#for a while i was like maybe i just keep going on at the wrong time

[myownwholewildworld]

THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG ― dbf!mechanic!joel oneshot

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: dbf!mechanic!joel x f!reader. summary: your car breaks down and you make a deal with your dad's best friend, joel, who happens to be the best mechanic in town. you'll work for him over the summer holidays to pay your debt back, but maybe you can find a pleasant shortcut to it? a/n: well, well, well... what can i say? this whole uniformed!joel shit is giving me proper brain rot. i don't know what came over me while writing this but i just rolled with it. i do appreciate any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated hehe. enjoy! x edit: forgot to mention this oneshot was prompted by this ask! warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. juicy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 48). rough, ABSOLUTE filth & i'm not even sorry. some edging. semi-public groping? masturbation (f and m receiving). oral (f and m receiving). pussy pronouns (she/her). unprotected piv. mouth fucking. very mild brat taming kink. transactional sex. alternating pov. reader is female but that's about it. w/c: ~8.9k of pure filth. divider by @cafekitsune

“Ugh, not again, c’mon!”

Your cranky little car did not have it in it anymore. It was almost fifteen years old now, having passed down from your older brother to you when you turned sixteen five years ago. Out of pure frustration, you hit the steering wheel with the palm of your hand and let out a raspy grunt.

The check engine light had lit up on the dash, which was what caused your fit. And then, as if orchestrated by the universe, the engine made a loud, clicking noise. You flattened your forehead against the wheel, your fingers curling around the rubbery texture with a tight grip.

“You stupid car!”, you screamed at it as if it was a sentient being. “I’m broke, you cannot die on me like this!”

You were on the parking lot of a café. Early that afternoon you had met with some friends to celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of the academic year. One more and you would be done with your degree ― it looked so damn far away, but you still had this summer to look forward to.

Rummaging through your purse, you finally located your cellphone and quickly dialled your dad.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, dad. I’m at Betty’s. The fucking light has come on again?!”

“Watch your mouth!”, he reprimanded you from the other side of the line. You could hear him huff and puff with disapproval. “I think your car is on its last legs, gonna have to think about buying one.”

“You know I can’t afford that, all my savings are going into my degree. I’ll just have to get it fixed for now.”

“Take it to Joel’s then. See what he thinks.”

“But it’s a Sunday, you think he’ll be open?”

“That man is a workaholic, you bet his business is open today.”

“Alright, you reckon he’ll do it for free?”

“For free?” He laughed; you could imagine him shaking his head. “I doubt it, but maybe he’ll give you a discount. Gotta go, little bug. I’ll see you at dinner. If you can make it, obviously.” He mocked you.

“Ha, ha… So funny. Talk to you later.” And you hung up.

The drive to Joel’s garage was a fucking torture. Every time the engine made a squealing noise, your heart would jolt to your throat. You tried to encourage it, whispering sweet nothings in the hopes it would get appeased and make it to Joel’s repair shop.

You also got distracted by your filthy mind. Joel had been in your DILF radar since you were nineteen. Three years ago, your dad celebrated his 45th birthday with a barbecue in the middle of summer. Joel had turned up in a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and flipflops, with untamed silvery curls and a crate of beer under his arm.

When the Texan heat became unbearable, he had stripped himself of his clothes, fashioning a pair of short swim trunks that had left you breathless and wet. When you watched him get out of the water later that afternoon, you could have sworn that the tip of his dick had shown briefly before he discreetly tucked it away. That image had been burnt into your retinas and haunted you since then.

Unconsciously you licked your bottom lip, your core molten with slick, as the car came to a halt. You had arrived at your destination.

There was an old Ford at the front of the garage, someone working under the hood. When the driver’s door of your car slammed against the frame, Joel peeked up from the engine he was working on.

His eyes flickered with recognition. He grabbed an old rag to clean his big, veiny hands of grease and oil. You wondered what else would be big and veiny. Stop it, you dirty fucker, you told yourself.

“Hey, Joel!” You waved at him with a smile.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the grin staying on your plump lips.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Joel. Have not been for a long time now, y’know.” You punctuated, unsure of what you were trying to achieve with that comment. Well, you knew, but did not want to admit it to yourself.

“Oh, I know”, he husked, his voice suddenly gruff.

Tilting your head to one side, you looked at him with question marks in your pupils. Why had he accentuated that “know”? And why all the sudden was your cunt gushing? How could he make you wet with three simple words? You were going to need to request a booty call that night from your friend with benefits.

“Uh, uhmm”, you laughed nervously. “The engine light on my car has come on for the third time this week and the motor is making weird noises, could you check it out for me, please?”

“Sure thing, lemme see.” He took the keys from your hand, electricity cracking between you.

You pursed your lips, a gesture he did not pick up on. Joel walked to the driver’s side, activated something and then the hood popped open. He walked around to the front of the car and propped the hood up with the metal rod that was inside.

As Joel was inspecting the motor with his broad hands, you put one foot in front of the other in a vain attempt to rub your knees together and cause some friction in your needy cunt. You squeezed your thighs some more as you watched him work with his hands, and you imagined what it would feel like if he was working you instead.

Oof! Take it down a notch, girl, you thought to yourself when your clit twitched in desperation.

Then Joel turned around to look at you.

“When was the last time you changed the timing belt?”

“The... what now?” Your mind was hazy with lust, but even if you had been at your full mental capacity, you wouldn’t have known what he was talking about.

“The timing belt. In the engine. What ensures that the camshaft and crankshaft rotate in sync?” He looked at you with a cocked brow, cleaning his hands again on that old rag.

Oh, I would pay big bucks to be that rag.

“Are you even speaking English?”, you replied back, partially because you really had no idea what he was talking about, partially because your brain was all mushy with desire.

“I’ll take that as a ‘never’ then. You should really get it replaced, seems like that’s your problem. Have you had trouble starting the car?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, this very morning.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. You need to change it asap, if it breaks while you’re driving it would be bad, very bad. You could have an accident. Also trying to fix it after it’s broken will cost you even more.”

“So… will I need to break the bank?” You asked, already flinching at the idea.

Joel seemed to take a second to consider your options, leaning against the passenger’s door and scratching his scruffy beard.

“It’ll be $800.”

Your heart almost stopped, your mouth agape.

“Eight fucking hundred?” He nodded. “Well, can I― Can you not give me a bit of a discount here? You are best friends with my dad. Pretty please?” You laced your fingers together in a prayer and batted your eyelashes at him.

With a low grunt, he straightened his back and folded arms at his chest.

“I’m already giving you one. I would usually charge $1100. You’re already getting a bargain.”

“Well, what about $300?” You counteroffered.

Joel’s brows knitted together and then loudly scoffed.

“What? You think I’m a fucking charity? No, kiddo. $800 and that’s it. If I go any lower, I’d be losing money. Got a business to run here.”

You really did not have $800 bucks to spare. In fact, you barely had five hundred bucks to your name. Asking your family for money was not an option either ― not because you were proud (you were), but because money was tight. Your parents already had enough struggles as it was, you did not want to add to the pile.

You visibly pouted and stumped one foot against the gravel, vexed. A loud sigh slipped through your lips as you pressed the heel of your hands against your eye sockets. You needed the car.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you looked at Joel with puppy eyes, covering the distance that was between you. Pleading, you palmed his strong forearm, your fingers wrapping around the girth of his muscles.

For a brief second, you wondered if you would be able to fully grip his erection. Would your fingertips be able to touch your thumb? Or would he be so thick you would need both hands to handle him?

“Joel, pl―please?”, you stammered, your arousal playing games with your vocal cords.

Unwillingly, he scanned your body up and down ― slowly, taking his time, pondering his options.

Joel had wanted to fuck you for three years now, since your lustful eyes widened at the sight of only his tip on that dreadful summer day. He could vividly remember the way you had chewed your bottom lip as you watched him slide his cock back in his swim trunks, shamelessly, without blinking. You only stopped devouring him when someone talked to you, snapping out of your trance.

That night, when he got home, he had jerked himself off with you in his mind. He had imagined your plump lips sealed around his glans, the tip of your tongue playfully caressing the slit ― your sparkly eyes looking up at him, dreamy and teary, imploring. He had taken his sweet time, rejoicing in his fantasy, until he had spilled in the palm of his hand, as if he was a hormonal teenager. And every time he would fuck someone to find relief, he would visualize your cunt sheathing him, clamping down on his dick like a beartrap.

Ever since then, every time his eyes landed on you, his blood would boil and his cock would harden. Just like now, dick pounding against his boxers, begging to be paid due attention. With the eyes of his imagination, he saw himself letting go and throwing you into the back of your car, drilling your pussy relentlessly until you came wailing, asking for more.

Joel sucked in his breath ― he needed to calm down, distract himself with something else. You were his best friend’s daughter. He shouldn’t be daydreaming about fucking you stupid. He had seen you grow since you were a babe.

Never thought of you any other way until that fateful barbeque, when he realised you were a full grown ass woman. Suddenly he had seen you for what you were: a fuckable brat who could get his cock rock-hard with the simple lick a of a lip.

An idea formed as you begged him. You looked desperate ― desperate enough to him at least.

Joel cracked his tongue, his expression unwavering. But if you could see, you would know his cock was throbbing already.

“Well. I do have an idea.” His words dragged, his erection making him feel uncomfortable.

“You do? I’m all ears!” You exclaimed with a lopsided grin, your delicate fingers tighter around his forearm.

His head snapped to his right, pointing to a sign that read “Hand Car Wash”.

“If you help out all summer handwashing cars, I’ll consider part of your debt paid”, he explained, looking down at your hand touching him.

“In full?” You eyed him as if he was your goddamn saviour and that unsettled him.

“I said part of it, kiddo. I’ll leave it at $300.”

You batted your eyelashes at him. Did you know that your suggestiveness was wreaking havoc?

“Anything I can do so the $300 reduces to zero?”

“I’ll think about it”, he reluctantly conceded. Joel had a few ideas in mind, but none of them were precisely appropriate. Not for a twenty-one year old to do with a forty-eight year old at least, that was for sure. “Be here tomorrow at 9 AM, sharp. The team works from nine to twelve, Mondays to Fridays.”

You frantically nodded, almost squealing in excitement. The noise you made forced his cock to twitch. He could make you squeal too, only if you would let him.

“I’ll be here! Thanks, Joel.”

Before he could think, you let go of his forearm and hugged him close to your chest. To your round breasts. Those two meaty globes he wanted to palm so badly. He could swear your nipples were stabbing at him. You embraced him so close to your body, his bulge pressed gently against your lower belly, and he wondered if you could feel him.

And then you stepped back. Quickly, too quickly for his liking.

“You’ll need to leave your car here, don’t want you driving back in that junk. I’ll have a look at it tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift back”, he offered. “Lemme close first and I’ll be right back in five minutes.”

“No probs, take your time.” You smiled at him as you went back to your car to grab your things.

Soon you were on the passenger’s seat of Joel’s pickup truck. It was dusking on the horizon, the light scattering through the windshield. Joel put down the visor so he wouldn’t get blinded by the sun.

“So how’s college going?” His attempt at small talk made you smile.

“It’s good, hard but good. The first year was really bad though. I didn’t know anyone there, so had to make friends and everything.” You mentioned, shrugging, while mindlessly playing with your seatbelt.

“I’m sure you had no problems making friends”, Joel said distractedly, checking all the mirrors before turning at the streetlight.

You placed your elbow on the window frame, the back of your head resting on your palm, and you turned to look at him.

“How are you so sure?” You asked, curious to see what his take on you was. The man was like a brick wall.

“You’re so vivacious and talkative. You’re not the shy kind either, always were part of the popular group in high school, weren’t you?” You nodded, but he didn’t see you, all focused on the road ahead. “Bet’cha you have all the boys running after you.”

Well, that was unexpected. For both you and him, because you saw how his jaw clenched. It was almost imperceptible, but you were so aware of his every move, your body so in tune with his, you couldn’t have missed it.

Had he noticed you? Like, actually? Was it possible that Joel fucking Miller, your freaking dad’s best friend, could look at you with other than paternal eyes? Why would he make hat comment otherwise?

Your cunt, still wet from your previous innocent interaction, fluttered. You had no butterflies in your stomach ― they were actually clapping their fragile wings in between your legs. This man was a fucking menace to your senses, and he seemed oblivious to the effect he had on you. Or did he? Time to find out.

You giggled at his question and patted his upper thigh a couple of times, as if he had cracked the best joke you had ever heard. The pad of your fingers almost caressed his groin, that sweet dip where his thigh met his pelvis. The denim under your touch suddenly stretched as Joel flexed his leg, trying to release the tension that had rapidly built up.

You bit your bottom lip as he peered at you askance, your hand still too close to his crotch.

“I actually do, but none of them seem good enough, y’know? I want a man, not a boy”, you ventured, your top teeth sinking further in the soft pillow of your bottom lip.

You saw Joel sucking in his breath ― and the grin in your face grew. He was definitely not immune to you, at least not as much as you had originally thought. He looked so unattainable, always so distant, you had wondered if, in his eyes, you had never grown up.

“Do you now, kiddo?” He asked between gritted teeth, tone throaty.

His brown eyes drifted down for one second, watching the tips of your fingers rubbing the denim of his jeans slightly, and then he locked them back on the road. You heard a low grunt vibrating in his throat, although he tried his best to suppress it.

“Yeah. I’m sick and tired of stupid childish boys. They are just boring now, they lack― well, you know.” You let him brew with your unfinished sentence and removed your hand from his lap.

You could tell Joel finally was able to breathe again as his chest expanded slowly. His reaction to you left a prickling sensation in your pussy ― wet, throbbing, needy. You pressed your knees together, but what you really wanted was for him to reach for you and dunk his thick fingers in your slit.

“Your dad’s there.” He stated, succinct, after clearing his throat.

You looked over your shoulder and through the window to realise that, in fact, you had arrived home. Your father was already waiting for you on the porch, probably because he recognised the noise of Joel’s truck’s exhaust pipe. And then he started walking towards you.

You suppressed a pouting grimace ― you wanted just a few more minutes alone with Joel. A few more moves and, who knew? Maybe you would have him fingering the shit out of you. But thanks to your father, you would never find out.

Your father knocked on the passenger’s window and you rolled it down, smiling. Although what you really wanted to do was smack him for interrupting.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. How’s the car?”

“Well…” You looked at Joel ― you had already forgotten what was it that needed replacing.

“The timing belt is going. Bit expensive but your daughter and I have reached an agreement. Will reduce the price for her but she’s gotta come work on the hand-wash business”, he explained, matter-of-factly.

“Sounds ‘bout right. Get your first taste of what the real world is like.” Your dad laughed at his own occurrence, while your mind drifted far, very far.

“I’d love to get a taste.” You answered feigning innocence, turning your face to Joel with a very wide smile painted on your mouth.

His eyes darkened, transfixed on yours. Oh, he knew exactly what you meant. He subtly stirred on his seat and you wanted to giggle so bad, but refrained.

“Hey, Joel. There’s a game on tomorrow night. You wanna come over? Can have something to eat, few beers, will be fun. I need the company, God knows this lady over here just complains while scrolling through her social media”, he pointed towards you with his thumb and you simply rolled your eyes at him.

Watching football with your old man was as boring as it got. However, if Joel Miller was there, he would have your undivided attention. Well, not him, the screen, obviously. Duh.

Your eyes shot to his, expectant. Your cunt was even more anticipative of his answer.

“Yeah, why not?”

Famous last words. That was Joel’s only thought as soon as he entered his best friend’s home. You greeted him at the door, all smiley and welcoming, ignoring the fact that you had been trying to get him hard the. whole. fucking. day.

You had come to work with some very short jeans ― every time you bent down to rub the sponge on the car’s bodywork, the bottom part of your perfectly round ass cheeks would show beneath the denim. Did you even wear any underwear? He thought not.

And then that white crop top was the fucking end of him. You had gotten it all wet when a loaded sponge dripped all over your front while you were talking to him about some trivial thing he could no longer remember. You had tittered and apologised while you scrunched it to get as much water out as possible. And the only thing he had been able to focus on were your pointy nipples, staring right at him, screaming for his caress.

After that, he had been at full mast the whole damn shift.

“Hi, Joel, come in!” You greeted him excitedly, swinging the door open.

He had taken a cold shower before coming over, but maybe what he needed was a fucking ice bath. Because the moment you batted your eyelashes at him, his cock twitched again. Joel had fisted his dick while showering, in the hopes that emptying his nuts before seeing you again would placate his lust for you.

Nope, hadn’t worked. Not one bit. This was probably a bad idea.

“Hey, kiddo.” He greeted you, emphasizing the last word.

He could literally be your fucking father, but that did not seem to deter you. If anything, it spurred you on. Had you no shame? Had he no shame? Because he should have stopped you the moment you started to be suggestive. Instead, he had let you go on, enjoying every single second of it.

Joel walked in and made his way to the kitchen, with you on his heels, where your father was lathering up some ribs with his secret sauce recipe.

“Hey, Joel. Let me get that from you”, he said before cleaning his hands on a kitchen towel and grabbing the beer crate from him.

Feeling they were still cold, his best friend cracked two open and handed him one. Joel lifted the can to his lips and saw you looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Want one?” he asked, since you were of legal drinking age.

You shook your head no, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

“Eww, nah. I hate beer”, you sniggered and his dick spasmed some more.

“‘Course you do”, said your father before he could reply. “You only drink― What’s that crap again?”

“Gin and tonic, dad. It’s literally gin and tonic mixed. It’s not that fancy.” You huffed and puffed, shaking your head.

“This youth mixing everything because they can’t have proper alcohol. What’s next? Mixing beer with lemonade or something like that?”

“Well, that’s actually a thing. It’s called a shandy. Don’t be so old.”

Joel let you two have a go at each other. Observing the exchange, he sat down on one of the stools in front of the island, knees slightly bent.

“What?! You listening to this, Joel?” You father exclaimed with a joking tone. “Is Sarah like this too?”

“Yeah, exactly like this. Thinks beer is disgusting and everything. Thought I raised her better than that, but apparently not.” He jested, sipping from the tin can.

“How’s she doing?” His friend asked.

“She’s fine. She’s turning twenty-four in a couple of weeks. She moved out two months ago, gone to Houston for her new job.” He couldn’t help but be proud of his Sarah. She had accomplished so much. “She’s supposed to be here for her birthday, but we’ll see. She’s always so busy, don’t really know with what.”

“Aren’t they all? I barely see this one over here and she still lives under my roof.”

You folded arms, rolling your eyes again, while you sat down beside Joel on another stool.

“Sorry for having a social life? Like, what do you want me to do? Stay here with you watching football? Got better things to do, dad.”

“So you ain’t staying tonight then?” Your dad asked.

Joel turned to study you, interested in your answer. Could he have some reprieve tonight?

“Of course I’m stayin’. Would be rude not to when we have guests over, right, Joel?” And as the last words abandoned your mouth, you placed your left hand on his right thigh under the counter.

God have mercy.

Joel’s muscles stiffened, one in particular more than the others. His thighs were tense as he gripped the beer can with more strength than what was necessary. He kept his eyes to the front, taming his breathing.

He should have done something, slapping your hand away from his lap for instance. But he didn’t. And you took that as an invitation, because soon enough you were kneading his bulge under the kitchen island. Your palm rubbed harshly against the denim, and he saw you chewing your bottom lip.

Your father busied himself with seasoning the ribs and the French fries, oblivious to what was happening just a few meters away from him. This feels fucking wrong, but so fucking good, Joel thought to himself, your hand frisking his groin brazenly.

His cock was thudding with desire under his clothing, begging to be freed from its prison. You sensed his desperation, because you quickly tried to clasp your hand around it. Feeling your frustration at the inability of fisting him properly, Joel parted his legs to give you better access. If that was not an open invitation, nothing was.

I’m already going to hell. Joel had to stop himself of sucking his breath in when you started to unzip his jeans. His eyes slightly widened, but that was his only tell.

“So who do you reckon is going to win tonight?” Your father asked as your fingers dipped underneath his boxers.

Your warm skin against his beating cock dulled his senses. Then you took his dick out of his boxers and attempted to circle his girth while working him. Joel had to drink from his beer to shut himself up.

“Not sure, but I’d like for the Longhorns to win”, he spat the words out as best he could given the circumstances.

“Yeah, would be nice seeing our hometown win something this season”, your father continued with the small talk.

Joel’s thighs flexed when you started pumping him decisively. Fuck. He briefly looked down at his erection. It felt too damn good, your tiny fingers gripping him hard as you slowly moved your hand up and down on his lap. The tip of his cock was glistening with precum and you expertly rubbed it on his foreskin with your thumb.

As your father turned around to put everything in the oven, Joel took the chance to look at you. With your gaze averted, you pretended there was something interesting in the wall in front of you, while your right hand was buried underneath your slutty denim shorts. Joel could swear he could hear the squelching sounds your pussy was making while you played with yourself.

“Right, I think this is it. Gotta wait for an hour until everything’s properly cooked. Wanna move to the family room in the meantime?” He happily chattered as he walked around the kitchen island.

You reacted quickly and let go of his shaft. With his lap right under the kitchen counter, Joel hoped to hell his friend would not see anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah”, he said with a coarse voice. “Need to go to the bathroom first.”

Your father just nodded as he sauntered towards the living room and Joel almost let go a sigh of relief. You simply chortled as you put your left thumb in your mouth, making it obvious that you were tasting his precum.

Joel’s cock jerked on his lap as he whispered a blasphemy. Quickly he tucked away his painful dick back in his boxers and zipped his jeans as he stood up. Then he retreated to the bathroom, needing a fucking moment to find his composure again.

Until he heard you.

“Gonna go get my phone charger, be back in a jiffy!”

Before Joel could close the door behind him, you slipped your hand in the door gap to stop him from shutting it. You caught him off guard, because he stepped back, brows knitting when he saw you under the door frame.

“What’cha doing?”, he questioned you.

You could feel the rigidity radiating from him. You entered the small bathroom and silently closed the door behind you, both of your hands holding onto the doorknob on your back.

“I came to finish what I started.”

You didn’t give him time to think ― if you did, you knew he would put an end to this. You were too turned on, your cunt beating every time your heart did. Your pussy lips were all wet and puffy ― you could feel your slick trapped between your folds, almost seeping into your panties. You had unleashed the beast and wanted it all for yourself.

So you threw yourself into Joel’s chest, your teeth softly scratching his Adam’s apple as one of your hands found its way back to his cock. He tilted his chin up and groaned at your touch. His pounding dick felt warm and velvety against your palm, so hard from working him under the kitchen counter a minute before.

Once he opened his eyes again, he looked down at you as you gripped his erection with both hands. Slowly you jerked him off, feeling powerful with him on the palm of your hands. Every time you pumped him, your clit would twitch in response. He had not touched you yet and your pussy was already palpitating for him. You could not wait to feel him inside you, stuffing you full.

 “We shouldn’t, your father is right there―”

You could not care less. And to make it evident, you sunk to your knees in front of him, still holding his cock, now at eye level.

Your tongue darted out and you leaned his dick forward until the tip rested flat against your tongue, your hands still working his veiny shaft.

“You were saying?” You asked before briefly pecking his glans.

“Fuck”, was the only thing he managed to mumble.

That was your cue to give free rein to your lust. You nudged his column with the tip of your nose as your mouth drifted down to kiss his balls. Then your tongue slid out in its full extension, and you flattened it against the underside of his cock, slowly lapping at it until you reached the top and sealed your lips around his mushroom head.

Glancing up at him, you saw pleasure softening his features as you took him in further and further down, until his cock reached the natural resistance at the end of your throat. When his tip bottomed out in your mouth, Joel’s eyes found yours. His jaw visibly clenched at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cock burrowed in between your lips, tears gathering on your bottom eyelids because of how his dick was outstretching you.

You moaned as Joel pulled his hips back, his shaft leaving your wet cavity, now full of precum and saliva. You swallowed to make room as you avidly tipped your head towards him, your lips hunting down his dick again. Slurping so you wouldn’t drown in fluids, you ate his cock like if it was the last edible thing on earth.

At that moment, something shifted in the air. As if Joel, finally, let go of his prejudices and accepted what you were giving him: your mouth to use as he pleased. His fingers hovered over your temples and then they clamped down on your skull as he held you in place.

“Stay still”, he commanded, and you nodded, his cock sitting snugly in your mouth.

His hips moved back and then forward, rocking his dick in and out of your lips. First slow, then picking up a pace. You stayed put throughout while he fucked your mouth mercilessly, palms against your knees like the good girl you were. Then his glans breached your uvula and you inevitably gagged at the intrusion.

He forced you to remain still as he tried to go further down, but there was nowhere for him to go. Your eyes welled up while you fought back the need to cough, almost unable to breathe.

Joel snapped his hips back and your mouth became free. You started panting while trying to catch a breath. Joel cupped your chin up so you would look at him. His sly grin told you he was enjoying himself a bit too much.

“Can tell you’ve not eaten many cocks, have you? Despite pretending to be this slutty brat in front of everyone, hm?” He asked, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Well, I―” He didn’t let you finish the sentence because as soon as you opened your mouth, he slotted his dick back in between your plump lips.

“I actually don’t wanna hear it.”

Inevitably your cunt gushed at his roughness. He was right though ― you had only given head to two guys before and their cocks did not measure up to his. Your jaw had actually started to hurt now due to the effort you were making to house his dick in your mouth.

Joel quickly resumed his pounding, fucking your mouth relentlessly ― his hips swaying back and forth in front of you.

“Sweetie! Can you bring my charger too please?” Your father’s question forced both of you to snap out of the sexual haziness you both were feeling.

You two froze in place, Joel’s cock still in your mouth.

“Or I can come get it.” Then you heard his booted steps coming up the corridor.

In a panic, Joel stumbled back and you sprang to your feet, eyes widened with fear.

“No! Don’t worry! I’m coming!” You shouted back, hoping that your voice sounded far away enough to him.

The steps stopped and you both listened to him walking back to the living room. “Thank you, sweetie!”

You turned to look at Joel, who had grabbed a bunch of toilet roll to clean off the mess on his still throbbing cock.

“Joel, I’m sorry, b―”

“Just go before he changes his mind and comes looking for you”, his voice was strained with effort. His erection had to be painful by now without any relief.

But he was right. You couldn’t risk it. Neither of you could. So with apologetic eyes, you slithered out the bathroom door and ran to your room to snatch a couple of phone chargers.

Fucking torture that was.

Joel had never been in a worse position than that. Sat on the couch with you, your father on the recliner just a couple of meters away ― and his dick still pulsating, his balls full of unspent cum. His cock would writhe in his boxers, asking for a relief that never came. He was in excruciating pain and was not able to concentrate at all. All the small talk your father did went over his head, didn’t pay attention to the TV’s commentary either.

From time to time, you would graze his thigh lightly ― and on one occasion you slid your naughty hand towards his groin. Luckily the living room was dark, the TV being the only source of light, so your father didn’t pay much attention to your provocations. You quietly kneaded his bulge, curling your fingers around his erection underneath, and it got to a point where Joel had to force your hand away, because he was too close to coming.

So, when he waved you both goodbye and got into his truck, he could literally not wait to get home. Under the dim light of the lampposts that filtered through the windows into the truck’s cabin, Joel freed his aching dick and fisted it from the base. With his head tilted back against the headrest, he furiously jerked off ― fast and with no measure, to the point it was almost hurting. Tension built up from his nuts upwards and when Joel finally got relief, he groaned audibly as his cum spurted out in white, thick streaks.

With a heavy sigh and some laboured breathing, he opened his eyes, looking for some tissues to clean the mess on his lap. As he was putting his cock back in his boxers, something caught his attention.

The darkness camouflaged you well, but he spotted you on the window of your room, watching him eagerly with half-lidded eyes and chewing your bottom lip. Then your head leaned forward, your chin almost touching your chest, and Joel suddenly understood what was happening. You had been touching yourself while observing him do the same thing, until you orgasmed too.

Your eyes locked on each other’s through the blackness, something dark and perverted floating in the atmosphere. The whole thing felt wrong. The right kind of wrong.

The next week had been a continuous dance between the two of you. You too suggestive, him too evasive. After you had seen him wanking in his car, you had thought you had him under your spell. He had looked like a damn teenager chasing his release, unable to contain it much longer.

But you couldn’t blame him ― you had had him on edge for almost five hours. First touching him under the counter, then sucking his dick in the bathroom, and finally kneading him on the couch with your dad only two meters away.

It all had affected you too, because as soon as you had scurried away to your room and had looked out the window, you fingered yourself with your eyes locked on him. You came so hard, that you had to steady yourself on the windowsill, trembling knees and all. And once the orgasm softened its grip on you, you had realised he had been watching you as you rode the last wave of your climax.

So yes, for a week you tried to seduce him again, because you needed to know how it all ended. Having him burrowed down to your guts was a necessity now. However, it got to a point where you almost gave up ― it was draining having to follow him around like a bitch in heat. You still had one ace up your sleeve though. One that you hoped to play this afternoon. Because if you didn’t fuck him today, you were going to lose your shit.

You focused on your task, which was rubbing the soaked sponge on the bodywork of the car. Two other people were doing the same thing on the back, while you were slightly bent over the hood trying to reach the middle. Your breasts brushed against the metalwork, your white tank top completely wet with soapy water, almost transparent now. The coldness was refreshing in the asphyxiating Texan heat and your nipples especially welcomed it, wrinkling tightly and showing through the fabric.

When you straightened, you caught a glimpse of Joel eyeing you intently. But you pretended you didn’t ― maybe you needed to play difficult, show him no interest. Reverse psychology. So for the rest of your shift you just ignored him, fully conscious of how his sight followed you at all times. Let him brew.

Joel didn’t say a word though, didn’t come close to you either. But you heard him wicker while you were openly teasing one of your teammates. Were you trying to make him jealous? Absolutely. So, you giggled and played with your hair at the tasteless joke your colleague told you. It wasn’t funny, but you wanted Joel to listen to your flirting.

Midday came around and the other two people working on the hand wash business said their goodbyes. Joel employed a father and son in the shop too, who left the garage to go home for lunch. And then it was only you and Joel left. Just as you had planned.

“Joel? Can you help me with this, please?” You politely asked him after lifting a bucket full of water up to your chest.

You took a couple of steps forward and the water spilt all over, soaking your shirt completely.

“Shit”, you heard him say under his breath, jogging towards you.

He slipped his arms underneath the bucket to release you from its weight and then placed it back down between both of you.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt your back with such terrible manual handling.” He reprimanded you, tutting.

“Something hurts and it’s not my back, Joel.” You muttered, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to haul him closer to you.

You were done with subtlety. You guided his hand to your pussy and pressed it gently.

“Hurts right here.” The low, needy mumble poured from your lips like honey.

Joel’s eyes squinted just a tad, and his nostrils flared. You saw the inner battle in his chocolate eyes, and you fucking hoped he lost.

Soon you had the answer you had been looking for. The palm of his hand flattened against your crotch, holding you possessively, and pulled you against his broad chest. You couldn’t help but moan when your breasts pressed against him, your taut nipples aching with sensitivity.

“You’re so fucking nasty, kiddo. Been watching you all week, trying to get me hard all over again, haven’t you?” You shyly nodded, biting down your bottom lip as you glanced up at him, his palm rubbing your cunt with determination. “Of course you have, you’re so cock drunk. You loved sucking me, didn’t you?”

You shook your head yes, holding onto the waistband of his jeans. You whimpered when his thumb burrowed in your pants, trying to find your slit over all that clothing unsuccessfully.

“Joel, please.” You begged for mercy, for relief, for something ― anything he could give you, you would take.

“You want me to fuck you, kiddo?” His free hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up, while his thumb kept nudging your damp slit. His mouth hovered over yours as you simply nodded again. “Hm? You want me to destroy your pussy?”

“Yes, yes, YES.” You were already gushing at his dirty talk.

With no more prodding, Joel bowed down and sunk his tongue in your mouth, darting in with the ferocity only a man on the edge could feel. He swept your entire cavity in an open-mouth kiss that left your knees shaking and your pussy throbbing. You moaned into his breath and your tongue lapped at his, the span on his fingers gently covering your neck and squeezing lightly.

Joel’s hand between your legs moved to your ass, pressing you into him. His swollen lump poked at your lower belly intimately and you couldn’t resist the urge to dip your hand in his boxers. He audibly groaned as you attempted to circle his whole girth and failed. Just like a week before, you would need both of your hands around his shaft to properly grip him. You pumped him once, very slow, your hand gliding down till it found his balls.

Joel grunted in the middle of the sloppy kiss and pushed you to go backwards until your body met the back of his pickup truck, which was parked at the end of the driveway. Out of prying eyes, you hoped. Not that you cared that much at this precise moment, anyway.

His beard scratched the skin on your cheek as his lips drifted down to your neck. You looked up to the clear sky before you closed your eyes, giving his pulsing cock a light squeeze that snatched a moan out of him.

Without warning, Joel broke the messy kiss and knelt before you, his hands tugging at the waistband of your shorts with no difficulty. Soon your pants were around your ankles, your panties quickly following, leaving you naked from the waist down. Joel helped you take them off but left your tennis on.

Still on his knees, he peeked up with a devilish smile, then leaned forward and lapped at your mound. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as your fingers raked his salt and pepper curls. The tip of his tongue brushed the point where your slit started and then licked upwards, his tongue skidding through your skin until it reached your belly button.

You pursed your lips, wanting him to go down, not up. In fact, you pushed him down ever so slightly and the cold of his breath against your wet skin when he laughed made you look down, frustrated.

He kissed the beginning of your slit again and when you thought he was going in, he stopped. You whimpered, thwarted, as he got back up to his feet and towered above you.

“You want me to touch you where it hurts, hm?” He questioned with his lips ghosting yours. “Your pussy? That’s where?”

Not waiting for your reply, his index dunked in your pearly furrow and traced it in its entirety, from your quivering hole to your thumping clit. And then he did it again, for good measure.

“You’re soaking, kiddo. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” To emphasize his words, Joel suddenly dived his finger in your opening, a squelching sound making it obvious that you were, in fact, dripping. “You hear that?” He forced his finger out and then back in, the wet, sucking noise even louder this time.

You frantically nodded as he fingered you, his thumb caressing your begging clit as he did. You mewled into his chest, eyes shut, trying to calm the fluttering of your inner walls around his lonely finger. Lonely not for long, because Joel then introduced a second. You held onto his sides, his tee shirt scrunching in your fists, the orgasm building up.

“C’mon, squeeze your cunt for me. Show me how tight you are”, he whispered in your ear as his relentless fingering picked up a faster pace between your legs.

You happily obliged and squashed your walls together around his fingers as he dextrously stroked your g-spot. All of a sudden, a firing sensation built in your clit without warning and the haziness of pleasure took over your senses abruptly. You came hard, very hard, wailing his name as he kept on fingering you until the last wave of your climax washed over you.

What the actual fuck? You thought to yourself, amazed. You rested your forehead against his chest, catching a breath and feeling your arousal wetting your inner thighs.

Still recovering from your unexpected orgasm, Joel picked you up and settled you down on the edge of his truck’s cargo bed. Your feet dangled in front of you, and you parted your legs to make room for him while you wrapped his neck with your arms and licked into his mouth.

“Now I’m gonna eat you raw, kiddo. Give you some of your own medicine.” His hoarse tone gave you goosebumps. Palming both of your breasts over your wet tank top, he pushed you down until your back met the floor of the cargo bed, your legs hanging freely from your knees down. “Is that what you want? This old man feasting on your pussy, on her? ‘S she gonna like it?”

“Joel, please, just― Yes, eat my pussy. Eat her, eat me, please.” You begged with a small voice while you pinched your nipples over your shirt, eyes closed.

And finally, he did. With his hands on your knees to keep them apart, Joel lapped at your cunt in one sweet sweep. Your body trembled with elation, shivers firing down your spine. His tongue caressed all the crevices in your shiny slit, lips puffy and reddened. His thumb found your clit as the tip of his tongue played with your leaking hole, going in and out a few times ― fucking you with his tongue.

You were not able to take it for much longer ― with Joel’s tongue lodged in your creamy fold and your fingers playing with your nipples, you were done for. Soon you came undone, tension growing in your lower belly and molten lava finding its way out. You howled his name, your knees pressing against his head, holding him in place as you came in his mouth. Joel sipped from your fountain, leaving not even one drop behind, your pussy licked clean of your own discharge.

His turn to find relief.

Even though Joel had been fisting himself while eating you raw, the roughness of his palm could not compare to your warmth. He just knew your pussy would hug his cock just right. And he was dying to find out.

Pushing his work jeans and boxers down to his ankles, he kicked his feet until they came off. Soon his security shoes and socks were kicked to the side too. With renewed energy, Joel jumped on to the cargo bed. You propped your torso up with the help of your elbows to study his erection, wetting your lips unknowingly.

Your eyes lingered on his cock for too damn long and it twitched on his hand.

“Spread your legs, kiddo.”

And so you did without complaints. You stretched your legs, Joel having a perfect view of your glistening pussy. You were so horny, he could literally see your cunt palpitating from this angle. Knelt between your legs, he leaned forward until the tip of his dick brushed against your slit, so damp again it just slid off. Jerking himself off, he nudged your soaked entrance with his mushroom head and your mouth opened, shaping a perfect O.

“So needy, isn’t she? Aren’t you? Playing difficult to catch today, trying to make me jealous with that stupid boy, but in reality, you’re just a desperate brat wanting to get her pussy drilled by her dad’s best friend.” His dirty talk did not stop while he pushed in, your flesh parting to house him until he bottomed out.

Joel moaned, sweat gathering on his brow, his hands on either side of your head. He stood still for a long minute while your cunt fluttered around him, sheathing his whole length. He could feel your inner muscles adjusting to him.

You were so cockstruck you didn’t even reply.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, so take it well, kiddo.” He warned before tilting his hips back and abruptly back in.

You wailed loudly at the first thrust, and Joel had to muffle your screams by covering your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm, but he didn’t let go. He did not want you to alert the neighbours around the garage. His hips bucked against yours and then, after a few teasing shoves, Joel started jackhammering you fast and viciously hard.

You draped your legs around his waist, the heels of your white tennis pushing on his ass cheeks, encouraging to go deeper and quicker. And so he did, uncovering your mouth to replace it with his.

Joel fucked you mercilessly, filthily. He drove his dick in and out of you in quick succession, drilling your tacky pussy. And he knew you were loving every single second of it. Your soft sobs only spurred him on and when your moist pussy clutched around his drumming cock announcing your orgasm, he couldn’t restraint himself for much longer.

He stoically let you come while riding your own climax. His balls tightened and his belly muscles strained, signalling his own relief.

“Where?”, was the only word that he managed to whisper.

Your eyes were still closed, a languid smile lingering on your lips, all blissful and satisfied while he was still fucking suffering.

“In my mouth.” Your reply was almost his undoing.

Joel snapped his hips back, his hard, throbbing cock slipping out. He dragged his body across yours until his thick, hairy thighs were on each side of your head and his nuts were resting on your chin, his ass hanging over your breasts.

“Open”, he husked, raspy and throaty.

Still with your eyes closed, you parted your lips, and Joel shoved his beating cock down your throat unceremoniously. He leaned forward over you ― his hands holding his weight off you, flat against the cargo bed’s floor. And then Joel started fucking your mouth mindlessly, as if it was your cunt ― his testicles slapping against your chin and your eyes welling up.

He could feel your head almost rocking up and down below him with the strength of his thrusts. You only stopped swaying underneath him when your hands grabbed his buttocks, your fingers sinking in his flesh.

With a guttural growl, Joel came undone and his thick cum filled your mouth. You stayed still while the last white ropes spurted out the slit on his tip, finally reaching the bliss he had been chasing for a week.

Joel lifted his hips off your face and his dick came out of your mouth with a pop.

“Eat it, kiddo.” He requested of you, towering above you.

From this angle, flat on your back and with Joel almost sat on your face, you saw first his balls and then his soft cock hovering over your eyes. What had just happened was filthy, and you loved it, even though you were sure that your throat would hurt tomorrow.

“It’s $300 if I swallow”, you kidded out of nowhere, almost gargling with his cum as your mouth was full of it.

Joel chuckled as he came off you, sitting down on your left.

“Deal”, he agreed.

And so you gulped his cum down, letting it slip down your throat until it landed in your belly. You smiled at him before opening your mouth to show him it was empty.

Joel’s chest rumbled with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader New

Synopsis: Everything between you and Ser Aemond was now new, but always natural. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Secret Relationship, Fluff PREVIOUS PART

You tasted like the berries you had during tea time. So sweet. Aemond never cared for sweets; he found them too addicting, so he had managed to control himself when consuming them. However, with you, gods— he didn’t think he could ever have enough. Was it too soon to say he was addicted? By just one taste of you, he was certain he could never live without it. Now that his lips had known the pressure of yours— now that he had known your taste; he could never go back to simply wondering and dreaming about it. With just one taste, you had made him a man obsessed. 

Aemond ignored all his sensibilities and cupped your cheek, deepening your kiss— pulling you impossibly closer to him and seemingly never wanting to let you go; how could he? When he felt your soft, plush lips stagger, Aemond knew he must part for you to catch your breath, controlling himself even though he wanted to keep your lips against his. He opened his eye, the image of your parted, swollen lips— your flushed face and wide eyes forever engraved in his memory. You were not his first kiss, and he cursed himself as to why he had sullied his lips with others when, all the while, yours were waiting for him. 

“Oh gods…” you said in shock as to what you had done. You could not even look into Ser Aemond’s eye— too scared of what his reaction would be. Indeed, he was scandalized— perplexed at what you had done. You had crossed all boundaries— you had passed the point of no return, and though you yourself had no wish to go back— there was no regret; you knew your knight, who would forever hold himself in his duty would not take your actions well. “I…I’m sorry,” You say,  discombobulated; you did not even wait for his reply, for you quickly ran away, leaving your knight confused and flushed.

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods,” You muttered as you entered your chambers, humiliated and ashamed for what you had done. You covered your face with your hands, the feel and taste of your knight still prominent on your lips. He tasted like mint and a bitterness you did not mind. You breathed heavily as you heard the clank of his armor from the other side of the door. You bit your lip, already deciding in yourself that you would hide in your chambers once more, unwilling to face the consequences of your actions. 

Aemond stood at his post, knees weak as his mind recalled your kiss. He turned towards the door, having the urge to enter your chambers and confront you. How could you just kiss him and run? Had he done something wrong? Perhaps you did not enjoy it as much as he did, or maybe he accidentally bit your lip? He did not know anymore. All he knew was this was the first time his body had reacted to such a kiss, and he could only hope that you felt the same. 

When night came, you had not left your chambers. Aemond could barely hear you. Usually, he would hear you speaking to yourself or Theodore, but not once had he heard a word leave your lips; the only indication that you were still there were your quiet footsteps as you paced around your chambers. 

As Aemond thought about your actions once more, he began to wonder what had led you to do such a thing. Why would you kiss him? What was the reason for you to bestow upon him your first kiss? There was just one apparent reason he could think of. You kissed him because you wanted to. You kissed him because you wanted him. Aemond was left overwhelmed with such a line of reasoning. Had you fallen for him as he had fallen for you? Did you truly want him as much as he wanted you? Aemond sighed heavily, his mind running and jumping to conclusions that had no concrete explanation— but he convinced himself that your kiss was a reason enough for him to believe— to hope that you held affection for him as well.

You paced in your room, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as you tried to think of a way to proceed. Surely, Ser Aemond would want to be removed from his station— that he cannot be your sworn protector after you had shown such actions that crossed all boundaries. You paled at the thought. You did not think of the consequences! You have no wish for Ser Aemond to leave your side, but what else could he do after you had kissed him? You had placed his station at peril, and you had laid yourself to scandal. When a knock sounded out, you paled as the knock was the familiar pattern of your knight’s. You stayed silent and held your breath, hoping he would think you were already abed.

“I can see your shadow by the door, princess,” You hear his muffled voice declare, and you quietly groan as you have no escape. You breathed in heavy breaths as you gathered all your courage to speak, “C… co— come in,” You squeaked, and Ser Aemond slowly entered your chambers. There was a tense moment of silence that was then broken by your rambling and profusely apologizing for your actions. “I’m sorry! I…I think I was going crazy— and… and I had no intention of offending you an—“ Aemond pursed his lips, a wide smile wanting to escape as you went on and on with your apologies, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed as your hands moved with each of the multitude words that left your lips. 

“I’m sorry! I— please, you don’t have to leave your station… no one needs to know what had happened. And I swear it would never happe—“ Aemond shook his head and captured your lips before you could finish your sentence because he would never forgive himself if you made such promises. You were taken by shock for a moment as you felt his thin lips against yours again, but as he cupped your cheek, you turned lax and let out a sigh as your eyes fluttered to a close. Was it too soon that you were already addicted to his lips? You always thought that your favorite thing would be tasting the sugar on your lips each time you had your little sweet treats, but by just the second taste of Ser Aemond, you knew it had been dethroned— nothing could compare to him. 

When your lips parted, you looked upon him in shock and confusion, your mind trying to find an answer as to why he would kiss you, and there was only one answer you could think of. You breathed in a shallow breath, “Do you… do you like me as well?” You questioned, fearing the answer as there was a possibility he could say no. 

Aemond smiled and tucked in a loose lock of your hair, letting his fingers brush your soft, warm cheek. “It’s impossible not to,” he whispered softly, watching as the scarlet on your cheeks turned maroon. “Really?” You asked in disbelief as you still thought your affections for him were unrequited. “Why?” You could not help but ask— still finding it hard to believe that he would be attracted to you as well, especially as he had seen you in all of your states. “Why?” Aemond breathed out a laugh as his other hand cupped your cheek as well. “Oh, princess… because you are kind and genuine— you are selfless and caring— because… you are you— that is reason enough for me.” You bit the insides of your cheeks as you had no words— your insides were overwhelmed with further affection for Ser Aemond that all you could do was kiss again.

“You know, I really tried not to like you— but it truly is impossible,” He added as your lips parted, a smile on his lips as you circled your arms around his neck. Your lips agape at his confession. “Was that why you were so mean to me before?!” You gasped as you had thought it was your fault— that you had done something that made your knight hold such bitterness. Aemond only shrugged, “Now I’m starting to wonder why I like you,” you muttered in tease, and Aemond chuckled, pinching your side in tease as well. You laughed and pressed yourself further upon his frame, his hold on your cheeks lowering to your waist. “What now?” You asked after a short moment of silence, savoring the way he held you. “Nothing— we just stay as we are, by each other’s side,” He said and placed a kiss on the top of your head as you let him hold you for a few moments more. 

You breathed in deeply. You have always wondered about this day— when you would finally find someone you would want. You imagined that there would be great anticipation— fireworks accompanied by the loudness of the world, the erratic beating of your heart— and your nerves consuming you. You thought you would finally get that confession during a rainstorm or a heated argument; nothing about how this had all transpired. Everything was calm with Ser Aemond— almost anti-climactic, and you knew you would prefer stillness more than uproar. His love was silent, and you would gladly listen for it. 

“What did you do last night?” You almost choked on your tea as your brother asked the question. You blinked for a moment, resisting to look upon your knight whose lips had met yours countless times last night. “Uh… I was tired. I went straight to bed,” You lied, feeling an inkling of guilt as you were not accustomed to offering your brother full lies— you’d often fib but never lie. “Oh, well, you do look rested— though a bit flushed,” Your brother shrugged and went on with his meal. You sat quietly, trying to reign in the blush on your cheeks and the smile that wanted to slip your lips as your mind kept replaying the scenes with Aemond (He insisted you called him without titles when it was only the two of you.) holding you and kissing your lips. 

“When did you realize you liked me?” You suddenly questioned when it was only you and Aemond in the gardens. You hear him cough, seemingly caught off guard by your question. You smiled widely as you turned to face him, a pinkness in the tip of his ears that you would consider his version of a blush. “Uh…I don’t— I’m not quite certain,” He said, genuinely uncertain. He could recall the exact moment when he realized he had fallen for you but not the moment you questioned, which led him to think, when did he exactly start to like you? He could recall his first days, trying impeccably hard to dislike you, to hold animosity that was not backed by any support to dislike you— but he could not remember the exact moment when he finally started to let go of that forced animosity. 

You hummed and nodded, no longer prying and forcing him to think about your question. “And you? When did you realize that you were harboring feelings for your knight?” He returned the question, biting the insides of his cheek at how quickly a blush came to your face. He moved from his station behind you and stood to where you looked ahead, enjoying further the image of you sitting on your chair in the gardens, the flowers that surround you making you look more ethereal in his eyes.

“Your night off,” You answered, watching as Aemond frowned in confusion. You’ve always liked— you’ve liked him for the longest time, but not until recently did you realize that you loved him, an emotion so great that you could not yet share with him. “What?” Aemond questioned, surprised as you knew the exact moment. You shrugged, “I uh… I know I said I sneaked off into the city to watch a show— and that is true, yes, but… I was hoping to run into you, in which I did.” You smiled as the pinkness on the tips of his ears furthered. Aemond bit his lip and looked around the gardens, his heartbeat spreading throughout his whole body at your confession. “So you have been pinning for me this whole time?” He asked quietly, a further feeling of affection for you surging through him. “As if you haven’t,” You retaliated, twiddling with your fingers as you felt your stomach flip when Aemond breathed out a laugh and nodded slowly. 

You parted your lips to ask another question, enamored with the idea that both you and Aemond had been longing and yearning for each other but had stayed silent until either of you could deny your attraction, but the sound of a cat’s whine caught your attention. You frowned as you thought it was Theodore, but you had left him sleeping in your chambers. You sat straighter and saw a ball of white fur by the foot of your knight, the feline nuzzling its face on your knight's leg as it purred. “Look! A kitten! Pick it up,” You said to Ser Aemond as you as well stood in excitement. Aemond looked upon it warily, not certain how to react as he was accustomed to Theodore’s animosity and indifference towards him. Aemond slowly did as you told, and you huddled by his side to have a clearer view of the cat with white fur and sapphire-like eyes. You gently petted its head and assessed it for its gender whilst in the stiff arms of Aemond. 

“Aww… she likes you! I feared that cats are indifferent to you, seeing how you interact with Theodore,” You mumbled and scratched the head of the feline that just appeared. “We should keep her,” You said as Aemond’s arms were growing tired at how he held the cat an arm’s length away from him. “We should?” He questioned as the cat stared at him. “Yes! She clearly likes you!” You said, and the feline only meowed as you took her in your arms as you sensed Aemond was growing uncomfortable. “What should we name her?” You questioned and returned to your seat and set the cat on the table, offering her some berries in your hands that she readily nibbled upon. 

“I… I don’t know,” He muttered, mesmerized by you, who petted the feline with so much love and adoration, though you had only met it. “Surely you have a name that you like! Come now, name her!” You urged and turned to Aemond, who could only stare. He was drawing a blank— the only name he truly liked was yours and perhaps Seraphina, the name you planned to give your future daughter, but other than that, he could not think of anything. “I’m not good with naming, princess,” He said quietly as passersby started to appear. You pouted and continued to pet the cat, thinking of a name that would match Theodore’s. “Hm… what about Sapphira? Her eyes look like sapphires, do they not?” You asked, hoping your knight would agree. Aemond felt a small smile twitch on his lips as you looked upon him expectantly, “Then Sapphira it is,” He agreed, grateful to witness as a wide smile come to your face. 

“Go on, play with her,” You urged Theodore as you returned to your chambers to have the two cats acquainted. Aemond stood by the door and observed you earnestly try to make both of the cats play with one another. However, Theodore only rested on your lap, staring at Sapphira, who played with a ball of yarn with indifference. “Theo, come now, we got you a playmate!” You say, talking to the cat as if it were an actual human being. You turned to Ser Aemond, and at the mention of him, Theodore suddenly hissed, surprising you. “That’s quite rude,” You chastised your cat but still soothingly brushed his fur. “I still do not know why Theodore does not like you, but Sapphira was quickly taken by you,” You say, and Aemond tensed, the memory of what he did for Theodore to dislike him replaying in his mind. 

Aemond stared down as Sapphira came to him, urging him to join you in the sitting area where you sat. You smiled as Aemond threaded closer to you, moving from where you sat to make room for Ser Aemond. You smiled as Theodore was in your lap, and Sapphira jumped onto Aemond’s. You glanced about the room and saw the reflection of the two of you in a mirror. Sat next to each other with cats on your laps, the damned gap between dissolved, and you hoped you would never appear again. 

“Aemond,” you called as he cautiously petted the fur of Sapphira. “Yes, princess?” He asked, turning to you. “I uh… I really like you,” You confessed the obvious. A blush once again creeps up to your cheeks. Aemond bit his lip, feeling like a boy again, which was odd because he didn’t think he ever felt like a boy, but you had that effect on him. “Good. But you must know that I like you more,” He stated, and your smile only widened, and you could not help but kiss him once again. It was a rather odd feeling— kissing someone. You never thought about how it would feel or how you would react when doing it, but though the sensation felt new, it felt natural— too natural, if you’re being honest. Kissing him felt so easy as if you were just breathing. It was exciting, yes, but most importantly, it felt pure— instinctive, as if you were born to kiss his lips. And perhaps you were. 

[pupyuj]

dubcon pervy! g!p gym trainer yujin who touches you on parts she’s not supposed to?🤤 you’d be bent over the equipment and she’d press her hard cock against you with her fingers ghosting right above your breasts but that’s ok cuz she’s only correcting your form, right? right??!? it goes on for many sessions but you were a bit dumb to realize her advances :( so one day as she instructs you to do a stretcg that bends you over and gives her a delicious view of your ass, she loses all self-control, pushes your head against the yoga mat, and fucks you from behind hard and nasty like a rabid dog😫she’s been restraining herself for soooo long! and poor you couldn’t do anything but take her big cock cuz she was too strong (grabbing both of your wrists behind your back) :( both of you go on fucking in different positions, on every gym equipment, nonstop. and did i mention, you were a dumb virgin :( and it only turned yujin on even more when you were crying and begging her to stop bc you were unfamiliar with this (extremely good) sensation stirring up in your stomach :((( poor reader has never even touched herself before :( and all yujin wanted to do was to corrupt you😵‍💫

-🍒

this ask has been rotting in my drafts for months omg apologies 🍒 anon 😭😭💔 as always one can never go wrong with pervy yuj 🤓

[cw: dubcon.]

totally into the idea of this yujinnie here being someone you’ve actually known beforehand like maybe she’s an older sibling’s friend or smth so you feel super comfortable around her and is thus blind to anything weird she does to you 😵‍💫 bcs as far as you know that’s just who yujin is: affectionate and naturally touchy-feely with people that she knows! ofc that made it especially easy for her to get away with doing pervy things such as very very sexual comments about your body that she passed off as either jokes or ‘really specific compliments’, briefly brushing her hands against your boobs, touching your ass, etc. 🫣 and the touching doesn’t even stop outside of your one-on-one meetings! seriously, how could you be so stupid to ignore how her hand always rested so suspiciously low whenever she had an arm wrapped around your waist… she was almost disappointed that it was all too easy but you were still so pretty that she needed to fuck you 😳😳

she was hoping to slowly push you into wanting her back just so nobody can tell her shit about abusing her ‘position’ over you as this mentor figure, but one day you just showed up in a particularly skimpy outfit and that was the last straw for her! all morals out the window 😭 and it didn’t help that yujin hadn’t gotten off for days too.. it was perfect! yujinnie watching with bated breath while you were doing your cute little warm-up stretches, she didn’t care to hide her hard-on anymore because why would she?? you’ll get to see her dick in a matter of minutes anyway 🥰 but as morbidly horny yujin was, she doesn’t get to it right away! she had some manners! 😤 she helps you out with a few workouts as per usual, shares a few jokes and conversations here and there, she even showed you some pictures of her little puppy just to get you nice and comfortable… then you were finally laying on your back on a yoga mat while yujin towered above you, ‘helping’ you with some sit-ups although that wasn’t something that was in your routine before…

ah, yujinnie taking advantage of your exhaustion.. your head seemed to have taken you elsewhere bcs you rlly didn’t notice how she had fit herself in between your legs, her hard cock poking at your clothed cunt, her hands keeping your legs apart without too much pressure so you wouldn’t notice… that was until you blinked and set your eyes on yujin again.. “uhm.. unnie?” oh you were so stupid! really!? that’s all you’ll say about this extremely awkward and frankly, humiliating situation??! yujin couldn’t believe her ears, and her eyes! you didn’t make a single move to scuttle away like she expected you to!

it takes yujin a thrust of her hips for your poor instincts to finally kick in and you attempted to push her off.. only to have your wrists pinned above your head 😣 and before you knew it, your pants have been pulled down and you were taking yujin’s thick cock very painfully slowly.. she doesn’t bother to use her other hand to cover up your mouth, she needed to hear your voice.. hear how you whined and winced in pain but would moan her name at every thrust… and she likes how you got yourself to be free from her hold just to grab at her shirt and claw at her arms.. yk what she liked even more?? how you begged in tears for her to ‘wait’ and ‘slow down’ but didn’t make any attempts to push her away like before.. and ofc yujin doesn’t miss the way you’ve practically wrapped your legs around her waist—you wanted this!

if you ask me she was wayyy too ecstatic to help you with some other kind of workout 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ yujinnie practically manhandles you the entire time you fucked in that room… grabbing your waist tightly to the point she made marks on your skin with her nails then she’d aggressively push you around, making sure you’re in the perfect position to take her cock smoothly… face down, ass up, both of your hands gripping the mat for dear life while she pounds your holes… even making you gag and spit all over her fingers just to massage your clit in a way that makes you bite your lip until it bleeds… everything was painful, but it was also all just too good that you sat there and took it like the good girl yujin kept muttering that you were 😍

yujin’s big on praises for you bcs she always made sure to encourage you in your sessions but she was especially fond of you while she fucked your ass, for some reason! 🥰 so many “good girl”s and “good job”s… her praises only wanted you to be better for her ☹️☹️ so ofc you parted your own ass so she could go all out… literally thrusting into you like she will never fuck anyone ever again, biting your shoulder and drooling all over it like a dog in heat… you have never felt more accomplished in your life until yujin came inside you.. filling you up while you simultaneously squirted on her dick (which she liked very much btw!!) with a sweet moan that will surely be stuck in yujin’s head for daysss to come 😵‍💫

[everyonewooeverywhere]

Hard hours are open and I'm ready!!

Size training with yunho and how it takes a few times for you to adjust to his thick cock whilst he's fucking you.

He'd be so gentle and so fucking proud at the same time.

heyyyyy so i know this ask is over a month old....but i got really obsessed with it all of the sudden 😭

and this ended up a lot longer than i meant for it to...

but anyway-

size training and yunho just go together so well. it’s like a match made in heaven.

because he takes so much pride in it. pride in the training that is. (though he is also incredibly proud of how massive he is and how much prep it usually requires for someone to take him…🙂‍↕️)

and i just can’t help but feel like he’d enjoy size training as foreplay. like of course he wants to make sure you’re comfortable and safe, but FUCK if he doesn’t love how you beg for him to fuck you probably.

i get the feeling that he’d take at least a couple…sessions…before actually having you try to take his whole length. 

he’s a patient man. and you know how big he is. you can feel it every time you sit on his lap while you watch a movie. you’ve had your fair share of tired nights when you’ve jerked him off in his pants while he plays with you through your underwear. 

but when you first got together, he let you know immediately that you might not be able to take him. especially not right away. and you were so horny out of your mind about this man that you had begged him to at least try. your desire had almost brought you to tears. but he stood his ground. cupping your face and kissing your forehead telling you that “you just need a little training, baby” and promising “i won’t leave your pretty pussy empty for long”

that first night is so important to him. he wants you to understand that he can make you feel good even without his dick inside you. his hands will 100% do the trick. they do it for him, too, to be honest. watching his fingers disappear inside you is almost enough to make him cum in his pants. and watching how your eyelids flutter when he adds a third finger.

he’ll use toys too to build you up to it. whether they’re your own or his, he loves to watch you go a little crazy every time it gets bigger and he loves to hear your gasps every time. toys aren’t his favorite though because it’s less skin on skin contact. if he could, he’d just use his fingers, but he understands the importance of buildup.

when you both finally decide that you’re ready to try and take him, he makes sure everything is perfect. he makes sure the sheets are fresh, the room is cool, and that no one even has the possibility of disturbing the two of you for the foreseeable future. and he sets the expectation that it might not happen tonight. but you’re determined.

he always starts in missionary. it’s easier for him to control that way, and he finds that’s usually where his partner is usually the most comfortable the first time. maybe he’ll even put a pillow under your lower back and make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. and he absolutely has lube on standby if it’s needed. he’s a big hand holder too, so he’ll grab your hand against your stomach and caress your knuckles as he lines himself up with your entrance. “we’ll start with just the tip, ok baby?” 

and he’ll push into you ever so slightly. the stretch is still a lot to take, so he’s so fucking gentle, he’s constantly reminding you to “breathe, baby” and he makes sure to ask you every time if you’re ok to go further. and he lets you gasp out your “yes” before trying to fit in another inch. he keeps the reassurance coming even if he can’t help himself from crossing the line into condescending

“good girl, taking my cock so well” “oh you fit me so perfectly, angel” “do you feel good, baby?” “yeah?” “oh you can’t even think straight anymore can you?”

when he’s about half an inch from bottoming out, you grab his hand, squeezing hard, “yunho…” you choke out. “are you ok, angel? what’s wrong?” you shake your head “no i…fuck…i can’t…i’m so close” and he feels you tighten around him at the admission. “fuck ok. hold on baby.” he presses his body up against yours and brings his lips to your ear, “we’re almost there, ok? just hold out for a couple more seconds” all you can do is just whimper and nod as he pushes himself in the last few centimeters.

“oh fuckkk baby” he brings a hand to your clit “you’re gonna cum” mhmm you nod frantically, burying your nails in his back 

“you’re so big” you barely gasp out. “i know. i know, baby.” he kisses your cheeks and lips as he plays with your clit. “can you come for me? please? come on my cock?” that’s all it takes for your warm walls to tighten around him and he holds you to his chest while you come. 

and part of me all of me feels like, as long as you’re okay with it, that yunho would want cockwarming to be heavily involved in the early stages of his aftercare. like he’ll flip you over so you’re seated in his lap. and he’ll stay inside you while he kisses your neck and shoulders. and making sure you get plenty of vocal affirmation “you did so good for me baby” “i’m so proud of you, pretty” “my good girl, you did so well” eventually, when he notices your discomfort at the constant stretch, he’ll pull you off of him and clean you properly. but at least for a little while he wants you to have a…physical reminder…of how good you did.

[itneverendshere]

hi! For the bartender!Universe would u mind writing a pregnancy scare? It brings a lot of mixed emotions when they find out she wasn’t pregnant and it ends up a really deep talk about what they want with their future? Thank you so much 💕💕

i got a similiar ask at the exact same time so i decided to combine aspects of both!!! the other request: "this one’s a lil angsty. maybe you have a pregnancy scare and while rafes like super excited for the potential baby, you’re not, the stress of keeping rafe clean and not heading back to rehab lingers your mind".

hope you both enjoy!!!!❤️🫂🤭

 just want you in my life keep you warm at nights - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: pregnancy scare; insecurities

Rafe was sprawled out beside you, his arm draped lazily across your stomach as he scrolled through his phone. You could feel the pressure of his hand pressing gently on your skin, but your mind was a million miles away, your gaze stuck on the ceiling fan.

It felt like everything had been on autopilot for the past few days, your mind preoccupied with one thing—late. Not like a few days late.

More like over a week late.

It wasn’t the first time your period had been irregular, but you couldn’t help but spiral immediately. Rafe and you had been together for three and a half years, living together for a while now and he’d proposed last autumn. But this? This wasn’t part of the plan.

Not yet.

“Hey,” His voice snapped you back to the present, his brows furrowed as he looked at you, concern evident in his blue eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You blinked, trying to force a smile. “Nothing... just thinking.”

He shifted, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you more closely. “Thinkin’ about what?”

You stomach dropped. You hadn’t told him yet. You weren’t sure if there was anything to tell because you hadn’t even taken the test. You weren’t sure if you wanted to. Saying it out loud would make it real. And that terrified you.

Rafe, on the other hand, would probably be thrilled. He’d always talked about kids like they were a given, like it was part of some unspoken future you were destined for. You wanted them too, but the truth? The truth was, the idea of being responsible for another human being when you were still trying to recover from Rafe's scare last year and keeping your shit together now that you’d gotten a promotion at the club—well, it felt like too much.

You couldn’t say that, though. Not to him. So you kept quiet. 

The next day, you stared at the small plastic stick in your hand, heart hammering in your chest as you waited for the result to appear. The bathroom was dead silent, save for the faint drip of the sink, but your mind was anything but quiet.

This one stupid piece of plastic was going to dictate the rest of your life. It could change everything in the blink of an eye. Three minutes. That’s how long it would take to find out if your entire world was about to be turned upside down.

You still hadn’t told Rafe. You didn’t even know how to. His mind was in a good place lately, and you weren’t about to ruin that. After everything we’d been through—the relapse, the rehab, the nights where you weren’t sure if he’d make it out—this was not something you were ready to throw on both of you.

You hadn’t even wrapped your head around it yet. Shit, you could barely breathe just thinking about the possibility. You glanced at your phone, biting your lip as the seconds ticked by.

Almost time. Your stomach twisted into endless knots. He was in the living room, blissfully unaware of the panic attack you were on the verge of having just a few feet away. You could hear him flipping through channels on the TV, probably looking for some show to watch. Part of you felt guilty for not telling him, but how were you supposed to tell him when you didn’t even know what you wanted?

The idea of being pregnant had scared you more than you expected.

Not because you hated kids or anything, you grew up rising Milo for fuck’s sake—it was just the timing. Or maybe it was more than that.

Your mom died shortly after you were born and your dad…well, a drunk piece of shit was hardly a good parental figure. You’d never let yourself think about it before, Rafe had told you how good you were with kids a million times over the years, but you didn’t know how you’d turn out with your own kids. You didn’t want to be anything like them, ever. 

Taking a deep breath, you finally glanced down at the test.

Negative.

Relief took over you so fast it made you feel lightheaded. You hadn’t realized just how much pressure you’d been carrying on your shoulders until it was gone in an instant. Thank God.

Your shoulders slumped as you exhaled, leaning against the sink for support. You felt like you finally could breathe again, like you could relax for the first time in what felt like weeks. There was no baby. No life-altering change. No new responsibility that you didn’t know how to handle.

You closed your eyes. This was good. This was the outcome you needed. No baby, no stress, just… back to normal.

But then, life had a twisted sense of humor and the door creaked open. “Hey, baby, you—”

Your eyes flew open, heart dropping in your chest as you quickly shoved the pregnancy test behind your back. Rafe stood in the doorway, looking at you with his signature confused look—one eyebrow cocked, lips slightly parted, like he’d walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to.

You forced a smile, too wide and too fake, and took a step back, trying to act casual. “Oh, uh, hey! What’s up?” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you internally winced. Smooth.

He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “What are you hiding behind your back?”

Shit.

You tried to laugh it off, shaking your head like it was no big deal. “Hiding? Me? I’m not hiding anything.”

His eyes moved to the hand behind your back. “Really? Because it sure looks like you are.”

You swallowed hard, your brain rushing to come up with some excuse, any excuse. 

But the longer you stood there, the more suspicious you looked. And Rafe was nothing if not persistent when he thought something was up. Before you could stop him, he pushed off the doorframe and closed the distance between you two, his hand reaching behind your back in one smooth motion. Your stomach dropped as he grabbed the test from your hand, pulling it out in front of both of us.

He stared at the pregnancy test in his hand, his eyes widening with realization as he slowly processed what he was seeing. What he was holding. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. He just stood there. 

“Y-You thought you were pregnant?”

The heat rose to your cheeks, and the anxiety that had been building in your stomach for days came back at full force. You were still reeling from the relief of the negative result, but now that relief was giving up space for guilt. You hadn’t meant for him to find out like this, or maybe not even at all. You didn’t want to drag him into the spiral you’d been caught in, not when things had been going so well lately.

“I... I wasn’t sure,” you stammered, looking down at the floor because it was easier than meeting his eyes. “I mean, I was late, and I just…I didn’t know.”

Rafe’s face softened, the confusion in his eyes giving way to concern as he took a step toward you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing again, this time for a different reason. The last thing you wanted to do was lie but telling him the truth felt impossible.

“I didn’t want to stress you out,” you admitted, “I wasn’t even sure if I was, and I didn’t want to freak you out for no reason.”

Rafe’s hand was still holding the test, but now he was looking at you with that intensity he always had when he knew you were telling the entire truth. He wasn’t mad—he never got mad, not anymore—but you could tell he was hurt that you hadn’t let him in. You felt awful about it.

“I wouldn’t have freaked out,” he said gently, stepping even closer until he was right in front of you. “You know that, right? You don’t have to do this alone.”

That was the thing, though. Over the past year you’d spent so long worrying about him, making sure he was healthy, that the idea of burdening him again with your own fears had become...strange.

You didn’t want to be another weight on his shoulders.

“I know, I just…” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I didn’t know how to feel about it. And I didn’t want you to—”

“To what?” he pressed softly, his voice so calm and reassuring that it made the stress loosen just a little.

You took a deep breath, “I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, I guess. Or feel disappointed if it was negative.”

He set the test down on the counter beside him, reaching out to cup your face in his hands. “Baby, I wouldn’t be disappointed,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “If it had been positive, great. If it’s not, that’s fine too. We’ve got time. It’s not like we have to figure this out right now.”

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak. “You’re really not mad?”

Rafe shook his head, “I wish you would’ve told me what you were going through. I don’t want you to carry that by yourself.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. There was so much you wanted to say, so many fears you’d been holding onto—not just about the possibility of being pregnant, but about everything. About whether you were even ready for kids at all, about what kind of parent you’d be, about whether you could handle the responsibility when your past still haunted you in ways you hadn’t recovered from.

“It’s not just that,” you whispered, “I don’t know if I’m ready, Rafe. And it scares the shit out of me.”

He was silent for a moment, and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, his expression was so gentle, so understanding, that it almost broke you.

“Hey,” he pulled you into his arms. “We don’t have to be ready right now. There’s no rush. When you’re ready, we’ll talk about it."

You buried your face in his chest, letting him heartbeat calm you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and for the first time in what felt like days, you allowed yourself to relax.

“I-I know you want a baby. But—”

He sighed against your hair, lips brushing your temple, “What I want is for you to be happy. And if this doesn’t make you happy right now, I don’t mind waiting. We got forever, remember?”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want kids—it was that right now, everything already felt like too much. Planning a wedding, keeping up with work, holding your relationship together after what you both had been through, it was all overwhelming. And then the idea of a baby on top of that? You’d grow crazy.

Rafe’s fingers brushed through your hair, and you just let yourself be in his comfort. But the guilt was still there, eating you whole from the inside. You should’ve told him from the start, not carried it all on your own like you always do.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered into his chest, voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just didn’t know what to do. It’s been a lot lately.”

He kissed the top of your head, his hands gentle as they held you. “You don’t have to apologize, baby. You’re dealing with enough already.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I think I’m losing my mind.”

The wedding. God, the wedding. You hadn’t even let yourself fully acknowledge how much that had been stressing you out too. You’d dreamed about this day since you were a kid, but now, between caterers, guest lists, dress fittings, and everything else, it felt like a full-time job. And the worst part was, the more overwhelmed you got, the more guilty you felt for not being excited enough about it.

“I just want everything to be perfect,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I want it to be special, but it’s starting to feel like a chore. Like I’m supposed to care more about seating charts and floral arrangements than... than actually enjoying the fact that we’re getting married.”

 “Then let’s cut back. We don’t need some huge, over-the-top thing if it’s stressing you out. I just want to marry you, that’s all that matters to me.”

He always knew exactly how to calm you down, how to remind you what was important when everything else felt a little too crazy.

“But what about your family?” you asked, wiping at the corner of your eyes. “They’re expecting this big thing.”

He shrugged, “They’ll get over it. This is about us, not them. If you want something smaller, we can do that. Hell, we can get married in the backyard for all I care, as long as it’s what you want.”

The sincerity in his voice almost made you want to bawl your eyes out. You took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “I think I’d like that. Something smaller. More us.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he nodded. You let out a sigh of relief, the knot in your chest loosening more. Maybe this was what you needed—to let go of the pressure to have it all figured out. To accept that it was okay to not be ready for everything.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

“I love you too,” he replied, his forehead resting against yours. “But baby, you have to stop worrying so much about me. I’m okay. I’m doing good, and I’m not going back there. But you’re gonna drive yourself crazy if you keep putting me first and ignoring what you need.”

You blinked, your breath catching slightly. “I’m not ignoring what I need—”

“You are,” he cut in gently, but firmly. “You’ve been doing it for months now. Since the relapse, since rehab. You’ve been carrying all this, stressing about keeping everything together. And I love you for wanting to take care of me, but you can’t keep putting yourself second. It’s not fair to you.”

You wanted to argue, to say you were fine, that it was just what you had to do to keep everything from falling apart. But deep down, you knew he was right. You’d been holding on so tight, so terrified that if you let go, if you stopped worrying about him for even a second, you’d lose him again. 

“I’m just scared,” you whispered, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Rafe said softly, pulling you closer. “But if you keep this up, you’re gonna lose yourself.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your face into his chest as the tears you’d been holding back finally started to fall. Rafe held you tighter, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. He didn’t try to hush you or tell you to stop. He just let you cry, let you get it all out, like he knew you’d needed this release for a long time. You couldn’t stop. Everything you’d been bottling up for months was spilling out at once.

Rafe held you tighter, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. He didn’t try to hush you or tell you to stop. He just let you cry, let you get it all out, like he knew you’d needed this for a long time.

You pulled back slightly, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop apologizing,” Rafe shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling what you’re feeling. But you’ve gotta start trusting that I’m okay."

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.”

"You’re allowed to let me take care of you too, you know?”

You let out a small laugh, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “I’m not great at that.”

“Meh, you used to be a lot worse.”

“Yeah?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, leaning into his familiar warmth.

“Oh yeah,” he smirked, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You used to keep everything so locked up, I’d have to pry things out of you.

His words made you chuckle, despite yourself. It was true. You had gotten better at letting him in—at least compared to before.

“You’ve always been so good at taking care of me,” you whispered, your hand tracing soft patterns across his chest. “But I guess sometimes I still forget that I don’t have to be strong all the time.”

 “You don’t. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve always got you.”

He meant it—every word. This was Rafe at his best, the man who had fought his way back from the darkness, who had become the partner you always knew he could be. The boy you fell in love with, the man you were going to marry and grow old with.

“I’m really trying,” you murmured, blinking back the last of your tears. “I don’t want to keep worrying about everything or trying to control what’s out of my hands. I just want us to be happy.”

“You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

You hesitated for a second, biting your lip before finally speaking up.

"Rafe?" you said softly, looking up at him. He hummed in response, his hand still tracing slow, comforting circles on your back.

"Are you… are you sure you're not sad about the, uh, not pregnant thing?" Your voice was quiet, unsure. You didn’t know why you felt the need to ask again. Even with all his reassurances, a part of you couldn’t ignore the worry that he might feel disappointed deep down.

He sighed gently, his lips quirking into a soft, understanding smile. "Baby, no," he said firmly, shaking his head as if to emphasize his point. "I promise you, I’m not sad. It doesn’t change anything between us. I told you before—we’ve got time. I’m happy with where we are right now. I don’t need a baby to make me feel complete. You already do that."

You couldn't help but ask again, just to be sure. "Really? You’re not disappointed?"

Rafe sighed softly, moving his hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he looked at you with those steady blue eyes. "Not disappointed. Not sad. I’m just glad you’re here. That’s all I care about. I’m fine with whatever the outcome is as long as I have you.”

"You’re really okay with this?" 

He frowned slightly, his hand coming up to gently tilt your chin so you were looking directly at him. "Listen to me. You could never disappoint me. Okay?"

You still had questions, still had insecurities about the future, but for the first time in days, you weren’t consumed by them and allowed yourself to believe that everything really was going to be good.

"Okay."

[pedroshotwifey]

what about a drabble about a first date with logan who's trying so so hard to have manners and be a gentleman but he's nervous and keeps messing up and its so adorable and cute????? of course reader tells him to chill out and be his normal fucking self because that's who she likes. I felt so bad for him in a clip that's circulating on tiktok where someone says to him that he's not the kind of guy they'd take home bc that's only for good guys

Okay so I loved this so much and then I got excited ab writing Logan and it turned into more of a fic than a drabble, but here it is 😭

First time writing him so I hope it sounds alright! I did use a little something from the recent movie to add a bit of oomph to the ending. Again, thank you much for this request, it's so cute 🥰

Just realized I made it an f!reader insert, but if you want to message me, I can easily switch some things around and repost if you want a diff reader!

The Right Guy

Pairing: f!reader x Logan/Wolverine

W/C: 1.1k

Fluff/diet angst, Just a few F bombs here, nothing bad (they told me absolutely no coke)

******

You scold yourself as you check the small watch on your wrist for the tenth time in ten minutes. In your defense, the time is absolutely crawling by. Logan should be here for your first date in about five minutes, and you’re nervous as hell.

You’ve been crushing on him since you were hired at the mansion a few months ago, so since he asked you out a week ago, your stomach has been constantly swarmed by butterflies. He’s sweet, funny, carefree, but mature—and not to mention sexy as hell. You really don’t want to mess this up. 

Lucky for you, it seems that he feels the same. He tends to be a little more nervous around you, his blush more prominent when you tease him. It both comforts you and gives you confidence. He seems to genuinely like you for who you are. 

Because of that, you decided to wear your favorite dress for your date. He told you he’d be taking you to a restaurant, but didn’t get specific, so it was honestly the safest choice anyway. It’s one of those that could be casual just as easily as it could be fancy. A few well-selected pieces of jewelry can make a world of difference, after all. 

You glance in the mirror, and then back at your watch. It’s right as the long hand makes a round to signify that it’s two before seven that you hear a sharp knock at your door. You jump up from your seat, slightly startled. If anyone had been in the room with you, you'd probably be embarrassed. 

Thankfully, since you’re home alone, you ignore the scare and head for your front door. You take one more deep breath and pull on the knob to reveal your handsome date. You look Logan up and down, expecting his usual outfit—blue jeans, a white shirt, and either his leather or jean jacket. What you get instead, is a suit. You have to make a physical effort to not show your confusion. Okay, maybe you expected a nicer shirt or something—ironed jeans if he really wanted to go crazy—but a suit? 

“Oh, hey!” Unfortunately, it’s a bit harder to keep the confusion out of your voice. Don’t get it wrong, it’s nice of him to try to dress up for you, and he does look very nice, but he doesn’t look like Logan. Your eyes catch on his hair—the usual tufts you love so much look to be somewhat flattened by a gel. 

It’s while you’re distracted by this that he reveals a hidden hand holding a bouquet of flowers—your favorite, actually. So why do you feel almost…disappointed? No, that can’t be it. It’s so cute that he’s putting all this effort in for you, but you really just want the normal Logan.

“Oh, wow,” you say, trying to shake off whatever this strange feeling is. “Thank you, Logan.” 

You carefully accept the flowers and step aside to let him inside while you put them in water. It’s strange that he hasn’t said anything else yet. Wait, should you say something? No, he usually says something. There’s usually a joke cracked by now. It’s weird that he’s not, right? Ugh, maybe it’s you being weird? The awkward tension between the two of you is suffocating.

You’re almost disoriented with your overthinking as you move about your kitchen, pulling down a vase to fill with tap water. Logan, of course, notices. 

He softly clears his throat. “Everything alright?”

You set the vase down on your island and look at him, lips pursed. Should you say something? Well shit, he probably sees something wrong by now—you’re staring at him like you want to say something. Damn it. 

You open your mouth and close it again. How do you even say what you want to say though? 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you lie. Right to his face. 

You smile and walk back to him, trying your best to ignore the expression on his face. Great, now you’re being weird, too. Why the fuck is this weird? 

You breathe out as you close and lock your door, mentally prepping yourself for what you’re really hoping will be a good date. Logan’s waiting for you next to his—

Car? 

Where the fuck is his bike? 

Whatever—it doesn’t matter, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s probably just in the shop or something. 

You give him a tight-lipped smile as you walk to the vehicle, and he opens the passenger door for you. You slide into the seat and wait for him to shut the door before exhaling again. This is all very sweet, but you’ve got to say something. 

You stare at him as he gets into the driver’s seat. Again, he notices. There’s a thick, momentary silence.

“Look, bub, whatever it is, I—”

“You’re not acting like you,” you blurt. 

He stares at you for a second, but you’re pretty sure he knows exactly what you’re saying. You’re pretty sure that’s exactly what he’s trying to do. 

“Logan, you don’t have to put on this show for me,” you say as gently as you can, though it comes out maybe a tad aggravated.

He lets out a slow exhale through his nose and closes his eyes for a blink. You feel bad pointing it out, but there’s no way you can go through a whole date with this stiff act. He opens his eyes back and you offer him a sympathetic smile, your hand reaching out to cup his jaw. He leans into your touch, his own hand coming to envelop yours. 

“I want to go on a date with the Logan I already know, with his bike, and his blue jeans—you move your hand to his hair, messing it up enough to loosen the gel hold—and his crazy ass looking hair.” 

He huffs a laugh, looking at you with tired eyes. You understand how much he must have stressed over all the little details he put in for you. 

“It was very sweet of you to do all this, but you don’t need to perform for me, Lo.” 

He nods slowly, taking a moment to think over everything. “It’s been a long time since I took a chance with somebody,” he confesses, his gruff voice holding an emotion that makes your heart ache for him. “I wanted to be the right guy for you.” 

Your stomach flips. “Logan, you are the right guy for me. You’re always the right guy.” 

Before he can say anything else, you lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips. Surprise halts him for a second, but he’s quick after to reciprocate, his lips moving slowly but passionately with yours. One of his large hands snakes behind you to cup the back of your neck, the other gently tilting your chin. 

You kiss until you’re out of breath, and when you pull away, you let out an airy laugh. Despite the suit, he looks like your Logan again. Wild hair, wild eyes, pink in his cheeks. 

“C’mon, Romeo,” you tease. “Let’s get that damn jacket off and order a pizza and beer.” 

[tpwk-formula1]

Lando Norris, Thin Crust, Red Sauce,Pineapple, BBQ Chicken , Vodka redbull, Sparkling Water, Coke, Yes

With a plus-size reader, if you can. I fear there's not many plus-size fics out there with lando. If you could please and thank you. 🧙‍♀️

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

thin crust brother's best friend red sauce rough sex pineapple "Look so pretty wrapped around my cock" bbq chicken “Gonna let me cum in you? I know you wanna have my baby” vodka redbull squirting sparkling water spitting coke spanking dessert yes served by Lando Norris

Lando x Plus size Fewtrell! reader

TW unprotected sex, squirting, spanking, creampie, rough Lando, talks of insecurities

WC 1600+

Y/N POV

"Love, I'm not feeling the best. I think I'm gonna stay in for the day," I tell Lando softly while he was talking to my brother about the plans for today.

"You were okay this morning, what's going on? What are you feeling?" Lando asks clearly getting worried.

"It's nothing major just think I ate the wrong thing this morning," I tell him softly not wanting the whole house to hear the conversation.

"Do you need us to get you anything?" Max asked clearly being worried. I just shake my head no before turning on my foot and heading towards Lando and I's room that we have been sharing while here on Holiday for summer break.

"Hey love, what's really going on? I can see this perplexed look on your face clearly showing me that you're overthinking something," Lando asks me after he had followed me into our room.

"No I promise I'm just having tummy issues," I continue to uphold the lie. Said lie falling from my lips far easier than it should, but I was used to faking illness to get out of something.

"Love, drop the act," Lando says softly making me groan at being caught.

"Lando, I- um- I'm just a little worried about the hike to the clay. I'm not sure I'll be able to do it as fast as the rest of you guys. Don't wanna hold you back," I tell Lando softly making his face drop in realization.

"Baby, no one cares if we have to take it slow," Lando tells me making me groan and shake my head.

"You don't get it love, you're an athlete surrounded by other athletes, your 'take it slow' is basically my sprinting," I tell him softly trying to hold back tears.

"i'm sorry. Maybe I'm not the best fit person for your lifestyle," I add softly watching Lando's face snap up and turn into a dark expression.

"Hey Max I think I'm gonna stay back with Y/N and take care of her," Lando walks to the bedroom door where he opens it and shouts to my brother.

"Okay! Maybe we can go again tomorrow if Y/N is up for it," Max shouts back before Lando is closing the door and striding towards me.

"Do not turn this into our breakup. As a couple it is our job to figure out how to make our lifestyles mesh. I don't give a fuck if you're not some Olympic athlete, I don't care if a one mile walk took us 100 years to complete, that's 100 years spent with the love of my life, so I'll be fucking damned if you think you're not 'good enough' to be with me," Lando stays while striding closer to me.

"Lan, I just think you might be happier with someone who can keep up with you and your friends," I tell him softly. I wasn't trying to argue and I sure as hell don't want to break up but it's a tough conversation we need to have.

"I've grown up with you and Max our entire life, I'm used to walking in the back with you, not because I was that slow but because even at 12 I genuinely liked you and any time I could spend with you I would," Lando tells me making me think back to when we were younger and he really would walk in the back of the pack with me always the last two to arrive. Even having Lando defend me a few times against my brother and his teasing words.

"I'm sorry I've just really been in my head a lot lately," I tell him softly making him hum and pull me into his arms.

"I know I could tell, but I thought it was cause you were stressed with work not because you had been stressing about our relationship," Lando tells me softly before placing a kiss on my forehead.

"I'm sorry for not talking to you sooner. I was just embarrassed," I admit making Lando scoff.

"I'm embarrassed that my own girlfriend was too worried to talk to me about what was bothering her pretty little mind," Lando tells me while kissing my forehead and leading us to the bed where we climb into it and throw on a random movie to watch.

Midway through the second movie Lando leans down and places a kiss on my lips and climbs into my lap.

"Lando, right now?" I questioned in a hushed tone as if anyone was still home.

"No one is here, and I need to show you who you belong to," Lando tells me while starting to pull his shirt over his head leaving me to start at his tanned chest.

Once Lando had discarded his shirt somewhere in the room he made quick work of pulling off my shirt leaving us both completely bare from the waist up.

"Fuck, love these tits so much," Lando mumbled before leaning down and sucking one of my nipples into his mouth.

"Oh, Lan," I moan softly while arching my back bringing my tits even closer to his face.

Lando pulls away and roughly flips me onto my stomach where he pulls me up by the hips so I was presenting myself to him. I was only wearing a flimsy pair of sleep shorts I had thrown on a little bit ago to get more comfortable. Lando just yanks them down my legs and lets the pool at my knees where he starts slapping my ass.

"Ow, what is that for," I whine when I feel the continued spanking.

"You need to realize how fucking beautiful you are. I'm not gonna let you walk around thinking you're anything less than perfect. So everytime you sit down for the next day, you will be reminded," lando explains with a cocky smirk.

Once Lando had reddened my ass to his liking hi quickly yanks his briefs down before roughly burying his cock into my pussy and giving me no time to adjust before he is roughly thrusting into my sopping wet pussy.

"Look so pretty wrapped around my cock," Lando groans while still keeping the brutal pace.

"So good, Lan," I whine burying my face into the pillow to try and muffle my moans but lando roughly grips on my hair and pulls me face up.

"I wanna hear your screams," Lando tells me while thrusting harder and faster to try and pull the loudest noises from me.

"Fuck," I scream out when Lando continuously hits my G-spot only bringing me closer to cumming.

"Cum for me," Lando groans when he feels my pussy clenching around his cock in anticipation.

I let go almost instantly cumming all over Lando's cock and squirting all over the bedspread.

"Fuck such a messy girl," Lando groans while helping me ride out my orgasm before he picks up the pace again.

"God, I love when you get like this," Lando groans.

Lando pulls out suddenly before he flips me over onto my back and roughly starts fucking me in missionary.

"Fuck Lando," I scream at the new angle not fully prepared for the way I was feeling Lando.

In the midst of my loud moans, I feel Lando lean down over my face before roughly spitting in my mouth. Most of it went straight down my throat but some of it sprayed my face making me whimper slightly.

"Fuck, I love seeing your tears, the way you take my cock, opening your mouth like a good slut to take my spit, fuck you were made for me," Lando groans before starting to place with my sensitive clit again.

"You're gonna cum with me this time," Lando groans while speeding up his actions making me feel the build-up of my orgasm again.

"I'm gonna cum," I warn Lando knowing I wasn't gonna be able to hold back much longer reaching the point of no return far quicker than I would have liked.

“Gonna let me cum in you? I know you wanna have my baby,” Lando groans out.

"Yes, fill me up Lando, wanna have your baby," I beg desperate to cum again.

"Cum with me," Lando groans before his hips started to falter from their rough thrusting before I feel his cum start to paint my walls making me cry out in another squirting orgasm.

"Fuck," I scream as I feel my squirt spray all over Lando and I making a proper mess out of our bedding.

When Lando and I finally come down from the highs of our pleasure Lando is softly pulling out of my pussy before watching his cum leak from my gaping pussy with a smirk on his face.

"God, I love making you mine," Lando groans before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

"So good," I mumble out before turning into Lando's chest for comfort.

"Did so well, gonna have to clean this up before everyone gets home," Lando tells me with a smirk on his face making me groan in embarrassment.

Lando quickly got out of bed before turning the bath on where he let it fill up before coming to get me and he gently placed me in the bath before going into the room again to clean up the bedding so we had fresh sheets for when everyone arrived back.

After about 10 minutes Lando climbs into the bath me, letting my beck rest against his chest.

"I cleaned up all the evidence of how messy you get for me," Lando tells me with a smirk clearly laced in his voice. I just groan and try to hide my face in his neck while he just laughs.

"On a real note though, next time you feel like that promise me you'll talk to me," Lando tells me softly making me turn my head to face him.

"I promise," I tell him softly before leaning up and placing a kiss on his lips.

"i love you," I tell him softly making him smile before he tells me he loves me too.

[almondmilktargaryen]

Duty & Sacrifice (Part Three)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: Mourning child loss (written by someone who's not a parent), lying

Word count: 4.6k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four ✍️

Just as when he left Flea Bottom, the guards do not look twice at Aemond as he walks through the Keep. They do not see his face, nor the two cloaks he wore (Criston gave him his to hide the blood). No, all they see is his boots as they bow upon passing. The only words they utter are, “My prince.” Aemond faces forward. His eye does not stray. And his head stays up.

He turns sharply after climbing the stairs, finding his chamber doors in the east wing. The guard outside mimics the expected behavior before Aemond pushes himself through.

Out of all things unexpected in one night, Floris being absent was jarring. She sticks to a routine, just like him. With the candles already snuffed out, the smell of smoke had been replaced by the open air from their balcony. She should’ve retired hours ago.

Perhaps the gods wanted to leave him alone after… all of it, reminding him how alone he truly was. Still, Aemond looks around, peering past corners and squinting into dark areas at the far ends of their chambers, straining his vision with the distance as he feels the chains in his chest. They weighed down his heart and lungs as he staggered and lifted the bedcovers. Caution camouflages with his grief and takes hold just as strongly. Floris could be anywhere.

The weight, the chains stacked on themselves. Aemond discards the cloaks and mixes them in their shared dirty clothes. The view of King’s Landing taunts him; the capital he once saw from a safe distance nearly two years ago. Even in daylight, the people were nothing more than specks of dust. None of them could hurt him. He never thought it would be the reason, once again, why he felt this way. It was only more proof that he has not changed, still stupid. Three and ten, self-loathing, and stupid.

Luc used to represent his self-loathing. Now he sees Alyssa.

She was warm whenever he held her to his chest, like the sun washing over the cityscape. She was a blaze as fiery as her hair. Now she’s snuffed out like the candles in his chambers, but this time far away from home.

Aemond grips the barrier of the balcony as he falls. The stone scratches his skin as he clings to it like a cliff’s edge, yet he sinks down and down. A heave escapes him, squeezed out of him as the imagery of it all floods back, every angle pouring in as he convinces himself there was something he could have done. Before the alleyway, before Chataya’s. Surely, there was a step he missed. He had to have, so he retraced it all while shivering, like winter was here.

The door creaked open, making Aemond’s head spring up like a deer hearing a twig’s snap. He plugged his grief, picking himself up in the shroud of darkness and rubbing his face.

“Aemond!” Floris’ silhouette is barely in view, but he still recognizes it as she pushes her bangs from her forehead. Her rapid breaths grow louder with each step toward him before she’s fully in the moonlight. She’s in her nightgown. The black one from her mother that matches her hair, both now in crumpled waves. “Where have you been? Daeron has been in a state demanding to see you.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

A hand remains in her hair, the other on her hip. “He won’t stop crying. A nightmare, maybe? I put him to bed hours ago, and the handmaidens said he woke up screaming.”

“I’ll go to him.”

“Wait.” A palm meets his chest, square in the center. “What’s wrong?”

Aemond stares into the dark of their chambers just above her head before falling to her blue eyes. It was wiser not to speak.

The tips of her fingers are cold as they brush under his eye. Her short nails barely scrape his unmarred cheek. The wetness shines under the moon as she turns her palm to him.

He pulled out his usual excuse, putting a hand over his patch. “Eye pain.”

“Eye pain?”

“Yes.”

“Your upsets usually force you to rest, not tears.” She observes the residue before wiping it on her gown. “I haven’t seen it this bad since Baelon’s last name day.”

“Well, it happened. It comes in waves. Or sometimes a moment’s fit.” Another way to cover himself in the future. He’s discovered grief rises in him at inconvenient times. Gods love to torture. “I can’t control when they occur, Floris.”

“I never said you could. I just—”

“I need to see Daeron.”

The children sleep in the west wing of the Keep now. After what happened to Jaehaerys, Aemond insisted their rooms be away from the royal quarters. He made sure there was a guard at their doors day and night. Jaehaera included. Tonight, however, there were two guards outside Daeron’s door, appearing dazed and confused. Yet they still had the sense to bow to their prince.

Aemond opened the door to find five handmaidens completely helpless. But like the guards outside, Aemond was also confused when finding his son not screaming. His body only bounces in place like he had the hiccups. His head was down and he gripped his little golden blanket.

“He’s tired out his throat, my prince,” one handmaiden says. Her voice shakes.

Daeron looks up when hearing the title. His little eyes are puffy from crying so hard, and Aemond’s heart, merely hanging by chords, can still twist in on itself as he watches his boy’s lip quiver.

“Leave us, please,” Aemond says.

“Forgive us, my prince. We tried our best.”

Daeron rubs an eye with the heel of his hand. “Papa, my… throat hurts.” His voice sounds like he swallowed gravel from the training yard.

“I’m sure, sweetling. Hold on,” Aemond turns his head to the group. “My son is thirsty. Please, one of you fetch him some water. Add some essence of nightshade to help him sleep.”

Their curtsies blend with their departure. The door shuts behind him.

The candle on Daeron’s bedside table revealed the redness across his face, hot and sticky with tears. Aemond walks to the foot of the bed. He’s careful not to let his weight go too suddenly, recalling the height difference this time between this bed and Baelon’s. He’s not hesitant though with stretching out his arms. “Come here,” he says.

Daeron springs from his covers, leaving behind the small golden blanket as he crawls into Aemond’s lap. He hugs him at the neck while Aemond holds him at the waist. It’s a long hug, something they both need. He smells like outside, earthy yet sweet. He lets himself feel the boy’s fragile ribs steadying themselves. His father was here now. There was no need to worry. So they took in air as they needed it—with ease. When he pulls back, Aemond grabs the spare handkerchiefs left behind. Daeron still sniffled, but refused to blow his nose. Aemond pinches it instead.

“What’s upsetting you so much?”

“Am I to be Lord of Storm’s End?”

“What?”

Snot dribbles on the handkerchief. “I had a dream.”

Aemond cocks his head. “Tell me about it.”

“I had a dream that… that we went to Storm’s End to see Uncle Royce. But I was alone. And-and—”

“It’s alright.” Aemond rubs his son’s back. “It’s alright.”

“You wouldn’t let me fly Morning. I couldn’t get back home.”

Aemond gave pause as he listened to Daeron. The boy’s lip quivers again as Aemond’s thoughts swirl, shushing his son as he remembers Helaena. Aemond clears his throat. He smiled down at his son. “I know what this is,” he says with an exhale. “Come with me.” He holds him close as he stands up, walking across the rooms to settle at his window, the other side of King’s Landing before them. Aemond used Daeron’s fleshy arm to point. “What’s that building there?”

“S-Sept?”

“That’s right. The Grand Sept. Your Aunt Helaena is there. You never got the chance to meet her.” He petted Daeron’s head, white fluffy hairs that swept to the front and covered his forehead. He looks back up at Visenya’s Hill. The sept’s cylindrical corners and golden domes draw eyes to the center of the city. One of them held three bejeweled urns with their ashes inside, and Aemond dares not sniffle. “She would have dreams like yours, except she would often be awake. They would overwhelm her all the same. We didn’t understand them.”

“What happened?” He doesn’t look up at Aemond when he asks, only straight ahead at the sept. Meanwhile, Aemond blocks the memories; gore and blood still trailed the back of his mind if he ventured far enough. His leg bounces as he exhales slowly through his mouth, sounding like a haunting wind. Daeron didn’t notice. Aemond couldn’t gather an answer. What could he say? His sister went insane. She killed herself. He found her on Maegor’s spikes. She blamed herself for something that was his fault, and he never got to apologize.

“She lost her sons in the last war. Your cousin Jaehaera’s brothers.”

“Were they soldiers?”

“No, no.” He’s perfectly between Jaehaerys and Maelor in age. The ages they remain for the rest of time. He skips that. “But she loved them so much, losing them was too much to bear for her.” He rests his chin on Daeron’s head, just catching the tear streaking down his cheek before it dripped onto his son’s scalp. Observing the sept again, he longed to be ignorant of such despair. He shook Alyssa from his mind (as best as he could) to come back. “That’s how I feel about you.”

Daeron relaxed a little, his back touching Aemond’s chest. “But what about—” he coughs. “Uncle Royce.”

Aemond ignored the name. “These dreams can be very vivid. About things we already know. Your uncle named you heir, so you will be Lord of Storm’s End one day, yes. But you will go when you are ready.” He kissed Daeron’s head, inhaling his scent as he tried sniffling subtly. “We will ensure your brother receives proper training in royal proceedings as king. Your mother and I will ensure you’re prepared as a lord.”

Daeron doesn’t speak. He picks at the leather of Aemond’s jerkin.

Aemond, in return, hugs him tight with both arms. He gets close to his ear. “You’re not leaving me for a long, long time. Is that what you needed?”

He finally nods. His little white sideburns tickle his nose.

“Good. Because it’s the truth.” He picks him up again. “Now, time for bed.” His sniffling boy buried his head into his neck as he cuddled close, his fingers wrapped around the back. It was painful to do so, he could admit, but he still pried him off. His fingers slipped off him like broken stitches as he made him settle back in bed. He was reluctant, but gave him the golden one, avoiding the black stag sewn in the corner. He kissed the boy one more time before walking to the door.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“Uncle Royce. Where is he?”

“I assume at home.”

“But in my dream, I didn’t see him there. I said I was alone.”

Aemond blinks rapidly. “Perhaps… you didn’t venture far enough to find him.”

He rubs the satin edge of the Baratheon blanket.

“He loves you very much, Daeron. He wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“I know. I just don’t feel like he’s there.”

Aemond said nothing, only watched his son. His purple eyes, swollen and exhausted, darted up at Aemond briefly. They eventually went back down as he pulled his bigger blankets over his lap. Aemond could feel there was something else there, more his son wanted to say. And Aemond, for all the love he bears for his children, didn’t want to hear it tonight. So, he slowly turns on his heels.

“Papa?”

He suppressed his curse. “Yes?”

“Was… Aunt Helaena… were all her dreams true?”

Aemond swallowed thickly as he saw his wife do hours before he left for Flea Bottom. The truth is painful to keep down as he hears Helaena’s voice speaking of rats, then Jaehaerys’ head rolling on the floor just hours later. Still, Aemond looks his son in his beautiful purple eyes as he sternly says, “No. Now go to bed.”

Daeron doesn’t move for a moment, but eventually lays down. Neither of them say goodnight.

Finally, Aemond exits and heads back to his room. Keeping his head up, he pushes down his anguish with each step. He’s not out yet.

Floris barely waited for the door to close before she pounced. “Where have you been?” She is now the starkest thing in the room, all the candles alight again and casting a deep orange across their chambers and she is as dark as tonight’s sky. Only her cream skin contrasted with her hair and attire.

“I told you,” Aemond said. “At a meeting with the City Watch.”

“Her arms crossed over her small belly. “For two hours?”

“Yes.”

“When have you had a City Watch meeting last two hours?”

“Just now.”

“Aemond.”

“Floris, please.” He walks past her, cornering himself on the damn balcony. He lacks the courage to even glance at the city, choosing the brush below instead.

“What did this meeting consist of?” Her voice gets closer.

“My business with the City Watch.”

“Our baby boy wailed for his father.” Aemond can hear the way she bares her teeth. “And wherever this City Watch meeting occurred in the Keep, you were nowhere to be found.”

“It was a meeting in the city.” He spat out the first retort in his mind. “A dire meeting.”

“What could be so dire that you could not tend to your own son?”

“Someone killed a baby.”

The brewing storm halted with a catch in her breath. Her suspicion, though, is still strong around her. Aemond could smell it like rain in the air. He didn’t speak further. Rather, he found the nearest chair and fell into it. The barrier’s small columns blocked the city, similar to a cell as he thought of the woman he loved near the Old Gate. He cannot tell which one is the prisoner, as he pressed his temple with two fingers.

Floris crouched in her gown. Her gaze was heavy as Aemond did everything to keep from letting unnecessary information slip from him. “We took care of the killer. That’s what matters.”

Floris’ pale hand meets the crook of his arm. A thumb doesn’t brush back and forth like it did when his mother succumbed to her fever. The other arm does not wrap him in closer like it did when his nightmares of war jolted him and woke them both. Her thick brows didn’t slant in sympathy. They were straight and stern. “Whose baby was it?”

“What?”

“Whose baby was it?”

Aemond rips his arm away, the leather of his sleeve squeaking sharply from her grip. “What relevance is that?”

“Because you’re a kinslayer.” It rolls off her tongue so naturally.

“I’ve told you not to—”

“It’s what you’re known for, Aemond. I don’t understand how one baby would concern you.”

Aemond slams a fist on the arm of the iron chair as he stands, turning his back to his wife before facing her again. “You know I lost my nephews in the Dance.”

“After killing another.”

“Don’t!” His fingers curl into a fist. It’s when his father crosses his mind that he throws the force against his hip and lets out a shaky exhale. “Floris.”

“With your brother’s bastards rotting in the alleyways, I just don’t understand the difference.” She picks herself  up, pushing with her knees  and holding her belly. Aemond doesn’t help her.

“Because she wasn’t a bastard.” He spits out the words. Another lie, but he doesn’t care.

“Then whose baby was it?”

The chamber doors groan slowly. Aemond doesn’t move from his wife, but refuses to answer. Even as he sees her anger boil her skin and streak her cheeks, he keeps his mouth shut and watches the doors.

“Forgive me, my prince. Princess. I do not mean to disturb.”

“Cole.”

Even in a tunic and linen breeches, he stands like he wears his Kingsguard armor: feet apart, hands collected at his front. No blood in sight, and his hair is disheveled as if someone tore him from bed.

“Leave us,” Floris snaps over her shoulder.

“Cole, what news?” 

He delays in reply, clearing his throat. “Once again, we require your presence, my prince.”

“With what?” Aemond slips around Floris before she can stop him.

“With, uh, burial arrangements.”

Aemond stood still, frozen.

“If the baby has a family, they can decide for themselves,” Floris says. “I don’t understand why such matters require my husband.”

“The family is quite… distraught, princess. As a mother, I’m sure you can understand the idea of such pain.”

Floris’ eyes falter slightly to the floor before glaring back at Criston

“The maesters have wrapped the body and prepared her for her final journey.”

“I’ll go,” Aemond says.

Floris snatches Aemond at the arm. “No!” Her heels skid on the stone floor.

“Do you wish to see the child’s body yourself?” Aemond snaps back at her. “For proof she’s real and your husband has a heart?”

He expected Floris to let him go, in every sense of the phrase. But her small fists only coiled tighter around his forearm. Everything hard about her expression fractured before him. The blue in her eyes glisten brilliantly as she shakes. “Please, Aemond.”

“It won’t take long, princess. I assure you. Your husband will be back soon.”

“Don’t leave.”

Aemond sighs. But he looks his wife in the face as he pulls his arm from her hold a second time. He walks to Criston.

“Please.”

It falls on deaf ears.

Neither speak a word as they make their way through the Keep, nor create any sense of urgency with their footsteps. The only ones who look them in the face are a number of Gold Cloaks, either nodding or appearing extra sullen.

They don’t exit through the front doors. No disguises with them now. Instead, the pair navigate through Maegor’s tunnels to find their escape, opening one (of many) secret doors. The scale of Aegon’s High Hill meets them, the white waves of the Blackwater and a bobbing rowboat just below.

“How did you do it? Is Alyssa—”

“Not now.”

Criston jumps down first, landing on a small area of flat rock. He scales down the small mountain with ease, and Aemond follows with enough distance to not disturb each other’s footing. They hug the jagged walls and Aemond keeps his eye focused down on his own feet, his impaired sight working against him more than ever, with only moonlight just barely revealing shadows here and there. Criston even turned around to help him with some of the hill’s slimmer edges, but he refused, wanting to retain his focus. Over time (and with an absurd amount of patience), they meet at the bottom. They let the steep decline guide them to the small beach, meeting the rowboat.

“We have paid some Gold Cloaks to act as alibis in case your wife wants to inquire. They have already spread the word to others.”

The pools of Floris’ Baratheon blue eyes stick with him. She barely faltered upon word of her father’s fall in battle, nor a tear shed at his funeral. She maintained a grace fit for an unmoving force like her. Yet it was Aemond who pushed her tonight. He pushed her to tears. “And the maesters?” He inquires while clearing his throat. “What you said back there, that was true?”

Criston stretches his arms out to steady the boat. “Watch your step,” he tells him. But before Aemond can even take a step, he’s holding out his hand. Aemond looks down at it.

“I can get in fine on my own, Cole.”

“Just…” He gestures again and keeps it out until Aemond reluctantly takes it, one palm meeting the other. Criston guides him in and continues holding tight as the wood creaks under his boots. He doesn’t let go until Aemond sits down, the boat wobbling. Then Criston steps in on the other side, the Blackwater just missing his ankles, rocking the boat all the same. He grips the edges as he steadies it before reaching down.

Even the late night couldn’t hide the bundle of white waxy cloth, the small bloodless being that he held himself just hours ago. He can still feel the phantom wriggling in his arms from her twin’s screams. Now she is here, still. Still and cold as Criston handed her over. But even as the wind blows, Aemond hovers over her to shield her from the chill. He whispers to her as he does.

“I asked Maester Orwyle to wrap her, so we have another alibi should we need it. With her… injury…”

Aemond traces over her eye. Where her eye would be.

“There was no reason to suspect she was anything but a peasant child.”

“And Royce?”

“The less you know, the better.” Criston then pulls their weight with the boat’s oars as Aemond’s fingers brush the outline of his daughter’s face. The noise of moving water surrounds them as he pictures her. He pulled her into the world first, and he never thought bringing his third child into the world would affect him as deeply as his first two. He never imagined she would leave the world the way she came: wet and screaming.

It wasn’t until Criston docked the boat on the other side of the bay that he thought about asking where he—they—were being taken. He still stood unsteadily when stepping out, eyeing the breathing mountain amongst the young trees: his Vhagar. White birds that were perched on her spine flew when she picked up her head. She doesn’t yawn as she normally does when she wakes up, leaving Aemond to wonder, again, just what they’re doing here.

She peers from her high vantage point, neck fully stretched out as her acid green eyes peer at them both, watching them trudge through the brush of her dwelling. She sniffed the air harshly, sounding like a long hiss if Aemond wasn’t looking. Criston continues pushing the vegetation aside (as he had clearly done before, given the faint imprints of feet in the lush grass). It’s not until they make a circle around her that he sees the pyre; a shadow of dry black timber. Thick logs made the foundation as smaller sticks crossed each other to make the bed.

“She was a Targaryen,” Criston says. “She deserves a proper sendoff.”

Aemond clings to the cloth, securing her against his chest as if he is concealing her under his cloak all over again. He stares at the stick bed, and Vhagar lying behind it. Her chest rumbles, something like a hum that causes the earth to tremor under them. Her neck cranes down for a closer look, and Aemond can see the slashes in her pupils as he feels the creaking of her ancient joints when she tries standing.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond tries adding some force behind his High Valyrian.

She doesn’t listen. One foot forward, and the ground quakes. Roots and leaves shiver. The length of yellow teeth come into view as she takes another sharp breath.

“Lykirī!”

Still nothing. Her snout is inches from his forehead as her sniffs are smaller and more rapid. Her pupils drop to his chest, then back to him as she nudges him. Aemond has to step back to replant himself, but doesn’t order her to be still. His hold on Alyssa remains firm, closer to his chest than her mouth. She closes her lips, and the vibrancy of her eyes disappears when they do the same. Aemond’s forehead meets her snout, and Vhagar is silent as Aemond keeps his sobs down. He clenches his teeth hard and his jaw already aches from the tension.

Eventually, Vhagar steps back, leaving Aemond to walk to the pyre. He was not sure how long it took him to get there. Neither Criston nor Vhagar spoke. The strain from his temples to his eye, and now his jaw, made every step feel glacial. But eventually he did. He couldn’t imagine the sticks being more comfortable than that cot, but he didn’t pick her back up. He swallowed the snot and bile, meeting in the middle of his throat as he stepped back. Criston stood next to him. Vhagar looked at him.

“Dracarys.” He orders it as pathetically as he did before.

Again, she doesn’t follow him. She opens her mouth with no dragonfire. Her massive head twitches to one side, looking at him as she did the first time he ordered her to fly at Driftmark. But just as Aemond can feel the ache in her bones, she can feel the chains in his chest.

Neither of them wants to do this.

Aemond takes a breath, swallowing something like courage. “Dohaerās, Vhagar! Dracarys!”

Her head drew back with another hiss and her pupils thin out before her eyes close. Her neck curls back and she stretches her jaw. It’s always slow. Even the green color that lights up her mouth. He would be convinced that the pyre lit at the same speed, but Aemond fell into the grass; his knees giving in like the wood did under the intense heat.

Criston is still there as Aemond sobs freely, the sounds of it drowned out by the cracks of sticks and logs. He holds Aemond tightly as he buries his face into Criston’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” he tells him. “She’s ascending to the heavens where she belongs. No one can hurt her anymore.”

Aemond blocks his nose in the cloth of Criston’s shirt, sucking in air through his mouth so he doesn’t smell any of it. He remembers how Helaena wailed when she held Jaehaerys, his body limp and the blood soaking into her dress. The woman he loves screamed the same way. The cry of emptiness, a gaping wound inside. Aemond doesn’t have the lungs to scream like that. He just thinks of Helaena on the spikes. “I have to go to her,” he finally says. He pulls away, and Criston’s silhouette is nothing but a bleary shadow. “I have to before—”

“You know she doesn’t want to see you.”

“It doesn’t mean she won’t need me. We still have a child to take care of.”

“She has a child to take care of. You have three. Two of them are here. Another will be in the coming months, and your wife does not need the extra stress of questioning your whereabouts.”

Criston now sandwiches Aemond’s face between his hands. He doesn’t scream at him, but the force of the bones in his hands is hard against his skull.

“Don’t make me build a pyre for your fifth child, Aemond.”

His voice catches in his throat. Neither mother of his children wishes to see him now. Helaena once felt the same, but Aemond’s mistakes called him and Aegon to war, leaving her to grieve on her own. He turns to the pyre, a green haze that occasionally spits at the sky. The smoke burns his nose, making his eye clench shut against the sting. In that darkness, he remembers his mother and the knife to Rhaenyra’s eye. She understood sacrifice. And it was now his turn.

Criston stands up. His outline is still blurry and black, but Aemond can just see his hand outstretched for him. “Your family needs you.”

Aemond remembered his role. And he took Criston’s hand.

Taglist: @paprikaquinn @immyowndefender @teal-anchor @dixie-elocin

[rotthepoet]

I saw you say you have writers block so feel absolutely zero pressure to do anything with this, it was just a thought I felt like you could appreciate w/ me! I saw a Ron work forever ago (cannot remember the author unfortunately) where he was your bestie and you went on a date and came back unsatisfied from your date/hookup so he took it upon himself to take care of you but can you just for a moment imagine that situation with bestie Theo 🥹

He’s already angry because you’re his girl, and pretty much everyone in the school knows that so he cannot believe the audacity of some boy asking you on a date to begin and then for you to come back teary eyed and frustrated?! He felt like he could kill the guy for it. But obviously he’s not going to leave you like that- he’d never. So he fingers you with his pretty, thick, ringed fingers until you’re so relaxed against the bed that you’re not even sure you could stand. BUT You want more. He’s so hot and god the things he whispered in your ear while he had his fingers inside you were to die for. So you ever so sweetly blink up at him, batting your eyes so cutely, and ask him to pretty please fuck you. And of course, he happily obliges.

Other boys don’t ask you on dates anymore.

Maybe you call him daddy idk I can’t really make up my mind if that would be something he’d rock with or not

oMG I DO APPRECIATE THISSS I LOVE IT

nasty ass Slytherin boys i love toxic and manipulative men 🙏

Because Theo is literally pissed all week, Mattheo keeps making a joke that hes on the rag, because theo is unfocused, smoking constantly, adhd off the wall, shits going down

If the slytherin dorms didnt have stone walls there would 100% be a hole in them.

Regardless, He’s fucking pissed. Especially the day that uou go on the date. Hes staying up all night, pacing in the common room because his ruminating was too loud for his dorm mates, and in you walk, heels in your hand, lips downturned and obviously pissed off.

And omg theo is about to kill a man. Because why the fuck do you look so fucking upset??? Holy shit.

“Bella, whats wrong? What did he do?”

“It’s not what he did, its what he didnt do. Couldn’t do, i guess.”

“Oh?”

“…”

“Oh.”

And i mean. Theo cant just leave his girl hanging, all needy and clearly unsatisfied. He approaches you, slowly, afraid you might run away. He holds your face in one hand, leaning into your ear and promising he’ll make it all better. That he’ll step up as your best friend, this is what friends are for, right?

And god when his lips are kissing down your neck, biting and sucking over the marks your failed date had left, making them his own, you cant even argue.

So its really no surprise when he has you in your bed, your dorm miraculously empty for this time of night, and uour back is to his chest, and his fingers are spreading apart your folds, and he’s mumbling so sweetly in your ear. And fuck its so hood. Its SO good. You’re finishing in now time, pussy spasming around his long fingers, the once cold metal rings now warm and stained with your arousal.

But its not enough. Nothing will ever be enough when it comes to theo. And youre so fucking whiney and pathetic and how coukd theo say no when you practically beg him to fuck you, to fill uou to the brim with his hard, heavy cock.

I mean, he would never have said no anyways.

And so there you are, face down in bed, your tears being kissed away as Theo brings you to release over and over again, your core all puffy and sensitive from overstimulation.

He isn’t stopping until half your neck is purple with his love bites, and hes sucked a makeshift “T” into your shoulder, marking you as his.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Sadly, the Wuthering Heights furor has also led to people (many of whom, let us be real, simply dislike the book or otherwise only think of it when it's brought up) to discourse about the content of the novel versus the wrongness of Emerald Fennell's choices with regards to the movie, which of course, has opened up the classic "IT'S NOT A ROMANCE! IT'S NOT A LOVE STORY! BAD PEOPLE! HATE STORY!"

... Which is... also a bad take.

First off, to be very clear, "Romance" is not inherently "genre romance", which is the thing I blog a lot about that was solidified in the latter half of the twentieth century (and which, no doubt, was influenced on some level by WH as much as Jane Eyre, Austen novels and so on). Wuthering Heights is a romance, it's just not a genre romance/romance novel. And indisputably, Wuthering Heights is a love story.

It may not be a love story you like. It may not be a love story with a happily ever after (though I will say—this is one of the few books where I think it's pretty debatable, as "wandering the moors as ghosts", if that is what happened, is kind of... what Cathy and Heathcliff would've wanted... and their ultimate desire was to be TOGETHER, regardless of whether or not it damned them, so is it an HEA in their freaky minds? Maybe so lol). It may ALSO be an abuse story in which the lovers act horribly to each other.... though, I gotta say, MUCH WORSE to literally everyone else in their lives than they do to each other...

But it's a love story. That is one of several things it happens to be. The entire novel is driven by this central love story between Heathcliff and Cathy—a love that is, contrary to what a surface-level reading or reading by word of mouth would imply... very much mutual. I've already gone on about how Cathy Earnshaw is not Heathcliff's victim the way Isabella Linton is, and how Cathy is very much as involved in the love affair as he is. But truly, while their individual internal struggles are the framework and what keeps them apart in many ways—Heathcliff being a man of color and subject to racist abuse, Cathy conforming to society and classist pressures when her natural temperament is very much not of society—what propels the story is this romance.

Because they are supposed to be read as extremely similar, and as two people who do not truly identify with anyone but one another. They're supposed to be read as like minds. They're supposed to be read as thwarted. Some of the things those two say about each other and to each other are legitimately some of the most romantic lines I've ever read.

I mean, are they also kind of sick and wrong? Sure! But I do find it kind of rich to see people who are totally fine with reading dark romance wring their hands over the public at large interpreting Heathcliff and Cathy's relationship as an epic romance. I don't have an issue with anyone enjoying either! But. Let us be real. Part of why y'all are even enjoying work like that is the standard that books like WH set, and the fact that WH does speak to the lure of the dark and the tragedy of people who are super imperfect... and also super in love... continuously fucking up their own lives (and the lives of basically everyone around them) in this push-pull of denial and desire.

When people say "HOW COULD ANYONE EVER INTERPRET THIS AS ROMANTIC?" I just have to question... did you read the book? Because even if it's not for YOU, if it's not romantic TO YOU, surely you can see why other people (me and mine lol) read lines like these and go, "Wow, romantic":

“Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you--haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe--I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”

(fun fact: I do have a part of the above quote tattooed on my body and I'm very happy about it)

"My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it."

"Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I'll stay. If he shot me so, I'd expire with a blessing on my lips."

[said when her damn husband is almost at the door lol]

"I’m not wishing you greater torment than I have, Heathcliff. I only wish us never to be parted: and should a word of mine distress you hereafter, think I feel the same distress underground, and for my own sake, forgive me!"

"'Heathcliff, dear! you should not be sullen now. Do come to me, Heathcliff.’

In her eagerness she rose and supported herself on the arm of the chair. At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely desperate. His eyes, wide and wet, at last flashed fiercely on her; his breast heaved convulsively. An instant they held asunder, and then how they met I hardly saw, but Catherine made a spring, and he caught her, and they were locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress would never be released alive..."

"Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?"

[Read: she is the murderer he is talking about. He's saying she doomed herself to death a long time ago, and he hates her for it. While also crying and kissing her lmao]

They're sickos! Nobody can argue otherwise. But that does not mean they're not in love, and it doesn't mean this isn't a love story, and wagging your fingers at people who read this as the obviously destructive love story this is and find it romantic... doesn't change that.

And the thing is that the book makes it pretttyyyy clear that even if Heathcliff and Cathy has assholery programed into their personalities, WITHOUT the contexts of how they were raised and the society that expects them both to conform to prescribed roles, they would probably just... be together. Like, they victimize people, especially Heathcliff. But they are also victims. The book isn't about a critique of two people Emily Bronte dreamed up; it's a critique of the CIRCUMSTANCES by way of Gothic, subversive melodrama. At the end of the day, their feelings, however passionate they are, are not inherently subversive. Their feelings are NATURAL. But they're twisted and contorted into something ugly through circumstance and the characters' responses to those circumstances.

For Heathcliff, A LOT of those circumstances that did twist him are in fact out of his control. Which is why we hate that casting, right?

But all that said, a love story being dirtybadwrong and about Bad People doesn't mean it isn't a love story, lol. Again—we don't even expect genre romance to be about good people.

Like. Yeah. We know Heathcliff and Cathy are assholes. You're not breaking new ground with that take. The book is still, in many ways, about those assholes being in love.

[entiqua]

I love your artstyle!! Do you have any tips for drawing?

thank you so much! i'm really happy you like it!!💗 as for tips, what i would say would change drastically depending on what kind you're looking for, but some very general ones:

draw what you love and want to see most, regardless of whether anyone else wants to see it. if you don't enjoy what you're drawing it'll never come out as good or genuine as something your whole heart and soul is in. i mean you'd think this would be a no-brainer but sometimes i've had to sit back and ask myself 'if no one was ever going to see this except me, would i actually spend time drawing this?' and i was surprised by the answer

that said, it is also completely valid if your motivation for drawing is to draw for other people! there have been plenty of times where i was too artblocked to draw my own ideas but was still able to draw commissions or gifts and enjoyed it simply because making other people happy with my art makes me happy.

don't get too caught up in having a consistent art style. in my experience this 1000% hinders you

having your sense of anatomy degrade over time without you noticing because you keep drawing the same types of characters is a very real thing! if this is a concern to you be sure to draw a variety

follow a billion artists that you like the art of and you will have endless inspiration injected directly into your brain every time you open social media

my favourite practical tip for those who draw at a desk: keep a small mirror next to you at all times. absolute game changer for quickly referencing hands

if you're drawing digitally, make the canvas huge! in my experience this lets you draw messier/faster and you can't tell at all when you zoom out. if you tend to get stuck spending unnecessary amounts of time micromanaging pixels (me💀) keep it zoomed out while drawing

related to the above point, messy drawings can have far more expressiveness in them than neat and polished drawings. nowadays i never do lineart and go straight from 'barebones stickman pose' to 'varying-levels-of-coherent sketch' and use that as my lineart. sweet freedom from the sketch-looks-better-than-the-lineart phenomenon

if your goal is to improve, then you really do have to scrutinize your art, figure out what you're not satisfied with, and commit the time to focusing on it. 'practice makes perfect' kinda rubs me the wrong way because of how much i've seen it interpreted as 'just draw everyday and you'll magically improve' but genuinely it won't get you very far if you don't actively think hard about what you're trying to improve and take the steps to do it. is this a hot take idk. also hand in hand with this, not every artist is trying to improve and you shouldn't feel bad for this! maybe you just wanna make a little headshot doodle of your fave blorbo and that's your only drawing goal ever. awesome. maybe you know your art has flaws but it's passable enough to convey what you want and you're perfectly satisfied with that. (this is the stage i'm usually at). also awesome!

don't hesitate to draw something because you think it's out of your skill level. the worst that can happen if you draw it is that it comes out terribly but you learned something and can always redraw it better in the future. the worst that WILL happen if you don't draw it is that you'll never draw it. and then it will sit in the back of your brain haunting you for years. it's not like i'm speaking from experience or anything aha

look up 'hand stretches for artists' and do them if you draw a lot unless you wish to summon the wrath of the carpal tunnel demons

of course, these may not necessarily work for you, and most importantly(!) these are coming from the perspective of someone who is primarily a hobbyist. some of this won't be practical for people who need to build an audience, maintain a consistent style for work, etc. these are just things that have personally helped me over many years of drawing :)

[redvexillum]

Alastor: My dear, a little advice for you!

Y/N: I didn't ask for any. Plus I thought you don't do advice.

Alastor: Yes, well, last time I wasn't particularly interested in your little affairs.

Y/N: Jerk.

Alastor: Anyways, I've got a delightful assortment of "advice" just for you! It's only fitting for someone as charming as me to impart some wisdom with those who might need a little guidance.

Y/N: [You read between the lines and note how he was struggling to keep his ears from completely flattening. His grin seems to be more forced than usual] Alastor, if you want someone to talk to, you can just say so-

Alastor: My first piece of advice: there's something terribly wrong and unruly with the most recent interlopers that's been wandering past these doors! I almost forgot how lowly these sinners...

Alastor doesn't mean to go off on a rant, but once he starts, the words spill out like an avalanche of irritation. He vehemently snarls from the flood of new hotel guests pretending to seek redemption while clearly freeloading off of the princess' hospitality. Though, he will never admit that he was slightly..."peeved" to say the least when you have been "too busy" to entertain him as you were helping the princess with the influx of guests.

There isn't a trace of judgment in your eyes, not a flicker of annoyance at his tirade. You just listen, really listen, and that alone makes something in him feel a tad lighter.

Alastor will never admit that you bring comfort to him. He will never admit that maybe, just maybe, you're more than just an audience to his whims and theatrics. Perhaps, in his own twisted way, you're something closer to a friend...?

But, that is something he cannot entertain at this moment.

It is something he cannot admit to himself at this time.

Alastor: ...and don't get me started on that insufferable little girl spouting gibberish at me every time I'm in her line of sight! Eugh.

Y/N: Alastor! Maybe this is the perfect time to put our lessons into practice!

Alastor: ...

Y/N: Communi-

Alastor: MURDER.

Y/N: Alastor, NO-! [Alastor melts into the shadows and in less than five seconds you hear screams and walls being destroyed]

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for Mango Bat; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Um,” he says, fumbling slightly for the right thing to say. Not that he really knows what he said wrong to begin with, which definitely doesn’t help. “But like, I’m sure it’s fine if you just eat what you wanna eat for now! Superman would’ve definitely told me if there was stuff Kryptonians couldn’t have or anything like that and your stomach’s pretty invulnerable, so I don’t think you’re gonna get a stomachache if you accidentally eat too much, y’know?” 

“. . . he would’ve?” Lynn asks. 

“Well, yeah,” Billy says, puzzled by the question. “He asked me to take care of you, and he’s Superman. He’d definitely tell me if there was anything that was bad for you to worry about. You know, like, aside from the stuff I already know about.” 

“Because he’s Superman,” Lynn says very, very quietly. 

. . . Billy has definitely said something wrong. Billy has said a lot of things wrong, apparently. He just doesn’t know what they were or how to fix them, like, yesterday. 

Are there any time-related gods whose names start with an “A”, maybe? So he could just rewind a few minutes and get a do-over there? Please? 

“Kind of,” Billy settles on after a moment, still not sure if he’s saying the right thing. “I mean . . . Superman would be Superman even if he wasn’t, um–Superman. Uh. I mean–he’s, you know–he’d still be a good guy even if he weren’t a literal good guy. You know?” 

“. . . no,” Lynn says. Billy winces at himself, because he is definitely not doing a good job with this, and figures he’ll just . . . take the plates from him and start portioning everything out, maybe. It’ll give him something to do with his hands besides fidget and give Lynn something to watch besides the plates, he figures. Especially if the other doesn’t wanna make eye contact or anything right now. Or, um . . . ever, maybe. 

“Well, like . . . everybody who’s in the community is in it for a reason,” Billy tries to clarify as he takes the plates, which Lynn lets him do a little stiffly, but does, like–let him do, at least. Then he has to go find serving spoons and whatever so he can actually put the food on said plates, but–well, he can talk while he does that, he figures? Like, why not? As long as Lynn doesn’t feel ignored, that’s all that matters. “Like–their own reason, I mean. Like, you know, I do it because–well, actually that’s kinda a long story, I’ll get into that later. But Superman does it because he thinks everybody’s important, and matters, and like–he can do anything he wants to, really. But he just wants to help people. Help them be better, and keep them safe and help them get to better.” 

“Superman wants to help . . . people,” Lynn says, his voice maybe the slowest it’s been so far and expression totally blank again. “And help them be–better."

[violettwrites]

in the arms of the broken — daryl dixon

a/n: to the dear nonnie that requested this 🫶🏻 thank u sm i absolutely adored writing this (i rly should be sleeping but i can’t so here i am) i hope you enjoy !!

if you enjoyed reading this, please support me by giving me a like, reblog, and/or comment ! don’t forget to follow me either if you want to read more of my stuff !

request: anon said — “i also like the dialogue prompt ‘i don’t know… i’ve never seen her like this’ that tugs at the heart strings”

summary: reader cannot cope with the way the world has become, during a particularly hard night for themselves, daryl dixon is the one to comfort them.

warnings: angst/sadness ,,, thats it rly

word count: 1,241

recourses: divider by @adornedwithlight

➵ tp!daryl masterlist

➵ regular masterlist

here is my ask box !

the night was quiet except for the crackle of the fire, but it felt wrong—like the world had gone still, holding its breath. you sat by the flames, knees drawn to your chest, staring blankly into the flickering light. the heat touched your skin, but it didn’t reach you, didn’t chase away the cold that had settled deep inside.

daryl watched you from a distance, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. he’d been keeping an eye on you for days, noticing the way you’d been pulling away from everyone, isolating yourself. you’d always been strong, always held it together for the sake of the group, but something was different now. something had changed, and it scared him. you were like a shadow of yourself, your spirit drained, your eyes distant.

rick approached him, eyes flicking over to you before meeting daryl’s. “how’s she holdin’ up?”

daryl didn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening as he watched the way you sat so still, your body hunched like the weight of everything had finally become too much to carry. he shook his head, his voice quiet and rough. “i don’t know… i’ve never seen her like this.”

rick nodded, his expression grim. “she’s been through a lot. more than most of us. maybe she just needs some time.”

rick can recall the first time they found you, smack bang in the middle of atlanta, all alone. you were covered in blood and guts, and if he hadn’t actually heard how you begged for help when he saw you, your voice barely audible, he honestly would have thought you were just another walker.

“time ain’t gonna fix what’s broken,” daryl muttered under his breath, the frustration simmering beneath his skin. time wasn’t enough when you were drowning, when you couldn’t see a way out of the darkness. and he hated that he didn’t know how to pull you out.

rick gave him a look, one that said everything he didn’t need to say out loud. “you’re the one she’ll listen to, daryl. talk to her.”

daryl stood there a moment longer, watching the way you curled into yourself, like you were trying to disappear. every instinct in him told him to go to you, but he hesitated, unsure if his words would even matter. still, he couldn’t just leave you like this.

he finally pushed off the tree and walked over, his boots crunching softly against the dirt. he lowered himself to the ground beside you, sitting close enough that you could feel his presence, but not so close that he’d crowd you.

for a while, neither of you said anything. the fire crackled between you, the only sound breaking the silence of the night. daryl wasn’t sure how to start, wasn’t good with words even on the best of days. but he knew you, and he knew the way you got when things started to spiral out of control in your head.

“you don’t gotta shut us out, y’know,” he finally said, his voice gruff but soft. “we’re all here for ya.”

you didn’t respond at first, your eyes still fixed on the flames like they held some kind of answer you were searching for. after a long moment, you sighed, your voice barely a whisper. “i’m tired, daryl.”

those words hit him like a punch to the gut. he’d seen people break before, seen the way this world could wear someone down until there was nothing left. but hearing you say it, seeing you like this—it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

“i know,” he said quietly. “we all are. but we’re still fightin’. you’re still fightin’.”

you shook your head, your voice trembling as you spoke. “i don’t know if i can anymore. every day feels like it’s getting harder. like… like i’m losing pieces of myself.”

daryl’s chest tightened. he’d always admired your strength, the way you kept going no matter how hard things got. but now, hearing you say you were falling apart—it made him realize just how much he hadn’t noticed.

“you ain’t losin’ yourself,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “you’re still here. we’re still here.”

you swallowed hard, tears brimming in your eyes. “i feel like i’m drowning. like no matter what i do, it’s never enough. i can’t save everyone, daryl.”

that was it, wasn’t it? the burden you carried, the weight of trying to protect everyone, to hold the group together when everything was falling apart. it was breaking you.

daryl shifted closer, his hand reaching out to rest on your arm, hesitant at first, but firm once it was there. “you don’t gotta save everyone. that ain’t on you.”

your voice cracked as you spoke, the tears spilling over now. “but if i don’t… who will?”

daryl’s heart clenched at the raw pain in your voice. he wished he had the right words, wished he could take that weight off your shoulders. but he knew he couldn’t fix everything. what he could do, though, was remind you that you weren’t alone.

“you don’t have to,” he said, his thumb gently brushing your arm in a way that was more comforting than he realized. “we’re all in this together. you ain’t gotta carry the world by yourself.”

you turned to look at him, and the vulnerability in your eyes nearly broke him. he wasn’t used to seeing you like this, so lost and fragile. he hated it. he hated that you felt like you had to carry the world alone, that you felt like you were drowning.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “everything feels so heavy.”

daryl swallowed hard, his own heart aching at how much pain you were in. he didn’t know how to take that pain away, but he could be there for you. he could be the one thing you could hold on to when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

“you ain’t alone,” he said, his voice low but steady. “you got me. no matter what, you got me.”

you looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe just a little easier. his words were simple, but they grounded you. daryl had always been your anchor, and in this moment, you needed him more than ever.

without thinking, you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder as the tears came harder, your body shaking with the force of them. daryl didn’t hesitate. he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“let it out,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s okay. i got ya.”

and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall apart. you let the tears come, let the pain you’d been holding in for so long spill out. daryl didn’t say anything more, didn’t need to. he just held you, his presence steady and unwavering, letting you know without words that you didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

the fire crackled softly beside you, but the world felt a little less cold with daryl holding you. you weren’t okay. you weren’t sure when—or if—you’d ever be okay again. but for now, in his arms, you felt like you didn’t have to be.

and maybe that was enough.

[jingledbells]

i feel like a lot of the people who're saying 'stan would treat him better' are not really understanding a lot of his character. i literally saw someone describe him as 'really sweet' and 'a gentleman' and I'm like. no???? first off I just don't think he would be in a romantic relationship during this time period, he's really traumatized and emotionally damaged at this point but he doesn't really. have a lot of space to really think about his situation or reflect because he has to keep up and stand in as ford while he works to get him back and in general its just. a lot yk. another thing is that he's canonically really terrible with romantic relationships in general. there's something in particular about the thing he had with lazy Susan and the sort of. internalized amatonormativity surrounding that, about how he liked the idea of being in a relationship but. didn’t actually want to. but a lot of his canon relationships aren’t really the best/end well. Of course this doesn’t actually have to mean anything in particular but given his past history with relationships I just. don’t think a romantic relationship especially at this point in time would work out. a lot of people think if he had a relationship with fiddleford it would be healthier than fiddauthor and I’m just like….no??? ok first off Stan is kind of a major dick to fiddleford in canon I’m pretty sure he ran him over with his car multiple times on purpose maybe(correct me if I’m wrong I apologize). I think people also forget that at this point in time fiddleford is entering/beginning a stage in his life where he is just at his absolute worst. he’s literally in his evil cultist era and assuming that he’s unaware that Stan is pretending to be ford I don’t think fiddleford would try to reconnect with him at this point. his goal right now is to protect the town from ford via sotbe and he does NOT trust him at all. I think Stan and fiddleford interactions would be fiddleford watching him thinking he was ford and getting into physical fights maybe but just ending with a confused Stan and fiddleford running off like an angry wounded animal. but like. say they were in a relationship at one point, romantic or non romantic, I don’t think it would end well or go well both of them are incredibly mentally unstable and would not be good for each other at all especially fiddleford and I don’t think he would be trusting of Stan at all and would probably end up using the memory gun on him a lot.

and yes ford and fiddlefords relationship was unhealthy and toxic at points and ford defintley treated him unfairly at points but I feel like people forget a lot of it was because of bills manipulation and his succeeding attempts to isolate ford from fidds because keep in mind he loved and respected him and viewed him as an equal and wanted him to be there !! he was so excited to see him and share his adventures with him and just. A lot of it was not his fault, yk??

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

8. New year, new man(ager)

Note: genuinely appreciate everyone who enjoyed Arc 1. Hope y’all will enjoy this incoming Arc 2 as well!

Y/n paced outside the practice room, glancing at his phone as he triple-checked the schedule for the day. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind after MAMA, but somewhere along the line, things had started to fall into place. He wasn’t the same flustered manager he had been when he first joined aespa’s team. He’d made enough mistakes to last a lifetime, but he had learned. And today, he was ready to prove it.

“Alright, time to give the pep talk,” he muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders back.

Inside, the girls were warming up, Karina and Giselle going over a particularly tricky move while Winter stretched near the mirrors. Ningning was being her usual energetic self, bouncing around between them.

“Okay, everyone! Time to focus up,” Y/n said, clapping his hands together as he walked in. The room fell into a mix of mock groans and smirks.

“You sound so official now,” Giselle teased, giving him a playful nudge as she passed. “Who are you, and what did you do with the Y/n who booked us in the wrong studio that one time?”

Y/n grinned, shaking his head. “He’s still here. Just... learning from his mistakes.”

Karina crossed her arms, watching him closely. There was something unreadable in her expression—like she was analysing him, comparing the person in front of her to the frazzled trainee-turned-manager she first met.

“Alright, before you all get back to dancing, I just want to say…” He hesitated, clearing his throat. “You’ve all been working really hard last year, and I see it. Even when things get tough, you push through, and it shows. Just remember, it’s not about being perfect—it’s about giving it your all. So let’s hit this practice hard, but don’t forget to have fun. Let’s end the year strong, lads!”

The girls exchanged glances before Winter, grinning, gave him a thumbs-up. “Look at you, giving motivational speeches now.”

“I’m impressed,” Karina added, finally speaking up. Her tone was thoughtful, not teasing. “You’ve come a long way.”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks, J” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I’m just trying to keep up with you guys.”

Karina stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Y/n could hear. “It’s more than that. You’ve grown into the role. Leadership doesn’t come easy, but you’ve figured out how to handle things, even when it’s chaotic. That’s what makes a difference.”

There was a sincerity in her words that Y/n hadn’t expected. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, realizing that maybe he wasn’t as lost as he had once thought.

“Thanks, Jimin. That means a lot coming from you,” he said, feeling the tension that had lingered between them start to ease.

Before he could dwell on the moment, Giselle’s voice rang out. “Look at you two, having a heart-to-heart! I give Y/n… hmm, about half-professional status now. What do you think, Ning?”

Ningning, grinning widely, chimed in. “Three-quarters. He still hasn’t learned the choreography.”

Y/n groaned, throwing his hands up. “Oh shut it. I’m not trying to learn the choreography! I’m just your manager!”

They all laughed, the teasing familiar and light-hearted. As practice kicked into gear, Y/n watched from the side, feeling more comfortable in his role than he ever had before.

-

In the midst of the busy practice schedule, Y/n had noticed something peculiar: the other managers who Y/n met and befriended seemed to be acting a little more attentive and excited than usual. During a quick break, he caught snippets of conversation from them.

“Did you get the wrapping paper?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got it. And the card?”

“Just make sure Y/n doesn’t see us.”

Curious and slightly amused, Y/n decided to investigate. He wandered into the break room, where the other managers were gathered, each one busily working on something. The moment they saw him, they froze, their faces betraying a mix of guilt and excitement.

“Uh, what’s going on here?” Y/n asked, raising an eyebrow.

Before anyone could respond, Red Velvet's managers, Minji, cleared her throat. “Oh, Y/n! Perfect timing. We were just... preparing a little something for you and Winter.”

Y/n looked around, noticing the wrapped gifts and a small banner that read “Happy Birthday Y/n & Winter!” The sight made him pause.

“We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Minji continued, her tone earnest. “But we couldn’t let your birthday go unnoticed, especially since you’re new yet so integral to the team now.”

“Yeah, and we figured it’d be a good way to show our appreciation,” added EXO's manager, Joon.

Y/n chuckled, touched by the gesture. “Awww thanks, guys. I had no idea you were planning this.”

As they chatted, Winter appeared, drawn by the noise. Her eyes widened as she saw the decorations and the pile of presents.

“What’s all this?” Winter asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

The managers exchanged knowing glances before Minji spoke up again. “Well we found out that both of you shared a birthday, so…."

Winter’s eyes widened even further. “Aw, that's nice of you guys. Thank you for caring about this idiot here.”

"Huh? You guys share the same birthday? Ningning popped by with Giselle and Karina, now seeing the commotion.

“Yep, that’s the one,” Minji confirmed with a grin. “So, we thought it’d be fun to celebrate together.”

Winter laughed, clearly delighted. “That’s amazing. I had no idea you all were so organized.”

“Well, we try,” Joon said with a wink. “And we thought it’d be a great surprise, considering how hard you both work.”

The other managers handed Y/n and Winter their gifts with cheerful smiles. “Hope you like them,” Joon said as they both took their presents.

Y/n and Winter exchanged amused glances before unwrapping their gifts. It turned out to be an assortment of practical and fun items—a mix of things they both appreciated. Winter found a beautifully designed journal, while Y/n received a high-quality travel mug with the graphic "Most Improving Baby".

“This is really thoughtful, guys,” Y/n said, genuinely touched. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, it’s the least we could do,” Winter added, smiling warmly at the managers. “We’re really grateful.”

Unbeknownst to the two soon-to-be Birthday babies, the other three adorned a mischievous grin.

-

The last few days of December flew by in a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and last-minute preparations for the new year’s celebrations. Y/n barely had time to think about his upcoming birthday—shared with Winter, no less—before the big day arrived.

The plan was simple: get Y/n and Winter to believe it was just another ordinary day while secretly setting up a surprise party at the dorm. Giselle had somehow convinced Winter that Y/n needed help with something, giving the rest of the group time to set everything up.

Y/n, on the other hand, had no idea what was going on. He spent the day like any other, running around managing their schedules, completely oblivious to the plot happening right under his nose.

At the dorm, balloons were being inflated, streamers were hung, and a cake—decorated with both Winter and Y/n's names—sat proudly on the kitchen counter. It was a perfect setup.

That was until Y/n, ever the punctual manager, arrived a little earlier than expected.

The door to the dorm swung open, and he walked in, tossing his bag on the couch. "Hey, you guys here? I thought we had that—"

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening as he took in the half-decorated room. Karina was holding a balloon, frozen in place. Ningning was mid-streamer hanging, while Giselle had the cake knife in hand, looking like she’d just been caught robbing a bank.

They all stared at each other for a moment, time seemingly frozen.

“What the fu-” Y/n started.

"Abort mission!" Ningning yelled, throwing her hands in the air, and everyone scrambled to act like nothing was happening.

Karina hastily dropped the balloon and leaned casually against the wall. "Oh, Y/n, didn’t see you there. What’s up?"

Giselle, trying to shove the cake back into the fridge, smiled innocently. "Yeah, just, uh... normal day stuff."

Y/n blinked, looking around at the half-decorated chaos. "Suuure, normal day. Now tell me what exactly is going on here?"

Before anyone could make up an excuse, the door swung open again, and Winter appeared, looking confused. "What are you guys doing?"

Giselle groaned dramatically. "Well, there goes the plan."

Realizing the jig was up, Karina sighed and waved a hand. "Surprise, I guess?"

Y/n, despite being completely caught off guard, burst into laughter. "Wait, were you guys actually trying to throw a surprise party for us?"

"Yep," Ningning said, a little deflated. "But you had to show up early and ruin it."

“Yeah, screw you! Jung Y/n!” Karina pouted.

Winter, standing beside Y/n, grinned. "I guess it wouldn’t be our birthdays without some messes."

Despite the botched timing, the room quickly filled with laughter as everyone relaxed, the failed surprise only adding to the fun. Y/n and Winter shared a look before shaking their heads in unison.

Later, as the cake was brought out, the girls sang a loud, slightly off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

Just as Y/n and Winter blew out the candles, Giselle and Ningning smirked at each other.

“We got you guys some special presents,” Giselle said with a mischievous glint in her eye. She pulled out two neatly wrapped boxes, handing one to Y/n and the other to Winter.

“Special?��� Y/n raised an eyebrow as he took the box. “What kind of special?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Ningning said, barely holding in her laughter.

Winter, just as curious, began unwrapping her gift first. The second she opened the box, her eyes widened, and her face turned red as she pulled out a pair of fluffy, pink handcuffs.

“What the—” Winter started, but her voice was drowned out by the chorus of laughter from the other members.

Y/n, now dreading his own gift, slowly unwrapped his box. Inside, he found his own pair of handcuffs, except his were black and decorated with little hearts.

The girls erupted in laughter. Blackpink was truly in the area.

“I—what even is this?!” Y/n held the cuffs up, utterly flustered.

“Oh, come on, you guys have been living together now,” Giselle teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “We thought these might come in handy in case you two planned to be-”

"NOOOOOOO!" Winter looked mortified, covering her face with her hands. “You guys are the worst.”

Karina, trying to maintain a serious expression but failing miserably, added, “We figured it’d break the tension.”

Y/n shook his head, laughing despite himself. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Ningning, still in hysterics, managed to choke out, “You should’ve seen your faces!”

The room dissolved into laughter once more, the ridiculousness of the situation bringing everyone together. Even Winter, after recovering from her embarrassment, couldn’t help but join in.

As the laughter died down and they settled in to enjoy the cake, Y/n stood up and cleared his throat. “Well, since it’s both of our birthdays, I have something for you, too,” he said, handing Winter a small box.

Winter blinked, surprised. “You got me something? Is it a choker this time?”

"Minjeong, what th-" Y/n laughed out. "Stop being dirty-minded and open it, crybaby."

Winter carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing a simple yet elegant bracelet engraved with both their names. Her eyes softened, and she smiled. “Y/n, this is beautiful. Thank you.”

Y/n shrugged. “Figured we might as well embrace the fact that we share the same birthday. Continue the tradition since old days.”

Winter, her smile warm and genuine, reached into her bag and pulled out a small package. “Well, I got something for you, too.”

Y/n opened it to find a sleek, custom-made pen engraved with his initials. He chuckled. “You know, after all this time, I was expecting something like more handcuffs.”

Winter rolled her eyes playfully. “I did say a choker. But please don’t give them any more ideas.”

As the night went on, the room was filled with laughter, teasing, and warmth. It was a night of unexpected gifts, hilarious moments, and heartwarming memories—one that Y/n and Winter wouldn’t soon forget.