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darlingofvalyria · 1 year ago

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❝—Aemond, just shove your fist up my skirt!❞

part 02 | baby, all you gotta do is trust me

chapter summary:

[ Cregan is a menace in bed (sexily), Aemond is a menace on social media (derogatory), Helaena is a menace (lovingly). ]

[ 4,715 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— smutty beginnings, a bit angsty, mostly fluff - nsfw: p & v sex, orgasm denial, degradation kink, mating press - lemme just introduce you to firefighter!cregan stark ahe - toxic alysmond but both of them are at fault, fwb situations, fake dating, slow-ish burn - sad sack aemy is a pathetic meow meow - viserys i has a spank kink, no i will not elaborate further - no use of y/n - no gods, no kings, no betas.

a/n— it's entirely my fault, i know. i made cregan too hot. aemond might be a bit op w/ his relationship with reader, but he & her have a comfortable past...soz. comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

There's this thing that Cregan does with his hips.

It's always that sweet spot when your legs are either over his shoulders or haphazardly splayed against his waist, wide open as he drilled into you like a miner trying to find gold (and he would argue that in fact, your orgasms are gold to him)—

There's that moment when he feels you clenching, when you're so close to the precipice of seeing heaven that the motherfucker of the North slows down, sweat-slicked and breathing hard, he slows down enough at the haze of you reaching orgasm where he just.

Produces waves across his body, keeping a slow, toe-curling momentum with his hips, body-waving his dick in and out of you in a slow but purposeful movement— and he's smirking down atyou're fucked out state growing irritated doing something for him.

And before you're truly out of that orgasmic state, about to curse his entire bloodline of ruined orgasms forever or push him off his own godsdamned bed and break his stupidly good penis, he's bracing himself against the side of your head, laughing— not meanly, just amused, the asshole —and asks, almost like he's just asking you for the weather, "Does the pretty little slut want to cum?"

And he's not really asking, because he's grasped your thighs, shoving you into a mating press, and having you see stars in seconds.

"You think my neighbours called 911?" he muses, fixing his hair while in front of the floor length mirror in his room as you lounge about lazily on his bed, already washed and dressed for your own shift at Meleys, sans your pants. That's still in the living room from where Cregan yanked it.

"Hm?" you ask idly, not really focused on the conversation as you scrolled through IG, rolling your eyes at Aegon's post; Hel's big brother was in Ibiza getting sun-tanned in the morning (as much as his pale as fuck skin could tan) and getting it down at clubs at night, liking it nevertheless.

"Your scream at the end there was so loud, I'm pretty sure you broke Mrs. Beesbury out of her coma." You look up at Cregan's menace of a grin, playful and goofy in his tight shirt and thick work pants for his shift at the fire station. "I might be expecting five jars of honey from Mr. Beesbury as thanks."

You roll your eyes at him, laughing. He always got like this post-orgasm; loose and goofy and prone to making the dumbest jokes. It's cute, and on a good day, it does it for you.

It's not like you don't find Cregan attractive. It's how you got into this FWB situation with him in the first place; the dark hair, the scruff on his face, the firefighter bod— and by the Seven, what. A. Bod — when he and his co-workers stumbled into Meleys two months back, seeing your former high school crush aged up and hot had you on your knees for him in the back alley faster than he can hold you from the roots of your hair and grunt.

On a good day, it's easy to see getting past the easy arrangement of sending emojis to alert you wanna get dicked down and him sending a tongue and a heart, sending memes just for the hell of it at random parts of the day— breaking the easy friendship, the nice arrangement, and see where it gets you two, with Stark. On a good day, you can be submerge in the what-if, cute couple-y scenarios and giggle.

But despite the orgasm that could shatter a septa's vows quicker than you can say 'Oh holy Mother', your good day was tentative, broken with a click.

Aemond had made his first social media post since breaking up (the latest one) with Alys.

A darkened bathroom with explicit, orange-glowed lights that covered most of his person but not the slick show of water, freshly showered, against his torso, his chest, his abs. Droplets clung in places one would imagine licking him all over.

You know that bathroom to be the one in his high class gym, one of his favourite places. Since the toxic cycle with Alys started, he frequented it more. Aemond Targaryen was a man of routines and sharp o'clocks, so you know this isn't particularly off-key for him. But the posing (mostly) completely bare with water on his wiry muscles?

"Oh, this whore." You can't help it, as much as it irritated you— because it is clearly a means to get it across that he is newly single without actually saying anything, you can just imagine his DMs firing up with notifs — you couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity.

Aemond Targaryen. Publicly posting a thirstrap.

As public as his social media can get, it's a private account with less than 200 people.

A call rings in your phone, Helaena's face flashing, and you're still giggling when she half-shrieks, "DID YOU SEE HIS IG STORY OH MY GOD."

Your gaze meets Cregan, his bushy, dark eyebrows firing upward upon being able to hear Hel's voice while you winced. You put her on speaker as Cregan giddily comes closer to the phone.

"Good evening to you too, Helaena," you say warmly, giving Cregan's arm a light kick, mouthing, 'Don't you have work?'

Stark had the audacity to shush you, pressing a finger against his lips. You mouth, 'Gossip.' In a mature response, he stuck his tongue out.

Truly a wonder that not twenty minutes ago, this man had you keening over an orgasm.

Helaena continues on, "— I've had enough of this. I already have one slutty brother, I cannot have another one. There can only be two sluts in this family and no more. And that backlit? Seven hells, the whorishness."

"Hel, babe, you are not a slut." You meet eyes with Cregan who waggles his eyebrows, pursing his lips in an air kiss. "Trust me."

Hel snorts. "I know that, I meant my father. The whore of Babylon got nothing on Viserys first of his name, spank king extraordinaire."

If you could simultaneously choke on air and saliva, you would. "Helaena Targaryen!"

Cregan smacked his entire face down on his bed and ate his covers to muffle his laughter, his body shuddering as he did his best. His ass did look good in this view.

"What? Stranger may have mercy on me, but I tell you, before he died and before their marriage imploded, and at times traumatically problematic, they sure did get it freaky when they could. They gave it a good run and traumatised me in the process. I shouldn't have insisted my room was that close to them, maybe I would have ended up being an upstanding citizen of the community."

Cregan flips up, giggles spilling him as he muffled it with his hands. You kicked him again, trying to keep him away from your phone lest Hel figure out where you were again.

"Helaena, my love, compared to your brothers, you are such an upstanding person of the citizenry, the mayor should be giving you an award at this point."

"Right? Maiden have mercy, how busy do you think your shift is going to be tonight?"

You bit your lip guiltily while Cregan smirked, standing up as he finished lacing his boots. Hel thought you had gone straight to work, making up excuses about trying out a new recipe for next month. "Um. Not sure? Probably not by much, it's a weekday."

You don't lie, not really. Cregan mouths 'liar' and throw a pillow at him.

"Good, I'll send Aemond to you tonight. I already told him yesterday and he kind of just made a noncommittal hum— praise hands for another traumatised child of Alicent Hightower who has his own brand of communications issues —" You can just see Helaena's hard eye roll, and you massaged your lips to keep your laughter. The first time you met Hel, you never would have thought she slapped-back self-deprecating jokes out of her pockets faster than you can think a response to the last one. She was sweet, kind, a floral, bohemian girl with her pastel lavender pants and daisy flower clips.

And then you met her, vibed, and there was a dark funny humour to Helaena Targaryen that you always fought just bursting out laughter at the most inopportune of moments.

As sweet and floaty as she appeared, she was a menace.

"— anyway, Mr. Social Whore is going there later tonight, I made him promise. I said if you don't tell me he didn't come, I'm posting every photo I have of him from his naked baby pics to pre-pubescent Teen Teeny-Weeny Aemond, I do not care."

You whistle. "Damn, Hel, okay, I'll tell you when he comes."

"Good. OPLAN Get Aemond Out of This Bad Track Before He Fully Becomes Aegon 2.0 has now commenced. I love my brothers, I truly do, but I can only handle one Aegon at a time. I cannot be scrolling through social media in fear for my life times two, bestie, I refuse." Hel's voice pitches. "I'll talk to you later, bye, babe."

"Bye, Hel!"

Before you could put the phone down, she calls out, teasing, "BYE CREGAN!"

Silence. Then Cregan laughs, calling out, "Bye, Hel!"

The last thing either of you heard is her tinkling giggle before she drops the call.

"Fuck," you mutter, call finished.

Cregan wolf-whistles. "She's good."

You throw another pillow. "It's because you kept giggling like a schoolgirl!"

"Excuse me, that was a manly schoolgirl giggle, I'll have you know." He picks up his keys, winking. "Come on, I'll drop you off at the bar before I pole dance the night away to my job."

You cracked, snorting through the mental image of Cregan Stark, Lead Firefighter of the Ice Wolves Division, shaking his ass on the pole. You pad to the living room. "I'll give you a dollar for your troubles."

"Cheap ass!" he shouts after you.

Aemond arrives two hours into your shift, a little awkward— no doubt remembering your silent judgment of him the morning of his post-break up affair as that has also been the last interaction you've had with him before this, almost a week ago, and now here, meeting you at the insistence (and plotting) of his sister.

Your eyes meet ice water blue. He freezes, then straightens up, giving you a shrewd tilt forward. A nod. It's jerky, mechanical. You roll your eyes, mouth twitching, before you motion him over.

You are already making his favoured drink starter, Sazerac, when he slides into an empty seat on the bar. Your back is to him, refusing anymore interaction, and you know the usual comfort he finds in the eased silence you provide is nonexistent.

Out of all of Helaena's brothers, you've always liked Aemond the most. You teased him it was because the others are Aegon, duh, and Daeron, still in high school and never really around you "old people", but it's also because it's so easy to be around Aemond. When Helaena introduced you to the tall, lithe man who hummed politely at his sister's introduction of you, you found him intriguing.

It's not just the scarred eye, or the pretty, almost marble-statue visage (because by gods, seriously. The Mother took her sweet, loving time crafting the fourth Targaryen, bloody hell— like those cheekbones? With that cupid's bow lip? Okay, Mother, you have your favourites, we get it), or that he tended to keep himself in the background, let everyone else stretch into the conversation.

He often dipped in and out of the social pool like a mirage; a trick of the eye. A nod, a hum— almost, always an answer to someone else's direct question or someone— usually Aegon — dragging him into the conversation with an anecdote needing an input, not matter how inane.

And it intrigued you.

You took yourself and your drink of choice at the time— a Shirley Temple — and sat right beside him. He looked up at you, that one eye of violet widening slightly because you had just. Plopped beside him, thighs touching, before he smoothens out his expression, shifting at your direct eye contact and small smile.

"Can I... help you?" he finally asks, thoroughly waylaid but trying not to appear so.

"The scar." You nodded to his face as he froze. "Tell me about it."

His face had been so controlled, so guarded, when he tersely said, "My sister didn't tell you?"

"Nope. It's not something for her to tell me, isn't it? It's a personal thing. Most scars are." You shrugged. "Even if they aren't, I'd prefer if you tell me. It's your body. Your body your story."

He stared at you for a quarter of a minute before he asked, "Are you drunk?"

"No, why?"

"You're too... forward."

You smirked. "I've been told. So are you telling me or nah, pretty boy?"

And he stared at you for a minute longer, or two, or three— the stare flickers to emotions so fast; shock, confusion, flatter, his own intrigue — before he told you about a stupid fight between children, about a stupid reason par another, and though his words had been concise, obviously keeping a hell of a lot more between vowels and tightened jaw, you don't press him. You let him talk.

At the end, you said, "Badass. Definitely less of a lame reason than what I was imagining, but 9/10 story. Your voice really sold most of it. It's good for telling stories."

In his brain, you could just see the click when his eyes flicked to his sister and back to you. Ah, so that's how they're friends. And he hums, truly, more than anything, stumped by you. And you smiled.

"You're definitely going to be my favourite Targaryen Brother."

It's no wonder then, that you two had gotten close. You had forced a friendship out of him, and the very unattached guy to literally anything new— suspicious of offerings, angry at pity, wary of kindness — had taken into it with a white flag.

So when the whole Alys situation happened, things shifted.

"Sazerac," you announce finally, placing the drink in front of him. He thanks you with a quiet hum, having stopped fidgeting now that you've acknowledged his existence. You raise your eyebrow as his sips turns to gulp, crossing your arms.

Just because you had promised Hel you were going to help him, doesn't mean you were going to make it easy for him. He knows you're pissed; despite the calm structure he had composed himself in, you can see the twitch in his fingers, the way his eye turned away from you the moment you refused to project your normal, warm aura with him.

He settles his drink down, watching the rim of the glass for a minute before he speaks, low and steady. "You're angry with me."

You snort softly. "Wonder why you think so?"

He sighs. "I didn't mean to. To let it get this... messy." He winces at the word, hating it.

You sigh. "Aemy." He comes alive at the familiar nickname, sitting straighter, a relief on the edge of a cliff. "Honestly, I don't give a shit. You want to be trapped in this mess? You don't want to listen to other people tellign you, 'hey dude, maybe no?'"

He winces, remembering the third time he and Alys had broken up. The police car, Aegon vomitting, Hel crying. It makes you roll your eyes.

"Sure, have at it. Have fun, in fact. There's only so much sympathy I can give you for seeking out the problem that you know is a problem before I get tired. Before I stop giving a shit, because there's someone else I love that is starting to get hurt by it. I can only love you enough as much as you are willing to help yourself." Your eyes then narrow, half-glaring into him. "But what I'm truly getting angry about is how much this is affecting Helaena."

"I understand." He sighs again, calling your name but you raise a hand.

"Hold on, I have a bone to pick with you."

"Okay."

You look at him. A second. He waits. And waits.

He speaks up. "Yes?"

You sigh. It's hard to stay mad at him, you've always found so. "I don't know. I had paragraphs to say to you in front of a mirror, but now that it's you I'm looking at, everything just went away." Under your breath, you mutter, "stupid pathetic meow, meow face."

His mouth twitch. Ah. The familiar Targaryen smugness. Pinch Cocky Aemond is back. "Did my face distract you too much, ñuha riña my lady?"

You roll your eyes, unable to hide your own smile. If you called him Aemy, he called you the High Valyrian, his ancestral tongue, my lady. To tease, to establish comfort. You've always liked this better, being closer to Aemond than despising him for his stupid choices and big feelings he has a hard time unraveling, so he makes said stupid choices.

It's ease, it's familiarity, and you both fall into a high step.

"Okay, nerd, so what did Hel—" A customer calls you. "—One sec. Sorry about that, what can I get you? Ooh, nice choice, alright give me a minute." As you pulled a measuring cup and gin, you nod back to Aemond. "What did Hel tell you we're doing exactly?"

"That you're helping me... with Alys." A hesitance. "I know you don't like her—"

"— whoa, hold up, Aemy, I like her. I like her very much. I think she's a bad bitch, absolutely sexy, and clearly, she has good tastes which I respect her for." He had the good graces to blush, still sort of unused by the compliments you so freely give him. "What I don't like is how your relationship with her— here, hey, you're welcome! — has evolved. You were so good with each other, Aemy. And then..."

You mimic a sound of a crash and burn, and a tiny person screaming. He huffs out a laugh before sobering.

"I know." He sighs. "I don't... I don't understand it myself. There's a part of me that recognises I should walk away. And then there's another part that is just... it's Alys."

His palms, open and upturned, falls on the counter. Pensive. Begging. A confused, wanting penitent looking up at a god asking for direction. "I've loved her for so long." His voice quiets, like the words are sacred.

"I've loved her for so long," he repeats as if the words have worn itself out on his tongue, "it's hard to see past her. Ñuha riña, she has always been my future. It's all her. I don't know anything else outside of her."

You pour an Arbor Gold in a stemmed glass and pushes it to him. It's his favourite drink and he smiles at you, at the care, at the memories.

"I understand that," you say carefully. "And I already promised Hel I'd do it, whatever you need of me, to make her see you. But you should know that I'm doing this more for her than for you because... Aems, I believe you deserve so much more. A love that's exciting without it being harmful. A love that's pretty, as easy as breathing. One that doesn't hurt at the edges and pinches like a barbed wire."

"Is that possible for me?" he asks ironically, trying for a joke but you catch that lilt at the end. At that exhale. So much of his history had been broached by pain, borne from it. There are injuries that run so deep, they continue to bleed.

"Honestly?"

He places the wineglass down. "Yes."

You smile. "Yes."

You don't know if he believes you, or if he just indulges in your starry-eyed view of his future, but he smiles nevertheless, as best as he can and murmurs a gratitude.

It's pacifying, insecurity. You let it go for now because there's nothing you can say to a person truly down to trust your words.

"You're going to do this, then?" he asks. "For Alys and I?"

You shake your head. "I'm doing this for Hel and no chores for a month." And you, to show you that there's more past a future that you and I both know doesn't exist anymore. That if you prolong it, ignore how deep the barbed wire has gotten into your skin, it'll be too hard to untangle it when you realised you've bled out enough.

So will you just wear the pain proudly after that?

You shake another order in place, pulling ice and mint. You raise an eyebrow. "I've always known I was going to help. Are you willing to do this? Honestly Aemy, this can go two ways. One, she'll realise losing you is the worst thing that can ever happen— truly losing you to someone else, or two, she thinks you're truly moving on from her. And that's assuming she even thinks it's real, like I mean come on, it's me and you."

He arches a perfect silver eyebrow. You had already asked him if he gets his eyebrows done, and apart from Helaena messing with him back in high school, has been all natural. You think he's lying.

"And what is me and you?"

"Aemy, come on. I'm your sister's best friend. We're like... I dunno, family? She's always known that."

"Doesn't mean she's never felt jealous of you," he hums, swirling his wine with pinch fingers. It's elegant. Entrancing. The red liquid swirls and there are knots and strain in his hand, going through his arm.

And despite the bags under his eye, he still looks so good. Silvery blond hair wrapped in a low half updo, the shirt that hid nothing of his muscled chest.

His words sink in, breaking you from the hypnotizing reverie of looking at a marbled statue. "What? She felt jealous of me?"

He smiles gently, a little bit cockily. "Ñuha riña. Of course she did. Just because she understood your place in my life, in Hel's, doesn't erase the fact that you're gorgeous and we get along well. She liked you, truly, but she isn't blind. It's nothing that you've done, even she knew that. You're just too perfect."

You blink at him, unable to stop yourself from blushing. He chuckles meanly.

"Shut up."

He exhales a laugh. "I didn't say anything!"

"You know what you did." You give him the stink eye before you serve two more customers, thanking at a pretty hefty tip from one of your regulars, bidding him goodnight as he left. It is a slow night, you didn't lie to Helaena.

You almost don't catch Aemond murmuring, "I've missed this. I've missed you. I never like it when you're pissed at me."

"Good," you joke. "So you can watch yourself better. But yeah, I've missed you too. So how are we doing this?"

"I thought you had an idea, having agreed to Hel's plan before I even knew there was a plan."

You roll your eyes. "Well, I've had a few ideas here and there... it's more your comfort I'm worried about."

He frowns, pouty lips pursing. "My comfort?"

You place your palms behind the bar and hitch yourself up by your physical strength. He leans forward, confused still. You smirk. "Well, Aemy, I'm wearing a skirt."

"I... I don't know what that means, ñuha riña." He blinks his one good eye. "Nice skirt? You look pretty."

You force a pout instead of getting flustered by the compliment out of the blue. "I forgot you weren't all that popular in high school."

"No need for insults," he deadpans.

You laugh. "We're going to make Alys jealous, right? It'll be too much to hard launch my new status of existence in your life when you just broke up... but... if we can allude, at least..."

"I-" His frown deepens, the skin on his other eye, the scar, pinches as you see his mind whirr and whirr where your mind was reaching. "I'm still confused."

"Gods, alright, I'll just show you."

"Dude, bro, just put your hand under my skirt—"

"Ñuha riña—"

"Yeah, you know what, godsfuckingdamnit, if I alienate you that bad just shove your fist up my skirt, yes, Aemond, just shove your fist up my skirt!"

He calls your name, tips of his ears beet red, as a few patrons turn to you two, bewildered and a little amused. You wave at them but you sigh noisily at him. You're sat beside him on the counter, your phone on one hand with the camera app open, and you're glaring at him.

"Are you seriously telling me you've never placed your hand on Alys' thigh?"

"Of course I have!" He lets out a strangled sigh and groan.

"What's the difference?"

"I've never done it so publicly," he explains as calmly as possible, as if he's talking to a child. "And with the idea of posting it for everyone else to ogle. I've always just done it... under a table. Or. On her knee..."

"You're blushing so hard, you look like a tomato?" You snort. "I'm your fake Alys now, and we're soft launching an intimate relationship. This is basic."

"You're not my fake Alys. You're not my fake anytihng and you're not Alys." he says seriously, frown sharpening into a point before he exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can't it just be my hand over yours?"

You frown, forgoing the uncomfortable twinge from not my anything and not Alys. "Is this uncomfortable for you? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"It's not that, never that." He purses his lip. "It's the opposite. I don't want to make you uncomfortable with my touch."

"Aemy," you say softly, smiling slightly. "I am giving you permission. Wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. And you touching me has never made me uncomfortable. Now, come on. Hand on my thigh, pretty boy, so I can take this pic and get the ball rolling."

There's a second more of restraint, of holding back, and before you sigh and suggest something else— maybe he is truly uncomfortable with you, with you not being anything to him, and not being Alys, but is too polite to say anything — he places his palm, warm and heavy, against your exposed thigh.

It's a... new sensation. You've held hands with Aemond before, smacked it a few times even, but it's different when it's on a more... well, when it's not on a non intimate area of your body. New skin, new nerve endings to his familiar warmth and crease.

It makes you swallow how big his hand is compared to your whole ass thigh. Thumb to pinky and he nearly swallows the gaps.

He really has pretty hands. Knotted veins twisting upward to muscled arms.

Both of you nestle in the quiet, just staring at his hand over your thigh.

"Okay," he says, voice even. He's taller than you, always taller even when you're both sat down, and he's closer to the top of your head at this distance, his breath flutters against your hair. "What now?"

"I... take the picture." You blink, shaking your head slightly, as you take his drink and add your hand within the frame so it looks like you mean to take a photo of your drink and not the glaringly obvious hand on your thigh, before you you angle it. You take one, two, three. A few different angles before you feel you've got a few nice ones. "Okay, done."

It feels cold when he takes his hand away, giving your thigh a soft tap before it's back on the counter. He hums.

You get back on the work, choosing one and posting it promptly on your stories. You place Meleys' location and a kiss mark emoji before you post it.

"It does look intimate," Aemond hums, observing the story from his own phone. "But why did you post it on your account and not mine?"

"She's your ex, Aemy," you say, hopping off the chair and moving back behind the counter. The world re-orbits. Everyone back in their positions, the lines clear. The planets move in their normal trajectory again.

"She'll know it's your hand. And if we post it on mine, it has more of an impact, don't you think? We're friends on IG. She sees it on my stories, a man's hand on her thigh, in a background that's no doubt a bar. The hand is sorta familiar. And you posted that slutty mirror pic earlier tonight."

He blushes, you smirk. Planets and moons orbit back, their pace slow, their lightyears fast. Best friend's sister. Sister's best friend.

"If she doesn't recognise your hand at first, your story will prompt it on her brain. It's not a hard connection, you've been together for years. It's a girl thing. An exes thing. Bingo bango, the brain is running. Surely it isn't Aemond's hand? Even if it is... is it truly romantic?"

He exhales. "You're... kind of an evil genius."

"Just kind of? Damn." And you smile because he laughs, the sound spreading warmth across your chest.

Yeah, this is better. It always feels good when you and Aemond are on the same team, when you're not mad at him and vice versa, no matter how stupid the reason.

Saturn rings snap, black holes sink and swim in galaxies so far, far away.

You put your phone on DND as soon as the first five notifs pop up, prompting a barrage of other notifications. When you took a glance at it, it's all a varying degree of 'WHAT THE FUCK', 'WHO THE FUCK', and 'GO GET THAT DICK, GIRL OMG!!'

Only Helaena's message matters, and it brings a smile on your lips.

'Noice'.

Another ping.

'Also— what a bunch of harlots'.

You show it to Aemond and both of you burst in stupid laughter.

TAGLIST (message to be added! please ensure you are able to be tagged to get notifs): @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @spinachtz @at-a-rax-ia @bespinnn @tsujifreya @moonlightfoxx @kemillyfreitas @joyouart @bananzaa @honey-on-mars @alexa4040 @cinnamonbambii @wintrr13 @wxb-slingrr

#aemond angst #cregan stark x reader #best friend's brother!aemond #aemond fluff #cregan smut #hotd fluff #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x you #hotd smut #cregan stark x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#aemond fanfiction #aemond crack #aemond targaryen x reader #tshbft ༊*·˚ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ

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sapphire-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 7 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Aemond realizes he messed things up with you and attempts to reconcile at the summer carnival.

word count: 5.5k

rating: Mature/Explicit/18+

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, exhibitionism, oral (fem-receiving), fingering, kissing

note: im starting to become obsessed with them ngl 🧍🏻‍♀️

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected ❤️

AEMOND POV

Aemond knew he had fucked up.

Royally, fucked up.

Something he finds himself doing quite often. It had been several days since the hot tub incident. Several days since he’d last spoken to her. Aemond glances at his phone again, watching the time change as Helaena hurries down the stairs.

“Morning,” she calls, tossing her phone onto the couch and stretching her arms above her head with a satisfied sigh.

“It’s noon,” Aemond tells her.

“Where’s Y/N?” Helaena asks, sliding onto the couch next to him.

She lets her feet hang off the edge of the armrest, her neck straining over the cushion as though she’s about to topple off of the sofa altogether. It looks quite uncomfortable, and wildly different from Aemond’s rigid posture as he frowns over his phone.

“How should I know?”

“You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?” Helaena muses, playing with a strand of her hair, “You usually have your companions over more frequently, if I recall.”

Trying to, Aemond thinks to himself, his jaw clenched. If she’d return my calls.

“She’s upset with me,” Aemond admits, tossing his phone to the side. It’s always been hard to keep the truth from Helaena.

Helaena makes a noise of contempt.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll fix it. You’re clever that way,” Hel encourages, “Perhaps a grand gesture of sorts? Something Austen-esque.”

A phone buzzes on the sofa. Aemond checks his anyway, though he knows it’s Hel’s as she reaches for it.

“It’s whatever,” Aemond lies through his teeth, “Plenty of girls around for the summer.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Helaena says, twisting her body so she’s upright on the couch, “Can you calm down the fuckboy-sona for five fucking minutes?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aemond says, shrugging.

Helaena rolls her eyes.

“Okay Egg,” she says with a sneer, “Manwhoring doesn’t look good on you Aem. It’s not in your nature. Doesn’t suit you at all.”

“Suits my cock just fine,” he says, causing Helaena to make a face of disgust.

“Gross,” she says, nose still scrunched, “It’s not you.”

Aemond doesn’t answer. Just glances at his phone again. The time greets him, but no other notifications. He opens Instagram, trying to avoid Helaena’s piercing gaze. As the app opens, he notices your profile picture, signifying you’ve posted a story. He shamelessly clicks on it, revealing you were at Seasnake Scoops seven minutes ago.

Perfect.

“Are you in the mood for ice cream?” Aemond asks, changing the subject and rising from the couch.

Helaena’s frown deepens.

“Aemond-”

“Hel, unless you’re saying yes or no to ice cream, just drop it,” he snaps, moving quickly to leave the room.

“Oh fuck you,” Helaena says, rising from the couch and following him, “You’re just scared Aemond! Fucking scared.”

He hears every word, though he pretends he doesn’t as the front door slams shut behind him, leaving Helaena alone in the house.

The last time Aemond Targaryen was in Seasnake Scoops it was not a pleasant experience. He’d been around thirteen years old at the time, and Aegon had assured him that Cece Lannister was waiting, expecting a date with him.

Aemond remembered how nervous he felt. Though Cece wasn’t his cup of tea, she was beautiful, smart, and held the social status and respect that Aemond craved. A date with Cece was sure to turn the tide for him.

He’d waited all afternoon for her. Seated at a table, knee bouncing uncontrollably with nerves. As people wandered in and out, the lady lion never made an appearance. It was Rhaenyra who found him as the sun began to set, seated on the curb outside the ice cream shop.

It had all been a joke, he’d realized once he entered the house. Aegon was in stitches until his mother smacked him upside the head and yelled at him. Aemond had stayed solemn, walking straight to his room without speaking.

They are always going to laugh at you, he thought to himself.

Standing outside the ice cream shop left a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Seasnake Scoops was unopposing in itself; it was the memories that haunted it. A small ice cream shop with some tables outside, with blue and white umbrellas offering some shade. There was indoor seating as well with air conditioning.

Aemond stared at the people in line to order, scanning the small crowd for you. The nervous feeling returned being surrounded by all these people, remembering Cece.

Until he saw her.

She had turned her head, reaching for some napkins as the cashier handed her a soft serve twist in a cone covered in rainbow sprinkles. She smiles politely, thanking them before licking a stripe up the side of the frozen treat. There’s something so sweet about the way her eyes light up, Aemond finds himself smiling as she licks her lips.

She turns to leave the line and his eye meets hers. It’s as though someone switches off the light behind her eyes completely.

Cold is the only way to describe the look she awards him, as her mouth falls into a straight line. Aemond only holds her gaze for a moment before she looks towards the ground and begins to quicken her pace. But Aemond is faster.

“Y/N,” he calls, blocking her path back up the stairs inside.

She sighs, avoiding his gaze, assessing whether or not she can squeeze around him.

“Move,” she tells him.

“You’re not answering my texts,” he says, confusion evident in his voice, “Or my calls.”

“Yeah,” she says, “Maybe you should take the hint.”

“I haven’t heard from you all week.”

“I’m trying to eat my ice cream Aemond,” she tells him, “What are you stalking me now?”

“Viewing an Instagram story is hardly a punishable offense,” he tells her.

“Just a reminder to block you later,” she tells him.

Aemond’s heart sinks at her words. There’s no playful banter in her tone, no note of excitement. She’s deadly serious.

“Goodbye,” she tells him, moving past him.

You’re losing her, he realizes. Do something.

“I didn’t mean it,” Aemond says suddenly, “Y/N, I didn’t mean what I-”

“You know what, Aemond?” she says, her gaze icy, “I don’t care what you meant or didn’t mean. I care about what you said.”

Aemond’s chest tightens at her words. She’s standing tall, the ice cream beginning to drip down the cone between her small fingers. She ignores it if she even notices, but Aemond’s eye follows the sticky river beginning to form. He gets a sudden urge to lick the mess from her hand and pull her towards him covering her in sticky kisses.

Seven hells. Stop it.

Aemond blinks as she turns away, before giving him one last lingering look.

“Will is waiting for me,” she tells him, and the ache in his chest grows.

“Will?” he asks, the one-syllable tasting like poison on his tongue.

“Yes, Will,” she says, annoyance in her tone, “People who like each other go on dates. They date each other. I know that must be a foreign concept to you.”

Aemond says nothing, just clenches his teeth so tightly together his jaw begins to ache.

“Maybe give Floris a ring or one of your other friends. I’m sure there’s someone convenient for you,” she says, turning and walking away.

Aemond lets her go, watching as she goes inside Seasnake Scoops, the door slamming shut behind her. The second time in his life he’s been left alone there.

READER POV

“You can’t do this!” Baela’s voice calls from the hallway, “You can’t make me!”

You quickly leap out of bed at the sound of your best friend’s distress, opening the door and flying down the stairs. After your run-in with Aemond, you’d returned to your room to sulk for the majority of the afternoon.

Baela stands below, arms crossed, tear tracks running down her cheeks. Rhaenys stands in front of her, hands folded, a stern expression on her face.

“Baela, it is one dinner-”

“It’s always one dinner,” Baela says, through her teeth, “One dinner, then another, then ‘we have to all go together Baela, as a family’,” she deepens her voice to the likeness of her father, “Like I want to go to that stupid gala and pretend everything is fucking fine!”

Rhaenys moved forward, taking Baela’s hands in her own.

“You’re angry,” she says to her softly, “You have every right to be. But don’t shut him out, dōna jorrāelagon (sweet love). Not when he’s finally trying.”

“For her,” Baela says, quietly, “He’s trying for her.”

“Rhaenyra is trying as well,” Rhaenys assures her, “You are not replacing your mother by letting her in.”

Baela yanks her hands away, angry tears spilling from her eyes. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

“I can’t forgive him,” Baela insists, “I can’t do it. I can’t forgive her either.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Rhaenys says, “I’m asking you to try.”

“This is me trying,” Baela snarls, “Staying away, letting them play happy family! That is me trying!”

Rhaenys purses her lips.

“Laena would-”

“Don’t,” Baela warns, shaking her head, “Don’t you dare.”

Her voice has dropped to a whisper. Rhaenys sighs, looking toward the floor. The tension between grandmother and granddaughter could be cut with a knife. Rhaenys looks back at Baela, drinking in her angered expression.

“You’re so much like her,” Rhaenys muses softly, before reaching out and stroking her cheek, “Full of so much fire.”

“I’m not going,” Baela insists.

“You are,” Rhaenys says, “I’ll hear no more of it. You can go to the carnival after.”

“Y/N will be all alone!” Baela says, pointing at you.

Rhaenys gives you an unimpressed look, but you nod quickly. Anything to help your best friend.

Though Rhaenys doesn’t look like she buys it for one second.

“I’m sure Y/N will be fine for a couple of hours,” Rhaenys says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“She’s going to get lost,” Baela says, and you agree.

Rhaenys gives you a stern glance, one only a grandmother can deliver. Baela loops her arm through yours, holding her chin high. You crack first under Rhaenys glare.

“I’m sure I’ll be okay for a little bit,” you say quietly.

Rhaenys smiles at her success as Baela drops your arm with a groan. You give her an apologetic smile, knowing you’ve doomed her to another dinner with her father and stepmother.

You arrive at the carnival just as the sun goes down. It’s already crowded with people, the lights from all the rides making everyone glow with neon colors. The smell of fried food and the sound of laughter fills the air as you wade through the sea of people. You decided on a simple baby blue sundress, styling your hair off of your shoulders. It’s been so hot recently, you can’t stand the feeling of having your hair down.

You glance at your phone, though Helaena has yet to respond. You promised you’d meet her at the main ticket stand.

The minutes tick by and you’re still standing with a rope of red tickets when your phone buzzes letting you know that Helaena had fallen asleep after losing track of time. You sigh, checking your other messages. There’s one from Will asking to meet up later paired with an emoji of a Ferris wheel.

You want to smile, but your stomach turns instead. You can’t help but think of Aemond. Will is nice, very sweet, but it was evident after your ice cream date that you don’t have much in common. And there’s no spark.

When you told Baela, she’d raised an eyebrow at you.

“Spark?” she questioned.

“You know,” you tell her, talking with your hands as you tried to explain, “That feeling just, deep in your gut. Like being pulled to another person. Something that just feels…..right.”

That wasn’t there with Will. And you couldn’t fake a spark.

You sigh, tilting your head back and looking around, trying to determine what you should get to snack on while waiting for Helaena. A booth advertising fried Oreos piques your interest before a tall silver head catches your eye.

Something in your gut tightens with an intense need as you watch Aemond say something to Aegon. He’s wearing all black, as he often is. It’s as though Aemond is allergic to color. He hasn’t seen you yet, and you don’t know whether you hope he does or doesn’t.

You need to be firm, to hold the boundary you set with him. He doesn’t get to disrespect you like that. No matter how attracted to him you are. You may like Aemond- you may like fucking Aemond- but you love yourself more.

His head turns and you look away before meeting those violet and blue eyes. You don’t know how strong your resolve will be if he looks at you again.

“Having fun?” a voice calls, causing you to turn and meet the sapphire eyes of Floris Baratheon.

She looks gorgeous, though you can’t imagine a time when she doesn’t; clad in a skin-tight green dress with her dark curls pulled into a high ponytail. You force a smile as she walks closer, a concerned look in her cobalt eyes. Classic mean girl, Helaena had called her. She certainly looks the part but then again, all beautiful people do.

“Not really,” you admit, feeling your chest tighten.

“Me either,” she agrees, smiling softly, “Ellyn ditched me to hook up with Eddie Karstark behind the tilt-a-whirl. Can you believe?”

“That sucks,” you tell her. You hadn’t met Ellyn, but you’d seen her around the country club.

She gives you another small smile, following your gaze and landing on Aemond. Her smile drops as her lips form a tight line.

“Is he giving you the run around too?” she asks, looking back at you.

You can feel your cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“Something like that,” you admit, letting your eyes fall to your feet.

“I’m sorry,” Floris says, “Seriously. It fucking sucks.”

“It’s my own fault,” you tell her, “I made things messy.”

“Aemond makes things messy,” Floris insists, “I don’t think he can help it. He’s emotionally stunted.”

“I think you’re right,” you agree.

Floris grabs your hand.

“C’mon,” she says, tugging you along.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Funnel cake,” she says, leading you through different booths, “We need funnel cake and then we need to shoot something. Or throw darts. Or both.”

You giggle and nod in agreement, letting her pull you along.

After eating all the funnel cake your body can handle and playing several rounds of balloon darts (something Floris is scarily good at) you make your way toward the Ferris wheel. It’s huge, the largest attraction at the carnival, with roomy compartments holding small groups of people.

Floris stops in front of it, glancing at you nervously. The change in demeanor makes your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“What is it?” you ask.

Floris’s cheeks turn a bright pink as she sighs, wetting her lips.

“Have you….heard any rumors about Aemond and me?” she asks, “or Aemond and my sisters?”

No of course not, you think to yourself. Cause that would be crazy, an incestuous orgy of beautiful girls and the ethereal man who fucks like a god? No fucking way.

You’d tried very hard not to think about that.

“No,” you tell her, shaking your head, “What rumor?”

Floris seems unconvinced by your white lie.

“People are gross,” she says, cheeks still darkened with blush, “Look nothing happened. It’s just-” she sighs, “The Ferris wheel is a very romantic spot.”

“Okay,” you tell her.

She nervously chews her lower lip, batting her lashes up at the Ferris wheel.

“So Aemond invited me to ride with him last summer,” she says, shaking her head, “And he kissed me because guys do that when they take you on the Ferris wheel.”

A kiss. An innocent, sweet little kiss. That’s all it was. Your heart hammers in your chest thinking of Aemond asking Floris, the romantic gesture of it all.

“That’s really sweet,” you tell her, smiling.

“It was,” she agrees, “Until I found out he did the same thing with Cassandra, Ellyn, and Maris.”

Oh. Well, there it is.

“Well, I mean Maris didn’t end up kissing him,” Floris corrects herself, “But Cass and El did. And do you know what Aemond told me when I confronted him about it?”

You shake your head.

“He said I was the best kisser. And if I wanted to be friends with benefits for the summer, that would be cool,” she says, crossing her arms, “I was so naive. So fucking flattered that of course, I agreed. I mean, who says no when Aemond Targaryen says he wants to fuck you?”

She bites the tip of her tongue, as though reminiscing just what fucking Aemond entails before shaking her head.

“Aemond Targaryen holds his own private kissing contest, and now I’m stuck with the rumor I had an orgy with my sisters,” she groans, “Fucking perfect.”

Damn. You can’t help but feel bad for Floris. That’s a skeevy thing Aemond did. She’s looking up at the Ferris Wheel as though she wants to melt it with lasers shooting from her eyes. You’ve begun to like Floris over the course of this evening. She could’ve been rude to you, mean even. You were fucking her ex-situationship after all.

But instead, she’d seen you upset and spent the rest of the evening with you. It’s your turn to return the favor.

“Ferris wheel orgy,” you say, matter-of-factly, “If anyone believes that, they’re fucked in the head. Totally not enough room in those carriages for all that” You wave your arm around for emphasis.

Floris bursts out into a laugh, reaching to cover her mouth with her hand. You can’t help but laugh along with her. Floris Baratheon is a-okay in your book.

“It’s fucking ridiculous,” she says snickering, “Guys will believe anything.”

“They’ve got holes in their brains,” you assure her.

Floris continues to laugh, shaking her head and wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. It feels good to laugh with her and forget about the drama surrounding you for a moment.

“For sure,” she agrees, “Ugh. Do you want to go on? I promise no kissing, and no orgies.”

You laugh again at her joke.

“Sure,” you tell her with a smile.

You walk up to the operator of the Ferris wheel and hand him your last two tickets. Everyone has exited the Ferris wheel, so you get in the first compartment. You move forward scooting onto one of the benches as Floris digs in her purse.

“Shit, I’m out!” she says with a groan, “I’ll go grab more, be right back!”

She flies down the stairs, hurrying over to the ticket booth. You glance at the conductor, knowing you must be holding up the line.

“Do you mind waiting?” you ask.

The twenty-something-year-old looks as if he’d rather be diving headfirst off a cliff than operating this ride, but he sighs dramatically and nods at your request. You clasp your hands in your lap when someone else enters the compartment and sits in the seat across from you.

Aemond.

“Out,” you tell him, frowning, “Seriously, Aemond I thought I was clear.”

“We need to talk,” Aemond insists.

“We talked at Scoops, I have nothing left to say to you,” you insist, before changing your mind, “You know what? Actually, I do. Kissing Floris and her sisters? Really?”

You swear Aemond’s cheeks flush, and he glances away momentarily, before reaching out and snapping toward the attendant.

“$50 to send us up now,” he tells him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fifty-dollar bill.

Your eyes widen.

“Aem-”

“And $50 more to stop us at the top. Fifteen minutes, tops,” Aemond finishes, adding another fifty between his slender fingers.

The attendant’s eyes bug out of his head as he takes the money, shutting the door of the carriage.

“No!” you say, watching the attendant return to the podium, “No! Dude, what about my friend? We have to wait for her!” Your voice is several pitches higher than you like, but it's due to being alone with Aemond.

The attendant raises an eyebrow at you.

“Got fifty bucks?” he asks.

Your eyebrows lift in shock.

“No!” you squeak, panic bubbling in your throat.

The attendant shrugs, throwing the handle forward making the Ferris wheel begin to move. Your jaw drops as you slowly begin to ascend and watch in horror as Floris returns, her expression mirrors yours as she notices Aemond in the carriage with you. You clutch the edge of the compartment, leaning over the edge as you start moving farther from the ground.

“Asshole!” you yell down to the attendant before sinking into your seat and crossing your arms and legs.

Aemond sits silently, though you know he must be gleeful about getting you alone. The compartments below you are empty, you’ve been sent up alone.

“Y/N,” he says, but you don’t look at him.

You just look over the side of the carriage at the rest of the carnival as everything begins to grow smaller and smaller. You can see the country club, the golf courses, the tents being set up for the gala. The lights from Driftmark and Dragonstone are even visible in the distance.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”

That gets your attention. You whip your head towards him, watching him leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You still don’t speak. Too angry, too hurt, too humiliated to say anything. Your brows are knit together, lips pressed into a tight line. No tears tonight, you cried enough over him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I never should have spoken to you that way, or said those horrible things. It was disgusting and inexcusable.”

Aemond wets his lips. The Ferris wheel comes to a stop as you reach the top, the compartment swinging gently with the force of the brakes. You uncross your arms, steadying yourself.

“I haven’t been that vulnerable with anyone in a long time,” he admits, “That’s not an excuse, believe me, that doesn’t excuse what I said, but I-” he runs a hand through his hair, struggling to find the words, “You were right.”

You want to remain silent as that violet eye watches you. Surely you can sit for fifteen minutes of silence. You cross your arms once more, trying to remain strong.

“About what?” you ask, cursing yourself.

The corner of Aemond’s mouth twitches, and something tugs in your chest as it does. You dig your nails into your bicep, trying to ground yourself. If you look at him too long, you’re afraid you’ll float away.

“About you growing on me,” he says softly.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You don’t know when this started, really. But since the hot tub something changed. Something inside you clicked, and suddenly you can’t look at Aemond Targaryen without wanting to kiss him.

“I don’t like…feeling out of control,” he admits, lacing his fingers together, “And you make me feel…fucking crazy.”

You want to believe him. You do. But Floris is on the ground below, and she was in the same position you were. Believed Aemond cared about her. As Aemond’s walls begin to let some light in, you can feel your own going up.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” you tell him, arms still crossed, “You said it yourself, you fuck, you talk like that, but you don’t get feelings. It’s one of your rules.”

“I’m figuring out none of those rules apply to you,” he says, observing you carefully.

You shake your head.

“I don’t think I believe you,” you tell him, “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

“I haven’t been the best person,” Aemond admits, “I’ve hurt people because I was hurting. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

His fingers are laced together and he braces his forehead on his clasped hands.

“I can’t,” you tell him softly, “Aemond I can’t.”

You don’t want to get hurt. Don’t want him to hurt you more than he already has. If you let him in deeper, it’s going to be so much more painful than it already has been. Aemond looks up, resting his chin on his hands. His gaze is soft, and a breeze rolls through causing you to shiver.

“Let me show you,” he says softly, “Please. What can I do? I’ll do anything.”

Aemond’s hands are outspread, a pleading gesture. How could he prove himself? If he really wants to change, for the better.

“Apologize to Floris,” you say suddenly, “She deserves it. All her sisters do.”

“Done,” Aemond answers immediately.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, “I don’t know if I want to do this with you anymore.”

“Let me show you how sorry I am,” he says, kneeling forward on the floor; the compartment shakes with the movement.

Your cheeks flush when you realize what he intends to do.

“Aemond-” you say as his hands brush over your thighs, pushing your dress up.

You look over the side of the compartment, eyes wide. You’re all the way at the top, looking over everyone else. No one can see, and yet you’re dangerously exposed at the top of the Ferris wheel. Adrenaline courses through your veins, and your heart beats wildly in your chest as Aemond’s fingers curl along your panties.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmurs, dragging the fabric down. You lift your hips to assist him.

It’s almost unconscious, the way your body reacts to him. He plays your body like an instrument; every touch has you melting into him, bending to his wishes. Aemond removes your panties, placing them in his pocket for safekeeping. His violet eye watches you, waiting for what you say next. You bite your lip in desperation, trying to ignore the feeling of his hand under your ass, keeping your center propped off the seat.

He holds you with ease, letting his other hand slip under your opposite thigh. It’s driving you crazy. He’s driving you crazy.

“Y/N,” he says, voice a desperate whine, like it’s taking everything in him not to bury his face in your pussy.

You’re already wet, you can feel it. There’s no use, you can’t ignore the feeling in your chest, the desperate ache between your legs. You want him, you need him so bad you feel like you might go insane without his lips on you.

“Please,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it, “Please Y/N.” You can feel his hands trembling against you, as though he’s ready to snap.

“Yes,” you tell him, and with a desperate growl, he dips his head below your skirt.

His mouth glues itself to your dripping slit, tongue diving between your folds as you bury your hands in his hair. You sling your legs over his shoulders, desperate to push him deeper, and harder against you, especially as his tongue moves to circle your entrance.

“Fuck,” you mewl as the warm, wet muscle dips inside of you, and Aemond moans-fucking moans-as he moves it in and out.

Your heels are digging into his toned shoulders, nails raking against his scalp but if it pains him, Aemond doesn’t let it show in the slightest. He’s simply devouring you, groaning with every shudder and stifled moan you award him. With every movement of his head, his nose rubs pleasantly against your clit, sending waves of pleasurable warmth coursing throughout your body.

Aemond pulls away suddenly, his mouth shining with your arousal, as he brings his fingers to his mouth and begins sucking on them. He meets your eyes before dipping his head down again between your thighs, fingers replacing his tongue and stretching into you. He curves them upwards against your tender, spongy walls, and your spine arches off of the seat, mouth falling open in pleasure.

“Fucking missed this pussy,” he groans, lazily fingering you before bringing his mouth to the apex of your thighs.

His tongue swirls around your needy clit and you can feel your stomach tightening.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on top of your clit before swirling his tongue around it once more.

“That’s not fair,” you answer, breathlessly, “Oh my fucking-oh.”

You can feel Aemond’s smile against you, feel him flatten his tongue on your clit before rubbing steady circles with the warm muscle of his tongue. He strokes your sweet spoke with his fingers effortlessly, your legs trembling on his shoulders.

“Please,” he says with a groan, “Please, I can’t fucking stand it-”

“Oh!” your nails dig into his scalp as you clench around his fingers, your release barrelling through you.

Aemond slowly removes his fingers, pressing them between his lips and licking them clean before you grab him by the shirt collar pulling him towards you. Your mouth is on his in an instant and it feels like fireworks have gone off in your brain.

He kisses you ferociously, one hand grabbing the back of your neck and anchoring you against him; the other wraps around your waist, pulling you off the seat and holding you flush against him. Your legs are straddling him and you can feel how hard he is underneath you. You’re kissing him desperately, it's all clashing teeth and gasps as you press yourself against him harder. You can’t be close enough, can’t be held tight enough. It's not enough, not enough.

The Ferris wheel begins to move, slowly but surely beginning its descent and you pull away, gasping for breath. You’re both breathing heavily, so close you can feel the brush of his lips against yours with every exhale.

“I can’t stand it,” he whispers, voice breaking as he strokes the back of your head.

“I know,” you whisper back, kissing him softly.

You untangle yourselves from each other as the Ferris wheel comes to a stop, pushing yourself back onto the seat to avoid suspicion. Thankfully, your dress is long enough because there was no time to put your panties back on and you’d rather not have your bare ass on the seat of the Ferris wheel.

The attendant opens the door, none the wiser to what you and Aemond were up to in the middle of the air.

You exit the compartment on shaky legs, turning back to Aemond.

“Forgive me?” he asks, watching you.

“I’ll think about it,” you tell him, walking down to Floris, who is now holding a half-eaten fried Twinkie.

“Dude, that took forever,” she tells you, “What did you even talk about-”

“Floris,” Aemond calls, walking over.

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, cheeks darkening as he approaches. But Floris Baratheon doesn’t back down. No matter how she feels about Aemond, she squares her shoulders and looks him directly in the eye.

“I owe you an apology,” Aemond begins, “For everything.”

Her chin tilts higher in the air.

“I was cruel to you when I shouldn’t have been,” he continues, “And I should have shut down those rumors when I heard them. I shouldn’t have treated you or your sisters that way in the first place and I’ll be telling them that as well.”

“Well Maris is in Oldtown,” Floris says cooly, “She stayed for the summer to do research.”

“Next semester then,” Aemond agrees.

Floris looks him up and down.

“Thank you,” she says and Aemond nods.

Her phone buzzes in her chest and she hands you her twinkie as she reaches between her boobs to grab it. She frowns.

“El needs rescuing,” she says, “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” you assure her, “I’m good, really.”

“I had fun tonight,” she tells you, “Let’s hang out again.”

“We could always use more help on Seasmoke,” you tell her.

“Cool, later Y/N,” she says, “Bye Aemond.”

As Floris leaves you turn to begin walking as well. Baela should be here by now and hopefully, Helaena has found her way down here. Aemond grabs your hand, stopping you.

“You won’t forgive me?” he asks.

“I said I’d think about it,” you tell him, still being cautious.

“Y/N-”

“Look, there’s something here,” you tell him, “Definitely, but…” I’m scared.

You can’t finish the sentence but you read it in his eye too.

“Go with me,” he says suddenly, “To the gala and the auction.”

“What?”

“As my date,” he says, “Be my date.”

“You don’t date.”

“I do now,” he argues, his voice insistent, “I date….I want to date you.”

He steps closer, taking your other hand. There’s that feeling again. Deep in your gut, pulling you toward him. A fire ignited within you, sparked by his touch.

“Come with me,” he says softly, “Please.”

You stretch up onto your tiptoes capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s the only answer you can give right now, but the only answer he needs.

OLS Taglist: @talesofoldandnew, @aemondslefteyeball, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @castellomargot, @high-on-darren-criss, @diosademuerte, @padfooteyes, @tempo-rary-fix, @amirawritespoorly, @chainsawsangel, @toodlesxcuddles, @tssf-imagines, @malfoytargaryen, @nina2697, @glame, @joliettes, @yentroucnagol

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

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Dirty Work 43

Joyous Walpurgisnacht: Part I

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Here we go!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you stand from the table, your name draws your attention from your plate. Mr. Laufeyson mirrors you as he peers over at his mother. You notices how his fingers twiddle by his side.

“You’ll come get ready with us, dear,” Frigga says, “Trina is coming to do our hair an makeup. Be sure to grab your dress.”

“Oh, uh…” you look at Laufeyson and he shrugs with one shoulder. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry about my brother,” Hela snorts, “I’m certain he’ll be torturing himself over the proper shade of white; shall I go for the ivory or the pearl?”

“Quiet,” Laufeyson sneers under his breath before he turns to you, “go on then,” he looks at his watch, “we all have much to do.”

He strides past you and you watch after him. He’s still upset. It’s your fault. You’ve been errant in your duties. You will make it up to him. At Walpurgisnacht, you won’t dare leave his side.

“Come,” Frigga beckons to you, “Hel, you too.”

“Yes, mother,” she drones and rounds the table.

You follow them to the door, only noticing as you approach that Thor’s done the same. He keeps a step back as he waves within, “after you, lady.”

“Er, thanks,” you eke out and step in ahead of him.

He’s quick to tail you, his fingers sending a shiver through you as he touches the back of your arm, “happy birthday, little one. How old are you now?” He asks.

You wince and hug yourself, keeping your chin down as he matches your pace. Frigga reaches to flick a strand of Hela’s black hair as she gabs on about it. You chew your lip and crane to look over your shoulder. You don’t see Odin, he must’ve stuck behind to chat with the staff.

“Thirty-two,” you answer as you face straight.

“Mmm, not too old,” his hand brushes across your back, “you look much younger.”

“Thank you, uh,” you stutter as his touch ventures further, tickling the top of your ass. Your panic swells and you bat him away, “I… have to go.”

You don’t know how to make him stop, but you can control yourself. You rush ahead to catch up to Frigga. As you come up at her side, Thor’s low rocky chuckle rolls through the air. You don’t look back as your blood runs cold. You don’t know why he won’t leave you alone.

“Ah, dear, I think we could put some flowers in your hair,” Frigga remarks as she waves you ahead of her up the stairs, “to go with that pretty dress of yours.”

“Sure,” you agree.

“She’ll look like a bride,” Hela scoffs, “perhaps just some diamonds around her neck–”

“Pearls,” Frigga argues.

“Pearls? She’s not an old lady yet,”

“Eh? Pearls are nice,” Frigga counters.

“Perhaps for you,” Hela rebuffs, “babe,” Hela swoops around her mother and drapes her arm over your shoulders as you turn down the hall, “what do you prefer?”

You blink, finding it hard to breathe through the tension. You don’t dare pick a side.

“I like the dress on its own,” you say.

“Ah, yes, she’s right, it is so nice, it would be ruined with too much,” Frigga hums, “how about just the petals,” she reaches to touch your hair, “a small accent but not garish.”

“Mm, yes, like a little fairy,” Hela muses as she retracts her arm, “I’m afraid I’m going for more of a witchy vibe.”

“Oh dear,” Frigga mutters, “Hel.”

“A good witch, mother, never fear.”

✨

You look in the mirror, swept away by your own reflection. The small white flowers in your hair are placed so delicately and just so, matching with those on the dress in their fluttery display. You skin seems to glow from the precise application of makeup, your lashes are long and curved but not too heavy. Your lips are painted a natural hue with a glossy finish and a touch of blush lends colour to your cheeks. It feels like a lot but looks like less.

The dress is just as wonderful as you remember. The outer layer decorated in carefully cut flowers over the simple dress of white beneath. The skirt flows to your lower calves, ending just above the straps of your heels, a bow on the back of each. You blink and tilt your head at your reflection, is it really you looking back?

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Hela growls as she steps up behind you, “uh, so darling.”

“You look amazing, dear,” Frigga calls over.

You turn to watch the older woman pin on large dangling earrings. She wears a white dress hemmed below her knees with large fanned bell sleeves. Her necklace is strung with pearls that get large towards the centre and her silver and gold hair is spun into loose waves pushed back behind an elaborate headband with golden points.

Hela is dressed much less elegantly. Her jumpsuit is taut to her figure, the neckline cute so deep you wonder how it stays up. She wears a sort of cowl, sparkling with diamond as it goes from chin to shoulders, a larger gem dangling down her cleavage.

“Well, I think we’re almost there,” Frigga announces breezily, “come, come.”

She ushers you and Hela from the room into the hall. The house is buzzing with activity. As you come downstairs, you’re lost amid the flurry. The kitchen is bustling with furor and workers flit around like bees in a hive. You stay close to the other women as they walk unfettered through the rush.

You come out to the veranda, clutching the sides of your skirt as you watch your feet, careful not to trip on your heels. In the sunlight, Frigga sighs, and calls to someone. You look up and follow her down the steps.

The lush green flat of the yard is entirely changed. A white floral arch, white cloth draping over the roofs of newly erected tents, tables in similarly silky ivory, petals scattered all around as stems are capped with full blooms atop posts, in plinthed vases, and around tables. A stage stands, blocking out much of the garden, a bar along an edge of the expanse with several workers behind it arranging glasses and bottles.

“Yvonne,” Frigga trills again, “come, come, we should like some photos.”

A woman in a white suit approaches with a large camera in hand. She is tall with full hips emphasized by the cut of her clothing. Her strawberry blond hair is twisted into a high bun with two pin straight pieces framing her face.

“Hello, Von,” Hela purrs at her familiarly. The women glance at each other and an eyebrow twitches. They know each other. Everyone does but you.

“This is our photographer,” Frigga introduces you to Yvonne, “she’ll be taking pictures so don’t mind if you see a flash or two through the night.” She turns back to the strawberry blonde, “hm, where are the men? They must be here…”

You fold your hands and sway back and forth. Surely you won’t be included. This is for the family. You’ll just stand to the side.

“Ah, Odin!” Frigga throws her hands up, greeting her husband as he approaches in a white pressed shirt beneath a matching stiff vest and white slacks. He wears a golden chain around his collar and cufflinks at his wrists. His shoes also bear golden buckles. “There you are. Where are your sons?”

“So quick to disown them,” Odin kids, “they were…” he looks back.

Thor clamours down from the veranda, combing out his long blond hair which he’s let loose from its usual bun. The waves fall to his shoulders, just along his open collar, unbuttoned to boast the thick muscles of his chest. He beams in white just like everyone else. A gold medallion hangs from his neck and his fingers are stacked with rings.

Loki follows last, shoulders high, hands staunchly tucked into his pockets. He looks at the sky as he appears in his simple attire. White shirt, white tie, white slacks cute perfectly to his sleek figure. White loafers with plain silver buckles. His black hair is swept back, the front pieces drawn back into a clip behind his head as the tails curl out behind his ears.

As he takes the same path as his father and brother, his eyes search and find you. His irises flicker and his brows arch. You avert your gaze and look at the grass, fidgeting as you wait awkwardly to the side. Frigga preens at each son and tells them how handsome they look.

“Alright, alright, we’ll get a few photos before the guests arrive,” she claps her hands.

There’s movement along the edge of your vision. You keep your head down as Frigga orders her family around. You flinch as she grabs your wrist suddenly and pulls your hands apart.

“Right here, dear,” she guides you next to Odin before she stands at his other side. “Okay, everyone, no scowling.”

You look up, wide eyed and the camera flashes. You bat your lashes and put on a smile as Odin bends his arm behind you, resting his hand on your lower back. The gesture calms you as the photographer counts down.

You stand frozen as the camera shutters, wondering why you’re there. What will they do with the photos when you are irrelevant? Finally, you’re allowed to disperse as Frigga struts over to Yvonne to have a look at the photos.

You turn nearly collide with Mr. Laufeyson before you can even think to look for him. You back up as he stares at you. He raises a hand as if to touch your arm then thinks better of it. He clear his throat and tugs on his skinny tie.

“That is a beautiful dress,” he remarks, “very on theme.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson,” you sniff and rub your palms together.

“Stay close,” he says tersely, clearing his throat, “or…” you hear his tone soften, “I might lose you in the flowers.”

His lips curve, just a little. Is he joking? You’re not sure.

“Come,” he jabs his fingers through the air, “let us get a drink before it is too busy.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

You walk beside him and he sighs. No, you’re not sure he was being funny. He’s still unhappy.

As you reach the bar, he greets the workers in white behind it. He orders whiskey on ice, then turns to you. For a moment, you’re taken back to the night you found him with the same drink… that was the first, maybe the only time, you saw him so human.

“What would you like?” He asks.

“Um, I don’t… know,” you murmur.

“Our cocktails,” a worker points to the standing list of drinks. You lean in and read each.

“Oh, uh, could I get the lavender lemonade, please?”

“Yes, miss,” the worker replies and sets to mixing the drink. Laufeyson takes his and holds it tight.

“Lokiiiii,” a familiar brogue rumbles through the air.

You turn to face Bragi as he approaches. A pocket watch swings from his vest, though he wears no shirt beneath it. You greet him with a tight-lipped smile.

“And his lady,” he smirks at you, “you haven’t seen Fossegrim, have you?”

“You brought that creature?”

“Ah, he tagged along. He chased off a chickadee and I’ve not seen him since. Never to worry,” he snaps his fingers, "I'm all set up.” He nods towards the stage, “and look at you too, pretty in white.” He looks at you pointedly, “I must say, you look like a goddess. I was also let in on a secret,” he declares, “it is your birthday. Happy birthday, did you have a favourite song? I might fit it into my set.”

“Um…” you think. “I don’t…” you look over as Mr. Laufeyson reaches back to take another glass from the bar and offers you the purple drink. You take it with a meek nod before facing Bragi again, “there was this song… from a movie… Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She sings it on the balcony but I can’t remember how it goes.”

“Oh, yes, I know the one. Beloved Hepburn, what a treat she was,” he purrs, “I think I can figure out the chords.”

“You don’t have to…” you shrug.

“I want to,” he insists, “oh and watch for dark shadows, Fossegrim will surely return once he smells food.”

“Sure,” you agree and squeeze the glass tight. Laufeyson just hums in his throat.

“Anyhow, I need water,” he sidles past you, “happy Walpurgisnacht!”

You return the sentiment before you step away. You peer around, uncertain what to do next. Your heels sink into the grass and you pull them out, teetering. Laufeyson glances over at you.

“Shall we sit?” He asks.

“Erm, okay.”

He waves you ahead of him and you weave over to one of the tables. You sit and put your glass down without tasting it. He sips his own as he lowers himself. He’s tense, setting it down with a heavy clunk.

You look around and see new faces arriving. It’s beginning. Your stomach churns as each guest appears. It really is a big deal.

“You are nervous,” Laufeyson intones, bringing you back to the table.

“A little.”

“Mm,” he pokes his tongue in his cheek, “well, then, even more reason to stay by my side. I’ve navigated these waters all my life, I can stave off the sharks.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

His lips slant and he spreads his hand over his chest before dragging it down, “and…” his throat bobs, “happy birthday, if I forgot to say.”

“Um, thank you,” you squeak, “it isn’t a very big deal.”

He inhales, “it isn’t? By your choice or… his?”

You shrug, “I never made it one. Really, just another year.”

“Certainly, time does keep on now matter what,” he mulls.

You’re quiet. You take the drink and look at it. It’s a lovely colour. You take a sip; it’s tangy but nice, a little kick under the citrus notes. Your cheeks pinch as you put it back down.

“Too strong?” he asks.

“No, it’s good,” you assure him, careful not to drip any on your dress.

He taps his fingers on the tabletop, “I must say, you do look rather… rather nice.”

“Oh, yes, um, Trina, your mother’s friend…” you utter, “she did it.”

You look at him, finding his eyes rapt upon you. His gaze almost takes your breath away. He reaches to touch your hand, leaning in just a little. His eyes flick past you suddenly and he stops, his hand lightly over your as he sits frozen.

You turn to peek over your shoulder. You hear Thor’s thundering voice as he greets someone. A perfect swoop of dark hair bounces before him and he embraces the tall, slender woman. You know, even without seeing her face, who it is. Sif.

You bring your other hand over Laufeyson’s and press it down firmly as you face him, “are you alright?”

His eyes skitter back to you and he slips his hand free. You deflate as he instead takes his glass and slurps with a scowl. Walpurgisnacht will not be a new beginning, only a reminder of old wounds.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #dirty work #series #au #maid au #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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oswildin · 8 months ago

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Something New (Loki x GN!Reader)

Summary: You have known each other since you were children on Asgard, you’ve been there through everything… And now you’re stranded on a junk planet with the man you believed to be dead for four years… It was time for a honest chat.

A/N: Set during ‘Thor Ragnarok’, no descriptors or use of ‘Y/N’.

“Silent treatment, is it? How juvenile. And a little boring.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, irritation flashing through your features at Loki’s - deliberately - vexing comment. Shaking your head, you stayed looking out the large window of the quarters you and Loki had been forced to share, especially after he had told the Grandmaster you two were married.

“Ah, I see, you’re in the honeymoon phase. Well, we are very progressive here on Sakaar.” The Grandmaster had mused. “We have husbands, wives, consorts, throuples and in-betweens. I can give you a leaflet if you like-“ To which quickly you had held up a hand, shaking your head, overwhelmed by the junk planet you’d ended up on, let alone the intricacies of their… escapades. No, you were much more focused on finding a way off of the planet and to Asgard to stop Hela, and then back to Midgard to live your life in peace.

It had been a few days since Loki and Thor had appeared on Midgard before your eyes, the shock and disbelief you felt still fresh in your mind at the sight of Loki - alive. And finding out he had faked his death for Asgard’s throne… Well, that was just the cherry on top. You forgave him for trying to destroy Jotunheim, you tried to forgive him for attacking New York… Fighting side by side against the Dark Elves had felt right… And then, he was gone. Dead, you thought.

“You seriously think you can go god-knows how long without speaking to me?” Loki inquired, raising a curious brow. “Whether you like it or not, we are in this together.” He nodded to himself. “And I, for one, am not about to let the opportunity to gain the Grandmasters favour, get close and perhaps take his place, slip me by.”

“Oh my god-“ You whirl around, finally facing him as your brows crease. “Are you serious?” You snap, a beat of silence filling the air between you. When you see him furrow his brows in a look that said ‘well, yes’, you couldn’t help but let a tired laugh escape your lips, head falling back slightly as your gaze flickered to the ceiling.

“I fail to see how that is funny-“ Loki huffed, tilting his head faintly.

“No, you’re right-“ You sigh, shaking your head, gaze fixed upon him once more. “It isn’t funny. No, in fact-“ You take a step closer. “It’s hilarious.” Loki blinked, irritation creeping up on him now at your mocking words. “Because, of course, Asgard was simply just… not enough?” You raise a brow. “Having Odin sent to Midgard, his death leading to the unleashing of the Goddess of Death who is now set on ruling Asgard and possibly destroying anyone or anything in her way… Was… not enough.”

Loki averted his eyes, looking down as his jaw twitched, your words hitting him with the harsh reality that his actions had consequences.

“And instead of doing the right thing and wanting to try and leave this hel, you wish to… stay? Ignore that our home is in danger?” Silence fell between you both, giving you the answer you needed as you let out an exasperated breath. “Right, well then.” You muttered, straightening yourself. “You’ve made yourself clear.” You went to move, going to find your own way off of Sakaar, with or without Loki’s help.

“Wait-“ Loki sighed, reaching out to grasp your wrist, stopping your leave. “Just… wait.” He added, tone slightly softer. You looked up to meet his stare, seeing the uncertainty on his features. “I…” He sighed once again. “I’m sorry.” He finally muttered, eyes quickly flickering to the wall before landing back on you. “Alright?” He slowly let go of your wrist. “I didn’t think.”

“No, you’re right, you didn’t.” You grumbled, folding your arms over your chest, your own eyes moving to stare firmly at the wall behind Loki. Loki could see the tension in your frame, the hurt he had caused by faking his death still clinging to you like an old wound. He clasped his hands into fists at his sides briefly, before letting them fall naturally, letting out a slow breath whilst doing so.

“You can’t be too surprised by that.” Loki tried, tone wry. “Whilst my intelligence may be high, it seems my… ability for considering others emotions is somewhat lacking.” You scoffed at that. “‘Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself’.” Loki mumbled to himself, making you glance at him. He let out a breathy, quick laugh as he shook his head lightly, lips pursing. “Yet it seems my perception can be… also lacking when it comes to those closest.” He added quietly.

You stayed silent, unsure on what to say - on what he wanted you to say. Instead, you sighed, unfolding your arms, moving towards a nearby seat as you felt Loki’s eyes watching your every move. “I’m tired, Loki.” You finally spoke, sitting down, elbows on your knees, hands clasped together. “You’re supposed to be my dearest friend, and yet… it feels as though you are intent on creating distance between us.”

Loki raised his chin faintly, before taking close calculated steps towards you, a slightly awkward aura surrounding him. He wasn’t one to be open with such matters as friendship and emotions. But perhaps… it was time he tried. Tentatively, he took a seat beside you, leaving a respectable distance, knowing he had to earn the right to be close to you again.

The truth was, whilst you may have been dear friends once, over the years it had… changed. Ever since Loki discovered the truth about his heritage, maybe even before that. When he chose to lie to you about the Frost Giants entry into Asgard, he had made his choice. He had chosen self-preservation. Something that in his time ruling Asgard, he realised was… hollow. And you never truly were just a dear friend to him. Nor him to you, even if it was unspoken.

“It was truly never my intention to cause you pain.” Loki spoke lowly, side-glancing at you, trying to gauge your every reaction to his words. “Thor… on the other hand.” He added wryly, raising a brow. “I suppose apart of me… wanted him to feel it. So he understood.” It was spoken as if he was processing it in real time. Your gaze drifted to Loki, eyeing his profile as he spoke. “And when you came to Odin… to me…” He corrected before pausing. “And asked to return to Midgard, to live your life among the mortals I once sought to rule…” He let out a quiet breath. “I could do nothing but allow it. Knowing the hurt I had caused, the rift I had created…”

Loki’s words hung in the air, a subtle tension hanging with them as you bit your lower lip lightly, unclasping your hands to sit up straight, keeping them resting on your knees. “Midgard…” You began softly. “The time I spent there after New York, aiding them rebuild their city… It gave me purpose.” You turned your head to look at him properly. “Odin had forbidden me from seeing you in your cell, Thor was with Jane and I…” You sighed. “I just wanted to do something… good.”

Loki listened intently, his expression neutral, if not slightly more tender than his usual look of indifference. He waited for you to continue, not wanting to interrupt. “And then after… thinking you were dead on Svartalfheim…” You shook your head. “I just… couldn’t bear being home.”

Loki felt a pang in his usually guarded heart at those words, his head dipping as he moved a hand to the bridge of his nose. Odin’s words when he sent him away still clung to the corners of his mind.

“You will not see them again, you have done enough damage there.”

In his own way, he thought he was protecting you. Stopping you from being hurt anymore by making you believe he was dead.

“I thought-“ He cleared his throat, lifting his head. “After everything I had done…” He trailed off, not daring to look at you.

“That what?” You blinked, furrowing your brows. “I just… wouldn’t care?” You breathed out, disbelief in your voice. Loki finally then took the risk of glancing at you, seeing the bewildered look on your features. “You think… that after everything, the good and the bad, that I wouldn’t care if you were gone?” Loki stayed quiet, but the look on his face told you all you needed to know. “You’re an idiot.” You huffed, shaking your head, pushing yourself to your feet as Loki blinked at your reaction. “You are… an A-Grade idiot.”

“I see Midgard has also taught you some rather interesting language-“ He quipped wryly, brows furrowing as he stayed seated, a hand moving to a small shrug. You turned round to look at him, hands on your hips.

“Midgard taught me a lot, thank you.” You snapped slightly, letting out a breath as you looked out the window across the room once again. “I could’ve left you to your own designs in New York, let the others handle it, but when Thor told me you were alive, what you were planning, I demanded to go with him.” You looked down at him again, searching his upturned gaze. “When Odin forbid me from seeing you in your cell, sending me to Midgard to clear up your mess, all I could think about was what you were thinking, how you were feeling.” You saw Loki’s brows begin to unknit, a flash of emotion going through his ice blue eyes. “And then when we fought side by side on Svartalfheim, I thought it was a fresh start. Us, fighting side by side…” Your voice wavered faintly, but Loki noticed as he gracefully got to his feet. “To watch you die.” You whispered.

Loki swallowed the lump in his throat, taking a tentative step closer, one hand slightly outstretched, as if he was approaching a startled animal. “To find out, you were alive for four years. Four years, Loki.” Your voice raised slightly, anger surfacing. “And even now, you are plotting and scheming. It never ends, does it?”

Loki’s eyelids fluttered briefly, face lowering to look down at his leather boots as he tried to think of what to say - what you would want him to say. “What can I say? I’m an opportunist.” He finally spoke, words quiet. Usually, those words would’ve been laced with wry humour, but instead they were almost honest sounding. He lifted his face, eyes flickering to your hands on your hips as he took a leap of chance, reaching for one of your hands. He was surprised when you didn’t snatch your hand away, but didn’t let it show.

“You…” He breathed out. “Are… a defender. Just like you always wanted to be.” He spoke softly. “I am… proud…” The words felt slightly foreign on his tongue, such open sentiment. “-of how far you have come.” His words were almost a whisper, as your own gaze threaten to soften. “And I… am still searching.” He gave a brief, solemn smile. “Searching for what I want to be.” He paused. “I do what I do because… it’s what I know how… to do.” His eyes searched yours, as if you had the answer, but knowing that ultimately, it was he who needed to work it out. “I don’t enjoy hurting people. I do it… because I have to, because I’ve had to.”

Your gaze finally softened, shoulders relaxing slightly as you took in his admission. You always knew that the Loki he portrayed to most was a mask, a defence mechanism… Yes, he was mischievous and cunning, but he was also multifaceted. You had seen it yourself. He was capable of so much more than the hollow quest he strived for.

“I know.” You whispered, squeezing his hand lightly. “But going round in circles, it’s never going to give you what you’re searching for. You can’t… discover if you don’t do something new.” You continued lowly, raising a brow. “Maybe, whatever you’re truly searching for isn’t a throne, or to rule or whatever else that falls under that umbrella, but maybe what you’re really looking for is-“

But before you could finish your thought, Loki’s lips had pressed to yours. You froze for a moment, taken back, before feeling yourself relax, his hand gently squeezing yours as his free one came to gently cup your cheek. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to melt into the kiss - a kiss you had been waiting centuries for. His kiss was as tender as it was passionate, reverent even. It was a kiss that took your breath away - at the risk of sounding cliche.

After a moment, you broke apart, Loki pulling back to observe your face, eyes flickering over your features in a questioning way, wondering if he had overstepped, if he had done the right thing by… being vulnerable. When your eyes finally reopened, finding his, the look on his face was a mix of nerves and contentment, a strange contradiction… Very Loki.

“What… what was that for?” You breathed out, still slightly in awe at the way your heart was beating in your chest. Loki blinked, raising his brows.

“Well, you… did say that I couldn’t discover if I didn’t try something new…” He said lowly, tone holding a hint of his usual cheekiness that made your lip twitch, threatening to smile.

“And?” You asked quietly, his hand still in yours, his other still cupping your cheek gently.

“And I…” He cleared his throat. “I- uh- think I rather like this… ‘something new’.” His lips quirked up into a faint smirk, eyes glimmering with hope and care, possibly even excitement. “If you like it as well, of course-“ He added, slightly rushed, a little awkward.

“No, yeah- I mean-“ You nodded, clearing your own throat. “Yeah. I like it.”

“Yeah?” Loki raised a brow, voice breathy.

“Yeah.” You smiled softly, once more squeezing his hand in assurance as Loki let his own lips be tugged into a small, almost bashful smile.

“To something new.”

#loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki x y/n #loki x you #marvel x reader #loki imagine #loki marvel #loki odinson #marvel #mcu #Spotify

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sugoi-writes · 21 days ago

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Guyliner - Adam x Lucifer

Kinktober Day X (Dacryphilia)

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A/N- Sorry I'm late! I hope the 4k word count makes up for that! Aaaaa! Be sure to check out the Coven's Kinktober works as well! @hazelfoureyes @synamartia @macabr3-barbi3 @fraugwinska and @minkdelovely have made some ABSOLUTELY delectable treats for you all!!!

⚠️Warnings⚠️- MLM, angst, hatefuck, anal, rushed anal prep, licking, biting, shoving, cursing, Adam has a potty mouth, dacryphilia, Lucifer being an absolute whore, "Samael/Sam is used to describe Angelic Luci, and uhh-- yeah! Did i mention ANGST? WITH NO HAPPY ENDING? AHAHAHA-- Time to suffer~

The concert went without a hitch, Adam enthusiastically shredding through the closing number. His head was thrown back, chestnut hair wild as the ecstasy of a great performance washed over him. The first man's chest heaved when he landed on his knees before his audience, a shit-eating grin plastered on his plump face. All in a night’s work! A swift flap of his wings has Adam back on his feet, trudging to the mic.

"Fuck YEAH!" The angel growled, grabbing the lead mic off its stand,"Thanks for fuckin' rocking out with us tonight! We love ya! GOOD FUCKING NIGHT!!"

As a trademark of his shows, the overzealous lead singer and guitarist walks away, dropping his microphone as he goes. Meanwhile, the rest of the band is left to bow and wave, thanking the audience once more. The fawning crowd goes into a frenzy, demanding more music and attention. Adam rolls his eyes as they chant to him, laughing breathlessly as he disappears backstage. That was the second encore he had mused tonight… there wasn't a way in Hel– Heaven– he had another song in him.

The chittering, anxious sound engineers and light technicians blew past Adam to the stage. Even with his stellar performance, they were eager to tear down the set and head out. Among the chaos, Adam was handed a bottle of water and a clean towel. The angel was– or pretended to be– none the wiser as he headed towards his dressing room. He pressed the clean, fluffy cloth to his forehead, still panting from exhaustion as he dabbed the sweat away. His wings naturally hung at his sides when he was tired, hugging his figure with his impressive wingspan. Whether it was natural, or to self soothe, no one was ever sure.

And even with Adam’s mind going blank, he could hear something higher pitched and nasally coming up beside him. Ohh, right– his attendant ran to catch up with him, blathering on and on.

"Mr. Adam, sir--"

"Dick Master," Adam corrects, grinning smugly. His assistant groans, but compiles," Dick Master, sir-- the VIPs are here to meet you. You have about 10 minutes to decompress before the Meet and Greet begins--"

"Ten fucking minutes?!?," Adam barks back, eyes incredulous

“It would have been longer if not for the encores, sir.”

The distraught rocker groans, ignoring the fact that this was his own doing," That's not even enough time to yakk it! Or to snag a groupie!!!"

"Please, sir-- Dick Master, sir-- I was told that this was the latest we could push back. We can't cancel this Meet and Greet. These folks paid good money to see you--"

Adam waves his hand dismissively, groaning irritably," Damn, DAMN, I get it-- fuuuuuck, I know--I just wanted a bit more time before I had to greet those little cunts. Dammit-- how much time do I have left?"

"9 minutes and 40 seconds, sir," his assistant squawked, before he was shoved out the way. The larger, lumbering angel starts sprinting, waving over his shoulder dismissively.

"PERFECT, I'll be back in 10!"

"ADAM!!!"

Complaints fell onto deaf ears as Adam collapsed in his dressing room, head throbbing from his performance. He had intentionally cranked the volume past the sound ordinance– as always– but never took his own hearing into account when the show was over. The tinnitus-induced headache did little for the angel’s sanity.

Exasperated with the stiff schedule he had set for himself, Adam swiftly inhaled the water bottle that was given to him. All the while, he was still wiping the sweat off his face. He wouldn’t have much time to compose himself before having to put on another face. Ahh, another performance: the emotional kind. He sighed, glancing at himself in the mirror only to smirk cheekily at his handsome reflection. Maybe he could take a power nap? Or better yet, have a little Me Time, like he threatened? Those fucking chumps would be SCREAMING to touch the hands that had just touched his body... He was sure of it.

Face sufficiently sweat-free, Adam throws his rag away carelessly as he goes to do just that. He freezes when he hears a startled yelp coming from behind. Eyes wide with disbelief, he turns towards the source slowly. His blood runs cold as his eyes finally land on the intruder; to his horror, it was someone he was very familiar with.

"Hehe... Surprise?" A gentle voice called, tail flicking nervously behind his smaller form. ...Lucifer? LUCIFER FUCKING MORNINGSTAR?

"The FUCK are you doing here, Piss Stain? And how in the fuck did you get in here?" Adam scoffs, his 'affectionate' nickname for Lucifer's golden hue rumbling through his chest. Not missing a beat, the fallen angel takes off his hat, letting it rest on a nearby side table.

"Well, I had come to attend a meeting– with the High Seraphims, of course. And I wanted to stop by your show on the way out. I saw– well, heard– uhh, you sounded great!"

Adam's face scrunches up with hardly concealed disdain, gagging at the sentiment," Gross. ‘Didn't ask for you to stay, fuck face. Rude of you to talk to the Higher Ups about your stupid plan while I wasn't there, bee-tee-dubs. You know I already shut that shit down--"

"Adam, it wasn't like that--" Lucifer pleaded, his eyes genuine," I swear to Go-- I promise it was the only time they'd allow me in. I wasn't trying to spite you anymore than I already do.”

A disgruntled huff is his own reply, forcing Lucifer to press on,“They... They wanted to keep us apart, y’know?"

"For obvious reasons," Adam spat, brushing past Lucifer. When he made a move to take his arm, Adam jerked away, not wanting to touch a single inch of the devil’s cursed skin.

"Anyway, as you can see, the show's over. Pack up shop and go back to the shit box you call home. You shouldn't even be lumbering around, considering a demon in Heaven is fair game for extermination."

"Adam, please-- I'm here on good will. If you wanted to kill me, you would have already tried.” A twitch comes to Adam’s eye, showing that Lucifer was absolutely right. He continues, "I know there are rules, and I know it may not be safe, but… I wanted to see the show, I... I wanted to hear your voice again. Despite everything."

Adam slowly turned back towards the fallen angel, his eyes narrowing. For once, Adam searched his face carefully, unable to believe the gentle tone that Lucifer spoke with.

"...why the FUCK would you wanna do that? Last time I talked to you, it was more yelling than talking. AND, you punched me in the fucking face after you-- Ugh, after you and her--"

Adam stammered over his words, face red as he tried to restrain himself. Anger suited his face all too well, hard creases setting in his brow. His frustration of being around someone– especially a mortal enemy– has his rage simmering above the surface.

Lucifer's eyes widened upon seeing Adam rapidly blinking, tears welling in the tired musician's eyes. The angel was quick to rub harshly at his lids, snarling with a thick, palpable venom at his former friend.

"Why the He– why the fuck do you want to see me so badly? Huh?" Adam questioned, unbridled anger threatening to overtake him. When Lucifer reached out, Adam flinched again, avoiding eye contact. Lucifer sighed, retracting his hand slowly– he could take a hint, at the very least.

Even now, with threats and tension hanging in the air, Lucifer was distracted by Adam's eyes. His eyeliner had been smudged near his tear ducts, an irritated, distinct chafe forming a downward arch from the outer edge of his. This showed two things: one, he would cry soon enough. And for two: he did so quite often. It was a thought that never crossed Lucifer’s mind until now, but it also managed to break his heart.

"…Adam, today marks the day when we– y'know– all those years ago?" Lucifer cautiously stated, beating around the bush as if it were filled with landmines. And in his case, it probably was.

Adam’s shoulders tensed, his lip trembling," The FUCK are you on about?" he rasped, voice cracking as his anger continued to build.

"The kiss, Adam. The kiss in Eden," Lucifer said plainly," Y'know... Back when you weren't totally sure about your sexuality? When you... questioned it?"

Adam had a full-bodied, visceral reaction, whipping around to face Lucifer directly. A memory he had long-since buried now floated to the surface like an Old Man log. The painful reminder stood at full mast in the murky, choppy waves of his mind. Adams eyes, heavily irritated from rubbing them, are on the verge of breeching with fresh tears. His pristine white teeth are borne, tone deadly," Don't you DARE bring that shit up again. You know it was a mistake--"

"I didn't think so at all–" Lucifer corrected," I never have! I never WILL. I came here to talk about this--"

Adam shoves Lucifer away roughly, his body striking the far wall of his dressing room abruptly. The space created is soon destroyed by the aggressor, hand slamming against the wall just beside Lucifer's head. Completely caged by the larger man, he listened as Adam barks down at him.

"Was porking my wife not a mistake either?!?" Adam hissed, causing Lucifer to get defensive.

"Adam, I wasn't trying to bring that up again–"

"Yeah, well now it's up again!!! There ya go, Lulu, it's on the fucking table!! So what– you're coming back here just to rub it in my fucking face?! The kiss, Lilith, Eve– all of it?!?"

"I'm not trying to rub SHIT anywhere! Especially not because OF–or ON–you!!! How do you not get that?!" Lucifer yelled, grabbing his wrist harshly. Adam recoiled but was unable to move under the unyielding power of the Devil. Adam opened his mouth, ready to throw toxic vitriol the fallen angel's way... That is, until a gentle, blackened hand held his cheek. Adam didn't move a muscle as a thumb ran across his skin faintly, the tender act causing a heated tear to finally fall. Lucifer was deathly calm, and irrationally sweet to the simmering angel.

"Wh-what... The fuck... Luci--"

"Adam," Lucifer said firmly," ...we've both been... Lonely. It's certainly not a secret... And, it's not a secret that Lilith and I don't see eye to eye right now. She... She hasn't been home. Not for a long time."

The startled angel takes pause, eyes wide and still searching for a lie– for some sort of trick or deceit. Finding none on Lucifer’s face, he presses for more information concerning his former wife.

"How long?" Adam growled

"2 years," Lucifer lamented, his voice much weaker than before. It was his turn to feel his emotions mounting, his eyes becoming misty from the thought.

"...And a part of me thinks she won't ever be back."

Adam hesitates, breath uneven as Lucifer grows closer. He didn't miss the shift in his cheeks, a light, dusty rose rising quickly to the surface. Lucifer pressed on, testing the waters.

"...I missed this, you know. I missed how close we used to be, Adam. I was so... innocent back then. A naive angel who had been far too curious… and, I’ll admit, a little selfish."

Adam didn't make any moves to correct him as Lucifer's other hand came up, holding his round face properly. Even now, amber colored eyes couldn't find the ill intent that the angel was searching for.

"And you... You were so handsome. So strong, so confident... Even when you knew so very little about the world and God’s Plan. You are handsome still, by the way…” Adam’s breath hitched as Lucifer wiped away a stray tear, the touch much warmer and desirable than he cared to admit.

“But you know… I was attracted to all of that. The bravado, the confidence. It's... God, it's part of the reason why I fell so hard in the garden."

“F-Fell…?” Adam echoed weakly, daring him to clarify. Lucifer laughs, a sadness settling over his heart as took a deep breath.

“S-Sam, please, don’t–” Adam pleaded weakly as he tried to pull away, only to be held in place once more. A gentle kiss to Adam’s cheek was all it took for the both of them to shatter.

"I didn't just fall in love with Lilith that day, you know. I was head over heels for you too, you fucking idiot..."

Adam held his breath as Lucifer closed the distance between their bodies, the demon yanking Adam down by his neck to kiss him. For a moment, Adam’s world went white, tinnitus roaring as he struggled to think through his next action.

The kiss was drawn out– as chaste as Lucifer's touch had been. Even when Adam didn't reciprocate, Lucifer didn't want to pull away. It took the taller man pushing him away for them to finally part. Lucifer’s back pressed to the wall once more, but he made no attempts to squirm away as Adam loomed over him. Even now, Lucifer stared at the winded, hysterical angel, unable to tell if he was going to be strangled or kissed. The sentiment sent a surge of courage through his body, helping him to act without thinking. The demon pressed further to see what Adam would do to him.

"You're as beautiful as the day I left," Lucifer mused, lost in the misty, golden eyes of the man he hurt so long ago. He hated to make Adam cry… but he loved the way his eyeliner began to run down his flushed cheeks. A bitter reward for a somber, too-late confession.

Adam shuddered, his resolve crumbling under the pressure of Lucifer’s words," Fuck you and your stupid confession, you liar--"

Despite his harsh remark, Adam caved in to his mental struggle. Fuck it. He would choose Sam–now Lucifer– any day of the week. ...Even if it risked much more than his position in Heaven, as much as he hated to admit it.

The first man yanked the demon off of his feet and back in for a heated, messy kiss. The contact was more urgent now; teeth clattering and tongues sliding along one another as Adam reciprocated physically– like Hell he was using his words.

Lucifer was pliable and eager, unable to fight for the reigns as Adam asserted himself. Like a perfect puzzle piece, his body molded to his with little issue. A moan was devoured by the former human’s mouth, and a grunt was thrown back as a reward. The devil, in all of his woes and desperation, clung to it like his immortal life depended on it. Talons fisted handfuls of fabric, hands blindly groping around for places to caress and skin to squeeze. Lucifer practically swooned over how soft and plush Adam had become... Large thighs and hips supported his new stature, though he could feel the muscle that lay just beneath the soft, surface level flesh. Adam found himself sweating bullets, unable to process what he was doing. Lucifer's body hardly changed a bit... Not since they-- FUCK.

"F-Fuck... Fuck you, you fucking--" Adam gasped breathlessly, his hands hastily cupping the meat of Lucifer's hips. The demon groaned at the manhandling but allowed it all the same.

"Ahhn~ Well, I'm trying to get to that part--" Lucifer quipped," The fucking, that is--"

Adam looks to the clock hanging above his vanity, grunting from agitation," Shit-- only 4 minutes left– ugh, why am I even telling you that?!"

Lucifer grins, kissing Adam's cheek," I don't think either of us can last that long, Big Guy… At least, knowing how long my dry spell is."

"Speak for yourself, asshole," Adam jabs, kneading Lucifer's ass feverishly, "I could have anyone in this room at the drop of a fucking hat–”

The fallen angel laughs before he bites his lower lip, mewling under his scrutiny,” I don't doubt it, Adam–”

"Take this off, now," the brunette commanded abruptly, not wanting Lucifer to say another word. And within a flash, Adam touched the pale, marbled skin of Lucifer's ass. He hadn’t realized that his magic had stripped both of them instantaneously, yelping when he felt a warm hand running down his chest. The feeling of long, well-groomed talons grazing the hair that grew there wasn’t unwelcome… in fact, he practically hummed as he felt a familiar warmth flood his loins. He hesitated, not expecting Lucifer to act so quickly... before he guided his hand lower. Again– fuck it.

"Don't worry about going easy on me, by the way... I can take it," Lucifer assured, eyes fluttering when Adam probed at his entrance experimentally. The needy whine that erupted made Adam's cock kick with imminent need. His brows furrowed as he buried his face into Lucifer’s neck, hiding his face as he grumbled. He wasn't sure what to be mad at: Lucifer, for his perfect, malleable body, or his petulant, always-half-hard cock that throbbed from the tiniest whine.

"I-Im not-- I've never--"

"--Fucked a man in the ass? Yeah, I could tell," Lucifer laughs, amused by Adam’s disgruntled, indignant grunt.

"I prepared in advance for this. You don't have to do anything except take it– take me.”

Adam hissed when he felt the tightness of Lucifer's entrance yield to him, two fingers managing to push in with ease. All of this work, for a near 99% chance to be turned down? Adam had to admit: Lucifer was either stupid or that fucking desperate.

"You're fucking disgusting, you know that? Of course you had this shit planned from the start–"

Lucifer grins, kissing his temple as he shuddered," I was always your favorite angel, wasn't I~?"

Adam took Lucifer’s offer and chose not to hold back. He aligned his throbbing cock to Lucifer’s hole, before burying himself into the smaller man’s heat. He hissed as he thrust down to the base of his manhood, looking to the fallen angel’s face sheepishly. Lucifer had winced from the intrusion but found himself growing hotter from the mistreatment. A part of him knew he didn't deserve any coddling... And yet, the thrill of just being speared on Adam's cock made him feel like he was ascending. He felt like he was actively and truly alive. A heated, tense stare was shared between the two, before Adam dared to begin.

He hoisted Lucifer up higher by the meat of his thighs, wrapping his trembling legs over his hips. He didn't warn Lucifer as he began seeking the deepest parts the Demon had to offer him, his guilt thrown somewhere far away. Lucifer lost himself in Adam's eyes, searching for the mutual feeling that danced on the tip of his tongue. Said tongue became forked, despite his best efforts to keep his demonic traits at bay.

True, the look in Adam's eyes didn't quite match his own... But a fire brewed just the same. If that was all he could get, Lucifer would take and take until he couldn't anymore. He wanted to taste the salt of Adam's tears on his tongue– to smudge the makeup covering his face onto his own. The miserable, heartbroken look on his face absolutely enchanted him; he would ensure that he could remember it for the rest of his life.

It was the same look that haunted his nightmares... the same one that would taunt his feverish, heated dreams. Despite the conflicting sight, it made the fire in Lucifer’s belly flourish to an untamable blaze. He couldn’t control his moans, mouth wide open and tongue lolling just past his sharp teeth as he was thrust into over and over again.

It’s the same look, Lucifer thought again. The same look Adam made when he realized he loved Lucifer. The same look Adam wore when Lucifer had broken his trust and whisked Lilith away for good. Anger, betrayal, and yearning… a deadly, seductive cocktail that Lucifer practically drowned himself in. Call him depraved... but Lucifer was spellbound by Adam's anguish.

Adam's hips began to stutter, the warmth of another person's body bringing him close to the edge. He slammed his eyes shut, coaxing his tears to stop falling. This didn't feel right–none of this had– but physically, it's exactly what he fucking needed. God dammit!!!

Adam's grip on Lucifer's thighs tighten, nails digging into the pale flesh unapologetically. He felt himself groaning hungrily when Lucifer mewled, his partner's hole tightening around his cock deliriously. And there was that tongue-- that tongue that hang out of his mouth as he drooled.

The mere idea of a serpentine, eager muscle lapping at his skin didn't make matters easier for Adam. He was unable to catch his breath as Lucifer made it a reality, quite literally consuming his tears. It was something that should be barbaric, but in his current state, it was irrationally hot.

Adam's mind flashed with images of Lucifer taking his cock into his mouth, struggling to accommodate for his girth as his tongue slithered across the underside of his member. He could almost feel his tongue stimulating the sensitive underside, the flexible muscle dancing in a conniving, sinful pattern. At this rate, he wouldn’t last much longer if he kept thinking of that tongue.

"Cl-Close--" Adam gritted, "God, so fucking close--"

This would be the only courtesy Lucifer received as Adam turned him around, choosing to slam the smaller man and his putty-like body against the wall face-first. Lucifer shrieked in pleasure, his mouth receiving two calloused fingers to shut him up.

"Mmphhn! Nnnngh~ nnnhh! Nhh– Hnnn!" Lucifer wailed, whining with each impact of Adam’s hips.

"Sh-Shut up-- Dammit, shut the fuck UP– Unless you want to get fucking caught! "

Between the new angle, Lucifer’s fluttering entrance, and the debauched noises thrown his way: Adam couldn't hold out any longer. Two harsh, uneven thrusts were all it took for Adam to peak. His perfect, white teeth sunk into Lucifer's shoulder, drowning out his roaring release. Lucifer was no better, fresh tears running down his face as his bullied prostate finally sent him spiraling into an intense orgasm. Both bodies gyrated and ground against each other, milking the overwhelming sensation for a few seconds longer. And for a moment, everything was quiet between the pair.

The two of them stayed connected, unable to part amidst the intense sensations wound down. The volatile, raging storm that brewed in Adam’s mind had dissipated into an eerily quiet drizzle. Adam couldn't stifle his broken gasp among the silence, his cock still throbbing in Lucifer's tight hole.

The angel dared to look to his right, the clock revealing he had exceeded his time by five minutes. Fuck–

"Alright, you had your way, your ass was tight, now get out."

Lucifer hiccupped as Adam pulled out hastily, fumbling to the floor when his legs gave out," F-Fuck... Fuck, Adam, you're-- amazing..."

The angel in question didn't justify him with an answer, hastily wiping the ruined makeup off his face as he looked for his clothes. To his relief, they laid across his makeup chair, ready to be donned. The rockstar stormed to his vanity and uncapped his eyeliner, hastily relining his waterline in an effort to appear normal. From his spot on the floor, Lucifer chuckled as he made himself presentable, the sound of a portal opening breaching the awkward tension.

"Adam..." Lucifer said more urgently, his eyes wistful. The metal-loving angel stops, allowing himself to look over.

"What do you want now--"

The first man was at a loss of words. For a moment, he didn’t see the traitorous angel that broke his heart twice. Instead, he saw the gold and blue, ever-radiant angel, granting him a dazzling smile. The smile that rivaled the Sun... Sam. The soon-to-be Morningstar. His beauty really was captured in the name...

"...I don't know if I can see you again– at least, not here. And I know you're hurting too... But I meant every word that I said before." Lucifer stands to his full height, allowing his horns, his eyes, and other aspects of his demonic form to spring out.

"...you could come to Hell, though. Outside the extermination visits. I'll wait for you, if you decide to seek my company again.”

Adam is suddently stricken with a grief he hadn't realized he possessed, frozen in place as Lucifer fell backwards into the golden portal.

“Wh-What– Wait, Sam–”

"Until next time, Big Guy."

In a flash, The King of Hell vanished, leaving the husk of a rockstar behind. Adam had no time to cope, hand running through his greasy hair as he choked on a sob. He startles as a furious series of knocks clammer at the door.

"Adam!!! Ugh, Dick Master, sir!!! You're late to the Meet and Greet!! What is taking so long, sir?!"

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bucknastysbabe · 2 years ago

Note

Hiii can you write anything where like the reader is Aemond’s older sister, she’s kinda a bitch to him (in the way older sisters always are, not like vile just rude and sometimes mean but like in a “only I can make fun of him” way), but they’re betrothed and it’s their wedding night and she’s nervous

Lmfao I love Aemond and characterizing his persona of I Am The Toughest Targ Ever But I Am Socially Awkward. Thanks for the request, hope you enjoy xoxo

Get a load of this guy!

Rating: Explicit at the end. Other than that SFW

Tags: Teasing, Incest, Frottage, pnv!sex, Aemond’s religious issues, Aemond’s social issues, targaryen!Sister, background sibling stuff aka Aegon is still an idiot, she’s mean but loves him

You poked him in the shoulder in court. More of a jab really. Aemond’s sulky purple eyes glared at you. He mouthed, “What?” You smirked and leaned down, as he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet and whispered, “Bow a bit harder to father and you might lick his boots next time.”

Aegon dissolved into a fit of snickers, hiding his smile behind a ringed hand. Helaena held hands with mother, staring off into the distance. Aemond grimaced and hissed, “Very funny. At least I show some decency.” He held his pointed chin up high, but you could see the embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

You grinned and shoved him, earning a sharp look from mother.

You sat with your father and Lord Strong, watching Aemond twirl his sword around. You had to admit he had…grown into a handsome young man. He was your betrothed. At some point it might’ve been Jacaerys, but that ended long ago with the loss of your brother’s eye. Seeing your nephew gawk at the much more skilled, handsome, and elegant Aemond made you not question the betrothal one bit.

“Nephews? Have you come to train,” he called with that dead serious look he always held.

The boys looked apt to soil their breeches. You would too, especially if you were little Luke. They stared in shock. You smirked and leaned over the stone, shouting, “Better run lads! Aemond here is of the touchy sort!” That got a smile on their face but a sword pointed up at you.

Your brother frowned deeply, brow furrowed. He sourly replied, “You’re a very becoming jester sister!” You shrugged and laughed, Viserys’ own laughing dissolving into a haggard cough. Aemond snapped back around to get settled by Ser Criston. He was so easy to rile up, regardless of how Aemond tried to act calm and collected.

Still, he was doing better than drunkard Aegon. Drunkard Aegon was entertaining in his own ways, but no fit for a king. Everyone knew that. You hoped Rhaenyra could take the throne and that was that. Emphasis on hoped.

Your mother had informed you that the wedding was to be rushed forward. She claimed both you and your brother were past age to procreate, since Hel and Aegon had already pushed out three. You raised a brow, wondering if Alicent considered she was 19 when she had Aegon. Aemond was eighteen and you twenty. Plenty of time.

“No more questions my child,” Alicent said.

You nodded, flexing your fingers to stare at your nails. It was something to focus on. Viserys’ ill health was the real reason. You opened your mouth to speak, earning a smack to the hand.

Still you uttered.

“Aemond know?”

“Yes.”

Fuck.

Aegon was plastered. Again. But that was perfect for you to get any information on your soon-to-be forever twerp’s sexual history. He lazed on a bench in Maegor’s Holdfast, stinking of the streets and sex. You wrinkled your nose and kicked him in the thigh.

He spluttered and hazy violet eyes stared up at you. Aegon sleepily slurred, “Whahyowan?” Rolling your eyes you sat down and tucked your legs to the side. You probably smelt of dragon, hopefully the dullard wouldn’t puke. Petting back his wild locks you said, “You took Aemond to a brothel, yes?”

His pouty lips curled into a tipsy grin, manic laugh bubbling out into the high ceiling. Aegon mused, “Yea! Like a’lil maid’n!” You moved your gloved hand in jerks to get him to keep talking. Aegon sat up a little and hummed, “Ya’ scared Aem’s gonna be impotent?” He shrugged, “Refused ta’ go back w’me but he can get the job done, dear sis!”

You flatly stared while the prince giggled and slapped his knee in hysteria.

“Ha-ha very funny Aegon. Good news he’ll be able to get it up,” you poked him, “Unlike someone I know!” Aegon gaped for a moment before laughing harder, clutching his stomach. You couldn’t help but join in with him, he had always kept you laughing.

A couple days before the wedding you approached Aemond in the library. He was pouring over scrolls per usual, one eye intense and rapidly moving across the words. He stiffened and sat up, primly addressing you, “Princess.”

You hopped onto the wooden table, placing your hand over his readings. Aemond huffed, crossing his arms and pursing fine lips. In an exasperated tone he asked, “Will you drop the terrorizing older sibling act when we are to be wed?” You almost laughed in his face before registering the tone of uncertainty, the dead honesty in his eye.

Slowly, softly, and quite nervously you placed your hand over his much bigger one. Aemond inhaled sharply, tilting his blonde head away. You sighed, “You know I mean nothing by teasing you right? It’s just fun to see the golden child get flustered.”

Aemond narrowed his one eye, lovely hair swaying as he snapped his head up, but didn’t move his hand away. He stated, “Golden child. Hm.” His jaw ticked as the second son thought over your words. You leaned in with a secretive smile, whispering, “Well obviously Aegon’s not fit and Hel is taking care of his kids, playing with bugs.”

Aemond scoffed at your dismissal of Helaena. He filled in, cocking his head, “What does that make you then? The troublesome elder sister who should’ve had offspring by now?” You smacked his shoulder lightly in dismay.

“Easy now Aemond,” you teased. His lips quirked slightly, that cute blush from embarrassment rearing it’s head. He stared at you quietly, cheeks pinkened. You raised a brow, nervously joking, “What? Why are you looking like that?”

The chair scraped back with a jolt, you yelped and jumped in surprise. Aemond’s big hands covered your shoulders as hard lips pressed to your own. He softened slightly, you moving your lips against his own. Your hand came up to tilt his head so his nose would stop mashing against yours. Little fool.

The kiss grew heated, Aemond’s hands squeezing softly. He tentatively lapped against your tongue, you gasping in excitement. The pair of you lazily moved together, pressing closer and closer. Your brother made a soft sigh, twirling his tongue against your own. You spread your legs to let him closer. He grunted and gripped harder, growing desperate. When you reached down to palm his hard length Aemond pulled back with a sharp gasp, readjusting himself.

You gasped in shock, biting out, “The hells Aem? Something wrong with you?”

He heaved, composing himself back to that cold demeanor. Aemond declared snootily, “We must wait until our wedding. As the gods intended.” A purple eye flicked down while he continued, “I think it’s best if you go for now.”

You were annoyed now. The bastard got you riled up and your cunt wet. What did it matter if the wedding was days away? You snapped, “Others take you! Do you always have to be so damn proper? Imp.”

Indignantly hopping down the table you couldn’t help but feel scorned, tugging your stays into place. Aemond stood stiff as a board, like his obviously interested cock in his trousers. He avoided your angry glare. You scoffed and stomped off. Atleast you knew he was hung.

You were properly wed now. Also very clothed with your nuisance of a brother pacing around— clothed too. He had forbidden the usual bawdy act of the bedding ceremony. Aegon had loudly complained the entire time, damn pervert. Nerves shook your body. Aemond muttered to himself, “Okay. Duty. I will fulfill my duty.”

You began to take off your beautiful dress, a bit dejected at his utilitarian approach to this. You had hoped the passion he had in the kiss earlier this week would come back.

Once your second stocking was off Aemond stopped pacing and gawked at you. He deadpanned, “What are you doing?” You spat, “Undressing myself so you can ‘fulfill your duty’ husband!” He looked upset, lips pursing in distaste. Aemond said almost imperceptibly, “Wait.”

You stopped and raised a brow. He came closer, now much larger frame crowding your own. He murmured, “That’s my job to undress my wife.” Your gaze softened, a hand reaching blindly for Aemond’s calloused one. You squeezed his hand gently.

As if struck by a force Aemond lifted and pushed you onto the bed. He yanked off his boots frantically, calling, “One second, okay? Stay still.” You couldn’t help but laugh, some of the nerves dissipating at the rigid brother hopping around stripping like a madman. Your laugh stopped as his hardened body was revealed to your eyes.

Fuck. He was handsome. That cock was terrifying to think about fitting inside of you. He stilled and asked, “I know I’m all scarred-,” you interrupted and hissed, “Take off the damn patch and undress me like you promised.”

He did so and busied himself ridding your dress and underclothes with steady hands. You complimented, “I love the sapphire, dolt.” He smacked your bare ass, yanking off your chemise. You moaned at the sharp pain, cunt beginning to ache.

Aemond flipped you over and crawled onto the bed, his sureness melting away. Like your own as the gravity of the situation hit you. Man and wife, naked as the day they were born, about to consummate their union. You shook with anxiety, panting under his strong body.

Aemond blinked slowly before saying, “It’s just your ‘imp’ of a brother, relax.” You closed the gap between your faces, closing into his lips like before. Aemond settled between your thighs, hard cock slotting against your bare cunt. Both of you gasped into the kiss, hands running wild across pale bodies. You deepened the kiss, licking inside Aemond’s warm mouth.

He responded with a low noise and a rut against your slick entrance. The tip of his cock drug against your bundle of nerves, drawing a surprised whine out of you. Aemond seemed to smile against your mouth, doing it again, even grabbing your hips to get a better angle.

You wrapped your thighs around his slim waist, moaning softly. Everything felt so nice. You nipped Aemond’s lip and begged, “Aem, Aem, ah- kiss my neck?” He hummed and lowered his mouth down your jaw and to the sensitive thin skin of your throat.

You threw your head back and let out a long whine, rutting back against him roughly. Your belly was tightening like it did when you pleasured yourself late, late at night. Aemond groaned quietly, sucking a mark onto your collarbone, one of his hands curiously groping your breast.

Your clit was growing more sensitive from the friction, gasping out, “Fuck! Aemond you better not stop!” He laughed breathily, “I won’t dear sister.” He snapped his hips a couple more times before you cried out and locked your thighs tight around him. Your cunt pulsed and wetted further along his cock.

Aemond groaned, “Gods, fucking hells. I need to fuck you.”

You nodded in a heated daze, begging, “Yes, yes, fuck me brother.”

He reached down to ease himself in, breathing going stuttered and harsh. You whined at the pinch, clinging to his wide shoulders, grabbing onto long blonde hair. He slid in until fully seated as best as he could in your tight pussy, desperately panting and kissing.

“Oh my,” was all he could utter.

The pair of you kissed until Aemond began to stroke into your now relaxed body. The pain had subsided, your slick easing the way. He gritted out against you, “Not- fuck- going to last my lady.” You babbled, “Don’t care, go wild you idiot.” He growled and wetly slapped harder into you, balls hitting your ass. You smiled— still so easy to piss off that one.

Aemond roughly fucked you, focusing all his energy like in the training yard. You yanked at his silky strands, moaning with abandon, crying his name with delight.

“That’s it! Fuck! Yes brother!”

Aem slapped your ass again, biting your lip until it bled. He groaned, “Yeah? Good?” You nodded with an echo, “Yes, s’good!” Aemond’s eye seemed to roll up as he fucked deeper, face falling to the sweaty crook of your neck. He grabbed so hard at your waist it would bruise later, snapping his hips with feral grunts.

You praised him along, the twitching of his cock growing more frequent. Aemond panted, “Close.” Squeezing around his length, you kissed at the tender scar around the bad eye. Your younger brother slammed into you a final time, filling you with his hot seed. The blonde rasped your name in a low timbre, mumbling nonsense as he shook.

He relaxed and slumped onto you, petting your hair in a haze. You’d never seen your brother so worn out, pliant. He sucked in breath, palms soothing the skin where he was practically tearing at your waist. You sighed at the feeling of completeness. It was done, and quite fantastic at that.

You couldn’t help but pinch Aemond’s sharp cheek and tease, “If only you fucked as well as you interact with others.” His annoyed grumble lit up your heart. So, so easy.

#asks answered #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #hotd smut #hotd fic #aemond targaryen x reader #targaryen!reader

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helreginn · 8 months ago

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@eyes-blazing asked:

👐 for my muse's reaction to yours squishing their face!

Laid on her back, moping and miserable. Hel had been unmoved by her sister's words. For several long minutes she just laid there, pouting up at the other Lokadóttir as she tried to cheer up the older redhead. That changed quickly when her hands came upon the goddess' cheeks and Hel frowned as she shook her head free and turned to look at the wall on the other side of the room. "That was cute when your hands were smaller than mine, Pyira. Now you're just annoying."

#eyesblazing #👐#asks #ic #meme #eyesblazing: Pyira #You expect me to make a decision?#Rood

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jane-the-virgin0 · 4 months ago

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Knocking at death's door (ch. 2)

summary: ~right before ROTS~ you're the Princess of a foreign land, about to be Queen. your father, although unknown to you, is Palpatine (pls suspend your disbelief), and you have force lightning powers. your powers have been sensed by the Grand Council and they know that you'll be recruited to the dark side, so they send Obi-Wan and Anakin to kill you before you can be used as a weapon. your life is doomed from the start, but Obi-Wan can't complete his mission.

pairing: Obi-Wan/reader

rating: 18+, minors DNI

warnings: violence (it is Star Wars), eventual smut, fluff, angst, death, age gap (reader is 24)

chapters: 1 ✧ 2/?

w/c: ~1237 (oops sorry not longer lol)

a/n: i've decided i'm gonna switch POV's every chapter:) hope u like!

˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚✧ ﾟ. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡

“Master, must we have to act as a bodyguard for yet another princess?” Anakin whined.

“We are not bodyguards, have you been listening? We are to pose as bodyguards to gain the princess’ trust, then we are going to kill her.”

“Why can we not go kill her now?”

“Patience, Anakin. We must observe her and see how strong her sith powers are. If we were to engage her in combat immediately, we run the risk of being overpowered.”

“But-“

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan said, exasperated with his young padawan.

He directed their cruiser towards the distant planet. He too was incredulous about the fact that Mace Windu, and the rest of the Grand Council, would send their Jedi on a mission to one of the farthest reaches of the galaxy to kill a no-name princess. But if it must be done for good of galaxy, then Obi-Wan was willing to do it.

Still, he mused to himself, how did a long-lost daughter of Palpatine hide under the radar for so long? And being only a few years older than Anakin? If she was as half as strong as Anakin, they would be in trouble.

Sighing, he prepared the craft for landing.

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“During this transfer of power, we are here to protect the princess and offer guidance for traveling to and from the Senate.”

“Wonderful!” The Queen exclaims, gracefully eating her plate of fresh fruit.

“Y/N? Anything to add?” She says pointedly.

“…No. Not really, your Grace.”

Obi-Wan eyes the Princess. She picks at her plate, mixing all the food together into one big blob.

“We are merely here to keep you safe, Princess, do not fear of us getting in your way.” Obi-Wan adds.

The Princess eyes him warily, her body language like that of a stray cat, coiled back and ready to attack if needed.

“Nonsense! She will be fine- in fact, she will be pleasant and accompany you on a tour throughout the palace before our court convenes.” The Queen says, standing up from the table, her handmaiden rushing to pull the chair back for her.

Obi-Wan looked back at the Princess, catching her throw a deathly glare at the Queen.

He felt exhausted already. His frustration with being sent on a mission that was proving to be a lot more troublesome than originally thought - himself and Anakin really should be able to kill her in a week, but with her stubbornness, it would likely take longer to get her to trust them - combined with having to wrangle Anakin like normal was beginning to put him in a sour mood.

Obi-Wan stood up, gently bowing to the Queen. He puts a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, interrupting his focus on stuffing his face full of fresh fruit and bread.

Anakin’s chair squeaks back as he rushes to stand.

“Thank you, your Grace.” He says.

Obi-Wan nearly rolls his eyes.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you around and then to your quarters.”

Y/N stands up and begins to walk down the hall. Obi-Wan and Anakin trail after her.

“It is a beautiful palace, Princess. What do you know of its construction?” Obi-Wan asks, attempting to make conversation.

Y/N shrugs.

Anakin attempts to hold back a snort.

“I cannot say. All I know is that my grandmother, the Queen before my mother, helped to build the garden that helps to feed everyone in the castle. It is located in the back, if you are ever curious and want to meander through.” She says, keeping her gaze forward.

“Do you ever leave the palace?” Anakin asks, sauntering up to walk next to Y/N.

Y/N pays him no mind. “Rarely, only for special occasions like festivals and crowning ceremonies.”

Anakin makes eye contact with Obi-Wan, considering what she said.

“Here is the library-“ Y/N says, pointing towards an open door.

“And down the hall is the ballroom.”

“You have parties here often?”

“Anakin.”

For the first time, the Princess laughs. It’s a soft laugh, barely audible, but there nonetheless.

He feels himself smile in response.

“Yes, actually. We host the court and their families, as well as any important families in towns across the realm. Although they meet with the Queen for business, we try to keep them happy with dancing, music, and alcohol once a month.”

“When’s the next one?”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“In a few days time, actually. Presuming you are…still here, you might be able to experience it.”

They walked in silence down the hall and up the stairs.

“These two rooms here are for you. The one down the hall and to the right is mine.” She points at three rooms.

“I will take the first watch tonight, Princess.” Obi-Wan says.

She halts.

“First watch?”

“Yes, we’re here to protect you, so we’re going to watch over your room while you sleep.” Anakin says, shrugging.

“Absolutely not.” Y/N says sharply, her demeanor now even more frosty.

“I’m afraid that cannot be helped, Princess. We have promised the Queen that we would keep you safe-“

“I’ve never had someone guard my room before! I am not to be a prisoner in my own palace!”

Her angry words matched the fire in her eyes. Before either of them could respond, she marched into her room and slammed the door.

Anakin turned to Obi-Wan.

“Still think I’m annoying?” He grins and walks back the way they came.

Prisoner in her own room? They were sent here to make sure no one got in and tried to take even more advantage of her Sith powers. But what if they needed to be more concerned with her getting out?

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Obi-Wan stands outside the Princess’s room, the air from the hall window blowing a frigid breeze onto his body. He wraps his robes tighter around his torso.

The Princess claimed she liked to sleep with the windows open, much to the disdain of Obi-Wan. While he saw no reason to believe her untrustworthy, he made sure to let her know how much of a security risk it could be.

“Princess, something could sneak into your bedchambers and harm you, without us knowing.” He had said.

She scoffed.

“My window merely backs up to the back courtyard. Do you expect a stray fenner’s rock to harbor such ill will for me that it climbs my brick walls and strangles me in my sleep?”

“Princess, I sincerely care for your safety-”

“Enough!” She said, and slammed the door behind her.

If he did not know any better, he would liken her attitude to Anakin's.

Unfortunately, she had yet to do anything that would raise suspicion, and going to the Queen to tattle on the Princess would only make her like him less, so he was forced to trust her.

Anakin was in bed, resting until it was his shift, which was not for a while. Obi-Wan was trained to have his guard up at all times, after all, a Jedi must be sharp and prepared for anything.

…Which was why when he heard a slight rustling outside the window, he moved slowly, lightsaber at the ready. Taking a quick peek outside, he saw a flash of white and the Princess’ hair darting through a bush.

Mentally cursing at himself, he slides through the window and down the short drop onto the ground below.

Following after Y/N, he had no time to think about why he really let her get away with keeping your window open in the first place.

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 6 months ago

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The Jealous One pt 10

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 4,344

You really don’t know how to make bread. Hiccup doesn't know how, either.

Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE, unedited

Oh hel.

You stared down at the crumpled and half-covered plants by your feet sitting just at the base of a sheer rock wall, grimacing deeply at the wilted stems and leaves. Not a single sprout looked at all viable.

You bemoaned the thought that it might have been your fault that they ended up in such a manner- mud fights weren’t exactly conducive to healthy plants, nor were mudslides, which happened on Berk with a higher frequency than you thought they should, and the way it looked, the plants had been picked much too thin to make any kind of recovery- under normal circumstances, they should have been able to avoid any measurable damage- one or two mudballs, especially, but they looked sort of miserable, actually.

You wondered who had been picking them dry.

You sighed, feeling the full force of the sun on your back. You were sure you’d have to take responsibility, though you’d love if not another soul knew about your involvement. You could try and fix it up on your own, but-

You processed the vague sound of crunching mud- and after being so suddenly pulled from your musings, you nearly startled.

There went that idea.

You looked to your side with wide, uncomfortable eyes to greet another pair of slumped shoulders and startled eyes.

There stood Hiccup in his casual clothes, old green tunic pulled from what was most likely a deep crevasse in the piles of his room’s junk hidden under his work desk and his bed.

“I, ah-” Hiccup started, his voice slightly more nasal than usual, “Had nothing to do with that.”

You grimaced harder, turning fully to face him.

“I think I’ve been- I’ve been picking them dry.” Hiccup said, shuffling to match you, his palm grazing his elbow before coming up to brush the hair on his forehead, running it down the back of his head until it nearly reached his neck, “My leg- It gets worse when I’m, ah- …”

You glowered at him as he dropped his arm. You hoped your eyes were conveying your displeasure- culprit.

“It’s not exactly… Comfortable.”

He started shuffling and winced.

You could see the point at which he considered shifting again but decided better of it.

“You need to add more padding.” You said, brows furrowed evenly.

You knew he already had some padding in his pant leg, sewn to fit his stub, but you’d always thought he might need more in the socket of his prosthetic. You’d never said anything aloud, though- he, like you, could be quite stubborn and blind, especially when he was proud, which he was very often when it came to the things he’d built.

His original prosthetic was made by Gobber, though it was inspired heavily by Hiccup, which was something to be proud of, and Hiccup had had a hand in its care, of course, and had plans to add a few tweaks of his own.

“You think?” Hiccup asked sarcastically, looking at you with a grimace of his own. “I don’t think I’ll be able to carve in enough of a bed to keep any real padding- It’s going to shatter on me the next time I take a knife to it.”

“Yes.” You said, hoping he got blisters.

A brown-haired woman stormed past the porch on which you stood, wooden steps before you, rant wildly, though you could tell she was more impassioned by the wild mood than truly mad, "-I’d rather eat out home than be up at the hall, not with the bread- Have you noticed the difference? Audacious-brazen- the nerve-!”

You looked down at the bowl in your hands, covered by a rough, clean cloth, glowering at the poor excuse for a lump of dough you knew was cradled within it as you stood by the side between two buildings in Berk’s village center, waiting for Thora to return, listening albeit unwillingly to the rabble of the folks surrounding you.

You had been making a lot of bowls of dough recently.

It was unusually cheery out and even more bustling than usual- nearly everyone was out with a smile, though you found you weren’t so interested.

“-Aye, I ‘ave got a nice cutting of wood, if you find any interest– it’s good fer ‘em leg-making- and arm fixin,’ of ‘ourse, if yer fixing to make another, and I’m sure ye’d be needin’ some of ‘at soon.” You watched Johannes proposition Gobber out of the corner of your eye, who was clearly not paying him any attention, waving him off as he sipped out of his ‘cup’ arm- a mug with a handle stuck in it carved in the shape of a peg, easy to fit into his prosthetic’s screw hole.

Across the way, Johannes had a shallow cart of what looked to be just-recently-sanded strips of wood, thin and polite looking.

You furrowed your brows, wishing you were anywhere but there as he droned on- It was a rare day whenever anyone was unable to sell on Berk -a miracle, really- for Gobber was an easy buyer.

A tall red-headed woman burst past you, storming down the dock, hauling a large cart of barrels behind her like a field animal, “-Streams of cloth-!”

He thought himself wise and clever, but the old blacksmith was perhaps the most susceptible on the island to the advertisement of any decent material. He had a chest full of useless materials, though he often ended up doing at least something with most trinkets.

You shuffled, boot soles scuffing against the wood below, hoping that your dough was enough to land you a job in the Great Hall- they were so picky up there, really, the old maids- though you had to admit your culinary skills were quite poor.

You resisted the urge to rub the back of your head, recounting, ruminating and stewing your most recent run-in with Hoark’s wife.

She was the resentful type, one of the ones who had been pestering you and Snotlout with chores, not that he hadn’t deserved any of the pestering, but- Oh, you’d surely told her that if they wanted you to do any more you’d have to be paid. She’d respond by tossing a bowl towards your head, scolding you with something about public service and the Chief and dragons.

You shot something sour back about never having been a Rider- and, well, you’d gotten a bowl to the head for your efforts.

Exhaustion- you were up to your ankles in it.

Your arms worked hard into the pristine wooden counter, pushing and rolling dough over ground grains in the open hall of one of Berk’s newest buildings- you weren’t sure anyone had settled in yet, and that was just as well.

As you’d recently learned, with the lack of a proper kitchen in the Great Hall- it was poor, really, they’d set up shop here for the time being. You wondered when it would finally be declared a community building like the library had been, something which you’d taken a lot of joy in.

It was about time, really, and it was awful nice not to have to ask around for books or notes anymore, though some of them had the tendency to go missing, and without any real book-watcher to keep an eye out, many missing slips went unaccounted for.

You rolled the dough below your hands- dark and grainy- extra hard into the wood, a dark brown, smoother than any other table you’d known, sanded and sealed in a way that made it harder for any dough-bits to get stuck in the cracks and rot-.

You prayed to any God that would listen that Thora would be impressed with it this time- cooking was one of the least indulged-in activities on Berk and was not one you were particularly well-practiced in. It was one of your least favorite activities, in fact, but you needed the job if you were going to buy back the plants before anyone had noticed them missing and kicked up a fuss.

As you’d learned through careful reading, some of them you could only get from Johann and you knew for sure that that old liar played favorites.

It was a shame you couldn’t get coin any other way, but most things had been accounted for and you’d been stoutly refused pay for most of your chores.

You listened to the voices dancing and mingling from the open window, the wide open space and propped open doorway making you feel quite naked even separated by wooden walls from the outside.

You nearly scowled as you heard the voice of a woman, a portly blonde -very pretty but also frazzled- and you heard the vague idea of some other voice as hers mingled with something deeper.

You wished you were making stew instead. You could handle an alright stew. Snotlout would like your stew… If you didn’t tell him you were the one who made it.

You cursed the dough for the highest time that day.

Really, You had asked around and now you were starting to suspect that the dough-making test had been a torture that Thora had cooked up just for you.

You wanted to scowl again as you heard the noise of a crowd approaching the doorway once again, though you released it slightly as they bustled past.

You were slightly displeased as a straggler separated from the bunch. You caught him out of the corner of your eye as he stumbled over wood, a pleasant expression over his face as he looked back, the cheering of Gobber now loud and obvious past the door frame, growing quieter as he walked away.

You’d been running into him a lot as of late.

“What’s going on out there?” You asked, before he could speak. “It sounds like everyone’s out throwing a party. It’s not Snoggletog, is it?”

You turned your attention away from the bread

“...Something like that,” Hiccup said dryly. “Pre-festival.”

“Really?” You braced your hands against the edge of the table, the wood below creaking as you leaned over it.

You stuck your tongue out slightly, furrowing your brows at its sealed surface.

Despite its newness, it was a very poor counter; craftsmen had been, clearly, ignorant in the art of table-leg making, its sides slightly unbalanced and nailed into the floor. Compared to anything else you’d be able to find anywhere, it was probably one of the worst tables ever.

The other islands told you so- or, their trades, really. Berk’s carpenters could be considered novice in comparison- the exploration of anything other than fighting was... A privilege the inhabitants of Berk had only been recently afforded.

You wondered how the youngest children on Berk felt, having been able to grow up in a world without dragon fighting.

You’d always wondered as a kid, on war-torn Berk, how the other settlements had even been able to make something so smooth or beautiful.

The quality of the simple chairs and tables Johann had brought over on the very rare occasion had seemed otherworldly and had been sold fast- to be fair, though, it would probably be much easier for anyone to achieve that same level of quality in craft in any place with fewer conflicts.

You cringed as another loud shout echoed in from the outside, where the sun from the window felt nearly burning against your eyes.

“Here, let me-” Hiccup pressed the house’s shutters closed before going back to close the door, kicking away the stopper with his foot.

You felt every muscle in your body release as the noise from outside became more muted, looking down at your dough with new eyes.

It looked dark and slightly green, deflated like a sad, dry booger.

…It might have been overworked. You were no expert, though.

“I’m going to have to make a new batch.” You grumbled.

Hiccup shrugged, coming around the side of the counter, “...It looks fine to me?”

You didn’t even mind as he edged closer, too busy mulling over your failed batch.

“Are the others nearby?” You asked.

They hadn’t been around recently, so of course you’d assumed they’d been off doing Rider-ly things with their leader. The suckers had ditched you pretty quickly after the mud fight and you hadn't had the chance to mingle with or chase after and wrestle down the others recently, either, as they’d probably wanted you to do- though you knew they’d wander back eventually.

“...They’re up at the hall, probably, if you want to meet up with them. They’re managing the decorations, I think.” Hiccup said.

You hadn’t been around, looking around for work, nagging the Vikings that strayed from the late meal. Berk’s hardest workers always skipped it, staying out way past the setting of the sun- they were usually the ones who needed assistance but were too stubborn to ask for it. They also tended to be fond of their alone time, too disconnected from Berk’s larger circle to absorb any of the most recent news- when you were younger, you’d imagined you might end up like one of them.

“Decorations?” You asked dryly. You wouldn’t put the Twins in front of a yak, much less in charge of any decorating.

You were sure that hall would look unholy by the time you were able to see it again.

“Yeah,” HIccup said. His hair was slightly mussed and once again darkened, so he must have spent some more time in the forge, then. “You…?”

“Thora,” You grumbled, “She’s got me kneading bread all day, though I have no idea why.“

You turned his words over in your head again, then you perked up with confusion and slight skepticism, “You said something about a pre-festival?”

“Ah, yeah.” Hiccup said before he asked cautiously, “She’s… trying to hire you, isn’t she?”

“That’s what she told me.” You grumbled, before sighing with defeat, letting your hands drop from the counter and giving way as your shoulders slumped, “She’s been lying to me, though, hasn’t she?”

You stepped back from the corner and looked up finally, just in time to catch as Hiccup’s eyes darted from your feet back to your face.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as you begrudgingly took him in, back in his leathers, which looked almost polished, his underclothes darned and hair groomed if not clean, which looked almost unusual compared to his now-usual windswept look.

Though you had been making efforts to keep your mind off of it, then you were startlingly aware of his close proximity, taking careful, quick, unwilling measures of it in your mind, pulling details and etching them into permanent stone tablets and storing them away on dark-toned, foreign shelves.

You hadn’t had much time to get used to him again after your last real encounter.

The hug you shared- well, it had been, admittedly, private. It was a simple hug, though you loathed to share the experience with anyone else.

Hiccup pursed his lips, which was all you needed to know you’d been right. “She’s been… more focused on other things, so… Yeah.”

You grimaced, glancing away and nearly running a sticky hand over your head, before thinking better of it.

…Great. You’d been roped into more unpaid labor.

Hiccup looked at you oddly again.

You recalled something you’d heard earlier, and if he was right, then she was giving out your misshapen bread at the hall- maybe that was why. It was a mystery solved on his end.

You were probably not going to settle for a job at the hall, then, or risk the wrath of any others. You had to say that most of the bread that you tasted in the hall was poor. Unfortunately, though, you knew yours was worse.

“I don’t know how to make bread.” You confessed, glaring at the sacks of grains littering the corner of the hut and the sparse few bags slumped against the side of the counter table, melding to where table-leg-wall met wood flooring. “I don’t like making bread.”

You had half a mind to kick the sack, but you knew from experience that your toe would surely be stubbed, so you glared at the sizable boot-shaped indent in its side instead.

“...Does anyone like making bread?”

You turned your glare towards Hiccup, before reminding him, “Festival.”

You were sure at this point you’d age early, with how often you’d been straining your brows.

“There’s going to be one,” You stated more than asked.

“I-Ah, yeah.” Hiccup brought up his hand to rub at his chin, furrowing his brows, “I didn’t really- plan it, but, well, I think my Dad-Well, he sent a letter, and Gobber got ahold of it, and someone looked it over- there was something about expecting a warm welcome back, and harvest is soon, so-”

“Really?” You hummed, thinking.

Unlike your other Viking kin, holidays were few and far between- you had only two, Thorsday Thursday and Snoggletog, though you were sure you’d heard talk of more in the most recent years- wishful thinking, for the most part, but if it was true, and the people had been decided arbitrarily and not that it was time to celebrate, then you were sure there would be tons more to come.

“Right,” Hiccup said, crossing his arms and shrugging. “...Do you need any help?”

You gave him a look that you knew would encompass all of your skepticism at once, something you knew would say, ‘are you serious?’

It was… Maybe a bit too obvious that you did, however, you did have your reservations. Hiccup wasn’t a great cook at all- he could manage a very, very simple meal but you knew he always relied on the Hall’s meals to get by, and he was far from a baker.

At his responding second shrug you sighed and rolled your head back. Fine.

“C’mere,” You said, shuffling slightly to the side.

Awkwardly, Hiccup moved right up next to you- he didn’t take the side you’d expected, which startled you some, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle.

A glance back at Hiccup’s face told you he regretted it too, his expression stiff and his shoulders too, awkward as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“What? So I…” Hiccup reached past you, his arm brushing against yours as he touched the dough.

It would have been so easy for him to turn the rest of the way and press himself against your back- You sighed nearly shakily, pulling the dough in two, your arms jerking as the tough dough snapped in half. “I wouldn’t know.”

You handed the smaller half to him, then grimaced at it mournfully. “It’s too hard.”

“Is there… What do I do next?” Hiccup asked.

You grimaced. You’d run out of milk and other grains- most of the bags you had left were just oat and wheat. “More water and dough- that is all I’ve got.”

“Hmm,” Hiccup grimaced back. “Where’s the…”

You nudged the sack leaning closest to you with your foot, grains shifting stiffly as your boot made contact with the rough sack. You were careful not to jostle it too hard- though it was mostly limp, leaning against the floor and flat wooden table-wall, you’d cut it open by the top, and you knew one hard knock would be enough to cause whatever was left inside to spill across the floor.

“The water’s-...” You looked off to the side, craning your neck where, to your left, an array of spoons and bowls lay neatly mounted on one wall, a small, polite bucket of boiled water, nearly empty, sitting below it all, with what you knew was a wooden bowl floating inside, right where you’d left it. “I’ll get the water.”

You let out a short puff of air before walking around Hiccup and going for a bucket.

You paid no mind to him as you’d bent down and peered into it, where your shallow bowl had flipped upside down somehow and the wood had gone from a dry dark to an even darker, water-soaked, nearly jet-black.

Behind you, Hiccup grunted.

You heard a small thump and heard what sounded like fabric shifting- he was kneading the dough, then, you assumed- possibly. He was most probably unclean, yet your dough was trash dough anyways, so perhaps it was for the best.

You grabbed ahold of your bowl with a sigh, flipping it over with your fingers and scooping up a decent measure of water, holding it carefully yet casually in one hand as you stood up and turned back towards Hiccup who had, while you were not paying attention, grabbed ahold of your sack of flour.

Somehow he’d turned it upside down, the flap holding the sack closed slowly unfolding itself, the beginnings of a muffle rushing building, not unlike the sound sand made as it poured out from between your fingers.

“Wait, I-” You startled, stepping forwards and dropping the bowl, which fell to the ground with a clatter and a splash.

Before you could reach out in full, Hiccup’s shaking yet tight grip on the sack meant that with all the force of a Nightmare, a pile of flour exploded over both the floor and your dough piece, resting miserably and floppily over the counter.

Your eyes fluttered open with astonishment, the shifting of the skin over your face feeling thicker as you opened your mouth, a heavy cover of flour laying across it.

You blinked down hurriedly, tugging at your tunic and staring at the heavy layer of nearly edible silt along your front. As it thickened under water- well, it would be the worst trouble to clean.

Besides you, Hiccup coughed, eyes clenched shut, the flour’s sack mostly empty and lying abandoned against new wooden floors- you hope they’d already been sealed. They should have been, but there were a few lazy folk and you knew you’d be feeling standoffish if, well, they hadn’t been.

You let your arms fall limp as you glared at the large pile over the countertop, a building ticking feeling growing in your throat.

Once he settled, you glanced at Hiccup, a sour look on your face, then you glanced away, stubbornly flicking some flour over towards him with two fingers.

“This is your fault,” You said stubbornly, denying your own clumsy lack of foresight and tossing Hiccup into the spotlight.

“What- hey,” Hiccup began before you yourself began to cough.

You puffed, and right after a cloud of white and beige grain bloomed into the air and sank with the slowest abandon onto the already thickly covered countertop.

Maybe it was the poor timing, or the comical, nearly hysterical silence which followed, or maybe it was perhaps a sudden reaction and refusal to accept what had happened and to perhaps smother any awkward tension with laughter, but you’d had to clenched your lips shut then, stifling a sudden onslaught of laugher, something choking and joyful-ugly in your throat- sharp as if you’d just seen one of the Twins tipped by a Yak instead of vice versa or you’d heard a Terror spill a bucket of fish over someone else’s yet, and yet this felt much lighter.

In the silence you’d left behind, it was Hiccup who laughed, an awkward, unsure thing, flour splattered across his face like dry dirt.

You had to snort then, shoulders jerking, a hand coming up to your nose to wipe away the grainy powder there and staying there as the joy wracking your frame grew to be too much, causing you to nearly keel over.

You stumbled forward, almost tripping over onto Hiccup, your bent head knocking into his shoulder, his hands coming to grip your sides as he struggled to stay standing.

“Sor-sorry,” You said, your hands coming to grasp at his upper arms, your fingers curling around them as you lifted your head and smiled at him.

“I-I,” Hiccup started.

You weren’t sure you’d even had a moment with anyone that was so simple and sweet. Not even with Hiccup, when you were younger, snider and sillier.

He didn’t stop like you assumed he would, leaning closer and closer- your eyes were wide, so much so they felt almost watery as he leaned in, noses nearly knocking, blessing you with a stiff press, thin lips meeting yours with simple heat and hard intention.

Oh Hel.

You made a small noise in the back of your throat as he pulled back, your face blank but still reeling from the last press of lips, your hands flat against his arms instead of curled around them.

You were there and not, feeling strongly the heat of Hiccup’s palm nearing your back yet practically soaking in the wooden-ness of your limbs.

“I-I,” You tried, glancing to the side, then back at Hiccup, scrambling for even a thought, something to say- instead you just leaned closer, his breath curling at your lips, shaking.

“Do you…?” Hiccup tried, his head tilting slightly more to the side as he too leaned again, his eyes falling slightly lidded, mouth hanging slightly open and his lungs beat with heavy breath and heart.

He pulled you close again, nearly flush.

You pressed back into it with nearly a confused whine, though you were no less invested, tugging him closer to you, the both of you turning smoothly for the single instant you’d both been pressed together before you pulled apart again.

“What…?” Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his sleeves as your head fell to his shoulder, resting in the place where the edge of one leather pauldron dug into your forehead.

You matched his shifting, as his chin rested just barely over your shoulder-ensconced head, the both of you moving in some tight, quiet, easing dance, all stiff limbs and smooth, small movements.

It hadn’t been much, but it had been enough to leave you panting, your face hot enough and your eyes nearly burning as you struggled to come back to yourself.

#httyd #how to train your dragon #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #fem reader #female reader #toothless

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bcolfanfic · 1 month ago

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wip not-wednesday ty for the tags <3

from el dorado part 2.

---

“Was just telling Hel, I sure hope they don’t live in a walk up.” Blakely said as he set the tubs down by the door, exhaling and shaking his arms out when they were free. Jamie couldn't see them all that well from the couch but could see enough to be able to tell they were both packed to the lid with kid stuff.

Helen he thought. Patron saint of every good thing.

Jamie walked over with Ollie sitting on his hip when trying to nudge him off his lap and onto the ground didn't seem to go anywhere. He swayed at Benny's side, swiping hair out of where it had fallen in his nephew's eyes. It needed cut, he thought, trying to work out in his head if he or Benny could do it themselves.

“Hey there buddy,” Blakely said softly towards Ollie without a greeting to Jamie, giving his foot a gentle shake. Ollie looked at him through wary eyes, but smiled all the same. “I like these socks, my little guy likes Spiderman too.”

Jamie forced a light laugh as he shifted him on his hip, and Blakely still didn't say anything to him. Just looked past him at Benny like the three-year-old he'd been talking to was being held up an invisible force.

Benny cleared his throat. “We appreciate you guys doing this, really," He said, Blakely nodding along.

“Yeah well,” He started, popping his knuckles as he talked. “We don’t have the space to save everything for hand me downs- ‘specially when we don’t know the gender yet,”

It took one- two, three seconds- and Benny blurting out for Jamie to process what had just been said.

“Helen’s pregnant?”

“What?”

The two syllables left Jamie and Everett’s mouths at the same time, Jamie’s eyes widening as the other man seemed to shrink on himself. He froze where he stood, sucking in his bottom lip.

“Wasn’t uh-" He said, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding both of their looks. "Wasn't supposed to say anything to anyone yet, she’s all worried about what everyone’s gonna think,”

“It’s okay,” Benny started. Jamie covered Ollie's ear that wasn't pressed against him with his palm.

“You guys know how babies are made, right?”

Blakely grimaced- one hand on his hip, fingers grazing his pocket as he tapped his foot against the ground.

He looked annoyed. Benny looked annoyed.

Jamie swallowed.

“Take him for a sec?” He finally said after a minute, passing Ollie off to Benny. He didn’t wait for an answer before he walked just past Blakely. clapping a hand on his shoulder as he went.

The message to follow him was received.

Blakely didn't so much as look at him out of the corner of his eye in the elevator or after. He crossed his arms and uncrossed them, popped his knuckles, exhaled through his lips and inhaled through his nose.

He looked less annoyed now, Jamie mused to no one. Was back to the usual awkward he'd insisted on being around him since last August.

Jamie fell back to let him walk outside first- and get a few paces ahead before he parked his rear on the steps down to the sidewalk. Blakely paused, one hand shielding his eyes as he squinted down at him in the sun.

If he squinted back at him he could almost see him in Bagram. Same awkward unsure face except with a helmet on his pretty head, buckle straps swinging below his chin.

“Need mommy to buckle you up?” Jamie would tease, getting an eye roll in response.

But he let him buckle his helmet anyways, always did. And Jamie always chewed on his bottom lip as he pulled the strap to tighten it after, trying to focus on making sure his friend's head was adequately protected. Not on how he could feel him breathing on his fingers. Not on how much bigger his eyes looked standing this close to him. Not on how he was going to script kicking Benny and Croz out of the room when they got back tonight.

“Well,” He said- starting some sort of farewell and stopping when Jamie shook his head at him.

“Sit,” He said, nudging his head towards the spot next to him on the steps. “‘m tired of Benny tellin’ me we gotta talk about this.”

#young vets au #james douglass #benny demarco #douglass x demarco #everett blakely #masters of the air

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farity · 1 year ago

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Obsession, part 13

"I'm so glad you're going to be there, I never know what to say to people."

You smiled at Helaena. "People like to talk about themselves, more than anything. Just ask them something and let them ramble on."

Helaena ate some of her oatmeal. "I still think they should change the name. Flea Bottom Hospital is rather horrible, don't you think?' she mused. "Maybe it should be Ladybug Hospital, or-"

"Yeah, who the hell names a hospital after an insect's ass?"

You laughed at Aegon.

When Aemond walked in, you rolled your eyes at him. He was wearing the concert t-shirt.

"That's got to be the coolest thing you have ever worn," Aegon commented. "So I'm guessing it's not yours."

"According to my wife," Aemond said, kissing the top of your head, "she buys her concert shirts two sizes too big in case they shrink."

"I do! You never know if they'll be child sized after the first wash."

"Aegon, don't forget the meeting later."

Aegon groaned, "how can I possibly when you add shit to my calendar to remind me every twenty fucking minutes?"

"I do what needs to be done."

* * * * *

The next afternoon you got ready for the charity event, curling your hair, taking twice as long with your makeup. You just wanted to be at your best as a representative of the family.

When you were finally satisfied, you put on the earrings and turned to find Aemond staring at you from the doorway.

"Wow."

You made a worried face at him. "Do you think this will be okay? I don't want to disappoint your mother."

He shook his head slowly. "You are not going to disappoint anyone. You look amazing." He peered in at the side of your face. "Are those the Valyrian earrings?"

"Yeah, the shop had these great replicas, I think they look great with the dress."

Aemond smiled at you. "They do. You're going to be great, and mom and Hel will be with you." He leaned down to kiss the side of your neck. "I don't want to smudge your lipstick," he murmured, placing soft kisses on your skin. "You look great. You smell delicious. Go have fun."

You wanted to stay in his arms, to be honest, not completely convinced that representing the family at such a public event was the best idea, but it was one of Alicent's causes and she had asked you to be there, so there you would be.

* * * * *

"The Boltons, the Grimms," Aegon said, "neither can pull off something big, not even joining forces. I mean, the attempt on Helaena was one thing, but neither could have supplied father with that kind of firepower."

Aemond rubbed his eye. "I thought maybe the Martells, but blowing stuff up is not their style. But all signs point to that illiterate fuck in Storm's End."

Aegon's jaw dropped. "Baratheon?"

"He has the numbers, he hates us-"

"He hates you, since you declined to marry any of his daughters," Aegon laughed. "I mean, I don't fucking blame you, but yeah, he'd be up for a little revenge action. But why would father go to him?"

"Who else would he go to? Didn't some Baratheon call Rhaenys "the queen who never was"? That pretty much doomed any goodwill between the Velaryons and the Baratheons. It probably made father happy to hear that."

Aemond tapped his fingers on the desk. "If father wanted to get back at me, he'd go to someone who doesn't use our suppliers, someone who backed him when he became head of the House, and someone who doesn't particularly like me."

"Borros motherfucking Baratheon."

"He's gone quiet since father's untimely death, but I'm keeping tabs on him."

Aegon was silent for a few moments. "So tell me, little brother. How is married life?"

"Fuck off, Aegon."

Aegon laughed again. "I must say-"

"You don't."

"If you ask me-"

"I didn't."

"She's not exactly who I pictured for you."

Aemond raised an eyebrow. "I'm probably going to regret asking, but just who did you picture for me?"

"Some cold hearted bitch who'd walk around covered in diamonds, and once a month you two would have your pre-scheduled sexual congress before wiping off and returning to your separate bedrooms."

"Your imagination is a frightening thing, brother."

"So is your mind, Aemond, but it keeps us safe, so I'm okay with that." Aegon looked at his watch. "Oh fuck off, I know I haven't exercised today. Fuck this tech bullshit."

Aemond took a deep breath. "And on that note, I have to get back to work."

* * * * *

"You look so pretty," Helaena said, sipping at her wine. "Everyone is looking at you."

You blew out a breath. "I'm trying not to think about that. And I absolutely love your dress, Hel," you added, seeing Helaena smiled. She was wearing a light blue dress with tiny embroidered butterflies on it, her long hair parted on the side.

"Well, you look great," she reiterated, "plus you're wearing the Smoke of Valyria earrings. I mean, I think it's been decades since anyone wore them."

You looked at her. "The lady from the shop added them to my bag. They're replicas."

Helaena smiled at you and Alicent came up behind her. "I would like you to meet some people. Helaena, I believe there is someone here to see you."

You glanced quickly to where Alicent was looking and saw Cregan Stark, looking gorgeous in a suit, and gave Helaena a small smile before you followed your mother-in-law over to a table where a couple of older ladies sat.

"Oh, here she is," one of them, a blonde with icy eyes said, "Aemond's bride. And here we thought he'd never marry." You instantly disliked her, but smiled and shook her hand. She began asking you questions about what you did, who your family were, where you'd studied, and Alicent quickly steered the conversation to the woman's older son, who had just been kicked out of yet another University. "It is so difficult to find good schooling, I mean, Joffrey is such a sweet boy, so kind and gentle, why would they ever expel him?"

The woman next to the blonde cleared her throat nervously while the blonde stared daggers at Alicent. "Indeed, yes. It is lovely to meet you, dear, I'm Saera Swyft. We are sending you and Aemond a wedding gift, I hope it's to your liking."

"What is it, a barrel of corn?" The blonde snapped, laughing to herself. "Maybe you should have your granddaughter sing for them."

"We are very proud of our girl," Saera said. "I must say, those earrings are breathtaking on you."

The blonde stood, and as she walked past you, she whispered, "singers are barely better than whores."

You smiled at Saera. "She really has some great songs."

* * * * *

"I met Cersei Lannister," you said as you took off the heels in the walk-in closet you shared with Aemond. The man had so many clothes it was ridiculous. Who needed over twenty white dress shirts?

"And you survived," he said sarcastically from the door frame, "the woman is a nightmare. Come here," he added, his voice turning soft.

You turned, having changed into pajamas. "What?"

He reached out, grabbed you and pulled you to him. "I said, come here." He kissed you, lips lingering over yours, and you smiled. "I didn't want to mess up your lipstick earlier."

You laughed as he lifted you up, walking over to the sitting area facing the fireplace and then sat with you on his lap.

"I hear you were splendid, everyone was taken with you."

You shrugged. "I don't remember half the names, other than Cersei and Lady Swyft."

"They don't matter," he added, pressing another kiss to your jaw. "I'm proud of you," he murmured. "I know this has been a lot of change in a short amount of time."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"You mean a lot to me," he said quietly, and pressed his forehead against your temple.

You said nothing, letting him hold you, your emotions swirling inside you as you sank against him, enjoying his warmth and strength.

* * * * *

The next day you had to pick up your stuff from work. Your boss was surprisingly accommodating, but told you she wanted to do your exit interview in person, and you felt you at least owed her that, given that you hadn't given her any notice.

You asked the two guards to wait in the car for you and walked in to the building, heading straight to your boss's office. There weren't many people in the office, which was pretty normal, and when you walked into her office, having texted her to verify what time you were meeting, there was a man sitting across the desk from her.

Your boss looked terrified, and you immediately took a step back.

The man turned, holding a gun aimed straight at you.

"Well, hello there. I'm Ramsay Bolton."

* * * * *

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