#custom name pendant

[channelrat]

this firefly necklace is on SALE and i cant ORDER things right now

[manoartesana]

🌟 Hylian Pendant with Shield and Personalized Names in Hylian Font 🌟

Hylian pendant crafted in 925 Sterling Silver. This stunning piece features a finely detailed shield and the timeless elegance of your names in the enchanting Hylian font. The perfect fusion of Hyrule sophistication and personalized charm!

✨ Details:

Material: 925 Sterling Silver

Pendant Size: Approximately 25 mm (0.984 inches)

🛍️ Get yours now and embrace the essence of Hyrule in every detail!

🌈 Lleva contigo un pedacito de Hyrule con nuestro colgante Hyliano único. ¡Hazlo tuyo hoy mismo!

🍂 Etsy Store: Hylian Pendant 🍂

[dvbabybracelet]

Elevate Your Style with Dolce Valentina's Personalised Name Necklaces

At Dolce Valentina, we believe that your jewelry should be as unique as you are. That's why we offer a stunning collection of personalised name necklaces, crafted to perfection and designed to celebrate individuality. Whether you're looking for a chic name necklace or a bespoke piece with multiple names, our range caters to all styles and occasions.

Why Choose a Personalised Name Necklace?

A name necklace is more than just a piece of jewelry—it's a statement, a story, and a symbol of identity. Whether you're gifting a loved one or treating yourself, a personalised necklace with a name adds a meaningful touch. From elegant custom name necklaces to double name necklaces, each piece is thoughtfully designed to reflect personal connections and timeless style.

Our Range of Name Necklaces:

Classic Name Necklaces: Simple yet sophisticated, these necklaces feature a name beautifully inscribed in your choice of font, making them perfect for daily wear or special occasions.

Customised Name Chains: Opt for a bolder look with a personalised name chain, available in a variety of materials like sterling silver, gold, and rose gold. These pieces are ideal for those who want a modern, eye-catching design.

Kids' Name Necklaces: Celebrate the love for your little ones with our children's name necklaces. Perfect for new parents or as a thoughtful baby gift, these necklaces are delicate, durable, and forever sentimental.

Double Name Necklaces: Can’t pick just one name? Our double name necklaces allow you to feature two names, whether it's your children’s names, a couple’s initials, or any combination that holds special meaning.

Pearl Name Necklace: For those who adore timeless elegance, our pearl name necklaces offer a graceful blend of classic pearls with a personalised touch.

Handcrafted in the UK

Each name necklace at Dolce Valentina is handcrafted by skilled artisans in the UK. We pay attention to every detail, ensuring that every letter and curve is crafted with precision. Our dedication to quality means that your customised name necklace will be both durable and beautiful, standing the test of time.

A Perfect Gift for Every Occasion

From birthdays and anniversaries to christenings and holidays, a personalised necklace with a name makes the perfect gift. Whether it's a baby name necklace for a new mother or a ladies’ name necklace for a stylish friend, these pieces are thoughtful, personal, and timeless.

Explore Our Collection Today

Dolce Valentina offers a wide selection of name necklaces, with styles ranging from personalised name chains to elegant name pendants. Each piece is customizable to reflect your individuality or to represent the ones you love. Explore our collection and create a piece that’s truly yours, because at Dolce Valentina, your name is more than just a word—it's your identity, your story, your legacy.

Visit Dolce Valentina today to find your perfect name necklace and make a lasting impression with every piece of jewelry you wear.

[blisscarat]

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Custom Made Iced Out "Michelle" Customized Moissanite Hip Hop Pendant.

[takshvidiamonds]

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Check Out The New Collection Of Hip Hop Pendant

[girlygguk]

FIRST CLASS | JJK (Teaser)

summary in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite.

uni au, rich student!jk x rich student!f.reader

[fluff, angst, smut] childhood bestfriends to lovers, pining, unrequited(?) love, they're likee chaebols okay, tae's sister reader, mega SIMP kook because i literally can't write him any other way, jungkook is a sweet fuckboy (if that exists)

teaser word count: 1.4k (sfw, cursing)

full fic word count: 25k (nsfw)

release date: july-16 @ 2pm (est)

>>> FIRST CLASS IS OUT NOW! <<<

-------

2 years prior ੈ✩‧₊˚ circa. your 19th birthday. . .

"Get fucked, Jeongguk." The words rip from your throat, venomous and sharp as they slap your best friend's face into a furrowed, exasperated expression.

You yank the jacket tighter around your shoulders as the cold night air whips at your skin, storming down the sidewalk. The urge to rip the jacket—his jacket—off your body is strong, but it's so fucking cold. You may be petty and possibly overreacting a little right now... but you're not stupid.

Jungkook's heavy footsteps trail after you, his calls of your name only pushing you to walk faster. He catches up in no time, your hurried steps no match for his long strides. He tries to gently grab your arm, but you shrug off his touch angrily, spinning around to glare at him. You're about to tell him to fuck off again when he speaks first.

"Come back inside. It's like a fucking blizzard out here; you're going to freeze to death," he says evenly, though frustration laces his words.

"Oh, please," you laugh humorlessly, shaking your head in disbelief. "As if you give a shit if I freeze."

"Don't fucking say—"

"I'm going home. You can tell everyone I'm sick and had to leave. Or don't, I don't fucking care." You turn away and start walking again, his footsteps immediately following.

"You're walking home?" You ignore his question, causing him to huff and run a hand through his hair. "Let me drive you home, please."

You ignore him again, knowing that if there's something Jungkook can't stand more than you yelling at him, it's you not speaking to him.

"Stop doing this. It's your birthday; don't let it end like this—"

"Yes, Jeongguk, it's my birthday," you seethe, whipping back around. "And you brought a random chick none of us even know to my birthday dinner. And you didn't even bother to get me a gift. On. My fucking. Birthday."

"Y/N—"

"Limited edition PlayStation, imported Swedish lacrosse stick, custom painted iPad from your favorite local fucking artist," you list the gifts you've gotten him for his birthday over the years angrily. Jungkook shakes his head, trying to step closer to you, but you hold up your hand to keep the distance.

"Do you even know how much effort I put into the things I get and do for you? And for you to sit there with that... that stupid fucking look on your—God, Jeongguk!" Your voice is on the cusp of being a whine, but you don't care. "Oh, but I'm sure you spent a decent chunk of Daddy's money on Winnie tonight, huh?" You don't care that the Daddy's money statement is also very applicable to you… you're angry.

Jungkook's jaw clenches at your words, and he steps forward, slipping his hand into the pocket of the jacket you're wearing. Before you can snap at him again, he pulls out a small velvet box and holds it out to you.

"What is that?" you demand, your voice still trembling with annoyance.

"Your gift," he says softly, opening the box to reveal a white-gold Cartier diamond necklace. "I was planning to give it to you when we were in private."

You stare at the necklace, your anger momentarily overshadowed by surprise. The diamonds of the pendant sparkle under the streetlights, and you almost let out a moan. Diamonds are your weakness.

"You motherfucker," you groan under your breath, glaring at the necklace in hopes it will dissipate into thin air so you can continue being annoyed at him.

Jungkook steps closer, his voice a whisper. "Everyone was coming with their partners, Y/N. I couldn't come alone."

You sigh, knowing that. Your comment was a cheap shot, considering Jungkook doesn't hang with a girl more than once, so it would be impossible for him to bring someone you already knew. But Winnie was getting on your last nerve, and you saw an opportunity to sneak in a jab, so you took it. Not only was the girl clearing glass after glass of the expensive wine your friends had ordered as if it were water, but she was also not shy about ordering the priciest dishes on the menu. Judging by her tiny red Zara mini-dress, you highly doubt she'll be reaching for her purse at the end of the night.

Your gaze is still locked on the necklace as you take a moment to think. Jungkook hasn't moved either, continuing to hold the box open for you while he scans your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

"It's, um, engraved and shit," he mumbles, his hand not holding the box lifting to run over his jaw nervously. "And I got a chain one… for me too."

Your eyes snap to his, and he swears his heart stops beating. God, you think it's stupid. You hate it. That's okay. He'll just wait until you turn around so he can sprint to the nearest homeless guy and give him the stupid neckl—

"Like matching?" Your eyes soften, and he slowly feels the blood flooding into his heart.

"Yeah, only if you like, want to," he shrugs cutely, and you can't stop the grin from spreading across your lips.

You're close enough to slide your arms around his torso but still not near enough for Jungkook as he tugs you closer, melting into the hug. "Thank you, Gukkie. I love it," you murmur into his chest, and he feels his muscles relax at you finally using his nickname again.

You lift your head from his black fitted Givenchy dress shirt, which smells a little too good, to look up at him. "But why did you say you didn't have anything when everyone gave me their gifts?"

He looks down at the slight pout on your lips, his fingers twitching with the urge to wipe it off your mouth. Instead, he flicks the box closed with a thumb and holds it out to you. "Don't think Jaehyun would've been thrilled with me giving you this," he chuckles. "The dude hates me."

You frown up at him, about to chime in and say that isn't true, but his lips tug into a smirk as if to say he couldn't care less about what your boyfriend thought of him. And honestly, if he were Jaehyun, he'd hate him too.

Jungkook had the necklaces made a little over two months ago, and you and Jaehyun have only been official for one. So, Jungkook's intentions behind the gift weren't malicious, he swears.

If you just so happen to wear the necklace and your boyfriend notices his matching one, which then causes a rift in your relationship, resulting in the two of you breaking up… well, that would just be a nice little coincidence.

"Jae knows you and I are close," you explain with a crease in your brow that he wants to massage until it goes away. "I made it very clear to him when he wanted to get serious, and he understood."

Jungkook nods along to your words even if he doesn't fully believe them. Either Jaehyun is a really good and secure guy, or he's full of grade-A horse shit. If you were his and another dude tried to come along and buy you an eleven-thousand-dollar necklace? Fuck, he'd knock the guy out cold.

You untangle yourself from your best friend and lift the lid of the velvet box still in his grasp. You coo at the pretty diamonds before turning to face away from Jungkook. You gather your hair before swiping it over your shoulder and letting his jacket fall slightly to bare your neck. Jungkook reacts immediately, picking up the necklace before shoving the box in his pocket. His cold fingers brush against you as he carefully fastens the jewelry around your neck.

When he pulls away, you let your hair fall back into place and turn around to face him again. Your smile is soft, eyes twinkling as you look down at the necklace. "It's so pretty, Gukkie. I love it."

You're so pretty. I love you, he thinks.

-------

spoiled bratty girl and her simpy best friend who knows how to handle her.....GIVE it..

—the full fic is out now! click here to go read <3

[etchcraftemporium1]

Feel The Love With The Stroke Of Creativity | personalised pendant

[gullei]

https://gullei.com/collections/matching-couple-necklaces

[felixandresims]

KICHEN 2Point0 :)

It’s been well over a year since the last Harlix collaboration, but we are happy to finally be able to announce the KICHEN 2Point0! It all started way back in 2019 with the original KICHEN, so we decided we wanted to bring it back full circle and finally focus back on our much-loved room of the home. A lot has changed over the past 4.5 years, not only in our own personal work but the multitude of custom content creators that also now create kitchens for your Sims. In 2019, there were slim pickings for your homes. Now, there is such a vibrant array of content to choose from, and it really is an excellent thing for all.

In the years that followed, we have really focused on improving our technical skills and artistry, which we hope you can see with this latest set. The stand-out item for us both in the original KICHEN was the wishbone chair. We have personally both tried to find another dining chair that tops it and failed miserably! It is just the perfect chair for use in so many different settings, whether it be modern or even a rustic setting; it’s just so versatile. It deserved an update to our latest techniques and colours & it’s the only item from the original KICHEN set that has been reworked for this newest iteration. Also, back in 2019 we were a little too scared to use our internal name for that item, but in 2024 we are happy to share the appropriately named WISHBONER chair with you 😆

The KICHEN 2Point0 is also designed to fit perfectly into our current Klean & Soho sets to fulfill the kitchen part. For some reason, we always seem to be in sync with our set themes, and no more so than with Klean & Soho. The overlap was very scary tbh, with many Pinterest pins selected independently but shared in common, so we decided to do this 2 part collaboration to create a kitchen to fit both of our current sets, with the hope of creating a much more in-depth set which includes all elements required to make your dream kitchen. This first part focuses on the foundations of that dream kitchen.

All items are Base Game compatible and can be found by searching the b/b catalogue using the keyword 2Point0. As the items are designed for both of our current sets, they will also appear when you search using the keywords KLEAN or SOHO.

Set Items include:

- Counter (raised with legs) - Counter (standard) - Island (raised with legs) - Island trolley (3 pieces) - Cabinets (short) - Cabinets (tall) - Appliance Cabinet - Fridge Nooks (high & low) - Built-in Sink (wide & standard) - Dining Table (1, 2 & 3 tile) - Wishboner Dining Chair - Shelving (multiple height endings, middle & standard end pieces) - Hanging Feature Pendant Lights (multiple variants)

Now on Patreon Early Access

Public release on the 7th of May

The collaboration will continue next month and focus on appliances and clutter for your kitchens.

[kaurtrends]

New Designs of Customised Pendant #namependant #jewellery #kaurtrends

New Designs of Customised Pendant #namependant #jewellery #kaurtrends

[ivypos-writes]

with my touch (i have cursed you)

— aemond targaryen

summary: His first touch plants a seed of desire, and it is only a matter of time before it blooms.

Or, all the times Aemond touches her, and the one when he lets himself be touched.

warnings: 18+, au—no dance of dragons, targcest, aemond being a tease and a little shit, mutual pining, unhealthy amounts of tension, first times, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, multiple orgasms, aemond being pathetic (he whimpers), smut with plot (and the plot is just prolonged foreplay)

word count: 8.7k

notes: so. i wrote this thing. english is not my first language. all reblogs and comments are very appreciated! aemond girlies, we are so back.

(also available on ao3.)

The street is bustling with life.

She is little more than a dull spot against a variety of colours, and something about the thought of blending with the surroundings is more comforting than anything she has ever known. She tightens her hold on the large hood of the cloak and pushes past a gathering of haggling customers, giggling as they shout in indignation.

It is still early, though the skies above head are spotted with warm oranges and pinks. The air is different here. Sultry. She traverses the cobblestone paths and passes through alleys filled with shops and boisterous merchants, and her eyes grow brighter with each step.

She has known life in its subdued form—in gold and jewels, and soft-spoken words, and lullabies sung at nighttime. She has been sheltered, and dressed in gowns, and taught to wield practiced smiles and pretty countenance. It is the first time that she experiences havoc. There is dirt and dust, and curses falling left and right, and women dressed scarcely in anything, scraps of fabric falling down their shoulders without care for decency.

In these streets, life is fervent. Chaotic, unashamedly passionate, and lewd in ways that render her breathing shallow.

At once, she is filled with greed.

Led by impulse alone, she blurs into the masses of depravity. She forgets about her name and titles. Here, she is just a woman—not a silver-haired maiden, or a dragonrider, or her mother’s daughter. It is easy to forget duty when it is nowhere to be seen; when it is replaced with pure, unadulterated perversity.

Something flutters in her heart, and it must be freedom.

She passes by multiple stands, and because here she is not a princess, she catches the string of a flower pendant and snitches it from its spot. The trader doesn’t notice, too engrossed in his attempts to sell his goods for a too-high price. She is quick to hide it deep inside her pocket, and the smile that lightens her face is radiant.

Her feet ache, but she stubbornly speeds towards the nearest corner. It is right there, and she almost reaches its edge—

“Are you up to no good, niece?”

A gasp tears out of her mouth. She turns, wide-eyed and flushed, and finds a splash of silver-white strands shining against worn-out fabric. She scans the porcelain skin and the puckered scar that paints it in pinks; traces the leather of the eyepatch. He looks different in this particular light. Warm hues of the sky bathe him in a gleam that softens the curves of his features; there is an odd gentleness in him that she doesn’t recognise.

“Aemond,” she murmurs.

He seems pleased with himself. She catches a glint in his eye that whispers of carefully restrained mischief; his lips are curved into the beginning of a smile. She’s seen this particular expression only a handful of times, and always in the face of chaos.

It suits him. More often than not, and only ever quietly, she thinks he was carved for it.

“I didn’t take you for a little thief.”

Her cheeks burn. They must be scarlet red, and she inwardly curses both the humidity and the weight of his gaze that only fuels the onslaught of the tint. Aemond’s smirk grows. The blatant exhibition of her shame appears to have entertained him.

“A thief?” she repeats, eyes rounded with what she hopes is a convincing display of innocence. “Have you any proof?”

He breathes out a little laugh. It’s sharp and fleeting, and she drinks up the sound of it, oddly enthralled. She is not familiar with his laughter. Her skin prickles as its remnants linger between them.

Aemond moves closer, and soon the distance between them is so small that their cloaks brush against one another.

She is so caught off-guard that she barely notices the pendant dangling from his finger. Aemond swings it in front of her face, and when she reaches for it with a surprised gasp, he moves his hand away in the blink of an eye.

Her mouth twists in displeasure. His grin grows.

“Give it back,” she demands.

“It wasn’t yours in the first place.”

“I claimed it as mine.”

“Did you?” Aemond’s eye lights up in flames. From this close, she can almost sense the heat. “Is it as simple as that?”

“It is.”

She doesn’t expect him to truly return the pendant into her waiting hand, and her eyebrows furrow in surprise when he does. Aemond says nothing more. His expression is meticulously crafted—it is layers upon layers of riddles that she does not know how to solve. She imagines peeling them off one by one and finding him as he is—bare before her eyes. She wonders what she’d find written over his face when it is unspoiled by composure.

His fingers briefly tickle the skin of her palm before they’re gone. They leave a searing trail in their wake.

“It’s a poor disguise.” Aemond eyes the hood that falls onto her forehead, and the few curls that cascade down her face in silver streaks. “If you want to sneak out into the city, you ought to be more clever.”

She scowls. “And you, of course, know everything about it.”

There is contemplation in his eye. He rids himself of the smiles that she doesn’t recognise, and puts on a calculating face that she’s seen many times before. It makes him look more familiar. Most of the times that their paths cross, she finds him lost deep in thought.

“Come.”

She eyes his outstretched hand with scepticism.

He will likely drag her back to the Red Keep—to the judging stares and stinging reprimands and her mother’s burning disappointment. There is nothing she loathes more than being forced to endure interrogations regarding her behaviour. She will be scolded, as if it is a crime that she, a girl, has decided to experience something more than feigned propriety.

She thinks she would rather stay within the dirt and stench of the city.

Aemond hums in response to her silence, and the sound is so low that she needs to chase it through the clamour of the street. There is something akin to understanding that appears on his face.

His hand remains still.

“Do you wish to see the city or not?”

She blinks, perplexed, and it takes a mere moment for her fingers to lace with his. His are warmer than hers; heat engulfs her, and she unconsciously presses against him with doubled force.

When her eyes return to his face, Aemond is already watching her. He leans towards her. His breath tickles her cheek.

“Stay close,” Aemond orders. He stands in such proximity that they breathe the same air. “And don’t be a brat.”

She lets him tighten his hold on her hand, and soon they are walking the path side by side.

Aemond shows her the city in all its glory, and not once does his grip waver.

She spends the night tracing the remnants of his fingertips on her skin.

He smells of smoke.

It is a cloudless day, and she has decided to forsake the red walls of the castle in favour of the sun-soaked yard. There is only the scent of grass and parchment. It is why she senses him before he speaks. He permeates the air like he owns it.

“Shouldn’t you be with your septa?”

The skin of her palm tingles with the memory of his touch; she clutches at the silken fabric of her dress, if only to smother the sudden urge to hold something between her fingers. There is a large tome in her lap, and she flicks the pages absentmindedly, determined not to look at him.

She hasn’t seen him since their escapade through the streets of King’s Landing. It is not that she avoids him—only she does, because it feels as if the line between them that she’s known all her life became blurred. She searches for its remains and finds them long shattered. There is void space in its stead that she knows not what to make of

“Shouldn’t you mind your own business, uncle?”

She hears him snort quietly. There is a rustling sound that follows, and soon Aemond’s arm is brushing against hers. It is a feather-like touch, but she freezes all the same.

He smells of smoke. Fire. Scorching flames. Her skin burns beneath the sleeve of her dress in all places he has touched.

“The Seven-Pointed Star,” Aemond reads, blissfully unaware of her turmoil. “I didn’t take you for a woman of faith.”

Slowly, a little hesitantly, she turns her face towards him. His own is perfectly neutral, but she finds a glimpse of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. She squints at him, feigning offence.

“Did you take me for a woman of sin, then?”

He doesn’t answer. She supposes it is an answer in its own right. Before she can think it through, her arm shoots forward; she elbows him in the side and smiles at the startled gasp that leaves his mouth.

It is a nice sound. Her cheeks warm.

When her eyes return to the book, she finds herself eager to continue the conversation, though whatever it is that urges her to do so remains unclear.

“Septa Marlow is under the impression that I lack virtue,” she says, voice dripping with venom. She glances at him, suddenly needing to add a rushed, “It’s a vile accusation.”

Septa Marlow is a cunt. Her mother will not say it aloud, but she knows that they both hate the woman with equal passion. The septa is stuck in her old ways, and no longer remembers youth well enough to comprehend it. Her teachings persist only for the sake of upholding etiquette, and only for as long as it’s necessary.

Not much longer. She is almost a woman grown.

Aemond chuckles. “Certainly.”

She shoots him a withering look. The corners of his lips tremble; he seems to be holding back another fit of laughter, and she narrows her eyes at the sight.

“Do you disagree?”

He faces her fully, and she can now see the scar marring his skin. It looks softer in sunlight; its edges blend with his flesh. She traces its shape and length; wanders through every inch. If she tried to touch it—to caress it with gentle fingers—would he move away? Would he give her his scorn, and his anger, and would the fire that they share turn deadly? Aemond keeps the scar out of sight for a reason. He must hate her for looking at it.

But Aemond doesn’t shy away from her gaze. He doesn’t seem to mind the way she is watching him; his body tilts towards hers, and now both their elbows and their knees touch.

He’s beautiful. It is a thought that never once crossed her mind, and yet it’s true. Sunny spells hit his face in all the right places, and the purples of his eye glow, and the sight of him steals her breath away.

When he speaks, it is closer to a whisper, as though meant for her ears alone.

“I wouldn’t dare question your virtue, sweet niece.”

Fire returns, stronger than she remembered it to be. It’s all she knows.

“Good.”

Silence befalls them again, and her eyes revert back to the tome in her hands.

They widen when nimble fingers grab the book. It is gone from her grasp before she can blink. She opens her mouth to scold him; to demand that he give it back, even though she doesn’t truly want it.

Words die on her tongue when the heavy weight of the old tome is replaced by softness in the hues of silver-whites.

Aemond’s head is in her lap.

Her heartbeat jumps.

She stares at him, and then around the yard, and then once again at him. They are sitting in a fairly private area of the yard, but she knows that they’re never truly spared from eyes that are hungry for controversy. Someone will see. Someone will see, and then talk, and soon they will become yet another spectacle for vicious tongues. Protests rise to her lips—numerous, and each of them quite rational. Surely, he will see reason.

But then he turns, and his eye reflects the sun, and she forgets what she wanted to say, or why she wanted to say it, or why it matters if they were discovered at all.

He looks so peaceful. She’s never seen an expression quite this soft on his face. There is a trace of pink on his cheek, and his lips are curved, and he eyes her with emotion she cannot fathom.

She couldn’t possibly disturb him when his face is smoothed with serenity. Just a little longer, she thinks. She wants to see him like this for a few more stolen moments.

“Go on, then,” Aemond says without a care. “Read to me.”

Her mouth is dry. She clears her throat and hopes that her face doesn’t betray her.

“My lap isn’t your spot to rest on.”

Except it is. She will not say it—she’ll never say it—but having him this close feels right. Like this, his softness is for her eyes only.

“I have just claimed it as mine.” His eye speaks in a language of pure intensity, and in response she burns. “Is it not as simple as that?”

She bites her tongue and says nothing else, and the stray strands of his hair tickle her arms. Her skin is on fire. She’s sure that her cheeks are, too.

When she reads to him, she prays that her voice does not waver.

The feast thrown on her name day is a boastful one. She weaves her way through crowds of faces she doesn’t recognise, and pleasantries fall from her lips as befitting the daughter of a royal household.

A woman grown. It seems half the realm had been eagerly waiting for her to come of age. She is mostly surrounded by men, and they all appear to be looking for excuses to touch her.

She is in search for any of her brothers, hoping for a moment of respite from the dancing. It isn’t that she dislikes it, but she has long since grown tired of foreign hands palming her body as though they owned it. She would rather dance with Jace, or even Luke whose clumsiness precedes him—or all by herself, uncaring for the crowds that wish to sink their claws into her.

Respite evades her. Just when she spots familiar heads made of brown curls, another stranger forces his way into her personal space. The man is twice her age, and she immediately finds herself repulsed by the leering expression that he cares not to veil for something more respectful.

His palms are clammy. They will surely leave stains on her skin.

The man leads her towards the centre of the hall, and his spine is straightened in a pathetic display of pride. His hands find her hips before she can protest; his grip is harsh, verging on bruising.

The dance couldn’t last longer. Her head spins from the force with which the man whirls her around, and she must steady herself by gripping his shoulders, even if the prospect disgusts her. She prays that Daemon sees them; that he comes with his sword in hand, ready to spill blood.

But it isn’t Daemon that grabs the man by the arm and sends him backwards. It isn’t Daemon that takes her hand into his own, shielding her from the eyes of the stranger.

She is at peace. Safe. Fire licks at her skin and sinks deep into her bones.

Aemond remains silent. He leads her away from the man, not sparing him a glance. As always, his hand is warm.

“Uncle.” She cannot help but grin. “It would have been more polite to wait your turn.”

He hums, quick to find the right steps. He is a good dancer. His body was made for it.

“Would you rather have him paw at you like an animal?”

She twirls, and the colours of her dress blur into a rainbow.

Aemond is a pitch-black spot against the canvas of vibrant hues. She is drawn to him; drawn to his darkness, and the violet of his eye that disrupts it. Her palm finds his, and she bites back a smile when he boldly presses his skin to hers.

It is not a dance meant for touching.

“What if I liked it?”

Once more, she spins.

They stand back to back, and her spine tingles from the proximity. He is close; too close. His scent is all she can feel.

He has corrupted her with his disregard for propriety. She knows it, because not once does she consider what their family would say if they saw them.

“Did you like it?”

Heat spreads from her back towards her chest. There are many things she has come to like, and none of them are quite related to some unnamed lords.

She could say it. Whisper every perversity her mind has conjured.

But more often than not, their short exchanges seem to be a game that none of them truly understands. She must keep playing. It is what keeps him returning for more.

She turns around to face him and shrugs. “I’m not made of glass. There is no need to handle me gently.”

There is a beat, and silence, and hands itching to touch. Suddenly, without any warning, she is pulled into Aemond’s embrace; a gasp escapes her throat when she feels his hand tighten around her waist.

His fingers dig into the flesh of her hip. He holds her firmly against his chest, and she imagines their bodies blending together into one.

There is nothing appropriate about this kind of proximity. She stands before him as a woman, and he holds her like a man would, and surely no one sees through the flames that have flared around them. This—whatever it is—belongs to them alone.

But her skin tingles.

“Uncle,” she pants, face scarlet red with something unspoken. It is not shame, but something of a darker nature. She is not yet ready to name it. “People are looking at us.”

“Let them look,” he says, and each word has his lips brushing against her ear.

They are so close that she feels his heartbeat. It is as quick as hers.

Not alone. They’re not alone.

“Aemond.”

“Do you want me to let go?”

She doesn’t. He must know that she doesn’t. There is something perverse about his hands on her body—right there, in a hall full of strangers and curious gazes. In the centre of everything. She would gladly let him hold her like this forever—until everyone in the hall understands that she is his, and it is his arms that she belongs in.

“I do,” she says instead.

In a rush of boldness, with utter disregard for her own words, she presses her chest closer to his.

She hardly knows where her body ends and his begins, and if she wanted to—oh, how she wants to—she could step onto her toes and reach towards his lips—

“You're not very convincing,” Aemond whispers into her hair, and then his hands are gone.

He leaves her amidst crowds, surrounded by dozens of onlookers, and yet she sees nothing but the lines of his shrinking silhouette.

It is hours later that she lays amidst silken bedcovers, a sheen of sweat clinging to her bared body, and furiously rubs the spot right between her legs. Her teeth are clenched, and her eyes are burning with vexation, and her hand is not enough. It’s not enough.

She is half-sprawled atop the wooden table.

Her braids have long since come undone, and her hair now cascades down her back like a shield. She plays with one of the strands, curling it around her finger. Her other hand flips the pages of whatever book she is pretending to read.

The library is quiet. It is located deep enough into Maegor’s Holdfast that she knows none of her siblings will find her. It offers the kind of solitude no other place in the Red Keep ensures. Dozens of shelves thrice her height have been installed within the walls, all filled with the oldest and rarest of volumes in the realm.

She cares not for the scent of parchment. It is not books that she came for.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A small smile creeps onto her lips.

She knew he would come. His presence no longer takes her by surprise. Everywhere she goes, Aemond dutifully follows; no longer does she need to search for him in dark corners.

He is her shadow.

Every day, she breathlessly waits for night to come.

“Aemond.”

“Niece.” His footsteps echo through the walls. “It nears the hour of the owl.”

She rubs the tiredness from her eyes and swallows the yawn that has crawled up her throat. The book is now forgotten; she pushes it away, no longer interested in keeping up the pretence of studying its contents. When she turns, she does it slowly, if only to conceal her traitorous eagerness.

It is too dark. All she sees is a mark of silver painted on pitch-black canvas. His face is shielded from her view, and she bites back the bitter disappointment. She has gone the entire day without a single glimpse of him.

“Why do you care?”

Her eyes trace the outline of his silhouette. He strides towards the chair in front of her, and though she wishes he would sit beside her instead, she appreciates the closeness all the same.

The table is too large. She should have chosen a different one.

The air grows heavier, like it always does when she is with him.

“A princess shouldn’t be spending her time alone in the darkness.”

She wishes he could see her coy smile; wonders if he would offer her one of the private smirks she now knows by heart, or if he’d playfully scold her, or throw a comment that would induce a blush in response.

“It is a good thing, then, that you’ve found me.”

“Yes,” Aemond murmurs, and his voice is so guttural that she nearly melts at the sound. “It is.”

Then it is them, and silence, and darkness. It seems to have become a usual setting for their meetings, as though they required the shroud of night’s secrecy to conceal something illicit.

It isn’t wrong. Whatever it is—whatever looms above their heads—it is not wrong.

Absentmindedly, she reaches for the book; as always, he is quicker.

Their hands meet. There is nothing innocent about the touch, and she no longer desires to pretend that she is not burning. Aemond’s fingers trace the skin of her palm; tickle it, and she bites her lip at the sensation. It lasts only for a short moment—too short, never enough—and then his touch is gone, and so is the book.

She wishes he would forgo this restraint. She has long since grown tired of it.

“I was reading this,” she lies.

“Were you?”

She wants to tear the tome away from his grasp, if only for their hands to touch once more.

“No.”

“No,” Aemond repeats lowly.

If there was any light, she imagines that she’d find his eye intense and hungry; or maybe playful, betraying his endless desire to leave her breathless. He would look at her without a trace of shame, just like he always does. He would set her alight with one glance alone.

There is a thudding sound that cuts through silence. It breaks her out of reverie, and she flinches, squinting into the darkness.

Silver wisps cut through the air. Then they’re gone.

She straightens her spine, brows furrowed in confusion. It looks like he dropped the book and bent to pick it up, only she cannot see his hair. She opens her mouth, not quite understanding this particular game of his, until she feels it.

Something slithers up the skirts of her dress. Fingers wrap around her ankle, and then the other one, and suddenly her legs are forcefully parted. She gasps, and the sound echoes against the empty walls.

“Be quiet, niece,” comes Aemond’s muffled voice. “You’re in a library.”

This is madness. She cannot let it happen—cannot let him touch her like this, right there—

Aemond’s hands slide higher up her legs.

Her muscles tremble. He holds her with enough strength that she cannot escape his grip, forced to yield. Her vision swims, and there are only his hands—his hands—

He uses them skilfully. She has seen him hold a sword, and he now holds her skin with equal passion. His fingertips draw patterns down the length of her shins, and if she could—if she wasn’t possessed by a blinding desire—she would try to discern their meaning.

She feels his breath on her knee.

A small moan falls from her lips, and she clasps her hand over her mouth to cover it. It’s too late. He’s heard it.

Aemond’s grip turns vice-like.

He sears circles into her thigh. One of his hands is replaced by something softer, plushier, and she knows that it must be his lips atop her skin. He leaves fiery kisses on both her knees, and her heart gets stuck in her throat, threatening to jump out.

Higher, she thinks, and immediately bites her lip to prevent herself from begging aloud. If he moved his mouth higher—just a bit, only a bit—he would find out how much she needs him. Her desire has long since become choking. It takes a single brush of his skin against hers to get her slick and wet and ready.

Her skin is engulfed by flames. She must be touched, she must be touched—

Aemond’s lips are gone. She holds back a whimper when she feels fingertips brushing against her thigh in a parting gesture—little more than a caress, gone sooner than it came.

She closes her legs when Aemond’s head resurfaces from underneath the table.

Empty. She remains painfully empty.

“You should return to your chambers.” Aemond stands from the ground. He sounds cocky. “Who knows what lurks in the darkness.”

In the privacy of her bedchamber, she finds the mark that he left on her thigh. It is there for her eyes only. The mark haunts her, and she finds no sleep.

“I know you’re there.”

It seems that they only ever exchange words in darkness. Just today, she was seated opposite him during dinner, and he didn’t look at her once. She wonders if it is fear that holds him back in daylight. Her own fingers forever burn with the desire to hold him, and more often than not, she forgets about the reality of their relationship. Perhaps avoiding each other in the presence of others is safer. They were never meant to burn together.

Her steps halt.

“I’m beginning to think you’re looking for trouble.”

She bites back a grin. “What if I am?”

Finally, he emerges from the shadows. She looks at him without a hint of shame; traces the line of his jaw, and his nose, and the purples of his eye. His hair looks soft. She finds herself overtaken by the desire to grasp it with her fingers and tug.

“You’ve found it.”

“Have I?” she says, and her throat is oddly dry. She watches him, and he watches her, and flames arise. “You don’t look much like trouble to me.”

Aemond’s steps are slow. She has learned their pattern by heart. He has a habit of moving at a leisurely pace, and more often than not, she imagines that it’s yet another way of tormenting her. He knows of her impatience and aims to use it to his advantage.

When he stops, he is still outside of her reach. He raises an eyebrow challengingly.

“What about now?”

It is another game, and she shakes her head because she must.

Aemond hums. His eye wanders down her neck, and her skin prickles underneath his gaze. She holds her breath when he takes another step forward.

Still, he is not close enough.

“And now, niece?” Aemond asks. “Do I look like trouble?”

“No,” she breathes.

His scent wafts through the air, and she ravenously inhales it. Aemond’s eye darkens. He moves closer, and she laces her fingers together in order not to reach out for him.

Maybe she should stifle the last of self-control. Maybe she should grab him by the collar of his riding leathers; pull him as close as she needs him to be. Sometimes, it feels as though he is waiting for her to do it. To make the first move.

Before her contemplation turns into action, his fingers catch the skirts of her gown. She takes a gulp of air when he easily tugs her closer.

“No?” Aemond mutters.

He studies her mouth in silent deliberation, and it prompts her to take her bottom lip between teeth. His nostrils flare.

“No,” she repeats firmly.

His smile is pure sin.

“Good.”

Aemond’s lips claim hers before she can say anything else. Words die on her tongue, and she scarcely remembers what it was that she wanted to say at all. His skin is scorching hot, and his mouth is demanding, and when she gasps into his mouth, he swallows the sound like a man starved.

She throws her hands around his neck before he disappears; before once more he flees from her touch. He is both soft and solid, and her fingertips go alight from the fire flowing through his veins. Aemond pushes into her, and soon her spine connects with the stone wall. His hands wander over her body, tugging impatiently at the endless pieces of material that separate them.

His kisses are flames. None of her dreams have done them justice. Her tongue dances as led by his own, and her teeth graze his bottom lip, and she can no longer think straight when he whimpers into her mouth.

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, and she drinks up the words straight from his tongue.

She pulls him closer, closer, and he hitches her leg over his hip, and she thinks that there is no going back from it. She will forever be cursed with the memory of his taste.

Her lips are full of him even when he’s gone.

She is a woman possessed by madness.

An entire moon has passed, and he hasn’t touched her once. It is as though he forgot that she exists; as though her existence meant nothing at all. Distance stretches between them, sharp and thorned, and it cuts through her skin with vicious force. She burns with want. She burns until there is nothing left but ashes.

When she dreams, it is of his lips. Their taste has long faded, and though she chases the memory every night, she is left with emptiness. Sometimes, it feels as though she’s dying of hunger. She must taste him again. If she won’t, she thinks she’ll wither away.

She once thought that his teasing touch was torture. It’s only now—only when it’s gone—that knows it is the lack of it that elicits true torment.

It’s been three days since she saw him last. Even their last meeting was only in brief; he was gone as soon as her eyes found him amidst crowds of the Red Keep, his steps too quick for her to catch up with.

He has left her to burn alone. Now the flames have grown wild and lethal, and she succumbs to this insanity because she must.

She stays close to the stone wall.

It is nighttime, and most of the residents have retired to their bedchambers. The corridors are empty, guarded only in a few spots; her footsteps echo through the walls, accompanied by complete silence. She appreciates the semblance of privacy that has come with sunset. It is easier to slip by unnoticed when the lights are subdued.

Less than an hour ago, she caught a glimpse of Aemond in the courtyard, sword in his hand. He looked composed as ever, and by the end of the training session his forehead was sheen with sweat. It is what brought about this madness—the sight of him panting for breath.

It’s why she follows him now. He is quick on his feet, and so quiet that she cannot even hear him. All she sees is the broadness of his shoulders and silver-white wisps resting on his back.

She moves faster, determined not to lose him. Her pace turns unrelenting; she watches Aemond reach for the gilded knob. Just before the doors close behind him, she slips inside.

His bedchamber is swallowed by darkness. It is the first thing she sees; her eyes strain, eager to scan the entirety of the room. It looks pristine. His inclination for tidiness doesn’t astound her. She now knows that he keeps all his chaos leashed, preferring to build walls of purity around himself.

She sees through it all. Knows his vices by heart.

Aemond watches her without a trace of surprise. He must have known, then, that she was hunting him down.

It is different this time. The air is thicker. They are alone, and no one can enter his bedchamber without explicit permission. He must realise it. The purple of his eye is darker, and all she finds in it is desire.

Because it is him who has this time become prey, she is the first to make a move.

“I’m here, uncle. I came to you.”

It takes only one step for their chests to come closer, now on the verge of pressing together. Aemond’s face is a perfect image of indifference, but she knows better. There is something dangerous in his eye. She must push further than this to draw it out.

Her eyes go round with feigned innocence, and his own become hooded.

She wonders if his lips still taste the same.

“Won’t you touch me?” she whispers, never letting her gaze falter.

Aemond’s face remains carved in stone. “Perhaps you should ask nicely.”

It is as though he had struck her.

A beat passes, and she knows not what to say. Her mouth is dry. Her hands itch from the constant urge to sink into his flesh.

“Ask?”

He repeats without hesitation, “Ask.”

She bites her tongue hard enough to wince.

It was foolish of her to come. He must think her desperate; corrupt, with her displayed flesh pulsating from the desire to be touched. She is wanton and wicked, and shame burns her cheeks upon the realisation.

A woman of sin.

If he wanted to, he would have touched her already. He would take her into his arms, and breathe in her scent, and bury his fingers deep in her soul. If he wanted to, all hesitation would shatter into pieces, and there would be no need to collect them anymore.

And yet his hands remain still.

She must have been wrong. So, so wrong.

With her eyes stinging, stubbornly downcast, she moves towards the door. If she leaves quickly enough, perhaps he’ll forget she was there at all. Perhaps she’ll awaken the next day and it will all turn out to have been a nightmare. Perhaps she—

Aemond’s hand clutches her forearm. His touch is gentle but firm; she can feel his fingers slither around her skin, closing his grip to prevent her from moving.

She holds her breath. All air is gone.

“Ask,” he says again, “and you shall have it.”

He pushes into her from behind, and his heat engulfs her in wild flames. Aemond’s chest presses against the length of her spine; his hair tickles her skin. She bites her lip when his nose brushes her cheek.

Her heart beats in a wild tune. Does his own match it?

It must. Surely, it must.

“Ask.”

There is something desperate about him; something in his tone that whispers in a language she knows by heart. He is half-begging. She recognises it, because he has done the same in her dreams.

She yields. Utterly. Completely.

“Touch me,” she whispers.

He does.

Aemond grabs her hips and turns her around, and all softness she has come to know him for is gone. His eye is blown wide; it burns, it burns, it burns.

The kiss is bruising. His tongue enters her mouth before she can reciprocate; her spine connects with the surface of the door, and she welcomes the chill it provides with relief. Aemond’s lips are demanding and forceful, and he gasps into her mouth when her hands finally touch his bare skin. She digs her fingers into his neck, and tugs at his hair, and pulls him closer. It is not enough. She needs their mouths to mould into one—to never separate again.

He kisses her without his past control. She gasps for air, and Aemond breathes out into her skin, refusing to let go. His teeth nibble at her bottom lip, and she swallows down a whimper.

His fingers find her neck. The rings that adorn them are cold.

“Here?” he pants, breathless. “Do you want me to touch you here?”

She wraps his hair around her fingers, searching for an anchor. Her head swims, and all air is gone, and if it weren’t for his grip on her hip, she would crumble to the floor. Aemond groans when she pulls at the strands in her hand; she wants to bottle the sound and keep it as hers forever.

“Yes,” she whispers into his lips.

Aemond’s hand wraps around her throat; she sees stars.

Their tongues are at war, and she matches his tempo with determination. He tastes like smoke. Like the sun. Like oxygen. His thumb comes up to stroke her cheek, and the gentleness of this touch is a stark contrast to the way he devours her. She throbs with want. Now that she has touched him, she doesn’t think she could ever stop.

She didn’t know it could feel like this.

Because she’s possessed by greed, she breathes out a quiet, needy, “More.”

Aemond’s lips part with hers, and she immediately wishes to cry out in protest.

She burns under the weight of his gaze. Without once taking his eye off hers, Aemond’s hand leaves her throat, trailing down to her collarbone. His touch is feather-like; fingers tickle her skin. She sucks in air when his hand moves lower, playing with the lace neckline. One of his fingertips sneaks beneath the fabric.

“Should I touch you here?”

His hand boldly grabs her breast. She has never been touched like this. Her mouth dries, and she pushes her chest into Aemond’s grasp, flushing at the low hum he lets out in response. His lips find a spot on her neck that has her panting, and he sucks at the sensitive skin with such ardour that she’s certain he’ll leave a mark.

She moans when his fingers find her pebbled nipple and flick against it, and the wanton sound induces hot shame. He touches her through the fabric of her dress, and it is not enough. She needs more. She needs everything.

Embarrassed, she covers her mouth with her hand.

Aemond’s eye flashes with a wicked glint.

“Here?” he asks, pinching the nipple.

The sound that escapes her throat is smothered by her palm. Desperate, suspended on the verge of madness, she nods. Aemond’s lips curve into a smile, but his fingers refuse to give in.

Their lips touch when he whispers, “Say it.”

And because she’d do anything, anything, her hand obediently falls down.

“Please.”

“How prettily you beg.”

There is a tearing sound; she watches Aemond rip the corset of her dress apart, tugging it down so that her chest is exposed. She has no time to cover herself in scarlet shame, nor to complain about him ruining her favourite gown. His mouth finds her nipple, and she cries out when he sucks at it.

She knows nothing but his tongue that swirls around the nipple in torturous circles; nothing but his teeth when he bites down. Aemond presses her body further into the door, and there is not an inch left that separates them. They are one. Her arms hold him tightly. If she lets go, she will collapse.

His lips are gone. Before she can object, Aemond slides his palms lower—between her breasts, down her waist, over the curve of her hip bone. He sinks to his knees before her, and she watches, wide-eyed and unable to move. Aemond’s hand catches the skirt of her dress and hitches it upwards, bunching the fabric so that her skin is on display. His fingers find her bare thigh, and they are quick to wrap around its width. She whimpers when he pushes her legs apart, forcing himself in between. When he puts her knee over his shoulder, holding her upright with the sheer strength of his arms, she is gone.

“You have cursed me,” he murmurs into her skin, lips nibbling at her inner thigh. “I spend my days thinking of you.”

Her mouth parts; she gasps for air, chest rising and falling with increasing speed. Aemond’s hold on her thigh tightens when she squirms in his arms.

“I spend my nights dreaming of you.”

His sinful lips traverse the expanse of her exposed skin. They move higher, higher, and her muscles twitch with anticipation. He’s too slow, and her hips involuntarily push forward, seeking his touch. Aemond cruelly holds her still. She’s convinced that he’ll leave her skin bruised; convinced that before he reaches the spot where she aches most, she will have died from this torture.

When his tongue first touches her cunt, her vision blurs.

It feels nothing like her fingers. He is skilful and hungry, and the wet muscle laps at her clit in furious motions. Moans spill from her lips, and she has long since forgotten all about propriety. It means little when Aemond’s head is buried between her thighs; when the sinful act feels this holy. All thoughts dissolve into nothing, wiped away with his expert tongue. Aemond’s grip turns vice-like. There is nothing she can do but take whatever he wants to give.

Her clit pulsates from the onslaught. He spits, and then licks up the saliva, rubbing it in between her folds, and she nearly squeals at the sensation. It’s wet and filthy, and when he moans into her cunt, sending chills down her spine, she knows she won’t last much longer.

“Aemond,” she gasps, because his name is the only thing she knows anymore. “Aemond.”

Whines fall from her lips, and she no longer cares to smother them. Her hips rock, and his mouth keeps moving against her cunt, and she can’t, she can’t—

Right there, with his wicked tongue inside her, she erupts.

It’s like a storm. A wildfire. She shatters into thousands of pieces, and Aemond dutifully collects them all, drinking up everything that she offers. Her body rocks, and he soothes her with his touch and keeps her still. Their hands are joined, though she doesn’t recall the moment when they first touched. Aemond doesn’t stop until her gasps turn into cries. Before he moves away, his lips plant one more kiss right on her oversensitive clit.

Her body trembles. Aemond pulls her down, and she allows herself to be led by his hands. His touch is strong and gentle, and she cannot quite believe that he’s real. He puts her thighs around his waist; right there, on the cold ground, she straddles his lap. Aemond’s fingers weave through her hair, and he brushes them away from her face with such gentleness that she thinks she might weep.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks. “Such a pretty girl.”

For a moment, they just breathe. Their chests heave with equal fervour, and there is only silence and tender caresses. Her fingers trace the curve of his cheek; she follows its shape, searing it deep into her memory. She wants to remember this. Every detail.

Aemond’s mouth glistens in the spells of moonlight. He is wet with her. Her trembling fingers collect the moisture, and when she brings them to her lips and wraps her tongue around them, he groans.

Involuntarily, her hips rock. She sees him swallow down another sound.

Not once did he demand that she touch him. Aemond is hard beneath her, and yet he stubbornly clings to the restraint she thought to be long erased.

As though he didn’t think himself deserving of her touch.

“Take it off.” Her fingers reach for the eyepatch that separates them, tugging lightly. “I will see all of you.”

He eyes her with emotion she cannot name.

There is something achingly vulnerable about him. She watches as Aemond’s trembling hand reaches for the leather strap, brushing against hers in a feather-like manner. His good eye drops to the ground beside them, and she is quick to put her palms on his face.

She wants him to see himself as she sees him. To rid himself of whatever shame clings to his soul. She wants him to know that all she finds in him is heart-wrenching beauty.

“Aemond,” she whispers. Her fingers find the clasp, and she awaits his permission.

He hesitates. His gaze is dark. She counts the seconds, prepared to let go, but his voice stops her.

“Whatever you want,” he says at last. “It is yours. It is yours.”

Just like that, the eyepatch is gone. The scar stretches from above his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek, and although her hands are shaking, she reaches to stroke the mangled flesh.

Aemond wheezes. She catches the slightest trembling of his lips. His head drops, and for a moment she fears that he’ll move away from her, but he doesn’t. He pushes closer, as though seeking warmth. She will give it to him. She’ll give him whatever he wants.

He seems at war with himself, both touch-starved and unable to give in. But then he faces her once more. Her eyes trace the scar, and she bites back a gasp when she sees the sapphire in the place of his eye.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him, because he is.

When he says nothing, she replaces her fingers with lips. She kisses every inch of the slash, and his sharp inhale is the only answer she receives. It is enough. She just needs him to know that she wants him as he is.

Aemond’s arms wrap around her waist, and it is enough. It’s everything she wants.

“I dream of you,” he tells her. “Of this.”

She opens her mouth, prepared to pour her heart out—to confess the lengths of her own desire, and the way it has rendered her mad. But Aemond grabs her hips, breaking them out of tranquility, and pulls the dress up so that it no longer sets them apart. She sees questions in his eye, though she doesn’t understand why he feels the need to ask them. Surely, he knows how deep the roots of her want go.

Wordlessly, she reaches for the laces of his leathers. It is enough of an answer; Aemond’s face softens, and then their lips collide again.

There are so many layers between them. Too many. She claws at his shirt, and he tears the last shreds of her bodice, and then they are skin to skin. She touches every single part of him, learning his shapes and curves. His body is toned, and his skin bears multiple small scars that must have come from a sword, and he is soft. Warm. Hers.

Aemond’s fingers find her entrance. She is slick for him—aching, pulsating, dripping. He circles her clit and swallows her moan, and then he is knuckle-deep inside her.

“Please,” she whines, though she knows not what she’s begging for.

His finger thrusts, and then it curls, touching a spot she never knew existed. She throws her head back, mouth open in a silent gasp. Aemond attaches his lips to her throat.

Release comes in waves, quicker than the previous one. It crashes into her body with full force, and she is helpless against the currents. Before she comes down, Aemond lifts her up and buries his cock in her cunt.

It hurts. It hurts, and he holds her close, and she whimpers into his mouth. Aemond is patient with her. He peppers her face with kisses, sighing into her skin, and stills his movements. The stretch burns, and she cannot help but clench around him. Her hips move on their own accord; her body chases what it inherently wants.

There is tenderness in his eye. It’s enough for her body to melt.

Aemond grunts and pushes deeper into her. The pace is slow, agonising, and she cannot take it. Her muscles spasm beneath his hands; she is completely at his mercy, waiting for each thrust. She tugs at his hair and whispers into his ear, demanding that he fuck her properly.

Time stills. Her clit throbs, and she aims to seek relief with her own fingers, but then Aemond pulls her hand away. The hunger in his eye has turned dangerous. It’s more black than purple.

“As you wish.”

She whimpers when he grabs her by the thighs and moves her body away from the door. He pushes her into the ground, spreading her dress beneath her back to soften the surface, and climbs atop her. His moves are frantic, and there is a glow on his features that must reflect her own. His hair tickles her face. She gives him a beaming smile, and his breath hitches.

His cock drives into her, and at the same moment his sinful fingers find her clit. She cries out. Her eyes roll back, and she tries to close her legs, trembling from the onslaught of pleasure. Aemond grabs her knees and holds them apart. Her dripping cunt is on full display; she sees him watch the place where they’re connected, his lips swollen and eyes glazed over. Aemond rubs her clit and thrust into her like a madman, and the bedchamber is bathed in sounds of clapping skin and wanton moans.

She makes no sound when she peaks. Her mouth falls open as she convulses beneath him, and Aemond pushes his fingers down her throat.

“One more,” he grunts. “Give me one more.”

Her body trembles. She can’t. No more, no more—

But Aemond’s torturous fingers keep flicking against her nub, and his rock-hard length twitches deep inside her, and she can’t stop. She can’t stop.

She is boneless. Her spine arches, and Aemond topples over her chest, and their orgasms come at once. They’re amidst clouds, suspended in the air; above turbulent waters; high enough to be scorched by the sun.

They burn. Together, they burn.

Their hearts beat in the same tune. Aemond puts his hand on her chest, in the hollow between her breasts, and she weaves her fingers into his hair. When he looks at her, all she sees is scorching affection.

He stays buried inside her, as though equally reluctant to let their bodies part. Purple and sapphire glow in the dark, and she watches him, breathless and enthralled, unable to look away.

“I have claimed you,” he whispers into the night.

Her eyes are soft. With her fingertips, she writes letters down the length of his spine. She knows the words, though for now they remain invisible to the eye. Aemond looks at her with awe, hands still warm against her cheeks as he holds her. She wishes she could hear his thoughts. Wonders if she’d find remorse and guilt, and the desire to turn back time.

There is no regret in her heart. This—their bodies woven into one—was fated. His first touch planted a seed inside her, and its destiny was to bloom.

“Then I’m yours.”

His hands find hers, and there is only fire.

[lancermylove]

Gifts (HC)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Pairing: All x gn!Reader, minus Ortho.

Warning: None.

Prompt: His white day gift to you.

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Malleus

Malleus gifts you a bouquet of red crystal roses. Each flower is gracefully carved from red crystals, and the base stem and leaves are gilded in 24-karat gold.

His gift is meant to symbolize eternal love. He even takes it a step further by saying, "My love for you shall remain until the roses wither."

Lilia

If you are of age, he will gift you a bottle of aged wine.

If not, he will give you a bottle of juice as a joke just to see your reaction. Then, laugh and hand you a luxurious box of heart-shaped chocolates.

Silver

Silver hands you a white velvet box containing a necklace. The necklace has a pure silver base with a white iridescent opal pendant surrounded by diamonds.

Unknown to you, the necklace is actually a gift passed down to the woman in his family as a symbol of being part of his family. Congratulations, he indirectly proposed to you, and you accepted. Lilia is looking forward to the wedding.

Sebek

Gifts you an oversized white teddy bear with a red plaid ribbon around its neck. The teddy bear has a red heart on the left side of its chest.

He practically shoves it in your hands and looks away, not knowing what to say. He hopes that when you miss him, you will hug the teddy bear.

Riddle

Riddle goes through a list of gifts, not knowing which one to give you. He thinks jewelry, then switches to chocolates, but then feels too much sugar is not good.

So, he sticks with a traditional gift: a bouquet of white roses with red trim neatly held together by silver ribbons.

Ace

He goes all out for the gift and makes you a custom deck of playing cards, which are actually 52 reasons why he likes you. Each card has something he likes about you, from your appearance to your personality to the cute things you do that make him smile.

The gift is thoughtful, but part of you wonders why he chose to go all out. Did he do something? Something is definitely fishy.

Deuce

He gives you a white envelope with a lopsided heart drawn on the flap on the back. Inside the envelope is a heartfelt hand-written letter expressing his feelings. There are many scribbles, and apologies for the scribbles between the words, but you can tell each word holds meaning.

Along with the letter is a white ribbon that he wraps around your wrist and ties into an uneven bow.

Trey

He bakes you a cake with ingredients that he grew and harvested himself. And for the ones he bought, he made sure to purchase the finest ingredients.

The cake is layered with fluffy sponges, moistened with vanilla bean syrup, filled with a rich mascarpone and white chocolate blend, and enveloped in a silky white chocolate ganache. On top of the cake are rare white strawberries, highlighted with edible gold leaf and crushed pearls.

Cater

The first thing Cater does is check the internet for the most trending gifts for White Day. He narrows it down to a few gifts and eventually buys matching phone cases for the two of you.

The cases are white with pink, clear, and red crystals. He warns you to be careful with the case in the sunlight. Cater accidentally temporarily blinded Ace and Deuce by holding the case in the sunlight facing them. The shimmer of the crystals was too intense for the troublemaker duo.

Leona

Literally walks into a designer store and chooses the first thing that catches his eye. One can never go wrong with a scarf, right?

The white piped trim bandeau scarf is made of pure silk and has the designer's name monogrammed at the base of one of the ends.

Ruggie

Ruggie learns some recipes from his grandmother and cooks a meal for you. He tries to get the best ingredients he can, with the help of the garden club, so he can give you a decent quality meal.

The recipes are not fancy, nor is the plating, but he put a lot of effort into making it, so he hopes you like it.

Jack

He struggles to find a gift for you, and his siblings give him a few ideas, but none of them sit with him.

Jack gifts you a cactus terrarium with rare, colorful cacti arranged in a heart shape. But in case you don't like the gift, he also hands you a small box with a silver charm bracelet.

Vil

Vil contemplates gifting you apparel or something fashion-related. However, he thinks clothes and accessories wouldn't convey his message properly.

So, he settles for a hand-held mirror. The mirror is made of 24-karat gold with diamonds surrounding the edges. An intricate rose is carved on the back of the mirror, with the stem and leaves curving around the base.

He wants you to know that no gold or diamonds can match your beauty.

Rook

Rook sets up a scavenger hunt for you with some of the most beautiful locations on the campus, where he hides the next clue. The end of the scavenger hunt leads to a picturesque picnic spot in the middle of the woods near a waterfall.

He recites a romantic poem for you, half in English, half in French. Then, the two of you enjoy snacks and talk for a while. Rook hands you a bouquet of white roses with one red rose in the center. The white roses represent your beautiful soul, and the red rose is your priceless heart.

Epel

Epel learns how to knit and crochet from his grandmother so that he can make you a handmade gift for White Day. He can't pick a design, so his grandmother tells him to just follow his heart and not overthink.

He knits you a scarf, using your favorite color as a base. Inside the curves of the scarf, which will be hidden around your neck, are the words "I love you." Epel hides those words on the inside of the scarf because they are meant for you, not the world.

Azul

Azul wants to give you a physical gift but thinks that everyone gives physical gifts, so it's better to do something different.

In the end, he takes you to one of the finest restaurants under the sea, literally. You dine with sea creatures, trying out their unique and exclusive dishes.

Jade

At first, he is tempted to give you a mushroom terrarium but gives into his better judgment and gives you something you might like.

Jade presents you with a beautiful floral arrangement. The bouquet is thoughtfully arranged, and each flower symbolizes his feelings and love for you. Roses show his passion for you. Gerbera daisies represent the playful side you bring out in him and the joy you make him feel when he is with you. Alstroemerias show his care and support for you—know he will be there for you when you need him to. Lastly, Gladiolus represents his eternal love for you and his faithfulness towards you.

Floyd

He doesn't know what to get you, and his mood changes every time he decides on the 'right' gift. In the end, he gets frustrated and decides to just spend time with you in a fun place.

Floyd takes you to an amusement park. The two of you have fun, and he gets to spend the entire day with you.

Idia

His initial idea is something video game-related, but Ortho advises against it. He gives Idia a lecture about finding a meaningful gift.

So, Idia builds and programs a cell phone for you that has some of the most advanced features known to men. The phone makes your life easier - almost to the point that you think it, and the phone has it. With that phone, you might as well change your name to 007.

Kalim

When you arrive in your room, you freeze. Your entire room is filled with gift boxes, and Kalim is sitting in the center, grinning.

He didn't know what to get you and ended up getting you everything on the list, from chocolates to jewelry to teddy bears to clothes to handbags to you name it. It will take you about a day or two to open all the gifts. Good luck finding space for everything in your room and closet!

Jamil

Jamil knows from the start that he wants to give you something meaningful. The entire day is supposed to be special, so he doesn't want to give you a present and call it a day.

In the morning, he brings you breakfast that he cooked. Then, gives you a bouquet of flowers. In the afternoon, he hands you a neatly wrapped gift box with a white ribbon tied around it. Inside is traditional wear from Scalding Sands, but the patterns on the apparel are exclusive to his family. Another one indirectly proposes to you. Congrats!

In the evening, he has a candlelight dinner with countless dishes that he prepared himself.

———————————————

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[thewritingbeforesunrise]

Like Lava.

18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

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A/N: The idea for this fic was prompted by this post by the wonderful @twistedmelodies. This thought plagued my mind so much that I had to do something about it.

I suggest you listen to the song "My Name Is Human" by Highly Suspect while reading this.

Word count: 4.2K

Pairing: Jake x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+ONLY, graphic sexual content, oral (m! and f! receiving), protected penetrative sex, use of restraints.

Summary: A terrible day at work takes an unexpected turn when you decide to go to a bar to get a drink.

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The bar was still packed when you entered. Much to your dismay.

It was late and you were already overstimulated by the longest shift ever at work.

You thought that a hot shower could make you feel better but you clearly needed something stronger.

You needed a drink to help your brain finally relax and that place was the closest one to your house that could provide you one.

You didn't look anyone in the face there, you just made a beeline towards the bar and quickly got the attention of the bartender.

You asked for a whiskey neat and sat on a stool while you waited.

He placed the glass in front of you with a smile and turned to serve another customer.

You had just grabbed the drink and were ready to have a much needed gulp of liquor when a hand knocked against yours, making the drink spill over the bar top and the glass fall from your grasp.

The glass crashed onto the floor with a loud noise, sending shards everywhere and you shivered at the sound, feeling your anger flare.

You bit the inside of your cheek to try and make your anger subside but it didn't work.

You quickly turned around with your cheeks reddened and your nostrils flaring, ready to tell off whoever the culprit was, but those venomous words died on your tongue when you were met with sweet dark eyes and a heartstopping apologetic smile.

He started apologizing profusely, asking if you were hurt, if he had ruined your clothes and already flagging the bartender to buy you another drink.

“I'm so sorry, I'm very clumsy sometimes. I’m Jake, by the way” The stranger said, extending his hand for you to shake.

You introduced yourself too and took his hand in yours.

His skin was so soft and warm that you felt your icy demeanor starting to crack.

At that moment you finally took him in.

He was beautiful.

His hair was long and looked so soft you wanted to sink your hands in it. It was glowing beautifully in the low light of the room.

He was wearing a simple black shirt that was almost totally unbuttoned, and black jeans. Nothing too fancy, but what caught your eye the most were the antique-looking silver pendants he had around his neck and the many rings and bracelets on his fingers and wrists.

You were regretting coming to that place with every cell of your being before meeting his eyes.

But something told you to stay and let this handsome stranger buy you a drink.

~

An hour and two drinks later you were still chatting and laughing with him at the bar.

He was incredibly funny and smart and you chatted about anything and everything; time had flown in his company.

And on top of that, you would have listened to him talk to no end because his voice was so intense and warm that it made you melt every second more.

You told him everything that happened at work that day and he listened to you with interest.

Then he told you that he had a bad day too. He was a musician, a guitarist, and that day it seemed like he just couldn't focus on notes and riffs. He kept messing up to the point that his own bandmates had kicked him out of the studio and went on practicing without him. He was so irritated with himself that he had almost risked destroying his guitar against the wall.

A comfortable silence fell around you after a while, and you were slowly losing yourself into his eyes, when the bartender signaled to the customers still lingering around that the bar was closing soon.

You were a bit disconsolate that your time with him had eventually come to an end, but when your eyes met his again, you saw a glint there.

He cleared his throat and came closer to you.

“I'm going to be very direct, okay?” He said while trailing a knuckle down your cheek, with a featherlight touch that made your skin cover with goosebumps.

“If I'm overstepping just tell me and we can forget I even said a word. We can go back to being strangers and you won't see me again I promise. Or we can be friends and meet for another drink whenever you want” he whispered.

You felt his hot breath on your neck when he came even closer and a shiver ran down your spine.

“It's been a long day for us both, why don't we help each other unwind?” He whispered into your ear and your heart skipped a beat.

When his dark eyes met yours again, your mind went completely blank.

It was your heart talking when, a few seconds later, you answered him with a confidence you didn't know you possessed.

“Please, yes. Let's go to my place. It's ten minutes away from here” you said struggling to recognise your own voice.

The idea of having to wait ten minutes to feel him didn't really appeal to you but, thank God, he had a better solution.

“If you want, we could go to my place. It's just around the corner” he whispered onto your lips. His voice was like honey, so rich and voluptuous, that you felt drawn to him like a butterfly to the sweetest flower.

The need to feel him was increasing and your fingers were trembling when you grabbed your glass to finish your drink.

He closed his tab paying for your drinks too and then grasped your hand in his, leading you out of the bar.

Once outside, all you wanted to do was start running towards his house but he didn't immediately lead you there.

He stopped abruptly and turned around to face you.

His eyes bore holes into yours as he gently grasped your face between his warm hands.

You felt a tingle where his fingers were touching you and your cheeks heated immediately.

He leaned his forehead against yours and you felt his hot breath on your lips, before his voice graced your ears again.

“Do you really want this, love? I can walk you home if you don't.” He whispered gently, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Please, I do” you answered him in a sliver of voice.

“May I kiss you?” He whispered caressing your bottom lip with his thumb.

You nodded and his lips were on yours. A shiver ran down your spine at the softness of his mouth.

He sucked gently at your bottom lip and you moaned at the feeling. His lips tasted of the whisky he had been drinking all night.

When his tongue licked into your mouth, you felt dizzy, and you clawed onto his jacket, feeling the soft corduroy under your fingertips.

You needed him.

He broke the kiss and caressed your cheeks with a sweet smile on his plump lips.

There was a little wind that kept blowing strands of his hair in his eyes, but that couldn't hide the fire burning there.

“Let's go” He said, grasping your hand and leading you towards his house.

~

The moment you two entered, you ended up pressed against the cool wood of his door.

His lips were on your neck, sucking and biting the delicate skin while his hands gripped your hips.

Your hands sank in his hair and you moaned at the softness of it.

As he lost himself in your neck, biting, licking and sucking your skin, you took a look around his flat, despite struggling to keep your eyes open because of the pleasure coursing through your veins.

He lived in a cozy open space and, if he hadn't told you before that he was a guitarist, you would have guessed it the moment you entered.

There were many guitars hanging on the walls, one more beautiful than the other.

The place was in semi-darkness, the only light was coming from outside, casting a dim glow on everything.

Near a window there was a desk with papers scattered on top and under it. Many were crumpled and others just scribbled, effectively portraying the chaos plaguing his mind that had gotten him kicked out of band practice.

You tugged gently on his hair and guided his mouth to yours, moaning at the feeling of his warm tongue caressing yours.

He broke the kiss and turned you around by your hips so he was behind you and could guide you towards his bedroom.

There were a few more guitars there, two acoustics on their respective stands and an electric that was thrown on the floor without care.

It was still plugged into an amp and you suspected that was the one that had been almost destroyed against the wall because of Jake's temper.

The room was bathed in a soft golden glow provided by the vintage lava lamp on the nightstand. The orange bubbles rising and falling inside reverberated on the walls creating a cozy atmosphere.

The double bed was completely unmade, the white sheets were incredibly crumpled but looked so soft.

“Sorry for the general mess and for the unmade bed, angel, I didn't plan on having company tonight” he whispered onto your lips before sitting down on the bed with you.

You started kissing his neck and, when you nibbled at the tender skin right under his ear, a little moan escaped his lips.

That little sound elicited an uncontrollable fire in your heart. You wanted to hear more of those sounds, immediately.

He started fumbling with his phone and, a few seconds later, music started filtering into the room from a bluetooth speaker on a bookshelf full of trinkets of any kind.

There was a collection of ancient ships in bottles, a wooden model pirate ship, many little succulents and what looked like antique rings and pendants amongst tons of well-loved books.

His lips on your collarbone brought you back to the task at hand.

He stood and prompted you to do the same. He removed his jacket and you started fumbling with the zipper of yours.

When you finally removed it, he kissed you again and moaned into your mouth when your hand sank in his hair, tugging lightly.

Your lips slowly started their descent from his mouth to his neck and lower.

His almost totally unbuttoned shirt allowed you to reach his collarbone and chest easily. His skin was incredibly soft and hot to the touch. He smelled divine, too.

You made quick work of the two last buttons of his shirt and it fell on the floor, joining his jacket and yours.

When your lips skimmed over his left nipple, another little strangled whimpery sound left his throat and you knew exactly what to do.

You dropped to your knees in front of him and his eyes almost rolled back into his skull at the sight.

You reached for the button of his trousers and he whimpered your name when you successfully freed him.

He was left just in his boxers in front of you, but the item did a poor job at concealing how much the situation was affecting him.

The golden glow of the lava lamp looked delicious on his skin. And you wanted to see all of him.

“You don't have to” he whispered, caressing your cheek, gently.

“But I want to” you answered him in a whisper, right before reaching for the elastic band of his boxers while keeping your eyes on his.

“Please, angel” he begged you when your fingers dipped inside and tugged at the fabric just a little, letting it snap right back with a sharp sound.

You finally peeled the black cotton off his toned thighs and you gasped when his member sprang free and slapped against his soft tummy.

Your mouth watered in an instant.

He looked deliciously needy, so the more you admired him the more impatient he got.

He caressed your lower lip with his thumb and he bit his own hard when you grasped his wrist and opened your mouth to let his digit rest on your tongue, just to torture him a little more.

You stroked his member a few times while sucking at his thumb.

When, finally, your tongue licked at his tip, a loud growl left his lips and both his hands sank into your hair.

You let his tip rest on your tongue for a moment and then you wrapped your lips around it, sucking gently and reveling in the sight of his abdomen contracting and his eyes squeezing shut.

His eyes met yours again immediately when your hands covered his, on both sides of your head and you motioned for him to move his hips forward and then backwards.

He cursed at the first thrust, and moaned when you encouraged him to just go on and fuck your mouth.

He did it gently, ensuring that you were ok and checking up on you every few thrusts.

Your hands didn't stop exploring his body. You started caressing his strong thighs feeling powerful at the sight of goosebumps covering his skin because of your touch. He sighed when your thumbs pressed into the delicate skin of his inner thighs and moaned your name out loud when your hands ended up on his ass, kneading his soft supple skin and prompting him to go a little harder if he wanted.

The song sounding through the speaker made you want him even more and the more you felt and watched him thrusting and groaning, the more your mouth watered for him, enhancing his sensations.

He had a tight grip on your hair and he kept arching his back at the feeling of your mouth around his cock.

Suddenly, he pulled out of your mouth and yanked you up to stand before him.

Get up off your knees girl

Stand face to face with your God

His eyes bore holes into yours as he admired your disheveled state. Your lips and chin were shining with your saliva and his precum and your hair was a mess because of the tight grip of his hands.

Before you knew it, his mouth was on yours, licking, sucking and biting at your lips with intense hunger, tasting himself in the process.

He grasped the hem of your dress and removed it from your body at lightning speed, leaving you just in your bra, panties and dark sheer tights.

It was your turn to gasp this time when his kisses followed a slow path from your neck to your tummy as he sank down on his knees before you. You were about to beg him, but a strangled whimper left your lips instead, when he pinched the waist of your thighs between his teeth and tugged downwards.

He quickly removed them with your help and you shivered before his hungry eyes.

His fingers skimmed over the elastic band of your simple cotton panties and your skin covered in goosebumps.

“Y-you don't have to” you whispered, diverting your eyes from his burning gaze and feeling shy and self-conscious all of a sudden.

“You are right. I don't have to. I need to.” He whispered, squeezing your hips and leaning forward to gently press his nose against your mound.

“Please, take them off for me, love” he whispered and you let your panties fall on the floor at his request.

His hands slowly caressed down your legs and prompted you to spread them a little wider.

“Good girl” he praised you with that deliciously raspy voice of his that got you melting.

When his warm breath made contact with your skin, your knees almost buckled, but it was when his tongue licked a broad stripe over you that you really feared that your legs wouldn't hold you upright.

You sank your nails into his shoulders when he started making out with your cunt and you realized that you were much closer than you thought.

It was almost embarrassing.

Your hands tangled in his hair and he groaned when you tugged at it without realizing.

The vibrations of his groan had you almost screaming his name out loud as your hips pressed against his mouth.

Two of his fingers started caressing your labia, collecting your increasing wetness, while his tongue spoiled your clit expertly.

He slowly slid a finger inside you and your mouth fell open, but no word came out. You felt your walls fluttering and contracting around it and were ready to beg him to add another and move them when he spoke.

“You are so tight, love. I can't wait to feel you around my cock.” he said and you moaned, sounding a little desperate.

“But first, I need you to make a mess all over my face. C'mon baby, cum for me” he begged you and curled his fingers sharply over and over again, making your knees feel like jelly.

The moment he sucked your clit into his mouth was when you knew he was going to get what he wanted.

You let go then, moaning his name and clinging onto his hair and shoulders for dear life.

His fingers kept moving at a soft rhythm and his mouth didn't cease its onslaught on your clit until you forcefully dragged him away from you to stand up in front of you.

He looked disheveled too, now, and absolutely drunk on your pussy. His eyes told you that he would have gone on and on at eating you out till morning if you hadn't stopped him.

Get up off your knees boy

Stand face to face with your God.

You didn't even leave him the time to catch his breath before you crashed your mouth to his hungrily, tasting yourself onto his luscious lips.

He wrapped his arms around your body and unclasped your bra, before pushing you on the bed and climbing on top of you without breaking the kiss.

The sheets felt incredibly soft and cool under your flushed skin.

He crawled on top of you and stole your breath away with another kiss, before opening the drawer of his nightstand and retrieving a condom.

You helped him put it on and then you grasped his shoulders and arched your back when you felt him sliding his tip along your slit.

You spread your legs even further and whispered his name on his lips.

His hands on either side of your head cradled your face before his hips started pressing against yours, allowing him to enter you slowly.

I'm ready for love, I'm ready for war

But I'm ready for more.

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan and you felt yourself clenching around him harshly.

He whimpered at the feeling and his face contorted in a pained expression.

His hips stopped and his voice echoed faintly into the room, needy and strained.

“Love, relax for me, please. Fuck, you are so tight. If you keep squeezing me like this, I'm going to cum” he begged you and you tried your best to relax, feeling his thumbs caressing your cheeks gently.

“Yeah, baby, just like this. Good girl” he praised you smiling.

His body was already covered in a thin layer of sweat and when, finally, he was pressed inside of you to the hilt, goosebumps covered his skin.

You couldn't make a sound. The feeling of being finally full slowly registering into your brain had you completely forgetting how to breathe properly.

“Breathe, baby” He had to remind you, leaning his forehead against yours and kissing your lips.

The first thrust had your legs wrapping around his hips and a strangled moan of his name leaving your lips.

Soon, he set a steady rhythm, pressing you into the matress with his strong hips and, with every thrust, you started feeling lighter and lighter. You had completely forgotten about your shitty day and, by the blissful look in his eyes, you were almost sure he had too.

The song had faded away long ago and now your bodies were dancing only on the symphony of the sounds of the shared pleasure you were experiencing.

You were both panting heavily and sweat caused your bodies to stick together. Drops of it were slowly trickling down his neck and suddenly you found yourself licking them away from his skin.

The sounds leaving his lips increased in volume and pitch the more he approached his high and were heavenly. You mentally thanked every entity in the universe for letting you find a man that wasn't afraid of being vocal in bed.

Hs hair kept tickling your face as it swayed back and forth with the rhythm of his trusting and was completely disheveled.

His skin glowed in the low flickering light of the lava lamp and you reveled in the sight of his face, scrunched up in utmost pleasure. You trailed a finger over the wrinkled bridge of his nose and he moaned your name.

As you started sucking and biting at the tender skin of his neck again, he did something that left you without words.

He grasped your wrists and pressed them together above your head on the bed so quickly that you almost didn't see it happen.

“Are you ok with this?” He whispered into your ear and cursed when you quickly nodded your head.

Then he maneuvered the little hair tie you were wearing on your wrist around his fingers so that it bound your wrists together, trapping you.

You gasped at the unexpected gesture.

His pupils were blown wide as he quickened his pace even more, squeezing your wrists in his hand, basking in the feeling pulsing through his cock and slowly losing his mind.

You both couldn't take your eyes away from the other, admiring as pleasure took hold of your bodies and minds every second more.

Finally, the orgasm hit you like a strong wave and brought him with you a few seconds after.

The room filled with moans and whimpers while the glow of a car passing by in the street illuminated his face as it scrunched up in pleasure. It was the most breathtaking sight you had ever experienced.

His eyes were screwed shut and his teeth bared before his mouth went slack with a loud moan, while you kept moaning his name, digging your heels into his lower back.

Then the room turned silent and the only sound filling the space was the heavy panting coming from your chests.

He let go of your wrists then, and gently kissed your reddened skin there, before slumping down on top of you and hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

He slid out of you but didn't move away.

When you finally recovered, your eyes fixated onto the ceiling, mesmerized by the fluctuating glow of the lava lamp, while you caressed his hair.

After a while, he placed a kiss on your lips and then stood with a groan and went towards what you assumed was his bathroom.

You got up too and started looking around for your clothes.

When he came back and noticed what you were doing, he looked a little taken aback. He came closer to you and grasped your hands in his, looking you straight in the eyes before speaking.

"You can stay if you want. I'd love it if you stayed, honestly” he whispered onto your lips and a smile spread on your face at his invitation.

After a quick shared shower, you fell asleep almost immediately, but all of a sudden you woke up to a dark room.

It took you a while to understand where you were exactly but when you did, a little smile spread on your face.

You turned around ready to wrap yourself into Jake's arms only to discover that his side of the bed was empty and cold.

A fait glow was coming from outside the room and, after a while, you decided to see what it was.

You stood, fixed the t-shirt he gave you around your body and silently padded out of the bedroom.

There he was, sitting at his desk, slightly hunched and scribbling away on a piece of paper with an acoustic guitar in his lap illuminated by the low light of the lava lamp that he had moved from the bedroom.

You were about to approach him silently but he must have felt your presence because he turned around and smiled, motioning you to join him.

He placed the guitar on the floor and patted his lap.

The moment your skin made contact with his again you felt your heart flutter.

“What are you doing?” You whispered.

“Writing. You got me inspired. And I think I finally fixed that song” He said, caressing your hip.

“Well, I'm happy to have been of help” you said, chuckling and leaning your head against his.

“You deserve a reward for it” he said, grasping your hips and placing you in front of him on the table with a glint in his eyes that told you that he wasn't even remotely done with you yet.

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A/N: To those of you who need a visual reference of that moment...here it is 😉

Thank you for reading!

Taglist:

@gvfpal @sammyslappers @spark-my-nature @highladyofasgard @sparrowofthedawnsworld

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