“Me neither,” he murmured. He thanked whatever god there was that you couldn’t read his mind, couldn’t take a peek into the sick fantasies that had clouded up his thoughts just moments ago. Even now, when sat face to face with you, they played in the background— like a channel he couldn’t turn off no matter how hard he’d press the remote. Only, he didn’t make much effort in stopping them. If anything, the fantasies only shot up with you now in front of him.

Your attention was soon drawn to the green bottle in his hand. “Is that… soju?”

He chuckled at your amazement. “It is.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “I’ve never had any before.”

His heart skipped. You really were too good to be true, weren’t you? He feigned surprise. “Never?”

You shook your head. “No. But..” You hesitated for a bit. “I’d like to try, if that’s okay.”

How polite. How trusting. He handed the bottle to you, hiding his smirk beneath a kind, patient smile. “Of course. Go ahead.”

You took it with both hands, your fingers brushing his briefly. There was a moment of hesitation, a fleeting glance at him as though you were silently asking for reassurance. He gave you a small nod, his expression warm and encouraging. Uttey deceptive. The thought of getting you completely wasted, rendering you impossibly dumber and even more impressionable than you already are rang like music to his ears. You tilted your head back as you gulped down more than he expected. He didn’t stop you, though. Simply watching with quiet satisfaction as you drained a sizable amount.

The first sip had your nose scrunching up, the bitter taste of the alcohol overhwleming you. Instead of backing out, you pressed on, curiosity and his approving gaze egging you on. With each gulp, you felt your body tense slightly at the unaccustomed burn that slid down your throat.

In-ho watched you intently, his dark eyes locked on you as the bottle tipped higher and higher. You were drinking far more than he expected, but he made no effort to stop you. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into a faint smile. Quiet satisfaction flickered in his eyes as he watched your determination to please him override your inexperience.

When you finally lowered the bottle, your lips were shiny from the liquid, your cheeks already beginning to flush, something In-ho was quick to take notice of. Whether it be your inexperience, the quickness of which you downed the Soju or the fact that you haven’t really drank or ate much prior. The alcohol had hit you harder than you anticipated, working its way through your system with worrying speed. Your head tilted back slightly as you tried to regain focus, blinking up at him with worried, glassy eyes.

“Sir,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I feel…so funny.”

He stepped closer, his hand moving to steady you by your waist when your knees buckled slightly. “Funny how, sweetheart?” he humored you, the concern in his tone carefully crafted.

“Dizzy,” You clung to him instinctively, your hands gripping his arm like a lifeline as you specified. “I feel lightheaded, mister Young-il. M’scared.”

“Shh,” he murmured, pulling you closer against his chest. His hand slid to your back, rubbing soothing circles as he held you steady. “It’s okay. You’re just not used to it, s’all.”

Your forehead rested against his chest, your breath uneven as you tried to make sense of the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. He tilted his head slightly, looking down at you with something twisted in his gaze, though his voice remained tender and reassuring. “Poor baby,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. His hand stroked your hair, the sound of his words soothing you. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

You were too drunk to notice the dark glint in his eyes or the way his smile lingered just a little too long. Too naive to realize how tightly his grip held you, as though he’d never let go.

Young-il led you to the bathroom, steadying you with a firm grip as you clung to him for balance. Every touch, every reassuring glance he gave you was planned down to the last detail, feeding into the web he’d been weaving since the moment he first laid eyes on you. You were his perfect little pawn, and now, more than ever, he could see his plan falling into place.

When he knocked on the bathroom door, you were already bracing yourself for the usual bargaining and desperate pleading that so often accompanied requests to use the facilities. But to your surprise, the guards let you both pass without hesitation, a testament to the sway your knight in shining armor seemed to hold.

He guided you inside, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click. Leading you to the sink, he turned on the faucet, letting the cool water rush out. “Here,” he said softly, his voice calm and soothing. “Let’s wash your face. It’ll help.”

You nodded, leaning over the sink and splashing the water onto your flushed cheeks. The cold sting sent a brief jolt through you, though it did little to clear the fog in your mind. When you blinked your eyes open and straightened, you nearly jumped at the sight of him standing right behind you, close enough that you could feel his presence like a weight against your back.

Your wide-eyed gaze flicked up to the mirror. He stood there, his expression as unreadable as ever, but the intensity in his eyes made your stomach twist. Despite yourself, you wiped your face with your sleeve and offered him a sheepish smile.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, stepping closer. His hand brushed your damp hair back from your face, the gesture tender in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Good,” you mumbled, though the truth was far from it. The alcohol swirled in your system, leaving you dizzier than before. But the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, it sent a warmth through your chest that was impossible to ignore.

“Yeah?” he hummed, his tone low and velvety, each syllable wrapping around you like a shackle. You hadn’t even noticed how close he’d gotten until now, his chest pressing lightly against your back.

Your breath hitched as something firm brushed against you from behind, and you let out a small, involuntary whimper. “Sir Young-il…?”

“In-ho,” he rasped, cutting you off. “My real name, it’s In-ho.” His voice had dropped even lower, and there was something raw and possessive in the way he said it. You blinked, confused, his real name rolling off your tongue before you could even think twice to question him.

“In-ho,” you repeated softly, as if testing the weight of it. “What’s going on?”

His lips curved into a faint smile, his hands settling firmly on your waist. “Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror. “I’ll take good care of you. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nodded too quickly, too eagerly, the alcohol and your long-brewing crush on him clouding your better judgment. “I trust you,” you slurred, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly as he trailed his fingers along your waist, his touch deliberate and possessive.

He leaned in, closing the already small gap between you two as his lips found yours in a kiss—the first one you’d ever shared. Admittedly, it wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined it to unfold. You pictured your first kiss with a high school crush, maybe some boy your age who’d take you out on an innocent date. But all those dreams faded the moment you met In-ho, and now, all dreams you had were consumed by him.

You pressed against him, letting him take control as his kiss deepened, hungry and intense, like a man starved for more. You followed his lead instinctively, trusting him—because you always knew, deep down, he knew what was best. So when he raised his fingers to your lips, you hesitated for only a moment before parting them, allowing him to slip two fingers inside. His dark eyes gleamed as you sucked obediently, your cheeks flushing deeper under his watchful gaze. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and his breathing grew heavier.

Pulling his fingers away, he wasted no time in hooking them into the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging them down in one hasty motion. His lips found the curve of your jaw, trailing kisses up to your ear as his right hand skimmed the sensitive skin of your neck.

You grabbed his wrist suddenly, your touch light and hesitant. “Wait, In-ho—” you murmured, your voice trembling with embarrassment. His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, his expression softening ever so slightly.

“I… I’ve never done anything like this before,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He wasn’t surprised; he had suspected as much. But hearing it from you, seeing the vulnerability in your gaze—only stoked the fire burning within him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice deceptively gentle, though there was an unmistakable tension in his tone.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip. “I trust you. Just… be gentle. Please.”

He smiled at that, a flicker of something darker hidden beneath the curve of his lips. “Of course,” he murmured, his hands resuming their slow exploration. But in his mind, he knew the truth: restraint was never his strong suit. Especially when it came to you.

And with you—so soft, so eager, so completely his, he doubted he could hold himself back for long.

His fingers, still slick with your saliva, trailed down to your entrance, brushing over it with deliberate precision. The touch made you jolt, a shiver running up your spine as you gasped. In-ho groaned low in his throat, his eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror. “Fucking dripping,” he mused, his voice a sinful rasp. Slowly, he slid a finger inside, the intrusion making your thighs instinctively part.

A soft moan escaped your lips as he pressed deeper, his touch firm but unhurried. This wasn’t the first time you’d felt something like this, but the last time had been your own doing—fumbling, desperate, and entirely unremarkable. That had been just days ago, tucked away in one of these very bathroom stalls, shamefully thinking of him. Now, with his hands where yours had been, the stark difference had you feeling light-headed.

His fingers were thicker, rougher, impossibly skilled. The sensation left you trembling, your legs threatening to give out as he worked you open. His other arm snaked around your upper chest, holding you close, his grip firm yet possessive. The position bordered on a chokehold, but instead of fear, it only sent another wave of heat coursing through you.

Your breath hitched as a soft, broken “Ohmygod,” fell from your lips. He didn’t pause, didn’t falter. His finger curled just right, hitting a spot that made you see stars. Your hands gripped on In-ho’s forearm, knuckles white as you bit down hard on your lower lip, trying and failing to stifle your moans.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was like velvet, roughened by desire. He pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. His other hand released its hold on your chest as it moved lower, settling on the curve of your ass. He squeezed firmly, eliciting a high-pitched mewl from you.

You nodded weakly, barely able to form words. “Uh-huh… feels so good, sir,”

That made him chuckle, a deep, dark sound that reverberated through your body. The honorific sent a thrill down his spine, his cock straining against the confines of his sweatpants.

“You’re ready,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he pulled back just enough to tug his waistband down. You glanced over your shoulder, eyes wide as you took him in, the sight was intimidating, your head reeling.

"In-ho, I–I don’t think I can take that." Your voice faltered, a hint of shame creeping into your words. He laughed, a sound so familiar it sent a chill down your spine. It was the kind of hearty laugh you'd grown so used to hearing from him. But now, there was something different—something darker layered beneath it, like a cruel mockery. "Course you can, angel," he said, his tone smooth but laced with an unsettling edge. "I know you can. Let me take care of you."

“H-Here? Like this?” you asked, your voice small and unsure, referring to the state he had you in—bent over the sink and in front of the mirror. utterly at his mercy.

He leaned in, his hand gripping your chin and forcing your gaze back at your reflection. “Right here,” he confirmed, his voice a low growl. Want you to watch yourself while I’m fucking you open.”

The vulgarity of his words sent a shiver through you, your body instinctively arching for him. You nodded, too dazed and drunk to do anything else, and he didn’t waste another second.

He slid inside slowly, the stretch making you cry out and grip the sink tighter. The initial sting was sharp, but it quickly gave way to something deeper, something so intense it left you gasping. Your legs wobbled beneath you, and you leaned harder against the sink for support.

“In-ho… In-ho,” you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a chant. “Sir… I— I feel you in my stomach.”

The confession had him groaning, a sound so guttural it made your knees weak. “Yeah? Fuck, baby.” He babbled as he moved closer, his body pressing against yours as his hand trailed down with deliberate slowness. When his palm flattened against your stomach, his fingers brushing over the faint outline of him inside you, your breath hitched.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his composure slipping as he began to move. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust deliberate and punishing. You nodded frantically, a whimper escaping as he pressed down, sending a shockwave through your body. “In-ho, nngh!—“

You were completely out of it, your thoughts a tangled haze, your body slack and pliant in his hands. The alcohol coursing through your veins had stripped away every layer of hesitation, leaving you wide open to his manipulations. And In-ho, oh, he reveled in it. The way your voice slurred when you called his name, the way your movements were unsteady, dependent on him for every step and touch—it all fueled his sick delight. You were better than he could’ve ever imagined.

As he pulled you closer, pressing into you from behind, your gaze flicked to the bathroom door, a flicker of worry breaking through your drunken stupor. “In-ho…” you mewled, voice soft as you felt your body jerk with each rough thrust he made.. “What if–ah!—someone walks in?”

He paused, his hands resting possessively on your hips, a smile ghosting across his lips. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, his voice low and soothing, though there was an unmistakable edge of amusement in his tone. “The guards won’t come.” His confidence sent a shiver through you, but you weren’t entirely convinced. “But… but what if another player—”

“No one’s going to interrupt us,” he said firmly, his dark eyes boring into yours before you could finish your sentence. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. “You’re with me. They wouldn’t dare.”

Something about the absolute certainty, the power in his voice—had your anxiety ebbing away, replaced by a strange sense of safety. You nodded slowly, leaning into his touch, your inhibitions melting once again under his spell.

“You trust me, don’t you, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Mmhm,” You squeaked out through laboured breaths.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, his hands sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you back against him. He watched your reflection as his fingers dug into your soft flesh, relishing the way you gasped and arched into his touch.

Your head lolled slightly, your body swaying under his hold. “Mmmh…I feel so dizzy,” you slurred, your voice barely above a whisper.

In-ho chuckled darkly, his hands moving to steady you. “That’s just the soju, sweetheart,” he said, though he didn’t bother hiding the smirk on his face. “You’re doing so well for me.”

He loved seeing you like this. Drunk, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Every soft whimper, every stumble, every little movement that showed how completely you relied on him only fueled his desire. You were his, whether you realized it or not.

As his fingers grazed your skin, he couldn’t resist pushing you further, testing your reactions as he pushed your buttons. “You know,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along the curve of your neck, “Y’look so pretty like this. All fucked out and needy. Just for me.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, pressed against him. “Y-you think so?”

“I know so,” he replied, his voice a velvety purr. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming. “Just look at yourself, baby. See how perfect you are for me?”

Your hazy eyes flicked to the mirror, taking in the sight of the two of you. His dark, piercing gaze met yours, his expression raw and predatory. The way he looked at you—it was almost too much. Your cheeks burned, and you averted your eyes, biting your lip.

He wasn’t having that. His hand left your waist, fingers gently gripping your chin and turning your face back toward the mirror. “No,” he said firmly. “I want you to watch. Watch yourself while I take care of you.”

The authority in his voice sent a thrill through you, your body trembling as you nodded weakly. “O-okay—ah, fuck!”

“Atta girl,” he chuckled, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

As his hands roamed lower, teasing and exploring, you couldn’t help the soft, breathless moans that spilled from your lips. Every touch, every word, every look from him pulled you deeper into the fog of your drunken desire, leaving you utterly helpless in his grasp.

And In-ho? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room filled with the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin, your muffled cries, and his filthy murmurs. “Thaat’s it, there’s my pretty girl.” His hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, his lips brushing against your ear. “Fucking take it. Just like that.”

Every thrust sent you higher, the alcohol in your system amplifying every sensation, every nerve alight with pleasure. Your mind was fogged, the world around you turning into nothing but a senseless blur. And yet, you felt every little sensation In-ho fed you, each rough snap of his hips driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You felt your climax building, overwhelming and unstoppable. Your eyes fluttered shut, ready to let go—but his hand suddenly cupped your cheek, a sharp slap bringing you back.

“I told you,” he growled, his voice authoritative. “None of that. You keep your eyes on me when I fill you up. Understand?”

You nodded frantically, gasping as you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze once again through the mirror—the sight was enough to send you over the edge. Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you cried out his name.

The sight of you coming undone beneath him was his undoing. With a few more erratic thrusts, he followed, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you. A deep groan tore from his chest, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he rode out his high.

The room fell into silence, save for the sound of your labored breathing. In-ho steadied you, his hands gentle now as he helped you stand. He brushed your hair back, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

“If we get out of here alive…” A sheepish smile spread across your face, “Let’s drink again sometime?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “When we get out,” he corrected, his tone laced with quiet determination. He kissed you once more, sealing the promise. And he meant it. If it meant keeping you by his side, he’d kill every last player in the game with his bare hands.

#hwang in ho #inho x reader #inho smut #player 001 #squidgame 2 #in ho squid game #smut #oh young il #the frontman

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astroeleanor · 9 days ago

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💸₊˚Jupiter Sign = Money MAGNET Placement, How To Increase Your Wealth (ALL 12 Signs)˚₊💸

Jupiter is your MONEY making placement. It tells you how you can build wealth and what your path to prosperity looks like.

Jupiter sign = the energy you need to embody to attract wealth Jupiter house = where your wealth potential is playing out, the specific area of life

Your fortune can be seen through this placement. Jupiter is the greater benefic in astrology: it pinpoints the exact opportunities that are more financially beneficial for you.

Placements don’t work in isolation in your chart. Your 2H ruler is another one that gives you SO much insight on how you can cultivate abundance in your life.

I wrote a full article with interpretations for all 2H rulers in each house. It covers:

• how to find your 2H ruler

• how to make more money

• your wealth strategy

Join my Patreon as a Jupiter member to read! You'll also receive two free mini readings. TAP HERE to join.

💵JUPITER IN ARIES: Start FAST & finish just as fast. Speed = power. Think: limited window offers, flash sales, impulse buyers. Act before the crowd. See a new trend? Jump in early, then move on. Take action within 24 hours of a money idea. Take the first step & push through your fear of rejection.

💸JUPITER IN TAURUS: Make money through VALUE that lasts. Create or invest in slow burn assets: land, food, fragrance, vintage things, natural materials. Stick to a slow-money plan and ignore trends. Build wealth through repetition and stability. Make your own natural product and sell in small batches (luxury pricing, not volume.)

💰JUPITER IN GEMINI: Connect ideas fast, Start a daily income loop from multiple streams: flipping info, newsletters, content bundles, short classes. Learn from multiple teachers, not just one. Never stick to one income source & update your offers frequently.

🪙JUPITER IN CANCER: Offer emotional support or private memberships. Trust your gut to guide decisions, work with people you care about (family too). Align income with moon cycles. Prosperity grows when you feel safe, so make your home a sanctuary! Decorate your workspace for comfort. Honor or heal your bloodline (family indirectly or directly affects your income).

💳JUPITER IN LEO: Build a personal brand. Sell your story, image, performance, etc. Attention brings income, take the stage, don’t hide. Confidence = cash. Show your face, invest in clothes or tools that elevate your status. Use gold, yellow, bright colors, and symbols of royalty. Create in bursts of inspiration. Celebrate small wins LOUDLY. Help others shine, you glow more when they do.

🏦JUPITER IN VIRGO: Get paid to fix, clean, or improve things. Offer highly specific services (editing, organizing, tracking). Sell checklists, templates, or systems. Detail is your wealth. Focus on usefulness. Focus on daily money rituals (track, sort, review). Keep your workspace CLEAN, mental order = financial order. Document what works and re-use it. Master one thing before scaling.

💼JUPITER IN LIBRA: Sell beauty: styling, branding, interior. Offer mediation, matchmaking, or conflict resolution. Monetize your eye for aesthetics or beautiful things (taste = wealth). Partner up, collaboration brings cash your way, let others HELP, you don’t have to do it solo. Give less energy to people-pleasing. Say no with grace, boundaries = income.

💎JUPITER IN SCORPIO: Offer confidential or high-stakes services. Keep the mystery, less exposure = more power. Offer 1:1 (intimacy). Sell privacy or exclusivity as a premium. Heal financial trauma first, you can’t skip it. Trust your gut because it knows more than your logic. Stay committed through discomfort, that’s where the wealth is! Avoid “all or nothing” thinking.

💴JUPITER IN SAGITTARIUS: Teach what you’ve lived. Make content about your travels, beliefs, or philosophies. Sell through storytelling. Say YES to big visions. Expansion creates income. Avoid dogma, your truth isn't THE truth. Teach from curiosity instead of superiority. Don’t trap yourself in small offers. Say YES to what scares you (within reason). Get paid to inspire or ignite others (coaching, content, public speaking).

🧾JUPITER IN CAPRICORN: Build systems that others use. Offer long-term packages, or structure-based services. Delay = growth, be consistent. Reaching mastery in something attracts wealth. Build for LEGACY. Keep your business moves private until they’re solid. Protect your reputation, but don’t become its prisoner. Refuse roles that drain purpose.

💷JUPITER IN AQUARIUS: Create new models: tech, tools, apps, platforms, etc. Monetize niche communities or future ideas. Sell the blueprint, not the tradition. Your originality is currency. Work with groups. Break the system to build wealth. Offer “anti-trend” solutions. Teach others HOW to question. Work remotely, independently, or in decentralized ways.

💲JUPITER IN PISCES: Sell healing, art, spiritual experiences. Offer rituals, visuals, sound, imagination. Let the right clients find you. Trust dreams and symbols. Offer sliding scale or donation with clear limits. Use visuals + sound for income (film, audio, aesthetic design). Make space for NOTHING, that’s when ideas arrive to you. Limit access to your presence, withdraw every once in a while.

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gwaeducation · 4 months ago

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Why Self-regulation Can Enhance Learning

Self-regulation is an affective learning skill that involves managing emotions, behaviors, and thoughts to achieve goals. It’s an active process that can help students become more proactive learners. This affective strategy implies two crucial aspects: Affect: The physical and mental states of emotions and feelings, such as pleasure, pain, sorrow, joy, and desire Regulation: The process of…

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reversedpineapple · 1 month ago

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╭⊰ 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞: 𝐌𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐢 ⊱╮

❖◈ Yan!Mydei x Nameless!Reader ◈❖

TWs: Obsessive behavior, intentional/unintentional harming of the reader, paranoia, unhealthy relationship dynamic, possessive behavior, being powerless in a situation, unhealthy mental state

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated. :D

ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ Word count: 2.1k ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬

By continuing to read beyond this point, you have agreed to the trigger warnings and to be at least of the age of 18. The author does not hold any responsibility whatsoever for your actions.

Mydeimos is a case of desperate yearning and it shows

He claims he does not care from where you come, that he only cares to slay Nikador. That is true, at first. He has just too much to care about. There is that part of ascending the throne but also the emotional turmoil his fate stirs within him. He doesn’t show it but he is very uncertain about his future to the point most would just crawl under a blanket and start to cry.

Now, since you are a Nameless, you are most likely capable of fighting or in some other position which contributes to the success of the Trailblaze (and leaving planets alive. It is shown with dramatic music and camera angles but I would like to notice that the Trailblazer was more or less being thrown, catapulted and at some point yeeted to Cocolia). Perhaps you are the team strategist or the survival expert. In any case, you were vital to success and thus a useful tool to finally slay the mad Titan. Mydeimos is not in the best headspace when he meets you for the first time so don’t expect him to be open to forge new bonds.

As we also see during the Trailblaze mission, the man needs time to open up to new people. Mydei respects those who are capable of defending themselves, whether that through the use of a weapon or some other way. So when you help him retrieve the Coreflame from Nikador, expect his demeanour to lighten. Of course, the problem of Castrum Kremnos is solved which makes things a lot easier on his soul but also, you risked your life in battle for him. He may not be the one who carries the Coreflame but he feels just as responsible for your wounds as Phainon and Aglaea do. You are from the outside. You shouldn’t care that much and yet you do. Thus, his respect is earned.

In order for romantic feelings to develop you need to play some kind of role in his journey of accepting his fate. Maybe you are just someone whom he learns to trust; training with you or discussing strategies for the next move of the Chrysos Heirs. Anyway, you are there for him and the more time he spends with you, the more he will open up. Of course he won’t just tell you all his woes, the story about his past friends far away into the future, but he confides within you his worries of the future. He will never tell you upfront what he feels but rather asks for opinions. What do you think about the past kings of Kremnos or what would be the best way for his people for the future. You are an outsider, your opinion could be an insightful one.

Should you meet his questions with a cold shoulder, he will pull away immediately. Mydei portrays the image of the perfect warrior, ruthless and not afraid to lay down his life (not like couldn’t) but those questions are asked with him trusting you with the softer side of his soul. He is not in need of unnecessary judgement, especially since he asks you about such sensitive topics. However, if you take his questions seriously and don’t judge him about his insecurities, it’s really easy to see that he is not only asking you for your opinion, he will fall unexpectedly fast. It has been such a long time since he allowed himself to have such soft feelings so I highly doubt he would at first even realise it is romantic affection he feels for you. He will probably just assume that the warmth he feels when he is by your side is just the deep bond of trust between you two.

He won’t even realise that some of his actions would be considered as romantic. During an outing to the ruins of Januspolis he had noticed you shivering in the cool air. The next thing you know he has untied the sash of his chest and draped the fabric on you. You had to force the fabric back onto him when returning to Okhemia. Only the excuse of you already feeling warmer made him finally budge. He just does not understand why you wearing the color red, the color worn exclusively by the Kremonian royal family, would be seen as… “interesting” to say the least. He is just helping you to warm up. What is so weird about that? That doesn’t mean the public wouldn’t notice anything. It is obvious how much time the heir spends with you, always asking and caring for you. It takes Phainon walking up to his friend and asking how long the two of you have been courting for him to finally understand what he is feeling.

On the subject of courting, Amphoreus is very different to the outside world, developing alongside it yet also being very different so cultural differences are guaranteed. There is no casual dating, no casual meeting and with how intense the people of Castrum Kremnos can be, expect that to be cranked up by a thousand. Once Mydeimos finally is in the clear about his emotions, he will approach your companion from the Astral Express to ask for allowance to court you. Imagine the look the Trailblazer and Dan Heng, yes even Dan Heng, threw him when he asked him that question. Why would he ask them? You are your own person. The prince has no romantic experience, all he knows is from observing others so for the first step to fail is a hurdle to him he does not know how to overcome. He is a bit stuck in the ways of how things should be done. The best solution he comes up with is approaching you to ask for allowance to court you. He expresses himself a bit awkward, a bit too ashamed for his own comfort. On your side though, for all you know this is just the way of asking someone out in Amphoreus which, yes it is but also no.

You figure that out very soon when he immediately acts like the two of you have been in a relationship for years. He will not immediately start kissing you, slowly working his way there but with how much time he spends with you one could assume the two of you to be already married and he doesn’t just act like this in public. It’s even more intense when you two have the private luxury of his room. He will take off his gauntlets and hold your hands oh so gently, whispering words in his mother tongue against your scalp, your head tucked against his chest. He never tells you what he says to you and you don’t dare to ask the people of Kremnos, his words sounding far too intimate to share with the outside world.

Every meal the two of you eat together he will offer you his drink. The taste of mixed pomegranates, goats milk and cheese is certainly something to get used to and requires “an acquired taste” to say the least but for the love of him you just drink it. Should you not be able to drink dairy or have a first cutting out those foods, he will understand. Instead of the usual mix he will offer you ordinary pomegranate juice. He just wants to share something with you. On the subject of sharing, now that he sees you in a romantic light the act of sharing his read sash changes from an innocent act of caring to something very intimate. He won’t just drape it over you. By watching you he noticed that the outside world takes things a lot slower, dare he say more casual (by the love of the sky father, he hopes you don’t just see him as something to pass time). But should you ever take a look into his closet you will find pieces of cloth he has never worn just to realise that they are perfectly fitted to your body. Either you wait for him to approach you or just wear them. Mydei swears he didn’t choke on his own spit when he saw you walking in wearing the color of the royal family. To make something clear, he could not care any less that it is the color of a certain status, what he does care about is the fact that no other person dares to wear it other than himself. One day he might “accidentally” use part of your clothing as the fabric on his chest so you have to use the one he usually wears. My goodness, what a scandal, he did not do that with intent. Mhm surely.

All is fine and dandy until he reaches a certain tipping point. There is no need for a certain event to occur. Mydeimos is haunted by the memories of his old friends and what if you were to end up like that as well? Madness runs in the Kremonian blood, their king and Titan both succumbed to it. There is a part in Mydei that is carefully kept under lock and key, not only by his fear of turning out like that but also his awareness of there being the possibility of exactly that happening. Which means he wouldn’t act on certain impulses but with time a false security slowly settled upon your relationship, lulling him into a traitorous safety. It will start out as a small thing, just a vendor being a bit too friendly with you. He won’t do anything to them but the grip on your arm as he pulled you away was a bit too tight. After seeing the bruise blooming across your skin he will apologise, saying he didn’t know what came over him. And he really means it, he never hurt you again after that but a line was crossed.

Mydei does whatever needs to be done to win battles. Yes, he is the one destined to take on strife but he is able to think rationally. One does not only win by swinging their fist but knowing how, when and where to strike. If you got hurt during a fight, he would swiftly deal with them, taking care of you until you were capable of continuing but suddenly there was this fury within him. What were once necessary actions to survive turned into him pummelling the enemy into the floor until they were a puddle of gore and the longer this goes on, the worse it gets. It was already frightening enough when he started to turn them to mush but lately he started to target spots on his enemies that would hurt but not end them. It is no longer rare to see them laying groaning on the floor when the man finally lays them to eternal sleep. Mydeimos eyes have changed, the orange that once reminded you of a warm sunset had turned into a hot blaze, endangered of being swallowed by the flames. His gaze is no longer lingering on your person out of silent adoration, now staring without a gleam of life at you, imagining all the ways you could be ripped from his side. His grip has become a bit too tight for your liking the last few days once more.

But he can still be fixed, right? At this point you will know everything about him; the circumstances under which his mother and his friends died no longer a mystery to you. So how could you leave him when he holds you so close during his sleep? When his grip tightens to the point of it almost hurting when you want to get up? At some point, he will dislike the idea of you leaving his side. He was always someone who stood close to the ones he cherished but at some point it became unbearable. He will allow you to get out, but please be careful when conversing with others. Mydei would never hurt his own or the people of Okhemia, doesn’t mean it would subconsciously influence the way he would react when seeing them getting into trouble during a battle. He won’t even notice his bias, the slight hesitation, him barely being too slow to save them. Without noticing it, everyone is suddenly plotting to end your life. The small Kremonian girl gifting him a small cake as thanks for always protecting everyone is suddenly a ploy to poison the two of you, the sword gifted to you intentionally poorly forged so you would get harmed in battle.

So when the time comes and he ascends to the title of a demigod, he will ask you to leave the Trailblaze. Please, stay with him, let him protect you, follow him to Castrum Kremnos so he can always look after you. He is way too paranoid to leave you behind. Mydei words it like a plea but you know that you never had a choice. If you were to choose to continue your journey, to leave him behind, you would doom Amphoreus to a new Nikador. So you stay, trapped in an invisible cage made out of his love, protecting the planet from a demigod who long fell into madness.

Do not copy, translate or use my work without my permission. All rights belong to the author.

#honkai star rail x reader #mydeimos x reader #yandere mydeimos #hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere mydei #yandere mydei x reader #mydei x reader #hsr mydei #revpinewriting #gn reader

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moonmaiden1996 · 3 months ago

Text

The Monster Maomao Created Part 3

Your father had not returned that night.

Part 4

These things took time. Time to orchestrate, to implement, to get right. Time you, unfortunately, did not have.

In truth, you had seen him only in passing for weeks now. One glimpse from a corridor, another when he handed off urgent reports to aides as he rode through the outer gates. Between strategy councils and leading drills with the troops, he seemed more like a ghost than man lately. The latest dispatches from the northern border had stripped away ambiguity—rumors turned to warnings, warnings into facts. War no longer loomed like a distant shadow. It advanced—quiet, steady, inevitable.

And with it, your father had vanished into his duties, leaving you alone in the palace with your own battle to wage.

This was not the battlefield he knew—no clash of swords, no banners raised to the wind. This war wore rouge and whispered behind fans. It traded in glances, not arrows. And you had to fight it without him.

Which is why you had done the unthinkable: stepped directly into the lair of one of the most powerful women in the palace—alone.

The private chambers of Empress Gyokuyou were a place of cultivated tranquility, where even silence felt intentional. Amber light spilled through silk-paneled screens painted with cranes in mid-flight and branches of plum blossom that never faded. The delicate scent of camellia oil lingered in the air, subtle and clinging. Toys rested in artful corners—a carved rabbit, a painted drum, a silken ball—placed not haphazardly, but with care. Even innocence was curated here.

The Empress sat before you on a raised cushion of brocade, her robes a symphony of reds and pinks, her posture as precise as calligraphy. Her face was unreadable, carved with years of composure. She watched you with jade-colored eyes. Her lips curved into a faint smile—not cold, but not warm. Perfectly balanced.

"I do not want us to be enemies," you said softly, voice clear despite the weight of the moment. "My path seems already set. I must walk it, whether I would or not."

She lifted her cup and sipped slowly. The soft sound of liquid moving was the only reply for a long moment.

"I have always admired your father. He is an honorable man. Loyal beyond question. He has supported the Emperor since the beginning of his reign."

"It is true," you said, nodding. "My father respects and loves the Emperor deeply. And he holds equal respect for you, and for your children."

Her gaze lingered, searching, as though peeling layers you had thought well hidden.

"And you?"

You bowed your head, the jeweled hairpin in your crown catching the midday sun. Light glanced off it, a deliberate gleam—subtle, but unmistakable. A token from him.

Everyone knew what the pin meant. The pin had been given months before, hidden away in your dressing box, ignored. It was beautiful—carved of white jade and inlaid with white gold—a design too fine, too significant to be random. The Moon Prince's pin. In the court, such a gift was no mere ornament. It marked imperial interest. You were being chosen. Endorsed. And by wearing it now, you stated the choice you had made to the Empress herself.

"I came here because I wish to affirm my devotion to my empress. If this marriage… if it comes to fruition might cause some upset. I wish to ensure that doesn't happen" You straightened your posture as you met her gaze.

She paused. The silence was long, but not empty. Her eyes flicked once to the toddler nestled against her side, to the baby in her arms, before she turned her gaze back to you.

"Would you care for more tea?"

You had not been dismissed. That was something. A small victory, in a place where such things mattered. If you made an enemy of her now, you could very well be suffering the death by a thousand cuts.

"Yes, please." You smiled, demure and serene. A smile shaped not for affection, but diplomacy. You had long ago learned how to wield your expressions like weapons, same as the Empress in this you were equal.

At her signal, her ladies-in-waiting quietly stepped forward, bowed, and disappeared through a side door, their silk robes whispering as they moved. The hush that followed was deeper now, the room emptier. Just the two of you—and the Empress’s children, her preoccupied daughter and son, tucked against her side.

The children were the reason for everything. The reason for Jinshi—or whatever his name was to be in the rear palace, the reason for you needed to be here. Children were always sources of trouble—the need to secure their future, to keep them safe, to even have them. You did not know the Empress well, but you knew she was a good mother, and despite her kindness she would be as savage as any bear to protect her children. You appreciated that. You would be the same. But it made this even more difficult.

Then, without warning she spoke again.

"Could you love him? Truly?"

Your fingers hesitated on the rim of your cup. The question hung in the air. Did you? No. Could you? Maybe. As a young girl you might have been giddy, gushed around the Prince—but as a women you know how truly dangerous it was .

"I think… I could." You pondered. "I know I will be a good wife."

She looked down into her tea. "Jin... Ka Zuigetsu is shy after being isolated from much of court life due to his...illness. He... lacks confidence, even despite the front he wears. He is dear to me… I owe him much. I only want him to be cherished, as I cherish the Emperor."

"I can only try." You offered the words carefully, letting your tone soften just enough. A small show of sincerity—but never vulnerability.

She studied you again, not with suspicion, but with calculation—the kind that had become second nature to women like her. "You would be a fierce wife. Sharp. Loyal. Intelligent. The court would do well to fear you. And you would make a strong mother, no doubt."

Her hand moved gently, almost absently, to brush a lock of hair from her son’s face. He shifted slightly but didn’t wake, safe and warm beneath his mother’s arm. "This war comes too soon, when everything is unsettled.,. It gives people ideas," she said quietly.

You shifted slightly on your cushion. The Empress rarely spoke carelessly. But she was right, the prince was still a babe and with the war, it meant power struggles . And "ideas" could be the most dangerous thing of all in a place like this.

"They wouldn’t dare," you said, voice firmer now. You leaned forward, ever so slightly. "Your son is the only rightful choice."

Her gaze narrowed, not with anger, but with testing intent. "He is young. And there is no guarantee…"

"You will be blessed with more sons. All destined for greatness," you said quickly. It was true the young prince was young, and there were many dangers in the palace.

"And you? You want children, do you not?" Her eyes lifted sharply to yours.

Here it was—the threat. If you bore Jinshi children, they would not be minor princes to be married off to distant provinces. They would be born of imperial blood and martial lineage, noble on both sides. Children with your father's steel in their veins and your mothers connections to the western world, and Jinshi's royal blood, court-born charm and beauty and in anyone's eyes a dangerous weapon. Any child would be a threat that no amount of diplomacy could ignore.

Even now, the Empress must have seen it. How could she not? She was no fool. Her smile had been warm, but beneath it there had been calculation. The measured look of a woman who understood all too well how easily people turn.

You were not the enemy today. Not yet. But if you could establish a truce or an understanding, you and your family might just survive.

"I do." You held her gaze. No point lying. "But… these things take time. I doubt I will be blessed until there is a strong second born to bare the weight of the Emperors legacy."

You hated these layered words, this careful game of hint and half-meaning. Even if you did have a whole brood of strong boys, you would never let them near the court. It was too dangerous. You wanted a safe and happy family. Give them a childhood like you had. But that was not the game. No one would believe you. Why should they? So you played the game anyway, as all women at court did.

"You cannot know that," she said, though her voice softened around the edges. Her daughter toddled past the table, chubby legs wobbling slightly as she made her way toward her mother, giggling.

"There are ways," you replied. "Women have known them for centuries."

She understood. The knowledge passed between you, wordless but potent. Until the heir was secure—until a second son was born—you were not to conceive. It was easy enough to do. The safest thing you could do.

"It would be safer not to have children," she murmured, almost to herself.

A ripple of chill traveled down your spine, though you didn’t let it reach your face.

"I am still young. I have time to take a more leisurely approach," you said, still smiling, lifting the teacup with steady hands. "Though you do tempted me, especially when you show me your beautiful children to sway me into motherhood.'' You smiled the toddler as it chased a rather bashful cat across the room. ''Besides, I do not think you are cruel. You would not ask me such a thing."

"I would never ask that of a woman." Her voice shifted, and then, unexpectedly, laughter slipped from her lips. Not sharp, not mocking. Laughter that came too freely to be false. "I suppose that means you’ve thought about your future with the Prince… He is pleasing to the eye and kind… so kind… If he’s anything like his brother, he’ll certainly enjoy the act of making children." she teased.

Heat crept up your neck, though your smile remained composed.

"I’ll do my best."

"I'm sure you will—if the apothecary has anything to do with it. She has taught me more in keeping the Emperor happy than any other." More laughter, lighter this time. ''I am sure he wont know where or what to do with himself when he finally has you all to himself.''

You paled. For now you did not want to think about what or where he would put himself. Instead you would return home to your home. A tantrically retreat to regroup and plan your next steps. The hairpin shimmered again as you lowered your head, rising to stand.

"Then I think we understand each other. I look forward to our friendship. I will take my leave of you." You smiled and left.

Moments later, the lady-in-waiting returned with a steaming porcelain pot, blinking at the now empty spot.

"Your guest has gone, my lady. Is everything all right?" Hongniang whispered as she poured her lady a fresh cup of tea.

The Empress didn’t answer right away. She watched the steam curl from the teacup in her hand.

"I think so," she said quietly. "I hope so." Brushing her fingertips across her son’s soft cheek.

Xxxxxxxxxx

For now, you had the Empress on your side—tentative though her support might be. Still, it was something. In a court built on hidden knives and folded fans, the smallest alliance could mean survival.

Outside, the sun filtered through the latticework of the garden pavilion, tracing delicate patterns on the polished floor. The boys played among the chrysanthemums and peony bushes, their laughter echoing across the stone paths as they chased each other. When the food was laid out on the low lacquered table, the children rushed over like hungry foxes, settling onto the woven mats with eager hands.

Then—

“My lady, are you well?!”

Jinshi, his cheeks flushed the color of plum wine, his voice rising in panic. You really hoped none of the younger servants were nearby. The last thing you needed was a chorus of swooning girls gossiping about a blushing eunuch fluttering over your well-being or in his current state of dishevel. If one gushing girl saw the sight of his flushed skins you might have a riot on your hands.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, kneeling beside you, eyes darting over your form like a physician’s apprentice. “Should you be out of bed? Where is the physician? I—I’ll get you some congee, or ginger tea while you wait. You’re pale—too pale.”

Your brothers froze mid-bite, dumplings still in their mouths. A moment passed—then they burst into peals of laughter, delighted by the spectacle of the flustered young man circling you like a worried crane.

“I…” You blinked up at him, unsure whether to laugh or scold.

“Let me carry you to your chambers,” he continued, voice thick with concern. “The apothecary was right behind me. Apothecary! Where is she? Does your sister have a fever? I’ll send for herbs—a hot bath— maybe your father should be called he —”

Maomao entered just then, a little breathless and very irritated. “I told him not to come,” she muttered with a bow, “but he wouldn’t hear a word of it.”

“How can you say that right now? Tend to her!” Jinshi snapped, hovering so closely you could smell the faint trace of floral incense on his robes.

You sat still, trying not to laugh, as your brothers giggled behind their sleeves.

“Master Jinshi,” you said calmly, placing a steady hand on his arm. “Please calm yourself. I fear your concern is misplaced. I’m quite well.”

His eye twitched at your words. Something like frustration—or maybe embarrassment—flashed across his face.

“If you’re well… then why did you call for my apothecary?” His voice dropped. Behind him, Maomao tensed, her eyes fixed politely to the floor.

You hesitated, realizing your simple request for her to join you had been intercepted by a very nosy eunuch which could unravel far more than you intended. Damn him. You could not tell him your real desire to see his servant.

“I… I have been having trouble sleeping,” you said gently. Not a lie, but not the truth “Yes… And I thought your apothecary might have a remedy to ease my rest. I didn't mean to trouble you… I didn’t think you would get the message.” You eyed him as he blushed bashfully at you. “Please forgive me. That was not my intention.”

You bowed deeply, and when you lifted your gaze, Jinshi’s expression had softened.

“My lady… you need not apologize. I’m only glad you’re well.”

“I’ll prepare a medicine for My Lady,” Maomao added quickly, already making her exit with swift, efficient steps.

Coward, you thought, glaring at her back.

Jinshi, meanwhile, was staring at you again—moonstruck, dazed. His beauty was… unfortunate. Smooth skin, lashes long enough to shame a courtesan, the gentle slope of his nose too perfect for a man. Even his robes did nothing to hide his physique. Too perfect for your peace of mind.

Handsome husbands cause problems. But perhaps, you considered, they were at least easier to bed—easier to maneuver once there. You had heard tales and tricks from women in the bathhouse of all the methods and positions they used to avoid looking at their husbands while they gave them pleasure. At least you would not have to deal with that. It would make taking him to your bed as a husband and a lover easier. You wondered how he would be as a husband. Would he even be interested in that? Perhaps only one way to find out.

“Please,” you said, composing your features into something soft and sincere, “won’t you join us?”

“I… I couldn’t possibly—”

“Please, Master Jinshi,” you interrupted, leaning closer. “As an apology. For troubling you.”

You smiled—not a practiced court smile, but a coy smile, not seductive, but warmer than you had given him before. You regretted it immediately.

Jinshi blushed violently and seemed to melt into his own shadow. “It would be… my pleasure,” he managed.

“Then please,” you said, bowing your head slightly, “sit beside me. Let me serve you.”

xxxxx

The food was a masterpiece of imperial luxury. Steamed buns puffed like clouds, glossy with sweet glaze. Thin slices of roast duck curled atop a bed of lotus root. Tofu steeped in a spicy sauce shimmered beside bowls of pickled cucumber, delicate and pale green. Long platters bore fish dressed in ginger and spring onion, while bamboo baskets steamed with dumplings stuffed with shrimp, pork, and wild chives. Fragrant jasmine rice steamed beside braised mushrooms glistening with soy and sesame oil.

Jinshi writhed—visibly—when you plated his meal with your own hands. He peered down into the soup you poured him with hesitant suspicion.

“I assure you,” you said with a sly smile, “the food is quite safe. All prepared by the palace kitchens, and my servants are thoroughly trustworthy.”

Your eyes flicked toward the silk screen, behind which a couple of blushing maids giggled uncontrollably.

“I… I’m sure,” he said weakly.

You lifted your spoon, plucked a glistening slice of mushroom and broth from his bowl, and slipped it into your mouth. Chewing slowly, you stared directly at him.

“I promise,” you murmured, “you are safe here. No women will chase you.”

You plucked another bite—tender chicken, still steaming—and held it to his lips.

He stared at you, eyes wide, wild, and a little glassy allowing you to bring the spoon to his lips— directly to where you put your lips. His eyes never left yours as he drank greedily, lips lingering too long on the spoon. You might have giggled had it not been so thoroughly satisfying. It would seem he was very interested in you.

The meal continued in lively spirits. Jinshi proved himself surprisingly charming, if a bit overly fawning. But he was attentive to your brothers, which you rather enjoyed. He was good with them, he might be a good father, if the time came, if not a bit of a pushover.

“I want sesame buns!” your youngest brother pouted, lower lip wobbling, while the elder had already begun to sniffle.

“I—I will ask the kitchen!” Jinshi blurted, starting to rise from his seat in panic.

“You will get sesame buns when you finish your vegetables,” you said, voice calm but cutting. “And don’t even think about hiding them in the plant pots again like you do with Father.”

Your brothers flinched, wilting a little under your stern gaze and they weren’t the only ones.

Jinshi went scarlet—and then pale. A thin stream of blood trickled from his nose. It would seem Maomao was right—he did like to be told off.

“Master Jinshi—are you well?” you asked, arching a brow.

“A-ah! Yes!” he coughed, dabbing at his face with his sleeve. “A piece of sweet potato went the wrong way…”

He tried to compose himself with a cough and a dazzling smile, but his eyes flicked up—locked on your hairpin.

“That pin…” he said quietly.

You were surprised it took him this long to recognize it, but glad. If he was to interrupt the evening and spoil a chance at speaking with the indebted apothecary, you were going to make the most of it.

“It was a gift,” you replied, lowering your gaze modestly.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“…It suits you,” he murmured, eye transfixed on you.

You smiled. Yes. Handsome husbands were trouble. But trouble could be useful.

So let me know what you think of this chapter and the concept in general. The reader is going to play hard and dirty but she has a way to go. I would love to know your thoughts on the reader or Jinshi

LIKE> COMMENT> REQUEST

More to come soon

@one-piecelover

#jinshi apothecary diaries #jinshi x reader #jinshi #apothecary diaries #the apothecary diaries

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queen-of-diamonds-xo · 2 months ago

Text

Traitor (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Female Webber! Reader

(reader is Mark Webber's daughter)

Part Two!

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Summary:

Basically it’s very quick Drabble I wrote to get it off my brain. Reader is Webbers daughter and moving to Aston Martin to study under Adrian Newey. Oscar and reader pining over each other and Oscar saving the day?

After a shock contract with Aston Martin, y/n Webber attends one last McLaren gala before the start of her dream career. The recent PHD graduate in aerodynamics saying goodbye to her friends and family to study under Andrian Newey.” Oscar hadn’t spoken to you since the announcement, but when you need him most he always shows up.

Warnings:

Mentions of drugs/reader getting spiked, mentions of smut

Masterlist

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

The gala was extravagant, bold, and expensive.

You attended as a honoured guest of McLaren. Y/n Webber, Mark Webber's daughter. Recent graduate of her PhD in aerodynamics and soon to be mentee of Andrew Newey in a shock contract with Aston Martin for 2026.

Yeah, you had become talk of the paddock. Your dad was proud of course (if not just a little betrayed), but the opportunity to work alongside and learn from the man was too good of one to pass up, and everyone knew it.

Everyone, except Oscar Piastri.

Who; ever since the news dropped, had refused to acknowledge your very existence.

The cold shoulders and silent glares sent your way burning deep under your skin. Never admitting the man’s recent demeanor change was affecting you. You just shrugged it off in front of your dad, acting like all those years of friendship meant nothing.

Like the nights you spent studying while he slept in your lap- your finding running absentmindedly through his hair- meant nothing.

Like the way he pushed you against the counter of your parents kitchen as he kissed you, -deep and desperate, hips grinding as he trapped you between the wooden counter and his towering frame- meant nothing.

Like the stolen kisses and sweet words whispers closely in your ear, meant nothing.

You swallowed it down, pushing any invading thoughts of the brown haired Aussie driver deep down into the pit of your stomach, letting it twist and turn as nerves wrecked your body.

As you walk into the gala, sleek sparking gown of deep cherry red illuminating the room, the whole crowd seems to quiet in awe.

Oscar leans casually on the bar, a scoff escaping his pink lips as he downs another swallow of his awful martini. An eyes roll following the action as he places the glass rather haphazardly onto the bar, lip tucking between his teeth as he allows himself to gaze upon you once more. Your hair flowing effortlessly down your shoulder, the small chuckle escaping your dark lips swaying the dazzling stoned earring dangling from your ears.

Oscar couldn’t help his hand twitching, the burning sting in his fingers like glass, a desperate sign to run them through your soft hair. To curl them around the back of your neck and pull you close to his chest. He couldn’t help the tightening in his stomach and the chill that runs down his spine as he pictures his large hand tracing over your jaw. A pointed finger under your chin raising your gaze to his, eyes burning as he leans down to place a scorching kiss to the vanilla scented skin of your neck.

Oscar coughed as your striking eyes met his, a wicked smile forming on your lips. A shock ran through the man like lightning, awakening his every nerve. He swallowed harshly as he scrunched his face in a desperate attempt to control his cock straining against the lush material of his perfectly tailored dress pants. Smoothing over the material on his thighs as he tore his gaze from yours, eyes the room around him for the best possible exit strategy.

All night, it seemed wherever he looked, there you were.

Talking with Zac. Dancing rather embarrassingly with a very drunk Lando. Perched so gracefully up at the bar, legs crossed as you leaned forward slightly, breasts squeezing in your tight dress. Practically begging to be freed of their encapsulating confines, and worshipped by only those devoted enough to be blessed by the sight of them.

You see Oscar didn’t just see you as his manager's daughter, or as that weird friend he picked up in life. He didn’t even think of you as a traitor.

No. He saw you as a goddess.

A woman worth worshipping. A woman he would get on his knees for if you so beckoned. You had him wrapped around your finger, and you were complete and utterly clueless. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him could have the man burning down cities if that’s what you wished.

He saw your mind, your humour, your strengths and weaknesses. And he so desperately wanted to be the one to bring you pleasure, to be the one to hold you while you were in pain, to laugh with you and cry with you.

The way you occupy his brain, his every thought consumed by you. It was obsessive, borderline creepy the way you possess him. The tightness in his chest when he sees you with other men, the bruins hot rage that threatens to spill over when they so much as breathe in your direction.

It wasn’t healthy, so he had to let you go.

At least, he had to try. That’s what he told himself.

You smile at him from the bar, a shy wave of your hand as you order your drink. A small smile perched on your lips as you stepped towards him.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched Oscar basically run away from you. Your face burned red hot in shame as the man practically jumped over the bar to avoid your conversation. You walk away, shoulders slumped in defeat, a slight sniffle as you collect your pride and ego off the floor. The task wasn’t easy, as you get shoulder checked by a man on the dance floor, your drink spilling slightly on your dress as you swear.

Fuck Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t need him, didn’t need his sweet words of encouragement, or his soft shy chuckles at your lame jokes. You didn’t need his soft touches as he passed you in the McLaren garage. You didn’t need his soft lips or his strong arms, you didn’t.

So you drank, and danced, laughed with strangers as you let the party consume you.

That was until you made your way to the bathroom, you mind fading away from you as the loud music thumped in the distance, every beat of the rhythm reverberating in your bones. You stumble, mind numbing as the room shifts. A wave of nausea burns through your chest, acidic bile rising in your throat as you swallow down a choked sob. Tears staining your eyes as you desperately reach out, hands crumpling into the cold wall, your body soon following as your arms fold under the weight. Your hip hit the wall first with a loud thud, a purple bruise sure to blossom at the sight of the impact. Your shoulder is next, a burning pain rippling through you, a small cry escaping your dry and burning lips.

With a graceless thud you yield as gravity pulls you down, back sliding down the cold tiled wall.

You sit.

Alone.

Mind racing as time blurs, a chill taking hold of you. Skin pricking as a shiver runs down your spine.

Your head lulls to the side as you fight the heavy weight in your eyes, jerking you upright from your now slumped position.

You reach for your phone, calling the first person who floods your mind in any sense of danger.

He picked up on the first ring. Oscars voice gruff and firm as he spat out; “what do you want?”

You bottom lip quivers at his harsh tone, a small whimper leaving your lips as the tears welling in your eyes fall. Your words escaping in a hushed whisper

“Osc-“ the nickname hit the man hard, his chest tightening with worry at the sound of your strung out and frightened whisper. “-I need your help. I’m scared.”

You sob down the line as your hand clutches the phone, knuckles turning white as your body shakes, a hiccup bubbling from your chest.

It wasn’t just alcohol, you knew that for sure, whatever this feeling was, it wasn’t anything you had ever experienced. Your mind raced as your body began to numb, eyes rolling back slightly as you speak again

“I’m so tired Osc, jus wanna sle-“

Oscar interrupts you with a frantic yelp, questions firing through the phone at you as he desperately begins to search for you. Your half conscious mumbles leading him to the woman’s bathroom, his mind not registering the room as he hurried inside.

Oscar stopped dead in his tracks.

Your body lay slumped on the cold tile floor, phone discarded beside you, call still running. You looked like a doll left forgotten in the corner of a toy store, legs and arms astray and your head slumped unnaturally over.

He quickly skidded to his knees, sliding off the slick floors. His arm winding themselves around your frail frame and his hand comes up to cup your cheek.

Oscar hadn’t released he was shaking, hot breath escaping in puffs as his chest heaved. He scanned your face, calling your name in a desperate plea to wake you.

“Please baby-“ he croaked out in a desperate plea.

His voice echoed in your skull as your body gave in, dead weight pushing into Oscars arms as you allowed the darkness to take hold. No energy left in you to fight any longer.

You knew you were safe now, because Oscar was here.

Let me know if y’all want a part 2?? 👀👀

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x fluffreader #oscar piastri x reader #Oscar Piastri x reader smut #Oscar Piastri smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #Oscar Piastri x reader fluff #oscar piastri fanfic #Oscar Piastri x female reader #McLaren fanfic

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kxsagi · 3 months ago

Note

can u do one where the blue lock boys try teaching u how to play soccer but they get too concentrated and score a point against u / make u fall LMFAO

"𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬, 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲"

a/n: YES THIS WOULD BE ME

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, otoya eita, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, kaiser michael, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

he tries to be gentle. he really does. but the moment he sees an opening? muscle memory kicks in.

"okay, just block me when i try to dribble –"

ankle broken (not actually but nearly). you're on the ground.

he gasps and runs to you like 😰 “waitwaitwait are you okay?! i didn’t mean to!!”

you glare up at him. "you said this was a light lesson."

"i blacked out," he says, genuinely remorseful.

buys you snacks and offers to carry you for the rest of the day.

itoshi rin

doesn't even register that you're a beginner. starts demo-ing a drill and asks you to copy it.

you: tries and trips over the ball

rin: "... are you doing that on purpose?"

you: "no?!"

ten minutes in, he accidentally sends a bullet of a pass straight into your stomach.

you're folded over. he's staring.

“… you said you wanted to learn,” he says, like that justifies it.

nagi seishiro

he means well. he even tries to make it fun. like, “here, try to get the ball from me.”

you do.

he doesn’t let you.

he’s barely moving and you still can’t catch him.

he yawns, juggles it over your head, and scores while scratching the back of his neck.

you just stand there, blinking.

“… was i not supposed to do that?”

no, nagi. no you were not.

mikage reo

is so excited to teach you. gives you a whole rundown. drills. stretches. strategies.

then he forgets to dial it down and tackles you like it’s the world cup.

you hit the grass and stare at the sky.

reo’s above you like 😨 “OH MY GOSH I’M SO SORRY, ARE YOU OKAY??? YOU CAN HIT ME– WAIT NO DON'T ACTUALLY–"

buys you an iced drink and carries you around all day to make it up to you.

bachira meguru

turns it into a game. full of giggles and “try to catch meee~”

you’re actually having fun until he does one spin move too many.

you reach for the ball…

slip…

and face plant.

bachira runs over like “you okay?? that was a sick fall tho!! wanna see it in slow-mo?”

you consider using him as a goalpost.

chigiri hyoma

says he'll go easy. he says that.

but then he does one little sprint and forgets you’re not a track star.

he’s halfway down the field when he turns around and realizes you’re on your knees, gasping.

"oh… whoops."

he jogs back with a sheepish grin.

offers you water and piggybacks you home like “i’ll just be your personal uber from now on.”

kunigami rensuke (pre-wild card)

really tries to be gentle. like he even speaks softer. explains things carefully.

but the moment he takes a shot to demo proper form?

it tears through the net.

you just turn and look at him like: 👁️👄👁️

“… i'll, uh… use less strength next time,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

he does not use less strength next time.

otoya eita

flirty coach energy. keeps touching your shoulders like “relax, baby ~ soccer’s all about the hips.”

then immediately forgets himself and goes full striker mode the second you try to take the ball.

you fall. again.

he drops to the grass next to you like, “you okay? want mouth-to-mouth?”

you smack his arm.

he grins. “so you're not that injured.”

itoshi sae

you said you wanted to learn. he showed up in full gear.

he watches you dribble once, tilts his head, and says, “that’s cute.”

next thing you know, he casually flicks the ball past you, nutmegs you, and scores without blinking.

you stare.

he just shrugs. “maybe soccer’s not for you.”

he does buy you lunch afterward, though. that’s his version of affection.

shidou ryusei

you expected guidance. support. maybe a little flirting.

“okay, stand there. try to block me,” he says, grinning.

you take your stance.

he charges at you like a bull. you immediately regret everything.

he fakes left, spins right, throws in a random front flip for fun, and launches the ball straight into the net so hard it bounces back and hits you in the chest.

you wheeze and drop to the ground.

he laughs. laughs.

“you okay, baby? that looked like it hurt. but hey, at least you looked cute dying.”

you threaten to hit him with the ball.

he tells you he’d let you, as long as you call him “coach” first.

kaiser michael

you say “can you teach me soccer?”

kaiser smirks. “only if you can handle greatness, schatz.”

you should’ve known.

he spends the first ten minutes making fun of your stance. mimics you with exaggerated arms and waddles like a penguin.

you try to kick the ball. he sidesteps it like you’re in slow motion.

you try to block him. he rainbow flicks over your head and pats your shoulder on the way past you.

the disrespect.

“that was cute,” he grins, brushing his hair back. “but maybe you should just watch me instead. it's safer for your pride.”

you try to smack him. he dodges and winks.

then he scores a goal, points at you, and says, “that one was dedicated to your downfall, liebe.”

ness alexis

"don’t worry, i’ll go easy on you," he says with the most patronizingly sweet smile you've ever seen.

you blink. “you said that last time and i ended up face-first in the grass.”

he giggles. “that was your balance issue, not my fault.”

he insists on doing “basic footwork drills” with you. sounds safe, right? wrong.

within five minutes, you’re dizzy. he’s doing little feints and twirls around you like it’s a figure skating routine. you can’t even tell where the ball is anymore.

when you finally manage to poke the ball away from him, you celebrate –

but he steals it back immediately, nutmegs you, and flicks it into the goal like it was nothing.

“aww, almost!” he says, clapping like a soccer mom. “i believe in you! well, kind of…”

you throw a cone at him. he ducks and giggles again.

“was that an attempt at offense? cute!”

664 notes · View notes

ghostlynightpanda · 3 months ago

Note

AIB x Reader where reader is extremely clingy, cuddly, and touchy with them. Like whenever reader is with them, reader needs to be hugging them, holding their hand, cuddling them, or leaning on them 24/7

AIB Characters react to Reader being clingy

A/N: I'm sorry for taking so long. I've just gotten a puppy, so I haven't had much time the past few days. I still hope you like it!

content/warnings: Ann, Kuina, Mira, Aguni, Niragi, Last Boss, Chishiya, canon typical blood and violence, 3.451 words

Ann

Ann had always been composed. Private. Untouchable, almost. She didn't flinch in life-or-death situations, never raised her voice, and rarely smiled in front of others. She'd spent most of her life learning to be still—calm in chaos. Which made you, by all accounts, the opposite of everything she was used to.

You clung to her like static. A walking, talking, warm-blooded koala with a heart too big for your own body. The first time you held her hand in front of everyone at the Beach, she nearly pulled away on instinct—not out of discomfort, but surprise. You had beamed at her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"You don't like holding hands?" You'd asked, tilting your head.

She stared at your interlocked fingers. "It's not that I don't like it."

You leaned your head on her shoulder, unapologetically content. "Then I'll just keep doing it."

And you did.

Whenever you walked together, your hand always found hers. When you sat down to eat, your leg pressed to her thigh like magnetism. When she was patching a wound or cleaning her gear, you were either leaning on her, cuddling her arm, or slumping against her back. Like it was a reflex. Like your body simply needed to be touching hers to function.

At first, it was… distracting.

Ann was used to solitude. Quiet corners. The absence of warmth. You, however, treated physical affection like oxygen.

She tried to resist, once.

You had dozed off against her after a long patrol, your arm slung across her stomach and your nose buried in her neck. Ann lay there stiffly, staring at the ceiling of the dark dorm room like it might offer answers. She debated gently moving you off her, but you made a small content noise in your sleep and cuddled closer.

She didn't move after that.

Eventually, your clinginess stopped being strange. It just became… you.

Like when you plopped down beside her during a strategy meeting, immediately draping yourself across her lap with zero shame. Arisu gave a short, surprised laugh. Chishiya didn't even look up.

Ann didn't say a word. She just reached out and began running her fingers through your hair while she listened to the game plan.

After that, no one questioned it.

There were still moments when it caught her off guard. Like when you wrapped your arms around her waist while she was sharpening a knife, or when you hugged her from behind in the hallway and buried your face between her shoulder blades.

"You could have startled me," she murmured once.

"You knew it was me," you mumbled into her back.

She couldn't argue with that.

One night, after a long and grueling Hearts game, Ann returned bloodied and bruised. You were waiting in her room, pacing like a nervous animal. The moment you saw her, you practically tackled her with a hug.

"You're okay," you whispered, voice thick.

She winced slightly but didn't push you away. You were trembling.

"I thought—what if you didn't come back? I didn't even get to say goodbye properly—"

Ann's arms wrapped around you, firm and grounding. "I'm here."

You pulled back just enough to cup her face. "You're not allowed to leave me. Ever. Got it?"

There was something teary and fierce in your expression—your love wrapped in desperation.

Ann didn't flinch from it. She reached up, rested her hand over yours, and nodded once.

"I'm not going anywhere."

You curled into her chest and held her like the world was ending. She let you. And when she finally lay down beside you, she didn't resist when you latched onto her like a starfish.

She just closed her eyes… and pulled you closer.

Kuina

Living in the Borderlands meant accepting a certain level of unpredictability: deadly games, crumbling buildings, and people who could snap at any moment.

And then there was you.

You, with your relentless affection, soft eyes, and the absolute refusal to go more than five minutes without touching Kuina in some way.

She first noticed it when you started draping yourself across her lap during downtime at the Beach, completely unfazed by the stares from other residents. You'd hum little songs under your breath while tracing lazy shapes on her arm. Or you'd press your cheek to her shoulder like it was the comfiest pillow on earth—even if she was actively cleaning a blade.

"Do you ever sit on your own chair?" she asked one afternoon, cocking an eyebrow as you once again settled yourself half on top of her.

You blinked at her. "But your lap is right there."

Kuina smirked. "Fair point."

It wasn't just about sitting. You were tactile in every situation.

If you were walking, you were holding her hand—or her sleeve—or looping your arm through hers like it was second nature. If she was eating, you were leaning against her side, sometimes stealing bites from her plate with the most innocent expression imaginable. If she was gearing up for a game, you were fixing her collar, brushing her hair behind her ear, giving her a forehead kiss like you were sending a soldier off to war.

It should have been overwhelming. Too much. Clingy, even.

But it was you.

And with you, nothing ever felt like too much.

After one particularly brutal Diamonds game, Kuina limped back into the compound, blood crusted on her knuckles, muscles aching. She expected to collapse in bed, maybe shower if she could keep her eyes open long enough.

Instead, she found you waiting at her door.

You didn't say anything. You just opened your arms and let her fall into them.

You hugged her so tightly she could feel the beat of your heart against hers—like it was trying to sync with her own.

"You're late," you whispered into her hair.

"Game ran long," she mumbled, burying her face into your neck.

You pulled her into the room and onto the mattress in one smooth motion, wrapping yourself around her like a blanket.

She blinked at you in the dark. "You're going to suffocate me."

"I will die before I let you sleep alone tonight."

Kuina laughed—soft and real—and tangled her legs with yours.

"You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

And damn it, she did.

But it wasn't until one night, another post-game, when she was trembling from adrenaline and anger and the ghosts that always came back when it was too quiet, that she truly realized what your affection meant.

You didn't ask what had happened. You didn't demand she talk.

You just held her.

Arms around her back. Legs tangled. Fingers stroking through her hair.

And Kuina, who had built her life on strength and steel and silence, let herself be held.

"You're not subtle," she whispered into your collarbone, voice hoarse.

"I'm not trying to be," you murmured, kissing her temple. "I'm just trying to love you."

She didn't say anything.

But she didn't let go either.

Mira

If Mira was ice—elegant, composed, untouchable—then you were her fire. Not explosive, but warm. A slow, constant burn. You clung to her like you were solar-powered and she was your only source of light.

And she noticed.

The first time it happened, Mira had been seated in one of the plush velvet chairs in the Beach lounge, wine glass in hand, idly flipping through a deck of playing cards. You strolled in, casual as ever, and draped yourself over the arm of her chair like you belonged there.

Correction: you draped yourself half on the arm and half on her.

"Mmm. You're comfy," you sighed, tucking your face into the crook of her neck.

Mira blinked, amused. "Is that so?"

"Very. You smell like rose and danger."

She let out a soft, velvety laugh. "What an intoxicating combination."

From that moment on, you became a constant fixture by her side. Or on her lap. Or sprawled across her bed like a cat waiting to be pet. You always had to be touching her somehow—fingers brushing her wrist, head on her shoulder, hand intertwined with hers like the connection physically soothed something in you.

Others noticed, of course. Whispered about it.

"She's so clingy," a jealous player sneered one day when you leaned into Mira during breakfast, your legs draped across her lap like you owned her.

"She's affectionate," Mira corrected with a cool smile, her hand sliding into your hair. "And she's mine. That's all that matters."

You flushed. "...I mean, she's not wrong."

Sometimes, Mira tested you—pushed to see how far your need for closeness went.

She'd walk a few paces ahead of you, ignoring your outstretched hand just to see if you'd pout (you did). Or she'd sit just slightly out of reach on a couch, watching you squirm until you inevitably crawled over and curled into her side like you were magnetized.

"You're hopeless," she teased once, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I get separation anxiety," you replied, arms firmly wrapped around her waist. "You're my emotional support queen."

There were quiet moments too—ones she never let anyone else see.

Late nights when you were half-asleep on her chest, murmuring nonsense. Days where she'd read aloud from a book while you rested in her lap, fingers ghosting through your hair. And after every game, no matter how bloody or brutal, she always let you cling to her like a lifeline.

"You don't have to touch me constantly, you know," she whispered once, voice oddly gentle.

"I know," you replied without opening your eyes. "But I want to."

Mira stared at you for a long moment, then pulled you closer.

"You're addicted to me," she said lightly, a smirk playing on her lips.

"And you love it," you shot back, grinning.

She kissed the top of your head like a silent admission.

Because she did.

Aguni

Aguni didn't know what to do with someone like you.

You were the kind of person who walked into a room and immediately gravitated toward him, like his presence had gravity. You clung to him like he was your anchor—which, ironically, was what he thought of you.

The first time it happened, you caught him off guard. He'd just come back from a brutal game—bruised, bloodied, adrenaline still racing through his system—when you ran straight into him, wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

"You're okay," you whispered against his chest, voice shaking slightly.

He stood stiff as stone, unsure what to do with the sudden affection. You didn't even flinch at the blood on his shirt.

"…You always hug like this?" he muttered.

"Only when I'm worried," you said. "So… yeah. Pretty much all the time."

He grunted, but he didn't pull away.

From that day on, it was a pattern. You touched him constantly—an arm looped around his when you walked beside him, a hand on his back when he was brooding, curling up beside him on a couch like it was your designated spot. You weren't subtle. You didn't try to be.

Aguni, for the most part, tolerated it in silence. He wasn't exactly a words of affirmation kind of guy. But the way he subtly leaned into your touch, the way his hand always hovered just slightly before resting on your back? That was his version of returning it.

Once, Hatter made a joke about your attachment.

"Can't even go five minutes without clinging to him, huh?" he smirked.

Aguni shot him a glare so sharp it could've cut steel. "And?"

You beamed, clutching Aguni's arm tighter. "It's true. He's warm. And he's mine."

Late at night was when the vulnerability crept in—when his guard dropped enough to let you in deeper.

You'd lie across his chest, listening to his heartbeat, your fingers tracing the old scars on his arms. He rarely said anything. Just held you, big hand splayed across your back like he was afraid to let go.

One night, after a nightmare woke him, you curled around him without hesitation, draping yourself over his tense body like a blanket of safety.

"You always do this," he mumbled, voice gravelly.

"Do what?"

"Hold me. Even when I don't ask."

You looked up at him, your hand gently resting over his heart. "You don't have to ask. You never do."

He didn't respond. But he turned, pulling you fully into his arms like you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

"Thank you," he said quietly, rough and barely audible.

You smiled against his chest. "For what?"

"For always coming back."

Aguni didn't know how to be soft. But with you—your constant presence, your quiet affection, your need to always be touching him like it kept you both grounded—he didn't have to know how.

He just had to let it happen.

And he did.

Every single time.

Niragi

Everyone thought you were a little unhinged for being so attached to Niragi.

He was loud, volatile, armed, and not exactly known for being emotionally available. He flirted like it was a weapon, pushed people too far for fun, and had a temper shorter than a fuse soaked in gasoline.

And yet—there you were, latched onto him like he was your emotional support war criminal.

You hugged him constantly. Slung yourself across his lap in the common room like you owned the space. Played with his hair while he cleaned his rifle. Held his hand when he was in a mood, like that could keep the violence in check.

The first time you back-hugged him in public, everyone tensed like someone was about to die.

Instead of shoving you off, Niragi just muttered, "You're clingy as hell," but his hand casually found yours and stayed there.

No one knew what to do with that.

He never told you to stop.

"Do you ever not touch people?" he grumbled once as you climbed into his lap after dinner.

"Only when I'm dead," you replied sweetly, settling your head under his chin.

"Great," he huffed. "Guess I've got a parasite now."

But he didn't move you. His hand ended up resting on your thigh, tracing lazy shapes into your skin like it was second nature.

You brought him snacks before patrols. Pulled him down onto couches so he'd nap. Snuck into his bed when he stayed out too late after a game, curling up like a cat in his arms.

"You're gonna make people think I'm soft," he muttered once while brushing your hair out of your eyes.

"You are soft," you teased.

He gave you a sharp grin. "Only for you."

What no one saw was how he started seeking it out, too.

He got twitchy when you weren't around. Wouldn't admit it, but his mood tanked. And if anyone else tried to be touchy with you? He was suddenly at your side, draping an arm around your shoulders like a warning label: Mine.

"Didn't peg you as the jealous type," you'd whisper, amused.

"I'm not," he'd snap—before pressing a kiss just behind your ear, possessive and rough. "I just don't share."

One night, after a brutal Hearts game, you found him in your room instead of his. Shirt off, bruised and bloody, sitting on your bed like he belonged there.

"I didn't know where else to go," he said gruffly, not looking at you.

You didn't say a word. Just walked over, dropped to your knees in front of him, and wrapped your arms around his waist like you were the only thing holding him together.

He leaned into it.

Hard.

"You're still clingy as hell," he whispered into your hair.

"And you still love it," you replied.

He didn't argue.

Last Boss

No one touched Last Boss.

They didn't joke with him. Didn't pat him on the back. Didn't nudge him or loop their arm through his. He moved through the Beach like a ghost in boots, silent and sharp, sword always strapped to his back.

And then there was you.

The polar opposite.

You draped yourself over him like it was a habit — always hugging his arm, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, leaning into his side like he was made for it. If he sat, you sat closer. If he stood, you'd hold onto his jacket until he noticed you.

You were soft smiles and sleepy cuddles. A quiet hum when you were near him, like being close made you content in a way no one else could understand.

At first, people watched you with baited breath, sure you'd get sliced in half.

Instead, he let you stay.

One afternoon, you wandered into the quiet hallway where he was sitting alone, sharpening his blade.

Without a word, you plopped down next to him and curled your arms around his torso, resting your head against his chest. His hand paused mid-motion.

"…You're clingy," he said softly, not even turning.

"Mhm," you mumbled, eyes fluttering closed. "I missed you."

"We saw each other an hour ago."

"I still missed you."

There was silence. And then, slowly, he shifted — just enough so your head rested more comfortably against him, and his arm came to rest loosely around your back. His fingers brushed your side, hesitant, like you were something fragile.

At night, you curled up in his bed like a cat, pulling the blanket over both of you with zero shame.

"Don't you get tired of needing to touch me all the time?" he asked once, voice barely above a whisper.

"Nope," you replied, already halfway to sleep. "You're my favorite."

He stared at the ceiling for a long time after that. Then, gently, carefully, he tucked your hair behind your ear and let his hand rest there for a moment longer than necessary.

He never initiated — not in public. But when no one was around?

His hand would find your lower back. His thumb would trace circles against your arm. He would hold you so tightly some nights it was like he was afraid you'd vanish.

You never said anything. Just held him tighter.

You gave affection like oxygen. Constant, necessary, unyielding.

And Last Boss — blade-wielding ghost of a man — let himself breathe only when he had you in his arms.

Chishiya

Chishiya didn't do affection.

He didn’t need it. Didn't crave it. And definitely didn't expect it. People were liabilities, emotional messes he preferred to keep at arm's length — or further, if possible.

And then there was you.

You were like static electricity — always close, always buzzing. The kind of person who couldn't just sit next to someone. No, you had to lean against them. Hold their hand. Hook your pinky through theirs. Climb into their lap when you were bored and drape yourself across them like a blanket.

You were, by all definitions, clingy.

And for reasons unknown to everyone — including Chishiya himself — he let you be.

"I think you might be a cat," you told him once, lying across his chest as he read a weathered book by flashlight. “You always look so calm. Detached. But you get all twitchy when someone you don't like gets too close.”

"I'm not a cat," he replied, not looking up. "You're the clingy one. You're like… a human scarf."

You grinned and nuzzled under his chin. "Then wear me."

He sighed, but his hand found the small of your back anyway.

During games, you stuck to his side like a shadow. Arm brushing his, pinky loosely linked with his until he gently tugged your hand fully into his.

"You're distracting," he muttered under his breath during a particularly tense Diamond game.

"You still haven't let go," you whispered back, lips brushing his ear.

He didn't respond. But he squeezed your hand tighter.

Back at the hideout, you always found your way to him. If he sat on the couch, you'd stretch across it with your head in his lap. If he sat in a chair, you'd squeeze in sideways and curl up like it was built for two. If he went to bed first, you'd follow five minutes later, crawling under the covers to tuck yourself into his side.

And no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or exhaled like he was so put upon, he never moved away.

One night, you whispered against his collarbone, "Am I too much?"

He didn't answer at first. Just let the silence linger like it always did.

Then he murmured, "You're exactly enough. For me."

You smiled into his skin.

And though he didn't say another word, his hand slipped into your hair and stayed there long after you'd fallen asleep.

Masterlist

#alice in borderland #Ann x reader #Ann Rizuna x reader #Kuina x reader #Kuina Hikari x reader #Aguni x reader #aguni morizono x reader #niragi x reader #Niragi Suguru x reader #last boss x reader #takatora samura x reader #mira kano x reader #mira x reader #chishiya x reader #Chishiya Shuntaro x reader

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say-al0e · 11 months ago

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Hold Tight

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18. Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aemond has long sought comfort in the arms of the madame at his lowest. Now, he has what he's so long craved; a loving wife who is happy to indulge him. Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, lactation kink, PinV, mention of Luke's death and the war, mentions of the madame, Aemond's a little soft. If you notice anything else, let me know and I'll tag it! Pairing: Aemond x pregnant, wife!Reader Word Count: 7.6k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen knew the secrets of the Red Keep better than most.

As a child, he spent his days studying history and philosophy, learning the language of his ancestors or practicing with his blade, preparing himself for the future he knew awaited him. He kept to himself, tired easily of his brother’s torment and Helaena’s bugs - her riddles - and spent much of his idle time wandering the Keep.

Aegon was bold, slipping out of the gates with a command for the guard on watch to allow him and little regard for who knew. He used his power as the King’s eldest son, as the heir to the throne in the eyes of most, and came and went as he pleased. Helaena never left the Keep without supervision - never wanted to leave at all, really. And Aemond, as always, fell somewhere in between.

Many nights, when he found himself searching for sleep that refused to come, Aemond roamed the labyrinthine passages Maegor the Cruel left behind. He learned most of them, slipping in and out of the Keep as he pleased, and found the ones that he could someday use to his advantage.

Most apartments in the Keep contained an alternate entrance - or exit, if need be - that few knew existed. The royal apartments, he found, were most likely to contain them; Aegon’s, Helaena’s, his mother’s, his, yours.

Though, their existence was a secret he had yet to reveal to anyone, including you.

For as long as he could remember, Aemond made use of the passages. It was not often that he visited the city - he’d never been fond of it, never cared for the revelry in the same way Aegon did - nor did he spend much time by the water. The Keep was his home and where he felt safest. But he slipped from his room to the field where Vhagar resided from time to time, or to the Kingswood, just for a moment of peace.

However, after his thirteenth name day - and Aegon’s insistent ‘instruction’ - Aemond found himself returning to the city more than he ever had.

The unmarked door, one he’d grown to need and hate in equal measure, was his destination. It called to him, a siren song in the dead of night, on his darkest days and it seemed as if each day had grown darker than the last. The incident with Lucerys, the bitter sting of his mother’s wrath, the whispers beginning to fill the ears of all who might hear; every bit his fault, and every bit beckoning him closer to that door.

Aemond lingered there for a few long moments, moments he dared not count, as a war raged in his mind. Seconds could have passed, even hours, as he hid in the depths of the shadows. Many and more moons had passed since he last stepped foot into the city, since he last visited this place, but the song drew him closer.

There was comfort to be found inside, one he once craved so desperately, but he now knew better.

Love, affection, eluded him for so long that he saw this place - the woman inside, the gold he paid her - as his only option, the only chance to feel what others took for granted. A gentle hand, a soft word, a kind smile; he wanted little else and knew she would give it to him.

Inside those walls, the world ceased to exist. There would be no mention of his nephew, his brother, his wife. The woman inside would not ask, would not mention the whispers he knew she’d already heard, and would only listen to whatever he decided to share. There would be no strategy, no attempt to comfort him with words he knew she didn’t mean. Instead, she would hear him confess his gravest sins before attempting to comfort him with the warmth of her mouth around his cock, the pads of her fingers tracing the tense muscle of his shoulder when he curled into her after.

Spending the night there, in her arms - no matter how tempting - would only add to the oppressive weight already crushing his chest. It was a truth he’d come to learn now that he knew real love, true affection, a reality he’d faced.

Despite himself, the tricks his mind played, the comfort he found there had never been real. With his body curled into hers, her fingers carding through his hair and his breath shuddering as he finally allowed himself to feel, he willed it to be a true comfort. He once considered this place, her, the pinnacle of vulnerability, of safety, of comfort.

Now, he knew there was none to be found there.

There was nothing she could say, nothing she could give him, that would provide any comfort at all. The siren song had ended, faded into the din of the city surrounding him, and Aemond could hear a new call. This song was sweeter, gentler, had blown in on a strong wind and erased all other noise the moment he fell in love with you.

Though the marriage was one of convenience at first, an arrangement made by your father and Aemond’s grandsire - his hand for the full strength of your house, when the time came - it had grown into something more.

For much of his life, Aemond refused to entertain the idea that any marriage he found himself in would be one filled with love. Marriage was bound to duty, something done for the good of your house - the good of the realm, in his case - and love meant little. Most lords disliked their wives, took other women to bed at any given chance, and the wives often rejoiced as they were no longer forced to share a bed.

The most he’d ever hoped for was a wife he could tolerate.

Aemond shared little of his mother’s faith, even less of her devotion to prayer and piety, but he often found himself thanking the gods for bringing you to him.

Hidden in the Red Keep, very likely in his own bed as you’d taken to spending more nights with him than alone, he imagined you asleep beneath the soft linen. Very clearly, he could see the white of your nightgown - a beautiful, soft material he found himself clutching between calloused fingers as oft as you would allow, drifting to sleep with the feeling of it soothing his warm skin - as your head rested on his pillow in a desperate bid to surround yourself with his scent.

That image - the picture of you he now saw so clearly, stamped in place of the door he’d been staring at without really seeing - was enough to break the invisible bond that kept him cemented in place.

Without sparing the door another glance, Aemond turned and began his retreat to the Keep.

Each step through the city was quicker than the last, eager to return to the quiet of home - the solace that awaited him in his chambers. Aemond knew the route by heart now, could find his way back with his remaining eye closed, and breathed a sigh of relief as he wound through the hidden passages that lead back to his comfort.

The moment the door settled in place, clicked shut with a soft gust of cool air, Aemond crossed the expanse of the room carefully. His footsteps were light, a barely there sound in the quiet of the room, and he was glad for his caution as he perched on the arm of a chair. His gaze fell to the bed he’d grown so used to sleeping alone in and he felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth at the sight of another body making itself at home, directly in the middle of the mattress.

Just as he’d expected, you rested there comfortably. The white of your nightgown stood in stark contrast to the deep green of his sheets, a bright spot in the otherwise dim tapestry of his room - his life.

Aemond sat there for a few long moments, time beginning to slow as he drank in the sight of you. The Keep was quiet, save for the odd shuffle of guards or servants, and he could hear the soft sound of your breathing as you shifted.

Though you rested near the center of his bed, your head on his pillow and your hand outstretched - reaching for him, despite his absence - your brows furrowed with a discomfort he’d never seen. Beneath the soft bedding, he could see the curve of your body, resting on your side, and the shift of your hand as it lifted to cradle your stomach. The motion set him on edge, drew a sharp breath from him, and earned a fluttering of your lashes as some semblance of wakefulness returned to you.

“Aemond?” you questioned, voice still so soft despite the sleep clinging to you.

“Mm.” He hummed, voice equally soft in the dim light of the room - the lone candle you’d left burning, a beacon for him to find his way in the dark. There was little doubt where your thoughts had begun to drift, the questions you wanted to ask; where he’d gone, how he felt, what came next? But he could not yet describe his feelings in words.

Before you could so much as part your lips, he sighed. “I went to see about Vhagar.” The lie slipped from his lips easily, believable enough, and his eye fluttered shut in a sort of relief - or, perhaps, shame, guilt - when you made a sympathetic noise. “I did not mean to wake you.”

As he stood, fingers beginning to work at the buttons of his doublet, you hummed. “’Twas not you,” you informed him, a sigh of your own escaping as you sat up against the headboard. “Your babe is restless and will not allow me to find comfort.” Aemond watched for a moment, keen eye following every move you made, as your hand returned to your growing belly.

The babe you carried was now very visible, obvious to all who spared you a glance, and the sight was one that enraptured him and terrified him in equal measure. Aemond was a proud man, one who was eager to carry on the Targaryen line, but his family was not one of love. There was no comfort, no happiness, to be found in the Keep - none to be found in the arms of his mother, certainly not his father - and he often feared the same fate awaited his own children. But the soft smile that curved the plush of your lips each time you rested your hand on the swell of your belly and the delighted laughter you breathed each time one of Helaena’s babes brought you into their playtime served as another light, shining in the dark; a spot of hope that, perhaps, his children may know a love he never had.

Aemond’s eye finally lifted to yours, met your concerned glance with an even one of his own after a beat of silence that stretched on almost too long, before he shook his head. “My babe? I seem to recall that we both had a hand in his creation,” he reminded you, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he removed his breeches and stood in nothing but his small clothes.

“Mm, perhaps,” you hummed, though the glimmer in your eyes told him you remembered very well. “But her nocturnal nature is solely your own. At this hour, she is yours and yours alone,” you teased, smiling softly as he padded across the stone floor to make his way to bed.

“Still insistent our first babe will be a girl?”

“A mother knows,” you hummed, watching as he slipped into bed beside you. His violet eye raked over your form, still so easily visible in the dim light of the room, and you bit back a sigh as you reached for him. “Come here.”

With little coaxing, Aemond shifted closer to you. The shift of his body was easy, almost as natural as breathing now, and you hummed in encouragement as you pushed away the bedding to allow his head to settle on your plush thighs. His favored position was resting with his head on your chest, face tipped to the crook of your neck, but the swell of your belly and the sensitivity in your breasts left you both with little choice but to find an alternative.

The beat of his heart began to slow when your hand fell from your belly to his hair, fingers softly carding through the silver strands - now free of the tie he kept in it and the lace of his eyepatch. “What happened, my love?”

Silence settled thick over the room and he knew that you weren’t asking where he’d gone. Though you worried, his disappearance was of little concern to you in that moment. The truth would out eventually, he would admit his shame sooner rather than late - as he so often seemed to with you - but this question afforded him a bit more time.

This question was the one he dreaded, the one that truly meant; what happened that night with Lucerys?

“I sincerely regret that business with Luke,” he admitted, voice a whisper in the still of the room. “I… I was angry, but I only meant to scare him. I did not mean to end his life. But Vhagar, my temper; I lost control.” The confession, whispered to you in the only place he’d ever known true safety, felt like a weight off his chest. It left behind a crater, a chasm that he knew would be difficult to fill, but sharing the secret with you made it easier for him to draw his breath. It escaped as a soft sigh, a puff of air blown across your thighs - now exposed, fabric of your nightgown pushed out of the way to allow his own hand to fall to the plush of your thigh. “Aegon is shortsighted. He wishes to throw feasts, to celebrate bloodshed. Mother is angry because she knows what must come next. Peace is no longer an option.”

Aemond’s confession lingered in the air for a long moment. It reverberated in his ears, rang like the bells that tolled on the day of his father’s death, but you calmed the noise with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t believe peace was ever an option,” you confessed, carefully brushing silver strands away from his sapphire eye. “This war started long ago, before you or Aegon or Rhaenyra were even a thought. It will be convenient, for some, to blame you and Vhagar, but this began before you took the sky together. And someday, there will be none who remember what started it or why it was fought. History will only remember the bloodshed that we must now bear the brunt of.”

No response came to him, lost in the thoughts that swept through his mind like a raging storm, but he knew you didn’t expect one. The words were meant to be a balm, soothing the soul he bared only for you, and he took them as such as he allowed his eye to fall closed.

There was something to be said of routine, then, as you followed the familiar dance that started months ago.

Silence lingered for a beat, long enough for his breathing to even and your own to grow deeper - always so shallow now, he noticed, almost labored as your stomach grew ever rounder - before you spoke again.

“I spent the day with the twins,” you informed him, fingers still softly working through the strands of his hair. “Helaena wanted to take Dreamfyre out so I sat with them and we watched her fly. I think Jaehaerys will love being a dragonrider, like Helaena, but it seems Jaehaera has no interest.”

“And Maelor?”

Aemond’s question was reflexive, asked without thought, but you took a moment to consider it. “Too young to tell,” you decided, allowing your hand to drift to his cheek and brush the sharp line of his jaw. “He has no reaction to the stink of dragon, unlike his sister, but he may, later on. Aegon wishes to take him flying on Sunfyre but Helaena has forbidden it.” Another moment of quiet, then, before you hummed once more. “Has an egg been chosen for our babe’s cradle? Or do you wish our daughter to be like her father and claim a fearsome old beast?”

The reminder of the babe you swelled with drew a shuddering breath from him as Aemond struggled to keep the grasp he held on your thigh light. “Our son will have an egg,” he promised, “but they do not always hatch. He might try for one of the unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. Vermithor is nearly as fearsome as Vhagar, nearly as old.”

‘If we can pry Dragonstone from Rhaenyra’s hands,’ went unsaid, though you both allowed the thought to cross your minds.

That thought did not linger, however, as you allowed your hand to drift from his cheek to his shoulder. Soft fingers caressed his skin, warm and strong, and Aemond relaxed into your touch. “How can I help you, my love? I mislike seeing you this way.”

More often than not these days, Aemond found himself here. Many and more nights had been spent curled into the curve of your body, his head resting against your skin as you stroked his hair and spoke softly to him, but they seemed to grow more frequent. Aemond knew that you were observant, that you’d realized he seemed to need your embrace more and more with each passing day, but even he could not articulate why.

Perhaps the weight of his inheritance had finally caught up to him. Or, perhaps it was the knowledge of all he’d done in preparation for his brother’s reign. He even considered it was the possibility that he found himself desiring his brother’s crown, the one Aegon had no desire for.

In truth, he knew that it was you.

The moment you joined hands, the moment you became his wife, Aemond began to feel the walls he’d spent so long building crumble around him. You chipped away at the slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they toppled all the same.

With every moment spent together, with every word of affection you shared or every soft brush of your fingertips across his skin, Aemond felt his world shifting.

Everything he’d ever considered important remained, still mired in the golden glory of his inheritance, only you now loomed over it all. All with the babe you now carried, his babe, alongside you.

“You are with child,” he whispered, shifting to lie on his back and glance up at you.

“I hadn’t noticed,” you returned, drily. When he fixed you with a look, violet eye unamused, you sighed. “I am with child,” you agreed, free hand falling to your belly as you stroked his hair once more. “Our child. That is what we wanted, is it not?”

“It is.” That was always the plan; get married, have children, carry on the Targaryen legacy. Only, the plan had never included losing his eye and spilling the first blood that began a war - killing a child, a nephew.

Aemond could not bring himself to say those words aloud, however, as your fingers carefully carded through his hair, he knew that you understood. There was a fear you both shared, one that had grown heavier since the incident with Lucerys, but he dared not speak it and neither did you. Losing a babe was something that frightened you both - him, nearly as much as losing you in the process - but he willed himself to push that concern to the back of his mind.

Instead, he searched desperately for a thought more pleasant.

Initially, when your betrothal was announced and preparations began for the wedding, he heard murmurs of those who pitied you. It was a shame, they all said, that such a pretty maiden - known for her kindness, her beauty, her wit - would be married to someone like him. He was, after all, noted for his sullen silence and impassive expression.

Everyone wondered how you might fare, locked away in the Keep as your husband-to-be rarely ventured outside its walls, just as Aemond wondered how he might tolerate a highborn lady who doubtlessly believed the whispers.

Those whispers had proven false - just as you’d proven that you never believed any of them.

Love, a curious thing he never hoped to find, bloomed between the two of you. It was not instant, as he learned you had hoped, but slow and cautious. Trust took time, vulnerability even more, but they came, eventually. And with them came a relationship that seemed to stun the whole of the realm into silence.

The pair of you were evenly matched: both highborn, well-educated and eager to continue learning; both fond of the quiet, though you had a natural charm and ability to pretend to enjoy banal chatter that he did not possess; both desperate for a love, a comfort, that you never found at home. There were many similarities, and more differences, but the love that bloomed brought you both a happiness you never knew possible.

And now, as you grew round with the evidence of your love, he discovered another feeling he never thought possible.

Aemond always found you beautiful - he agreed with the whispers of court, that you were much too beautiful to be chained to him for the rest of your life - and he spent the first few weeks of your courtship attempting to ignore his baser urges. There would be time enough for him to indulge in you, for him to see you as no other had ever seen you, but a desperate need for you began to take root then and had yet to release him from its iron grasp.

With every day that passed, Aemond wanted you even more.

Aegon often spoke of the joys of sex, the great pleasure he found in the Streets of Silk, and Aemond never quite believed him. The little experience he had - courtesy of his brother’s goading and gold coin - proved Aegon a liar. However, when Aemond found himself settled between your thighs, he finally believed his brother.

Now, there was little that settled him - anchored him to the moment and cleared his mind of all the noise - quite like losing himself in the throes of pleasure with you.

Since you began to swell with his child, your belly growing round and your tits beginning to spill from your gowns, Aemond found himself even more drawn to you - a feat he hadn’t believed possible. There was something so alluring about the sight of you, wandering the Keep dressed in the color of his house and bearing the most obvious sign that you were his, that it had begun growing maddening.

Luckily, you seemed to be just as desperate for him as he was for you.

The maesters assured you both that there was no harm to be done in satiating your urges and, though he was hesitant in the beginning, soon trusted they spoke nothing but the truth. Now, as he found himself eager for comfort - soft words, loving touches - he allowed himself to seek it in your embrace.

“Are you tired, ābrazyrys?” His question was soft, spoken into the silence that settled easily around you, and met with your hum.

“No.” It was a lie, he knew - could tell by the way your lashes fluttered and your fingers slowly brushed at his skin, the way your lips parted with badly concealed yawns - but you would not be swayed from allowing him whatever he wanted. “I’m here, my love,” you assured him, thumb caressing his cheek. “Take what you need.”

Aemond knew that your body was beginning to grow weary - he’d heard your whispered complaints to Helaena; how your back ached constantly, how your body felt heavier with every step, how even your softest gowns felt too rough on your sensitive skin - and nearly refused you as he had no desire to cause you pain. But the warmth of arousal had already entered his blood, burned beneath his skin, and the shift of your thighs beneath his head indicated that you felt it, too.

Rather than backing away, Aemond moved to sit up and crowded closer to you.

“Gevie,” he whispered, violet eye raking over your face as he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “Issa gevie ābrazyrys.” Aemond pressed his mouth to yours, then, and you swore you felt his lips curve into a soft smile as you leaned into him.

Aemond had softened some, over the course of your marriage. Though he remained himself, steadfast and strong in who he had become, the edges grew a little more polished. His touch was gentler, his words softer, his kiss less rushed, and you appreciated the effort he’d taken as he tipped his head to deepen the kiss. His hand descended, brushed the soft material of your nightgown as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you released a contented sigh.

The large expanse of his hand fell to your ribcage, just beneath the swell of your breast, and though you knew it was coming, you still gasped as his thumb brushed a sensitive nipple.

“I’m alright,” you assured him, the moment he broke the kiss - before he could ask. Your hand lifted to his cheek, thumb brushing his warm skin as you offered him a smile. “Sensitive, is all. The maesters told me it’s normal,” you explained, watching as his gaze fell to your breasts. “They… they also said stimulation may help,” you continued, fingers returning to his hair as his violet eye returned to meet yours.

“Stimulation?”

Aemond knew he hadn’t been subtle in the attention he paid your swelling breasts, in the way his gaze fell to them every time he found you bare between his sheets, but his skin burned with an embarrassed warmth and an overwhelming lust as he realized what you were offering.

“Mm,” you hummed, not bothering to hide your actions as you lifted the skirt of your nightgown higher up your thighs. “I tried, with my fingers, the way they instructed to no avail. Perhaps you have another idea, my love?”

For a brief moment, Aemond felt his head begin to swim. His thoughts muddled, each one making less sense than the last, but they all seemed to lead in the same direction. It was a desire he’d never dared speak aloud, one he barely allowed himself to consider, but the rounder you grew with his seed - the heavier your breasts grew - the harder it became for him to forget.

Most nights, Aemond spent his time wrapped in your embrace. He enjoyed exploring your skin, mapping the soft expanse of your body with his hands and mouth, and had committed it all to memory. His words sometimes failed him, never quite capturing just how much you meant to him - just how deeply he loved you - but his touch never did. With a flick of his tongue or a brush of his fingers, with a snap of his hips or a soft press of his hand, he continued to find new ways to express himself. And when he’d gotten his fill of you, of hearing you cry his name and watching your body writhe with an exquisite pleasure only he could provide, he filled you with his seed before sometimes settling at your breast.

While he once feared you might find the act strange, that it might repulse you, you were eager to take him as he was. Any act that offered him comfort was one you allowed and the few times he curled into you, flushed body pressed to yours and mouth pressed to your breast, he felt nothing but your love.

As he swallowed, hesitant, you offered him a smile. “You will not harm me or the babe, my love,” you assured him, fingers caressing his jaw as they began to drift lower. “If anything, you will be helping me.” When he frowned, uncertain - disbelieving - you hummed. “Feel,” you instructed, reaching to guide the hand on your rib cage to your breast. It was engorged, heavy and warm in his palm, and you sighed as his thumb mindlessly brushed the nipple once more. “When the babe is born, she will have a nursemaid and I will be left with swollen, leaking tits.”

Aemond acted without thought in that moment and allowed himself to take what you offered so freely. His hands lifted to the straps of your thin nightgown and brushed them off your shoulders, giving him an opportunity to free you from the confines of the fabric.

Pregnancy had changed your body, in a way that terrified him at first - something so delicate now rested within you, a life he helped create - but now drove him to the brink of madness.

A searing warmth, all encompassing and hotter than any dragon fire, enveloped him. And a single glance at your face proved that you did, too. You felt the heat of him, the warmth of his palms - of his heavy gaze, his lithe body - and feared you were only moments from begging him to act when he took mercy on you. The gift you offered, the act you so willingly encouraged him to indulge in, was one he would never refuse.

His touch had never been exceedingly gentle, nor was it particularly hesitant. Aemond was a man assured, confident. There were moments he could be tender, even teasing, but none compared to the moment at hand.

The press of his hands to your sides, just beneath your rib cage, was soft. It was a featherlight pressure, one you feared you might not have felt were it not for the overwhelming sensitivity of your skin, and you sighed contentedly as your hand returned to the silver strands of his hair.

Slowly, and with a caution you’d never before seen in your husband, Aemond’s hands lifted.

Aemond was almost tentative, careful, in the way he touched you. His violet eye remained fixed on your face - watching, waiting for any hint of discomfort - and you offered him an encouraging smile as you leaned into his touch. “I am not fragile,” you reminded him, a small grin forming at the words he’d once used to declare his surprise at your steadfastness, your unwavering strength. “I will not break.”

A moment passed, in which you watched your husband gather himself, before his hands lifted to your breasts. He seemed to marvel at the weight of them, the warmth of your skin - usually so cool in the depths of his chambers - and hummed.

As he leaned in, gaze finally dipping to your breasts, you expected him to press his mouth to your skin - bury his face in the crook of your neck, press his lips to your collarbone and work his way down - but you were surprised when he tipped his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. Though he never left you wanting, never left you doubting his desire for you, this kiss stole your breath.

The kiss was unlike any other; fierce, passionate. It fanned the flames of desire already burning within you and turned it into an uncontrollable blaze. As eager as you always felt for his touch, the fierceness of his kiss left desperate tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

Calloused hands - toughened by years of swordplay and dragon riding - began to explore in earnest.

Every press of his palm, every swipe of his fingers drew soft noises from your lips, cries that Aemond swallowed eagerly. He relished in them, in the noises only he managed to draw from you, and you felt the evidence of his pleasure press into your thigh.

For a moment, you wondered if he might refuse your offer. However, the thought disappeared with a swipe of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond allowed you to break the kiss, lips parting in a sharp gasp, and wasted little time in pressing his mouth to the curve of your jaw. There seemed to be little hurry in his actions, the way he nipped and kissed the soft skin of your throat, but you could feel the tension in his corded muscles as he crowded into you. He seemed to be nearly vibrating with desire, a tremble that made you lightheaded - an awe that you could produce such a reaction in such a man - and you struggled to catch your breath as he began to descend.

There was a brief worry - a split second thought that never fully formed - that he might avoid your eye in the way he had the very first time, when there was no babe and no real reason to suckle at your breast. However, it was quickly driven away as your husband’s violet eye lifted to meet yours.

Soft kisses were pressed to your skin, across the tops of your breasts and between them - violet eye fluttering as he paused only to marvel at the newfound heat emanating from your skin.

“The maesters told me I would remain warm until the babe is here. They jest it is because I carry the blood of the dragon,” you informed him, hand falling to the back of his head to cradle him close. “I’m not sure I mind. But, tell me, husband; what do you think?”

Though your husband had always been a man of few words, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The words you spoke meant little to him, it seemed, as he found himself capable of only a simple reply. “I shall keep you warm and full,” he promised.

Already, he could see you swollen with his seed - with the blood of the dragon - again and again. He would see you round with his babe as many times as you would allow and you could see the promise in his eye as he glanced up at you. “Perhaps it is good there will be a nursemaid, then,” you hummed, unable to bite back your grin as Aemond’s mouth pressed just beneath your breast. “So you may spend as much time at my breast as you’d like.”

In the moment, the present mattered little. All that had come to pass ceased to exist and all that might come felt good, sweet. In reality, the future seemed bleak, but in the moment, there was a future. And all either of you wanted was to pretend.

Without sparing another moment, Aemond’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple.

The warmth of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, was cautious at first - desperate to keep from hurting you, to keep from causing any pain - and you hummed contentedly as his eye fluttered shut. Your fingers carded through his hair, touch as delicate as his own, as your free hand fell to his chest.

Aemond’s heart thrummed beneath your fingertips, the beat of it as erratic as you’d ever felt it, and you felt your own beat in time with his.

No part of you ever imagined you would find yourself here - in bed with your dragon rider, the fierce swordsman and Targaryen prince, suckling at your breast - but there was no dismay in it. The pair of you were two halves of a whole: him, desperate to be wanted, needed, loved; you, desperate to love, to want, to need. There was a balance, an equal give and take, that saw you both offering the other what they desired freely. You understood one another in a way no one ever had and you were grateful for that understanding as Aemond attempted to crowd closer.

“My sweet love,” you whispered, fingers brushing the silver strands from his cheek. “This is what we both needed,” you assured him, voice a quiet lilt in the dim of his chambers. “Feels so much better.”

A pleased hum - proud, soothed by your praise - escaped your husband as his free hand returned to your thigh. His fingers pressed into the plush skin, anchoring himself to you, and you sighed at the touch. His hand was so close to where you wanted him and you asked without sparing it a second thought.

“Aemond,” you whispered, hand reaching for his - fingers clasping around his wrist and dragging it higher. “Touch me, please. Need you.”

Calloused fingers slipped between your thighs, lips curving into a smile at how readily you parted for him. His touch paused only for a moment, as did the gentle pull of his lips at your breast, as he seemed to realize the state you were in.

Slick pooled between your thighs and Aemond readily gave you what you wanted. His fingers swiped through your arousal, gathering your slick, before his thumb found the all-too sensitive bundle of nerves.

The wet slip of his fingers was self-assured, an action he’d taken a thousand times before, and it seemed as if he knew your own body better than you did. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filled your veins and blazed up your spine, as he rolled the numb beneath his thumb for a moment before abandoning it to press his fingers to your slick opening.

“You enjoy this,” he accused, finally allowing his violet eye to open as he released your nipple and urged you to turn so he could reach the other. “As much as I do,” he continued, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I do,” you promised, sigh escaping your lips as you felt his long fingers press into you - curling, parting, manipulating in the way only he knew. “I have never turned you away,” you reminded him, words ending in a breathless moan. “If you are as depraved as you imagine yourself, then consider me your equal.”

Aemond seemed pleased by your assertion, proud to have found a wife who not only indulged him, but understood him. And you were pleased, as he returned his mouth to your aching breast, that he trusted you enough to allow you this glimpse.

The press of his mouth to your breast was growing ever eager, desperate for whatever you could give him - and, as it turned out, was not much yet, though you knew he would patiently await the day it would be more. It was soothing, almost, in a way that eased the ache you’d begun growing weary of, and you parted your lips to thank him for it the moment his thumb pressed to your aching clit.

A keening moan escaped, a noise that might’ve brought an embarrassed heat to your skin in the beginning of your marriage, but such noises were familiar now and your husband reveled in them.

Some small part of you wondered if he meant to have you both finish this way, him with his mouth pressed to your breast and you with his fingers curling into your heat. Only, he gave you little time to wonder as he lifted his head to glance at you fully.

“I know your body aches,” he hummed, press of his fingers slowing - thumb stilling on your clit, earning a displeased whine. “Do you think you can take my cock, my love? I have no desire to cause you discomfort.”

“You will,” you huffed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging - just slightly, “if you do not fuck me.”

Aemond laughed, then, a sound you imagined few others had ever heard, before pulling away from you. You whined at the loss of his touch, the emptiness that filled you and the cool that suddenly chilled you, before your attention was stolen. His lips wrapped around his fingers, capturing the taste of you on his tongue, and you swallowed hard to keep from lunging at him as he settled against the headboard himself.

“Come here,” he beckons, hand already reaching for you hip and hauling you onto his lap. “So fucking perfect.”

Before the babe, before your stomach began to swell, this was a rarity. Aemond preferred you beneath him, pressed into his mattress as he left you seeing stars, but he’d admitted he could see the beauty of the position you now found yourselves in.

As expected, the moment you settled atop him, his gaze returned to your breasts. “One may think you’d never seen tits before,” you teased, not bothering to hide your grin as Aemond rolled his eye. “I jest, my love,” you hummed, reaching out for him - encouraging him to return his mouth to your breast. “It helped,” you assured him. “They no longer ache as they did when I woke. Thank you.”

Aemond lifted a hand to the back of your neck, then, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss. The kiss was more familiar, something you’d grown to expect - grown to love - and you felt yourself melting into it as he crowded you closer.

The swell of your belly made it difficult to press your body as close to his as you would’ve liked, as close as he would’ve liked - in the privacy of his chambers, beneath the sheets of his bed, Aemond liked you a close as he could have you - but it was enough. His hands explored your warm skin, slick beneath his fingers and no longer aching in the way you’d complained earlier, and you relaxed into his touch as his hand slipped between your spread thighs once more.

Though you expected his fingers to return to your center, Aemond’s hand fell to his cock. You breathed something akin to a sigh of relief as you felt the tip glide through your slick folds, catching on your aching clit and drawing another keening moan that he eagerly swallowed.

The head of his cock nudged your slick opening, nestled there as you rested on your knees, before he lifted his hand to your hip and pulled you down.

A familiar stretch, a familiar warmth, captured the whole of your attention as you sank down onto Aemond’s cock.

Every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock - every ridge, every vein - was heightened by your sensitivity and your eyes nearly rolled back as you sank onto him fully. He filled you wonderfully, perfectly, and reveled in you saying so. Only, he barely allowed you a moment at all to speak before his mouth returned to your breasts.

Each sensation was overwhelming in its own right, every touch more consuming than the last, but the combination of it all had you seeing stars.

The warmth of Aemond’s body pressed to yours, the way his muscles clenched as he rocked his hips up to meet yours, the insistent press of his hand - fingers dimpling your skin as he held you tight - was all magnified by the warmth of his lips pressed to your breast. Even as his hips snapped, pressing his cock in deeper, the press of his mouth remained soft.

Aemond was careful to keep from hurting you, despite his desire to devour you - clear in the lust darkening his violet eye - and you lifted a grateful and to his cheek.

“Feels so good,” you breathed, gaze meeting his. “You make me feel so good, my love.”

The praise he craved, the words he desperately needed to hear but would never ask for, earned you a sharp snap of his hips - driving him deeper, pressing you closer - and you gasped as his teeth carefully nipped at your sensitive nipple. He’d already taken what little your body had produced, would need to wait a little longer for more, but that did nothing to stop him from continuing to suckle at the soft skin as his thumb fell to your clit.

As he so often tried, your husband pressed you on to your pleasure first. His fingers, his mouth, his cock; all working together in an eager attempt to earn your blissful cries. That sharp violet eye watched your face, watched your lips part and your lashes flutter, and you could see the pride in his gaze as you began to quiver in his grasp.

When your release washed over you, heavy and so desperately needed, Aemond allowed himself to let go. He chased his own high for a moment, sinking into the pleasure of you - of your slick cunt, of your swollen breasts.

With a muffled noise, Aemond spilled into you - his spend filling you with a warmth you swore you would never tire of. It was accompanied by a soft gasp, a quiet noise that you wouldn’t have heard over your own heartbeat had you not been paying him such close attention, and you reached for his cheek with a soft smile.

Aemond easily lifted his head, his mouth meeting yours, and gave you the kiss you wanted. It was an assurance for you both, a gesture meant to calm - to serve as a reminder that you were bound, one - and ended with his forehead pressed to yours.

“All of this,” you whispered, the pair of you still struggling to catch your breath, “will end and we will carry on. And when our duty is done, we will be free to live our lives as we wish. You did not start this war, but you will finish it.”

“I will,” he promised, violet eye glimmering with an unscheduled tear as his hand fell to your swollen belly.

It was a promise he couldn’t make in good faith, nor one he could reasonably be expected to keep, but it was enough for the moment. The idea that this is what awaited him - this life, you - made him desperate. He wanted nothing more than to carry on, than to spend the rest of his life right here, and he would do anything in his power to make it happen.

And, if he could not spend the rest of his life here, he would perish in the pursuit.

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Author's Note: Aemond just. Captivates me. How am I supposed to survive two years without more content?

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond x you #hotd smut #hotd imagine #v's fics

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