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joocomics · 4 months

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LOSER(S)

01. a souvenir from my biggest fan — 18+

pairing: youtuber theo x fem!reader

genre: smut w/ a sprinkle of plot wc: 2.9k

summary: the charming guy running the youtube channel you enjoy watching mostly because of him and not the games he’s playing, moves in the apartment across from yours, and turns out to be the biggest asshole you’ve encountered in years

chapter contains: switch!reader, unprotected sex, cussing, dirty talk, choking (m), oral (f), orgasm denial

a/n: please, keep in mind english is not my first language, i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

!! this is pure fiction for entertainment purposes

📁 loser(s) masterlist

“Wow, you’re an asshole in real life,” you keep talking bitterly with little flames in your eyes. “I’m actually impressed with your acting skills.”

A frustrated airy laugh slips through your lips while Taeyang’s, on the other hand, curl up at the corners, amused at how seriously you’re taking this whole situation.

“Sorry to ruin the little fantasy you had of me, sweetheart.”

“You should be glad that I prefer to spend my time doing anything else than dealing with you,” you turn to your front door and flip the key, “cause I can just call the cops.”

“Are you sure that’s what you really prefer?”

This is not the first time you’re fighting Choi Taeyang in the middle of the hallway, nor it’s the last unless you move buildings. His youtube channel is growing rapidly which calls for more content and less peace for you.

He's still leaning against the door frame with his headset hanging from his neck. The subtle mischievous spark in his eyes, the one you know so well from the multiple videos you’ve seen from him, is so different in real life - straight up mean, making you wonder how you used to find his channel fun and comforting despite the terrifying games he plays.

“You’re at my fucking door almost every single night,” he continues. “Maybe I should call them, you seem more of a stalker than a marketing manager.”

“Fuck off,” you spit out entering your apartment. “You’re a pathetic loser with no life.”

“Bitch.” Taeyang slams the door of his home the second you shut yours.

A month ago you couldn't wait to finish work and hop on the bus to head back home.

Now, you go home on foot so it can take you extra minutes to arrive.

The time you finish work is the time Taeyang comes back from the gym, and by the hour you're lounging in bed ready to relax with your new favorite show is the hour he turns on the usual scary games, and transforms your cozy time in a mirage. Today is going to be no different, because he has zero empathy for people’s feelings, so you take your time even with walking towards the elevator after you arrive at your apartment building.

“Wait!”

You make out the too familiar voice echoing in the hallway along with the stamping sound of his footsteps just when you press the button.

Taeyang runs through the open doors, and you walk in after him faking a smile. His ebony black hair is half wet and his outfit casual, consisting only of a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt under his unzipped hoodie. Judging by the bag with beer cans in his hand your guesses are correct - his workout is done and he's going to take his seat in front of the computer.

The unnerving silence fills the air the second the doors close in front of your eyes.

“Next time fill up your mouth with your panties or something,” Taeyang glances up at the changing neon numbers. “What if you accidentally scream my name? I don’t wanna hear that.”

He fakes a disgusted expression and shakes his shoulders as an attempt to get rid of the image in his head.

You knew putting your earphones in to blast music as you use your vibrator is risky since sometimes you tend to be more vocal than others, but what were you supposed to do when all of his exaggerated yelling and cussing comes through the wall exactly where your bed is?

You can’t touch yourself during the day because you’re at work, and now you can’t do it before sleep because of him.

Your fake chuckle rings hollow in the small space. You look away, but you cannot escape his face though. You both see each other in the reflecting glass that’s all around you; it’s a little blurry, but not enough to not be aware that you’re staring at each other.

“Good to know you take off that headset once in a while.” You raise your chin up. “Maybe I should touch myself more often if that’s gonna help a loser like you get a life.”

The doors slide open, and you walk out first, feeling Taeyang’s gaze all over your ass.

“Is your boring corporate job stressing you out, sweetheart?” He calls out behind you, as you walk down the corridor. “Is that why you’re taking your anger out on me since day one?”

“I love my job,” you say when he catches up your pace.

“And you hate mine.”

“Because of you,” you glare at him, stopping in front of your apartment. You don’t even realise when you started raising your voice. “It’s your lack of responsibility and consideration I have a problem with, not what you do.”

“Shh, you’re going to disturb the neighbours.” Taeyang puts a finger on his lips, and for the first time you feel the urge to slap a person.

He comes closer to you while staring at your cleavage. It’s flushed with a delicate reddish color that he could associate only with himself and the emotions he brings within you.

“Do you want me to help you out with that? I can help you relieve some of the pressure, doll… most of it.”

You breathe in once, looking in his eyes.

You breathe in twice… recognising the fresh earthy aroma coming from his skin and damp hair.

It’s not your voice that gives him an answer, but your lips that smash against his own.

That’s exactly what Taeyang hoped for, and his arms immediately go around your waist, pulling you close after he drops the bag of beer cans on the ground. His hands slide down to grip your ass cheeks through the linen fabric of your pants, that’s too thin and his cock already starts to gain pressure from how much it allows him to feel in his palms.

“My place or yours?” You pull back just to ask the question then kiss him again.

Taeyang’s hands go up, sneaking under your shirt.

“You already know what my room looks like, it’s time I see yours.”

“That’s fair.”

He doesn’t leave you out of sight as he gets rid of his clothes while you unbutton your shirt. Once you’re left in your lingerie he doesn’t give you a chance to remove it, because he pushes you onto the bed, covering your skin with wet kisses. You look gorgeous in it anyways, so he doesn’t mind if it stays on a little longer.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he mutters against the flesh of your tummy before grinding his tongue up to your bellybutton. His hands are squishing your breasts harshly making you gasp. “Fuck, drives me crazy.”

His teeth bite the hem of your lace panties, pull and let it drop with a smack.

When he moves up to lock lips with yours again they seem to move even more eagerly than minutes before. His tongue invades your mouth almost with a frustration, leaving you out of breath and panting for more.

But you rather get that yourself.

“What the—“ He stumbles around his words surprised from suddenly finding himself on his back.

You swiftly succeed in straddling his hips as he didn’t have the chance to react in time to prevent you from getting on top.

“Shut up,” you say, unclipping your bra and rubbing your clit on his stiffened length at the same time. You still have your panties on and you see his gaze darkening from wanting to rip them off. “Mm, your cock is so hard...”

“Take it in your greedy mouth then.” He grips your hips forcing them to move quicker. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Yeah, but that would be too easy.”

Taeyang laughs before grabbing your arms to bring your face down into his.

You gasp through a smile creeping up on your face. You can’t hide the enjoyment from his rough responses to every single thing you do.

“These tricks don’t work on me, doll. Be a good girl and do as I say from now on.”

“You’re not the only player here, pretty boy.” You pull his bottom lip with your teeth, and his erection twitches against your clit, both from the bite and your attitude. “I will suck your dick when I decide you’ve earned it.”

Before you realise a thing, Taeyang flips you over and strips you from your panties pushing them inside your mouth. His hands bend your knees with fingers digging into your skin finally spreading you apart. As his mouth waters from the seductive sight of what’s between your thighs, yours spit out the underwear.

“Tsk,” Taeyang picks it up, and muffles your irritated whines by returning them back where they were. “What an ungrateful doll. I’m doing you a favor and this is how you say thank you?”

He holds his palm over your lips to keep the fabric in place while his other one gives your right boob a slap followed by a few more after he catches you make a muffled pleasant sound.

Eventually the grumpy look on your face dissipates into a rapture as the pleasure from his tongue comes in waves, each more powerful than the other. He alternates between sucking and lapping on your juices while also playing with the pacing of his licks over your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, you taste too sweet for such an angry girl,” he groans before gliding his tongue through your sloppy folds only to swirl the tip of it around your clit again.

And you eat pussy too well for such a loser.

Your chin begins to leak from your drooling, slipping down your neck as your panties get soaked with your moans and spit. The fact you’re not able to be loud as you need to makes your jaw clench with frustration, but your pussy even more aroused under Taeyang’s tongue.

His grip on your thighs tighten painfully limiting your shakiness as he buries his coarse mouth even deeper, grazing his teeth against your intimate lips; tongue tracing stripes from your dripping hole up to your most sensitive point over and over again. He makes out with your entire cunt the same way he kisses you - mean with a desire to control.

“I can make it feel even better if you promise not to empty your filthy mouth,” he glances at you, giving you a nice view of all the glistening fluids all over his face.

You nod too quickly, you realise, but most of the stubbornness left you the moment his tongue touched you for the first time.

You grip the sheets cause your fingers are already tempted to pull out the underwear the more his swollen tip levels with your entrance.

You’ve never taken such big size before and your heart starts racing excitedly at the thought of the appealing girth sinking inside you.

“Shit,” Taeyang’s brows knit together while his length fills you up bit by bit, tightening the knot of pleasure in his core. “You’re too fuckin’ small and tight for me.”

He inserts it all the way slowly, wanting you to feel the way you suck in with ease every inch of him; wanting you to know just how bad you needed him. However, once it’s in, his patience dies down giving his hips the freedom to move as quickly as possible.

Taeyang runs a hand through his dark hair, then moves it over your lower tummy, pressing against his cock that’s reaching the desired spot over and over again. His sharp gaze follows your eyes fluttering in bliss, as the rush he creates invades your body.

Once he leans in to hang your right leg over his shoulder for a deeper thrust, your repressed mewls rise even higher; erotic heavy growls just like in the videos he watches to jerk off.

“We get along so much better when you have your mouth shut, don’t you think?” He fans your face while holding himself up on his hands.

A groan escapes his puffy lips before he could catch it after you bury fingers in his hair and tug on the roots, pulling him closer.

With one tilt of his head Taeyang drops your panties down after stealing them from your mouth with his teeth.

“Mind if I keep those?” He asks and receives the sound of the first real raw moans of yours as an answer.

It would be a foolish lie if he says he won’t be thinking about them after this.

“A souvenir from my biggest fan…” He whispers in your ear and you can feel the intoxicating effect that his voice alone has on you.

His hips slow down for the first time, moving slowly in circles while he catches his breath.

“Shit, Tae… Faster.” You pull his hair like you’re holding on for dear life, as you sense every inch of him making you more dizzy with those slow massaging motions.

“Faster?” He repeats with a sudden powerful slam from his hips, that catches you off guard. “Are you close?” He pulls out almost all the way only to shove himself again, stabbing your g-spot. “Wanna cum… is that it?”

“Yeah…” Your whimper gets lost from the lewd noises when he proceeds to pound into you, but this time rapidly without stopping for a second. The skin on skin slapping merges with Taeyang’s hitched heavy breathing, but he still manages to catch the little broken yes-es coming from underneath him. “Fuck—“

Your mouth remains open, but not because your awaited climax arrives, but because Taeyang pulls out just before it does.

The burning dissatisfaction from what was about to be your most intense orgasm being stolen from you forces you to turn over and wail in your pillow.

“Shhh,” Taeyang turns you back around, slapping your inner thigh with his drenched cock. Your squirmy lips bring a devilish smirk on his face. “It’s not that bad, doll. You can take it.”

A moment later his eyes watch you suspiciously raising up.

You grab the base of his dick determined to take charge.

“I wanted to cum so bad from this pretty cock,” you coo moving your fist up and down, as he rests on his knees in front of you with his unbelievably captivating plump lips and cold gaze.

His face begins to scrunch up from your quickening hand, and the way your playful thumb keeps going over his red tip like it knows just when is the perfect time to do it.

“I’ve never had such a big one in my pussy before…” You add on to his arousal. “Feels nice.”

“Shit,” Taeyang throws his head back. His chest rises heavily while his abs clench from the stimulation. “Just nice?” He lifts up to look at you challengingly. It drives him nuts how you always lit up a fire in his chest by irritating him, and turning him on at the same time.

“Go on…” You provoke him, squeezing the leaky shape of his head. “You’ve called me worse than that.”

Taeyang gulps when you drop his erection only to grip it with your aroused walls instead. You both sigh in sync as you get in contact with the electrifying warmth once again, that now feels ten times more intense.

Although it’s subtle, you don’t miss the change in his expression when you begin to bounce just like you wanted to in the beginning.

“Don’t.” You command the second you sense the presence of his hands on your waist, desperate to regain control. “You’re going to let me do this.”

You quicken your movements, watching him chew on his mouth from the overwhelming rush he desperately tries to keep under control.

“Why…” Taeyang’s voice comes out too breathless to continue his question. The fact your hand wraps around his throat to put pressure on the sides of his neck doesn’t help either. This is the first time he allows something like this, and it makes his heart flutter from an unfamiliar thrill.

“Why what, pretty boy?” You slow down, curious to know what he’s thinking right now.

Taeyang only shakes his head, turning his knuckles white from gripping the sheets. He wants to push you on your back, to cuss at you and fuck you until you’re sore, and can’t mutter a single word to him… but he’s captivated. It’s like every time you touch him you secretly cast a spell on him that he’s unable to break through.

The only thing he could say is…

“Just… keep going.”

You smile, tilting his chin higher to meet his eyes.

The speed of your lower body picks up when you begin to ride him chasing your high - with the head of his cock kissing right where you need it, and the most arousing sounds slipping from his lips that begin to pout with every next move.

“Holy s-shit—“ Taeyang chokes on his moan moving his hands on your waist, but not interrupting your movements. “Y/N…”

“Not yet,” you say, feeling shivers down your spine from the way he pants your name. “Wait for me.” You release his throat, trying your best to keep the rapid pace going.

Taeyang cusses in the crook of your neck where he starts biting harshly to distract himself from how bad he needs to cum, not caring at all that you keep hissing from his sucking.

“Can’t…” he grunts against the wet skin under your earlobe. “Fuck, come on, cream my cock you slut.” He grabs a handful of your hair, and that turns out to be just enough to snap the overwhelming knot in your tummy.

You rock your hips back and forth more slowly, panting as the ecstatic rush passes through your veins when suddenly Taeyang’s weak husky voice surprises you.

“You’re amazingly hot.”

Your two fingers slip through his lips and he allows that too.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

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#— loser(s)#p1harmony smut #p1h smut #p1harmony hard thoughts #p1harmony hard hours #p1h hard thoughts #taeyang hard thoughts #theo hard thoughts #taeyang smut #taeyang x reader #theo smut #theo x reader #piwon smut #piwon x reader

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yoonivy · 1 month

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gold rush; part 4.

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. romantic comedy — inspired by 10 things i hate about you and also another movie (can you guess which one? :) ) , college/university au, smut, enemies to lovers (kinda??? their relationship is complicated to explain LOL)

In all the 8 years you’ve known Aemond Targaryen, he has not spoken more than 8 words to you. In total. So why is he starting now?

warnings. smut!! dirty talk, cunnilingus, fingering.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07

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With exam season in the horizon, it has you and Aemond staying at the university’s library until the most ungodly hours for the past week.

Tonight, the two of you end up leaving campus a little bit past midnight, luckily narrowly missing the beginning of the snowstorm on the drive back to your place. By the time you get inside your empty apartment, the flurry of snow outside the windows completely obstructs the view and the strong winds are loud as they whistle and shake the glass. It’s horrid.

“That’s it! I’m deleting the weather app off my phone!” You declare, throwing your hands up. You turn to your boyfriend, looking incredulous. “How did it not predict a freaking snowstorm?!”

Aemond shrugs. “I have no idea… even the news this morning said it was coming tomorrow afternoon.”

He is by your front door, his long black wool coat on and leather gloves hands clasped together behind his back. Before you can ask him why he is still standing there, he gives you a warm smile as he says, “I should get going then. Before it gets worse.”

Your mouth drops in offense, hips swinging out as you place your hand on it. “Do you really think I’m going to let you drive home when there’s a literal Apocalypse happening ?” Your head shakes defiantly, taking a few steps towards Aemond. “No! you’re staying over tonight!”

Aemond hesitates, body turning towards the door then back at you. “Are you sure? I can still make it back home if I leave now…” he glances around, clearing his throat, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable since it’s just us here.”

This leaves you slightly stunned.

Is this why he hasn’t stayed over before? For your comfort? There’s so many nights when he stayed at your place way past midnight but still went back home to sleep even though he was dead tired and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why. Until now.

Always such a gentleman.

Gods, if he only knew all the thoughts you have been having about him.

You huff out with a grin and a playful roll of your eyes, walking to him. When you reach him, you grab his arm and pull him away from the door.

“Yes, I’m sure…” you say as you open the hallway closet, gesturing for him to give you his coat while he first peels off his gloves. You take his coat when he shrugs it off, and you hang it in the closet along with yours.

“But thank you —” You glance back over your shoulder, just realizing how close Aemond is hovering behind you. His warmth and the intoxicating scent of his amber and saffron cologne sends a shiver down your spine.

When you shut the closet door, you turn towards him just as Aemond takes a step towards you, his chest nearly brushing against yours. You let out a soft gasp, staggering back, your back and palms pressing against the door behind you. Peering up at him through your lashes, you breathe out, voice light and airy, “— for thinking about me.”

Illuminated under the hallway light, he is so pretty, looking down at you with open fondness which has your breath hitching.

You could barely think.

“You’re sweet,” you tell him with a strained smile.

But you know the look in your eyes is not as sweet or innocent. It’s something far hungrier.

You wet your lips as you think about him and how you want him — have wanted him for the past few weeks. Visions of him pressing you against the wall and his mouth on your neck, his always perfectly in place hair a mess from your fingers carding through it, his toned chest slick with sweat, his roughened voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear…

Unbeknownst to you, he follows the slow movement of your tongue before his darkened gaze drifts up to your eyes again.

Stop, you scold yourself as you shake away the dirty thoughts. You quickly duck around him to create some space between the two of you, saying something about making tea as an excuse.

Maybe the reason Aemond hasn’t been staying over is not only for your comfort but for his own as well. Here he was thinking about you with care and you hadn’t even thought about how he feels about taking the next step.

Sure the two of you made out heavily plenty of times before (and you felt him hard beneath you each time) but that doesn’t mean that he without a doubt wants to have sex with you. Guys have boundaries too!

“What did the kettle do to you?”

You glance away from the electric kettle to look at Aemond who had leaned his back coolly onto the counter just beside where you’re standing, his arms crossing against his chest. You must have looked confused because he reaches out to press his thumb gently between your brows. At the touch, you ease the tension there you hadn’t noticed. Oh, you had been glaring while deep in thought.

But then you look over at Aemond again and there’s that teasing smirk on his lips that has you tingling between your thighs. It’s absurdly unfair how just one look from him has you going absolutely wild for him.

“It wasn’t boiling fast enough!” You exclaim with a laugh (perhaps a little too loud and definitely sounding quite nervous) and you abruptly stop to focus on making the tea (and to stop thinking about his mouth on yours and everywhere else on your body).

In your mug, you make your tea how you like it. In his, you stir in one teaspoon of honey and a little bit of cream — just like how he likes it.

He murmurs his thank you with a sweet kiss on your lips and an even sweeter smile meant just for you.

After that, the two of you settle at the kitchen table to wind down.

Half an hour passed by and the tea had gone cold. Aemond was talking about something he had learned from a podcast and you were only half listening, staring at his hands. He has such pretty hands…

You want them all over you. On your hips, your thighs, your ass, around your neck, in between…

You just want him so bad… but you promise that you will keep your hands to yourself.

“What was that?”

Eyes widening comically, you sputter out dumbly, “Huh?”

Did you say that out loud?!

Yeah, you’re pretty sure you did.

But luckily, you’re used to making a fool out of yourself and so you are able to brush it off.

“I didn’t say anything,” you say, pretty cool and casually if you do say so yourself. Standing up calmly, you collect your mugs, shrugging at him, “Must have been the winds outside?”

“Yeah…” Aemond lifts a brow, sounding unsure but also looking amused. “Must have been…”

Damn it. Facing away from his scrutiny, you rinse off the dishes while your expression squeezes with embarrassment. He totally heard what you said.

Thankfully Aemond doesn’t push it any further and you are able to wash the dishes without any more embarrassment.

While you finish cleaning up, you hear Aemond yawning from where he had sat down on the couch.

“Sleepy?” You ask when you join him, his arm wrapping around you as you tuck both your feet up and press your whole body onto his side.

He hums, nodding. His smile soft and tired. It is such a lovely sight and it makes you lean into him, pressing your lips on his. This man is stupidly irresistible and you’ve never felt like this for anyone ever before. You’re starting to just accept it.

What’s the harm?

A broken heart in the future, maybe? But for some inexplicable reason, you trust him not to break your heart.

Gods, if younger you heard you now… Trusting a man with your heart? And Aemond Targaryen on top of that?!

She’d have your head cause clearly you aren’t using it!

But you’re happy, and you think she’ll be forgiving for that fact alone. That’s all you and her ever wanted — to be happy.

And Aemond definitely makes you happy.

Smiling to yourself, you kiss him one last time before you stand up, stretching and yawning. “We should go to bed then.”

Aemond nods, but he stays sitting on the couch even though you’ve already started to walk towards your bedroom. You stop to look back at him, “Are you going to sit there all night or…?”

Aemond sits up straighter, stiff and alert.

“I…” he takes a hard swallow, “ I thought I’d be sleeping on the couch.”

Your mouth parts in an audible oh… for a couple long seconds.

“My bed is big enough for the both of us,” you tell him. After a beat, heat starts to rise up to your cheeks. Did you sound too desperate? You’re not sure but to make sure you didn’t, you quickly add, “But if you want to stay on the —“

“No, no—!” Aemond springs up, his foot snagging into the rug causing him to stumble slightly. But he is fast to recover, walking to you, “Your bed is fine!”

It’s not often you see Aemond flustered but it’s a sight you welcome. It’s cute. You’d tease him if you weren’t also as flustered as he is.

“Do you wanna use the bathroom first or should I?” You ask him when you reach your room, grabbing some sleep clothes from the drawer.

“You go ahead,” Aemond offers, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Okay,” you nod. “I’ll be right back then… make yourself comfortable!”

Aemond nods right back, then awkwardly pats the bedding a bit and squirms on his spot, looking satisfied right after. It bubbles a laugh out of you. A small smile is shared between the two of you before you head to the bathroom.

You take a quick shower, opting to use your nicest smelling body wash and also shaved a bit — for no reason at all. You brush your teeth before leaving out the extra toothbrush you got from your last dentist visit and a clean towel for Aemond to use.

“Your turn!” You let Aemond know with a big grin as soon as you enter your room. On the top of your dresser, you grab your moisturizer and you begin to apply it in front of the mirror while you tell him, “I left out an extra toothbrush and towel for you in the bathroom and you can use whatever you want!”

He doesn’t answer right away, so you look away from your reflection while dabbing on eye cream and find him just sitting there, lost in gazing at you. Again with that look that has butterflies fluttering like crazy in your stomach.

You say his name softly and that was enough to snap him out of his trance. He chuckles to himself and stands up, “Sorry, I’ll get going now.”

He walks towards the door but just when he is about to step out, he stops, grabs a hand onto the door frame

as he turns to look back at you.

“What?” You question, lips spreading in a flustered grin.

Aemond shakes his head. “It’s nothing… I just…” trailing off, he glances at you from underneath his pretty long lashes, smile so genuine when he says, “You’re breathtaking… I just needed to tell you.”

And then he taps the door with his palm and leaves just like that, leaving you dumbfounded and flushed, mouth gaping open.

“Thank you,” you murmur out loud to the empty room, your mind finally getting caught up. Your cheeks are hot when you press your hands on it, round and tight from smiling too much.

It has you on autopilot, just thinking about Aemond while you do the rest of your night routine. You turn off the lights in your room, leaving only the lamp on your bedside table to cast a soft golden glow just beside your bed, then you slip under the covers to get comfortable and think about him some more.

How did you get so lucky to call Aemond your boyfriend?

Not only is he so incredibly intelligent, he is also so passionate about so many different things. You’re always learning something new when you are with him. And it may seem that he is a serious type A kind of person, but he can be so funny in his own way. On top of all that, he is pretty good looking…

Fine! He is gorgeous — sometimes it makes you so mad how handsome he is! Like his features don't compute in your head? How can someone just look like that?!

…and he thinks you’re breathtaking?

You giggle to yourself, tucking your chin just above the edge of the comforter, feet kicking underneath.

In the middle of your daydreaming (and almost falling asleep), Aemond walks back in your room, scrubbing his long and damp hair with his towel to dry and… is still wearing the clothes he was wearing all day?!

You shoot up, awoken by the realization that you stupidly forgot to get Aemond something to wear to sleep.

“Oh shit! Sorry, Aemond!” You say, pushing back the blanket away from your body. “I have a few shirts that might fit you — or I’m sure Jon wouldn’t mind if you borrow his clothes —“

Aemond shakes his head. “It’s fine. I was actually gonna ask you if you’re okay with me sleeping with just my boxers. I run pretty hot because of my blood—“ even in the dimness of the room, Aemond notice your sudden look of alarm, and quickly adds, “but if you’re not alright with it, then—“

“No! You’re good! It’s good!” You say, a little too eagerly. Then trying to seem more nonchalant (though not really working from the way your voice wavers) you tell him, “If you’re, like, more comfortable that way then yeah that’s cool or whatever…”

“Cool,” he repeats after you, grinning bashfully as he glances down to where he is wringing his hands into the towel he is holding then back up into your eyes.

There is a playful light on his violet eye that he keeps on you, and you can’t bring yourself to look away as he steps further into the room, coolly tossing his wet towel in the hamper by the door. You tuck yourself back under the blanket, trying to get comfortable again but your whole body is vibrating from anticipation, too keyed up.

As your eyes adjust to the low light and wanders around your very familiar room, you try not to stare. But when Aemond starts to tug at the back of his t-shirt to pull it off in that strange way guys do, and the hem lifts to show off that glorious v-line of his and then that lean stomach and softly defined abs that is prettily illuminated by the golden glow of the lamp — it was over for you. It’s absolutely magnetic, the way he can always pull your attention towards him. You’re not even one of those people who really care about the nakedness of hot guys (Do you know how many times Robb and Jon walk around shirtless all the time during the summer? The answer is all the freaking time!) but of course it’s different when it’s Aemond.

If you had half a mind right now, you’d remind yourself to get a hold of yourself and stop acting like a complete lustsick fool. Like it’s so embarrassing how you bite down your plush bottom lip while you watch as Aemond’s lithe fingers make their way to the button of his fitted black pants.

Of course none of that is at the forefront of your mind when he begins to pull his pants down, letting you have an eyeful of the prominent bulge in the front of his black boxer briefs, causing you to take a hard swallow. You’re not even sure if he is hard or if that’s just how big he is while flaccid. What do people say? That tall and skinny guys usually have huge d—

It’s Aemond clearing his throat that pulls you away from finishing your thought, quickly meeting his wicked gaze as you burn up from being caught shamelessly (well technically now, shamefully ) ogling. There’s a smirk playing on his lips, fully knowing what has you so flustered. So he makes a show of it, dragging his pants down so steadily. His milky thighs are slender yet nicely defined and so smooth looking; all the while, you feel a throbbing between your own thighs—

Hiding swiftly under the blanket, you muffle a frustrated groan.

It earns you a chuckle out of him. The bastard. He clearly enjoys watching you squirm over him.

Then the bed dips and you feel something press over the blanket where your hip is, making your whole body shiver. A second later, right by your covered ear, you hear a sultry murmur of, “You’re cute.”

Pulling the blanket back, you whip to face him with the most defiant (and in Aemond’s opinion — the most adorable) glare that you could muster. There’s still that smirk on his face, like a cat who got the cream.

You sit up, about to give him a piece of your mind. Though before you can say anything, he surprises you with a quick kiss on your slightly parted lips. He chuckles at your stunned expression, caressing your cheek for a long second. His hand is soft and warm against your face, and his gaze is too, searching your own with a crease between his brows. In this darkened room, the color of his eye looks like a deep indigo, as deep as the ocean, so inviting that they seem to beckon you closer, to dive into them.

So you lean towards him, your mouth a breadths away from Aemond’s, his voice is low and light as he murmurs, “Is it alright if I say… I don’t want you to keep your hands off of me?”

Once again, he takes you by surprise. As blunt and to the point Aemond is, it was not often an affectionate bluntness. You like seeing this new side of him. It makes you realize how much closer the two of you are getting. That he is more comfortable around you now — he jokes around, he tells you the thoughts running around his mind, and he is opening up to you more and more every single day.

Aemond has really become one of your best friends, someone you are not afraid and don’t mind giving your all to. That has you gleeful, has your heart racing with delight at the revelation.

As soon as you shake your head gently as an answer, Aemond’s smile gets a little bit wider. Then, he is closing the space between the two of you once again.

Melting. You feel like you are melting into him. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

With his hand sliding from your face to cradle the back of your head, he pulls you into a deeper kiss, his tongue slipping between the seam of your lips. You moan, letting him in as your mouth parts, your head tilting to the side for more.

Without parting from each other, you move to perch up on his lap, your legs bracketing around his waist. One of his hands grips your thigh, while the other slides under your shirt. You shiver in delight at the feeling of his warm hand on your skin, leaving goosebumps in its trail, until he reaches the underside of your breast. Aemond smirks against your lips, teasing, as his thumb brushes around your nipple. Mewling his name, you could not help but grind down on him, the little bud hardening from his touch.

Breaking away from your heated kiss, Aemond softly asks and gestures if he could take off your shirt. You allow him to, lifting up your arms to help him with the task. Once he pulls it off in one fluid motion, Aemond's hazy gaze wanders all over you in wonderment as he murmurs, a little breathless, “You’re breathtaking…”

You did not feel embarrassed at all from his staring. If anything, you feel more confident by how beautiful he is making you feel.

Caressing his face as you look into his eye, you bite down your bottom lip, trying to suppress a giddy giggle. With your thumb running across his prominent cheek bone, you remind him full of mirth, “You’ve already told me that tonight, silly. ”

Aemond laughs lightly when you playfully flick at his nose. “And I’ll keep telling you over and over again, because it’s true.”

Then his eager mouth and hands are all over you again. Aemond cannot get enough of you. And by the way your hips are moving against him — picking up in speed and every grind down more overzealous than the last — you cannot get enough of him too.

Aemond groans – a low throaty sound that is like music in your ears – when your hands find their way in his hair, pulling a bit harder than you had intended to. The clash of your mouths becomes more desperate, and Aemond slips up, accidently pressing his lips just slightly under the far corner of your mouth. But the mistake doesn’t deter Aemond at all. His mouth finds a path along your jaw and down your neck, marking you up with every suck and bite of his teeth on your tender skin.

Eyes closing, you arch your back into him, your mind clouding up deliriously. Aemond starts to lay you down gently when his lips move to press wet open-mouthed kisses on your chest. As your head hits the pillow, that’s when his lips close around the nipple that he had not been playing with earlier, like he remembered it had been neglected. His tongue swirls, and your mouth falls open in a pathetic little whine. Immediately, your hand comes up in a fist for you to bite down on a knuckle to stop the embarrassing sounds from freely coming out, every mewl and moan muffled now.

That stops Aemond, pulling off with a wet pop. A rather displeased Aemond is the first thing you see when you take a chance to glance down. His hand closes around your wrist gently, pulling it away from your face. “Baby, don’t do that. I want to hear you.”

Whimpering, you nod in understanding. “Please, Aemond. Need more…”

Your boyfriend hums, satisfied.

Aemond bends down over you again, though this time he leaves your chest alone, choosing instead to lavish his tongue between your sternum then down, down, down…

You lift your hips up to allow him to pull off your sleep shorts.

“So pretty…” Aemond murmurs reverently, lightly fingering the tiny pink bow at the front of your tight cotton panties. His knuckles then brush over where it’s truly damp, heat radiating from your core. He grins wolfishly after leaving soft kisses on your inner thighs that has your cunt throbbing with desire, glancing up to watch your face while you squirm. “Cute.”

“Shut u—” your indignant mutter gets cut off by your own surprised squeak, your body jerking at the sensation of a wet tongue spreading over the cloth where the seam of your pussy is.

The view between your thighs is one you will never, ever forget. It will be seared into your memories forever. Because how could you ever forget the sight of the Aemond Targaryen worshiping you as if the altar is your hips, and your cunt is his only salvation.

Aemond tries to press down your hip to keep you from moving, but you are too pent up and desperate, your fingers once again treading through his hair, gripping tight as you ride his face. Seeking your pleasure with every swipe of his unhurried tongue. So instead, he snakes his arm under your thigh to spread you out further apart for him to comfortably lay between your legs.

Soon, you begin to feel your peak building up, getting closer and closer to coming undone. You don’t even know how Aemond is doing this. It usually takes you forever to come, and penetration was almost always necessary. But here he was, just mouthing at your pussy from over your underwear and you are electrified with ecstasy.

Sure enough, you come like that. An overwhelming feeling washing over you that has you chanting Aemond’s name with every languid swipe of his tongue and nudge of his gorgeous nose against your small bundle of nerves.

Aemond’s hips thrust against the bed at the sound of your pretty moans and the honeyed taste of you on his tongue. Now, even more than ever, he is determined to give you every pleasure in the world.

“Another one,” Aemond commands breathily before you even come down from your high, placing a kiss over your clit. He doesn’t even bother to take your underwear off, pushing it to the side to slide his fingers inside you to spread you open while he slowly starts to eat you out again like a man still starved.

“Taste so divine,” Aemond can’t help but comment, dragging his wet tongue from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit.

“Ae— please — just like that!” The words tight and needy in your throat, getting close again.

“Anything you want, love,” Aemond promises, focusing now on driving his two digits deeper and deeper inside your tight heat. “Just keep making those pretty noises for me.”

You do exactly that. Every flick of his wrist drags out the most pathetic little noises out of you.

Then he curls his fingers just right and presses into that particular spot inside while sucking on your clit. You suck in a stuttering gasp as your whole body shudders, your back arching off the bed as you flood his mouth with another sweet release. Aemond moans along with you, like your pleasure is also his.

Aemond laps through your slick folds, humming in delight while he does so. He cannot get enough. It drags your orgasm out until you are a shivering mess and trying to push him away from oversensitivity.

He relents, pulling away from your core to drop butterfly kisses along your legs while he pulls your panties off.

Once the climax begins to subside, you reach out for your boyfriend, needing him close. After a few affectionate kisses against your ankle and knee, Aemond crawls up, capturing your mouth with his own while your arms wrap around his shoulders in an amorous embrace.

Aemond kisses you like he has something to prove. It is all consuming. Like you are his, and he won’t let you forget it.

You don’t think you ever will.

Every fiery and passionate clash of his mouth over yours has you craving for more. When eventually—

“There’s condoms— in — mmm — drawer,” you let him know even though his mouth is barely lifting off yours, his teeth biting at your already swollen lip.

Aemond hums, parting away so you can roll over towards the drawer in question. You sit up once you have the small, unopened package in your hands.

(In your head, you thank Meera. She was the one who threw the 10-pack large sized box of condoms in your basket a week ago during your grocery date together. With a wink and a snicker she had whispered, just in case. You had rolled your eyes back then but now… Maybe the myth she had told while high off her mind about her family’s gift of foresight wasn’t such a myth after all.)

Glancing back over your shoulder, you catch sight of Aemond pulling down his underwear, getting an eyeful of what your boyfriend is packing.

By the Gods… He is big . Pretty too — milky pink head, mouthwatering veins running along his long shaft, curved just right.

You want him so bad.

Turning away, you quickly attempt to open the condom package, an unsatiated need now driving your every move. Perhaps your nails are not sharp enough, or maybe it’s because your hands are shaking too much, but the cardboard is stubborn and won’t rip open.

You feel Aemond come up behind you, the heat of his chest on your back, watching your struggle. After another try with no luck, you confess with a bashful laugh, “You’re making me nervous.”

“Am I really? Can’t even open a box because of me? That’s adorable ,” Aemond teases, which earns him a glare with no heat from you. He chuckles, an endeared smile tilting his lips. A tender kiss is placed on your shoulder before his large and graceful hands encompassing your own.

“Here. Let me,” he murmurs softly, taking over the task. Since Aemond is perfect and can do anything and everything, he opens the box easily, ripping out a packet without much effort.

You huff and roll your eyes playfully, and he just laughs, pulling at your waist to roll you over again and under him. He kisses you for a few long seconds before he sits up.

Breath held in anticipation, you gaze up at your pretty boyfriend, ripping the condom with his teeth. Without putting it on yet, he pumps his hard cock a couple times — spreading the pre leaking from the tip along the shaft — sweat glistening his heaving chest while he looks down at you. “Are you sure?”

There is an aching desire in you, amplified by his lascivious stare. Nodding, you use your elbow to lift yourself up, your hands wrapping over his, stroking his cock together.

“I’m sure,” you tell him, fluttering your lashes prettily up at him. Aemond groans out your name as you lean forward to kiss the vein on the underside of his length.

After that, neither of you can wait another second longer. Together, you put the condom on Aemond and he wastes no time gently laying you down again, getting into a comfortable position between your open legs while tenderly kissing all over your face and down your neck, his fingers slipping into your folds to spread you open for him again. He then takes a hold of his cock, angling his hips just right to slip himself inside you.

Aemond exhales out your name, sounding a lot like a satisfied sigh. His eye is squeezed shut, face twisted in delicious pleasure. “I can’t believe— You, fuck — you feel so amazing.”

Every inch of him has you wincing slightly. It wasn’t a bad pain, but you just aren’t used to taking anything of his size. Aemond notices this, and slows down to a halt, only half way in.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, concerned. “Should I stop?”

Shaking your head, you reach up to caress his cheek. “No, don’t stop. Just… Just slow down a bit. I’m just not used to taking anything so… big.”

Aemond’s eyebrow rising in surprise, chest puffing out while looking proud and smug. You refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Don’t let that go to your head. It’s big enough already.”

“Which one?” He jokes, cheeky and so quick with it that you scowl (yet still endeared). He ducks down, chuckling into your neck.

“You can be so insufferable, sometimes,” you let him know, smiling into his hair.

“I know,” he agrees, moving his head to peer down at you. “And you’re lovely. Always.”

There is no teasing left in his tone. It was a sincere confession, heartfelt and true.

Then he captures your mouth with a toe curling kiss. Your heart is swelling, your tummy full of butterflies.

The little intermission allowed you to adjust to his size, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth, and after letting him know, Aemond starts to move again.

The way he moves his hips is intoxicating. Every drag of his cock has you mewling — voice high and breathless. Looking down at where the two of you meet, Aemond whispers filthy praises for you.

Your little pussy takes me so well. You sound so sweet when you’re full of my cock.

He presses your thighs against your chest, allowing him to grind into you nice and deep. When he bottoms out, you swear you can taste heaven.

“Do you like this?” Aemond coos, loving the way your nails bite lines down his back, and his own digs bruisingly into your supple thighs. “Does it feel good when I fuck you like this?”

You could not even answer. The sensation all of the sudden becomes too overwhelming.

With tears in your eyes, you come again with a sweet cry of his name, your hand twisting at the sheets beneath you and the other in his hair as your body jerks with multiple euphoric rushes. Aemond picks up the pace, chasing his own high as your pussy pulses deliciously around him. You juices coating him liberally, dripping down his shaft with every thrust. Your cunt is so inviting — so tight and hot and unlike anything he has ever felt before.

“You’re so good…” Aemond murmurs against the shell of your ear hoarsely. “Such a good girl for me. Gonna make me—“

Aemond comes with a long, broken and throaty groan; burying himself into the deepest part of you as he shoots his load into the condom. His hips twitch, grinding the head of his cock deep inside you as he expels the last of his energy into his climax.

Exhausted, he falls into you, his mouth going over yours again and again and again. He smiles when your arms wrap around him, putting your all into the passionate kiss.

Aemond never wants to be apart from you. He wants to stay there, cock buried in your soft warmth, forever.

He can’t help it. Being with you feels just right.

This is where he is meant to be.

A blinding light is what wakes Aemond up the next morning.

He grunt in annoyance, hiding his face into the pillow— until he remembers, the sweet smell of you igniting his senses.

The sun is out in full force after the snowstorm, casting its rays in through the window, and yet when he looks down to where you are still soundly asleep in his arms, your pretty face smushed against his chest — you are the one that is lighting up the room and bringing him warmth.

Aemond has never seen anything as bright and as beautifully brilliant as you.

Golden , Aemond thinks, nuzzling his face into your hair, his sleepy smile pressing against the crown of your head.

You’re golden. The only precious thing he will ever want and ever need.

He is sure of that now. No amount of money in the world could ever replace you.

His golden girl.

It is the last thought Aemond has before his eyelid flutters close and he slowly falls back into peaceful sleep, his arms pulling you closer to him. So close that not a soul could tell where Aemond ends and where you begin.

a.t. 💗 🎵 treacherous (taylor’s version) · taylor swift

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It was supposed to be a good night. A fun night.

The bar where your friends decided to go was a favorite of your group; they played good music, the nacho plate was huge and tasty, and every shot with the dirty names was only a dollar each.

The dollar shots being the most important since you were also meeting Aemond’s best friend Alys Rivers for the first time. She’s great, you think, and she can keep up with your rowdy friends more than Aemond can. Maybe that’s why she’s hitting it off with Meera so well.

But somewhere along the laughter and the million shots and the grinding on your best girl friends (a little bit on Alys too), your dumb ass decides to check your phone.

That’s when you read through the latest email in your inbox and your whole night comes crashing down.

You attempt to brush it off, put off the emotions threatening to bubble up until the morning and just enjoy the evening out with your friends.

You laugh and smile through the hurt and disappointment, blinking away the tears whenever they cloud your vision. It works for a while — until Aemond pulls you to the side, caging you against the wall with concern written on his face.

“Are you alright? I’ve noticed you’ve been sort of out of it for a while…”

You nod tightly, forcing a smile. “Yeah! I’m good!”

Aemond searches your face, frowning deeper as he seems to find some discrepancy in what you said and the way your lips tremble.

You blow out a raspberry, laughing as you drawl out, “ Babe , I’m fine … Honestly… !”

But when your name comes out his mouth in such a serious tone, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. Hanging your head, you tell him with a small and wavering voice, “I lost the poetry contest… they just sent an email congratulating the winner.”

This wasn’t the first time you didn’t win a writing/poetry competition so it might just be the alcohol kicking in, because you are more emotional and upset than any other losses before. Or maybe you just really, really wanted this — you did put your heart and soul in the piece and it’s one you are truly proud of so the fact that it lost…

When you feel the tears coming, you quickly hide your face into Aemond’s chest. You feel him wrap his arms around you, pulling you close as he murmurs sweet and comforting words into your ear. While you keep crying, you also keep apologizing miserably to him for various reasons — staining his shirt with your makeup and snot and tears, ruining his night with your emotional breakdown, for accidentally ordering that really expensive dish on your date last week… Literally, apologize for everything and anything over and over again.

Aemond just hushes you, rubbing his hand up and down your back. He manages to pull you into a secluded empty table away from prying eyes and flags down a waitress to get you water. You chug it down so fast while sobbing when you get it, as if to replenish all the tears you’ve cried.

The sight of you like this absolutely devastates Aemond. His heart is breaking for you.

“What do you want to do?” Aemond asks, his voice as light as a feather, hand holding yours. “Do you want to stay or do you want me to take you home?”

Though you’re not crying anymore, you know you probably look like an absolute mess. Mascara running, swollen and red eyes, snotty nose, all the works. So after a slight hiccupy breath, you tell him, “ ‘wanna go home…”

“Of course,” Aemond presses a kiss against your forehead. “Anything you want.”

Before the two of you leave, you ask him to tell your friends that you’re leaving and tell them you’re just feeling a bit tired. You don’t want to inconvenience them and spoil their night out by making them worry about you. He does it quickly, not wanting to be away from you for too long, and in a matter of minutes, you and Aemond are on your way home in the back of a taxi.

The taxi ride home was quiet save for the low volume of the jazz music that the taxi driver is playing and your occasional sniffling. You find comfort in playing with the rings on Aemond’s fingers, trying to just not think about the results of the competition. It works — until it doesn’t. Now instead of feeling sad about losing, you’ve taken the next step to just blaming yourself and how everything you write is terrible.

By the time you stumble into your apartment, you are just feeling a bit resigned and a whole lot pessimistic.

“Why did I even go back to school for this? I can’t even win a dumb magazine competition…” you grumble, throwing your winter coat on the closest available surface which happened to be the kitchen table. Aemond grabs it, hanging both your coat and his properly at a clothes hook on the wall beside the front door. As he unwraps his gray cashmere scarf from around his neck, he watches you drag your feet to the couch, crashing face first into a cushion, muffling a frustrated scream into it.

Aemond sits down next to you, and when your face comes away from the cushion, there’s a shiteating grin on your face that takes him back.

“Are you good…?” He asks cautiously, not knowing why you look fine all of the sudden.

You shrug, laughing as you speak with your words slurring, “Kinda realized I'll be in debt forever because of this degree… it’s all good!”

A good boyfriend would have said something like ‘oh no babe, don’t think that way’ but in Aemond’s defense he is also sort of drunk and so what slips out of his mouth before his brain could process it is, “Isn’t my father paying for your tuition?”

It’s all his mother could talk about when you and him started college, how it doesn’t make sense that Viserys is paying the tuition of someone else’s kid. Aemond can recall himself agreeing with his mother and stepfather talking down on you, a bit bitter himself because the conditions of getting his father to pay for his schooling was pretty tough to achieve. He was made to believe that you just got it just cause — but knowing you now, he knows you probably worked as hard as he did. Not only that, the two of you might be equals when it comes to grades so his father must have held you at the same stipulations to getting tuition money as he did for Aemond and his siblings.

Instead of getting mad or embarrassed at his question, you just tell him plainly, “Yeah, he is! But I’m still going to pay him back when I can!”

Confusion sets on Aemond’s face because… why? Not once has he thought about paying back his father for anything… maybe you were under a different clause.

“Did he ask you to pay him back?”

You shake your head. “No, but… I still feel bad for taking it! I’m already saving up the money to give back to him… look!”

Sloppily, you thrust your phone up for him to see, almost hitting his face. You apologize with a giggle and a whoops, sorry! but his curious eye is on your phone, absentmindedly saying it's alright.

On the screen is your mobile banking app with all your chequing and savings accounts showing. Although you point out the savings account named Pay Back Viserys Savings which already had a little over 5k in it, he also can’t stop himself from scanning over the other accounts. There is an emergency savings account at 3k, a vacation account at 2k, and your chequing is at $341. Doing very quick math, Aemond can honestly say that he has 50 times more funds in just his chequing than all your accounts combined . You are definitely living paycheck to paycheck, but the fact that you have more money in your savings account to pay back his father than all your other accounts means you don’t know… His whole family thinks you know but it’s obvious to Aemond now that you don’t know .

A conflicted and uneasy feeling settles in the pit of his stomach — even more so when you scoot closer to him.

Shouldn’t he just come out with it now? Just tell you everything — the stupid plan, the expectation of him to see it through — and he’ll apologize over and over again like you did to him earlier this evening but this actually warrants an apology and more. He’ll be willing to grovel at your feet to forgive him.

But Aemond decides to let the guilt eat him away for one more night. For your sake, he tells himself. You’ve already been through it enough today, you don’t need this on top of everything else.

Though to be honest, he is just being selfish.

“You should rest,” he tells you gently, his hand on the back of your head and his mouth on your temple. “And it might not mean much but… I thought your poem was better than all the others.”

“Okay…” You mumble sleepily, nuzzling your face into his chest and humming sweetly. “And that means a lot. You are like the most opinionated person I know… a connoisseur of taste… all indubitably and hmmm yes yes indeed , Mr. Posh pants.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Of course it is…!” you tell him as eagerly as you could in your groggy state, yawning cutely afterwards.

It makes him laugh. Gods, you are always making him laugh. He doesn’t remember the last time he would spend the day always laughing and smiling with anyone else. It’s only when he is with you.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

Some time passes, and Aemond is convinced you must have fallen asleep. But all of the sudden, you lift your head to peer up at him with the most adorable look on your face. You look so… confuddled.

“Aemond, have you…” you trail off, pressing your lips together, your hand coming up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear that seemed to have distracted you.

“Have I…?” He repeats to prompt you to continue, frowning with a tilt of his head while he mirrors you, also tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your cheek.

“ Have you… ” you drawl out again slowly, clearly still wasted by the way your eyes squint at him. “… ever dated a popstar?”

He balks at the question, sweating. “Uh… um… why?”

Who told you? His father? Aegon?

He doesn’t know why it was such a big deal, it really wasn’t anything serious for him—

“Really?” You hum contemplatively. “Because I’m pretty sure Taylor Swift wrote Landin’ Boy about you —“ you smirk and poke at the center of his chest,“—you little cutie pie.”

Aemond lets out a sigh, relaxing once more, then huffs out a chuckle.

“You’re ridiculous,” he scoffs, but he can’t help but smile. You have him rumbling from deep down his throat, akin to the purring of a satisfied cat, when you keep lightly scratching on his chest with your fingernails absentmindedly, singing the words to the song you had mentioned.

How do you manage to make him feel all light and warm inside despite his inner turmoil?

Then it dawns on him…

He is in love with you.

There is no doubt about it. He doesn’t even question it or deny it, he has been falling for a while — and that makes all this more complicated.

Just let me have one more night with her , he prays to the Sevens, because I know once I tell her, it will be over for good.

So he pulls you in towards his body closer, craving your affection as his lips meet yours.

“Sleep,” he murmurs.

With a hum and your nose nudging his, you take his advice, your eyes finally closing as you relax into him.

One more night , he promises, just one more night…

Then he lets his eyelid flutter shut as well, allowing himself this one last night with you.

a.t. 💗 🎵 nonsense · luvie

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author's note.

thank you for reading!! as always, let me know what you think, i love getting comments from you guys :') it keeps me inspired and keeps me writing more for you!

also, i hc luvie (myrcella baratheon) as sabrina carpenter so luvie's entire discrography is based on sabrina's music lol!

and, question...? what do you think the lyrics of 'landin' boy' (london boy) will be like?

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd

127 notes · View notes

sunny-mercya · 10 months

Text

Memento Mori

Clark Kent x Male Reader | Hinted former Ex!Husband!Bruce Wayne x Male Reader

Masterlist

Long afloat on the shipless oceans

I did all my best to smile

The 4th of July wasn't a day to celebrate—hadn't and shouldn't been one anyway—it was a reminder of death and who you have lost.

Rain was something calming, the pitter patter of it—how it taps with a force against the windows and the roof, leaving tactful rhythm behind—and yet at the same time, the rain itself was a cry from the sky above. Crying out and mourning their loss.

Jon jerked awake from his nap, a nap which shouldn't he have done, when the first chorus of thunder strikes through the sky. Rubbing his eyes he took a glance at the greenish numbers of the DVD-Player; 01:30 AM, past midnight already.

Getting up from the couch, Jon strutted into the kitchen, thanking his dads for always leaving small lights on everywhere in the house—darkness wasn't his favourite, even with his superpowers he hated the dark and what was lurking inside the shadows. There was a time, when he was still in Kindergarten, were he has giving his parents—his papa especially—a hard time during both day and night.

A cup of either Chocolate milk or Tea sounded nice, maybe a few cookies with it. Filling the cup with milk, Jon was about to put 3 spoons of the choco-powder in it, but stopped and dropped the spoon—spilling the powder everywhere.

Jon had gotten spooked by his own papa, who sat there outside on the grass in the rain. Jon had to take a double look on the digital watch above the kitchen table, before running towards his dad office. It wasn't the time, it was the current date.

~~~

Jon wrung his hands into his pyjama shirt, getting nervous within the passing seconds and the downpour of the rain, which echoed through the walls off the house, wasn't helping with it.

Jon felt always incredible nerve wracking nervous, whenever he stood in front of his dad office or even had to go inside. It wasn't because of his dad, never. It just was the office itself and Jon never liked it to bother his dad when he was working. Though now he had to and so, without knocking—dad wouldn't hear it anyways, not when he is listening to music—and taking a deep breath, he open the door and stepped inside.

Jon pulled at his dad headphones, giving Clark a scare in the process.

«Papa is sitting outside in the rain and we already have the 5th of July today and you totally missed dinner last night and you didn't do the laundry and also, I think we forgot to bake cake and visit grave yesterday and flowers we didn't buy either and papa is sad, like really sad and and—»

Flabbergasted, Clark needs a moment to process his sons rambling. A bad habit Jon has gotten from him. Though he only needed to hear 5th of July to know whats going on.

Ruffling his sons hair, bringing a stop to the rambling, Clark smiled down at Jon.

«How about you sleep with us tonight? And I'll go and get Papa» said Clark, taking Jons hand and guiding him out of the office and towards their bedroom, before making his way towards the garden.

~~~

Clark ventured through the house and outside into the garden. Ignoring the howling wind and face slapping rain, which soaks him instantly. Only focusing on his husband, only having his focus on you.

Wordless he picks you up, for him—with his super strength—you were are lightweight. Carrying you back inside, debating for a second if Clark should put you onto the couch, but deciding against it and walking up the stairs into the bathroom. Sitting you down onto bench.

The wave of silence, a tense one, still lingers in the room as Clark drys you off—taking off all your clothes, getting a new set of comfortable nightwear from the bedroom—and redressing you and himself.

«You shouldn't sit in the rain so late, love,» said Clark, airy chuckling leaving his lips. Wanting to try and lift the mood just a bit. So Clark, just like his Son before, starts to ramble about his newest report he is writing.

«You forgot.»

Clarks stopped with his talking, upon hearing your voice—which sounded drily hoarse—and how you said it, with such harshly monotony and in a matter of fact tone. He didn't replied right away.

«You forgot.» you repeated, face turning into a frown. Anger showing through your narrowing glare.

«I didn't.» Clark licked over his lips, feeling a dryness over them as he answers you firmly without hesitation in his words.

But that was a lie and the both of you knew this. Clark did forget, he did. Too immersed with his work to take notice of everything else around him.

«Yes, yes you fucking did. Yesterday, 4th of July, was our son death-day and you forgot about! We didn't even visit the graves, because you forgot about it!» your voice rose an octave higher within the last sentences. Anger now clearly prominent in your feature.

You didn't want to have an argument, even when they are sometimes unavoidable, to erupt into a shouting with Clark—had enough of those with Bruce back then, when the both of you were once married. Hateful and nasty they were—but Clark knew how important this was.

Guilt gnawed at Clarks soft felt heart, weighting it down with heaviness. He knew how important the 4th of July was for you, what that day means to you, knew the past and present connected to it.

Not only have you lost Conner—his death still recent, even when one year has passed already—on this day, but Jason as well—who you had lost years ago, when you were still married with Bruce—and who was also your son, part of a family, your family.

A once fondest happiness in your life and now a memory you held dear.

You still grieved hard over Jason death and with Conners death now, you had pressure on you which would lead to collapse soon.

Clark sighed, taking your hands and pulls you up. Engulfing you into his strong arms, which emits a instant suction of protectiveness, into a loving hug.

«I know that I forgot about it and I'm sorry love.» he mumbles into your ear, leaving gentle kisses all over your face. Picking you up, he carries you into the bedroom.

~~~

When Clark enters the bedroom with you in his arms, he saw that Jon was still wide awake, giving them a worried glance.

Clark gave his youngest a tiny weariness smile. Laying you down into the middle of the bed, Jon goes straight into your arms as Clarks lays himself down behind you. Hugging both, you and Jon to him.

«Do you want to visit the graveyard tomorrow, I mean today?» asked Clark and when you weakly nodded, he kissed the top of your head. Humming some song, while Jon sleepily rambles about some cartoons till he falls into dreamland

Say, if I only could, I'd make a deal with God.

And I'd get him to swap our places

#male reader #x male reader #fanfiction #bruce wayne #clark kent #dc universe #dc comcis #clark kent x male reader #jon kent #conner kent #jason todd #batfamily #Ex! Bruce Wayne #Ex! Husband Bruce Wayne

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pinkrelish · 2 years

Text

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶“So,” you leaned into the joke by lowering your voice to a provocative, airy tone, “What are you wearing?”✶

NSFW — smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, secretly getting off while the other doesn't know it, voice kink, perv!eddie, perv!reader

chapter: 7/15 [wc: 4.4k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 7: Satan Always Calls Collect

You shivered. The chilly air in the tiled hallway hit the dewy drops leftover from your shower, sending an eruption of goosebumps down your exposed legs. In your slippers, you shuffled to the ice machine, filled your floppy ice pack, and returned to your dorm room, where you were more comfortable limping to your bed despite not seeing another soul. Weekends were quiet on the athletic side of campus.

Getting ready for the night, you threw back your bed covers looking forward to a long rest; a nice relaxing time knowing your alarm clock was set two hours later than usual. That is, until the phone on the shared bedside table rang.

Sagging, you answered expecting your roommate to say she forgot something, “Hello?”

“Hey.” Your stomach clenched and flipped at his distorted voice over the line. “Was just thinking about you. Sorry it’s been two weeks.”

“Don’t tell me you read a magazine that said you should wait that long to call a girl, Munson.”

Exhaling in a short scoff, he set down a metal can of whatever he was drinking; a hollow tink, presumably an empty beer. “I’m afraid my magazines don’t have many articles giving dating advice in them.” Images of naked babes posed on cars entered your mind. Probably the same titles he collected when he was younger. Sounding more apologetic, he said, “I meant to call sooner. Between getting band stuff going, researching and writing out the rest of this campaign, and other bullshit, I’ve been busy. Just coming home and crashing at night.”

“And what about your homework?”

“Yeah.. Definitely been trying to–”

“Choose your words wisely.”

“..Copy someone else’s,” he caved. Popping the tab of another drink, he sipped a few times before he felt comfortable speaking again, in a much softer manner. “I missed you.”

Glancing at the door to make sure it was closed, you sank into your mattress and tried not to ruminate too deeply over him missing you. He’d said it before, there was no reason to latch onto it now. Playing it over, and over, again in your head. Wondering how often he missed you, or thought about you in general, and what sparked him to do so, and whether or not it was as frequent as you thought about him. And if those thoughts led to other thoughts.. Daydreams, even. The sort of questions you weren’t supposed to have about your best friend. “Missed you too, Eddie. You know, you have perfect timing. I just got out of the shower, and my roommates gone for the weekend over to her boyfriend’s.” Crinkly static responded. A buzzing lull as your words sank in through your thick skull. Putting your hand over your eyes, you explained, “That sounded weird. I meant I was getting ready for bed when you called.” You almost promised him you were wearing clothes, but that seemed like a suggestion too far in the area you were trying to avoid.

Except he careened right for it. “Not wearing your tracksuit, huh?”

“No.” God, you hated how high-pitched you went when you were grinning. Twirling the phone cord around your finger like a schoolgirl, cheesing so hard your cheeks hurt. “None of the windbreaker stuff you hate.. I’m wearing pink pajamas with little ladybugs on them.”

Embarrassing.

He snickered. “Sounds cute. Do you really go to bed at 8:30 like an old lady?”

“I am old,” you insisted. In the background, you heard him walking through his trailer, assuming from the kitchen to his room with the phone tucked to his shoulder, falling to his bed with a nasally huff directly into the microphone.

No amount of shame could keep your body demure. In any other context, you wouldn’t have noticed the soft fabric of your adorable matching pajama set brushing over your nipples; an action that would be ignored on any other occasion, if it weren’t for them being coaxed from their half-hardened state to fully erect with the knowledge of where your mind was wandering.

Listening intently, there was no mistaking Eddie’s long exhale as he shifted, and the grind of a zipper being pulled.

“So,” you leaned into the joke by lowering your voice to a provocative, airy tone, “What are you wearing?”

If you could bottle his laugh, you would. It would be lacking the nuances of how his chest shook, the intricacies of his short curls bouncing, and the twinkle in his eye when his gaze slid to yours, but it would suffice on these lonely nights made less lonely by him.

“I’m–just takin’ my jacket off,” he was quick to excuse, stunting his words in a believable way for someone struggling to remove the heavy-ass layers they wore when it wasn’t even cold out. “Wearing my Hellfire shirt, which reminds me.. I couldn’t help but notice you stole my other one.”

Your fingers sought the keepsake stashed beneath your pillow out of instinct. “Oops, my bad.”

“Couldn’t possibly be because you’re planning on making the drive to join us again?” He didn’t allow you time to reject the offer. “The brats have been bothering me about you.” Sucking in a long breath, you could visualize him struggling between a nod of approval and an admonishing shake. “They think they can weasel their way out of everything by concocting these asinine scenarios, like flirting with a magically locked door to open it. You’re a bad influence on them, y’know, you shattered my illusion of being the big scary DM, and now they think I’ll give in to their demands if they’re creative enough.”

“You poor baby,” you mocked, “Sounds like you don’t even want me there.”

“I want you here.”

Instant. An ache in your chest. Lump in your throat. A single sentence washing over you, bathing you, soothing you. Snaking its way around your body. Muddying your apprehensions. He just.. said it so boldly, and immediately with conviction. Serious. Not at all matching your cooing lilt.

You laid back in bed, and if the phone cord happened to drag over your clothed tits and brush your nipples as you switched hands, thus causing you to suck in your bottom lip between your teeth, then so be it. The sensation was electric. All pleasure. And he didn’t have to know.

Back to reality, you stifled a pained grunt from lifting your right leg onto the bed. Sighing in relief at the ice pack numbing your knee.

“That was quite a noise you just made,” he said, deeper in register, a little slower and coming from his chest. Helplessly gravelly, and directly into your ear pressed against the sweaty plastic.

And yeah, your sigh came out more as a whimper than you intended. “I told you I’m getting old,” you said, slipping the top button of your shirt undone. “Gotta ice my knee after every practice. And my hips, and my left shoulder after uneven bars, both ankles–especially after having two surgeries on the right one a few years ago. God, and don’t even get me started on my back.” The next button gave easily, and your tired body was accepted by your fluffy blankets. Weary head resting amongst the pillows as your eyes fell closed.

Your callused fingertips made contact with the sensitive skin of your clavicle and Eddie continued in the same measured cadence, “Are you taking care of yourself?”

Eyes very open and mouth very shut, you glanced around your room, unnerved he chose the very second your thumb strummed over your nipple to ask that question in that way. “Wait, what?”

“Are you eating properly and giving your body a break?”

Oh. “Yes and definitely not. I told you my money is mine now, so everything’s getting better. I mean, I can afford these cute pajamas, at least. No more canned green beans on plain rice and stealing my roommate’s ketchup, for me. Plus, I get free food at my job.” You opened the rest of your shirt, bare chest rising and falling in the indecent way it should when you stopped resisting your cravings. “Can’t make any promises about my body.”

His sudden caring attitude erred on the side of doting. “I just worry about you pushing yourself too hard, sometimes.”

Thumb and index giving yourself light pinches, your jaw slackened as your body didn’t, running one leg up the other until both your thighs squeezed tight. “That’s what comes with the sport. Teenage glory and then an early retirement when your knees no longer work.” He made a gruff sound from his throat. “Why do you care? I’m the one who got a silver medal on vault last Nationals. I’m geriatric, Eddie. It happens.” Your pinches escalated in strength, causing you to press your tongue to your teeth in order to discipline yourself from being so obvious.

“Is it so wrong I want you to be healthy?”

“It’s annoying.”

“Oh, but I like annoying you.” His smirk preceded his teasing remark. An undue bite to his inflection, like he was enjoying himself far too much.

And maybe you enjoyed the idea of him caring about you too much, too.

Flattening your palm to your belly, your fingernails grazed your delicate skin on their course downward. With the phone nestled under your cheek, you used your other hand to pull the tie of your shorts loose, and slid your fingers beneath the waistband, climbing over your mound. The tip of your middle finger paused at the height of where you needed it most. Tempting your desire to test the naughtiness of it all, holding your breath as you debated if this was crossing a line; and as your free hand cupped your breast, and the backside of your thumb teetered on the precipice of a bad idea, his warm voice pushed you over the edge.

“I’ll just have to take care of you, then, if you’re not going to do it yourself.”

A stroke: thumb, and middle finger. Acute delight fluttering your inhale, and a deep rapture between your legs. Once, twice, then a little circle. Back and forth.

“Oh? And how do you suppose you’ll do that?”

“Come back to Hawkins and find out.”

Not falling for that one. Speak all the fantasies you had aloud in that honeyed rasp of his, he would do nothing to relieve your stress. In fact, you were sure he went out of his way to avoid touching you at DND, acting out the goblin’s chants by gripping the other guy’s shoulders, whispering menacingly in their ear, drumming his fingers along their backs to creep them out. Except when it came to your turn. Your hair stood on end in anticipation. And he walked past you to sing the last sinister verse on his throne. Like you didn’t exist.

What was he going to do if you drove the 16 hour round trip? Massage your lower back through sheer will alone?

Heartbreak awaited you in Hawkins. That’s it.

“Tempting offer,” you mused past the sting of a lost cause, past the dulled pain of unrequited feelings, arriving at the selfish lust of pretending he was as affected by this phone call as you.

Delving lower, you crooked your fingers and glided your arousal to your clit, swirling more vigorous, purposeful, and needy patterns of bliss. Burning in a hot flush taking over you with the phone trapped beneath the side of your face, turned in a way that would allude to you looking at him laying next to you, noses and lips touching his. A perfect delusion. Somehow, you expelled your excuses coherently, “It’s not like when we were kids; I have training every morning before class, and a second session after, and I pick up hours at work when I can. Not to mention, you know, the actual classes, and exams, and stuff; the reason I’m here, if you remember?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you in your off season? Meant for recovery?”

Astute observation. “Coach, uh..” This clinical conversation was not exactly fueling your perversions. “I haven’t been given much of a break ‘cause Coach wanted me to test into the Elite program, and start vying for a spot on the ‘88 Olympic team.. I’d be able to take sponsorships, if I did. Sounds better than having my clothes smell like grease, and being subjected to drunk frat boys hitting on me for a paycheck.”

A little less groggy, he said in an excited lurch, “That’s an amazing opportunity, tell me you’re considering it.”

“I dunno..” An honest insecurity warbled your dilemma. “That’s still years away, and I’d definitely have to drop out of college to focus on it. And yeah, who knows what condition my body will be in at that point. Twenty-three-years-old is practically one foot in the grave for gymnasts. Can’t imagine competing when I can already feel myself slowing down. I’d rather retire young, finish college, and join the circus.”

He sighed your name– In frustration or something more tender, you weren’t sure since you interrupted him to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Can we talk about anything else?” you asked.

His hard swallow funneled from Indiana to Pennsylvania. From his mouth to your ear. States away, but loud and clear.

Long pause.

Two fingers deep, you closed your eyes from staring at the ceiling, tongue lulled in a silent moan. Hips chasing the heel of your palm in search of the building tension ramping to mind-altering degrees. Forgetting everything that wasn’t in direct sight of your release. Including the near-mute whine escaping with your exhale. Fucking yourself at a faster tempo, imagining he’d be the kind to like it that way. Interrupting your gasps of his name with each thrust. His face, reddened from effort, hovering above yours. His hair sweeping your cheeks. Building. Building. Sending a wanton throb to your clit. Begging for the expertise of your thumb while your fingers were buried in your willing cunt closing in tight around inadequacy.

Long pause.

His mattress springs creaked before you became muffled to the world. His soft breath was replaced by the harsh noise of fabric rubbing against the mic. You jerked away, nose wrinkled at the loudness of it all, about to ask if he dropped the phone when he came back.

“We can talk about whatever you want,” he enunciated in a sweltering union of coercion and dare.

————

Eddie didn’t remember when, exactly, it happened, but he did recall forgiving it as an involuntary response to his nerves.

Metal can to lips, happiness resided. The first beer he downed quickly, but was still too aware of his inhibitions. It did little to hush his pounding heart stuttering his breaths, nor quench his dry mouth. The second drink was better at eliminating the shake in his fingers. The third dulled his face until it tingled under his prodding, feeling the sensation beneath a buzzing layer of haze.

The strip of your character sheet was balled in his sweaty fist. Resolute, he punched the number in order.

It was possible his body reacted to that first ring. Or when you attempted to disguise your annoyed tone under an air of curiosity when you answered with a curt, “Hello?” Or, maybe, his pants became uncomfortably snug when the both of you implied he needed dating advice to talk to you; his friend.

Or it happened when you mentioned what you were wearing.

Freshly showered. In bed all alone. Implying much, and saying so little.

Yeah, he definitely cupped himself then, reveling in the satisfaction of his hardon being treated with the kindness it deserved.

He didn’t waste time taking off his shoes before he was stretching the phone cord to its limits to reach his room. Falling into bed, laying slightly propped up by his pillow. An excited jitteriness to his movements as he unfastened his belt, leather ends dropping to either side of his hips, sucking in his stomach to unbutton his jeans, but as sneaky as he was, you heard the zipper struggle over the bulk of his increasing neediness. “I’m–just takin’ off my jacket,” he said, tilting his head up to escape the groan begging to be announced when his red boxers stretched to their limits in a swell between the black lanes his jeans created. Freed from its cage.

Not once did shame enter his mind. He knew his limits. He could be quiet. He could be quick. He could keep it routine. He was simply taking care of a momentary lapse in judgment, and you didn’t have to know. It wouldn’t get out of hand. Hell, he could even manage to carry a coherent conversation with you. Coherent, but a little apparent where his mind resided, repeatedly mentioning your body.

He shoved his Hellfire shirt up to his chest, giving himself ample room for later.

“Are you taking care of yourself?”

Why did you have to react that way, seconds after gifting him with the most delicious moan when you climbed into bed? Sucking in a breath like a gasp; so sweet and innocent, and naive to the rate at which his depravity shattered his illusion of self-control.

Are you hungry, sweetheart? I’ll make you dinner, just sit there and look pretty for me.

Groping his clothed length, he tightened his fist until his fingers circled around himself. Tugging once, twice. Dragging the tip to where it peeked out from under the waistband. Sticky precum glistening in a strand leading to his belly.

You’re tired, baby? Let me draw you a bath. Yes, of course I’ll join you. Don’t worry.

Stroke after stroke, he immersed himself in his fantasy.

But first, tell me where it hurts. Trust me. I’ll take care of you.

It was a secret he’d take to the grave. How much he wanted to be the one you sought after practice. Still dressed in your leotard. Smelling of chalk, sweat, and foam. Providing you with the needs you neglected. Nurturing you in the ways he could. Your muscles are sore? Let me massage them for you. Your thighs are shaking? Come lay down, my Light.

Eddie tried to keep his breathing level as he rocked side to side, shoving his jeans and boxers down. It was torture telling you to come back to Hawkins when he knew he wouldn’t act on his impulses and learn the different ways you could articulate his name.

Just friends. Just friends, he told himself as his skilled hand tamed his urges. Fitting his palm to the underside, fingers curled with his index lifted from the rest, black ring glimmering as he slid his grip upwards. A pleasant brush over the lipped edge. Itching for more, but some part of him wanted to savor the novelty of talking to you while he touched himself. Sullying the image of his perfect girl on her way to becoming an Olympian.

If only you knew how young he was when this idea first sprang to his mind..

What about between those strong thighs, sweetheart? I can make you feel better there, too.

Oh, how he wanted to bury himself there.

His hips jerked. Pumping his fist without his permission. He wanted to make this last. Explore those visions which became more frequent after seeing you train at the rec center. Delve into this region of the late-night images he tried to resist as of late, only to wake up covered in a mess. Dreaming of fucking his best friend and how gently he’d do it.

God, what he would give to have that reality. You sitting on the bed. Any bed. How he’d kneel before you on the floor, running his hands up your calves. Treating you to his thumbs massaging into the muscle. Relaxing you after a long day of training. Gazing into your eyes as he inserted himself between your legs. Slipping his fingers beneath the straps of your leotard, peeling it away from your exhausted body, sliding it over your shoulders. Chasing open-mouth kisses over the unclean skin he wasn’t familiar with. Salt mixing with his spit. Lapping at the column of your throat. Grazing his teeth over your pulse. Lower. Cherishing your warmth. Lower. Teasing the flesh responding to his prompting. He needed to go lower as you tangled his hair in your fists.

Stripping your upper half from the confining uniform, he would expose you for his veneration only. Pursuing where your stuttered speech commanded him. As tender as his hand cradling the back of your head lowering you to the mattress. As enthusiastic as his lips discovering boundaries beyond your friendship.

Even in his fantasies, every now and then, he’d keep your clothing on. He’d never admit he liked it in some ways. Implying how unhinged he was in taking you, that he couldn’t wait for you to undress.

He’d simply trace the edge of your leotard cutting from the crease of your hip to where you begged him to serve you. Moving the fabric aside to flirt, and lick, and suckle until his name was muffled from your thighs enclosing around his face, bucking against his tongue tasting you for the first time. Hailing him to the heavens as he honored you on his knees.

Then, he’d flip you over. Snatch the backside of your tight clothing and wedge it between your round ass. Hiking your hips up with a firm slap on your leg. Outlining your plump pussy under the taut fabric covered in the praise he gave you. Obeying the overwhelming desire to grind himself into the curve of your cunt and add his own decadence dripping down your beautiful thighs.

Fuck, he didn’t mean to sigh your name as he stroked his cock.

“Can we talk about anything else?” you asked.

Smothering the phone against his chest, Eddie rolled onto his shoulder and swirled his tongue around his mouth a few times, then spat into his hand.

It was a miracle he could speak with clarity.

“Of course.” Could you hear the lewd slap he was making, driving his hand up and down his shaft, trying and failing to keep a moderate pace? “Anything exciting you want to tell me?”

“Mmm,” you drew out the hum and he swore he could feel the vibration in his chest. “I’m going to New Jersey next week with a few girls from the team. We’re going to the beach.”

Faster. An open invitation for him to picture you in a bikini. Running his hands up your waist to the underside of your tits. Letting an accident take place; a loose string, and he’d have to help cover you up, and you’d thank him for being so chivalrous by using your mouth.

“Sounds cool. Never been to the beach.”

“One of them has a camera, so I can take some pictures for you. We went last year, too. The ocean’s really pretty.”

Faster, again, because your voice was getting huskier. A hushed caress along his cheek. Likely because you were falling asleep on him, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care. Didn’t care. So sweet and soft for him. Easing his fingers over his cock to your pretty voice coming from your pretty mouth. Each pump, each digit, each squeeze and twist of his wrist at the top bringing him closer to the edge.

There it was again–your quiet intake of breath being released as a whiny plea away from the phone.

Head tipped, he choked back a groan, and thrusted into his fist as if his palm were you, no longer concerned about the consequences of being caught.

You kept him on the line, “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Oh, baby.

Observing his red knuckles in a bout of lucidity, he played up his complaining to garner your sympathy, “Playing mechanic around the trailer park. Gotta be the one to fix everything for everybody. My hand got a little scraped up, though.”

“Aw,” you purred, “Want me to kiss it better?”

This was it. This was it. He was gonna–

Feathery, jumpy sentences spilled from his mouth all at once, “Hey–sweetheart–something just came up. I’ll call you back. Okay?”

You stuttered as well–an Angel’s hymn to his devilish ways, “Y-Yeah. Bye.”

He didn’t have time to hang up.

Slamming the phone to the side of his mattress, he prayed you couldn’t hear his groan of your name break on his tongue. Silent moans escaping past his sealed lips when he dropped his head back. Toes curling right as his thighs twitched and flexed. Erratic movements interrupting his rhythm. Panting as a throb trembled him. Desperately fucking a poor replacement for his best friend’s pussy.

“That’s it–fuck.”

Chest falling in great huffs, he watched his cum land on his shirt, covering him while his strokes faltered, slowed, using his dripping climax as lube. Body jerking from overstimulation. Sliding his thumb over the intoxicating nerves telling him to stop. But it felt so good to picture you straddling him, bouncing relentlessly until he was begging for mercy.

“Holy shit,” he sighed. And then a disenchanted, “Jesus,” as he looked at the mess cooling on his skin, alone in his bed, clear-headed and aware he would never have what he wanted, despite the temporary stupidity clouding his mind moments ago, encouraging him to risk it all.

A sober realization after the best orgasm he’d experienced in his recent years.

Racing heart on the decline, he faced his fears and picked up the phone.

When the dial tone reached him, he mumbled something in relief and let it fall to the floor, listening to the cord drag it back into the hallway while he body went lax, and his vision went dark with his arms crossed over his face.

————

Your phone sat crooked on the receiver.

“Ed–” you couldn’t complete his name, lost to the aftershocks of your climax. Circling your fingers again, and again, over your sensitive clit until, at last, you couldn’t handle more, and went languid. Blinking at the blurry ceiling, accepting it was time to surrender to your drowsy eyelids and sleep.

Reaching for the lamp, you noticed the phone wasn’t hung up. You scrambled for it, and held it up to your ear, listening to the other end of the line. More staticky fabric noise.

Eddie probably drank more than he let on and dropped it again. Meaning he didn’t hear you coach him into fucking you harder, faster at the height of your yearning. Thank God.

You ended the call for him.

That was close.

Taglist: @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @myfavoritesareproblematic @henhouse-horrors @tlclick73 @sidthedollface2 @i-will-duckyou-up @qnsfwthoughts @captainonaboat @eddiemuns0nl0ver @godcreatoreli @harrys-tittie @eg-dr3amer3 @trixyvix88 @venomsvl @lacrymosa-24 @sashaphantomhive @sharp-and-swift @emokid-ellie @mantorokk-writes @drdvlss @mirrorsstuff @bebe0701 @eddiethesexy

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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l0velylecter · 1 year

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you're not my homeland anymore (so what am I defending now?) — phillip graves x afab!reader

THERE'S SOMETHING INTIMATE IN THE WAY HE POISONS YOU: even with his hand around your throat, fingers slowly constricting, you can't seem to fight him. A snake trying to subdue its victims, Phillip dragged his thumb lazily across the column of your neck to check your pulse — eyes flickering to the rise and fall of your chest. He was ready to devour you, sneering because he knew you'd let him.

summary : After his betrayal in Las Almas, as Shadow Company’s Quartermaster, you were left behind to clean up after Grave’s mess. It’s not easy to pick up the pieces of the life he shattered, but it’s even harder to heal when he keeps coming back to undo the stitches. pairing : phillip graves / afab!reader fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii rating : e for explicit, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : descriptions of violence, cursing, descriptions of sex tags : afab!reader, female parts, some plot, somewhat toxic/unhealthy relationship, manipulation, mild backstory for reader, choking, he’s a red flag but red is my favorite color, reader has a ‘i can fix him’ mentality so read at your own discretion, rough sex, angry sex, edging. word count : 2k note : font is normal sized under the cut ! song used for inspiration : exile, taylor swift

01| Twenty minutes is the fastest recorded time of death caused by snake venom, not a second less, not a second later. And twenty minutes is all it took for Phillip to betray you. Your hands were trembling around the monitor while he aimed his rifle at Soap. Knocking a stack of papers in the process, your fingers flew across the keyboard to call for help — Laswell, Price, Garrick, anybody: you were desperate, choking in your guilt as a bullet struck the sergeant. With tears streaming down your face, you screamed into the comms, begging for him to cease fire. The analog clock beeped. Eleven minutes. Then without warning, the noise disappeared, leaving you to listen to the harsh rain against the pavement.

You slumped against your seat.

" Phillip...what have you done?"

Fifteen minutes. After a few seconds, his voice emerged, distant and faraway, distorted by the static.

" It's nothing personal, baby. It's just business." He chuckled. Your face crumbled at the airiness of his tone, bile rising in the back of your mouth as you imagined the smell of blood.

Seventeen minutes.

"I'll see you soon."

The silence that followed was almost deafening, echoing throughout the room. Phillip cut off all communications: ripping the camera from his chest before crushing it under his heel. The sharp ring of the mic's feedback made you rip your receiver out. Nineteen minutes. You caught your reflection against the monitor's dark screen. Even with the blood tricking down your earlobe, you couldn't move.

When they brought you in for questioning, they found you doubled over the table: earpiece dangling weakly from your palm. They needed to take note of the time. They said it was protocol. Twenty Minutes. You tell them as they cuff your wrists. Not a second less, not a second later.

02| The court proceedings ended in autumn. It took months before all charges were dropped: compliance, conspiracy, tampering of evidence — just like that, 'treason' was no longer in your record. One final act of mercy they gave you before cutting you loose, knowing that it was easier to sweep their fuck up under the rug this way. You rewind the tape from your interrogations, closing the blinds shut.

" And what was your affiliation with Phillip Graves?"

Crossing your legs on the couch, you pulled the laptop closer. The audio was muffled, bleeding static: a consequence of the metal walls which surrounded the scene that unfolded.

" I worked for Shadow Company.” You replied in the footage, “ I was his quartermaster."

Your interrogators shared a look. His. Not theirs. The needle of the polygraph jerked sideways. Suspicious. Compliant. You cleared your throat, opening your mouth to rephrase.

" I worked in logistics. Mortuary Affairs, subsistences. I distribute materials and brief them on satellite-based imagines. I knew nothing about the missiles or conspiring with Shepherd."

" How could that be?" The man on the right crossed his legs, arms folded around his chest.

Ink continued to glide across the graph paper.

" Evidence showed that you were...intimate with the commander."

Feeling scrutinised, you scoffed.

" What does that have to do with anything?"

" It has to do with everything. Surely, you understand how it makes it difficult for us to believe you were completely in the dark when you and Graves were so...close. Do you deny it?"

Blinking in disbelief, you slumped against your chair. For a brief second, you felt it. All of it. The weight of his arms around your waist. His fingers down your back. You thought of the moon and how his eyes melt into silver under its light. You hear his laugh when you fail to flip the egg against the pan. The scars littered down his spine as he lays next to you. Patchouli and sandalwood crowd the bathroom as you smear your fingers with his aftershave. The gunshots as they cut through the downpour.

The graph wavered. " Do you deny it?" They repeated.

You inhaled deeply, wiping your face with your palm.

" No. I don't."

The curves on the paper thinned into a vertical line. The men scribbled into their notebooks, gesturing to the cup of coffee they had given you. You tell them it's gone cold and stale. And under the yellow lamplight, the officer on the right stared at you almost apologetically — noticing how you’ve been staring at the printed picture of Graves strewn across the table.

“ And whose fault is that?”

That night you deleted all the files on your laptop before unplugging the USB, contemplating whether to flush gigabytes worth of confidential information: videos, pictures, documents down the toilet.

You ended up leaving it above the bedside table.

03| You used to like how warm Phillip's hands were. The weight of each finger pressed against your palm will usually shut you up from complaining about the cold. You've memorized every inch of his skin, the roughness and weight, too familiar to miss. Which is why you didn't need to raise your head to know it was him standing behind you: hand across your mouth.

" It's been a while."

He maneuvered you against the hallway, slamming you with his arm across your waist. When you struggled, he only tightened his grip, lips ghosting against the junction of your jaw and neck. Shhh, he cooed, and you obeyed.

You hated yourself for complying. Noticing this, he let out a small chuckle — lowering the palm across your face down your chin to tilt your head upward, ignoring the small thud your skull made with the hard surface.

" Did you miss me?"

You searched his eyes: cobalt blue, ocean-strong. They shined under the half-light pouring through the window.

Recoiling at his voice, your words were barely above a whisper, " How could you? You fucking snake."

He skimmed your cheek with his thumb. Once. Twice — Smiling at you as if you were having a regular conversation.

" We all need to shed our skin, baby. It's part of the food chain."

There's something intimate in the way he poisons you: even with his hand around your throat, fingers slowly constricting, you can't seem to fight him. A serpent trying to subdue its victims, Phillip dragged his thumb lazily across the column of your neck to check your pulse — eyes flickering to the rise and fall of your chest. He was ready to devour you, sneering because he knew you'd let him.

" You used me, Phillip. And you want to justify that by calling me weak? " You gave him a rough push, struggling against his grip. " I trusted you." "And whose fault was that?" Your breath hitched, heart heavy against the pit of your stomach. “ So was it all a lie then ?” His expression faltered. “ Not all of it.” “ Bullshit,” You spat, “ If you really did care then why didn’t you take me with you ? And what are you doing in my house ? What do you want ?” He laughed, teeth bared and head thrown back as if you’d just tell him a funny joke, before taking your mouth in a hard, biting kiss.

You startled, hands automatically flying to grip his tactical vest to kiss him back. Ashamed at how the response was almost automatic, you tried to break away.

“ I left you?” He fumed, “You think I abandoned you ?”

Phillip pulled you against his chest, breath ghosting against your lashes, “ Last time I checked, you were the one who got too fucking comfortable with one-four-one. Weren’t you the one who wanted to transfer units ?”

You reeled at his aggressiveness, letting his tongue push into your mouth : hands tight around your body. “ That letter to HQ was supposed to be confidential.” You reasoned, pulling away for air, “ And I wanted us, you and me, to transfer. Shepherd’s using you ! He’s going to sink your company and you’re going down with it !” He slammed a fist against the wall right above your head, the loud noise rolling down the empty space. Phillip growled, leaning down for your mouth. His hand hoisted your face up, teeth tugging at your bottom lip : forceful, all-consuming. “ You’re a hypocrite, you know that? Spewing all this righteous horseshit when your hands are just as red as mine.” “ What do you want, Phillip?” You sobbed, eyes screwed shut to stop the tears squeezing their way out. Your cry was silent, almost soundless.

He loosened his hold, boots squeaking against the floor as he took a few steps back. You could have used this opportunity to make a run for it. To escape, to leave. Phillip was giving you a choice. Always, he gives you a chance to leave. But you never do. Instead, you submit yourself to this want, this need.

His hands were warm and familiar, running down your body, scooping you up, carrying you toward the bedroom.

His hands set you on fire, and you'd let him burn you.

04| The heat was blanketing your back, licking up your spine, sucking on your earlobe. His cock, driving in and out of you. Phillip pulled your hips up a little higher, and the change in angle dialed it up even more. White spots flaring in your vision —

“ It’s too much,” You sighed, and it sounded suspiciously like a sob, muffled by the pillow underneath.

Your knees were trembling, struggling to support you. And you would have collapsed if he didn’t hoist you up against his hips. His pace was ruthless, hungry.

And when your arms buckled as you relinquished control, boneless and submerged under the shudder of lightning-hot fire sweeping through you, body strung tight and just on the edge, Phillip suddenly stilled.

You tightened around him, begging him to move.

“ Please,” You whined, “ Phillip, please.” You can sense him watching you claw the blankets underneath, the cold surface of the fabric relieving you of your fever. You tried to wiggle yourself against him, but he had a vice grip on your hips to restrain you. The stillness was almost as painful as the lack of friction.

Without warning, he turned and lifted you to sit astride him, hands holding you against his chest to guide you down onto his cock. You nearly screamed as he set up a new rhythm, fucking you deep, making you take all of him. You clenched around him each time he pulled you up to drop you back down, feeling so full. Past your lips was a high, helpless noise as liquid, molten heat spread inside you, shaking every muscle. When you tried to hide it by biting into his shoulder, Phillip roughly pried you away: hands gripping your chin to look at him in the eyes.

“Look at me,” He commanded, anchoring you.

Your nails left trails of red, crescent moon against his back, orgasm within reach again. You were whispering into his neck, babbling nonsense as everything goes tense and bright — and suddenly you were hit with the feel of your breast against his ribs, the cologne you got him for his birthday mingling with the smell of sweat and sex, his heartbeat racing against yours.

Phillip groaned, voice husky and low as he cursed, hips stuttering to come inside you with desperate, shuddering pulses.

And when you tip to the side and he guides you under the blankets, hands slack around your waist, you asked him again if it was all a lie. You were being lulled to sleep by the exhaustion when you feel a weight against your mouth, a phantom kiss, ghosting against your lips.

05 | Maybe you dreamt it. Maybe you didn’t.

But the next morning, the space beside you was empty. Left with nothing but the imprint of his body against the sheets, your arms and legs ached in protest, as a slow, dull ache took root inside your chest.

The USB by the table side was nowhere to be found.

a/n : first fic after two days, and first fic of 2023 ! What a way to start the year : angsty, angry sex with phillip graves 🤭 i made him so toxic here but dw i know deep down he’s not always like this ( maybe i’m the silly little reader with the ‘ i can fix him’ mindset ) i hope you all enjoy this ! <3

for graves fuckers : @cowboybxtch , @nfr89s , @kenobisjedi & more ! 🥴🥂

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setsugekka · 1 year

Text

『atarashī 』 ; 01

❝ birthday blues ❞ | mlist ｡

student!hongjoong x fem!reader, husband!yeosang x fem!reader — drama, dark romance, mystery, heavy sexual content [4,4k wc] ch cws: unprotected car sex, marital argument, general drama and angst because things suck.

"Happy birthday!"

The sound of bottles popping, your friends, family and colleagues cheering for you in celebration of another milestone—not as pleasant as some of the others, you've got to admit.

What's so happy about it?

Lackluster marriage, uninspiring job, nothing in particular that gives you reason to wake up bright eyed and ready for the day ahead of you each morning. Still, you force a smile; thank everyone for coming out and take a sip of champagne as pressed into your hands by your adoring and well-meaning husband.

"At least try to pretend you're having fun," he says, a murmur kept between the two of you only. "I've got to catch a flight soon, let's have a good end to the evening before I do."

You look up from the floor and towards Yeosang—suit pressed to perfection and long, wavy hair that you remember once upon a time really liking on him—it's not that you don't like it now, it's just that you have a hard time finding joy in much of anything nowadays.

"I am, I'm happy," you lie with a smile, and knowing perfectly well that he knows as much. Your husband won't argue with you on the fact, though. Maybe a few years ago, but not now. "I love you, thank you for putting this together."

"How does it feel to be thirty?" he asks with a glass pressed to his lips, the both of you standing off to the side and gazing out towards the crowd of people—all there for you.

Horrible, terrifying, boring, uneventful. Nothing. All at once, though you don't particularly want to answer with even one of them, so, you don't.

"The same." Not a lie, not really.

"Shall we go celebrate it then? Make it a little bit more special?" Yeosang's lips curl upwards, something mischievous. Birthmark on full display, you're happy that he didn't cover it up tonight—a small gift from him to you.

And you know precisely what he is intending by that. You want to shrug, but it's not the best answer to such a proposition.

Down the stairs and towards the car park the two of you go.

It's late enough in the evening that the garage is largely empty—a rented out office space used for your birthday party and long after hours for the majority of the employees that might otherwise be traversing the grounds. You're thankful for that, with the fog that has now collected upon the windows of your husband's luxury vehicle.

Yeosang's fingers are tightly planted into the flesh of your hips, mouths frequently finding one another in sloppy, poorly-attempted kisses as you grind your hips down against his lap in the backseat of his car. Certainly time better spent than upstairs, easier to forget about all of the things that you hate to acknowledge about this evening—about your life.

"Will you miss me?" he asks in a groan, pulling you down harder against him as best as he can. "I'm going to miss you."

You kiss him again, more intent behind this one than the others, because you will. Yeosang is often gone, it's been like this for years, and while you've mostly become accustomed to sleeping alone in your marital bed, there still lies within it a pang of displeasure that you've long since given up on voicing—having learned years prior that doing so will get you nowhere as far as his time spent home with you.

"Of course I will, I always do."

As if aroused by that fact alone, Yeosang's earnest grip firms even more, drags you along his length faster and with a goal in mind as his lips travel down from yours and instead go to work nipping and sucking small, light marks into the flesh of your neck just below. An airy moan escapes you, whispering to him that you're close, not to stop, that you love him; and Yeosang demands for you to come for him upon feeling the fact that you're reaching the precipice of doing so.

When you do, it's with fingers woven into his long, dark hair and his quiet chant against your skin that comes out as nothing but praise. Yeosang comes shortly thereafter—deep inside of you and with a contented sigh following.

Leaning back ever so slightly, you press a chaste kiss to his lips, and he smiles as a result of it.

"You're going to have to go back inside with quite a parting gift from me," he says, coyly referring to the mess left between your legs.

You frown. "You aren't coming back upstairs with me to say goodbye?"

"I just said goodbye," he answers. You can parse through it well enough a hint of contention despite his attempt in concealing it. Like he's anticipating a fight coming.

Lips straightening thin, you sigh and begin removing yourself from his lap—readjusting your undergarments and skirt in preparation for your walk of shame back up to the party. You don't want this to turn into a fight, not that it would be the first time in relation to situations such as this one.

Yeosang must notice the change in your demeanor in spite of your attempt to conceal it, because he lets out a similarly exasperated sigh; like it's a competition to see which one of you can be more disgruntled by the outcome of this particular happening.

"Don't be like that," he says. "Come on, do you really want to ruin tonight? On your birthday?"

On your birthday, as if that's meant to be some sort of bargaining chip from him to you. As if it's his party, his night, and you're harshing his good time.

"I didn't say anything, if you have to go then you have to go."

"Yeah, I do, so why are you acting like this? Do we have to do this every single time?"

You look back at him from over your shoulder, hand gripping the handle of the door and more than ready to escape the confines of his car now. Suffocating inside of it.

"I've long since given up trying to fight with you about this stuff. About having you around more, about you being more present. I've very much come to terms with the fact that you will come and go as you please, and that I have no other option than to shut up and deal with it."

"And I'm sure you hate the nice apartment, the nice car, the extra funding for the theater and ample, unchecked spending money that comes as a result of my lack of presence."

A couple of beats of silence pass between the two of you after that, you sigh first, then open the door and kick your feet out in order to begin your exit.

"It's not about the money, Yeosang. Not everything is about the money."

You watch him chuckle under his breath, as if the whole thing is exhaustingly comical to him. It probably is, because you've had this very same conversation so many times before. You're finding just as little joy in it as he is, and can't help but wonder if he has even considered as much.

Tucking himself back inside of his pants and tending to the buckle, he glances over at you.

"If you want me around more then we can move into one of the old storage rooms of the theater, clear out some space among the scrap wood and fabrics. Wouldn't that be nice?"

The sarcasm in his voice goes none appreciated by you, and as you stare it him quietly for a few moments’ time, you make peace with the fact that this conversation, like all others—is going nowhere useful.

"Have a good trip."

The car door shuts with an unintentional, but resoundingly loud bang.

You hope for a quiet re-entry, that no one has noticed you're gone or makes any assumptions about why that is. From behind the large door leading inside, you take a deep breath; center yourself so that you can put on a good enough mask, so that no one has to ask what's wrong.

It's been so long that you've been going back and forth with Yeosang about this, part of you is shocked that you even still have the capacity to feel about it at all.

The door pulls open, and with one step inside, your best friend is found awaiting your presence—perched steadfast right beside the opening and with two drinks in hand.

"Welcome back."

There's a particular look of knowing on Seonghwa's face as he says it—which makes sense, all things considered—and you take the glass from him that he gently extends towards you. A large sip follows in the silence that hangs between you, gazing out at the party while it carries on without you.

You can feel the reluctance wafting off of him from beside you, but with it comes the need to address the elephant in the room. There's no escaping this conversation, much like so many others.

"Yeosang left?"

"Flight to catch."

"Ah," he replies, simple enough. Takes a sip to cut the tension a little bit. "Well, it's the beginning of the school year, that's something to look forward to, isn't it?"

You hum, a nod accompanying it. "I've still got some loose ends to tie up before we start letting students into the theater, there's a leaky pipe backstage that I'm going to have to deal with before it becomes a much larger issue, but beyond that I'm mostly ready to have the place crawling with the usual artistic types. They're nice, sort of a joy to have around with how bright-eyed they are in comparison to me."

A chuckle carries from you at the tail end of the sentence, Seonghwa smiles at it, understands that it's part of the mask.

"Have you ever thought of giving the place up? Moving out of the city with Yeosang somewhere and just...settling down? I can't imagine you need the place all that much considering the hefty inheritance you were left."

You shrug, lifeless.

"We spent a lot of it on the wedding, another lot of it on the apartment—besides, it's the only thing I've really got left from my family. Hard to let go of such an heirloom, ya know? Besides, it keeps me busy when Yeosang is gone."

"Which is most of the time."

"Yeah."

Seonghwa kicks back the remaining liquid in his glass, you follow suit. He nudges towards the balcony as a silent request for him to follow you and you do so without so much as a question. The air is more brisk but clearer up here—far better than the outdoors of a stuffy parking garage.

You watch him take out a cigarette, playfully grimace at the sight of it as he lights it, but he only goes as far as to flash you a look that says don't bother with the dramatics.

"Is this just how it's going to be forever then?" Seonghwa asks plainly, curt. Like now that you're outside he's able to speak freely on the matter in a way that he couldn't before. "Your husband is always gone, you spend all your time tending to a bunch of uni students and a century year old theater hall? That's everything?"

You find yourself wondering much of the same.

He takes a drag of his cigarette before starting up again. "I know you gave up a lot to be with this guy, and I know you love him, but is this what you wanted? Can you live the rest of your life like this?"

"Hwa," you groan, a hand in the air to swat away the smoke that travels towards you, though that's far from the thing that irritates you the most about this interaction. "It's not like that. It's tough now but Yeosang's on track to retire early, and it'll all be worth it then."

"Yeah, if you two make it to then."

That makes you reel, a look of slight disgust towards him for so much as suggesting such a thing, and while Seonghwa tends to be steadfast in his approach, even he is willing to resign himself to perhaps going too far with this one.

"Look, all I'm saying is that this is far from the first time we've had nights like this. I know you want to be happy, but wanting to be happy and actually being happy are two vastly different things, and I worry about how long you're willing to stick it out through the misery in hopes that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I mean, you already resent him for being absent so much."

That is true.

A strong exhale escapes you and you motion towards your friend for him to give you something. He understands it well enough—hands you his cigarette which you quickly drag from and give right back—make a face of regret at the taste and smell.

"What do you suggest then?" you ask, though not actually expecting to receive anything of merit in doing so. "Divorce my husband, move out of the city, take a two hour commute there and back everyday just so that I can clean up scraps left by the thespian kids?"

"You should tell them to clean up after themselves for one, they're all adults," Seonghwa says seriously. "But no, I'm not suggesting that. I know you won't, though people certainly do have a funny way of creating excitement in their lives where complacency otherwise resides and it is not often felt without its fair share of problems alongside."

"There isn't really any excitement to create," you insist lazily, motioning towards the door to head back inside once and for all. "But who knows, maybe this year one of the classes will do something especially fun, like West Side Story. I like West Side Story."

"Alright everyone, gather 'round!"

The voice comes through loud and somewhat shrill from somewhere in the crowd of people that you can't quite place. It's difficult to pinpoint who, exactly, says what over the murmur of sounds from a large grouping of students as they look at their new surroundings and talk amongst themselves about all of the hopes they anticipate to have play out within these walls over the next however many years that they partake in their programs.

From aspiring actors, to writers, to costume designers—a plethora of students that wish to watch their dreams come alive before them and among their peers with similar goals—for some it might be their first year embarking on such a journey, and for others, somewhere between the middle and end.

Aurelia Hall; renowned amongst many for the years upon years of stunning architecture and plethora of talents that have come and gone from these numerous hallways and stage setups. A reputation to produce only the best—that studying at the Akademiya far from the goal, and rather—it is the ability to be blessed by Aurelia in doing so that has so many hopefuls shuffling in their applications to attend the school.

There is no magic here; though the way in which people speak of it might have one thinking otherwise. If you study at Aurelia, success is sure to find you. Words that you've heard spoken between students over so many years that you've found yourself mouthing along in silence to them.

A gentle laugh to yourself, where is your success then?

So you stand with arms crossed at the very back end of the main theater as everyone says their introductions and puts on something of a performance in doing so. It comes naturally to most, you can imagine; a small pleasure coming from the fact that the group of students appears to be smaller this year despite a mixture of all levels as it always is. First years and fourth years all mingling on the first day as if it's the schoolyard playground.

You smile ever so slightly, until you feel the presence of another body coming up just behind.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

One of the professors from some class, you've hardly been able to keep track despite the year after year that you meet them and pretend to remember from the last. Hardly your fault, that's what you tell yourself at least, on account of the fact that this is very likely to be the last time that you speak to this person until the year after this one.

The staff make themselves seldom known within the halls—their craft largely gifted to the students under their care within the walls of the Akademiya, then the underlings are released unto the care of you—something to that effect. A student body comprised of adults who need little to no supervision of any kind and are happy to keep to their own; discussing ideas and sketching out plans in small bubbles of similar minds.

You're not often needed past the first week, once everyone figures out where the smaller theater rooms and the bathrooms are located.

Following the staff member out into the hallway and closing the door behind for just a bit more privacy, your eyes rake over the man as he thumbs through a file, landing on a page and pushing it in front of you for you to glance over yourself.

"There's a fourth year student who will be joining us, though it's his first year at the Akademiya. He's a transfer from elsewhere, and really—"

"This is more like his sixth year," you say, finishing the sentence for him. He nods, knowingly. "Why hasn't he graduated?"

"Difficult to say, I haven't had much time with him, obviously, as the year has only just started. He seems bright from what I can gather in such a short amount of time, but I get the inkling of a feeling that he is largely uninspired, burnt out, having a hard time getting the final pieces together. The transcripts from his last school say that he didn't even bother turning anything in for his final project, and in fact, he disappeared without a trace for weeks until he finally put in a formal request to transfer."

Fascinating, but bizarre. Your eyebrows pull together, a strangeness collecting on your face.

"I'm surprised the Akademiya even accepted him with a track record like that, unlike the governing body."

"His portfolio is good, really impressive, so I assume that's why," the man says with a sigh and a shrug. "I guess it's up to us to drag the last little bit we can from the guy and get him out of here and into the world."

"Us? I'm no teacher, I don't know the first thing about guiding anyone."

Head cocking to the side and gifting you a half-smile, the man closes the file and nods towards the door once again.

"You're in charge when they're here, and I'm in charge when they're with me. You come from a long line of artists, if you hadn't then you wouldn't be running this place. Surely you've picked up something about the arts in your time?"

Yes, though not something you're all that eager to revisit if not necessarily required of you.

The man pulls ahead, opens the door to the theater and saunters inside. You follow him along the way over perfectly steamed red carpet and past numerous students who are none too interested in the fact that either of you are accompanying them within their creative spaces. Up the wooden steps to the side of the stage and then past the navy blue curtain, despite the darkness and the faint scent of moisture that you're certainly going to have to continue to tend to as a result of that damned leaky pipe, you're faced with the sight of one man, by himself, with hands busy at work.

You and the professor stand in place in silence as you look upon the student; messy brown hair and even while sitting on the floor with legs crossed, you can tell he's not especially tall. There's a dress form in front of him, though it's well out of reach as he works with busy hands and a pile of fabric in his lap that keeps all of his attention—none spared for either of you.

"Costuming?" you ask the man beside you in a lean, eyes still fixed onto the sight ahead of you. It feels stupid speaking of him as if he's not within earshot, then compounded by the way his head finally does turn towards where you stand with narrow, questioning eyes.

Your colleague nods, but the person ahead answers aloud for him. "Yes. Costuming."

"Sorry," you say, nearly fumbling even just the single word in response to him. "I—didn't want to interrupt you."

He sighs then, tosses his head back as if reluctantly resigned to having to engage in this whole thing at all. Sets his work aside and crawls to his feet to make his way towards the two of you.

The two of you meet eyes, and it lingers a bit longer than it might normally. Something strange, something intriguing about this student in particular—fascinating.

Extending a hand for pleasantries, he introduces himself. "Kim Hongjoong. Seventh year costuming student, but who's counting?"

"It's six according to your file." The man beside you begins thumbing through again, as if looking for what it is that he missed the first few times.

The student—Hongjoong—smiles. "Did a year at a school off in Hong Kong, bombed out so spectacularly that we agreed to not bother even adding it onto the transcript, so aside from the memories, it's as if I never existed there at all."

You can't help but find yourself stunned at the nonchalance in which he speaks on such things. Schools like these—schools like the Akademiya—are nothing to be scoffed at or played with, entry to them is extremely limited and some people go their whole lives dreaming for a shot at just one; this guy has flown through at least three, and with nothing to show for it, at that.

A feeling of judgment washes over you, catching yourself looking down your nose at him for being such a magnificent failure. It's not who you want to be, and you make an effort to correct the thoughts before they fester any longer in your mind.

The two of you shake hands—soft skin and you can't help but take notice of the single pinky painted black—a statement piece, something to be noticed.

"I take it you're going to be trouble then," you say plainly, wanting it to come off as something of a joke but meaning it just as much as well. Hongjoong huffs out a quiet laugh at the mere mention of it, as if asinine to even assume as much.

"The only person I've ever been trouble for is myself. If you're afraid I'm going to tear this place up or cause any of my peers any kind of harm, then I can put your mind at ease that that's never been the reasoning behind my removals—be it self-imposed or by the administration board."

"Then what is the reason, if you don't mind me asking?" the man besides you pipes up, having given up on the paperwork in hand.

Hongjoong sighs, slips his hands into torn up jean pockets and rocks back onto his heels once or twice before finally resigning himself to simply answering the question as laid out before him. You're curious as well, though you might not have had the gall to ask it so brazenly as your colleague has.

"Suppose I'm my own worst enemy," Hongjoong says, a lazy shrug accompanying the words. "I'm not a psychologist, but a psychologist would probably say that I have self-destructive tendencies."

"Have you ever seen a psychologist?" you ask then, interest piqued by his willingness to self-diagnose in such a shameless way.

"Now that you're not allowed to ask," he says with a playful tone. Uncaring of the question or its privacy to him, but rather using it as a way to chide you effortlessly.

You back down immediately, and your colleague steps up in your stead.

A grin forms on Hongjoong's lips meanwhile.

"Well, back at the Akademiya, I'll be more than happy to do what it takes to finally get you graduated and out onto the next step of your career. File says you're twenty-five, so I can't imagine you're thrilled to be spending your time around a bunch of barely-twenties, either."

"I tend to keep to myself regardless of the age, so it's unimportant to me."

The answer makes you want to roll your eyes, you stifle the desire out of respect.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me. You have my phone number as well as my email, and for when you're here—"

There's a beat of silence that comes between the three of you, your eyes glancing to the side to meet the man speaking, and then once more falling towards Hongjoong as he stands in front.

"You'll be answering to the groundskeeper, she'll try to accommodate you to the best of her abilities."

Hongjoong's eyebrow perks upwards, seemingly intrigued by that. "Do you act?"

Not what you expected, and it takes you back just a bit, hands flying up in a visual display of putting a stop to the assumption. "No, no! Nothing like that. I've inherited the place from my great grandparents after their passing."

"But you're familiar with the arts."

Persistent, isn't he?

The answer is yes, though it's something you've long since learned to put aside for much more practical engagements and a husband none too keen.

"I'm...familiar, yes." Whatever that means.

Hongjoong doesn't reply further, though his eyes linger on you a bit longer than you'd like for them to. A discomfort in how forward he is, not at all what you might have anticipated when first laying your sights upon him.

"Perfect then," the man beside you says. "We'll be on our way, and I'll see you tomorrow at the Akademiya."

"Yup," Hongjoong says, though you can't help but catch the hint of something hidden within the tone of his voice. You can't put your finger on it, though even after you turn your back to him, you know his gaze remains on your form.

"See you around."

a/n: weeee excited to have this one started! reminder that if you wish to discuss the story with me, the ask box is the best way to do it! another reminder that this story is going to get ugly and dive into some stuff that a lot of people are going to get squicked out about. those things have been clearly warned. until next time, cheers! xo

#hongjoong smut #yeosang smut #ateez smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong fanfic #yeosang x reader #yeosang x y/n #yeosang x you #yeosang imagines #yeosang scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #yeosang fanfic

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vacantgodling · 29 days

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THE SONG OF II & THE WAIL OF LAPSUNDI aka, how the world featured in The Chronicles of Lathsbury, Terrae, came into being.

i condensed a LOT of information for this but i tried to cover the main points of the beginning of the world and what led to year 1 of the first irandium (or year) of terranean history! :D

edit: i forgot the image of slide 7 somehow. it’s been added back

transposed under the cut ↓↓

SLIDE 1: The Song of Ii & The Wail of Lapsundi

or how the of the world that the story, the chronicles of lathsbury takes place in, Terrae, came to be

SLIDE 2: Out of the depths of chaos, IISIDIA(01) emerged—alone.

01. IISIDIA, goddess of the universe, creation, destruction, and magic

SLIDE 3: And this loneliness caused her great despair…

To cure this loneliness, IISIDIA decided that she would create herself a world, and dwell in it. The sonorous, somber hums deep from her breast would tumble forth through the darkness and with the power of this magic—this cantillo(02)—would come forth peaks and depths; murky waters and all manner of shadowed thing. This world, filled with no laughter, no music, and no joy—a world devoid of even the slightest traces of light. It was a world that IISIDIA would call: Lapsundi

02. chaos magic; only accessible by the gods. it takes the form of deep, otherworldly hums.

SLIDE 4: one day, as she lamented among her creation, IISIDIA saw a light…

and came upon a small babe, radiating brightness—a smile on its small cheeks. the only beauty hidden in this barren wasteland. immediately taken with the child, IISIDIA took the babe into her arms, and knew that the child was called Phyddione.

SLIDE 5: IISIDIA decided that Phyddione could not live in a place such as this.

And with that declaration, Lapsundi could be no more. Bearing down on the world that she had made—IISIDIA tore Lapsundi apart at its seams; disgusted that she could ever conjure such a horrible place. And when she finished her long rampage, the world was once again a blank slate(03)

03. or so she thought

SLIDE 6: The Next thing that IISIDIA decided is that, while Phyddione was precious to her, she could not live with the notion that she would remember the terrible world of Lapsundi.

FIRST: IISIDIA separated the memories and brightness of Phyddione from the physical body of The Babe

SECOND: IISIDIA cast the memories and the light up to the heavens; creating The Sun—otherwise known as Phyddione, The Prisoner of Light. Her tears of being separated create the sunbeams that shine bright throughout the Universe.

THIRD: IISIDIA used her divinity to bestow a new identity upon the babe. The Babe then became IIARAN, her first memories being of seeing her elder sister, IISIDIA in the brightening universe.

SLIDE 7: “We Shall Sing A Great Song and Build A World Unto Our Own.”

—said IIARAN to her Elder Sister IISIDIA

and thus, THE SONG OF II would soon Come to Pass.

SLIDE 8: THE SONG OF II: The Creation of Terrae

is separated into 6 movements that correspond with the creation of certain elements of their new world and with it, the creation, of cantatio

the casting of the lights movement -> what created the numerous stars that light the way of the night. it is said the movement was light and airy but full of hope. created the minor god: Palanthia

the rumbling brook movement -> what created the oceans, rivers, lakes and seas. the waters swirled in a great vortex, and the major god, KOST was born to shepherd the oceans

the shaping of clay movement -> what created the land that would float atop of the oceans and would house all of the other creations IIARAN wanted to make. from a loc of IISIDIA’s hair, the alter deity IDMIR was born and took IISIDIA’s drum, Nitarr as his husband.

the flowering movement -> what created the forests and vegetation of Terrae and from a thick bramble known as The Thicket, the god, MIZDARR emerged*

the creeping movement -> what created all the animals on both land and sea. some that approached The Thicket were tainted by the chaos within it, giving MIZDARR dominion over all animals as well.

the final crescendo -> IIARAN breathed a breath of divinity across the land, and from that breath, rose what would become The First Terraneans.

SLIDE 9:

When Terraneans first open their eyes to take in the splendor of their new home, they are immediately blinded by the sun’s powerful rays.

Seeing her creation’s plight, IIARAN runs to IISIDIA in despair. IISIDIA takes IIARAN to a nearby brook and has her look upon her reflection. As the young goddess is mesmerized by what she sees; IISIDIA takes that image of her and casts it up into the heavens opposite of Phyddione. This mirror absorbs some of the blinding light of the sun, and saves the Terranean people from falling prey to its deadly rays, while also providing light during the deepest, darkest nights. This mirror became known as Idyenhdop. — Also known as The Moon.

SLIDE 10: It wasn’t long before IIARAN realized that her divinity kept her from being able to walk among the Terraneans.

and in her sadness, she weeps, so IISIDIA comforts her.

the two lay together among their bed of stars, and from their union, the goddess of the people, MUINENS is born, taking equal parts of both of her mothers.

despite her divinity, she is able to reach out and choose certain Terraneans to hear her speech and read her thoughts, dubbed OOMs (Oracles of Muinens). The first OOM, Inen, guides the first Terranean migration, away from The Thicket and deep into the south west. When the goddess bids them stop, IDMIR and Nitarr bring forth a large hill, elevated to protect the Terraneans from the beasts and monsters that roam the land.

Year 1 is established—the birthplace of The Citadel of Argos has come.

#s: tcol #worldbuilding #powerpoints!!! more!!!!

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awtonomie · 3 months

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[ epilogue here ! ]

“ too sweet . “

wc : 678 ;P

a / n : howdy guys :) sorry for the slow movement on this series , school’s been kicking my butt recently </3 but here is chapter one ! ( again , IT IS A SLOW MOVEMENT FIC pls don’t be mad at meeeuhhh ). if you wanna suggest ideas for chapter two , my asks are open :)

dt : honey my twin <3

— chapter 01.

one night, when joel was downstairs with your dad watching a football game with a few beers cracked open here and there on the coffee table , you pranced down in your matching baby blue satin pajama set ( and one of the nice ones that you got for christmas , in contrast to your usual sweatpants and oversized stained shirt ) , hair freshly taken out of rollers ( dude .. you were down bad . you usually tied your hair up in the same bun for three days straight . lmao) . you had on light makeup , not too much , but maybe just a few dots of concealer here and there , mascara coating your lashes . you walked down the stairs and turned the corner into the living room with a warm smile , giving your father a kiss on the cheek and greeting him with a small ‘ hi daddy , ‘ before turning to joel . you felt a heat rise to your cheeks instantly .

“ oh , hi joel ! i didn’t know you were comin’ over! “ you beamed in mock-surprise . as if you didn’t get cute just for him . you bent down to kiss his cheek as you usually did , and he let out a soft chuckle .

“ hey kiddo . well look at you , all dolled up . you look fancy , “ joel teased lightly with a gentle pinch to your waist . “ grab me another beer , baby , “ he hummed softly and patted your hip as a sign for you to get moving , which you did with no questions asked .

you easily moved to the kitchen to grab a beer , which you took a little long with , so joel got up to check in on you .

“ hey kid , what’s takin’ so long ? “ he muttered as he walked up behind you , brows slightly furrowed as he watched you try and twist the beer cap open . his face twisted into a smile and he let out a hearty laugh . “ that’s .. not how you open that . here , let me show you a lil’ sumn’ “ he hummed and gently took the beer bottle from your hand .

he lifted his shirt up slightly , bringing the mouth of the bottle to the buckle on his belt that held his jeans up . he snapped the cap open on the buckle , the top spouting out a bit as some beer trickled onto his buckle and his fingers. chuckling as he received a small gasp and tiny claps from you in awe , he looked down at you .

“ impressive ? “ he muttered with a proud smile , eyeing you in wait for a response . you felt a warmth rush to your cheeks, a smile making your jaw hurt from the strength of it. you nodded shyly, then got on your tip-toes and leaned in.

“ very . maybe you can … show me what else you can do with that belt ? “ you whispered , reaching forward to bring his finger to your mouth and licking off the alcoholic beverage that had coated his fingers during his little display , locking your eyes onto his . then returned to your original position. your words sparked something in joel , and as he turned scarlet to match your hue , his brows furrowed . he pursed his lips , then let his mouth gape open , trying to find the words to answer . you’d clearly caught him off guard .

“ i- uhm - i don’t - “ he started in a flustered stutter , but was cut off by an airy giggle escaping your lips .

“ come by when my dad isn’t here , ‘kay ? i wanna see what other tricks you have up your sleeve .. “ you said lowly . you made sure to look up at him , batting your eyelashes . with a tiny smile , and a knowing wink , you turned on your heel and went back upstairs , leaving joel with the opened beer . you had managed to fluster mister miller .

phase one , complete .

#awtonomie #joel miller fluff #hai :3 #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel blurbs #joel x reader #joel the last of us #dbf!joel #dbf #wowie #father issues #cool beans #hope you enjoy

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yyunari · 11 months

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HEESEUNG 01. ⏱﹕ꕤ﹔ SKINTIGHT !

You weren’t looking for love, and Heeseung knew that. Though, he found himself not caring all too much.

ib. skintight by ethan low & jimmy brown

⌇＃GENRE ◠﹒angst + fluff ish ＃PAIRING ◠﹒lee heeseung x fem! reader ＃WARNINGS ◠﹒slut shaming, one or two alcohol and smoking mentions ＃WC ◠﹒1.7k

As soon as the familiar scent of lavender filled his lungs, Heeseung felt his heart drop to his knees. Your lavender scent and skintight dress was enough to make him falter- as you always did.

It was something of a beacon in the darkened room, the airy aroma starkly contrasted against the alcohol and smoke. Despite all the scents coursing around the stuffy atmosphere, Heeseung was able to pick out the fresh smell of lavender he had gotten accustomed to for much of his life. He knew you were aware of the effect your cologne had on him.

It was almost as if you wore it, just for him to notice.

Heeseung didn’t want to be delusional, however, so he shook himself out of his thoughts and went to grab a drink. After all, why would you want him back?

“Hey man, I didn’t know Y/N would be here. I guess Beomgyu invited her… That piece of shit. I mean, it’s not even his party!” Sunghoon rolled his eyes, as he slung an arm over Heeseung’s shoulder. Their other friend, Jay, handed him a shot. The two knew rather well how Heeseung had been taking his separation with Y/N. “Are you going to be alright?”

The distracted boy took a while to respond as he had been subconciously looking for a certain someone among the crowd. His eyes drifted, instead focusing on the lavender scent that had always drawn him in.

“…Heeseung?”

He snapped back to reality. “Oh! Yeah, don’t even worry about me.”

Jay and Sunghoon shared a worried look once they realized why he was so distracted.

“Dude, you’re still going back to her? After all this time?” Jay asked with an eyebrow raised. “She made it clear that she doesn’t want to be in a relationship.”

“Pft- Of course not! I’m just uh..” Heeseung let his eyes scan the room for someone familiar. “.. looking for.. Jake?”

Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows. “Jake? From our Chem class?”

“Since when have you talked to that guy?” Jay stifled a laugh. He wasn’t too fond of Jake and found him rather weird, so he wasn’t sure why Heeseung would need to look for him.

Although, the more he thought about you the more he couldn’t take his eyes off your figure. You looked stunning, as per usual. The dress you wore was perfectly skintight, hugging your curves and complimenting your features. Seeing you for the first time in a while caused his mind to fog up a little bit- he had missed you without even realizing how much he did.

Just as his eyes had perceived you, the moment passed and you were gone. It was almost as though you were never there to begin with. Almost like… he imagined you.

It was all too much- your lingering scent, the worrying stares from his best friends, the idea that you were just around the corner, just out of his reach-

Fuck. I need to get out of here. He thought.

As Heeseung began to make his way upstairs a rough hand on his shoulder stopped his pathway. It wasn’t Jay or Sunghoon, however. It was a distant friend of his, a guy named Yejun. Had he joined their group while Heeseung was in his thoughts? “Bro, Hoon just told me you’re trying to find Y/N.”

“Okay, I didn’t say all th-”

“Gesundheit.” Yejun rolled his eyes. Heeseung could tell that the boy was relatively tipsy with the way that his words were slurred. “Anyways, why don’t you stay here with us? The party’s down here, you don’t need to go upstairs looking for her.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow at that. Why did Yejun seem to care what he did? “I’m not going to look for her, I just want to get some air.”

Unconvinced, Yejun nodded at his words and turned towards Jay and Sunghoon to continue their conversation. Was he that out of things earlier that he didn’t notice they were talking about rubber ducks? He wasn’t even drunk, though the thought of Y/N made him feel-

Wait, what did Yejun say?

“How do you know Y/N is upstairs…” Heeseung trailed off a bit when he noticed a the sides of Yejun’s mouth tilt upwards ever so slightly. It was very faint, but his expression had changed very subtly. Heeseung wasn’t sure if he was liking it.

“Did I say upstairs? Just a guess man, no need to over think it.” Yejun shot Heeseung a smile. “Besides, she was just down here wasn’t she? I know you saw her.”

He was right, you were just there. There you were with your beautiful self, basking in the promiscuous energy of the party. Your presence was just so captivating, how could he not notice you?

Although you two haven’t spoken in months, Heeseung knew he stayed enthralled by you each passing day. There was just something about you that he found so wonderfully beautiful, something that kept him addicted. Perhaps it was your smile, or the way your eyes would soften when they laid themselves on him.

Whatever it was, Heeseung missed it dearly.

And that was why he couldn’t ignore the mischievous look on Yejun’s face.

The love struck boy grabbed his friend’s collar and whispered, “You did something to her, didn’t you?”

Yejun raised his hands in a lax manner. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. That slut got what she deserved.”

To say Heeseung was shocked would be an understatement. It was true that you had a reputation of getting around. But Heeseung knew the truth- he knew you were really nothing like that. A slut? You were anything but. You were kind and gentle. Even when Heeseung made mistakes, you were always ready to forgive him. You were such a giving person, beautiful inside and out. You didn’t always see it, but Heeseung knew. What business did Yejun have judging you? And what did he know anyways? He wasn’t the one who dated you, it was Heeseung.

Jay opened his mouth to tell Yejun off, but Heeseung beat him to it. “Shut your damn mouth before I do it for you.” He threw Yejun with his hands and began to look for Y/N.

He knew you didn’t want to see him, but someone needed to be there for you.

Just as Heeseung suspected, you were sitting on the curb outside. You had a tendency to go outside when your mind was filled with negative thoughts. You also had a tendency to pick at your nails, which was something that you were never able to shake. Heeseung loved you, bad habits and all.

A soft smile formed on Heeseung’s lips as he approached you. “Cold?”

You turned at the voice, only to be met with the eyes of your ex. The one person you didn’t want to see at that moment.

Your eyes turned dark, and you faced yourself back to the street. “You should go back inside, Heeseung. Don’t bother yourself with me anymore.”

Slowly reaching a hand into his pocket, Heeseung grabbed a packet of Chocorooms and put it in your hands. It warmed your heart- he knew that they were your favorite after all. “I don’t know what Yejun did but… I know it was shitty.”

You couldn’t lie to Heeseung. Not anymore. “He asked me out and I said no. He didn’t take it all too well.”

The two chuckled at her little joke, and just enjoyed each other’s presence. It had been a while since you spoke like that- actually since you had spoken at all. Heeseung knew Y/N was trying to avoid him because she didn’t feel good enough for a relationship. That was what she said the day you broke up.

But Heeseung could tell that she still loved him; he could see it in her eyes. The way Y/N looked at him was the way he looked at her.

Completely enamored.

“Please take me back.” Heeseung whispered desperately. He felt pathetic, begging a girl to take him back. But for Y/N, it was worth it. “I love you so much and I know you love me too. We can make this work!”

A sigh left your lips as you made eye contact with the boy you had missed dearly. “No, we cant.” As much as you wanted to agree, it was for the better that you didn’t. “You know I’m not looking to love someone, I’m incapable. I cant give you the love you deserve because… because I don’t know how.”

“I’ll show you how!” Heeseung said with his voice slightly raised.

You frowned. He made it harder to deny him. “Please Hee, I just want you to be happy. Let me go.”

Heeseung knew he couldn’t let you go. Not now, and not ever. Not when you were so clearly within his grasp, just slightly out of his reach. He couldn’t let you go.

“You deserve someone who can feel good about themself, who doesn’t struggle to feel happy every day.”

As you stood up to go back inside the party, a hand stopped you.

He paused, before speaking again. “Don’t hate me for this.”

Before you could question anything, Heeseung leaned forward. A soft kiss was placed at the side of your mouth, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

As always, Heeseung caused you happiness that you could never feel elsewhere.

You opened your mouth to respond but were once again interrupted. Heeseung grabbed your hands and gazed into your eyes. “Just think it over please. If you take me back, I’ll make you feel happy each and every day. I’ll help you work on yourself. I just want to be with you, Y/N.”

“But I can’t do this to y-”

A hand covered your mouth. He just loved interrupting you, didn’t he?

“Don’t say anything yet.” A sad smile formed on his lips. “Just think about it, and get back to me when you decide.”

He began to retreat back to the party. It broke his heart to be walking away, but he just wanted you to have time to think.

“Wait.” Your voice rang throughout his being, and gave him hope. “You know that if you do this, I might not be able to give you the love that you deserve. I’ll try my best, but I’m still working on myself.”

Ever so smitten, Heeseung breathed out in relief and engulfed you in a hug. “That’s all i wanted to hear.”

You were just two people, slightly tipsy, encapsulated by the wonders of young love. How addicting it felt to be held by one another, to know that your presence means something to the other person. Easily fading into the background, the world seemed to be meaningless as your sad but desperate eyes took in the man in front of you. It was a feeling that neither one could shake and wanted to feel more each day- however hesitant one of you was.

“Please,” You breathed out. “please make me feel loved.”

Heeseung didn’t hesitate to pull you in for a kiss, sealing any doubts and leaving it all in the past.

The two of you knew how unhealthy it was. You didn’t belong together- it was just wrong. Heeseung wanted someone to love him and you wanted someone who didn’t need to be loved. But at the end of the day, you both had a deep love and desire for the other person. It was a relationship that was doomed to fail, but ultimately neither cared. You were just happy to be together again.

And perhaps, that love was all you needed.

authors note. heeseung is so ethan low coded i just had to write this. anyways wish me luck tmr i am hanging out with the loml we’re locked in😍 !!!

permanent taglist. @muhwaa @hoori @yizhoutv @ja4hyvn @carayat @one16core @enhacolor @haerinz @soobin-chois @en-boyz @ohmy-fandoms @yeongwonie @yjwonz @yunki4evr @strwberrydinosaur @duolingofanaccount @iichaeyj @eundiarys @ineedaherosavemeenow @chaerybae @bubblytaetae @w3bqrl @xiaoderrrr @jaeyunnsworld @rikizm @imhuh (if u requested to be on my permanent taglist and u didn’t get tagged it’s bc i cant see ur acc, but pls dm me if u want to be in it !)

#enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung x yn #heeseung x you #heeseung x female reader #enhypen heeseung #enhypen heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x you #lee heeseung x y/n #lee heeseung fanfic #heeseung fanfic #heeseung fanfiction #heeseung oneshots #lee heeseung oneshot #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen

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yoonivy · 1 month

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gold rush; part 3.

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. romantic comedy — inspired by 10 things i hate about you and also another movie (can you guess which one? :) ) , college/university au, eventual smut, enemies to lovers (kinda??? their relationship is complicated to explain LOL)

In all the 8 years you’ve known Aemond Targaryen, he has not spoken more than 8 words to you. In total. So why is he starting now?

warnings. none.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07

–--

It’s weird. It’s strange. It’s suspicious.

The way that you’ve been humming love songs all morning, dreamily sighing every other second, and the layers and layers of almond butter you’ve already piled onto your toast… It's all so unlike you.

“Sansa…” Jon whispers from the corner of his mouth to his girlfriend sitting across the kitchen table from him, his gaze wearily on you. “I think we’ve lost her.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, petting Lady softly as the docile direwolf eats a piece of pancake off her palm. “She’s just in a good mood! ___ is always pretty much in a good mood!”

“Yeah… but never like that. ”

Now they’re both staring at you — giggling to yourself as if having a conversation in your head. Clearly on the Seven Heavens.

“Ooooh…” Sansa sucks in a hiss, trying to suppress her own giggles. “She’s got it bad.”

“Terribly bad,” Jon retorts, sharing a smile and laugh with Sansa.

Jon calls your name, and though it doesn’t completely pull you out of your daydreaming, you still manage to answer him with a very airy, “ Mmhmm?”

“How did the date go?” Sansa asks.

“Oh, you know…” You let out another soft sigh. “It was alright…”

“Really?” Jon grins with amusement. “Just alright? ”

His teasing tone has you finally snapping out of it, narrowing your gaze at him, “Yeah, just alright— oh…” when you notice the mountain of almond butter on your burnt toast, that’s when Sansa and Jon start howling with laughter. The face that you made must have been a sight to see.

You pout at them while stuffing the extra almond butter back in the jar. You really can’t afford to spread it so thickly. The jars are like $15 each!

“Come on! Tell us about it!” Sansa prompts as you stomp over to them with your plate and cup of homemade iced coffee, sliding into an empty chair.

You take a big mouth open inhale like you are about to tell them the full story with no minor detail missed – but what you blurt out is, “It was… you know, good.”

The all too cool one shoulder shrug you do was all your best friend needed for his mouth to drop in realization.

“You like him like him,” Jon accuses, not unkindly, just — shocked.

You grimace because it’s the truth. If you spilled your guts out about what you really wanted to say about the date, you would be talking forever. You would not be able to shut up about Aemond and how nice his lips felt on yours.

“Yes,” you hiss at him. “And that’s the problem!”

Sansa laughs, and asks in a clearly incredulous tone, “Why is that a problem?!”

“Because Sansa…” You groan, pressing your fingers on both sides of your temples, eyes wide at the table as if having an existential crisis. “It was only the first date — and I’m already like this!” You gesture at your almond butter covered burnt toast and terrible watered-down iced coffee.

You’re not opposed to having feelings for someone… but this quickly?!

Oh, absolutely not.

“Whoa…” Jon breathes out, still flabbergasted, deflating on his seat.

“I know…” you cry, sniffling that both Ghost and Lady pad over to comfort you, pressing their snout against you.

Sansa looks between you and her boyfriend, and then sighs in exasperation . “You two are so dramatic!” She then turns her attention solely on you, “I think it’s wonderful you like Aemond this much! It looks nice on you — you’re all glowy and cute and happy!”

You flush as your spirit lifts slightly, flattering your lashes at her and leaning into the palm of your hand, preening. “Wait, really? I look glowy and cute?”

“Yes, you do!” Sansa tells you with a little giggle. “That’s why I was thinking… You should invite Aemond to Bachelor night.”

Your eyes widen slightly at that, taken aback at the sudden suggestion. Meanwhile, Jon nods in agreement, “I think that’s a great idea!”

Skeptically, you look between them. “Really? You guys want to meet him?”

“Of course we do!” Sansa exclaims. “I think we all want to meet the guy who is making our best friend all happy and glowy and cute!”

Sansa reaches over to teasingly pinch your cheek after you scrunch up your face in embarrassment causing Jon to laugh.

The real question is though… Are you really at that point in your relationship with Aemond that you feel comfortable enough introducing him to all of your friends?

To everyone else, it might not be a super big deal. You recall Theon bringing girls who he barely even dated to hang out with your friends. Meera too. But still… To you it is important, your friends are that important to you. So it’s the same as introducing a partner to your parents. You can’t even think of a time you brought someone you dated to meet your friends.

Will Aemond be the first?

You mull over it for the rest of the day, and it distracts everything you do.

Somehow though, you are able to act like a professional and clear your head when you check up on Viserys. You go through his numbers and how he is feeling meticulously before sending off the information to Samwell.

“All good,” you let him know with a grin. “Sam said when you visit the hospital on Tuesday, they’ll look at your diet and hopefully they can figure out the cause of the bloating…” You frown in concern, once again asking Viserys a question you had already asked him twice this visit, “You’re sure it’s not bothering you, right?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Viserys waves it off again. When you narrow your gaze at him, skeptical, he repeats it. So you finally let it go, proceeding to pack up your equipment.

“So… How was your date with Aemond?”

You freeze mid zipping up the bag, robotically and slowly turning your head towards Viserys. Your mortified expression meets his sly one. “Wha— How’d you—?”

“His mother told me,” Viserys informs you.

“Oh,” you say, dumbfounded.

“I’ve also been told that he is… smitten with you,” he adds with a teasing tone.

“Oh, Seven Hells,” you mumble, your hand on your cheek to cool the heat that spreads there.

You’re embarrassed, of course, but also… Aemond talked to Alicent? About you?

You know Aemond has a pretty close relationship with his mom so does that mean he actually is smitten with you?

You must have had a dumb, giddy look on your face because Viserys comments, “So I take it the date was good?”

With a narrowed gaze, you don’t answer his question, only threatening mildly, “You better not say anything to my mom.”

Viserys just laughs heartily.

Three days after the date, Aemond finds himself waiting against the wall opposite of the room of your last class of the day.

His foot taps impatiently on the floor as he waits for the class to end. Maybe he is feeling a little bit apprehensive too.

Aemond thought the date had gone really well — better than well!

So why has it been like pulling teeth whenever he tries to make conversation with you through text?

It was easy to see that you weren’t your usual excited and emoji-filled self. Aemond would even say your messages lately have been drier than his.

Did he perhaps do something wrong? He has been replaying the date in his mind, combing through every interaction and conversation but couldn’t find anything he did that would warrant the change in your behavior towards him.

Aemond knows he is not the most socially aware person in the world, but he is not that daft to not be able to figure out if he did something awful. At least, he doesn’t think he is.

The classroom door opens before he can dwell on it again, and he straightens up to seek you out amongst the students that file out. When he finds you, he calls out your name without thinking. It has him holding his breath, watching and waiting for what your reaction will be when you see him.

Confusion sets on your face as you glance around, but when you meet his gaze, you perk up – all bright eyes and a cheerful smile. Awash with sudden relief, Aemond grins as he meets your bouncy steps towards him halfway.

“He—” Aemond cuts off your greeting with his mouth on yours, catching you completely off guard. But it doesn’t take long for your hand to cradle his face to draw him in closer. Aemond’s hum of satisfaction vibrates through you and you brush your nose tenderly against his, smiling into the kiss.

You can’t believe this is you now — or Aemond for that matter. You hadn’t thought you two would be one for PDA, but here you are, caught in an ardent kiss on full display in front of your peers.

You are only a little bit embarrassed when you part, throwing a goofy yet apologetic strained grin at anyone who passed by giving you either an unpleasant or amused look for your public display of affection in the middle of the hall with the Ice Prince of the campus.

When you turn your attention back to Aemond, he is still looking down at you, the soft expression on his face has you feeling warm all over.

There is a small smile on his lips when he asks, “Can I accompany you home?”

With loose intertwined fingers, you are leading Aemond to the bus stop on the west side of the campus. The bus isn’t arriving for another 10 minutes so you weren’t in a hurry, leisurely walking together in comfortable silence.

That is until you decide to bring up what was on your mind.

“So I heard about what you told your mom about me…”

Aemond freezes on the spot, halting the two of you from moving.

“My mother…?” Aemond swallows thickly, a guilty pit in his stomach so he doesn’t even hear the teasing in your tone. The last time he talked to his mother about you was a couple weeks ago… The day after the party.

“Yeah…” you grin at him, twisting around to face him but your hand still in his. You poke at his chest as you sing-song, “Heard you were gushing about our date… and that you like me.”

He heats, face flushing red and completely flustered.

It must have been Helaena that told his mother about how the date went. She’s the only one he told. And then his mother told his father and then he told you — it’s the only logical explanation.

Either way, it is a bit mortifying. But at least it wasn’t what he thought that you might have heard. That wouldn’t have been the worst case scenario.

“I didn’t gush . I don’t do that. You know I don’t,” he insists.

“Uh-huh,” you hum as if you don’t believe him. But just when he is about to defend himself and maybe even come clean with everything — on why his mother would want his father to know how well you and him are getting on — you ask him instead, “Are you free this Wednesday?”

This time, instead of one direwolf bombarding Aemond at the door, they’ve multiplied by three. At least none of them are threatening his life — not even Ghost — all just curiously sniffing the latest to arrive at yours and Jon’s apartment.

“Oh, Targaryen’s here!” The redhead man that opened the door exclaims at the sight of Aemond. With the most charming smile, he steps forward and throws his arm casually around the taller man. “I’m Robb! I’ve heard a lot about you!”

That has Aemond’s brows rising in surprise. What have you told your friends about him? He tries to keep it cool so instead of asking Robb to elaborate, he says instead, “Nice to meet you. You’re the one studying to be a public defendant, right?”

Robb grins and nods while also trying to stop all the direwolves from excitedly and happily tackling Aemond to the ground, especially the biggest of the bunch — a grey one with yellow eyes. “Grey Wind, down!”

“Down!” A woman with the same shade of red hair as the man in front of Aemond commands, and at the sound of her voice, all three wolves sit obediently. She pets all of them, giving extra love to one in particular — the one she murmurs a fond thank you Lady — before she smiles at Aemond. “Hi! I’m Sansa!”

She hugs him too. Are all your friends huggers?

Jon pops up next and even he wraps Aemond in an awkward hug, saying it’s nice to see him again.

Another man bounds to the front door with an extremely goofy grin and Aemond already knows who he is.

“Theon,” he says, trying to be suave and cool, offering his hand towards Aemond. “But you probably heard about me.”

“I have,” Aemond tells him, and leaves it at that. You said Theon is the one who annoys you the most but is also the one that makes you laugh the most, so he at least has that going for him.

But Theon’s eyes brighten, laughing as he pulls Aemond into a tight hug.

So they’re all huggers.

Theon sniffs Aemond noisily. “Dude, you smell really good. What is that? Dior? Tom Ford—“

“I go to the washroom for two seconds and you’re all out here trying to make sure that Aemond wouldn’t want to hang out with any of us ever again?”

At the sight of you over Theon’s shoulder — so breathtakingly gorgeous in a comfy oversized hoodie and tights — Aemond’s lips spread into a smile. You make your way towards him, sweeping a faux look of anger at your friends and the wolves that are wagging their tails.

Theon peels away from Aemond just as you step in between them, waving your hands back and forth to widen the space. “Like please give him room to breathe .”

“Hey, we were just trying to make sure to give your boyfie the warmest welcome!” Theon tells you with a teasing smirk.

Boyfie? That has Aemond furrowing his brows in confusion.

Wait… like…

Boyfriend?

Aemond feels a little lighter. The nervousness he was feeling all day before coming over suddenly vanishes, instead replaced with swelling pride and satisfaction.

Though neither of you have explicitly defined the relationship, the fact that you’ve told your friends that he is your boyfriend has him uncharacteristically hyped up. Like when Daeron gets the Valorant skins he wants in his game’s store and he blows up the Targaryen siblings’ group chat with a video of him yelling, “Let’s fuckin’ gooooooooooooooo!”

“Can you stop calling him that?!” You snap at Theon with a glare. Then you turn to Aemond, pouting. “I promise you he is calling you that all on his own. I told you he’s annoying!”

Both Aemond and Theon outwardly deflate at the same time for different reasons.

“You told him I’m annoying?!” Theon whines petulantly at the new fact. Meanwhile Aemond is a tiny bit (a lot) disappointed that you didn’t tell your friends that he is your boyfriend.

“Cause you are…” you say like it’s a matter of fact, but it is also clear in your cheery tone that you are fond of Theon too.

With your hand around Aemond’s wrist you pull him into your apartment while also shooing your friends away.

While you take his coat and scarf to hang inside the shoe closet, Aemond steps into an open space and notices two brunette women at the kitchen making some sort of alcoholic concoction in a huge pitcher.

The one that is wearing loose streetwear clothes wipes her hands on a towel before reaching over to present her hand to Aemond with a grin, “Hey, I’m Meera.”

The florist and the one who gives the best advice.

After shaking her hand he turns to the other woman — the one with the sly smirk that could rival his signature grin.

“Margaery?” He asks with a quizzical rise of his eyebrow. The three Tyrell brothers’ youngest sister. Aemond was a pretty close acquaintance of Willas before he graduated, they worked on a few projects together.

She hums, nodding with a cool shrug. “The one and only.”

Aemond feels a hand on his back, and he turns slightly to see you smiling up at him.

“Hey,” he murmurs with a warm smile as he faces you fully, his hands resting on your waist.

Your hands come up to touch his chest, feeling the lush cashmere of his sweater. “Hey.”

Then you are on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips. He hums in satisfaction, but you pull away just as he leans in for more. Aemond breathes out your name sternly, a demand for you to give him what he wants. Giggling, you give in to him, kissing him harder — but it’s short lived when the television turns on and you hear the opening monologue of the reality TV show you’ve been waiting for months to start again.

Aemond huffs in frustration when your lips leave his again, but this time you walk away with a teasing smirk and a cock of your head to follow.

The two of you grab drinks — the mixed alcoholic drink for you and a bottle of beer for him — before settling on the left side of the couch closely together.

“Have you watched the Bachelor before, Aemond?” Theon asks, squeezing himself in between the two couples on the couch. You just cuddle closer to Aemond, his arm around your shoulder to pull into his chest tighter; but Robb and Margaery try to kick Theon off. They are not successful.

“Uh, no…” Aemond answers. “…is it good?”

“Man, you’re in for a treat,” Robb exclaims jubilantly, but Aemond can not tell if he is being sarcastic or not.

You told him that he’s coming over to watch the season premiere of your friend groups’ favorite show, so he did not imagine it to be a trashy dating show.

“It’s actually really good, believe it or not,” Jon tells him as if reading his mind. “And apparently this is going to be their best season yet because the Bachelor is one of the Martells.”

“If it isn’t Oberyn, I’m gonna riot,” you say, popping a chip in your mouth. “I just want to see his pretty face on my TV again!”

Sansa shakes her head from where her and Jon settled on the floor with their direwolves. “No, I’m telling you it’s going to be Quentyn. They’ve been teasing that the Bachelor is one of the Martell’s for months and yet… nothing has leaked. If it was Oberyn, you know a picture would have surfaced the internet by now. They’re trying to make it seem like it’s him but it’s going to be Quentyn instead.”

“Honestly, I think Oberyn is done with reality TV shows after that last season he was on,” Meera adds. “That whole made up drama the producers tried to cause with his daughters and the paternity tests was all kinds of fucked up. I don’t blame him for not wanting to go back.”

As the discussion goes on, all is lost on Aemond. He knows some of the people mentioned (even met some of them) but he doesn’t really “Keep Up” with the Martells like most of the world does.

All Aemond really takes in is that you are really attracted to Oberyn Martell. He tries to find the similarities between himself and the older man and finds none, causing him to hum in displeasure and his hand on your hip grips tighter in possessiveness.

You don’t notice, too engrossed in the introductions happening on the screen.

Each woman that appears, you and your friends predict if they’ll make it far into the season.

“Who’s your favorite so far, Targaryen?” Theon asks.

“That’s bait, man. Don’t answer it,” Robb said, throwing a grin your way. “___ is a jealous one.”

“I’m not!” You snap at him with a hardened glare. Then you flatter your lashes at Aemond, sweetly cooing, “you can choose a favorite, I don’t mind!”

The show only focused on 13 out of the 26 women competing so far, and even though not all of them has been introduced, Aemond is already getting confused on who is who. So many of them look alike and sound the same.

“I don’t have a favorite,” Aemond answers earnestly. “And I doubt I’d have one.”

“Good answer,” Jon grins at him.

With a grin, you lean in to kiss his cheek. Good answer indeed.

“So the ones that got the minute long introduction… does that mean they’re the finalists?” Aemond whispers to you.

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” you murmur with a frown, patting his chest. He pouts and puts his hand over yours, holds it there against him while you explain, “Some of them do make it far, but it’s usually just the ones that will bring the most drama in the first few episodes. Like that Myranda girl for example, you can tell she’s just a shitstirrer. She’ll probably be gone after the third episode’s group date and…” you trail off, squinting at the screen and tilting your head.

“What is it?” Aemond questions, following your gaze to try to figure out why you seem so distracted all of the sudden.

“I think…” you start, still distracted, checking if your friends have reacted.

Only Robb seems to have seen what you did; he sits up straighter, eyes going wide. But before you can ask him; a handsome, chiseled jawed man with glorious brown hair walks into the living room area where all the women are mingling.

At the sight of him, the women on the show (and all your friends) squeal excitedly.

“Hello girls,” he murmurs in a sultry tone, oozing sex appeal.

“Hi Daario…!” You all call back, equally as flirty (or trying to be), Theon being the loudest and most shrill.

Aemond reads the title that appears at the bottom of the screen — Daario Naharis, Host .

“Welcome to The Bachelor! Thank you, Ladies, for joining us in this beautiful, sunshine paradise that we call Sunspear. This season is a very special season for us. It’s the 30th season and it’s with our most prolific Bachelor yet… So it should be no surprise that we chose the most beautiful, the smartest, and the loveliest women to compete this year…” The women giggle at that, and Daario just blinds them with his million dollar smile. “... And our handsome bachelor…. He is very excited to meet all of you…” He glances around, smirking, “Do you all want to meet him too?”

The contestants cheer, buzzing excitedly when Daario looks towards the door and announces, “Then please give a warm welcome to your bachelor…”

A few of the contestants’ talking heads get edited in, all of them hoping for Oberyn Martell.

So does that mean…?

“They wouldn’t bait us, would they?” Margaery glares at the television. “That would be crazy!”

“Totally unhinged,” Meera tacks on.

“If they want their ratings to tank, maybe,” Robb comments.

You wonder if you should bring up what you saw, but maybe it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you. It could be someone else that looks like her…

“Here he comes!” Theon teeters with giddy anticipation, sliding off the couch to just sit on the floor after Margaery kicked his butt one few many times.

On the screen, it flashes to different cuts of the man about to enter the room – focusing on his traditional Dornish suit, his coiffed brown hair, his narrow shoulders… And it’s over. You all deflate in disappointment. Without even seeing his face, you all knew it wasn’t Oberyn Martell…

It’s not even Quentyn, who is the second hottest man in the Martell family.

But it’s the youngest of them, Trystane Martell, whose only relevance outside of his family name is probably all the fake relationships his mother set up for him. Other than that, he was the most boring of the Martells.

It seems even the contestants weren’t too thrilled with their bachelor, their reception of him is lukewarm when he steps in the room and joins Daario.

“Aww… this is actually kinda sad,” You say with a pout, watching Trystane just standing there, looking beyond awkward with his tight-lipped smile. “He’s cute! But, just, y’know, kinda bland — that’s not a crime!”

“It literally is if your older sister is Arianne Martell,” Theon replies, your friends agreeing with him. “You know, they probably going to mention how he dated—“

“You are probably wondering why Trystane is here,” Daario segues. “When only a month ago, he was happily in a relationship with pop icon, Luvie—“

“There it is!” Theon triumphs, looking around gleefully. “What did I just say?!”

“She even wrote her hit song Nonsense about him —“

“Oh, yikes… they’re never beating the PR relationship allegations,” you murmur, not noticing Aemond’s discomfort beside you, too engrossed at the train wreck happening on the show.

“And I know you all heard the blind items. Luvie only dates guys with huge…” Daario smirks slyly.

“COCKS!” Meera, Theon, Robb, and Margaery all cry out just as Daario says coyly, “… Hearts.”

“I like our answer better,” Meera says with a shrug as your friends laugh.

“Damn, I was really hoping he’d say [BLEEP].”

In an instant, the room was dead silent, everyone staring wide-eyed at the television. Aemond glances around, confused. Why are all of you frozen in place after the woman whose 2 second confessional just played. Aemond didn’t recognize her. Although he is not interested in celebrities and social media stars, he just happens to know the most popular ones. Even the up-and-coming ones… he has been to a party where he met Ice Spice just this past summer.

So who — Aemond tries to recall the name that popped up for the brunette woman whose job was listed as college dropout — is this…

“ ARYA?!”

All your friends shout in varying degrees of volume, all in a spectrum of different kinds of surprise.

Sansa and Robb look towards each other.

“Did you know?!”

“No! Did you?!?”

With both of them shaking their heads, they turn to Jon, screeching at his face at the same time, “Did she tell you?!”

Jon is a bumbling mess, “I don’t think so— I mean, she might have mentioned it, but like, you know, in that Arya way of hers. So I don’t know—!”

Suddenly, cellphones around the room start chiming and vibrating. Jon, Sansa, and Robb check their phones, all occupied with replying with text they’ve gotten — it must be the Stark group chat. You got a text too, from the group chat with your parents, your mom asking if you knew Arya was on the Bachelor right now. You reply you are surprised as them before putting your phone down on the coffee table in front of you and then snuggle right up into Aemond again.

“Her hair!” Margaery awes at Arya who is still on the screen, charming Trystane with that cool Arya way of hers, and Meera nods excitedly with Margaery. The last time you saw Arya, her hair was long. Now it’s a cute pixie cut. “She looks so chic!”

“Badass and adorable,” Meera comments.

“College dropout,” Theon snorts laughing, slapping his knee to show how tickled he is. “Classic Arya!”

“I thought I saw her!” you exclaim with a grin, meeting Aemond’s lost look. “That’s Robb and Sansa’s younger sister!”

“Really?” Aemond questions in a way that says he is having a hard time believing it. “She looks a lot more like…”

Everyone stops to watch where his gaze drifts, all laughing when it lands — except the embarrassed one whose Aemond’s eyes are on and the woman pressed by his side.

“That’s because Jon’s our cousin!” Robb provides.

Aemond looks shocked. “But… doesn’t that mean…”

He tries not to gawk at Jon and Sansa, but he can’t help it. All their friends — including you — are so nonchalant about their relationship so it’s surprising. He watches as Sansa blushes furiously and leans over the arm of the chair she is sharing with Jon to slap her brother’s arm, who is still howling with laughter.

Aemond meets Jon’s eyes and the latter looks like he is going to die, causing Aemond to blurt out, “I’m not judging, my family is no stranger to relationships like yours.”

He sounds so blunt that it makes everyone laugh more. When prompted by Meera about what he means, Aemond gives a brief history of the Targaryen bloodline. By the end of it, both Jon and Sansa look a bit more relieved — especially when he tells them about how his uncle creeped on his older half sister when she was barely legal.

“At least neither of you are like him,” Aemond says with a nonchalant shrug.

“So are they together?”

“No, she’s with this guy named Harwin. Complete opposite of my uncle.”

“And your uncle?”

“He’s, well… uh… with my cousin… who is younger than my half-sister.”

The whole room draws out an ‘ Oh… ’, both weirded out and fascinated.

You’ve met Rhaenyra before a few times, and his uncle Daemon maybe once or twice, but you hadn’t known the history between. Maybe that’s why Viserys has such a strained relationship with his brother.

Finally, the drama on the screen becomes interesting again — particularly because Trystane has asked for a bit of a one-on-one time with Arya in the gardens— so everyone’s attention is on that. While your friends argue whether they think Arya is going to get a rose that night or not, you murmur to Aemond, “Give me a thorough Targaryen history before I meet your family, okay? I don’t wanna… accidentally say the wrong thing. Offend someone, you know?”

He notices you said when , not if , and that has his heart feeling light for some reason.

“Yeah,” he murmurs with a small smile. “Of course.”

The two of you share a soft gaze, only to tear your eyes off each other when—

“What the fuck does that mean?! So you don’t think Arya is pretty enough to get a rose?!”

“Dude, that’s not what I meant!”

“Do tell me, Theon, what did you mean?” It’s Sansa now who is pissed, you hadn’t heard what Theon said but it clearly offended the Stark siblings.

“I just — I don’t think she’s going to get the first rose! That’s all!”

“And why don’t you think she’s going to get a first rose?”

“Now you’re just trying to stir shit, Margaery!”

“You stirred it first!”

“Meera! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I’m tired of being on the losing side…”

“DUDE! I DON’T ALWAYS— Okay, fine! But this time, I’m gonna win! My bets on Shae to get the first rose! $10!”

“You’re on, Greyjoy!”

You laugh at your friends' usual antics. And taking a sneaky peek at Aemond, you witness him chuckling too. It makes your heart do a happy little squeeze.

Turns out, Arya does get the first rose of the night. Which means in the next episode, she gets a one-on-one date with Trystane while the other girls have to compete for his attention in a group date.

Theon was teary eyed when he lost $70, giving ten to everyone in the room — even Aemond thought Arya was going to win.

Another argument broke out when Theon sniffed and muttered, “I don’t understand why Shae didn’t get the first rose…”

“So you don’t think Arya deserved it?” Aemond asks with a teasing smirk.

“Aemond, bro… not you too! I just would have picked Shae instead of her, personally!”

“Are you too good for Arya or something?”

“____ NO! THAT’S NOT —“

Aemond feels comfortable now with making his own quips, your friends really made him feel like he is a part of your group. Him and Jon even had a thought provoking conversation together at the kitchen table while grabbing more beer — they found out they enjoy the same podcast. Aemond likes them, your friends. He hopes they like him too because that would mean more time to spend with you.

Aemond does not even realize when it happens, but after that premiere episode and three movies later, everyone save the two of you have fallen asleep. He must have been so preoccupied laughing closely and making little jokes with you that even Theon’s loud snoring did not tear his attention away from you or your clever little commentaries on whatever movie was playing.

Noticing as well, you turn down the volume until it’s almost on mute. You then get up quietly, mouthing to Aemond that you’ll be right back before carefully tiptoeing around where Theon is sprawled on the floor to head to your room.

Aemond starts to clean up while you’re gone, clearing the coffee table of empty cups and bowls of various snacks. He hears you emerge from your room just as he ties up the small garbage bag that he had filled full, and sees you carrying a heavy bundle in your arms of what seems to be blankets.

Heading over to where Jon and Sansa are cuddling together on the velvet green armchair, you shake Jon’s shoulder until he blinks sleepily up at you.

“Go to bed,” you murmur to him, pointing out the awkward position Sansa is laying on him. “Her neck is going to hurt tomorrow if you guys sleep here.”

Groggily, Jon nods slow, heeding your advice and takes himself and Sansa to his room. With the armchair now empty, you drop the blankets in your arms there before taking one to drape over Robb and Margaery.

Next, you go over to Meera at the other armchair, reclining it so it’s more of a bed for her. Then you bend down to peel off Theon’s socks, looking grossed out while doing it — but you get the job done knowing that your friend gets nightmares if he has them on. After, you throw the last two blankets on Meera and the other on Theon.

The whole time, Aemond watches with fondness in his eye. It’s clear to see how much you care about your friends, your sweetness and love for them affecting the beating in his chest.

Perhaps he has always known this about you. Growing up, you’d always find little ways to help brighten up other people’s day. Like helping out Helaena collect bugs in the backyard even though you were terrified of them. Or how you spent a lot of your time listening to Daeron’s storytelling, even though the youngest Targaryen was just rambling gibberish that made no sense most of the time at that age. Not to mention, you shared everything with his siblings. You’d come to his father’s place with things you had made — desserts, beaded bracelets, and anything else you had fancied to be creative with that week. Helaena and Daeron were always so ecstatic when you did, even Aegon sometimes too. Now Aemond wishes he hadn’t turned away all your attempts to befriend him.

He doesn’t even know why he had been so cold to you… Jealousy, maybe? His father treated you like you were his own child when you were just some caretaker’s kid. Meanwhile, Aemond’s time apart from his father due to the divorce had their relationship feeling like they are just strangers. Him and his siblings would stay at his father’s place every summer and holiday break but instead of it feeling like a vacation, he would dread it. Then he would always see you making his father laugh like the clown you were but he can’t even have a proper conversation with him out of resentment. It also didn’t help that his mother would talk down about you and your mother, and her husband — well, boyfriend at the time, Criston — would always imply that your mother was having an affair with his father, so that didn’t help at all at how Aemond saw you and your family.

His previous prejudice about your status, wealth, and home life makes his stomach turn now. Gods, he was such an —-

“Ae?”

Pretty, wide and concerned-filled eyes blinking up at him pull him out of his thoughts. “Are you okay? Was tonight too overwhelming for you?”

He shakes his head, grinning down in an attempt to ease your worry. “I’m alright. I was just spacing out.”

Frowning, you remain unconvinced, so he lifts a hand to caress your cheek, a tender grin on his lips as he tells you, “I had a wonderful night. Your friends are great. I like them a lot.”

A warmth of happiness spreads through you.

“Good,” you say. “But the night is not over yet…”

When he lifts a brow in question, you just answer with a giggle as you take his hand in yours.

The city lights are shining bright when the two of you step foot onto the roof of the apartment complex. It is a bit chilly as well but with your hand in his, Aemond doesn’t feel it all that much.

Aemond looks around, impressed. The rooftop must be a hangout spot for the residents of the building; furnished with seats, a table, and decorated with fairy lights. Cozy and definitely where a group of friends like yours would hang out, as if straight out of a sitcom. He feels like he has been let in on a little secret, that you are allowing him to be a part of your world. Something about that thrills him, but also makes him nervous…

You lead him to a wooden bench, both settling down.

Taking the wool blanket you brought, you laugh with Aemond as he helps you cozily drape it around your backs.

“Thank you,” he murmurs quietly when you hand him one of the little cups of hot chocolate that you poured from the tumbler you prepared before heading up. Sipping the rich and warm drink while enjoying each other's company, Aemond loosely wraps his free arm around your waist to pull you into him. You snuggle up to him closer to overlook traffic on the streets below and the sparse stars above together.

Aemond is not familiar with this part of the city so you point out places that you enjoy — the farmers market that also include stalls for artists, the small family owned grocery where the lovely grandma always gives you fruits for free because she thinks you have a pretty smile, the cafe down the street with the best soy latte you’ve ever had, and the community center with the outdoor pool you like to go to during the summer.

A memory pops up in his head, making him pull a face. It was only for a fraction of a second but you still catch it.

“What was that face?!” You ask with a laugh. “I know it’s a public pool but it’s not gross, I promise!”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not that! I just remembered the time when I… I pushed you into the pool.”

Your head tips to the side, and instead of just apologizing and moving on, Aemond quickly retells, “it was at the start of one summer and we hadn’t tried out the pool yet. Aegon wanted one of us to check if it was too cold, but neither of us wanted to… then he gave me a signal to just… push you in, so I…” he takes a hard swallow, “...So I did — it was freezing and you ended up sick for a week… I never apologized— I don’t know, pride, maybe? Though stupidity is more likely… so I guess I should apologize now…”

“Damn…” you say, brows drawn together and staring up at the stars. “I forgot about that…” then you flash him your fiercest glare, “NOW I’M MAD ALL OVER AGAIN!”

He shrinks up, “I’m sorry, I was dumb and young and—“

You break, laughing to let him know you weren’t serious. “I’m joking, Aemond!”

“Still…”

Placing your chin on his shoulder, you try to give him an adorable toothy grin, but he just pouts, feeling like shit about how he had treated you. To comfort himself somewhat, he nuzzles his nose against your temple, placing a light kiss between your brows before you both turn and watch the cars below, your head laying on his shoulder.

Silence falls between you for a while. After a few peaceful minutes, you decide to break it with a confession of your own, softly murmuring, “You know… I remember wishing so desperately every time that you visit that you’d finally want to be my friend…”

He frowns at that.

“I was an asshole…”

“You were just a kid,” you shrug, “I don’t hold it against you.”

There’s a tired yet tender smile on your pretty lips aimed at him that has Aemond’s heart aching.

“Hey,” you bump your shoulder against his playfully, “At least I finally got my wish now…” your eyes are big and hopeful as you ask, “We’re friends, right?”

With a smile on his face, Aemond answers, “Yes,” he takes your hand as he leans his face close to yours, “But I hope we’re also more…”

Flushing, you nod a bit before closing the space between the two of you. Aemond kisses you slowly, the feeling of his smile against your mouth has you sighing in both relief and adoration. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, deepening in the kiss as his tongue gains permission in your mouth.

It is passionate, a bit dizzying, and when Aemond pulls away, there’s something in the way he looks at you… It has you pin to the spot, unable to think or breathe.

Little did you know, Aemond is having the opposite problem. He has a million thoughts in his head, all of you. He is actually falling for you and he knows it. So why does he have two resounding words in his head when he realizes that?

Oh no…

a.t. 💗 🎵 skylight - gabrielle aplin

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author's note. aemond went home and listened to labyrinth by taylor swift on repeat, yup :)

thank you for reading, let me know what you think!

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #aemond targaryen #hotd

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dreamdaddymorpheus · 2 years

Text

fire on fire | chapter. 04 | morpheus x scarlet witch!reader

pairing: morpheus x scarlet witch!reader (she/her) warning: sm*t, br*eding k*ink, no beta we die like jessamy a/n: you gotta listen to sam smith's fire on fire, i based their entire relationship on that one song lmao aa/n: my sincerest apologies to neil gaiman, please know that i wrote this with alot of love 😭🙏🏽 previous chapters: chapter. 01 | chapter. 02 | chapter. 03

“Fire on fire would normally kill us But this much desire, together, we're winners They say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms 'Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me And look in my eyes You are perfection, my only direction It's fire on fire.” – Fire on Fire, Sam Smith

Your relationship with the King of Dreams and Nightmares has always been a much-disputed subject amongst his siblings with the majority in opposition. If there was one thing, however, to unite them all it was the fact that Morpheus absolutely worshipped you. “Fire on fire, dear Morpheus, will kill you.” He recalled the unsolicited caution from his eldest sibling, voice as soul destroying as ever. Morpheus merely rolled his eyes at the time, petulant and arrogant, but this very moment, as he cradled your face in both hands with his lips in a desperate quest to claim yours, he couldn’t help but agree. You may kill him, indeed. To die between your thighs would be glorious – a life well spent, he thought.

His hands moved to rest on your waist as his lips slithers away from yours to leave a burning trail along your jaw down to the pulse on your neck, barely holding back a shudder from overtaking him at the way you sighed at his attentions. “We are not to be disturbed, Lucienne.” The order came from against your skin, unwilling to move and uncaring to ensure Lucienne gave them the privacy he demanded.

You heard the soft lulling sound of whirling sand before you felt the solid edge of his throne hit the back of your knees. “I thought I would never hold you again.” Morpheus whispered along the column of your throat, a touch of vulnerability overshadowing the deep hunger he felt building in the pit of his stomach. “I feared for humanity – for what I would have done to them.” Though the Endless restrained his whimpers rather well the wetness against your skin gave him away. “This madness you inspire in me would not have been merciful.” You slide your hand over the back of his neck until your fingers were partly obscured by his jet-black hair, tugging slightly at a handful as if to ground him back – back to you.

“For centuries I have denied who and what I am—“ Despair and anger bubbled in your throat in equal measure, “…pushed you away in my fear of the inevitable. Deprived myself of what rightfully belongs to me.” At this your free hand slides over his chest, clawing at the spot where his heart should be. You felt his growl ripple under your hand. “No more.” You murmured, low and airy with lust.

Morpheus truly intended to be gentle at first – but the way your scent, your warmth flooded his senses made it nigh impossible. His lips devoured yours in unrestrained lust, feeding selfishly on the soft, quivering moans that slipped past your lips. Your taste was so decadent and rare that his hunger only grew with each second, fuelling his madness. His fingers gripped the silky materials of your nightdress and with one quick tug had it discarded to the ground without even a single glance.

It thrilled him that you matched his lust, his bites, his growls with your own. Even in his war for dominance over you he couldn’t stop the way his heart swelled with love and delight. It filled him with so much pride that you refused to surrender. You were so beautiful, he thought. Untouched and unsullied for a century. A blank canvas, if you will – and oh how he ached to paint you with his marks again to further solidify his claim over your entire body and soul. There was no hope that this would be a tender lovemaking. He was far too starved for far too long.

The Endless allowed his hands to wander over the newly exposed flesh, growling as he rediscovered how soft and pliable you were. His hands moved up to trace the curves of your waist until they reached the roundness of your breast, his thumbs reaching out to draw teasing little circles over your hardened peaks, drawing out a soft cry from you.

When his ministrations suddenly stopped, he felt as well as heard your disappointment – but the Endless merely gave you a knowing smile before moving his hands to slide down your body, caressing from the dip of your waist to the flare of your hips, down, down, and down he went until he felt the wetness between your legs.

You were so wet. Morpheus could only snarl as the scent of your arousal hit his nose, completely and utterly intoxicating him. He parts your folds, searching for that sensitive little pearl that he knew would drive you to the same madness you rouse in him. He leans down to latch his mouth onto your breast as his fingers prevailed in its quest, circling the little nub until he felt your fingers dig into his shoulders, relishing the thought of your own markings on him. He would make good on his promise this day – fill you until you were full of his flesh and blood.

Morpheus felt his concentration escape him when the tip of his middle finger slipped inside your obscenely wet tightness. The heat of you almost sent him to his knees – no, heat was too mild a word. You were fire, a blazing inferno, and he craved, needed to feel you around him.

“I could scarcely think of little else all these years—” He gasped into your ear. “You feel…” Perfect, exquisite, all consuming, the words were simply far too inadequate to convey the true extent of his sentiment in regard to your sheath like quim. His finger starts its own rhythm, lazily moving in and out of your heat while his thumb amused itself by circling and flicking at your clit. Though he desired to hear your screams he contented himself with the way you seemed to be currently incapable of much else besides chanting his name like a prayer. A whisper at first, then a whine, soon a growl as your hips crashed against his fingers relentlessly as you attempt to chase your release.

He watched in absolute awe as your face twist with pleasure, eyes fluttering close, swollen, bruised lips parting to let a desperate, wordless scream. Glorious.

Granting you no time to recover, Morpheus spun you both around and sat himself on his throne, pulling you to straddle over him. He needed to see it again lest he truly lose himself to his madness. Needed to see you come undone. On his cock.

“Tell me, my love,” He started with a teasing lilt to his voice, reaching down with one hand to free himself from his trousers, “In the imagined world I found you in, did my proxy please you?” He leans forward, pulling you impossibly closer with his other arm until you were chest to chest.

“Never.” You avowed without hesitation. Though you were deep in your delusions you could never betray Morpheus like that – your magic wouldn’t let you even if you tried. He was not just your paramour; he was one half of you. “But I did pleasure myself, if you were wondering.” At this you smirk, writhing on his lap to adjust yourself and then raising your hips slightly to hover above his cock until you felt the width of his hardness slide between your legs. “I only had to think of you, of our mischief, in this very spot in fact, or at the centre of Stonehenge, even the rather quick one against one of Lucienne’s many shelves,” You teased, eyes dancing with mischievous amusement.

“That was not a ‘quick one’.” Morpheus glared at you for that, taking mock offense at your implication. He did not take his time as he normally would in that particular memory, he admits, but he recalled being so desperate and hungry for a taste of you that he had you up and against a shelf, tomes forgotten on the table, and ate you out like a beggar at a feast.

You merely chuckled in response, deliberately ignoring his interruption, and continued with your teasing, “My point is—I do not need a poorly made substitute of you to come undone. Just the thought of you is enough to end me.” You felt him harden even more at that – if that was even possible. He could probably leave a dent in your insides in his current state of arousal.

“Put an end to my misery, Y/N.” He begged hoarsely, and you obliged. You raised your hips, one hand sneaking between your bodies to guide his cock inside you. You watched as the King of Dreams threw his head back in pleasure, lips parted, eyes closed, savouring this feeling, this moment of being one with you once more. Inch by inch, taking your sweet time.

Morpheus could feel you twitch and stretch to accommodate his length, and the feeling of it could have consumed him – killed him, as Destiny so kindly cautioned him. Perhaps not quite the context meant, but he could have died happily like this. He felt you shudder when he was finally fully hilted inside you, your cunt rippling and shaping to his cock.

“You, my love, are the embodiment of sin.” The growl came rough and broken, his nails digging into the flesh on your hips, barely holding onto what sanity he had left to fend off the madness that threatened to take you like an animal. He didn’t have to wait long, it seems, as he could see the same desperation in him distorting your features. You tried to tease him and prolong his suffering, but he knew by the way you increased the beat of your movement that you were chasing your high as much as him. Not yet. Not until you’ve ridden him to his satisfaction, a compensation for your mischief.

Morpheus watched his beloved sob in frustration, riding him furiously and wildly, breasts bouncing with your every movement and beguiling him to suckle on a pebbled flesh, causing you to let out wonderful little whimpers. “P-Please, Morpheus—” You begged. At last, he felt you approaching your pinnacle, felt the familiar way your walls tightened around him. He slid one arm around your waist and grabbed a fistful of your hair with the other as he met your enthusiasm with equal fervour.

“Take it, my Queen.” Whether it was the relentless way he was thrusting into you or the sultry, throaty tone in which he uttered your soon to be title, but you came with a strangled cry, gasping and trembling violently. You heard him hiss into your ear as he too came spilling inside you, hissing through gritted teeth before you felt them clamp down on your shoulder. You sink into him, panting and relishing your high.

You heard that familiar sound of sand again and soon you felt the luxurious sensation of velvet hit your naked back. Above you was your lover, only better – without an inch of clothing on him.

“Again.” He demanded darkly; voice low yet no less commanding. The moment of confusion was soon clarified by the way his cock started to stiffen inside you again, as if that too was at his directive. “You will take my seed as many times as it’ll take.” He flipped you over and lured you onto your knees. “Morpheus—” You moaned, eyes hazy and vulnerable, but before you could say more you felt him pull you to the hilt of his cock. Your chanting of his name resumed, bracing yourself on your forearms and widening your stance. Yes, yes, yes, this—this felt like home. You felt his growl more than you heard it; your senses utterly skewed from his unwavering pounding. “You will be positively divine when you are round with our children.” He was incessant, single-minded in his quest to fill you with as much seed as your body could take.

Morpheus held you firmly in place by the hips as he fucked you with deep, claiming thrust, each movement hitting that throbbing bundle of nerves inside you. He would see you ruined for anyone but him. He jerked your head against his chest by the hair as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “You will make me a father, won’t you, my love?” When nothing came out of you but a strangled moan, Morpheus pulled harder, “Yes?”

“Y-Yes,” He delighted in the clear, wanton desperation lacing your voice, “Let no one doubt I am yours.” Morpheus growled at this, in absolute euphoria at the thought of marking you this way. His pounding slowed, purposeful and deep, grunting each time your flesh slapped against the base of his cock. Once. Then twice. The third one was what ended him, and you, as you both threw your heads back in unison and howled each other’s names.

Dream of the Endless watched his future Queen collapse tiredly on the bed, admiring your body flushed with desire, covered in a sheen of sweat, before gathering you gently in his arms and engulfing you in his warm embrace. He smiled adoringly as you gazed up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and returned the same smile, thoroughly sated.

“I hope it’s a girl.” You said quietly, shyly, then settled back against him with your face pressed against his heaving chest.

Morpheus didn’t think his heart could swell anymore for you, yet as he stared at you for the longest time, he was glad to be proven wrong.

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