#have more of that than I ever thought I would

[seospicybin]

BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Synopsis: Your ex, Chan, makes a return to his social media with a thirst trap. Horny and bored, you decide to see him for the sole reason of getting your physical needs fulfilled. However, as the night goes, you start to wonder if seeing him tonight is a bad idea. (14,4k words)

Author's note: Yes, it's inspired by that one Olivia Rodrigo song.

Talking to your ex is a bad idea, right?

You've been considering whether to slide into his DM or not, commenting on his Instastory which is a video of him exercising half naked, exposing his toned upper half body in all its glory.

It's been two years after the breakup and he didn't post anything on his social media until today, it's like he knows you're bored and horny.

It's unclear whether it's him or it's your uterus talking, but he looks hotter, sexier, and bigger than the last time you saw him. Although you must admit that he's always been attractive to you, except that his attractiveness is on a whole 'nother level now and it makes you wonder why you let this man go in the first place.

In your defense, Chan is not a terrible ex, he decided to break up with you because he was leaving to study abroad and thought the long-distance relationship would be hard and mentally draining for both of you.

You acted like it didn't hurt you but when you came home that night, you cried so hard that your pillow got drenched in tears. You didn't want to break up with him because he's a great guy who happens to be great in bed too, not only because he has the most delicious cock you've ever had but he also knows how to put it to a good use. Simply put, you were so devastated thinking that you'd never find a man like him again.

And you know what? You were right. You tried dating a few times but nothing comes close to what you had with Chan. Also, can't two people reconnect?

Before you get to change your mind again, you decide to hit the like button and send a short message in his DM.

Hey, there. You type into the message box, adding a smiling emoji at the end to make it sound casual but friendly at the same time.

There's no reply or a sign that he's read your message, you figure he must be busy on a Saturday morning, he could be having another session at the gym or having breakfast, or... yeah, it could be him ignoring your messages.

Slightly hangover from hanging out with your friends last night, you slump down your bed and close your eyes to get another few minutes of sleep.

You wake up an hour later with more than a dozen notifications on your phone, they're mostly your friends sending photos they took of you last night. You groan when you see a couple of work emails and do not think twice to skip them. There are some texts from friends and then, there it is, a reply from Chan.

Well, hello, there!

It's been ages.

How are you?

You check the time and his replies came about fifteen minutes ago, there's a possibility that he's still on his phone and he'll respond faster this time.

Never been better.

How about you?

Looking fine as ever, I see.

You add the eyes emoji before hitting the send button and drop your phone onto the bed, it's a bit risky but a compliment never hurt. Besides, who doesn't like getting a compliment?

The thought that Chan is probably waiting for your reply in those fifteen minutes amuses you but pfft... that's just your wishful thinking.

As you wait for his response, you're checking the photos your friends sent you. You check them one by one, deleting the ones that you don't like and saving the good ones where you look flattering.

An idea pops into your head as you go through your gallery: a plan. First, you choose a photo of you that shows your whole look last night, dressed in a blue mini dress and strappy heels with your hair up, tied in a messy bun, in other words, you looked hot and you felt like it when your friend took the picture.

You upload it as your Instagram story and wait until it is successfully uploaded. You're sure as hell he'll see your new post, then he'll get curious and open it, and Wowza!

Chan thinks he can be the only one posting a thirst trap on a Saturday morning, huh?

It only takes a minute for the thirst trap to do its job, you smirk at the notifications and see Chan's username on the top.

Me? He adds three flustered emojis to it.

Nah. I'm not.

But you...

You look beautiful as always.

Is it even allowed to look that beautiful?

A year of being single makes you weak at the slightest chance of romance, you catch yourself smiling to yourself in the mirror. You slap yourself to get ahold of yourself, reminding yourself that he could say that just to—

A notification pops up and it shows that Chan liked and reacted to your Instagram story with the hearts eyes emoji. Fuck! You just caught yourself smiling again. but what can you do? You're just a girl who is lonely and in need of some loving touch.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and think about what to reply to him.

And you...

Is it even allowed to have that much of muscles?

Someone, please close the gym!

You look good nonetheless, Chris.

But seriously, close the gym! You add a laughing emoji to keep it playful.

You patiently wait for his reply but your patience only lasts for twenty minutes until he makes you wait longer for his reply and you slump on the bed again.

It's time for plan number two!

The thirst trap worked to pique his interest and you have to come up with something that shows you're a hot commodity, you don't waste your time chasing boys, they chase you. That way, Chan will respond to your message faster.

So here comes plan number two, you take another trip to your gallery, scrolling through photos from last night, and find the perfect photo. It's a picture of you and one of your male friends, you're standing side by side, holding your drinks together and smiling to the camera. There's enough friendliness in there to show that you're close with this guy but also, not that close. You don't know how to explain it, but you know it'll work.

You wait a few more minutes to add it to your Instagram story, not forgetting to tag your friend which is the best part of it. If anyone checks his account, they'll see a model with blue eyes, just the perfect guy to make certain someone is jealous.

You're devilishly laughing as you hit the post button and wait until it is successfully uploaded. You check to see the final result and smile in satisfaction.

Okay, maybe you were too haste and didn't do your calculation right because morning has turned into afternoon and Chan hasn't replied to you. Not only did he make you wait, but you also wasted three hours of your day staring at the ceiling with the phone resting on your chest.

At this point, you should've given up and maybe it's true, he only replied just to be friendly, nothing more. You fling your phone across the bed out of spite and get up, planning to wash him away from your head with a hot shower.

Against the loud sound of the hairdryer, you hear your phone chimes and you turn it off to check whether you're imagining it chimes or not.

You hate how quickly you forget how upset you were a while ago after seeing your phone light up with new notifications.

I'm sorry for replying late.

I was busy moving some stuff.

Do you have time?

And you hate it more that he can easily get your hopes up again. You figure it's time he tastes his own medicine, you put your phone away and leave him on read. You'll reply later when you feel like it, or never. Who knows?

You continue drying your hair but the constant hum of the hairdryer makes you unable to hear your thoughts, especially one that stops you from going to your phone again as it chimes with a new notification. It only takes twenty minutes for you to cave into the temptation.

I don't know about you but all these chats, they're not enough.

Can we video call instead?

It takes you not even a minute to say yes to him. You make a run to your closet and change your clothes, picking up a white top with a low neckline, ditching the bra, and pairing it with denim shorts.

Chan doesn't give you a minute to choose the setting of the video call, your phone rings as you try to make the bed as best as you can and sit with your back against the headboard of the bed.

The phone keeps ringing but you need to check your hair in the mirror again to finally accept the video call. A second later, Chan's face appears on your phone screen, and from his damp hair, it seems like he's just taken a shower too.

"Hey," he greets you as he brushes his curls with his hand.

"You look a little wet, Chris," you tease with a sly smile.

Chan moves, changing his sitting position and revealing himself in a bathrobe with his chest all exposed. Intentional or not, you must admit that's quite a show!

"I was feeling hot so I took a quick shower," he answers with a grin.

"Feeling hot, huh?" You tease again.

"I am now," he playfully responds, flashing you a sly smile and lip bite.

The two of you just stare at each other through the screen and it's getting too much for you with how intense his eyes are.

"So, where are you now?"

"I'm actually in the city," he shortly replies.

"Oh? You're back!" You gasp but hold yourself back from continuing the sentence and ask if he's back for good. The most important thing is he's confirmed his location, all you need to find out next is if he's up to do no good with you.

"Kind of," he vaguely answers.

"Kind of..." you teasingly repeat his words and then giggle.

Chan grins and rests his back against a pillow, it's unclear if he's sitting on the bed or the sofa, "Oh, how I missed that," he says.

You take a pillow and put it on your lap as something to hold on to, "Missed what?"

"Your sweet smiles and cute giggles," he shortly answers like he's been waiting for you to ask him that.

"Oh, stop it, Chris!" You respond, getting a little flustered that you melt onto your pillow. You may as well lie down on your stomach and put the pillow under your chest, "You're getting good at lying, huh?"

"Yeah. Nah. Just a little bit," he jokingly says, then bursts into laughter that his dimples sunken deep into his cheeks.

And oh, you missed his dimpled smiles and his sonorous laughter too, but you're not going to tell him that, maybe not now, or ever.

To avoid it escalating really quickly, you shift the conversation elsewhere. You prop a hand under your chin and tilt your head to the side while the other hand steadily holds your phone far enough from your face.

"So, what are you doing now?"

"Staring at your face," he answers, a half smirk decorating his rectangular face.

"Just my face?" You jokingly ask with a flirty lip bite.

"Everything else too," he adds, catching his eyes flicking down for a second then smirks.

You act oblivious to the fact that with the way you lie on your stomach, you're offering him a view of your cleavage and he would be stupid if he missed the sign.

"What I meant is what are you doing in the city? Is it for work or...?"

"I need to sort a few things," he vaguely explains.

It's obvious that he's keeping the details from you and you have to respect that, he's not your boyfriend and even if he is, he's not obligated to tell you everything. Including the possibility that he came here to see his new girlfriend, perhaps?

"Oh? So, all business, no pleasure?" You joke with a light chuckle, hiding your true intention to know whether he's seeing anyone or not.

"I'm free tonight and I was hoping that we could meet," He says, shattering the negative thoughts that rush through your head.

Now, that gets you thinking if he's coming here to see you and you get that fluttering feeling in your stomach, or it could be your uterus ovulating as you speak, either way, you like it.

"Tonight?" You ask, acting like you already have a plan for tonight.

"Yes. Or do you already have plans for tonight?"

The act always works, gosh, you should consider to start a career as an actor, "Not really, but uh... where do you want us to meet?"

"There's a nice bar in the hotel I'm staying in. We can have a drink or two," he replies, then licks his lips and makes them appear wet and fuller, tantalizing you to kiss them.

Despite you feeling like screaming and jumping on the bed, you remain coy about it, reminding yourself to not sound eager but show enough enthusiasm.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, tilting your head to the other way and saying, "Hotel bar has better drinks so... yeah, I'd love a drink or two."

A triumphant smile rises on his face and it's cute that he lets it show, making you feel a lot of things in a few seconds.

"I'll see you there, I mean, here at 8?"

You tug your middle finger between your teeth and flash him a seductive smile, "Okay."

"I'll DM you the address."

"Okay," you mutter again while staring at him through the screen on your phone.

"See you tonight then," he says, touching his lips and rubbing the lower lip with his long, dainty finger.

"Can't wait to meet you," he adds.

Instead of answering him, you let out a giggle and sit up on the bed. You flip your hair to the back and just stare at him for a minute without saying anything.

"See you tonight, Chris," you finally reply, making sure to call his name with a low, sultry voice and a sly smile.

Without hesitation, you hang up first and let out a long sigh after. It's just a video call but Gosh! It feels like a foreplay already.

You give yourself a moment to compose yourself before execute plan number three: Dressed to fucking impress. To be honest, you don't even bother with the 'impress' part, you just want to fuck.

See? Talking to him is not a bad idea after all.

-

The sound of your high heels constantly tapping the marble floor as you walk echoes in the hotel lobby, you're unsure of how to inform him that you've arrived just a few minutes late from the appointed time.

You take your phone out of your purse and are about to compose a message when you catch him holding his hand up at you from the second floor.

You wave your hand back at him and make your way to the stairs, climbing each step with caution because it would embarrassing if you tripped. But looking at Chan waiting for you at the top of the stairs makes it feel like you're living a scene out of a movie.

Even with his signature all-black look, it doesn't make him less princely. He looks dreamy with crinkles in his eyes and a charming smile on his face.

He offers his hand when you're only a couple of steps away from him. You take it and let him guide you on the last steps of the stairs. His grip is firm as you remember and he still has his favorite chain bracelet around his wrist.

"You look gorgeous," he doesn't say it in a dramatic, hyperbolic way but he softly whispers it to you before placing a sweet kiss on your cheek, so close to the corner of your mouth.

The night has just begun but he's already succeeded in making you quietly hold your breath. You put on a smile for him and coyly say, "You look stunning in black as... always."

He laughs and it feels like to see and hear it in person, like you can feel the warmth that his laughs emit.

"Want to have dinner first?" He asks.

"I've had dinner," you answer.

The truth is, you barely had dinner because you were too nervous to eat anything but you did eat a nutrition bar in the taxi.

"This way to the bar then?" He offers his arm at you like a true gentleman.

"Lead the way, sir!" You say as you link your arm around him.

It's only a short walk from the hotel lobby to the bar Chan mentioned, the interior is rather luxurious, leather seats with a live jazz performance. He mutters something to the hostess, probably where he prefers to sit and she nods in response.

"This way, please!" She says with a polite smile, walking like a feline creature in her tight skirt and silk blouse.

You glance to the side to see if Chan is looking at the pretty hostess in front of him, but you find him staring at you instead.

"Is there something on my face?" You ask in slight panic, afraid that you have something in your teeth but he feels bad to tell you.

"No," he simply answers.

"This way, sir, ma'am," the hostess says, gesturing to the booth she chooses for the two of you, a little hidden in the corner of the bar to provide some privacy.

Chan gently places his hand on the small of your back and lets you take a seat first. You have a seat in the middle of the curved sofa and he sits right next to you.

"Can we order drinks right away?" Chan asks as he puts his phone on the table.

"Sure," the hostess answers, slightly bending down to hear him talk clearly, "What would you like to have, sir?"

"I'll have the... Boulevardier," he eloquently says with a slight French accent.

"Excellent choice, sir!" She comments, she then turns her head at you to take your order, "How about you, ma'am?"

Things have been feeling a little surreal for these past few hours your brain is struggling to keep up, you want to be cool and confidently answer the fanciable hostess but it takes you a longer time to process a simple question like that.

"I'd love a daiquiri, please!" You answer, ignoring the fact that it takes you a minute to come up with it.

"Can I recommend you with the Hemingway special? It's a daiquiri with a splash of sweet grapefruit juice and Maraschino liqueur," she eloquently explains, proving that she's not only hired because of her look.

"That sounds amazing. I'd love that," you say with an impressed smile.

After confirming your orders, the hostess left the booth and it's just the two of you now in this nice yet slightly erotic setting of the bar.

"That's a nice dress," he suddenly compliments as he's looking at your face, not at your dress.

The dress goes to your midthigh, it's white and tight enough to showcase your curve. It's long-sleeved but the sweetheart neckline exposed just the right amount of skin. You've been saving it for a special occasion and considering that you haven't met him for two years, you reckon it's time to wear it.

"Just something I had, you know, lying around," you playfully answer.

The drinks come not long after and Chan waits until the server leaves to initiate a toast with you. Your drink is in a glass with a thin stem so you carefully lift it with your fingers.

"Cheers!" You mutter in unison and clink your glasses together.

The first round of drinks went with a conversation that consisted of basic questions. He asks you about work, family, life in general, and everything in between. You must admit that your life is kind of boring but it's nice to know that he wanted to catch up on your life updates.

It's a little disappointing though that he doesn't ask anything about your love life or whether you're seeing anyone or not.

When you deem that you're on the verge of oversharing, you stop talking and shift the focus to him.

"What about you? What are you working on at the moment?" You curiously ask, putting down your drink on the table and leaving one last sip on the fragile-looking glass.

"I'm working on a lot of things right now. From a lot of places too," he answers.

"So, you've been traveling a lot," you remark.

"Yes."

That says something about his relationship status and unless he has learned how to be in a long-distance relationship, then it means he's not seeing anyone right now. Even if he is, there's a big chance that it's noncommittal.

This calls for a celebration so you pick up your drink and drain every last drop of it, delightfully gasping once you swallow it.

"Round 2?" Chan offers.

"Yes."

Now that you've made up your mind about it and from the subtle signals he's sending you so far, it's safe to say that he's up to do no good with you. You smooth down the hem of your dress and flip your hair to the back, preparing yourself to execute plan number four: Make your intention known.

As much as you feel tempted to say 'Chris, let's fuck!' right to his face, you decide not to be haste and go with a more convenient, acceptable way. You plan to be forthright about your intention what you want and if he wanted the same too so the two of you can skip the formalities and go straight to the fucking.

"Chris, I have something to tell you," you say to him.

He positions his body slightly turns to the side to face you and softly smiles, "You can tell me."

You've mustered up the courage and have the words prepared in your head only for the moment to be ruined by your phone ringing in your purse.

"Fuck..." you quietly mutter to yourself, you could sense your courage shrinking inside you.

The phone has stopped ringing but you grab your purse on the space next to you and pull it out to check the caller. A new text message appears on your screen.

Call me. It's urgent. Your friend wrote in her text along with multiple red exclamation marks.

It seems rather urgent, you put on an apologetic smile at Chan and say, "I'm sorry but do you mind if I make a quick call?"

"Not at all," Chan says with an easy smile.

You take your phone with you as you get up from the sofa, leaving the booth at the same time the waiter comes with your second round of drinks.

Finding the way to the restroom, you hit the call button as you enter and stand in front of the sinks, waiting for your friend to pick up while checking for your hair and make-up in the mirror.

"What's the urgency?" You say the second you hear the call being picked up.

"I need to borrow your laptop. Mine is suddenly frozen and I can't reboot it," your friend answers in a rather distressed tone.

Knowing that it's not the kind of urgent you imagined in your head, you let out a sigh of relief and then say, "Yes, yes you can use my laptop."

"I'm already in the elevator to your floor."

"You have the code to my apartment and I'm sure you know where I put my laptop," you calmly tell her, putting the strands of hair to the side and carefully dabbing the skin under your eyes.

"Wait. You're not home?"

"I'm not and I'm not taking any more questions," you immediately stop her before she gets too nosy.

"Don't call me for the rest of the night. Bye!" You don't wait for a response and quickly hang up.

On the way back to your booth, you see Chan enjoying the jazz performance on the stage, tapping his foot against the floor. You didn't notice the way he sat until now, his legs spread open, he's slightly slumped and his long arm rests along the edge of the sofa, plus he left the top three buttons on his shirt open.

Chan looks so hot simply by sitting like that and you're sure you've seen much hotter men but you really can't remember when.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and slide into the booth again, then slowly sit on the sofa, leaving a gap between you and him.

"Here's your drink," he says, handing the glass to you with such caution.

"Thank you!" You mutter your gratitude.

You're glad that you're taking the recommendation because the Hemingway Daiquiri tastes so refreshing, it's sweet and sour, certainly an upscale from the classic daiquiri.

"I hope the call wasn't something bad," he says to you.

You lick your lips after taking a sip, "Oh, no. It was my friend. She needs to borrow something," you spare him from the details.

It takes a minute to remember where you left the conversation and when you finally recall, you need to take more time to prepare yourself again. You immediately take another sip to quicken the process of building up your courage.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He suddenly comes up with an unexpected request.

Your throat burns from accidentally swallowing your alcohol too fast and you can feel your eyes get teary as well.

"Sure," you manage to answer.

Somehow the gap you purposely put between you and him disappears, he sits so close to you that his knee bumps into yours.

"I've been stalking your Instagram page," he shares with a shy smile.

You snort because he makes it seem like it's an embarrassing thing to say, but you doubt if that's true, he could be saying that to make you feel flattered.

"As far as I can recall, you've been abandoning your account until today," you say, hardly believing his so-called secret.

"That's because I'm using a fake Instagram account," he simply answers.

You snort again and roll your eyes at him, "Yeah, sure."

Chan smirks and picks up his phone, he opens Instagram to show the fake Instagram account he made and it only has one following, you.

"Do you believe me now?"

It's hard to stay calm when you find out that the guy who broke your heart two years ago has secretly been keeping up with you through your social media. You're happy but a part of you is still in denial.

"I mean... why not use your own Instagram?" you ask out of pure curiosity because it's not like you'd mistake this as a sign that he wants to get back with you. You're not that naive nor delusional.

"Then you would know that I regret breaking up with you," he casually answers like he didn't just reveal something profound.

You look at him to check if he's just messing with you and you would know if he's lying cause he's bad at it, but nope, he's telling the truth.

"And you would know that I've been struggling to get over you," he continues with glints filling his doe eyes.

There's an alarm going off in your chest, it's coming from the heart and it's telling you to be cautious, potential heartbreak lies ahead. You get reminded that you came here not to confront your feelings, you came here to get fucked, hopefully hard.

"And I guess you posted your boxing video for a purpose?" You ask with your eyebrow raised at him.

"Well..." he shrugs and slyly grins, "it worked, didn't it?"

As expected, this man has so many tricks up his sleeves. Better be careful as he puts all of his attention on you, his arm slowly makes its way around your shoulder and his hand is playing with your hair.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"No comment," You smirk and take a small sip of your drink.

Chan lets out a laugh, the sonorous one and the kind that makes his eyes form two crescents. He takes a sip of his Boulevardier which is an upscale version of negroni.

"I've been wondering why you stayed single for so long," he says with an underlying tone, implying that he's actually asking you the reason why. Also confirmed his secret stalking behavior.

"It's not that long," you reply, crossing your legs together as you flash him a sly smile.

"A year, isn't it?" He asks.

You groan and roll your eyes at him, "You really are a stalker."

"You can tell me," he playfully elbows your side.

"No. It's a secret," you refuse to share.

"I shared my secret with you and it's only fair if you share yours with me."

"First of all, I didn't ask for your secret," you defend yourself while holding your drink close to your mouth.

He leans to your side, offering his ear at you as he says, "You can whisper it to me."

He means to know the answer anyway so you lean into his ear and cover the side of your mouth, then whisper, "All the guys I've met, they don't have a big cock like yours."

That's a way to get his attention and escalate the tension between the two of you. You pull away with a devilish smirk dancing on your face.

You glance down at his crotch and ask, "Is it still as big as I remember?"

"If you're lucky, you'll get to find out," he plays coy about it and you find it extremely attractive.

Noticing that you've drained your drink, Chan waves his hand to get the two of you another round of drinks. Obviously, you don't want it to end when things have just started to warm up.

He looks at you and then glances down, showing his hand snaking its way to your thigh.

"Have I told you that it's a nice dress?"

"I don't mind hearing it one more time," you respond with a cheeky smile.

He shoots you a big grin while he's playing with the hem of your dress, feeling the fabric between his fingers.

"It's a nice dress," he compliments, then leans in close so that you can feel his warm breath brush your cheek as he adds, "And I want to take it off of you tonight."

You place your hand on his hand that rests on your thigh and play with his bracelet, "if you're lucky, you'll get to do it," you poke fun at him.

You can audibly hear his laugh in your ear as he leans in closer his nose pokes your cheek, "We're even now."

The third drinks bring the tension higher as the two of you relax from every sip and the gap between your bodies gradually disappears.

Chan has his eyes on you all the time, it's overwhelming at times but you like the way he looks at you like an animal who has his eyes on its prey and you like seeing the confliction in his eyes on whether he should eat you whole or play with his food first.

There's so much chemistry and tension here, plus the alcohol, you're only waiting for the light to turn bright green, really.

He gently brushes your hair to the side and keeps it there so he can plant a kiss on the skin behind your ear, knowing that it's your sensitive part of body.

"You change your perfume?"

"Yes," you manage to remain calm despite the proximity and the way he constantly rubs your thigh with his knuckle.

He drags his lips to your ear and asks, "What is it called?"

You lick your lips and make him wait for your answer, "I believe it's called Good Girl Gone Bad."

He tilts his head to the side and looks at you right in the eyes, wide and dark with lust, "How bad?"

You grab the collar of his shirt and tug at it, "If you're lucky, you'll get to find out," you get back at him again.

As he bursts out laughing with his eyes closed, you follow your intrusive thought to cup his jaw with your hand and laugh along.

"That's two to one," you remind him.

He stops laughing only to fondly smile at you, "Remind me how I broke up with you."

"For a start, you acted like an absolute jerk that day," you half-jokingly say.

The truth is it wasn't the breakup that hurt you the most, it's the post-break-up and his total absence from your life, he didn't call or text, or even send a pity email after that day. It felt as if he didn't want you in his life anymore.

Fuck. How did you get here again? Forced to face your feelings. Time to shift the talk.

"It's getting late, don't you think?"

Chan immediately reaches for his phone on the table to check the time, "It's 10.51."

"Oh," you plainly respond and finish you drink.

"Can I have your new numbers?" He suddenly asks.

You put down your glass on the table and answer, "I still have the same phone numbers."

"Yeah but I lost my phone at the airport and had to get a new one, lost all of my contacts," he explains like he knew you thought about how he didn't call you earlier.

Chan hands you his phone so you can enter your phone numbers and hand it back to him once you've finished. He hits the call button instead of saving it first and your phone rings a second later.

"Come on. Pick it up!" He tells you.

You obey him, accepting his phone call even though he's sitting next to you, "Hello?"

"Hi, it's future Chris calling," he says with a mix of foolish and sexy grin, you don't know how but he does it so well.

Curious to see where this talk is going, you decide to play along with him, "If you are really from the future, can you tell me the lottery numbers for this week?"

"I... can't tell you that."

"I'm hanging up," you joke.

"But I can tell you something else."

"Not interested," you put away your phone from your ear.

He glares at you, forcing you to continue playing along with him, "Hear me first!"

"Okay, I'm listening," you say with a dramatic eye roll.

"Future Chris says you need to go to hotel room number 103 tonight."

"Uhm... why?"

"You have to go there if you want to get lucky," he says with his tongue slightly poking out on one corner of his mouth.

"Still not interested," you poke fun, pretending to hang up the phone again.

"You'll regret it," he teases.

"I doubt that," you say with your nose scrunched at him.

Chan gets a little annoyed now, you can tell by the way he has his tongue poking his cheek and the fed-up grin on his face.

"Don't you want to get lucky tonight and find out about..." he pauses as he reaches for the pendant of your necklace and turns it over in his fingers, "the thing you're curious of."

This is it then, your intention matched his intention and the light has turned bright green. You take his hand and put it down onto your lap, then you slide your hand into his palm, "Okay."

"Okay," He says, holding your hand in his then brings it close to his mouth to place a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

-

As you're waiting for the elevator to arrive, Chan steadily places his hand on the arch of your back and lingers there until the elevator chimes open.

He lets you get in first and you choose to stand on the side, close to the panel full of numbers of the hotel floors and he reaches for it to push the number to his floor.

Should you consider yourself lucky that the elevator is empty? Should you be nervous because you're starting to feel like a prey being locked with its predator inside a small, enclosed space?

No words are being exchanged as the two of you locked in a gaze, but he speaks so much through his eyes, they're fiery, filled with so much want, so much need, and ultimately, desire.

After that much teasing, flirting, alcohol, chemistry, and tension, you've been wondering how the two of you managed to not kiss each other already.

It seems like he's about to make it happen as he comes closer to you, putting his hands on the handlebar and caging you in between. Slowly, he brings his hand close to your face and carefully puts away the strands of hair covering your face to the side, then tucks it behind your ear.

In this proximity, you can see how plush his lips are, how soft and full they are, and it's getting too hard to try to ignore. You look at him, telling him how much you want to kiss him through your eyes and deliberately blink to give him the unspoken permission to kiss you.

The heating moment gets interrupted by the sound of the elevator chimes open and a group of people gets in from the fourth floor.

"Excuse me," a man says as he reaches for the panel to press the number to his floor.

With his hand on your back again, Chan protectively guides you to take a step forward and stands behind you, he puts his arm around your waist with his hand resting on your abdomen.

There's a low chatter going on from the other corner of the elevator but the absence of silence doesn't make it less tense as Chan buries his nose in your hair, you can feel every breath he inhales on the nape of your neck. It feels hot and cold at the same time, making you tingling inside.

He then presses his mouth to your ear and softly whispers, "You're still using the same shampoo, mmh?" His lips graze your ear as he speaks.

Chan puts his other arm on you and quietly, pulls you closer until your back meets his chest, that way you can feel him behind you and his body heat that slowly melts you from the inside.

Quietly, he slides his hand down to the curve of your ass cheek and then gently squeezes the flesh.

"My God, this body..." he whispers with his breath tickles your body, "Makes me want to ruin you so much."

Is it wrong that you don't even want to hide it anymore? You want everyone in the elevator to hear what he just said to you and for a split second, you want Chan to fuck you right there and let everyone watches.

However, Chan suddenly lets go of you and you pout at the sudden loss of contact. Then you notice that the little screen above the panel shows that the elevator is about to stop on the 10th floor.

When it chimes open, you make your way out with Chan trails behind you. None of you look back but keep walking ahead with his hand resting on the arch of your back again, leading you to where his room is. His hand goes lower and lower the further you walk through the hotel corridor.

"This way," he says, guiding your body to take the left corridor.

Without warning, he grabs you by the waist and roughly pulls you with him until he hits his back against the wall, then crashes his mouth on you.

This is not your shared first kiss but this is somehow better than that. The feeling of your lips finally reunited in a rapturous kiss especially when you've been craving it oh, there's nothing like it!

Chan kisses you so hard, so deep, so passionately that you have a hard time returning it to him and breathing becomes a second priority to you.

"I've been wanting to do that all night," he mutters when he lets go of the kiss.

Still gasping for air, you nod and say, "Me too."

To your surprise, he turns you over and has you pinned against the wall this time, he pushes his body against yours as he seeks to be as close to you as possible until there's no inch of gap left between your bodies.

When he deems that you need to breathe, he lets go of your lips only to kiss you on your neck and you tip your head to the side to give him the free access. You let out a low moan as his teeth faintly scrape the skin.

His hands run amok, feeling you all over and touching you through your clothes, eventually his hand cups your breast in his. He kisses your lips again only to distract you from his hand trying to pull down the front of your dress and after a few tries, he manages to send your breast spilling which he wastes no time to take it in his mouth.

"Oh..." The moan just slipped out of your mouth and you hurriedly press your lips together to shut yourself up, aware that you're in a hotel corridor and the hotel guests might hear it, oh and also, someone may walk in on you making out in the hotel corridor.

He leaves your breast wet with his saliva when he lets go and goes straight to kiss you again, putting his weight against you and hoisting your leg around him.

It's getting hard to stay quiet as he starts to dry hump you, you can feel the friction of his clothed erection on you, big and bulging, highly arousing.

Hearing footsteps coming, he hurriedly fixes your dress and takes your hand, this time, leading you right to his hotel room. He swiftly unlocks the door with his keycard and pushes the door inward.

"Come in," he softly mutters, keeping the door open to let you in.

Once you're both inside, the obscenity continues. Nothing is stopping you from coming at each other and ripping each other's clothes. Your dress is the first to go then his shirts, they're lying on the carpeted floor now.

As you lips continuously latch with his, Chan swiftly unbuckles his belt and zips open his fly, he pulls his erection out of its confine.

Without breaking the kiss, he takes your hand and puts it around his hardening member. You gasp at how hot it feels in your hand, how hard it is that you can feel the veins coiling around his length.

He pulls away and looks down to see your hand holding his cock, "Is it as big as you remember?"

You suck air through your teeth and then say, "I'm not sure."

You start to slowly pump his length in your hand and look up at him, "but there's a way I can know for sure."

His eyebrow raised in question, "You do?"

"Uh-huh," you answer, leaning in to kiss him.

From his lips, you begin a trail of kisses to his neck and his chest next, then down to his sculpted abs until your knees hit the carpeted floor.

Something about kneeling in front of him and he's looking down on you with a mix of excitement and anticipation in his eyes arousing you in a whole new way.

In return, you look back at him, innocently blinking your eyes at him all the while your hand keeps stroking his cock in front of you.

"Can I?" You ask him with your thumb softly rubbing the tip of his cock.

He puts his hands in your hair, brushing your hair and gathering them in the back of your head, making a makeshift ponytail with his hand, "Yes."

Without looking away from him, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, then slowly, you take him in your mouth. You take him little by little and give yourself time to adjust yourself to his size which you think is somewhat bigger than you remember.

Wanting to impress him, you push yourself to take more of him but you're too haste and his cock hits the back of your throat so fast, triggering your gag reflex. You immediately pull away before you embarrass yourself more and look away as you let out a cough.

"Still too big for me," You say with a shy chuckle.

Chan places his hand on your cheek and tenderly caresses it, "Too big for you, mmh?"

You nod with your puppy eyes at him.

"But you're taking it so well," he coos, now wiping your chin with his thumb.

You wrap your hand around his cock again and slowly pump it, "Yeah?"

"Yes," he mutters with a soft smile.

The truth is you're not a big fan of giving blow jobs and you're not very confident in your skill, but he remains sweet and patient with you and you believe it's because he knows.

Chan makes you feel safe and comfortable enough to make you want to do it again.

"Let me just..." you don't finish your sentence but do it all over again.

You remind yourself to take it slow, regulate your breathing, and keep calm, it's even better if you can try to enjoy doing it.

To compensate for the rest that you can't take in your mouth, you use your hand and alternate between sucking and licking.

"See? You're taking me so well," he softly mutters, delicately tucking your hair behind your ear.

It doesn't take long for you to find your rhythm and slowly enjoying yourself giving him head, you're even humming in pleasure with your mouth full of him.

Seeing his reactions and hearing the lewd noises coming out of your mouth, encourages you to keep going despite your jaws getting tired and your knees are hurting from kneeling too long.

In between his low moans, he manages to mutter sweet nothings to you.

"Oh, that pretty mouth!"

"You're just too good."

"Oh... Too good at this!"

After a few minutes though, you sense that you needed a break so you slowly pull out and replace your mouth with your hand.

"You like that?"

"Very much," he answers without a beat.

He offers his hand to help you get up from the floor and pulls you close, hoisting your body against him knowing that you're probably tired from kneeling too long.

"You're getting too good, it's dangerous," he whispers to you with both hands cupping your ass cheeks.

You giggle and let him have your lips in him again, you're opening your mouth for him so he can kiss you deeper while he hoists you higher until your feet are lifted off the floor.

Chan carries you to the bed and gently lays you down on the bed, he removes his jeans first before joining you, lying next to you on the bed.

He brushes your hair away from your face and presses a kiss on your lips, "So, is it as big as you remember?"

You tangle your hand in his soft curls, "Jury's still out," you answer with a sly smile.

Chan glares at you as a grin slowly blossoms on his face, he offers his arm as your pillow and then pulls you closer to him, that way, he can comfortably plant his lips on yours again.

As he keeps you busy with his kisses, his hand is making its way down south and not stopping until it lands on your clothed cunt. He smirks against your lips the second he slips his fingers under, meeting your wetness.

"That wet for me, mmh?" He murmurs.

You coyly shrug and shoot him a smirk just to provoke him.

"Well, I'm honored," he says with his fingers tracing your folds and running it up and down your slit.

When he starts playing with your clit, you know you no long can keep your cool anymore. The cold that comes from the metal of his chain bracelet adds a different sensation to the hot and wetness of your cunt.

"Goodness..." you breathlessly gasp as he inserts his finger into you.

"I know you can take one more," he mutters with his mouth pressed to your ear, then proceeds to add another digit.

His two long fingers are inside you now, pumping them in and out of you, and curls them to find that spot that makes you—

"Chris! Oh, fuck!" You curse and grip his shoulder hard enough your nails dug into the skin.

He's enjoying it from the way his head hovers above you and peacefully observing your face, wanting to see all of your reactions to his delightful assault.

He has his mouth sucking on your breast now and the other is being fondled by his other hand, the other hand is busy making a mess out of you.

You're squirming on the bed with your waist upheld in the air and shamelessly arching your back at him, seeking more of him inside you.

Chan knows when to stop, he teases you enough to prepare you for what comes next. He slows down his hand motions and slowly pulls them out. He doesn't let go yet but keeps his hand inside your underwear, playing with your clit.

A moment later, he draws his hand out of your underwear and rubs his fingers coated with your arousal on his lips, "Taste yourself on me," he says.

Seeing his lips wet with your essence is rather arousing and you don't hesitate at all to kiss him, tasting yourself on him. The kiss feels exceptionally kinky and you thought you couldn't be more aroused than this.

Without letting go of the kiss, he hovers above you and props his elbows against the mattress, "Are you still on the pills?"

You swallow air before answering, "Yeah."

He places a sweet peck on your lips then looks at you, "Is it okay if we do it without protection?"

Maybe deep down you know you can trust him and it wouldn't be the first time you're doing it with him without a layer of protection so you find it easy to agree to it and nod.

"Okay," you say, also providing him a verbal consent.

He smiles at you and lowers his mouth on you again, he continues the kisses down your front. His hands tugging at the elastic band of your underwear and pulling it down as he continues the kisses down to your legs.

The bed quakes as Chan gets off the bed and he's just standing there, looking at you and your naked body for his eyes to lust on. You catch him inhaling and exhaling air like he's overwhelmed by what he's seeing.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters with a delightful sigh.

It would be the only normal response to get flustered under his lustful eyes, you look away from him and say, "Just get in here, Chris!"

He surprises you by jumping onto the bed, making the bed quakes once more and he immediately puts his lips on yours again.

"Turn over for me," he softly whispers to you ear.

Without saying a word, you obey him, turning over on the bed and getting on your fours, kneeling with your hands propped against the mattress in front of you.

Chan positions himself behind you and then with so much care, he puts all of your hair away onto one shoulder so he can place kisses on your back. His hands freely roam around your body.

In your opinion, Chan has the most attractive pair of hands, it's warm and firm with veins snaking on the back of his hand, and of course, long fingers that know how to find your most sensitive spot. Now, they're on you, going all over you and feeling you all over.

"I almost forgot how soft you are," he murmurs.

He then brings his hands to your chest to play with your mounds, he hums in pleasure as he sees your breasts mold perfectly in his hands.

"Like they were made just for me," he sighs.

It's like his attractiveness and his big cock aren't enough, Chan has to have a smart mouth too, a mouth that knows what to say and how to say it.

Then again, you're just a girl and you're prone to sugary sweet words like that. You look over your shoulder and smile at him, not expecting that he's going to capture your lips in a kiss.

He slides one hand down to your throbbing cunt again, making sure it's wet enough for him to penetrate. He gently pushes you to the front so he can aim his cock at your entrance and then slowly, he guides you to take him in.

"Oh... ah..." you moan, crumpling the sheet underneath you.

And you almost forget how big he is until he's inside you and you get so high that you blank out, you're there on all fours and merely just a vessel.

Not giving you another minute to adjust, Chan moves back and pulls his cock out only to push it deeper inside you. He then wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly while you're flailing against him like a rag doll.

"You feel so good," he whispers, his breath is hot and heavy in your ear, "So fucking tight around me."

He brings his hand down to rub your clit, adding gentle pressure as he's circling on it.

"I'm going to move, okay?" He says to you with a slobbering kiss on your shoulder.

Unable to form a coherent answer, you repeatedly nod in answer.

The sploshing sound of his fingers incessantly rubbing your clit intensify along with the pace of his thrusting. Chan either has his lips on your lips or plants them on your shoulder, either way, he does it to muffle his groans.

This is what happens when his hand and his cock joint forces, you find yourself on the brink of orgasm when all you've been doing is filling the room with your high-pitched moans.

"Oh, I'm cumming," you whine, holding onto the sheet as waves of pleasure surging all over you.

Chan slows down but does not stop thrusting into you, he kisses your neck and shoulder as you relish your orgasm. He keeps you close with his slung across your chest.

"Chris?" You breathlessly call his name.

"Yes, baby?" He answers your call and you guess the pet name unintentionally slipped out of his mouth.

Not going to lie, it gets you fluttering to hear him call you baby. You curve your arm around his neck and bring his head close to kiss him.

After a while, you start to doubt that the fluttering feeling came from Chan calling you with a pet name. You think it's because you're getting your second orgasm.

"What should I do, Chris?" You whine against his mouth

He breaks the kiss and looks at you with a concerned look, "Huh?" Chan confusingly asks.

"I'm about to cum again," you shamelessly admit.

Chan lets out a low chuckle and presses a kiss on your lips, "Then let's cum together, yeah?" he simply resolves.

He draws you close to him until your back hits his chest, his strong arms wrapped around you to hold you steady as he adds more speed to his thrust.

"Chris, oh..." you moan while holding onto his forearm.

His hands slithering around, one hand squeezing on your breast and the other wrapped around your neck. His mouth nests in the crook of your neck, grunting in pleasure and at times, sucking on your skin to muffle his noises.

"Oh, you keep clenching, baby," he mutters, followed by a broken moan.

That is probably because his cock is deep inside you, it's engorging and pulsating, filling you whole and continuously rubbing against your velvety walls, making the knot in your stomach tighten with each passing second.

Getting weak on the knees, you collapse onto the bed and Chan hurriedly holds you by the waist as he maintains the pace.

"I'm close, I'm close," you tell him repeatedly with one side of your face pressed against the bed.

Chan groans as he pushes his cock as shallowly as possible inside you, "Almost there," he says through his gritted teeth.

The previous orgasm makes you more sensitive than before and you can't hold yourself back anymore so you slowly let go and let the pleasure take over you once more.

Meanwhile, Chan hovers behind you and takes your hands, he holds them by the wrists then pin them against the bed as he restlessly thrusts into you to chase his high.

"Want me to cum inside you?" He asks, still thoughtful as you remember

"Uh-huh, yeah," you manage to answer even with your brain close to short-circuit.

Getting the permission is all he needed to get to his release. Then moment he finally come undone, he lets out a hoarse yet the most beautiful moan you ever heard, then lets himself lay on top of you.

A moment passes in contented silence and Chan presses a long kiss on the nape of your neck, then softly asks, "Are you okay?"

Not getting an answer, he endearingly brushes your hair away from your face to check it himself, "Did I go too rough on you?" He asks again with a slight concern.

You allow yourself to take a few more seconds to gain your composure and instead of answering, you foolishly grin at him and say, "That was so fucking good."

In response, Chan brightly smiles then pecks your lips, "No, but seriously, are you okay?"

You nod at him, "I'm okay."

After hearing your confirmation, he lets out a sigh of relief and then kisses you again, longer than the previous one.

"Sweet break?"

You don't expect him to say that after a long time, you smile and nod, "Sweet break."

-

Sweet break is something you used to say to each other when you need to take a break from something by eating something sweet. Like now, for instance, you and him taking a break from sex to order something sweet from the room service.

"Bad news is the kitchen is closed" Chan announces the second you come out of the bathroom.

It would be bothersome to put on your dress so you put on Chan's shirt instead, buttoning it as you join him on the sofa, "And the good news?"

He opens the food cover to show you what he got from the room service, "They're still serving desserts," he says with a grin.

The two of you huddle together around the plates of desserts and eating them on the sofa, filling the room with the sounds of your chewing and the dessert spoon scraping the plate.

It's fascinating to watch Chan casually eat his chocolate cake like he didn't just fuck the brains out of you a while ago. You let out a low chuckle and get back to your crepes.

"What's so funny?" He asks, catching you quietly chuckling to yourself.

"Nothing," you answer with a shrug.

He glares at you and decides to invade your plate with his fork, stabbing at the sliced banana and then shoving it into his mouth.

"Hey, eat your own dessert," you scold him but let him collect more bananas from your plate.

"But you don't like bananas," he says in between his chews.

"I don't like bananas but that doesn't mean I can't eat them," you say, but proceed to put the bananas to the side of the plate.

"I'm eating it for you so you only eat what you like," he says with a proud grin.

It's endearing that he still remembers little things like this. The sweet break, your dislike toward a certain and even how many of his fingers you like to have inside you. You can't help but wonder if he remembers other things too. His feelings for you, perhaps?

"Want to order another one?"

The two of you shared and finished the last plate together, even though you feel like you can have another plate, you refuse the offer.

He puts the plates away to the side of the room and returns to the sofa, lifting your legs before he sits next to you and then puts your legs on his lap.

"What's that café with the salted caramel cookies?" He suddenly asks.

"The one with butternut latte?" You ask back to check.

He gently puts his hand on your shoulder and plays with your hair, "Is it still open?"

Damn. He even still remembers that one café you regularly visited when the two of you were still dating.

"Yes," you answer with a smile.

"Man. Those are the best cookies!" he sighs with his fingertips lightly rubbing your thigh.

"I mean, we can go there tomorrow if you want," you casually say or you hope it sounds casual, it's a friendly offer.

He stops playing with your hand and cups your jaw, "I would love to," he says.

From the way his smile slowly dims, you sense a 'but' coming. Oh no, you sense a regret coming. You shouldn't have offered it in the first place.

"But I have to leave tomorrow," he says.

"Oh?" You try to remain unbothered and keep your facial expression in check, "Tomorrow, huh?"

"Yeah. I have to take care of a few things back home," he explains.

By back home, he means Australia and he'll fly out tomorrow, and probably for good. You hate that you get sad like it would be the first he's done it to you.

He holds you by the chin and slowly brings your head close to place a chaste kiss on your lips, it's so tender that you feel a tug at your chest.

"Thank you for coming to see me," he sincerely says with his eyes wide and shining for you.

This is where you start losing the objective of why you're here, you came here to solely get fucked, not expecting anything but his cock inside you.

Time to put some sense into your head and laugh it off, "Oh, my God, Chris!" You gasp out loud.

His forehead wrinkles in question, "What?"

"Yes, we can fuck again, no need to try so hard," you say with a sassy eye roll.

Learning that he's being pranked, he squints his eyes at you with his tongue pokes his cheek. While clutching his chest, he says, "Gosh, I thought—"

Before he can finish his sentence, you shut him up with a kiss because you don't want to keep talking about your feelings or get reminded of how things were when you were still together. You kiss him because you want to forget.

"You thought what?" You ask as you sit on his lap.

He licks his lips and shakes his head, "Nothing."

He's more than glad to have you sitting on his lap as it allows him to hold you close. His hands trail the sides of your body until they eventually land on your ass and then eagerly fondle them in his hands. Catching you off guard, he lands a slap on your ass cheek.

"Chris!" You shriek, abruptly stop kissing him, "That stings!"

"Can't help it," he innocently says while laughing and then pulls you close to kiss you again before you scold him more.

As a safety measure, you take his hands from your ass and fold them together on his chest but he takes it to his advantage, he finds another playground for his lewd hands.

Doesn't want to waste time unbuttoning it, he slips his hand under your shirt to fondle your breast, circling his fingers around your nipple before pinching at it.

He then lifts your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool night air, and wastes no time to bury his head in between your mounds. He then pulls the shirt down and hides himself in it, acting like a toddler by purposely placing ticklish kisses on you to make you laugh

"Stop playing," you scold him with your hand tangled in his curls, "Let's go to bed, mmh?"

Chan pops his head out through the opening of the shirt and looks at you, "Kiss me first," he demands.

How can you say no when he looks at you with fondness in his eyes and a smile on his face? You fulfill his wish and place a long, lingering kiss on his lips.

"Can we go now?" You say the second you pull away from the kiss.

"Okay," he obliges.

He gets out of your shirt first and you get off his lap next, then starts walking toward the bedroom when Chan suddenly comes from behind you and hoists you up, looking unbothered carrying you on his shoulder.

"To the bed!" He announces, then slaps the back of your thigh.

"Chris!" You scold again but you can't do anything about it as you hang upside-down on his back.

The bed is already a mess and it seems like it's going to get even messier with the way Chan constantly has you pinned under him. He kisses your lips, softly yet hungrily like devouring an ice cream.

Aware that he has taken his turn, Chan doesn't complain when you flip him over and take it over from him. You're straddling him, rubbing his cock between your slit while he's unbuttoning your shirt open.

You find yourself wet for him again in no time and his cock is as hard as you need it to be, maybe this is why sex with him feels exceptional, the two of you are always horny for each other.

You let out a low, long moan the whole time you lower yourself on him and a seductive chuckle slips out of your mouth the second he's fully buried inside you.

When you look down at him, you find him staring at you with his mouth agape. You slyly smile and place both of your hands on his glorious pecs, "Have you always been this big?"

Chan licks his lips and rests his hands on your thighs, "And have you always been this tight?" He asks back instead of answering.

Being on top gives you the freedom to set a pace you prefer and switch positions as you like, more importantly, you can fully enjoy every bit of it. But it's working because Chan is such a great partner, he lets you have full control and lets you take your time.

If not using his hands to touch you all over, he has his hands folded under his head and quietly enjoying watching you fucking him.

"If you keep clenching around me like that, I might cum too fast," he tells you.

"I'm okay with that," you calmly respond.

To tease him more, you purposely keep clenching around him and rolling your hips in circular motions. Somehow you stop focusing on getting your high and start thinking about how to please him more.

"Oh," he loudly groans and his hand grips at your waist, "You're bad!"

You giggle in response while continuing to roll your hips back and forth in painstakingly slow motion.

"Oh, you're really, really bad," he says with ragged breath.

The sex may not be as hard or as intense as the previous one but it's just as good, even better. Maybe it's the unwavering eye contact, maybe it's the way he hisses every time you tease him, or the way he trusts you to make him feel good.

Whatever it is, you feel like sharing an intimate moment with him and you can't lie, it feels special.

"Are you close?" You ask because you're very close to your climax.

"I've been waiting for you to ask me that," he hastily answers, still able to joke in a heating moment like this.

You take him along with you to the edge and not stopping until the two of you come to your release, you keep moving at a sloppy pace to ride out the high.

Chan pulls you close, forcing you to lower yourself onto his body and accidentally sending his cock to slip out. You don't mind it at first but you can feel his hot cum dripping out of you and onto his abdomen.

You break the kiss and mutter in panic, "It's dripping."

"I'll put it back in," he simply responds, reaching down for his cock and slowly pushes it back into you.

Now that it's resolved, he puts his arms around you again and pulls you even closer until your bodies mold into one another, then kisses you more.

Without looking and breaking the kiss, he pulls the duvet and covers both of your bodies with it, ready to end the night with your bodies still connected.

"Have I told you this?" He suddenly asks.

"What?"

He looks at you with his brown eyes that looks like a nice cup of cocoa, comforting and warm.

"I miss you," he ever softly says.

There he goes again, making you debate whether you came here for the sex or to try to rekindle old sparks with him. But in all honesty, it feels good to know that the yearning goes both ways.

For once, you let your heart answer it for you.

"I miss you too, Chris," you mutter back with a smile.

And now you start debating if seeing him tonight is indeed a bad idea.

-

There's a wet, squelching sound when you first come to your senses the next morning, you feel like sleeping for another hour or two but you also feel the urge to check what that noise is all about.

You force open your eyes and find out right away the source of that wet, squelching sound, it's coming from Chan and he has his mouth latched to your breast.

"Morning, Chris," you croak as you brush your hair away from your face.

He lets go of your breast with a loud pop and looks at you, "Did I wake you?"

"Not really," you answer, putting your hand in his fluffy bedhead.

"I'm sorry," he says but not looking like it.

"Are you? Sorry?" You jokingly say and lay back on your pillow.

He slyly grins and shifts his focus back to playing with your mounds. He holds your breast up and uses his slick tongue to tease your nipple, alternating between licking and sucking.

It's normal to feel horny in the morning and, you find yourself already wet under there, you guess Chan has been helping himself while you were still sleeping.

Chan's head hangs above your chest and you can see how much he's enjoying your breasts, playing with them like a toddler, he even makes noises as he fills his mouth with your ample flesh.

"Aren't you leaving today? Shouldn't we get up and shower?" You mutter, softly scratching his scalp as you talk.

He sucks at your breast so hard and pulls it before letting it go, grinning as he is satisfied with what he just did.

"My flight is in the afternoon," he says.

"And I'd better go so you can pack—"

"But I already ordered breakfast," he whines like a fussy child.

"Well, we can shower first."

"They'll send breakfast at 8," he shares with a wild grin.

You turn your head to check the time on the clock hanging on the wall, "But it's hardly 7."

"Exactly!" He exclaims.

"Exactly what?" You ask in genuine confusion.

He buries his head in your neck and whispers, "We have an hour before breakfast."

Despite catching on to his intention, you decide to act dumb, "And?"

"And..." he inhales your scent before hovering above you, "I'll have my breakfast first."

He winks at you then goes under the duvet, and settles himself between your legs to have his so-called breakfast and it only makes sense that it progresses to intercourse.

Morning sex offers different things, it's the quiet, the peace, the slivers of morning sun shining through the cracks of the curtains, doing it with a refreshed mind and body, it's also the best way to start the day.

It's even better when you get to be a pillow princess, you just lay back and let Chan do all the handwork. He has your legs locked around his waist as he thrusts into you at a slow yet steady pace and in every thrust, he makes you feel every inch of his length rubbing against your walls.

"This is just great," he says with his face pressed to the side of your head.

"Mmh, what?" You respond as best as you can.

"I don't have to do cardio today," he says with a low chuckle.

This is your favorite kind of sex, do it by not taking it too seriously. Because in your opinion, other than it should be comfortable for the individuals involved, sex should be fun.

You kiss his open mouth and drag your lips down to his neck, then plant your mouth on his skin, sucking at it hard enough to form a hickey on it.

"What's that about?" He's rather dumbfounded instead of annoyed.

"Just trying to make it fair," you coyly say as you point to the blossoming mark he made on your breast.

"Yeah, okay," he says in defeat.

As much as you don't want the sex to end, it eventually ends but in a rather explosive, euphoric way. You feel like you've just been given another chance at life after that last orgasm.

"Who needs coffee, huh?" You sigh as you blankly stare at the ceiling.

It's a rhetorical question but Chan decides to respond to it anyway, "Not me, apparently."

Then you remember that he indeed doesn't drink nor need coffee to function, "Not you, apparently," you correct your earlier remark.

Chan carefully lowers himself on top of you and hastily kisses you, both of your teeth almost colliding.

"Thought I was still dreaming when I woke up next to you," he says, coming with another sentimental remark that evokes something deep within you.

You decide to push it further down and keep it there by saying, "Ugh. It's too early for that," you groan.

Chan weakly chuckles with his head nestled in your neck and just like the universe knows you need the distraction, the knocking comes on the door and it must be the breakfast.

You gently pat his head and say, "Now, go get my coffee!"

The morning continues with a quiet breakfast, it's obvious the reason why, the two of you burnt so many calories last night and need a reload.

Then there's the shower and you strongly refuse to share with him or else, it'll take much time. But Chan has an even stronger will and joins you anyway.

This is another reason why sex with him feels exceptional, the two of you are the same insatiable creatures.

The two of you dressed in silence and at times, catch him watching you, instead of feeling shy, you give him a proper show, bending down and wriggling your ass as you put your underwear on.

Chan enjoys every bit of it, he grins and bites his lips, tempted to come up at you, and goes at it again, but sadly, time is running out.

It's here, this is where it's going to end and you never know when you'll see him again, and that's even if you're still able to. You can only hope that he doesn't see how much you want him to stay.

"This is it then," you say, standing right in front of him in the foyer.

He takes your hand, loosely lacing his fingers with yours, "Can I still text you?"

"Sure," you answer.

"How about phone calls?"

"Booty calls only," you jokingly say.

He smiles and takes a step closer to you, you can almost see every moment the two of you shared last night flashes in his eyes, and it's achingly beautiful.

"Can I kiss you before you leave?"

You plan to make the goodbye as brief and as painless as possible but you don't want to risk losing the opportunity to make it a not-so-sad ending. But if you have to be honest, you simply want to kiss him.

"Okay," you agree with a nod.

You put your arms around his shoulders and let your body molds into him as he holds you close, you tilt your head up and close your eyes.

The moment your lips make contact, your heart bursts open and there's no way of stopping your feelings flow out of it so you let them be. You let him feel your pain, your yearning, and ultimately, your feelings for him that you try so hard to conceal, and then slowly, you pull away from the kiss before they fight their way out of your heart.

It's possible that Chan feels it too, that the kiss feels intimate, the kiss feels emotional, and a little close to the heart. He pulls you into a hug that lasts for a long time as if he tries to convey some unspoken messages too.

"No need to send me off," you tell him, not wanting to make it sadder than it already is.

Chan walks you to the door with his hand on the small of your back and then keeps it open for the final goodbye. You stand facing him and say, "Goodb—"

He puts his finger on your lips to stop you from finishing your sentence, "I'll see you when I see you."

That sounds like he indirectly promises you that one day, he'll come and see you again, and surprisingly, it only makes you uneasy.

You put on a smile and try another way to say goodbye, "Have a safe flight, Chris."

As you get into the back of the taxi, you get these familiar feelings and unfortunately, they're not the good kind. You feel like you went through the same thing before, you feel angry, you feel sad, and lost, and you feel this tightness in your chest that makes it hard to breathe. Then it hits you that it feels exactly like that day he broke up with you, this is the feeling of heartbreak.

In the end, you got your physical needs at the price of having to face your feelings and it all comes down to one conclusion: seeing him was a bad idea.

-

ONE MONTH LATER

It's like you're trapped in an endless loop, it's the weekend and you're lying on your bed, horny and bored.

Your phone is blaring with notifications and messages, you check and skim through them, they're from your friends or some other miscellaneous, you couldn't care less.

In other words, they're not the notifications you've been anticipating.

Chan has been diligently contacting you, sometimes he texted and when he's not, he calls you late at night because apparently, he's always busy during the day. The point is he always contact you by any means of communication.

However, for these past few days, it's been total radio silence. He's not even looking at the pictures you specifically posted to thirst-trap him. If only he knows how much time and energy you've spent just to get a single flattering shot of yourself. Ugh!

As you're about to spiral down, your phone dings and you consider ignoring it to spare you from getting disappointed all over again.

After a moment though, you cave in. You unlock your phone and get greeted by the very notification you've been dying to get.

What you doin'?

Busy running around in my head? He wrote a corny message and added a crying laughing emoji.

A week of no contact and that's the first thing he said? You scoff in disbelief and just stare at the messages, you've learned to make him wait for your reply and use the time to think of witty, flirty answers to his messages.

Am I running with clothes on or naked? You playfully ask back, giggling as you type it.

I think you know the answer. He wrote back with a winking emoji.

Let's hope I don't catch a cold then. You jokingly write in response.

You should stop cause it does things to me.

One minute he's corny, one minute he's cute, and the rest of the time? Hot, confident, and flirty, and you eat those shit up.

Things like what? You reply.

Like this. He wrote along with a picture.

Intrigued, you hurriedly click open the attachment and it's a picture he took of him in the mirror, wearing nothing but his white underwear. Your eyes feast on his glorious Greek God body, his sculpted abs and broad shoulders, and eventually your eyes flick down to the bulge inside his underwear.

In all honestly, it's the first thing that catches your eye because it's so fucking big and the underwear does nothing but enhance the shape and the size.

All of a sudden, you feel thirsty, literally and figuratively, and Chan knows how to make you keep swallowing air by sending you another picture.

The picture is of the same setting but in a rather different position, he's sitting on a chair, slightly slumped with his legs spread wide open and his hand holding his bulge.

Wish it was your hand.

Did he take a class on how to take good thirst traps and nudes? Because damn! Two pictures are enough to make you feel like an animal in heat.

Can I have it in my mouth instead?

Want to have you in my mouth.

Being straightforward mixed with the drooling emoji always works but what really does it is the one magic word: Please?

A minute later, there's no reply from him but your phone rings, he's calling you and you scramble to sit on the bed. You take a deep breath first before hitting the accept call button.

"Hello?"

"Gosh, I want you so much," He suddenly says, no greetings or small talk first. He goes straight to what he wants and you kind of dig that.

You giggle into the phone and playfully ask, "How much?"

"So fucking much," he emphasizes every word and lets out a heavy sigh after.

"Come and maybe I'll give it to you," you seductively say while playing with the lint on your denim shorts, "Maybe."

He chuckles and then jokingly says, "I'm on my way."

"Don't make me wait long," you play along with him but secretly wish that it's true.

You hear rustles from his end of the phone call and think he's probably calling you while lying on his bed but then, you hear the sound of bustling streets and car horns and—

"You're not really on the way, right?" You nervously ask, twisting the loose thread around your index finger.

"I told you, I'm coming," he coyly says.

Your heart skips a beat but he could be anywhere, he could be driving to work or you know, in a taxi in... Australia. Right?

"Chris..." you meekly call him.

"Yes?"

"Are you in the city?" You ask to confirm his location.

"Suprise!" He exclaims followed by a series of giggles.

Yes, you secretly wish that he was coming, but not now but not now and maybe, not ever because the last time you saw each other, things didn't end well for you.

So seeing him tonight is a bad idea, right?

"Why didn't you—" You don't know how to word it without sounding like you're not grateful for his surprise.

"I want to see you," he says, cutting through your silence, "Do you want to see me too?"

What should you do? You don't want him to come but at the same time, you want him to come. Oh, God, this is so confusing!

You want to lie so badly but your heart won't let you, "I want to see you," you openly admit.

"I'm coming so wait for me, yeah?" He softly mutters.

"Okay," you weakly reply.

"I'll see you in a bit," he says with a smile that you can hear through the phone.

"See you."

The second you hang up the call, you start pacing back and forth in your room. He'll be here anytime soon and it'll be just like that night all over again.

You almost jump when the knock comes on the door and you slowly walk to the door, just standing there with your hand on the knob, debating if you should ignore him and pretend you're not home.

The knocks come again and reflexively, you turn the knob and pull the door open.

There he is in a white shirt and blue jeans, the simplest way of dressing yet somehow, it looks incredibly stunning on him.

"Hi," he says with a sweet grin on his face.

His hair is slightly tousled, he smells incredible and those dimples have the power to make you soften around him almost immediately, they're your kryptonite.

"Hi," you say back, lingering by the doorway.

"Brought you wine," he says, showing the bottle of red wine in his hand.

You tilt your head to the side and fight the urge to jump at him and climb him like a tree.

"That's so nice of you," you say with a smile.

"Can I come in?" He asks, gesturing his head toward the inside of your apartment.

But it's a bad idea, right?

However, you find yourself nodding and you step aside, "You may come in."

Chan steps inside and you close the door behind you after. The second you turn around, he pushes you to the wall and crashes his lips against yours.

And you know what? Fuck it! It's fine.

-

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[okaylikesmomo]

Exchange Part 4: Deal

~5k words, smut, male reader, barely proofread so be nice

It was only a month later before your modest life had turned incredibly lavish. Jisoo not only succeeded in landing you a fantastic promotion, but she also went above and beyond to make sure you got compensated more than you could have ever imagined - frankly more than you probably deserved, but who were you to complain?

What used to be your humble flat had been replaced by what was essentially an estate in an affluent South Korean neighborhood. People could work their entire lives and never be able to afford this, but for the most part, one evening was the reason you were here. Normally, living in a house this size would be rather lonely - fortunately for you there was company.

“You see Jennie’s latest CK ads?” The small girl asked casually as she scrolled through her phone, a cup of coffee in her other hand.

“Hard not to,” you replied. “They’re plastered all over my feed.”

“Girl would rather try convincing people to buy panties over being an idol at this point,” she sighed.

“Clearly it’s not working on you,” you commented as your eyes explored Lisa’s bare legs.

“Do you want me to put on some of Jennie’s panties?” Lisa smirked, putting down her coffee and uncrossing her legs. “I thought you preferred this,” she added as she spread her legs and started rubbing between her legs, using her fingers to cover herself up.

“I do, that’s why you’re still forbidden to wear pants when you’re in my house.”

“Is that right?” Lisa chuckled, crossing her legs again. “Since when is my body your property?”

“It goes both ways,” you replied, cocking an eyebrow in her direction. “Remember last weekend?”

“That’s different!” she whined, crossing her arms after tossing her phone onto the table. “I told you not to cum in her.”

“Baby it was one time, you-”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” Lisa growled. “We had a deal that night.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized sarcastically before getting down on your knees in front of Lisa’s crossed legs. “Baby,” you teased, gently spreading her legs again.

“Shut up,” Lisa rolled her eyes, failing to hide her smile as she stood up from the chair and hopped onto the table. “Just hurry up, this coffee sucks.”

“Hey, I like this coffee…” you mumbled as you stood up from your knees and lowered your pants, tossing your shirt to the side.

“I’m just kidding,” Lisa chuckled. “It’s actually pretty good. I just want something else right now.”

“You’re always in the mood for that something else.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Does it look like I’m complaining?”

“Just hurry up and fuck me baby boy,” she groaned, losing any semblance of subtly, putting her heels up on the table. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” you grunted as you pressed your tip against her pussy.

She was already somewhat wet - the girl always had sex on her mind. You lathered up her slick onto your shift, working quickly because you knew Lisa could get impatient. At times she enjoyed a bit of teasing, but you knew when she wanted to get on with it - this morning was one of those times.

Lisa’s pussy never failed to impress you with how tight it was. Even after weeks of fucking her little pussy, weeks of sex being a nearly daily activity for the two of you, it still surprised you each and every time your cock entered her body.

“Oh fuck yes, it’s been too long,” Lisa moaned softly, tilting her head back as your cock slid slowly into her tight pussy.

“It’s been less than half a day,” you moaned back, wrapping your arms around her lower back for leverage as you pushed all the way into her slowly.

“Too long,” she groaned, bringing one hand between her legs and rubbing her clit.

Even though you were worried that you would start to grow tired of Lisa's body, those fears never came to fruition. It turned out that depriving an idol of any sexual outlet for an extended period of time led to a great deal of stress, and Lisa was taking full advantage of you to make up for lost time. Even if she was just using you, it didn't particularly matter to you because the arrangement worked out well regardless.

Luckily for you, that made the sex amazing. Even now, with Lisa leaning back on the table, with your hips pushing into her pussy, she managed to move her body back and forth alongside you. Laziness was not in her vocabulary - no matter what position she was in she was able to make it that much better for you through sheer physical talent. It motivated you, drove you to new levels. It made you want to fuck her harder every single time your cock blessed her soft body.

“Harder baby,” Lisa groaned softly, closing her eyes, hands gripping the edge of the table to support her shaking body. “Fuck me harder.”

Satisfying the tight Thai girl was your favorite activity. Her pleasure became your only goal. Your motivation. Your balls slapped against her skin each time your cock dove into her pussy. The combination of her dripping pussy and the beads of sweat forming on her skin was a recipe for the most mind-boggling elation.

Her pussy eventually began to gush all over your cock, adding more of her natural lubricant which somehow barely made it easier to fuck her. She was tight. Each thrust took effort - true conviction. The wet slapping of skin on skin fueled your urges, kept you going, pushed you deeper than you thought possible, aided by her drenched body.

A singular word escaped her lips, a whisper that could be heard across the room and in every room, as her body fell backwards onto the table.

“Fuck.”

The readjustment of her position gave you the tiniest pause which you used to regain some semblance of control over your own orgasm. You took both of her ankles in your palms and lifted her legs up, resting them on your shoulders, before leaning forward slightly. With her legs to the roof, body bent almost in half, you resumed your work.

This new angle was perfect - evident by Lisa’s sudden onset of squeals. The barrage of shrieks attacked your ears as your cock rubbed against her most sensitive spot. You had learned what worked best on Lisa thanks to the excessive amount of experience the two of you had together, and this was exactly what she needed right now.

“I’m…”

“Me too,” you grunted in response before leaning forward, bending her body entirely in half, her thighs pressing against her abs. You leaned forward a bit more until your lips found her mouth.

As your tongue entered her mouth, you immediately realized your mistake; Her body had become too much for you. The sensation of her tight pussy had already pushed you dangerously close, but Lisa’s kiss launched you right over the edge with no chance for you to hold back. The last thing you could consciously do was latch onto Lisa’s body, allowing her vibrations to be felt directly on your skin.

The satisfaction of your cock filling Lisa’s pussy numbed your mind, your cum gushing deep inside her body. It was becoming difficult to continue, yet your hips kept thrusting on autopilot. Each spurt of cum was proceeded with another thrust. It almost felt embarrassing finishing this abruptly - but then you felt her.

Lisa’s pussy began squeezing your shaft. Perfectly timed, you thought to yourself as your hips tried their hardest to desperately continue pumping her tight pussy. It was, however, futile. Physically you had nothing left, and all you could do was lay there as Lisa’s pussy convulsed. It was like all your energy flew into Lisa’s body through your cum, now it was time to just enjoy Lisa’s body while having no control over your own.

Thankfully, based on the breaths she let into your mouth, she was in her own little world now. She rode it out for what felt like minutes, maybe even hours, probably not, pressing each individual nerve in your cock over and over with her tight warmth. When you eventually felt her body finally start to relax, finally start to calm down, you very carefully and slowly withdrew your cock, her pussy squeezing your exit, fighting to keep your softening shaft inside her.

Both of you desperately tried to catch your breath, gasping as if you ran marathons, still holding onto each other, your cum slowly leaking out of her. It took a moment, time you used to gently press your mouth against her warm skin.

“Can you… come with me… to the… office…?” Lisa panted, her chest heaving up and down on the table.

“Sure,” you answered between the kisses you were planting over Lisa’s neck, taking the second your lips left her neck to speak. “You’ve. Been. Excessively. Horny.”

“It’s…” Lisa sighed before mustering up the strength to pull herself up and sit straight. “It’s for Jisoo, she needs to tell you something.”

“Huh? Why didn’t she send me a message directly?” you asked while backing up slightly so that Lisa could hop off the table.

“Because it was my suggestion,” Lisa answered while taking a seat and pulling you closer to her.

“Suggestion for what?”

Lisa ignored the question as she became occupied with using your cock to probe the inside of her mouth.

“Lisa, what suggestion?” you repeated, flinching as your extremely sensitive tip hit the inside of her cheek.

“Can a girl suck some cock in peace?” she whined, brows furrowed in frustration as she glared up at you.

All you could do was chuckle at the absurdity.

“Thank you,” Lisa added cheerily before putting her lips against your shaft, licking up whatever combination of fluids had accumulated.

Her lust for your cock was probably one of her most endearing qualities. She could never have enough, once a day wasn’t even enough. Rarely did you sleep without Lisa at least giving you a blowjob, it was like she needed your cum to survive. You couldn’t help but feel your insides warm up at the sight of her cute little tongue poking away at your tip.

“Mwah!” she exaggerated a final kiss on your cock before smiling brightly up at you, finally content. “Now, what were you asking me?”

“The suggestion?”

“Oh, here let me show you,” she replied before opening her mouth wide and leaning over to throat your cock again.

“Lisa, seriously,” you stopped her with your hands.

“You’re no fun,” she pouted, crossing her arms. “Fine, she’ll tell you herself.”

“When do you have to get to the office?”

“Whenever I want, it’s not like we make music anymore.”

“Alright,” you sighed. “Since you already got me hard again…”

She laughed loudly before grabbing your cock in one hand and moving her lips forward.

“Now who’s excessively horny?” Lisa chuckled before slipping your cock down her neck in a single movement.

—

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Loving the suit.”

“Rosie, it’s great to see you again,” you smiled as you entered the room. You gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before looking around. “Did Lisa send me to the wrong room? Where’s Jisoo?”

“Oh she’ll be right back,” Rosé replied. “I think she’s changing her dress.”

“Speaking of dresses, you look absolutely stunning right now,” you admired her long, strapless, black dress which showcased her frame beautifully with plenty of skin showing around her chest and hips as the fabric made an “x” across her torso.

“I decided I’d show myself off tonight, hopefully inspire some of the useless men to stop being so useless.”

“What’s happening tonight, why are you all getting so dressed up anyway?” you asked as you took her hand and made her twirl for you.

“Says the guy literally wearing a three piece,” Rosé shook her head playfully. “Did Lisa not tell you?”

“Nope, in her defense her mouth was pretty preoccupied this morning,” you replied. “All she said was to get dressed up.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Rosé laughed. “We’re going to another party tonight, to celebrate Jisoo’s news.”

“Oh right, I forgot they moved it to Friday,” you said, remembering the invite you received earlier this week. After getting your promotion, you were invited to the weekly party with full VIP access, but you haven’t attended one ever since that night you met Lisa. According to the girls, they generally weren’t worth it most of the time, not unless there was a special occasion.

Before the conversation could continue, the door swung open and Jisoo barged in. She had her head tilted while adjusting her earring, completely flustered but also unrealistically beautiful in her black and red dress.

“One simple request is all-” Jisoo began ranting before stopping in her tracks at the sight of you. She immediately forgot about whatever she was upset about and ran up to you, jumping into your arms. “Thank you for coming!”

“It’s my pleasure,” you said as her perfume hit your nose. She smelled even better than she looked right now, and you refused to let go of her as the flowery scent engulfed your senses.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Rosé giggled before leaving the room, finally bringing you back to your senses and ending the embrace.

“I heard you had some news to share,” you said softly while holding Jisoo’s arms.

“The songs are done,” she beamed up at you, that contagious smile making your heart flutter.

“Songs? As in multiple? Already?”

“Two,” she announced happily.

“Jisoo, that's amazing!” you pulled her into another hug and started patting her back. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I still owe credit to you,” she giggled.

“Absolutely not,” you pulled apart and took hold of her hands. “This was all you.”

“Either way, you helped inspire the title track’s name,” she smiled warmly, giving your hands a little squeeze.

“How so?”

“You’ll find out when they come out,” she replied before leaning closer to you.

It was instinctual, for the first time since that party, your body met with Jisoo’s. Your lips pressed effortlessly against each other’s, the beautiful aroma she wore blessing your senses once more. It felt so right kissing Jisoo, an oddly unexplainable passion between your bond.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered right in front of her face as your lips parted.

She answered by leaning forward again, kissing you softly, her hand wrapping around the back of your shoulders, forcing your own hands to naturally grab her waist. The two of you kept the kiss going, even as you pushed back, now making her lean slightly backwards, keeping her body up with your hands.

The beautiful moment was shattered as the two of you jolted away from each other at the sound of a loud crash in the room. You both turned towards the noise to see Rosé awkwardly standing in front of a tipped chair.

“Oops,” she giggled, holding up her purse. “My bad, forgot my bag.”

Jisoo chuckled before letting go of your shoulders and walking over to the dresser in the corner of the room.

“Thanks again for coming, I’ll see you later tonight?” Jisoo asked, turning her head just slightly enough for you to see her side profile.

“Absolutely.”

—

“No random whores.”

“I would never.”

“If I find a single one putting her hands on you-”

“Sweetie, you’re the only whore I want,” you whispered mockingly, giving Lisa a small poke in the ribs.

“Not funny.”

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean it,” you teased, leaning into her until she was on her back.

“Call me that again and you won’t be touching any girls tonight,” Lisa glared at you, trying to stop herself from laughing as your fingers attacked her sides.

“Don’t worry, if she won’t let you have fun, you can always spend time with me,” Jennie interjected from across the limo.

“Is that so?” you chuckled, sitting back up and turning to look at Jennie. “You make it sound like you’re the one doing me the favor, as if it’s not the other way around?”

“Please, I’ll have a line of men waiting for me the second I enter this stupid event,” Jennie scoffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t need you.”

“Sure, but we both know you’re going to be complaining about each and every one of them.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You will,” Rosé chimed in from her seat next to Jennie. “We’ve all heard it before, and then you’re probably going to be begging for him to put it in your ass again.”

“What are you-” Jennie’s face turned bright red.

“You wouldn’t stop talking about that night for days after the last party we went to,” Rosé continued nonchalantly, taking a sip of champagne. “Oh Lisa when are you bringing him around again… Lisa is he coming tonight… Lisa-”

“Shut up,” Jennie cut her off, trying to hide her embarrassment desperately, but even in the dimly lit limo it was clear as day. “You complain about them just as much as I do.”

“Begging, you say?” your lips curled up at the sides, trying to stifle your laughs. “I like the sound of that.”

“I was not begging.”

“She was,” Rosé and Lisa both said in unison.

“That’s adorable,” you teased, holding your hand against your chest. “I’m touched.”

“Not begging.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want me to spend time with you tonight?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Jennie quickly replied, perhaps a bit too quickly, the blush on her cheeks burning redder.

“What are you saying exactly?” you smirked at her.

“I…” she froze, too embarrassed to finish her sentence.

“I wanna hear this begging, maybe then you’ll get what you want,” you laughed, enjoying every second of Jennie’s embarrassment. “Maybe.”

Jennie’s shoulders slumped forward as she left out a hefty sigh before mustering up some strength and sitting up straight.

“Oh my God, pick literally anyone else, why do you have to take my entertainment,” Lisa laughed, sitting back up and leaning her head on your shoulder.

“Is that what I am, your entertainment?” you responded while reaching your arm around her body, moving her face from your shoulder to your chest.

“Yes, exactly,” she replied immediately before turning back to Jennie. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Go on,” Jennie leaned back against her seat, just as curious as you were about what Lisa had in mind.

“He can have my blessing to do whatever he wants with you tonight,” Lisa continued. “If you let him finish on your face before we enter tonight.”

Rosé nearly threw her flute in an attempt to prevent a spill as she burst out laughing, quickly covering her mouth.

“Lisa! There are always cameras waiting outside, I can’t do that,” Jennie protested.

“Then keep your head down,” Lisa giggled, rubbing her hand on your crotch. “As long as there’s a fresh load plastered all over your face, I’m happy.”

“It’s not like it’ll be the only load on your face tonight,” Rosé snickered, finally composing herself enough to speak up. “Lisa, I think it’s a great idea.”

“Thanks Rosie,” Lisa smiled. “So, what do you say?”

“I am not leaving this limo with cum on my face.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to find your own entertainment tonight,” Lisa taunted, rubbing her hand on your crotch. “This one’s all mine.”

“Oh come on, it’s like a two second walk to the door and we all try to hide our faces anyway,” Rosé attempted to convince her. “No one’s even going to see anything.”

“It just feels so wrong,” Jennie sighed, looking directly at you. “You’re fine with this? Knowing if people see me leave this limo with my face plastered and only one man gets out with me…”

Without even responding, you turned to Lisa and gave her a kiss.

“That answers that,” Rosé giggled.

“Lisa are you fucking serious, this is what you want?”

“I don’t remember stuttering,” Lisa replied casually. “Come on, we’re not even that far, the clock is ticking.”

“Unbelievable,” Jennie muttered as she got off her seat and onto her knees in front of you. She reached forward for your buckle when your hands instinctively grabbed her. “How can you possibly be shy, you have literally fucked each of us,” Jennie laughed.

“Multiple times,” Rosé chimed in, leaning back, all excited for the upcoming show.

“I’m not shy, I just-”

“Look at me,” Lisa whispered, each syllable dripping with sensualism, as she gently used her hand to turn your face towards her. “Keep your eyes on mine the whole time,” she commanded, eye contact locked on you. With one hand she motioned for Jennie to get started. “Don’t look at her even a single time.”

As Jennie started to undo your pants and pull them down to your knees, you followed Lisa's instructions and kept your eyes locked on hers. You didn't even look when you felt fingers clutch your shaft or when Jennie's tongue made contact with your cock a second later.

Her eyes remained fixed on you. That expression, so dispassionate, gave you the impression that she was in charge - not the girl sucking your cock. You met her gaze with a direct stare. Only when you weren't actively pushing your cock into her could you see the sweet, loving, and caring side of Lisa. The side of Lisa you could see behind her warm eyes.

It seemed as though you raised your hands to her face in silence. The infrequent slurps from Jennie's mouth were less noticeable than Lisa's lips, which were what truly captured your attention. Those velvety lips that begged for more. She leaned forward into you as you leaned forward - something Lisa never instructed you to do, something she didn’t need to tell you.

When your lips met, your eyes instinctively closed. Lisa didn't object; she kissed you back with the same fervor. Your whole body started to heat up, whether it was the kiss, the girl on her knees between your legs, or perhaps the alcohol was catching up to you. In reality, you knew Lisa’s passion was the cause.

Jennie’s slurps were becoming overwhelmingly loud. Your cock was completely covered in her saliva as she used her mouth to play with your tip while her hand stroked you as fast as she could. She knew you were getting close, she could feel it, and she was right.

There was no way your cock would hold on much longer, especially not while Lisa’s tongue invaded your mouth. For the second time today, kissing Lisa was going to launch you right over the edge, shattering any hopes of extending the current situation. You waved your arm in Jenne’s direction, barely making contact with her head.

She understood the cue and took her mouth off your tip, keeping pace with her hand as she tilted her face towards the roof of the limo. She held herself perfectly steady in your peripheral vision, struggling to keep a solid grip on your cock thanks to all the spit she had left on it.

Lisa could also feel your climax coming as she let go of you and went back to staring directly into your eyes. Her hand reached down, joining Jennie’s hand, and started to fondle your balls.

That was it, that did it for you.

Even without seeing it, you knew that first gush of cum made a line all the way across Jennie’s face. The shocked squeal she let out also confirmed it. Your cock started pulsing, unloading the warm cum presumably all over Jennie’s face. You kept pumping away, while staring Lisa in the eyes, her deadly gaze had softened considerably and she was even smiling warmly now. As the final dribbles of cum spilled out of your cock, you felt Jennie’s hand leave your shaft.

“Go ahead and look at your masterpiece,” Lisa whispered, her hand still fondling your balls.

In front of you, with her eyes still closed, was Jennie with her face shining. There were linear streaks of white all over her face, with a considerable amount getting into her hair. You didn’t realize just how big of a load you blew onto her face it was until now.

“Wow,” you muttered softly, earning a laugh from Rosé who you just now noticed was using a tissue to wipe her arm. “Did I?”

“Yes you did,” Rosé snapped immediately before laughing again.

“Don’t wipe any of it off,” Lisa instructed Jennie before bending over your lap and going for any of the white mess that didn’t make it onto Jennie’s face.

“I fucking hate you,” Jennie whined, looking at herself on her phone. “You got so much into my hair.”

“S-Sorry,” you gasped, Lisa’s tongue offering no reprieve as it attacked your sensitive tip.

“He’s not sorry at all,” Rosé added between laughs. “Look at him, he’s ready to give you round two.”

“My fault,” Lisa smirked as she sat back up, holding your once-again erect cock in her hand. “We’ll have to deal with this later, we’re here.”

-

“That was humiliating,” Jennie whined, touching up her makeup after tossing away the tissues she used to wipe her face clean. “I think one of them saw.”

“It wasn’t even that bad,” Rosé giggled, handing Jennie a brush for her hair. “And there’s no way anyone saw, I’ve never seen you run that fast in my life.”

“Are you kidding? Did you hear the shit they were saying,” Jennie grumbled. “It’s fine when I’m inside, but who knows who those people out there are, they don’t get to see me like that.”

“They weren’t saying anything, calm down.”

“I’m sorry babe,” Lisa purred as she gently stroked your cock. “I know what can make you feel better though.”

“I’m not even in the mood anymore,” Jennie scoffed, putting the brush down.

“Jennie? Are you actually upset?” Lisa asked, pausing her handjob, suddenly full of concern.

“She’s just being dramatic,” Rosé chuckled before grabbing Jennie’s hand. “Come on, let’s go get you some alcohol,” she added as she pulled Jennie out of the room. She paused at the door to look back at you and Lisa with a wink.

“She’s fine,” you tried to reassure Lisa as she looked at you.

“You’re probably right,” she sighed. “But you should not be able to speak right now,” she added before replacing her graceful strokes with aggressive pumps. “Come on baby, cum for me.”

The next couple of minutes were a blur. You remembered her hand, you remembered her kissing your neck, but nothing else was in your head right until you felt warmth shooting out of your cock.

“Lisa,” you huffed, turning to the girl as she wiped her hand clean. “You sure you’re okay with me fooling around with her tonight?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” she cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Just making sure, I’ve never done anything without your permission before.”

“Right… and you have my permission tonight,” Lisa replied slowly, smiling in a confused manner at you. “I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but really I wouldn’t put you in this situation if I wasn’t okay with it.”

“Unorthodox…” you repeated slowly. “Sometimes I wonder how I lucked out so hard to have such a wild life,” you laughed, grabbing Lisa by her waist.

“It’s not that wild,” Lisa giggled as you pulled her close. “A bit of meaningless fucking never hurt anyone.”

“Speaking of meaningless fucking…”

“Not yet,” Lisa stopped you as you kissed her neck.

“Whoa, did baby girl just say no to sex? There’s really a first for everything.”

“I did not say no,” Lisa scoffed. “I just don’t want my makeup all messed up just yet,” she added coyly.

“Who said I have to mess up your makeup?”

“I did, because that’s exactly what you’re going to do later tonight when you fuck my throat.”

“You’re going to say that and then keep me waiting.”

“You just came twice in like fifteen minutes, a break wouldn’t hurt,” Lisa laughed as she wiped you clean with a tissue.

“As if that’s out of the norm,” you chuckled. “How about I eat you out.”

“That’s a nice offer, but we’ll do all that properly later tonight,” Lisa giggled before getting up and running to the door. “Go find where those two just went, or look for Jisoo, she’s probably bored out of her mind being here all alone for so long. I gotta meet up with a couple of my friends, they said they’d be here.”

“Wait, you want me… without you?”

“Why are you pretending like you forgot how to use your dick,” Lisa chuckled, wearing a confused expression again as she looked at you.

“Lisa…” you paused to stand up and walk over to her. “Ever since that night I met you, I’ve never touched any of them without you being there.”

She gave you a small bend of her head and the cutest eyes in the world.

“Baby,” she hesitated. “I’ve never thought about that, but you’re right.”

“Are you still fine with it?”

“Of course,” Lisa smiled warmly. “I guess you’re unofficially joining our agreement, nothing that happens at these parties can be held against you. Only my bandmates though, I meant what I said about no random whores.”

“I’m fine with that,” you leaned forward and kissed her cheek before grabbing a handful of her ass. “I’m going to be thinking of you the whole time though.”“Awhh baby, that sounds so wrong, but it’s strangely sweet,” Lisa giggled, wrapping her arms around your neck. “And all night I’m going to be thinking of how you’re going to fuck my throat later.”

---

A/N:

Honestly, ending this chapter way earlier than I had planned because I want to try staying near that 5k word mark, and there wouldn't be a better place to pause. I have the entire plan for the next chapter already good to go, just gotta finish writing it, all I'll say is next chapter will most likely be when some stupid romantic lovey-dovey bs happens, and obviously more smut.

Now the thing that everyone keeps asking me. "WHEN ARE YOU UPDATING, WHEN IS NEW CONTENT COMING, WHERE ARE YOU". I am still alive <3, I've been trying to update you guys when I can, I'm still just busy with life. I don't have much time to work on my writing nowadays, but let me try giving you an update. I know this chapter is going to feel kinda short, just bear with me! Hopefully the next chapter will come out with a shorter break!

Currently still working on like 5 different pieces. My next upload might just be the next chapter of this story. If not this story, my guess would be Karina (+Winter). Very unlikely the Twice story will get an update next, and somewhat unlikely the LSFM story will get an update next. It's possible, but those two stories get a bit more effort on my end in terms of long-term plot, so it'll depend on how much time and energy I have to write.

As always, feel free to give any feedback you feel like giving. I still value it, even though this hobby is taking a bit of a back seat for me. I am fairly certain the quality of writing is not as good, but it's okay, I know I'm busy and it's just a casual way for me to release some of my horniness into the world. I don't take this hobby too seriously!

[jenoslutie]

seventeen reactions: when you give them head (m)

warnings: blowjobs (obviously), face fucking, daddy kink, cum swallowing, dirty talk, cum facial, slight degradation, size training, somnophilia. lmk if i missed anything cuz i think thats all but im not sure!! :P

a/n: guys i was supposed to finish and post this MONTHS ago but i been so busy haodshihoidsa i finally got it done and its here for you all to enjoy !!! feedback is greatly appreciated :D

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL 

Two words, SIZE TRAINING!!!. Cheol is big and he fucking knows it. He loves training your throat to take his big cock. The way you struggle to take his cock turns him on so much. Cheol likes it sloppy. He likes it messy, he likes spit, he likes drool, he loves seeing you go dumb on his cock when you suck him off. If you complain that he’s just too big, he’d just scoff and tell you you’re just being dramatic and you can take it. 

“C’mon princess, you’re daddy's baby girl aren't you? Be a big girl for daddy and take it” 

He won’t hesitate to take control and fuck your face. One of his favorite sights are with you on your knees for him, looking up at him with teary eyes while he fucks into your mouth violently, chasing his release knowing how desperate you are to have him cumming down your throat and Cheol would never disappoint. In no time, he’d be cumming down your throat with a loud groan. 

“My pretty baby’s mouth made for daddy's cock huh?” 

YOON JEONGHAN 

Jeonghan loves when you give him head, he loves being taken care of and he loves knowing you want to take care of him too. He loves sloppy but tame head, won’t force you to take more than you can even if he knows you can take more than that but on occasion when he’s feeling extra horny and desperate, he won’t mind fucking your face until you’re drooling all over his cock and begging him to give you his cum. Loves when you take all of his cock in your mouth at once, placing a gentle hand on your head and almost holding your head in place because he doesn’t want the feeling of your warm, wet throat around him to go away. Will eventually let you go to give you time to breathe but just know he wants more. 

“Don’t you just love being a good girl for me princess?”

HONG JOSHUA 

Ever the Gentleman, Joshua is not one to ask for you to blow him, he simply just wants you to want it. He would never make you do something you don’t want to but when you’re sitting between his legs, begging for him to let you suck him off, he’s not gonna deny his baby anything she wants! So immediately he’s helping you rid him of his sweats and wrapping your lips around his semi hard cock. Joshua almost wants to get used to the feeling of your lips around him but has to remind himself that if you don’t want this again, it won’t happen again (as much as he wants it to) but all thoughts leave his head once you try to take his whole cock in your mouth. His pretty noises grow louder as you start giving it your best. You may not be as experienced in sucking cock but you’d be lying if you said watching Joshua absolutely lose his shit under you didn’t make you want to stay between his legs like this forever. The idea of wanting to stay between his legs becomes a bigger possibility when he’s suddenly cumming down your throat when you attempt to take his whole cock in your mouth again, not giving up until your nose is pressing against his pelvis. 

“Please tell me you’ll let me do this again baby”

WEN JUNHUI

Jun likes getting head, most of all he loves letting you have your way with him. He will sit there and take anything you give him until ofcourse, you’re being snappy or you’re being a brat, only then would he grab your hair and fuck your face until you’re begging him to keep going, to use your throat as much as he wants and he’d do just that, fuck your throat until you’re crying tears of pleasure and pain and this time you sit there and take whatever he has to give you.

KWON SOONYOUNG

Soonyoung loves getting head the most when he comes back from practice. When he’s just exhausted and his lover helps him relax. He likes it lazy, letting you do whatever the fuck you want to him. Soonyoung LOVES!!!! When you deepthroat him, he loves when you choke on his stupidly big cock he just loves when you struggle to take his whole cock in your mouth because he loves knowing he’s big (as if you don't tell him enough already) is not someone who will force you to take the whole thing in your mouth just because he’s just so dazed from the feeling of you sucking his cock that he cannot even think of anything else. 

JEON WONWOO 

Wonwoo loves when you wake him up with your mouth so deliciously wrapped around his cock. The way the sun shines so perfectly on your face, the pretty smile you give him before sinking your mouth back down on his cock, he loves it. He loves messy head, and would go absolutely feral when you’re messy with it. Eyes rolling back, pressing your head further down on his cock before coming down your throat. 

“My pretty slut, letting me paint her throat so pretty” 

LEE JIHOON

The classic, in his studio. Jihoon loves it when you stop by to give him some motivation. He loves when he can just lose himself in the feeling of you going down on him. The feeling of your warm mouth skillfully taking every inch of him making his head fall back as he groans out loudly. Mind going blank as pleasure completely overtakes him, forgetting about anything other than you. It won’t take long before he’s cumming down your throat and kissing your forehead in admiration. Also won’t take long before he has you in his lap and he’s back to making music except this time, he’s far more motivated, writing down verse after verse in no time. 

LEE SEOKMIN 

Now, He’d LOVE when you give him head. Wouldn’t be the type to fuck your face or make you take more than you think you can and tends to just go with the flow. Though once you have your mouth on him he loses it, losing sense of where the fuck he is and just allowing himself to get lost in the warmth of your mouth around him. Would absolutely LOVE when you take him all the way down in your throat, brain going blank as he just sits and takes it, feeling himself drowning in the feeling of you taking him so far down your throat. Just give him head and he is happy :D 

KIM MINGYU 

Mingyu my babyyy!!! One who doesn’t quite understand just how big he is and how hard it is for you to actually take him all the way down your throat but will appreciate as far as you can take it! I feel as if he's not too big on getting head, preferring to give. But when you do get his cock in your mouth he’s more than ecstatic, loving the way you skillfully work on every inch of him and more, making sure to give attention to every inch of his cock all the way down to his balls. He won't force you to take more than you can handle but will keep his hand on the back of your head to hold it in place because he knows you can take it and you can take it well. Also loves to make out with you after cumming in your mouth cuz he loves how filthy it is. 

“Shit. get up here baby, gimme a kiss” 

XU MINGHAO 

Minghao loves making you all pretty, he loves when you suck his dick so he can paint your face with his cum when he cums because he thinks you look so pretty when you look up at him so innocently with his cum staining your pretty face. Will be gentle as ever but if you give him attitude? Talk back? He's making sure you know never to do it again, fucking your face rough (but not too rough) and making sure you know how to talk to him if you want something. Oh and also don’t even think about touching yourself while he fucks your face. It only adds to your punishment! 

BOO SEUNGKWAN 

LAWDD Seungkwan… I think he’s a huge 69 warrior. Sit on his face while you suck him off and he’ll be cumming faster than ever. The way you take his cock down your throat while you moan around it from the way his tongue dances on your pussy is enough to have him cumming in minutes. He’s soooo eager to paint your throat white with his cum he often loses control and allows himself to be completely at your mercy, taking anything and everything you give him and more. Would love when you wake him up with his cock in your mouth, the fact that you needed him so bad you couldn't even wait for him to wake up gets him going SO much. Also would LOVEEEEEE getting head more than anything like he's obsessed with your mouth on his cock. 

CHWE VERNON 

I think Vernon’s very much a lazy head type of guy, lazily suck him off, make it sloppy while he ruts up into your mouth and he's a goner. Lazy sex and lazy head are Vernon's favorites! He loves when you suck him sloppy, drool running down your chin as you attempt to take him all the way down your throat. Oooh I think he’s the type to hold your hands as he fucks up into your mouth too and would love to watch you swallow his cum. Wouldn’t kiss you after though cuz he thinks its weird to kiss the same mouth you just came in. 

LEE CHAN 

Any chance Chan gets to get his dick sucked, he’ll take it. He loves sex, he loves getting head, he loves giving head, he loves it all. So whenever you even insinuate giving him head he’s immediately undoing his pants and taking his dick out. Loves how eager you are to take his whole cock down your throat. Also he’s such a goner when he takes a little longer to cum and you trail your mouth downwards to take his cock in the warmth of your mouth, it will have him cumming in seconds but he’s always ready for more.

[barcaatthemoon]

shared wardrobe || lucy bronze x reader ||

you have a habit of wearing lucy's things out.

you woke with a start. the sun was shining brightly in the sky, and the light poured in through the window. you started to move, but an arm held onto you tightly, trapping you in. slowly, bits of your night came back to you, and with it, the realization that you had definitely missed training that day.

"fuck!" you exclaimed. this time, you managed to separate yourself from lucy's grasp. you hated having to leave the comfort of lucy's bed, but you had promised irene, alexia, and sandra that you'd meet them for lunch after practice.

"shut up and come back here," lucy grumbled. you sighed as you turned around to look at her. she had yet to open her eyes, but you absolutely had to make it. alexia would have your ass if she came to get you only to find that you weren't there.

"i can't stay, but i'll come back after lunch. do you want me to bring you back something to eat?" you offered. lucy shook her head as she buried her face into the spot where you'd been laying. you ran around her room like a headless chicken trying to get ready. lucy managed to fall back asleep before you were gone, and you just barely made it to the restaurant in time.

"nice shirt. when did you start playing for manchester city?" sandra teased as you slid into the seat next to her. you furrowed your brows before glancing down at your shorts. you were definitely wearing your jean shorts from the night before, but instead of picking up the shirt you had meant to, you had accidentally grabbed lucy's shirt on the way out.

"what would poor little ona say if she saw you wearing the shirt of the enemy?" alexia teased. she stood behind you with her hands on your shoulders, massaging in a way that made you a bit nervous. alexia had always been able to do that, in a way that you assumed all big siblings could. you were an only child, but when you joined barcelona and the spanish national team, you had gained more "big sisters" than you knew what to do with.

"congratulations," you muttered as you took a sip of sandra's drink. the goalkeeper let you have it, but she did kick you under the table for your comment. "hey, i've earned this, okay? i'll be sure to pick something else up on my way back too."

"disgusting. i never should have let you room with leila," alexia scoffed. she playfully smacked you upside the head, never hitting you enough to actually hurt. she had come close to it once, and a part of you was convinced that she hadn't forgiven herself for it.

"just be safe and use protection," irene told you. she knew that you'd always be safe, having had a sex talk every single time that one of them or another older player thought you even had crush on someone else. you were nearing 26, but they still treated you like the team baby.

"you guys aren't mad that she's older than me?" you asked. alexia shrunk back as she sat in her seat, more than ashamed for having nearly beaten up mapi when you developed a crush on her. irene and sandra had been a bit confrontational with mapi when she transferred over, but the defender made it clear to them that she wasn't interested. although, neither of you would ever let them know that you had secrectly been dating at the time of her transfer, but she was too stressed trying to keep it a secret from the rest of the girls. "i thought i wasn't allowed to date up like that."

"you're in a different place now. i think that spending time in with lucia will be good for you. she's not much of a partier, and it would do you some good to get yourself out of that habit," irene said. she wanted what was best for you, and in her mind, that was getting you into the habit of settling down. she knew that your party girl persona was just a facade, one that you used to protect yourself from being heartbroken.

"olga may have pointed out to me at the last game how cozy you had been getting, so i am not surprised," alexia admitted. she rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly as she continued, "i just want you to be careful. you are both my friend, and i would not want to have to make any choices."

"don't worry, ale. i know what i'm doing," you told them. you did know what you were doing with lucy, and you knew exactly where you wanted things to go. you wanted everything with her, certain that you had finally found your person. you could see yourself settling down with lucy and starting a family, she was the only person you could see a forever with.

…

"it doesn't fit. the shirt is too small." you looked at lucy with tears in your eyes. whenever lucy had told you about her final game as a lioness, you had prepared yourself for a lot of tears. what you hadn't prepared for was to be pregnant.

the doctor had told you not to expect anything from the test process. you had been inseminated to know what it felt like and to see if any of your eggs could be fertilized. there were a series of tests run that should have killed any activity, but here you were starting to show with your little miracle baby.

"hey, it's okay. calm down, love." lucy put her arms around you and pulled you in for a hug. in the short amount of time that you'd been pregnant, lucy had been great about calming you down. you were a passionate and emotionally intense person, and your hormones were only making it worse.

"no it's not because i can't fit into the jersey, lucy. i don't even look pregnant, i just look fat!" you raised your voice and stomped your feet. lucy walked you back over to the bed and sat you down. there was no way that other people hadn't heard you, and if her teammates had questions, she was more than happy to answer them. each of them cared for you as if you had come up with the rest of them, like you were a lioness as well.

"you aren't fat. we didn't plan on you showing, and that's okay. do you want to wear one of my sweatshirts out so that nobody knows? i've got one from this camp. it doesn't look like the jersey, but it's warm and still has my last name on it," lucy offered. she took the shirt out of your hands as she replaced it with her sweatshirt.

you gingerly put it on. in your mind, it was a bit tight, but you weren't showing in it. lucy smiled as she leaned down to kiss you. she kissed your face all over as she muttered about how beautiful you looked in her sweatshirt. lucy loved seeing you in her clothes around the house, and it was almost just as good to see you wear them in public for her.

"hey little man," lucy greeted her nephew with a big hug and kiss. "i have an important job for you, okay? i need you to walk your tia to her seat and keep an eye on her. between you and me, she's a little sad, so make sure that you give her lots of love, okay?"

"yes ma'am." you glanced at him curiously as he saluted lucy before turning towards you. he extended his hand towards you with a smile that was all bronze. "milady."

"go on with him, you're getting the star treatment tonight babe," lucy muttered as she gave you one last kiss. you sat in a special section right up next to the pitch, close enough to touch the players on the bench in front of you. a few of them got up and would come talk to you a bit, checking in on the pregnancy or just to see how you felt about watching lucy retire.

at the final whistle, you were escorted down onto the pitch for lucy to give her goodbye speech. you held the microphone for her as she held you in one arm and her nephew in the other. lucy's family came down to stand around her with her teammates. there were a few players that you knew had retired already, girls that lucy had introduced you to a few times on trips back up to england.

"i am so proud of you," you said as you cupped lucy's cheeks. "i can't wait to wear this name on my jersey one day."

"you'll do it proudly, and if i'm lucky, you'll be the first bronze to win the world cup," lucy said. the two of you had been deliberate in your family planning, hopeful that you'd be back in your normal form by the time that the next world cup rolled around. "and if not, we've got some pretty good other options too if i do say so myself."

"how do you know the baby is gonna be a footballer?" lucy's nephew asked as he placed his hand on your stomach. "i think it'll be a singer."

"nah mate, that baby's gonna be the best right back in the world," lucy said. "just like their mum."

…

"lucy!" you shouted from the nursery. lucy raced in from the bedroom, clad only in a towel and dripping wet. she looked panicked as she looked around to see what could possibly be wrong. "can you get me a different shirt please? vincent threw up on mine."

"you can't yell like that," lucy grumbled as she walked out of the bedroom. you followed her with the baby in your arms. you had changed your son immediately after his little incident, but had yet to get a chance to change yourself. "get him out of here, i have to change."

"he's a baby luce, and i need a shirt to wear. quickly please, i'm getting cold," you told her. lucy sighed and handed you the one she had planned on wearing. you were still trying to get back into wearing your pre-maternity clothes, but it was proving to be difficult to shed the baby weight. you were training like crazy, but you needed to get used to how your body had changed.

you happily put on lucy's shirt while she held vincent. you took him into the living room after to give lucy privacy. it took her a while, but she eventually made it out after having to adjust her outfit choice. it was a barcelona team dinner to celebrate them getting another sweep, but also a celebration of your son's first birthday. he had become like the team's unofficial mascot, often resulting in him being passed around the locker room like simba.

"cameras," lucy grumbled as she put on the baby backpack. you watched as she shielded vincent's face completely from the paps as she walked in. lucy had prefected that move, which you were impressed it. you followed in behind them, stopping a couple of times to pose for the cameras. you knew that someone on twitter or tiktok would have fun with it, most likely adding it to a compliation video of you wearing lucy's shirts or fucking with the press.

…

you wore lucy's clothes all the time. in fact, it was rare that you wore an outfit made up of things from your side of the closet. even if it was something as small as a ring, bracelet, or necklace, you had something of lucy's. occasionally, she'd wear one of your bracelets or a necklace, but she rarely took your actually clothing. today seemed to be an exception.

you had gone to the game on your own early to warm up. lucy's knee had been acting up, so you had asked ingrid to come and get you. that meant that you hadn't seen lucy get ready for the day. when you left, she was still in her pajamas as she played dinosaurs with vincent, who also wasn't even close to being ready.

lucy had her methods of getting him dressed for the day, which differed greatly from yours. she let him run around in between articles of clothing, meaning that it was an all morning affair for lucy to get him dressed. you couldn't imagine how rough things would be when you transferred up to manchester for him to start school in september. lucy would be on her own for a few weeks while you got all the club things figured out.

"are they in matching outfits?" keira asked as she looked into the stands. you followed her gaze to see your son and wife dressed in matching outfits. "where did she get that?"

"my dresser," you answered. you pinched the bridge of your nose as you approached them. vincent brightened up immediately, clapping and shouting for you. you hopped over the barrier and took him from lucy, who pressed a kiss to your cheek. "nice outfit."

"thank you, he asked if we could match," lucy said. you knew that wasn't completely the truth. vincent didn't immediately argue though, you assumed that it was a mutual thing. lucy liked to act tough sometimes, but you knew how soft the woman was. you were a pretty big soft spot for her, but your son was a bigger one.

"i think you look cute, and i should post a picture on instagram later," you told her. lucy pulled a face, but you knew that she'd let you get it anyway. you brought them down to the field, and vincent excitedly ran around letting everybody know that lucy was wearing the same outfit as him. "you look good in my clothes. that shirt is definitely too small, but i'm kind of into it."

"it's uncomfortable as hell. why do you like everything so tight?" lucy asked as she tugged at the shorts.

"how else am i meant to keep you around?" you asked her. lucy shook her head as she chuckled. both of you knew that you didn't need to show off to keep lucy around, she had married you after all. she was in it for the long haul, and had proven it time and time again when things got a bit tough.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

How about Navia, Jean, Ei, Natasha, and Himeko being challenged to a duel for S/O's hand?

(Genshin Impact/H:SR) Clorinde, Navia, Jean, Ei, Natasha, and Himeko being challenged to a duel for S/O's love

The only duel I'd probably win against these gals is a game of Warhammer, and even then that's not favorable for me because of my dice rolls.

Clorinde has accepted a duel over many foolish reasons, but this one took the crown in biggest offense to her.

First of all, they weren't even married. (As much as the thought makes her heart slightly race, thinking if they would ever like to settle down, but this was a thought process for another day.)

Secondly, they were treating S/O as an object, and that was slander on them Clorinde would not take sitting down.

She sets her tea down and her voice appears to be normal, but her eyes glare at her challenger with a ferocity that no one has seen before.

(Clorinde) "...Very well, I accept this duel."

When the time arrives, Clorinde absolutely demolishes them within seconds, striking their sword out of their hand before they had a chance to react.

She fights against the tiny voice within to humiliate them, she must remain objective as Champion Duelist. S/O's honor and hand in marriage has been protected, and in the end that was all that mattered.

When she returns home, Clorinde is a bit more clingy than usual.

(S/O) "Clorinde? Is something wrong?"

Clorinde restrains the sigh threatening to leave her lips and simply shakes her head, resting onto their shoulder further.

(Clorinde) "Nothing important."

Navia is VERY offended.

S/O wasn't some kind of trophy husband/wife to be passed around, they were hers, and hers alone!

(Navia) "Back off, S/O is taken!"

If they didn't get the message, then she'd make sure they would at the business end of her umbrella.

And this time, there were actual bullets with the person's name on it. (Nonlethal ammo, of course.)

After soundly defeating the pest, Navia puts on her sunglasses as she crosses her arms smugly.

(Navia) "If you excuse me, I have a date to attend!"

Marching off happily, she almost throws open the door to S/O's room.

(Navia) "S/O! We're going to eat out for lunch, my treat!"

(S/O) "GAH! N-Navia, you scared me! What's the occasion-"

(Navia) "To show off that we are the most fantastic couple in Fontaine!"

(S/O) "...O-Okay?"

Jean gives a puzzled look to her challenger.

What century did they think this was? That kind of practice was outdated, even back then around Mondstadt.

She really doesn't have time to waste on this kind of nonsense, especially since S/O was her lover.

Jean flat out rejects to duel, much to the teasing of her fellow Knights.

(Kaeya) "My, how interesting. The Acting Grand Master's lover is being sought after!"

(Jean) "It's quite irritating. They insist on a duel..."

(Lisa) "All the better to accept it and show that your love for them is not to be trifled with, right, Jean?"

(Jean) sigh "You two are not helping."

When Jean returns home, she is greeted by the smile she loves the most.

(S/O) "Welcome home...You okay? You seem annoyed-"

(Jean) "I apologize, there's this person that insists they duel me for your hand."

(S/O) "...We're married?"

(Jean) "Apparently now we are..."

She doesn't even have the time to register what the implications of that were and be flustered, that's how annoyed she is.

Many of the soldiers under Ei's command are both shocked and confused.

First of all, who the hell would duel the Almighty Shogun for her lover?!

They had to be both insane and stupid to try that.

And more importantly, this person didn't realize that asking for a duel in Inazuma, usually resulted it in being to the death.

Something which Ei has no problem providing.

(Ei) "You are bold to challenge me for such a prize. However, S/O is not yours to have. You will leave this room without a lover and your life."

Ei is so offended by this fool's audacity that she pulls out the Musou no Hitotachi to completely eradicate this person from reality.

Which she is stopped last minute by both Yae and S/O.

(Ei) "Miko, S/O? Why are you stopping me?"

(Yae) "I don't think this person was quite aware of the etiquette here in Inazuma, Ei."

(S/O) "Not that you'd ever lose to begin with, but I'd stay with you no matter what! Y-You can uh...put the sword down now."

Ei nods before the sword vanishes from her hand, glaring at the idiot who was moments away from getting atomized.

(Ei) "I will permit you to leave this place with your life. See to do so with all haste, my patience is not as eternal as S/O's."

S/O breathes a massive sigh of relief.

(Yae) "Hm, perhaps to prevent this you should host a festival to all of Inazuma, declaring your love to S/O?"

(Ei) "Hm...-"

(S/O) "OH GODS, PLEASE DON'T DO THAT."

Natasha thinks this person was joking at first.

Until seeing the fire in their eyes, making her roll her own.

(Natasha) "If you think that's how love works around here, then I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."

Natasha had half a mind to throw this person out her doors and onto the concrete, she's a doctor, not some uppity noble.

Many of her kids are angry, thinking that person could snatch S/O away like that, and plan to teach them a lesson they won't forget!

Until S/O stops them, and going to her.

(S/O) "Nat? The kids are saying that I might get taken away from you? The heck are they on about?"

Natasha sighs as her fingers pinch the bridge of her nose.

(Natasha) "Short story is, some idiot wanted to duel for your hand."

(S/O) "Hah, at this point I'd say you should accept to please the kids, Nat-"

(Natasha) "I'm almost tempted to so I can have the excuse to shoot them for having the audacity..."

S/O hugged her from behind, letting their head rest on her shoulder and talking in a teasing tone.

(S/O) "Don't you want to prove your love for me?~"

Natasha chuckles, one hand brushing their cheek as she leaned back.

(Natasha) "Aren't I already for even considering?"

Well, this was certainly a first for Himeko.

She never thought she'd be challenged to a fight for something so stupid, at least involving S/O.

(Himeko) "I'm afraid S/O is taken no matter what you do. Even if we did come to blows, I assure you it would not end well."

Even if she didn't fight, March 7th and the Trailblazer would dogpile said challenger with a ferocity to match her coffee.

But this was funny as hell, at the very least.

Back on the Astral Express, she relays this tale to S/O who was away at the time.

(S/O) "...They wanted to what?"

(Himeko) "Yes, S/O. You're indeed so beautiful that I was literally challenged to a duel right then and there."

(S/O) "I don't know if I should be offended or flattered."

Himeko laughed as she held their arm, though a bit tighter than usual.

(Himeko) "Personally for me, it's a mixture of both. I'm glad people are recognizing your grace, but it's reserved for me, I would think."

S/O kisses Himeko on the cheek and smiles.

(S/O) "Hah, you'd be correct, Himeko."

[ivypos-writes]

i have often dreamed of those fires

— aemond targaryen

summary: He’s a firestorm. Her skin burns in his hands.

Or, marriage is her first duty. The second comes in the insurmountable task of seducing her own husband.

warnings: 18+, aemond x wife, arranged marriage, soft and insecure aemond, and a horny wife, he’s touch-starved, sexual tension, first times, fingering, p in v, multiple orgasms, smut with a sprinkle of plot, and the plot is just seduction before the smut

word count: 7.5k

notes: giving in to the brainrot while waiting for s2. english is not my first language. all reviews are very appreciated! thank you for reading<3

(also available on ao3.)

MASTERLIST

She spends the first night of her marriage in solitude.

The bedchamber bears no resemblance to the one she owned all her life. The lights are subdued, and a darkness her eyes have yet to get used to rules over every corner. It’s spacious; kept immaculately polished, as befitting a member of the royal family. That’s who she is now, regardless if she feels the part or not.

Prince Aemond—her husband, her husband—left the walls of the room in a hurry, as though scorched by fire. It is a silly thought. He is a dragon prince, and surely doesn’t fear flames.

He seems to fear her, though.

They entered the bedchamber as instructed by tradition, not quite hand in hand, but not too far apart, either. Her ladies rushed after to assist her in undressing; to unpin her hair, letting the waves cascade down her back; to cover her skin with a slip of a dress, more translucent than anything she’d ever worn. She was then left in just the nightgown, with her cheeks tinted pink. Once the ladies deemed her prepared, she was abandoned by all but her husband.

Later came silence.

It must have been the tears that dissuaded him. Once they began to flow, all of Prince Aemond’s attempts to breach the distance between them ceased. She was too shaken to speak; before she could gather her thoughts, he had already left.

Marriage is her duty to the realm. To her family who strived to ensure the best possible match. Marriage is to become her battlefield, and her life, and if the gods are kind—oh, please, let them be kind—it would eventually become a source of joy.

Only she sits alone amidst alien walls and furniture, and there is no trace of contentment she might have once envisioned.

How is she to find happiness, she thinks bitterly, when her husband refused to touch her once?

“Husband,” she greets him, and her voice miraculously doesn’t waver.

He is standing in the entrance to the bedchamber, stiff and pale, with dark shadows marring the underside of his eyes. Pink scar peaks from beneath the leather eyepatch he seems to never part with. His robes are as black as they were every time they have seen one another. He wears darkness like an armour.

Prince Aemond isn’t carved in shapes of impudent rowdiness that she now knows his brother wields to compel attention. There is a quietude in him; a softness coming through the sharp lines of his features. He keeps his face artfully blank; most of the time, it doesn’t betray a single emotion. She does not attempt to look into his eye. She fears that all she’ll find there is repulsion.

“My lady,” he says. Not wife. “I shall escort you to the feasting hall. The Queen wishes for us to break our fast in her company.”

His words lack warmth, though perhaps she should not have expected that from him. Prince Aemond doesn’t seem to possess much fire at all, what with the stone-cold composure he seems to cling to. She wonders if it is only a masterfully crafted mask; if there are any flames deep beneath its layers, flickering and crackling.

She smothers her silent musings. Hurt still lingers inside her.

The Queen may be the only kind face within these walls. Princess Helaena seems to always be lost in her own mind; Prince Aegon is never sober, and on the rare occasions that he is, it seems best to avoid him altogether. She cannot search for a companion in her ladies, or servants, and certainly not in any man.

She is alone.

And her husband doesn’t even want to touch her.

Scarlet shame rises to her chest, and she hopes that it’s not painted all over her cheeks. The Queen will know. She will look at her once, and immediately she’ll realise that she remains untouched.

Perhaps she knows already, and it is the reason for her summons. Perhaps she means to scold her, and berate her, and shame her for all nobles in the Red Keep to see.

Have the servants scanned the linen sheets? She doesn’t recall anyone looking for proof of the newfound union, but surely, they must have.

She swallows her trepidation down and forces her face to remain blank. She cannot decline. It is her duty to obey the Queen’s orders, and this one, she is capable of fulfilling.

When the newlyweds walk down the corridor, it feels like they are miles apart.

Solitude is all she knows.

Her days are filled with nothing of true meaning. She is mostly left to her own devices, be it embroidery or soaking up the sun. She traverses the foreign walls; explores the royal gardens; consumes book after book, hungry for entertainment. Sometimes, she joins Princess Helaena and her children, and they sit beside each other in complete silence.

It is not a bad life. She is luckier than most, she knows, though this fact does little to dissipate her desire for more. She wishes to be alive. She wishes for her smiles to be genuine. To be more than the pretty wife of a prince made of marble.

In truth, she isn’t even that.

Her marriage is not a marriage at all—not in the eyes of the gods—and all the freedom she now has is fleeting. She may lounge about in the courtyard, and eat the best cakes in the entire realm, and read every book to exist, but it’ll take less than a moment for the privileges to be lost.

“My prince.”

She hasn’t called him husband again. They shared all of a dozen words since their wedding night. Prince Aemond is clearly intent on avoiding her company, choosing to spend his time in the training yard or the libraries, and it doesn’t appear that he has even an ounce of desire to change this routine.

He is halfway to the door. Her eyebrow arches.

“Are you leaving?” she asks.

She falls asleep alone and awakes in the same manner, but she never thought that the Prince abandoned the bedchamber completely. Before, she imagined that he slept little.

He didn’t. He simply slept elsewhere.

“I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable with my presence.” He strides over to the door without once meeting her gaze, and his hands clutch a collection of books. “The bed is yours.”

Her voice is harsher than she intends when she spits out, “The bed is meant to be shared.”

The Prince stops in his tracks; she traces the line of his spine when he straightens.

It must be the first time that he looks at her. Not even the vows they exchanged prompted him to meet her gaze. The last rays of sun that crawl through the window turn the purple of his eye a warmer shade.

“Do you—” she begins, and the tip of her tongue wets her lips when they suddenly go dry. Her throat closes up. She pushes herself to continue, “Do you find me repulsive, my prince?”

He must. She has heard many stories of marriage—both good and bad—and none spoke of husbands that refused to touch their wives.

Surely, there must be something wrong with her. Perhaps it is her hair that he dislikes, or her nose, or her lips. Perhaps he imagined her to look completely different, and there is no feature she possesses that pleases him.

Prince Aemond says nothing.

She picks her next words carefully.

“I know that I’m not a wife of your own choosing.” Her hands fidget, and she grabs onto her skirt to keep them occupied. “Neither are you the husband I wanted.”

Warmth. Gentleness. When she was a girl, she pictured a man who would hold her in his arms without shame. She imagined true affection and devotion. It’s been long since ascertained that Prince Aemond is not that husband. That her dreams have always been just dreams.

He doesn’t meet her eyes, and she finds herself vexed by his continued insistence to remain detached. She searches his face for scraps of emotion and finds none. He wields indifference like a sword.

She cannot so easily yield.

Her voice drops; nails sink into the skin of her palms. “You must understand, my prince, that it is me they’ll treat with contempt, should they ever find out.”

And they will. Of course, they will. Her womb will remain empty, and soon they’ll point their fingers at it and pronounce it barren. Humiliation will be hers to swallow; disgrace will fall upon her head like a thorned veil. They will feel pity for the Prince, to be certain, but not for her. Never for her.

The Prince’s hands tighten around the books, but it is the only reaction she receives.

He must not care for her at all. Why should he? She is but a stranger.

But they are now bound to each other. Strangers or not, their lives are intertwined.

She pushes closer to him, and finally, finally he raises his head.

“An untouched wife is no wife at all. It’s a breach of my oaths.”

There is a trace of contemplation on his face. It comes with a crease between his eyebrows, and the slightest twitching of his lips. Prince Aemond lets out a quiet hum, and she must strain her ears to catch its sound before it’s gone.

When their eyes meet, her heart lights up in flames.

“I will not touch you when there’s nothing but fear in your eyes.”

He is gone before she can retaliate.

There is a shift in his demeanour, though it comes hesitantly; with reluctance.

Prince Aemond enters the bedchamber while she’s seated by the vanity. She now recognises the sound of his footsteps—light and unrushed, often reminding her of a predator on a hunt. Her fingers become motionless, weaved into the intricate plaits atop her head. She warily waits for whatever comes next.

They have fallen into a habit of keeping one another at arm’s length. There is a barbed line that divides them, and neither is willing to cross it first.

Fear. This is what he thinks rules inside her heart. He never let her refute—now, she thinks it would have been pointless to even try. There might have been fear that shrouded her expression, but it was never induced by him. She feared the pain, and feared the unknown, but never, never feared the Prince.

He must think himself appalling. Capable of evoking dread. The realisation hits her like a tidal wave. She recalls whispers murmured in shadowed corners, all vicious and biting; wonders how many of them he has heard before. The scar on his face has been there for years. The Prince must have endured constant torment.

Whatever it is that they see—monstrosity, abomination, hideousness—her own eyes perceive nothing of the sort.

Prince Aemond is quite handsome. In truth, he is so striking that her heart jumps out of her chest each time she catches a glimpse of him.

It threatens to jump out now, when she sees him meeting her gaze without the usual aloofness.

He takes a hesitant step forward.

She freezes.

They are never alone. She sees him when they dine, and when he trains, and when he’s lost in another book. She sees him in daylight. In crowds.

Never like this.

There is a silent resolution that she notes in the tight line of his lips. Aemond comes closer, and closer, and doesn’t stop until his heat trickles down her spine.

She holds her breath when his fingers weave in between the strands of her hair.

Prince Aemond’s face betrays nothing. She watches his reflection so intensely that she forgets to blink, and all the while he keeps his expression blank. His fingers are warm. Gentle.

Just hours before, they were holding a sword and aiming it at his opponent.

It certainly feels as if he put a sword to her own throat. She can barely breathe.

His movements are slow and careful. One after another, he unravels the braids, mindful not to tug at her hair. His skilled fingers smooth out the tangles, and every once in a while, they come to her scalp to caress it in a soothing manner.

She traces the curve of his jawline, and the mangled flesh, and the dark eyepatch. He looks rough and feels soft. He is made of contradictions.

When he takes out the last little pin, she breathes out.

It is the first time that he has touched her.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes meet. She wishes to wipe at the mirror, if only to make its image clearer. Has he always been this delicate? Is the glint in his gaze a novelty?

When he clears his throat and averts his eye, his intention to leave becomes explicit. Tension dissipates. This time, she makes no objections.

“Sweet dreams, my prince,” she mutters, and the answer comes in the soft closing of the door.

Her head emerges from beneath the water surface, and she greedily takes air in.

She has wasted her day on blissful procrastination. For the entirety of it, she remained inside the bedchamber, shielded from all eyes and gossip, obstinately rejecting the company of anyone who dared offer it. These people know nothing about her, anyway. Their wish to spend time with her is masterfully feigned.

Sometimes, she misses her home. She misses it so terribly that her lip trembles. She misses being known. Despite the passing time, she has yet to acclimate herself to the new reality. The Red Keep feels as cold as it ever has.

Would she be dismissed, she wonders, if they knew that her marriage was a farce? Would she be ruined, or given a chance to start over?

Perhaps she ought to confess the truth.

Or maybe—just maybe—she should seek out her husband and push him into a wall, and claim his lips until all restraint dies.

Her depraved thoughts seem to summon him.

Aemond enters the bedchamber in his usual manner, and immediately turns back towards the door once he catches sight of her state.

Her breasts peak from the foamy water.

Her skin tints red.

“You don’t have to leave,” she calls out.

The words are quick. Too quick to come across as nonchalant. She bites her tongue, but doesn’t take them back. Perhaps she has reached another level of desperation, and this is the only opportunity she gets to let it run free.

He is more dragon than a man. He cannot keep running from her in fear. She sees the moment that Prince Aemond seems to come to the same conclusion; his hand flexes at his side, once and then again. His shoulders become tense.

She is quick to bite back her smile when he turns around. He wouldn’t have seen it, either way, what with the way he keeps his eye stubbornly downcast.

As if she wasn’t his wife. As if seeing her bare skin was a sin.

Reluctantly, with his head courteously bowed, he moves to take a seat by the table, reaching out for a random book.

Water ripples when she sinks deeper into the bath. If he has no desire to see her, she will not strive to bear herself before him.

The silence is heavy.

“Did you go out for a flight?” she asks, itching to dissipate the suspense.

The Prince hums, as is his habit, and offers a slight nod. “I did. It’d been days since I last rode Vhagar.”

This is a part of him shielded at all times. He keeps it deep in the crevices of his heart—in its darkest, deepest corners. She doesn’t blame him for it. Even without understanding the nature of the fire in his blood, she recognises it as something private. Intimate.

But it is the first time that he spoke the name in her presence, and she cannot hold the reins of her unabashed curiosity.

“When you’re apart,” she begins, “does her absence feel like a missing limb?”

The Prince’s eye turns to her, and though they are far from one another, she is able to catch a glimpse of intrigue.

Briefly, she ponders whether anyone has ever dared ask him unpracticed questions like this. If there was someone who wanted to know him—his innermost beliefs and convictions, and his soul. If anyone attempted to push through the walls he has built around himself.

She supposes that the slightest widening of his eye is an answer in its own right.

Prince Aemond doesn’t immediately reply, and she bites her tongue. “Forgive me, my prince. It is not my right to ask.”

“You’re my wife,” he says simply. It is the first time he acknowledges it. “You have the right to ask anything of me.”

Keeping her bewilderment subdued, she arches an eyebrow when he nods to himself.

“It doesn’t.” Prince Aemond clears his throat, fingers fidgeting against the pages of his book. “It doesn’t feel like a missing limb. Even in her absence, I always sense her.”

It must be the most that he’s ever said to her.

The water has gone lukewarm. Goosebumps rise atop her skin. She could politely request that he take his leave in order to get out of the bath. She could.

She won’t.

“So a part of her lives inside you?”

He turns, and now they are facing one another.

Has the foam dissipated? She doesn’t dare take her eyes off of him, and so she cannot check. If the foam is gone, he can see the outline of her body. Does he see it?

No, she thinks. Surely, he would have already looked away.

“As does a part of me inside her,” he admits. “In more ways than not, we are one being.”

One being. Is this why he refuses to let her come close? Is it because there is no more space in his heart left for her to rest in?

It seems a plausible enough theory. In truth, all theories seem to be true when she’s wallowing in solitude and sorrow and rejection.

“It must be nice,” she murmurs, and this time she is the first to break eye contact, “to be known from the inside. Intimately. In the deepest crevices of your heart.”

Something in him changes. She catches it when she glances at him. The Prince’s hand abandons the book, and when he stands from his seat, she is sure that he’ll leave.

But he doesn’t. She gapes at him when he comes closer to the bath.

“Scoot over,” he instructs.

Her mouth parts, ready to sputter questions, but they all dissolve into nothing when she catches the intensity in his gaze.

She holds her tongue. No words could reflect the depth of her confusion.

Prince Aemond now watches her without past shame.

The scent of fire and smoke permeates the air, and she inhales it sharply. His heat engulfs her back in gentle flames, and she draws her knees to her chest, oddly bashful.

When she does as instructed, he is quick to put his hands on her scalp. A gasp falls from her lips at the touch.

He is washing her hair.

Does he hear her heart pounding? It’s so loud. So very loud.

“It does feel good.” His fingers weave through her hair. “Before her, there was no one who wished to know my heart at all.”

They dine with the Queen, and she engages in conversation with a desperate sort of enthusiasm. The past days have mostly gone in perturbing silence, and she yearns for the opportunity to erase it, even with idle talk. They speak of the gardens, and the ladies-in-waiting, and Princess Helaena’s children that seem to be growing more and more each day.

Aemond holds his tongue beside her, and the quietude in which he wallows no longer takes her aback. More often than not, his silence speaks for itself. All she must do is look into his eye to comprehend the words.

“Children are a woman’s greatest joy,” the Queen rambles on, and there is a softness in her face that takes away all remnants of the usual misery that she wields. “It is only a matter of time before you’ll find it yourself.”

She straightens her spine.

Words die inside her throat. Does she smile and change the subject? Does she confess that she will not find it—she’ll never find it—because her husband has no desire to be a husband at all? All protests and confirmations and pretty promises are insufficient. She thinks it is better not to speak at all.

She nearly jumps out of her seat when something warm engulfs the skin of her palm. It’s Aemond. He has taken her hand into his, and the way he holds her is both gentle and firm.

Do they not fit perfectly? Aemond’s hand is larger than hers; its lines are harsher. She lets their fingers lace together, and when she hesitantly turns her eyes towards him, she finds him already watching her.

He holds her gaze with unmasked expression, as if to say: this is me trying.

She is possessed by a surge of boldness.

The lights of the chamber are dimmed, and she is long prepared for the night. There is a tremble in her hands. She cannot discern if it’s one of trepidation or excitement.

Aemond offers nothing more than his usual greeting when he stalks into the room. It’s neither warm nor cold; as always, it’s not enough. She watches him stride towards the table, and he sinks onto the chair, hands reaching for one of the books.

He doesn’t truly read them. It took her a while, but she now sees right through his habits. Aemond repeats the same exact process every night. He sits with a book, and keeps his eye downcast, and sometimes—just sometimes—his gaze moves towards her when he thinks she isn’t looking.

Each day, he comes back not to read, but to see her.

Each day, she waits for him to act.

There are moments when they touch, and when their touches linger longer than they should. There are moments when he takes her hand into his, or brushes hair away from her face, or grabs her waist as he walks by. There are moments that she allows herself to push closer to the heat that he radiates.

She is tired of surviving on moments alone.

With her breath unsteady, she waits.

Aemond taps his fingers against the surface of the table, and she cannot help but observe the motion. His rings shine in the flickering lights.

“What are you reading?” she asks, keeping the buzzing anticipation on a leash.

His shoulders tense. She never interrupts his lectures.

The floors are cold beneath her bare feet. She keeps her pace slow. The distance between them shrinks, and soon she is standing right behind him.

Aemond’s heavy exhale hits her ears. She wishes she could preserve the sound.

With her shaky hands, she reaches for his shoulders. He is firm and solid; strong and warm. Scorching. When he says nothing—when he doesn’t move away—she lets her hold on him tighten. Just this once, she wants to touch him as though he was hers. Like a wife ought to. The way she never learned how to.

Emboldened by his stillness, she bends closer; their faces are at level. She brushes away the silver strands of hair that shield him from her, and soon she is free to take the sight of him in.

The line of his lips is thin and tight. There is a small, white scar on his temple. His skin catches the slightest hint of pink, and it crawls onto his cheeks in gradual motion. He is right there—right there—and her mouth is dry. She puts her lips to the soft skin of his cheek before she can hesitate again.

Aemond’s breathing turns rugged. She sees the rise and fall of his chest, quicker with every inhale. Her fingertips burn with the want to feel his heartbeat.

When she grabs the book he holds in a vice grip, he turns to her.

Their noses brush.

The air is gone. There’s nothing left of it. Her gaze trails from his eye to his mouth, and they’ve never been this close.

It takes the smallest tilting of her head for their lips to meet.

She is blinded. Flames flood her vision. Her heart bruises her ribs, and Aemond’s fire burns her tongue, and never before did she imagine that a kiss could leave her so ruined.

He is quick to match her pace. His mouth moves against hers with a brutal force; he breathes her in, and she catches the silent groan before it dissolves. She nibbles at his bottom lip, hungry for more, and when their tongues mingle, she no longer remembers her name. He’s sweeter than any cake she’s ever tasted, and she wishes to forever devour him—to never, never stop.

But then his lips are gone. Strong arms seize her hips, and he effortlessly moves her away from him.

She doesn’t understand. Aemond shoots out of the chair, and rushes towards the door, and she watches his shrinking figure—always, always watches him leave.

She senses his gaze on her skin.

An entire day has gone by, and she’s long since stopped expecting Aemond to return. Her heart has turned into stone. She forced it to do so.

And now he’s standing there. Watching.

“Am I not worthy of your affection?”

She regrets the obvious cracking of her voice, though there is little to do about it now. He isn’t deserving of the mask of collectedness that she could attempt to put on. She will not veil her hurt. Because he chose to cause it, he may well see its aftermath.

Aemond doesn’t answer. She knew that he wouldn’t.

“Is it because there’s no fire in my blood that you deem me below you?”

She turns, eager to see his features, and then almost wishes that she hadn’t. There is something broken about him. His face is ashen, marked by shadows of exhaustion. His lip quivers.

“I’m chained to you,” she half-whispers. “The least you could do is not tighten the shackles around my neck.”

“I never wished for it.”

“I never wished for it, either!”

There is a dull ache in her chest. The stranger before her won’t meet her eyes, and she loses her footing again, alone and tired and desperate for a change.

She won’t beg. She’ll never beg.

But she is not yet ready to stop pushing.

“You won’t even let me close.”

Aemond’s face crumbles, and she finds nothing in him but raw, agonising vulnerability.

“It is not easy to learn something so foreign.”

Her fingers find the lacings of his riding leathers.

They have succumbed to a heavy sort of silence. It stretches and grows; haunts their days and nights with equal intensity. She allows this quietude to exist with a trace of vindictiveness inside her bones. If one of them ought to break it, it is him.

As always, he prepares to leave with the first mark of sunset. She bites back all protests rising to her lips. She will not speak. Her words do little more than fall upon deaf ears.

She allows herself this much: crumbs of him, all stolen, when she stands close and brushes her fingers against his clothes. She ignores his scent, and his warmth, and the way her skin itches with the want to press closer.

Aemond’s eye scorches the skin of her cheeks.

He hasn’t moved away. She is glad not to have been forced to choke on scarlet shame—to have him flee her touch again would be the end to all the lingering remnants of hope. Aemond stands still and stiff, and she is half-convinced that he’s holding his breath.

She freezes in her tracks when one of his hands grabs both of hers into a gentle embrace.

The tips of his fingers are calloused. He strokes her skin with his thumb, and she clings onto the last of her composure, unwilling to melt before him.

A single touch. That’s how much it takes to shatter her resolve.

“You’re too good,” he says, and the words are little more than a whisper. “Pure. My hands could only ever ruin you.”

Her eyes find his, and she wishes she could decipher what remains unspoken by looking at him alone. She wants to know his heart and his mind. She wants to know all his thoughts.

Her greedy fingertips trace the lines of his palm. His hand trembles.

“How could something so gentle ruin?”

He has only ever held her with meticulous cautiousness. She knows his touch as tender and attentive. Warm. Doesn’t he see the shivers he evokes? Doesn’t he know that they come from fondness and devotion and the deep affection that she drowns in? He cannot ruin her. His hands are not capable of it.

Aemond doesn’t believe her. His vulnerability shows through the cracks of his usual composure. He tries to enshroud himself in indifference, but she has long since learned his mannerisms. The mask of blankness will not deceive her.

He attempts to tear his hand away, but she tightens her hold.

“Look at me, husband.”

It is a demand. Aemond must recognise it as such, because the lowered eye flickers and gives in.

Because she is a woman of weakness, she lets herself put a hand on his cheek. Her fingers hook under the strap of the eyepatch. She hears him gasp for air, and the sound reverberates in her ears like a prayer.

Her heartbeat is wild and strong, and she whispers, “Don’t you see? There is no fear in my eyes.”

The memory of his gaze induces odd tremors long after he departs.

The mattress dips behind her.

There is an onslaught of heat that spreads over her bare skin, though she has yet to discern what it stems from. The air goes still. Heavy.

It begins with a fingertip tracing the length of her forearm. The touch is featherlike—no more than a gentle stroke that lacks any pressure. So light. So light, barely even there, and yet at once she is consumed by flames.

“Husband,” she breathes into the night.

A rush of hot air hits her ear when he whispers an answering, “Wife.”

Aemond’s fingers traverse the expanse of the skin that isn’t covered by blankets. He moves from the side of her palm, through the nook of her elbow, higher, higher. His hand reaches her shoulders; fingers spread towards the outline of her collarbone, dipping into the crevices and searing a string of goosebumps into her skin. She holds her breath. Her heart pounds against her chest in violent patterns.

He smells of smoke. She wishes to inhale his fragrance until she chokes on it; until it fills her lungs and replaces all oxygen. Aemond presses closer to her, and she holds back a whimper when he moves his hand to her neck.

“I have neglected you,” Aemond murmurs.

“You have.”

“And now I must beg your forgiveness.”

Aemond’s hand closes around her throat, and she holds back a gasp.

Their bodies are pressed together. She exhales in surprise when she finds his forearms as bare as hers. He must have abandoned his shirt before crawling into bed.

Their bed. The bed that is supposed to be shared.

“I rather thought your constant neglect was deliberate practice,” she says, forcing her voice not to crack. “Why would you beg forgiveness for something you feel no remorse about?”

A gasp tears out of her throat when Aemond seizes her arm and flips her onto her back.

Their faces are close; closer than she thought they’d ever come again. In the pale moonlight, his features become soft and veiled. She wishes she could see him in sharp lights; wishes to trace every blemish and mark on his skin. This subdued version of him is not sufficient. She must imprint every part of him in her mind.

When he hums, her own skin vibrates with the sound.

She clamps her legs together.

“Yes,” he muses. “You have voiced your displeasure with astonishing fervour.”

Her lips part when one of his legs sneaks in between hers. He is quick to push her knees apart.

“As was my right,” she replies, and the words come out as breathless.

Aemond’s thigh is solid. She feels the flexing of his muscles against her own skin. Her nightgown rides up from the friction, and soon her calves are left exposed.

“You said you were chained to me.”

“And it was the truth.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Only when you pretend that you’re not chained to me as well.”

Slightly, slowly, she pushes her head up. His breath hits her cheek; her lips come so close to his chin that she could press them against it without straining.

Aemond’s fingers tighten their hold on her neck.

Their eyes meet, and it is fire clashing with fire. The purple gives way to a deranged darkness; Aemond’s face is unmasked. She looks at him and holds her breath. Looks at him until everything in the background blurs. Her trembling fingers reach to cup his jaw, and when they connect with the soft skin, he lets out a quiet gasp.

“I do it for your own sake,” he breathes out. “You know nothing about the depravities living in my mind.”

She trembles when his thumb comes up to caress her lips.

“So good. So pure.” Aemond trails the outline of her mouth, voice dropping with each word. “And yet you’ve instilled a madness in me that I can no longer quench.”

She wants to grab him by the neck and pull him closer. She wants their lips to press together; to meld into one, and turn to ashes from the force of flames. Does he know that she dreams of the shape of his lips? Does he know that her eyes trace it when he’s reading—that she now knows it by heart? His taste haunts her. Sometimes, she puts her warm fingers onto her mouth and imagines that the heat is him. Sometimes, she touches herself and imagines his lips nibbling on a different spot.

Keeping her scorching desire leashed, she remains still.

It is he who must cross the remaining distance. It is he who must light up the flames.

His hand comes up to her face. Her cheek tickles from his fingertips; lashes flutter when he brushes his thumb against them. She opens her mouth—to taunt him, or curse him, or beg. She only knows that she must say something. Anything. She cannot let this fire die. Her head spins and her skin tingles—

And then his mouth is on hers.

It is a hungry kiss. He aims to devour her. She moans into his lips when he bites down; he shifts his weight, and her skin burns underneath his body. Aemond holds her chin; tilts it to his liking, claiming her mouth with greed and lust and depravity. She forgets to breathe. There is no need for air when he’s this close.

Out of fear that he’ll try to move away, she wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. His skin is scalding-hot, and she cherishes the way it burns.

She licks his bottom lip, demanding entrance, and he is quick to oblige. Their teeth clink, and she pulls him closer, and soon their tongues swirl around one another, none willing to yield. He tastes like fire. She wants to swallow him whole.

They break apart when his fingers grab the fabric of her nightgown.

“I want this off,” he says, already hiking it up, impatient to leave her naked.

“Do you?” she teases.

Aemond is not in a mood for her games.

She gasps in surprise when something rips apart, and then she sees two pieces of white cloth hanging from his hands. He has ruined her gown, and seems to be awfully pleased with himself. She should make her displeasure clear—

He traces the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she forgets all about the robe.

“You’re so sweet,” he pants. “My sweet wife.”

His words push her to the brink of madness. Wife. Wife.

His eye trails from her lips to her throat, and lower towards her breasts. He looks at her peaked nipples, red and aching like her mouth.

One of his fingers brush against the pebble, and she stifles a moan.

“Look at you,” Aemond breathes, and his chest rises and falls with increasing intensity. “I barely touched you, and you’re already trembling.”

He must not realise the extent of his influence on her traitorous body.

She opens her mouth to tell him as much, but then his mouth travels down her throat and her breastbone, and soon replaces his fingers. He peppers her sensitive skin with kisses; nibbles at the flesh in the hollow of her bust. She quivers under his attention, hands finding the strands of his hair. When Aemond’s lips wrap around her hard nipple, she cries out.

His hand traverses up her thigh. Wantonly, she spreads her legs so that his hips can fit in the middle. He is quick to push against her—push until there’s barely any space left between them—and when she feels his rock-hard length, she forgets all about swallowing the desperate sounds. Her back arches, and Aemond keeps sucking at her breast, alternating between soft brushes of his lips and harsh bites of his teeth, and she is burning. Flames consume her whole.

She pulsates against him. Her walls clench around nothing—they’re empty, they’re empty, and she must be filled or else she’ll go mad.

“I want you inside,” she demands, nails sinking into his skin, too lost in her desire to veil herself with feigned innocence.

Aemond breathes out a laugh in response, and the warmth mingles with the cold saliva that he’s left on her nipple. She makes a strangled noise.

He raises his head, and there is a sudden sobriety in his expression. She knows its roots. Aemond insists on holding onto self-deprecation, and it is clear that he still doesn’t think himself worthy of touching her.

She will rip this doubt out, even if its thorns draw blood.

Her hands come up to cup his face.

With intensified ardour, she repeats, “I want you inside.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he rids himself of his resolve.

Her breathing turns rugged when Aemond grabs both her thighs, pulling them further apart. It’s dark, but he must see the way she glistens under the moonlight. Her cunt is dripping wet. She restrains herself from rocking her hips forward in search for friction.

“You do want me.”

She does. She does. She needs him, and she must be touched, and if he doesn’t bury himself inside her—

Her body jerks when Aemond’s fingers descend to her clit.

His touch is a firestorm. She shudders when he circles around the nub; all her rational thoughts die in flames. Aemond flicks his thumb back and forth across her clit with a firmness that has her panting. His digit is already slicked with the wetness pooling out of her entrance; his fingers gather the moisture and spread it over her pulsating lips. Her face and chest must be red with want. She wants him so much that it hurts.

A shaky moan tears out of her mouth when the pressure of his touch increases. Aemond speeds up his movements; it burns, it burns. She buckles her hips, and the muscles of his thigh tense, and he is watching her with raw wonder.

Aemond kisses her sloppily. The way their tongues brush against each other is filthy. She takes his bottom lip in between her teeth, and he grunts into her mouth, and his fingers don’t stop moving against her. The friction is euphoric. Before she knows it, it brings her over the edge.

She spasms beneath him, and he doesn’t let their lips part.

It is like reaching the stars. Like drowning. Like water given to someone dying of thirst. She’s suspended in a place without time; without faces that aren’t his. There’s just Aemond. His lips. His fingers.

He doesn’t slow until she cries out from overstimulation, and even then, he strokes her bundle of nerves in a featherlike caress.

“Touch me,” Aemond breathes against her shoulder.

Still reeling from her high, she is quick to oblige.

“Here?” she asks, hands trailing down his spine, and his answer comes in teeth biting her neck.

He’s softer than she ever imagined.

The way Aemond shudders underneath her palms makes it clear that he’s unaccustomed to tender touch. It breaks her heart into pieces to think of the boy he once was—the one so starved for love but unable to accept it, always, always thinking himself undeserving of it. It hurts even more to know that even now—even when they’re chest to chest, bodies bared and mouths connected—he believes himself unworthy.

He’s so soft. Hard. He is made of harsh lines and smooth dips, and her hands greedily traverse the expanse of his exposed flesh, hoping to prove that her desire for him has no bounds. She wants him as he is. She wants every part of him.

Aemond looks into her eyes, and the purples become blurry. “Your touch heals the rot inside me.”

She claims his mouth because she can. Because he is hers.

When he enters her, she is finally whole.

It hurts because it must. He pushes until the barrier inside her relents; he is slow enough to let her adjust to his length. Pain doesn’t take away the overwhelming sensation of being full. Her breath hitches, and Aemond is quick to steal another kiss before the sound dies on her lips. He kisses her once, twice—kisses her for so long that she forgets who she is.

His next thrust renders her dazed.

Aemond’s neck is slick with sweat. Emboldened—crazed—she gathers the dampness on her tongue. There’s a sound of skin hitting skin; he ruts into her with increasing force. She is not herself anymore; no longer recalls who she was before this. Before him. No one, she thinks. Empty, empty no one.

Her vision swims when his fingers find the spot where she aches most. Aemond sears the smallest of circles into her clit; one of his hands remains on her breast, and her eyes roll back from the onslaught of sensations. His cock thrusts inside her at an agonising pace. The stretch burns.

She begins to toe the line between lucidity and delirium, and he is there to carry her through the threshold.

Her fingers tug at his silver hair. Legs wrap around his waist with a crushing force. She holds him close, and he presses against her, and the sinful sounds that fall from their lips are surely loud enough to awaken the entirety of the Red Keep.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. Now that Aemond is inside her, she never wants him to leave.

Aemond’s grunts become desperate. His movements are stripped of control, and she feels him sink his fingers deep into her hips. He holds her like he wants to leave bruises; pulls her closer with each thrust.

“Is this duty?” he whispers into her skin.

“No,” she is quick to answer. “It’s not. It’s not.”

This is something else. Something more. This is wildfire engulfing her heart; flames bursting through her bones. This is her body moulding into his in a perfect shape; lines blurring.

When his teeth sink into her shoulder, she knows that he is close. She rocks her hips against him, meeting each of his thrusts. She’s somewhere high above ground. She is flying.

“Inside me,” she rasps with the last of her breath. “I want your seed inside me.”

“Fuck.”

It sends him over the edge.

Her toes curl. Aemond’s movements turn wild, bordering on violent, and when he shudders and cries out and collapses, he takes her right with him.

There are stars inside her, and all erupt at once. She can do nothing but thrash beneath Aemond’s solid body; hold onto him so she doesn’t fall. She thrums with pleasure and pain and something else—something she cannot name—that has her gasping his name into the darkness. Aemond. Aemond.

He smothers the words with his lips on hers.

She cannot breathe. Air isn’t sufficient for her lungs. Aemond’s hands trail up her body, slow and exhausted, and soon he is cupping her face.

Their foreheads are pressed together.

All she knows is the colour of his eye.

Husband and wife. He holds her close, and their heartbeats match, and they are one.

[mangocustard16]

CALLING SEVENTEEN BY THE WRONG NAME AS A PRANK

genre fluff, crack? pairing svt x reader word count 0.8k warnings mentions of cheating, jealousy(obv), mentions of sexy times?

seungcheol would pout, asking, "what did you just call me?" his voice held a hint of disappointment. his eyes searching yours for any jest. when you confessed that it was just a prank, his smile would turn into a relaxed smile as he whined about you always pulling some stupid prank on him

jeonghan's head would whip around so fast, as if he couldn't quite believe what he heard. "what did you just call me, baby?" he'd ask with a blank stare. and now he won't stop calling you all the random names known to mankind

joshua would freeze at first but he would reply just as normal leaving you confused. when you call him by a different name again, he'd ask you to sit down and talk. when you explain the prank, he'd release a sigh of relieve

jun would freeze in his tracks, his eyes widening in panic as he processed your words. his heart would skip a beat, and for a moment, he'd feel a surge of insecurity and fear. "love, why would you call me that?" his voice trembling, "you're not…cheating on me with him, right?" when you tell him that it was just a prank, he'd fall over, clutching his heart dramatically "oh no y/n! what would i ever do without you~~?"

hoshi would be caught completely off guard, his eyes widening in surprise as he hears you call him anything except baby, let alone any other man's name. he'd sputter, almost choking on the water he was drinking, before managing to set the glass down with a thud. "That's not my name!" he'd shout. "hey, hey, I'm sorry, baby, it was just a joke…" you'd say. "no! horanghae power attack  launch!" he'd exclaim as he tackled you

wonwoo would pause for a moment, and his eyes would lock onto yours with a hint of seriousness. "Excuse me?" his voice would be calm, but there's a firmness to it that would make you pause. as you try to backtrack, explaining that it was just a prank, wonwoo's expression softens slightly, but the seriousness in his eyes remains. "i see," he responds, booping your nose

woozi would almost not catch what you called him, but he'd quickly get up and follow you around the house, asking you who that person was. "just tell me who it is. your coworker? the barista down the block? just who?" when you tell him that you were pranking him, he'll just hug you, telling you how much he loves you

dokyeom would fall for it instantly, his eyes almost filling with tears. "do you not love me anymore?" you'd have to assure him again and again that it was truly just a prank and that you love him more than anything. he'd be over it after a night full of cuddles and comforting kisses

mingyu wouldn't even bat an eye at your slip-up. instead, he would simply raise his eyebrows in mild amusement, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk. "now now, did I hear you right?" he'd ask, his tone casual as he'd wait for confirmation. when you confirm that he indeed heard correctly, mingyu will chuckle softly before effortlessly lifting you up and tossing you over his shoulder. "I thought by now you'd know my name since you scream it all the time—" "mingyuu"

minghao wouldn't be impressed, not in the slightest. Why on earth would you call him by some random name? he would glare, his eyes narrowing with irritation. as you continue to call him by this ridiculous name, his glare intensifies into a blank, annoyed stare

seungkwan's head would turn so fast that it would almost scare you. "what did you just call me?" he'd say giving you his iconic side-eye, making you burst with laughter. which would make him even more confused. when you tell him about the prank, he's not at all impressed, but he'd just laugh at his own reaction to your prank

vernon would react with his usual nonchalant demeanor, his expression barely changing at your slip-up. he'd raise an eyebrow, a subtle hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he casually remarks, "did I hear you right?" upon confirmation, he'd simply shrug. "guess i've got a new nickname now," he'd say with a casual shrug before continuing whatever he was doing as if nothing had happened

dino's reaction would catch you off guard. instead of showing any sign of annoyance or amusement, he'd simply blink, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, without a word, he'd gently take you out to the balcony, making you feel a lil bit weird. but just when you're about to ask, he'll stop and turn to you, a small smile playing on his lips. "You know, sometimes it's fun to keep them guessing," he'd say, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint as you both laughed your hearts out

@kflixnet @k-films@k-labels

taglist-˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅: @bangchansbae @haecien @aaniag @aaasia111 @weird-bookworm @gigification @bewoyewo if you want to be added just send me an ask ♡⸝⸝

pls reblog if you liked !!

[norrisleclercf1]

But You? You Are Mine

Pairing: Assistant!Reader x Mafia!Jenson Button

Rating: R for violence and language

Words: 4.8K

Warnings: Blood, death, kidnapping, Bernie Ecclestone (yeah man gets his own warning) etc.

Synopsis: Jenson finally learns the truth, in the worse way possible

Mafia Jenson: pt.1 Unattainable / pt.2 Slipping Through My Fingers / pt.3 He's Not Yours

A/N: Whoops, sorry for lying @percervall

Before he was born, Jenson thought he found the meaning of love. Love meant seeing you in the morning, smiling when he brought you your coffee, or when he would crack a joke, how you'd glow when he gave you a gift. To him, seeing you so happy was love for him; he wanted to have that every day. He wanted you every day. And for each day, for 10 years, he had you, but now, you had someone else.

Jenson learned true love when he held that gorgeous little blonde boy for the first time. Seeing how his pure ocean eyes stare up at him, the boy gets the little gummy smile when he sees Jenson each time. Jenson fell harder and harder. If this is what a parent's love is like, he never wants it to end.

Here he was, 3 am, with barely any sleep, and he couldn't be happier as little Theo didn't want anyone but Jenson at that moment. You were lying in Jenson's bed, as Jenson bounced softly in front of it, whispering how Theo should be sleeping right now. The brilliant boy giggles, Jenson shushing him, looking back, seeing you curled up to his pillows, fast asleep.

"You being clingy doesn't help Mommy get any sleep," Jenson whispers. Theo gurgles, his little pudgy hands reaching up for Jenson. Leaning down, the little boy cups his father's face, giggling, and Jenson closes his eyes, basking in the sound before kissing him on his rosy cheek. "Oh Theo, you love so purely. If only you knew that I'm not a good man," Jenson whispers, holding the boy closer, scared that he'd wake at any moment and none of this would be true.

You wouldn't be in Jenson's bed, Theo wouldn't exist, and Jenson would wake up in the cold bed with you still distant, yet so close to him. Jenson never wants this dream to end. "Jenson," Turning, he sees you squinting but then gets a laziness but loved-filled smile at seeing Theo half asleep in your boss's arms. "Come back to bed," You plead, holding out your hand, eyes so filled with sleep that Jenson almost groans, seeing how you want him next to you.

"Theo is almost asleep, love, I promise," Jenson whispers, but you shake your head. Theo is almost 1 now, and since that day in the hospital, you and Jenson....grew closer; it drove the others crazy, as they wanted nothing more than for you two to admit you're a couple. Still, neither of you would say the words. "Just bring him to bed with you," Lying back down, you pull Jenson's side of the covers back, and Jenson melts; nodding his head, he moves and lies down, Theo between you two.

Theo settles instantly, sucking on his pacy, ocean eyes drooping, which has always made you two giggle at how hard he tries to fight off sleep. "Jenson," Your voice is soft, hand ghosting his cheek, which has him looking up from Theo. "You are a good man. Do you understand me? You are a very good man, too good." Emotions well up in you. Between you two, Jenson was a saint, no matter if he was running the largest British Mafia, while you're lying to Jenson with each breath you take.

"No," He breathed, cuddling closer, careful not to crush Theo, who was now passed out, sleeping, winning the battle this time. "No, you're the better one; you gave me love; that's all I could ask for," Jenson whispers, and you close your eyes, taking a deep breath to stop the tears from falling. "You're the best person for him, don't ever change that, just....always be there for him, please," You whisper, unsure what you would do if Jenson ever left.

"I'll always be there for him. Just get some sleep, love; I'll be here when you wake," Nodding, you let your hand rest on top of Jenson's that's resting on Theo's tiny stomach. "I'll always be here," Jenson whispers,

-------------------------

Theo giggles as Lewis lifts him up above his head, Lewis chuckling as you try to finish up some paperwork. "He's been acting weird, Lewis," You whisper, staring at the door where a meeting is occurring. You weren't allowed in for the first time ever. "Don't stress over it. You don't have to be at every meeting, ya know," Lewis smiles, but his words are tight as he blows raspberries on Theo's chubby cheeks, not caring about the drool as Theo chews on his fist.

"Lewis, he's drooling everywhere," You chuckle and lean back, grabbing a bib and wiping your son's mouth, who smiles so wide, you feel your heart stop. He's got Jenson's smile. "How's mini Button?" Lewis and you freeze, relaxing when you see it's Mark who quickly takes Theo from Lewis. "He looks more like Sebastian," Lewis quickly counters, but Mark just shrugs and stares at Theo for a second. "Sure, he's got his eyes," You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, trying to remain calm.

The older Theo got, the more he inherited his actual birth father's features, and it was starting to scare you. "How is Sebastian?" You whisper, having not spoken to him since you told him you were pregnant and needed him to pretend to be a deadbeat father, who really needed to stay away due to Mark, Mark, who just got back from a delegation meeting with them.

"Fine, didn't even ask about Theo, which pissed me off. Knocks you up, bolts, and doesn't have the balls to even ask about his baby boy," Mark spits, Theo squeals and slaps the stubble on Mark's cheeks, who smiles and tickles his stomach. "Yes, yes, your daddy is a bad man," Mark says in a baby voice, which has you and Lewis snickering. It was so odd to see Mark interacting with the baby cause for the first 6 months, he refused to hold Theo until Jenson shoved him into his arms, and now, Mark will just take him out of your arms without warning and refuse to give him back when asked by either you or Jenson.

"Doesn't Jenson have a huge meeting today? Why aren't you with him?" Mark asks, and you stick your hand out to him, staring at Lewis as if saying, 'See, I told you so.' Lewis rolls his eyes, but even he must admit that it's rare for you to be included in the meeting. "Alright, I'll admit that it's odd, okay? Who's he even meeting with?" Spinning in your chair, you pull up Jenson's schedule and see who he is meeting with.

"Um, it... what?" you whisper and start clicking around, looking for who he could meet with. "It doesn't say; it's not even on a personal calendar; he scheduled this himself." You whisper, and a horrible feeling settles in your stomach. "He did this without me knowing," Mark and Lewis share a look but don't say anything as the meeting room door bangs open, startling Theo, who starts to cry.

A man walks out, furious and short, with snow-white hair, a matching beard, and beady little eyes. You quickly move and grab Theo, wanting to hide him from this man's gaze. Mark and Lewis promptly stand in front of you as you try to calm Theo, who cries loudly. You know that he probably wants Jenson, shushing him. You bounce softly as the man stops looking at the four of you, getting the nastiest look ever on his face. "Well, if it isn't Button's whore and his little followers," The man growls; Mark steps right in front of you, his face turning murderous as he glares him down.

Lewis moves to your side, trying to help Theo calm down. "Ecclestone! Get the fuck away from them," Theo whimpers hearing his Papa's familiar voice and babbles, reaching out for Jenson, who equally looks furious. "Or what Button? Do you think you're so powerful now? Well, nothing will stop me from getting what I want," You step back, Jenson's face changing as he sees Theo is with you instead of the nanny; immediately, he feels this overpowering urge to protect you and his child.

"Ecclestone, either get the fuck out, or I'll give Fernando and Felipe a call and tell them you're here," Jenson seethes, stepping closer to you two. The old man clocks the movement but does nothing as he knows Felipe Massa would kill him without a second thought, "This won't end here," The man turns and stalks out, Jenson quickly moving to you two and pulling you into his arms, looking over you in a hurry. "Did he touch you?" Jenson's voice is tight as he tries to control his anger.

"Dada," Theo babbles, a new word he's been using a lot, twisting his body to reach out for Jenson, who happily takes Theo and holds the back of his head, taking a deep breath, knowing he's safe in his arms. "How could you two let that man near them," Jenson seethes, and Mark scuffs. "Watch it mate; how were we supposed to know you were meeting with Bernie fucking Ecclestone," Mark snaps, and Theo whimpers, not liking the loud noises.

"Stop, please. You're scaring Theo," Jenson freezes, hearing those words, and immediately starts whispering soft words of love, telling his boy how much he loves him. "Jenson, you met with him and didn't even tell me who that man is?" You try to shove down the betrayed feeling, but you have no right to feel betrayed, not when holding the biggest secret. "He is no one, an old bastard from the past that should've died years ago; why Massa lets him keep living is beyond me, ever since Singapore," Jenson shakes his head, and Lewis's shoulders tighten. "Can we not talk about it," Jenson and Mark scuff, "Why? You came out squeaky clean and the biggest winner ever," Lewis scowls, looking down at his hands.

"Doesn't matter, leave the devils in the past," "Kinda hard to do when we are the devils," Mark comments, and you are suddenly aware that they all have a past, secrets, dark secrets that they will never tell you, no matter how close you all become, you'll never truly become one of them. "Y/n, please, baby, look at me," Looking up, you stare into the eyes of the man you love, the one you can never breathe those 3 words to. Those words would get him, or you killed, "If you ever, and I mean ever, see that man again, you take Theo and you run; I mean it, please, Y/n, please," Jenson begs, and you nod your head; Theo reaching out for you.

"Mama," You smile and gently take Theo, bouncing him softly, which makes him giggle. His blotchy cheeks have your heartache, but Jenson leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of Theo's head, then kisses you softly. "Lewis, Mark, take them home for me?" "No, I have work today, and we have other meetings," "No," Jenson snaps; your eyes widen, as Jenson never raised his voice at you. "No, you're going home with the baby; I need to know you two are safe; don't leave their side," He tells the two, who nod and gather your and Theo's things.

"I'll be home soon, promise," Jenson leans in, stealing one last kiss before walking down the hall to his office. Sighing, you follow out, stopping when you see Bernie Ecclestone staring at you. But more importantly, his eyes stay trained on the stroller with Theo. Mark clocks it and immediately steps in the way, Bernie scuffing and climbing into a thick army-built SUV.

"Let's get you home, okay," Mark whispers and helps you load everything up.

-------------------------

It's been three weeks since you met Ecclestone. You noticed the increase in security almost immediately. Jenson kept waving you off, saying that Theo needed the extra security as he got older. More people started to learn that Jenson Button was seen with a baby. Still, you had a feeling that wasn't really the case. Today was enough; after having Theo, you didn't feel like yourself; you didn't feel like your confident, badass self, but now, you were tired of Jenson walking over you.

Staring at your closet, you smirk and pick out a black pencil skirt that has a slit in the back, going up your mid-calf and stopping, pairing it with was deep red wine button-up and styling your hair your favorite way, and doing your favorite makeup. You look in the mirror and smirk, loving the old confident badass was back, and you were about to get your answers.

-------------------------

"Don't tell Y/n, please," Jenson pleads, not wanting you to learn about the real reason for the security increase. He didn't want you to worry, letting him deal with this stress more than anything. "Jense, you need to tell her," Lewis grumbles, sometimes hating being best friends with both of you. Hearing the elevator, Lewis freezes as he hears the familiar click of So Kate's on the marble floors, Jenson grumbling and not paying attention as you slam down your purse.

"You have a meeting, Mr. Button, at 10. Is there a reason you're sitting around my desk?" Jenson looks up, his eyes widening as he takes in the person before him. Fuck, he's screwed. You're wearing his favorite office outfit you wore before the pregnancy. God he loved you before, during, and after the pregnancy. Still, he won't lie, saying he missed your tight-ass pencil skirts and wonderful button-ups that stopped right at the curve of your breasts. Still, ever since the pregnancy, they've gotten thicker, making his suit pants tighter.

"You're back?" Lewis asks, suddenly loving this turn of events. "Yes, I realized that after having Theo, I turned soft on your asses, and that's going to change; now, why are you still here? Meeting in 10," You point to the boardroom, and Jenson groans, leaning in to kiss you, but you grab his chin hard, and he freezes.

"You don't deserve to kiss me. You've been lying to me about my son," "Our son," Lewis and you both freeze, and panic sets in fuck did he find out, but you two have been so careful to not let him know. "Our son, Y/n, I'm helping raise him; he's my son too, not by blood, but by love; he's mine." Jenson's eyes are hard as he pulls back and clears his throat. "Also, I haven't been hiding anything. I would tell you if I was. I love you too much to lie to you," He fixes his tie and stalks off, leaving you with a cotton taste in your mouth.

"Don't, just don't, Lewis," Lewis says nothing but leans closer and kisses your cheek. "Secrets are like poison; we swallow it each day to get stronger, but it does nothing but rip us apart slowly and painfully," You look down, staring at a picture of Jenson and Theo. It was taken at home; Jenson was shirtless again, displaying his tattoos. Theo was peacefully asleep, and Jenson was sleeping in the rocker; it was your favorite picture. How similar they look when they sleep makes you hate yourself for lying to Jenson about everything.

"Well shit, look who is looking gorgeous," Turning around, you smile brightly, seeing Fernando; moving quickly, you jump into your friend's arms, who holds you close and kisses your cheek. "Eh, Jenson pissed you off, so you decided to pull out the old pencil skirt?" You snort and hit his chest, which makes him giggle. "No, I realized I let this place go and need to straighten it out again; anyway, can I ask you a question?" You didn't know how to bring this up, but you needed to.

"Always," Fernando says, leading you both to the seating area across from your desk. "Is Bernie Ecclestone dangerous?" Fernando's face turns dark, making your skin crawl and the hairs on the back of your neck tingle with his look. "How do you know that name?" He growls, his hands tightening on yours so hard you wince, causing him to let them go. "He was here, talked to Jenson about 3 weeks ago, and Jenson increased security significantly after the interaction.

"Y/n, please stay away from that man, Ecclestone; he's," Fernando takes a deep breath, sighing as he tries to explain who Ecclestone is. "He used to be our old boss before we all went our separate ways and built our own mafias; he used to own us; we were basically his mutts. Did all his dirty work, and he didn't care who he fucked over to get it done. One night, there was a deal in Singapore; Felipe Massa, one of our close friends, was close to getting something he'd wanted for a long time. He was so close to getting it, but I came to find out that one of us was asked to crash the operation and give me an upper hand without my knowledge. Anyways, Felipe was furious, he was screwed over, and Lewis, well, if that didn't happen the way it did, Lewis wouldn't be who he is." Fernando takes a breath as you lean forward.

"After that night, we were all furious. Someone betrayed us and played us against one another. Come to find, Ecclestone betrayed us, and we all vowed revenge; Lewis, Felipe, and Jenson headhunted the whole thing. Jenson took most of the money and destroyed Ecclestone's reputation; now he's back for revenge. That's why Jenson is this way. I wouldn't be surprised if that old bastard made threats against you and Theo." Fernando leans back in his chair, and you mull over everything he says.

"He should've just told me the truth," Fernando scuffs, shaking his head. "You two aren't really the best at telling the truth. Don't be throwing rocks at glass houses, darling." Your blood runs cold as you stare at Fernando, who seems bored. "Come now, I know Sebastian, and I know how much he's panting after my man's cock, he's a fucker, but he wouldn't leave his child. Besides, Theo looks far too much like Jenson did as a baby," You blink slowly, opening and closing your mouth.

"Don't make excuses, you and Lewis, I'm sure you did what you did for a reason, but you didn't take into account that those Button genes are strong," Fernando chuckles, pushing his hair out of his face. "You must hate me for keeping this from him," Fernando shrugs, "Eh, not really. You're protecting your child, doing what's best for him, but you're lucky that a great man loves you and is willing to raise another man's child, even though that child is his." Fernando picks imaginary lint off his clothes and sizes you up.

"But, if I was Jenson," Fernando leans in, smirking, "No matter how good of friends you and I are, I would've killed you for this stunt you're pulling," Fernando smiles, patting your cheek as he stands and stretches. "See you around, darling," you stare wide-eyed as you watch Fernando walk off, leaving you stunned.

Fernando is right; you're lucky that Jenson is a good man.

-----------------------

After learning the truth, you couldn't help but feel like someone was watching you, and you refused to leave Theo alone for more than a few seconds. You were even nervous to leave him alone with Jenson, and Jenson would die before letting anything hurt Theo.

You are standing in the grocery store, Theo teething with some silicone toys you bought to help his aching teeth. Moving around, you notice that your guards stay back, giving you the semi-normalcy you requested; Theo gurgles loudly, and you giggle, making silly faces at him as you cash out, smiling at the sweet cashier who compliments Theo. You smile, or at least try to be unable to shake this feeling in your gut.

Moving through the parking lot, your guards are behind you, but they keep a distance to not draw attention to you; getting to your car, you giggle as Theo lets out a belly laugh when you drop your keys; bending down, you stand back up and freeze, seeing the man in all black, sitting in the back of your car holding a gun, pointed to Theo. "Scream or alert your guards, and I will kill the little bastard," Theo giggles, clueless, as you hand the keys to Theo.

"Don't hurt him, take me, okay? Whatever you want, just take me," You whisper, seeing your guards climb into their cars, waiting for you. "Do what you normally do and climb into the car. When you get in, we'll switch, understand me," You nod and smile, not wanting to scare Theo. You load the groceries, moving quickly, and load Theo into the car, and your blood runs cold. Then, you finally notice the second man in the car.

You try your best to stay calm, thinking over every possible scenario. "Get in," the first man says, and you nod; as he moves to the middle seat, Theo giggles and is curious about who the men are in the car with you two. "It's going to be okay, Theo, we're going to see Daddy," Theo squeals and claps his hands, repeating, Dada, "Cute kid," The second guy comments, and you give a wobbly smile as you get into the driver's side. "Move to the passenger seat,"

Listening to the command, you climb into the passenger seat, the mysterious men firing up your SUV. They pull out of the parking lot, and you watch as your bodyguards' cars follow. "Listen, just tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you. Jenson will give you anything, just please," You plead. The men share a look as they start to drive through the woods back to Jenson's house. "Lady, we don't give a fuck what you have to offer, we're just doing a job," the second man rumbles,

"Ecclestone," you whisper, the fear gripping your chest so hard you can't breathe. Listen, we don't really like hurting kids, but the money was too good to pass up. Besides, we need you to give Jenson the message." The car's door unlocks, and your eyes grow wide. Tell him Ecclestone wants back what he and he'll return his son." "No!" you scream as you reach for the wheel, the car swerving.

The driver's arm snaps out, bursts blood in your mouth as he slams his fist into your face, "Get the bitch out!" He screams; as your door is thrown open, you receive another hit as the car swerves and sends you flying out, hitting something hard. You roll, cars screeching, the sound of metal crunching, and a scream as you watch through blurred vision, your car driving off with your son in the car.

------------------------

Slamming the doors open, Jenson runs through the pale white hallways; the last time he was here, you were in a coma; now you were in a wreck, and Theo was taken. "Y/n Button, where is she?" Jenson slams his hand on the counter, the nurses jumping and pointing to the room, where cops swarmed it. Gritting his jaw, he storms into the room and stops dead in his tracks, seeing you.

An arm wrapped in white gauze, cheek bruised black, and mouth split open. Looking up, you notice him, and tears burn your throat and eyes. "Jenson," Ignoring the cops, he slams his way through the bodies and wraps his arms softly around you, no matter how much he wants to squeeze you tight. "They took Theo, I'm sorry, it's all my fault, they...they placed a gun to his head," You sob, Jenson having to control his anger and taking a deep breath.

"Out, I want everyone out," The cops stop talking and file out as Lewis, Mark, and Fernando slide into the room. "Where's Theo?" Lewis whispers, and you shake your head. The three men instantly join you as Lewis takes your empty side, and you curl into his side, hiding your face.

They stay silent for a while, listening to your tears as Jenson sighs and lets you go. "I need to call Sebastian," Jenson whispers, pulling away from you as he knows Sebastian will want to know his son has been taken. "Why?" You ask, wiping your eyes as Lewis wipes some blood from your lip gently. "Why? Y/n, Theo is his son,"

"Ecclestone," "What?" The room erupts into noise as you flinch, the men yelling over one another. "Stop!" Fernando roars, suddenly in front of you, grabbing your shoulders. "What the fuck does Ecclestone have to do with this?" Jenson steps forward, but Mark moves to stand in the way. "Stop, Jenson, we need these answers," "Y/n, darling, what do you mean Ecclestone," You take a deep breath, trying to gain feeling again, but you can't. Your heart was taken from you.

"Ecclestone, he," You take another deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. "Ecclestone hired two men to take Theo; they said they don't hurt children, but," A broken sound leaves your mouth, leaving the men to flinch. "But, the money was too good," You blubber, wiping your eyes as you try your hardest not to picture Theo crying for you or Jenson.

"They said that if Jenson returned what's Ecclestone, they'd give Theo back," you whimper. Jenson stares at you and shakes his head. "But, why take Theo? I know I'm raising him, but Ecclestone must know that Theo's father is Sebastian, not me," You feel your anger bubble as you stand up on wobbling legs, "He's not! He's not Sebastians! "He's yours. He's always been yours," You scream, the tears falling, skin burning as you scream the truth finally out at Jenson.

Laughing, Jenson shakes his head and steps back. "No, he's Sebastian, you said it, Sebastian said it, fuck, I mean, he even looks like Seb with the blonde hair and eyes," You stare at the man you've slowly fallen in love with, shake his head, and deny the truth. "Jenson, it's true," Lewis whispers; Jenson looks up. Betrayal, hurt, anger, disbelief, and genuine terror rip across Jenson's face before settling on pure fury.

"He's my son, he's my blood, and you hid that from me," Jenson storms forward, but Mark and Fernando quickly grab him and push him back. "Stop, she did what she thought was right." "How!! How is hiding the fact that I was raising my son, but I thought he was someone else's? HE'S MINE AND YOU LIED!" Jenson roars, causing you to flinch.

"I'm sorry, we weren't together, and with your life, I knew that it would be better for Theo and safer for you than if no one knew the truth." "But Lewis does," You snap your mouth shut, Lewis shifting his weight to stand in front of you slightly. "And judging by Mark and Fernando's reactions, they knew, so me, the true father, was left in the dark, forever heartbroken that the woman I LOVE HAD A BABY WITH SOMEONE ELSE!" Jenson turns and slams his fist into the wall.

Turning around, he shakes his head, takes deep breaths, and steps close to you. Everyone is on edge as Jenson grabs your face and pulls you close, kissing your forehead. "I'll be back, and we'll talk about this like adults, but right now, I have to go get our son," placing one last kiss on your forehead, you nod and watch as Jenson leaves the room silently.

-------------------------

"Please, please, I'm sorry," Jenson stands before Ecclestone, covered in the blood of the two men who had taken his baby. "You're a pathetic fool, should let Massa end you, but you touched my wife, my son, and I'm tired of you," Jenson cocks the gun as the pleas to live get louder. Still, Jenson scuffs and shoots Ecclestone through his head, watching as he crumbles into a lifeless puppet.

"Sir, we've got him." Jenson smiles and coos as Theo blinks at him with bleary eyes and whines. "Oh, did someone take a nap? Had a tiring day, didn't you, my gorgeous boy?" Jenson whispers and takes Theo into his arms, bouncing as he kisses the top of his head. "Dada," Theo whines and snuggles into his hold, Jeson sighing as Theo's weight back in his arms just feels right.

"Yeah, baby, Dada," Jenson repeats and closes his eyes, letting the silent tears fall. "Yeah, it's Dada," Jenson mummers again as he makes the walk back to the car and gently places him in his car seat. "Alright, time to go home,"

[borderlinereminders]

Examples of Irrational Thoughts/Cognitive Distortions:

These are common errors in thinking. And sometimes these distortions can cause us distress or other strong emotions.

Black and White Thinking: This is all or nothing thinking. For example, if you see yourself as failing at one thing, you think it makes you a failure at everything. "I didn't pass my driver's test. I can't ever do anything right."

Overgeneralization: This is where if one thing happens that is bad, you assume all things will be bad. For example, "I woke up late this morning. This day is doomed to be terrible."

Ignoring the Positive: You disqualify any positive and focus on the negative. Maybe you got an A on a test, but are disregarding that because you messed up somewhere else.

Jumping to Conclusions: You ignore facts in favour of your own interpretations. You may assume your friend hates you despite them inviting you to the movies the day before because they gave you a short response.

Mind Reading: This is making a conclusion about how someone else is feeling. "My friend hates me. I can tell."

Possibilities to Cope with Irrational Thoughts / Cognitive Distortions

Check the Facts: Here’s a post I wrote on this.

Challenging Irrational Thoughts: Here’s a post I wrote about this.

Examine the Evidence: Here’s a post on this.

You’ll likely find that most of these possibilities are very similar. One of the more common ways to deal with thoughts like the above is to use evidence and logic because it gives our brain something solid to use. Just telling ourselves that our thoughts aren’t real isn’t often helpful enough whereas evidence can help make it more convincing.

I’m going to include a couple other links I think may be helpful:

Emotional Permanence: Here’s a post on it. This one I think is important to understand because if we lack emotional permanence then it makes it that much easier to forget about anything other than the feelings in the current moment which make reinforce any negative thoughts.

Needing Reassurance: Sometimes our distorted thoughts lead us to second guessing our loved ones. Here’s a post about that, how to cope with it, and how to get reassurance in a healthy way if needed.

Some General Tips:

Learn about the different types of irrational thinking and cognitive distortions. (I don’t have them all listed). Being able to recognize them can be helpful itself. I find when I’m able to realize it’s a cognitive distortion, I’m able to move beyond it easier.

Keep a list of our accomplishments that you add to. This can be helpful in times we need reminders if we often have thoughts about us being a failure anytime we make a mistake.

Keep screenshots of loved ones and/or lists of things they’ve done that make you feel cared for. This can be helpful if we often have doubting thoughts about loved ones as a result of our cognitive distortions.

Think about what you’d tell a friend. If a friend failed a test, would I think they were a failure?

Sit with the discomfort. Sometimes, we know a thought is irrational and all we can do is get through it. Telling myself “it’s an irrational thought. I can sit with it. I don’t need to act on it” can be helpful. Acting on my feelings to irrational thoughts often damages my relationships or has other negative effects. But as uncomfortable as the thoughts are, learning to just sit with them instead of acting on them prevents some negative consequences.

Journaling. You can journal about your thoughts and feelings for a set amount of time a day and then mark the irrational thoughts. This can help us learn to recognize them when we’re having them.

Focus on something else. Sometimes the thoughts are too distressing and the best thing we can do is distract ourselves. You could reach out to a friend, watch a favourite show, enjoy an activity, etc.

[white-poppie]

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 ⎯⎯⎯ s.suguru x fem!reader (part 1/2)

SYNOPSIS: You were young, dumb and so in love. There was always this adrenaline rush when you and Suguru were together; harmony, romance and protection. Fate, you called it. Our youth ⎯ you cherished it. But every high ends doesn't it? When Suguru left; the sorcerer society and you, Shoko and Satoru. And you were left with the weight of more than what you could carry. Decisions of your youth, testament of your love. TW: sexual intercourse <not really explicit, but I'll tag it as smut>, Satoru and Shoko being super depressed, heartbreak, abandonment, !!mentions of teen-pregnancy and abortion!!, crying, smoking, suguru being cruel, panic attacks

"This is the last time." He whispers, his voice hoarse, his lips pressing against the nape of your neck. His large hands grip your waist tightly, his hot breath fanning on your skin as he looks at you, and you feel your chest tighten into knots. "I won't be able to see you again anymore." He says, deftly pulling on the hem of your top.

Your lips part, a shaky breath leaving the warm cavern. You knew this was coming. The way he was spiralling out of despair. His long lashes flutter against his cheek, eyebrows scrunched ever so slightly at the centre of his forehead. His teeth are clenched tightly, a muscle lightly feathers on his jaw. Little lilac veins bedeck the expanse of his pale neck, its a strange hue. Starting with a purple undertone it fades into a soft greenish-blue.

You gulp and remain silent as you wrap your arms around his neck. Shaky breaths, and the rustle of the sheets is the only sound that echoes with the walls of the room. You are hyperaware, as if your brain is wracking hard to absorb every single sensory detail of tonight.

Slowly, he lays you down on the bed, his large and calloused hand coming to cup your cheek, his eyes taking in the sight of you underneath him. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a silent command for you to look him in the eye. "I hope you hate me." He whispers, his chest rising and falling quickly. "If the last thought you have of me is disgust and disdain, I could die a happy man."

You look up at him, your hand clenching the sheets as he removes your t-shirt. Your skin feels frigid under air con, cold blood washing upto your head; your throat is parched. You just wish the world would swallow me down, burn your body with lapping tongues of fire...at least then you would be warm. "I could never hate you..." you manage to croak out, your eyes blankly looking at the ceiling, anywhere but him.

"You're a fool." He whispers quietly, his mouth trailing down your neck, and you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your skin, his fingers dancing along the lace pattern of your black brassiere. "You're so foolish," he whispers again, his other hand grabbing your thigh and pulling you closer. "To love someone and expect them to love you back."

"I know...." You whisper out, its like an invisible hand is constricting your heart. A cruel reminder that it's written in the stars to be an ominous little thing undeserving of any love from anyone.

His voice is quiet, but you can still hear his words ringing in your ears as you feel his hot breath fan over your skin as he whispers in your ear. "You should hate me for leaving you like this, you should scream and yell, you should curse my name," He says, and you feel his teeth gently biting down on your earlobe.

A muffled gasp leaves your mouth at his nibble. You look up at his eyes, a watery smile making its way on your face as he tells you to hate him. "Suguru." You whisper out so lovingly, in a worshipping way, yout eyes so full of devotion and reverence. Even when tears line your eyes, even when his words rip you apart. "Suguru, my love."

His eyes go wide at your soft whisper, and you can feel his hands tighten on your waist as he lowers his head onto your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Fuck" He whispers out his voice so heavy, you almost think he would cry. "You're so beautiful," He tells you, his voice choked up. "You're the prettiest person I've ever seen." He whispers, feverishly moving to unclasp your clothes, throwing it on the ground. His jaw trembles just a little, a shaky breath leaving his mouth.

He buries his face between your chest, fists clenching the fabric of the sheets, just inhaling sharply, you can feel the rough pads of his fingers trail up your sides. His breath is hot, his kisses searing your skin, you feel warm now. Its a given under his smouldering gaze as he looks up at you.

You can't help but whimper softly, hands weaving into his dark locks. His finds purchase on the smooth flesh of your hips, his fingers squeezing gently. "Pretty girl," he whispers under his breath as a strange sensation runs down your spine like you had walked into a lukewarm bath, the water rising till your tailbone. Its a sickly feeling.

His hand trails down, till all your clothes are discarded somewhere in the void, the corners of your eyes are blurry, you can't exactly see anything but him.

You shiver and peer at him, watching him discard his clothing. he's so pretty, you think, like some dark seraph who's wrath was a but too much for the pearly gates and so he fell down....into your bed. A sudden dread claws at your ribs. There would be other woman who would see him like this. Others who he'd use for his vendetta, but regardless they'd see him in all his glory.

His eyes a dark like pools of tar, dripping down and defiling your cherub-blood. You want to sink you teeth into his skin and rip his heart out, cradle it to your chest and never let go. You need him to be yours. Its so unfair.

He pulls you up towards him, his hands settling under your thighs as he spreads your legs on either side of him. A low grumble leaves your mouth as your eyebrows furrow. Your heart hurts in a way that makes you dizzy. Your throat runs dry with this sudden tsunami of emotions that hits your so hard that your ribs hurt.

His breathing is heavy and loud, his eyes staring down at you intently as you look up at him. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest as he moves slowly, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly it almost hurts, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You let out sharp, shaky whimpers. Trembling as your nose reddens, your heart feels like it’s breaking. You are never gonna see him again, feel him again. The world should cease to move.

He holds you close to his chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath coming out in a hot, heavy puff, fanning your skin with each passing moment.

Your hands shiver, and throat becomes so dry that its hard to breathe. You can't breathe. You can't let him go. The stoicness you had maintained to not look pathetic, to not cry in front of him when he was abandoning you. Its all crumbling down at this intimacy. This warmth has you feeling so vulnerable that you want to curl up and burrow to hide myself. A soft sob leaves your mouth as tears melt down from your eyes at the slightest bit of his warmth, breathlessly.

He freezes at the sound of your sob, his body stilling completely as he looks down at you. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear that threatens to fall. His eyes soften as he looks at you, his breathing slowing down as he gazes at you in wonder. His thumb trails across your skin and wipes another tear that threatens to fall, the look in his eyes heartbreaking as he looks at you.

And beyond that, you can't help the stream of soft sobs that you try so hard to stifle. You rest my arm over my eyes to stop looking, to stop feeling. Your shoulders tremble as all the indifference you were putting up, shatters down painfully.

His eyes go blank, and it’s as if everything comes crashing down around the two of you. He tries to stay strong, he truly does - but watching you cry like this, hearing the sounds you make as you try and hold it in, it’s almost too much. He pulls you up towards him, his arms encircling around your waist as he buries his face in your neck.

You cry out against his skin, your fingers tremble as your arms firmly wrap around him, afraid to let him go. Your stomach churns, and body burns. You want it to be a terrible dream. "Don't go." You cry out pathetically, sobbing. "Please don't go."

He stiffens, his arms tightening around your middle as he hears you say that. Your plea is like a knife in his heart, and he can’t help the way his arms tighten around you, as if trying to cling on to something that’s about to slip away. "Don’t…” He whispers out, his voice rough. “I told you… don’t make this harder than it already is," he says, his voice choked up. The pain in your voice is enough to break his heart, and he can’t help but feel utterly horrible as he holds you in his arms - but he can’t change his mind, he can’t stay with you, he can’t allow himself to get too attached to you. He already is, but he refuses to admit it, to even acknowledge the possibility of it.

And before you know it, your eyebrows furrow as you are lain back down again, a feathered gasp of pleasure and the pain that grips your heart leaves your throat.

He gasps as he looks down at you, your moans making his heart flutter with something almost akin to love. He leans forward, his face mere inches away from yours as his breath fans over your skin, and in a moment of weakness, he leans down and presses his lips against yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

And you unravel. He feels his heart ache as he looks at you, unable to stop the feelings that flood his chest, making his emotions go into overdrive. He leans down and presses his lips against your skin, kissing a trail down your neck as he whispers soft words of praise into the crook of your neck.

You pant as your eyes flutter in tiredness, hand coming to tuck the strand of his hair behind his ear. You can't sleep...you are scared to sleep. He'll dissapear.

He slumps against your body, his breathing coming out in heavy, laboured pants, his heart racing at a rapid pace in his chest. He stays like that, his fingers trailing up your back aimlessly, feeling the smooth expanse of your skin under his fingertips. For a moment, he imagines this is their life, that he could have the privilege of waking up next to you, caress your skin and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. But that can’t happen. He knows that, no matter how hard his heart is beating or how loud his mind begs him to stay.

You sniffle softly and he shifts, letting you bury face in his chest, your tears hollowing him again. He's leaving you, Satoru, Shoko...its all memories now. He has a greater purpose, he'll raise a Jujutsu only world. The world is far too cruel for people like you...its his way of protecting you.

He lays in bed for a long, long time, holding you close to his chest. He watches you for hours, his heart pounding in his ears as he listens to your breathing, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheek, the way your mouth opens just a bit when you breathe. He memorizes every inch of your face, the way you look when asleep, the way your face softens when you’re in your most vulnerable state. He looks at you for hours, before gently untangling your hand from his arm and getting out of bed.

You wake up hours later at Shoko's phone call. Your eyes fluttering as you answer her sleepily.

"Hm?"

"Y/N, Suguru's killed 152 civillians, including his parents. He's left." She says and your breath hitches. You look around the room, heart racing when you don't see him. It wasn't a dream. He was here, he left. You could've stopped this massacre from happening. You could've convinced him. You could've killed him. It was your duty as a sorcerer when you knew what he would do.

You end the call and sit like that for hours, crying and sobbing into the sheets that still smell like him, the faint trace of his cologne sticking to the sheets long after he's gone. You stay there, unable to move, unable to bring yourself to get out of bed and face the empty apartment without him in it, facing the fact that he's gone. You cry until your throat is raw, and your eyes sting, and you can only hiccup and sob quietly into the sheets. Suguru Geto is a cruel, cold-blooded murderer.

Days turn to weeks, you feel yourself get paler, wearier. It was pathetic in some way to be this despondent after a heartache, but here you were. You try to get on with your life; you, Shoko and Satoru; working as Jujutsu students during the day, but no one talks about the loneliness that claws at the three of you during the nights. No one even mentions him, its painfully obvious how the topics are shifted at the slightest mention of him...

You sigh, resting your head against the wall of the infirmary tiredly as the smell of the nicotine and smoke from Shoko's cig permeates through the room. Its nauseating.

"Shoko, can you not smoke?" you grumble in frustration and Shoko briefly glances at you, before continuing to smoke.

You take a deep shaky breath as you look at her with your eyes furrowed. "Shoko. put the cigarette down." You punctuate and she frowns but either way puts the cigarette down on the ashtray with a scoff.

"You are being a bitch right now." She scoffs as she walks towards you, leaning against the wall where you are sitting down.

"Well I am sorry if the smell is making me feel sick." You sigh, running your hands through your hair and she hums, her eyes briefly flickering to the wallpaper on your flip-phone, a picture of you and Suguru she herself had clicked on his last birthday.

"Did you eat since the morning?" she asks casually and you close your eyes, shaking your head.

"Didn't feel like it." You mutter before you feel her cool hand against your forehead, seeing if you are warm.

"I do not have a fever Suguru-- I mean Shoko." you correct yourself, but your voice dies down a whisper at your error. Her eyes soften lightly at your words and she sighs, plopping down on the floor next to you.

The two of you sit in silence for several minutes. The faint whirr of the infirmary fridge and light ticks of the wall clock being the only dominating sounds in the room.

"Have you ben sleeping?" she asks quietly and you let out a mirthless snigger.

"Can't remember the last time I did." you say and she breathes out.

"Me neither," she says, shifting her hands and resting them on her knees

"Shoko..." you croak out, gulping slightly. The sound immediately draws her attention as she whips her head towards you. "I missed my cycle..." you say and your voice wavers like a little sapling underneath a harsh storm.

Her eyes widen, slowly, gradually as it hits. She sucks a deep breath about to say something before the infirmary door opens harshly, Satoru holding two dango sticks in his hand, on the door sill.

"Yo." he says and you sigh, looking back at Shoko. Satoru's smile falters slightly as he looks at the both of you, noticing the tense atmosphere in the room. He looks at Shoko with a questioning look, his eyes then flicking over to you. Satoru had always been a brilliant observer, almost too brilliant. He frowns slightly at the way your face looks as you look at him, the look on your face making his heart feel heavy. "What's wrong?"

"I think I have kept some spare pregnancy tests in the infirmary." she says and Satoru's eyes widen he feels this strange sense of dread wash over him as he looks at you, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. "Wait...what?"

You look at Shoko get up and fetch them from the drawers. Satoru looking between the two of you anxiously. His blue eyes softened in worry.

You take the kits from Shoko and shakily gulp, looking at her as you sigh. It felt dystopian, taking a few deep breaths you walk into the washroom and follow the instructions, waiting for the three sticks to turn out.

Your breath seemed logdged in your throat. No matter how much your tried, it felt stuck. Suguru...you needed him. You needed your lover to take care of you, press you to his chest, whispering sweet-nothings. "Everything will be okay. Whatever decision you make I am going to be by your side, forever."

You gulp and look at the three sticks. Positive. All of them. Not even a single a negative one. Its always said these sticks are not a good measure for pregnancy test, but here there are all of them positive. Even if one turned out to be erroneous, the majority still said positive.

You felt your world shift in its axis...no- it stilled, completely. Your pbottom lip trembled as a soft hiccup left your throat, and as soon as that, a harsh knock rebounded on the door, making you flinch.

"Y/N?" Gojo sounded. He seemed frantic, panicked, worried. "Is everything alright?" You couldn't speak, little cries taht you tried so hard to stiffle left your mouth.

You could hear Satoru take a sharp breath outside, followed by Shoko's muffled voice. All at once he opened the door, his cerulean pupil shrunken as he looked at the three tests on the slab.

"Shit..." He gasped, his hand flying to his mouth as he hesitantly looked at you. His heart shattering at the sight of you so small, crying, shaking. Immediately he envolved his arms around you, pressing you to his chest...

"Its okay, its fine," he whispered but his own voice was shaky. Never in his life had he momentarily detested Suguru so much. He wanted to search every corner of the world, slap him and bring him back to you.

Shoko frowns slightly, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. "Do you..." She hesitates for a moment, looking at you and Satoru before she continues. "Do you want to keep it?" She asks you softly, her eyes flickering down to your stomach for a moment before looking back at your face. "You know it's your choice...it's your body. No one can force you to keep it if you don't want to."

You gulp sharply, your shoulders shivering against Satoru's broad chest. Your baby, you and Suguru's baby...you couldn't possibly give it up! You were a healer, your job was to save lives! How could you give on the testament of your and Suguru's love?

"No...I am keeping them." You whisper with an anguished look, parting from Satoru.

Shoko sighs softly as she looks at you with a conflicted look on her face. She knew that deep down, that's what you were going to decide. She knew that you could never get rid of the one thing that was keeping you tied to Suguru forever. No matter how hard your heart will ache every time you look at the child growing in your stomach, the child that looks or acts like him, the one thing that can keep him in your life forever. Shoko can tell from the bittersweet look on your face: you are going to keep this baby.

Satoru's heart aches at your words, the reality of the situation crashing down on his shoulders all at once. Here you are, pregnant with Suguru's baby, and Suguru isn't going to be here to see the baby. He isn't going to be here to help you with your cravings and your hormones, or to be there by your side, holding your hand as you scream and cry during birth. He isn't going to be there to see the baby's first steps, or the first time they say 'daddy'.

You couldn't help but look back at your phone's wallpaper, only to be interjected by Satoru.

"That kid is going to know how to curse people before they even know the times table." He says with a proud grin. Shoko sighs softly at Satoru's ridiculous declaration and rolls her eyes. "I'll teach them to get on your nerves before they're even born."

You let out a shaky breath and nod, tears rolling down your eyes. It was going to be terribly hard, you know that, but the burden would be slightly less with Shoko and Satoru on your side.

"Don't cry..." Satoru murmurs, wiping your tears with his thumb, "It'll be alright, you'll be a great mom." He says, his big cerulean eyes pooling with adoration as he looks at you.

To be continued.

11 months later....(part II)

- FANFICTIONS

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[ddodol]

candy — l.cy

one shot ⭑.ᐟ synopsis ⭑.ᐟ a sweet girl like you deserved better and anton was down to prove that. content warning ⭑.ᐟ smut! minors dni!, bff!anton, fem!reader, pet names, cheating (gasp), oral (f.), protected sex word count⭑.ᐟ 1.7k+

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✩🎧⭑.ᐟ [ candy — doja cat ]

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

anton knew you weren’t getting treated right, because why else would you be crying in his arms at two in the morning? he couldn’t be more thankful that he stayed up late so he could be there for you.

he didn’t like questioning you with your choices in men, but you always made it hard for him not to when he was right there. anton always thought you were the sweetest girl ever, anyone that hurt you would be out of their mind.

you sniffled, snuggling your face against anton’s chest, “i’m sorry, toni. i keep bothering you like this.” anton shakes his head, brushing hair away from your face as it stuck to traces of your tears, “don't say that, y/n. i’m always here for you.”

”thank you, really. couldn’t have asked for a better best friend,” you were the sweetest, truly. but anton hated it when you just treated him like a best friend when he wanted nothing else but to be more than that.

anton stared at you, “i’m tired of seeing you cry, y/n.” you smiled sadly at him, of course he’d get tired of having you come over just to cry in his arms. he cupped your face gently, his face just inches away from you.

”you come to me for a reason— let me make you happy.”

your breath hitched in your throat, flustered at anton’s sudden shift in behavior. anton looked at your lips hungrily, “let me treat you right, y/n, the way you deserve to be treated,” he was begging you at this point, the tension between you two becoming thicker by the minute.

you knew you shouldn’t, but anton made it sound so tempting. if it was him, maybe you would be happier. “can you show me, toni?” anton bit his lip, not hesitating to lean in and give you a kiss.

your kisses were the sweetest, way sweeter than anything he’s ever tasted. he was in disbelief at how your shitty boyfriends get to taste you all the time but still make you cry. anton’s huge hand found itself wrapped around your neck, gently pressing on the sides as he pushed his tongue in your mouth.

you moan against his mouth, brows furrowing as you feel his warm hand on your throat. anton was always kind and gentle with you so this was the last thing you’d expect from him— making out on his couch was another.

anton pulled away, lidded eyes staring into yours as you struggle to think. he sighs softly, “you look so pretty, y/n. he doesn’t deserve you.” you whimpered, anton’s sweet voice made your head spin.

“are you saying you do, anton?” he smiles at your question, gently pushing you down on your back. “want me to show you?” your body shivered at his words, you couldn’t help but look forward to what he had in mind. you nodded, running your hands against his wide shoulders.

anton smiled at you, placing a small kiss on your lips before trailing down to your throat. he sucked on the skin just above your throat, letting out a small moan at how ticklish you felt. anton continued down, hands busily trying to pull your shirt up. he let out a soft groan at how pretty you look, running his hands over your torso as he placed kisses of appreciation all over your exposed skin.

you felt breathless, watching as anton left kisses everywhere. the heat from his mouth lingered and your body felt hotter than before. you’ve never felt this way before; you wanted more from anton, needed more.

”toni, more,” you whimpered, running a hand through his hair. anton frowned for a second, letting out a small groan before looking up at you, eyes glazed over and cheeks adorably flushed. there was no way he’d leave you hanging.

anton immediately pulled your bra up, still leaving it on as he latched his mouth onto your nipple. he was in disbelief at how sweet everything about you was, from your scent to your taste— you were just too sweet for him and so addicting. you moaned as his other hand squeezed on your other breast, gently pulling on his hair.

”fuck, y/n,” anton furrowed his brows, keeping his eyes on you as he slipped your shorts off, “so fucking sweet for me.” you bite your lip, chest heaving as he trailed kisses down your stomach. you felt your stomach fluttering at the warmth of his mouth, letting out a small whimper.

with his head in between your legs, you couldn’t help but tremble in anticipation. anton licked his lip, amazed to see your wetness already pooling against your panties. he was barely getting started but he’s already doing better than any guy you’ve been with.

”is this all for me, y/n?” he asked teasingly, playing with your slick through your panties. you mewled out a small yes, thighs already trembling at the slight contact. anton wanted to know if you were just as sweet down here as he always thought, immediately challenging the idea by latching his mouth onto your clothed pussy.

you pulled on anton’s hair, “w-wait, that’s dirty!” your cries fell on deaf ears as anton just kept licking and biting on your clit through the fabric. his teeth grazing against your sensitive clit made you lose all reason, moans progressively getting louder.

anton looked at you, smiling at how pretty you sounded for him. he pushed his finger against your panties to tease your hole as he gave your clit some relief, feeling bad that it was poking through the fabric so painfully. you cry out his name, thrusting your hips against his face. anton went along with you, also pushing his face further against your heat as you moan out loud.

you had no idea getting eaten out through your panties would feel this good when you’ve never even felt good even without them on. “anton, please,” you whimper, bleary eyes staring down at him, “i need more.”

”what else do you need, y/n? tell me,” you moaned at his voice, legs already trembling in desperation. “you. i need you to fill me up, toni.” anton chuckles, getting up to slip his sweatpants off. “anything you want, baby,” you nod as he cupped your cheek.

anton managed to find the condom he slipped under his couch for emergency, not knowing he’d use it for you. he leaned in to give you kisses, smiling against your skin when you pat his head. even when you were like this you’re still being so sweet to him.

”thank you, anton,” you whispered, “i know you’re just trying to help me.” anton furrowed his brows, pulling away to look at you. the amount of signs you were willing to ignore even when anton was about to dick you down was insane. “y/n, when will you get a clue?” he huffed, pushing your panties to the side.

before you could even ask him what he meant, he thrusted inside you roughly. you almost felt suffocated by how filled you were feeling, gasping as you dig your nails against anton’s shoulders. “friends don’t just do this for each other because they’re sad, y/n,” anton whispered against your ear, pulling away slowly as you moan under him, only to slam it back inside you. you cry out incoherently, turning to your side in a futile attempt to get away before you feel even more overwhelmed.

anton held on your hips tightly, “y/n, don’t run away,” he groaned, looking down at where you two were connected. you were pulling him back in whenever he pulled away, making anton just lose it. “you feel so good, baby,” you moan in response, eyes already tearing up at how good you were feeling.

”anton, please!” you cry out, “it’s too much!” anton shakes his head, leaning down to kiss the tears away from your eyes, “never too much for you, y/n. i just wanna make you feel good, let me do just that, hm?” you whimpered, head feeling light and fuzzy as anton picked up the pace.

you were now fully facing your side but anton held your thighs, pressing them against his body as he kept thrusting inside you ruthlessly. “anton, fuck! you feel too good,” you cry out, scratching on his couch desperately. anton filled you up so well, and he was fucking you so well too. you just feel too overwhelmed with all the pleasure you’re experiencing for the first time.

”all for you, baby,” anton leaned down to kiss your neck, body pressing down on your stomach involuntarily. you cry out at the pressure, “gonna cum, cumming! toni you’re making me cum!” you babble out incoherently, body tensing up as you release all over his cock.

anton stilled inside you for a second, wincing at how tight you were against him. “fuck, fuck. you sound so sweet too, y/n,” he moaned, almost feeling himself spill at how sweet your moans were for him.

you bite your lip, trying to focus your eyes on anton’s pained expression. he was breathing heavily, hips stuttering as he tried not to cum just yet. “anton,” your voice snapped him out of his trance, his eyes looking at yours immediately. you chuckle weakly, cupping his face and pulling him closer for a kiss.

you could feel anton twitching from the kiss you shared, hips moving slowly when you pull away. “make me yours, y/n. i’ll give you everything, please,” anton begged, voice getting higher as his thrusts become sloppier. you could tell he was closer, biting your lip as you pull him in for another kiss. your lips moved more desperately against his, as if you were telling him you wanted just that.

anton broke the kiss, burying his head against your neck as he thrusted his hips, soon spilling deep inside you. “fuck, anton!” you cry out, feeling his warm cum pressing against your deepest wall despite the condom holding it inside. “fuck, fuck— wait, anton!” he kept spilling his cum, filling you up even more. the warmth made you cum for a second time, body trembling against his as anton held you close to him.

the two of you crash almost immediately, completely exhausted after everything. anton rubbed his lips against the skin on your shoulder, your body jerking up at how ticklish you felt. he chuckles softly, “did i prove my point?”

you chewed on your lip, “i might need more to convince me,” your voice just sounded so sweet as you said that to him.

oh, anton just couldn’t get enough of you.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken IV (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) FINALE

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: traumatic childbirth, blood, semi-suicidal thoughts, Aemond is fantasizing about murder again, all the angst

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: I don't understand why, but thanks so much for all the support I've gotten from this horribly angsty fic! This is my first go at angst so I really appreciate it. I'm gonna work on two happy-ish fic chapters before I get started on When It Breaks, but it's coming...

And a huge, enourmous thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ripdragonbeans for being my betas for this! I was so anxious about getting this absolutely right and they were so kind and encouraging. Love yall forever 💜💜💜

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

She was so light, his ābrazȳrītsos.

Even while carrying their children – their sons – Aemond swore she was lighter than when he left. He held her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder and her legs draped over his forearm. With every step, he could feel more of the liquid that had spilled from her womb - now mixed with small, hateful tendrils of blood -  dampening his sleeve.

Gods, how much blood had he seen in the past year? How much had he spilled himself? There had even been times when he reveled in its metallic tang. But the sight of her blood was nothing less than abhorrent.

He ran faster, until he could not make out the faces of those he passed, shouting for a Maester to be sent to their chambers immediately. One of them must be a servant. With luck, the Maester would already be there when they arrived.

She cried out as he began to ascend the stairs, wincing with each step, her weak grip on him tightening. “It hurts, Aemond.”

“I know, my love.” He slowed down, though his pounding heart urged him to do just the opposite. “I’m so sorry. The maester will be here soon, and he’ll help you feel better, hmm?”

“He has to stop it. It’s too early,” her voice cracked, and Aemond’s heart with it. “They’re not ready!”

But it couldn’t be stopped, not by man or gods. Their children would be born today. The only question was whether they would survive. If their mother would survive. Her poor body was so weak, and her heart… he had broken that, too.

If any of them died today, that blood would be on his hands, and he would gladly accept his damnation to the worst of the seven hells.

“Come now,” he chided gently as they reached the corridor to their chambers. “Our sons are dragons – they will be strong. And so will you, ābrazȳrītsos.”

“Sons?” She lifted her head, her entire body trembling with the effort it took. Her eyes – those beautiful eyes now gilded by the setting sun outside the windows – locked with his. “How… you sound so sure.”

Just one more lie. One more, and then he would never lie to her again.

Besides, this lie was small, nearly inconsequential. Many fathers insisted that their children would be sons until the child itself proved them wrong. It would be so easy for her to believe. The truth would hurt her – perhaps weaken her further. Aemond did not want her to hear Alys’ name. She should never have to even think of that witch ever again.

But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not sully the birth of his sons with yet another lie. He pushed their door open with a shoulder, never breaking her gaze. “Alys told me after you left. Before… she had a vision of us holding our sons. I’m so sorry, love.”

She slumped again, her face dropping into the curve of his neck. Once, she kissed him there, slept with her head tucked there. Now, it was simply where her head lolled. “I’m glad it’s sons. You’ll have two heirs…”

Her words were cut short by a gasp of pain, but Aemond heard it clearly. It echoed in his very bones. So if I live, you’ll have no more need of me. The gods had just crumbled the ground beneath him, his heart and soul with it. He was falling, falling, falling…

“I am glad, too.” He set her down gently in the bed, brushing away several tangles of hair stuck to her sweaty brow before arranging the pillows around her, hoping he was adequately managing to hide his devastation. For he could not bear to be without her, could not bear to love her only from a distance. He would go mad. Yet he would happily accept that horrible fate if it meant he would not lose her to the Stranger. “Mother will be, as well.”

“Mother!” She tried to rise, but he held her softly to the bed. “I can’t do this without Mother, Aemond. We must return home immediately!”

“I am afraid that is not an option, Princess.” Maester Artos stood just within the doorway, maids and Septas streaming in behind him. He was a mountain of a man, better suited to the battlefield than the birthing bed. But he was good at what he did – very good. Aemond had seen him work miracles on men who should have never survived their injuries.

The moment the women began attending to his wife, he approached the Maester, speaking quietly so as not to frighten her. “Something is wrong, Artos, she is bleeding. And she’s very weak.”

Artos hardly acknowledged him, looking only at the princess lying in the bed. “The blood is not the problem. She is distressed and too thin.” He stated, as cold and clinical as all other Maesters.

“Yes, I know that already.” Aemond took a shaky, calming breath. He did not like the way Artos observed her, as if she was a thing to be studied rather than a woman – a princess. Perhaps when it was all over, he’d kill the man for it. “I fear she is not strong enough to survive this.”

She cried out behind them. Two maids were pressing damp cloths to her forehead. Another was hastily braiding her hair back. A Septa had begun cutting away her dress, leaving her only in her chemise as two more maids removed her slippers and stockings. Two other Septas knelt by the windows, praying, while one woman who seemed to be neither maid nor Septa laid metal and wood instruments atop a tall, thin table.

It took every ounce of Aemond’s self-control not to go to her. To shove away each woman because it should be him – and him alone – to touch his wife while she was so vulnerable. He should be the one to protect her, but he couldn’t. He could only hurt her, it seemed.

“Artos!” Aemond hissed.

“Is her spirit weak as well?” There was suspicion in his dark eyes. The same he’d shown when he confirmed Alys was carrying a child. If he hadn’t been so proficient a healer, Aemond might have killed him then.

But for now, Aemond was glad Artos was alive. He swallowed, avoiding looking back at the bed as his wife continued to whimper and moan. “Yes.” The maester just hummed before approaching the bed. Aemond followed, kneeling at the bedside, the maids immediately clearing away.

“This is Maester Artos, ābrazȳrītsos.” She stared wide-eyed at the hulking mass of the man who now knelt between her legs. Aemond tugged on her hand, her gaze snapping back to him. “I know him well. He’s going to take very good care of you, I promise.”

She shuddered, her eyes closed tight as she squeezed Aemond’s hand so hard he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He delighted in it. She was not as weak as he thought, thank the gods. If she needed to break every bone in his hand – in his body – to live through this, he would let her do so without complaint.

“Are you going to stay with me?” she asked, her voice already ravaged by screaming.

Aemond blinked. When they first learned they were to have a child, he swore he would. But now, it seemed impossible for her to want him there. Not after what he’d done. “Do you… want me to stay?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but another moan of pain. Her eyes darted all over his face. The longer she stayed silent, the further Aemond’s stomach dropped, and his heart ached.

“I believe it wise to have the prince wait outside,” Artos said decisively.

Aemond felt her hand slide out of his, the sensation the same as if he were falling from Vhagar’s back—her answer.

He nodded, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead, trailing a hand down her cheek. “I love you.”

As he walked to the door, he still held a little shred of hope in his heart, waiting to hear her say it back.

It never came.

The moment the door shut behind Aemond, she regretted sending him away. She wanted to call him back so she wouldn’t be alone with so many strangers. But panic began to set in as the maids pulled her gently down the bed, and her voice failed her.

“It won’t be long now, princess,” the maester said, but she found no comfort in it. She couldn’t even remember his name. Alton? Alyn? Amos? Aemond had said he trusted him, but…

But that meant he had been here when Aemond was with Alys. And that glint of pity in his eyes, not just for her conditions, but for what he knew. He knew. Seven Hells, he’d probably been the one to care for Alys and her pregnancy.

Alys. Alys, Alys, fucking Alys!

She did not know what to think of the woman who had stolen so much from her. Had she stolen it, or had Aemond given it? She could hardly make sense of what she’d learned in that dreary little room.

Alys was not the evil, scheming witch she had first imagined. But neither was she innocent in the affair, not wholly. She was not remorseful for her actions, but she apologized for hurting her. She had been kind.

Blinding pain shot through her, and she screamed. Wordless and desperate, her only outlet for release. She needed to scream, needed to roar, needed to breathe fire. Anything to distract from this. Gods, she even wished for a moment for Alys to be there, holding her hand. At least then, she could return some of that pain.

“Princess,” the maester said, though he sounded far away. Though it was more likely that her shouting was drowning him out. “Very soon, I will ask that you push. Do you know how, your highness?”

Push. That’s what the septas had instructed Helaena to do at the birth of her twins and for Maelor. She even had vague memories of the word from when she peeked through the open door to her mother’s chambers when Daeron was born. But what it meant and how to do it?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for the maester continued. His voice was frustratingly calm and steady. “It is fine if you do not, princess. You must simply follow your instincts. When you feel the urge, push the child outward with all your might.”

“I have no might.” She heard herself laughing through tears and only then realized she was crying. Someone took her hand – she didn’t know who. But the feeling of another’s skin on hers was heavenly.

“You have carried these babes for months,” the maester – Artos! that was his name – said gently, “while your husband and the realm were at war. In my estimation, you are the mightiest woman in Westeros.”

She felt nearly every muscle she had tense, turning her answering grateful smile into a grimace. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have weathered her pregnancy as well as a paper boat in a storm. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not still love her husband after he betrayed her. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have let her emotions weaken her or put her children’s lives in danger.

She was far from the mightiest woman in Westeros, and she could not do this. She wasn’t strong enough. She was only a weak and broken little girl.

A maid approached, a fresh cool, damp cloth in her hands. The princess had not looked at any of their faces, too absorbed in her pain and panic. But now, she caught the eyes of this girl—deep, rich brown, so similar to her own – to her mother’s.

“I want my mother,” she whispered to the maid, even knowing it was impossible. “I can’t do this without her.”

The maid gaped at her as if she could not fathom a princess ever speaking to her. She looked to her companions for guidance, but the princess only looked into the maid’s eyes and thought of her mother—the scent of the rosemary oil she used in her hair, the warmth of her embrace, and the soothing tones of her voice.

“Please, I want my mother,” she begged. A new surge of pain gripped her, radiating into her legs. They were coming faster now; she barely had time to breathe between each wave. “Please.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” The maid’s voice was high and breathy, nothing like her mother’s. “The queen is not here.”

She cried, turning away from those false eyes. She was alone – entirely and utterly alone.

“Princess, I need you to be strong now.” Artos’ sweaty brow was furrowed with half a dozen creases, his eyes wide and mouth a firm line. He looked more like a commander on a battlefield than a maester. The Grand Maester would have smiled at her, but he was not here, either. “Your labors are progressing quickly. It is nearly time to push.”

“I don’t know how,” she cried. She refused to open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could almost imagine she was home.

Artos wrapped his hands around her ankles, pushing them upwards and further apart. “You do, princess. The Mother wove the knowledge into your body. Listen to it, and all will be well.”

“I – ”

Her next scream rattled the room, the keep, the entirety of the Riverlands.

Fire, ice, steel, and claw seemed to rake down her spine to her thighs. But Artos was right; her body reacted to the pain, her muscles moving near-unconsciously to force the babe out of her womb. She followed the instinct, pushing it harder, harder, harder.

“Very good, princess!” Was that Artos or Orwyle? She couldn’t tell anymore.

It was never-ending.

Pain, pushing, and a brief moment of reprieve.

Again.

Again.

Again.

It lasted hours, days, perhaps even years.

Was a child – a son – even worth this pain? How could she love someone who had tortured her so? Would she ever be able to look at him without remembering how she suffered?

Pain.

Pain.

PAIN.

Then –

“Stop, princess!”

She went limp, vaguely beginning to feel other sensations creep in: the coolness of the water on her forehead, the slight scratching of the sheets beneath her, and the hushed whispers of the maids and midwives.

The pain was still there, but softer. Less insistent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice nearly unrecognizable, even to her.

Artos emerged from between her legs, relief painted over his harsh face. “Nothing is wrong, princess. It is simply time to be gentle and allow your body to do its work.” He smiled, chuckling under his breath. “I can see your babe’s white hair – quite a bit of it.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Deep, joyous laughter. Another slight wave of pain passed through her, but she didn’t care at all. She was thinking about her niece and nephew, how Jaehaerys was born with nearly a full mane of silver frizz while Jaehaera had not a single hair on her head until she was over a year old. “He has hair?”

“Yes, although I do not know yet whether it is a boy, princess.”

“It is. He is.”

There was one more brief surge of pain, and then she heard her son cry.

It was torture to wait outside while his ābrazȳrītsos screamed with pain. At first, Aemond stood leaning against the wall, as Aegon did when Helaena began her labors, but his knees failed him when he heard a scream that rattled the world.

He’d been on the floor since, resisting the urge to cover his ears. But he had caused her this pain, so he must listen.

He would be in that room with her if he hadn’t been a weak, damnable fool. He would have held her hand, letting her release her pain onto him. She had only squeezed his hand once, yet he still felt the ghost of her touch on his skin. He would savor that pain for the rest of his life.

It seemed to be never-ending, the torture his son was inflicting upon her. How could he ever forgive the child for doing this to his own mother?

Then, it stopped.

Aemond leaped to his feet, panic infecting his blood like a disease. Why had she gone quiet? What was wrong? Was she dead? He couldn’t face –

A babe cried—his first cry, with his first breath.

Their son.

He tried to push the door open, but it was locked.

“Let me in!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door. “Artos, let me in!”

There was no answer, but he could hear soft voices inside. None sounded like hers. Oh gods, had she brought their son into the world at the cost of her own life?

Aemond slammed himself against the door again and again, not caring for the damage he was doing to his own body. “Open the door now, Artos!”

He threw himself against the wood again and again. At some point, it had to yield. Either it would, or his body would.

It opened just before he launched himself at it again—not all the way, but it was open. Then, Artos stared at him through the gap with his hateful, disapproving gaze.

“Let me in,” he growled. Trying to force the door open was useless, as the maester was practically a giant and, apparently, throwing all his strength into holding it closed. “If you don’t let me see my wife, I swear I’ll – ”

“Your wife has not finished her labors yet, my prince.” Damn him, the mountainous bastard. “But I am pleased to inform you that she has borne you a son.”

Though he knew it was to be a son, the words still shot through him. A son. His son. Their son.

“Is he healthy? Is she?” There was no more fight in his voice. The warrior prince had vanished, replaced only by the husband and father. By all the gods, he was a father.

Artos nodded. “The boy is small but healthy. Your maester may have miscalculated the date of conception. He is remarkably healthy for being born so early.”

“And my wife?”

“She is tired, but well. The second babe is not quite ready to emerge, so she is resting.”

The weight of all the world was lifted from his shoulders. He felt like the little boy he had once been on Driftmark, wanting nothing more than to see his zaldrīzītsos and take comfort in her embrace. “May I see her? Please.”

“I’m afraid not, my prince.” Artos at least had the decency to sound genuinely apologetic. “She needs this rest. With the first birth, she was wonderfully strong, more than I could have ever imagined. But I fear she has depleted her strength. She fell asleep the moment it was done.”

“Is… is it bad that she fell asleep?”

Artos sighed, his eyes turning to the floor. “Ordinarily, no, but with how thin she is, how weak… it worries me.”

No. No, no, no. “Is there anything you can do? To help strengthen her?”

“I am afraid not, my prince.”

“Well, do something. Do whatever you can.”

A soft moan came from behind the door. Ābrazȳrītsos. Aemond pushed against the door, opening it as far as he could to try and catch the barest glimpse of her.

Her eyes were nearly closed, her reddened cheeks making them appear as dark as night. Her chemise was soaked through with sweat and whatever other fluids came out with their child. But no blood beyond what he already knew to be there.

“Ābrazȳrītsos! I’m here!” He shouted. It took a moment for her to look his way. He could have sworn she smiled. “I’m with you! You must be strong, my love. I know you can be. I love you! I love you so much, ñuha zaldrīzītsos!”

Artos pushed against the door, forcing Aemond back. “That is enough, my prince. Upsetting her will only drain her strength.”

Aemond knew it was true, that his presence would likely upset her rather than comfort her. So, he stopped resisting and allowed the maester to close the door. Just before it closed, he whispered one final command, “Take care of her, Artos. She is my world.”

The pain returned, worse than before. The lightning crept down her spine again, but it was now accompanied by a great force set on tearing her body apart at the seams. Pushing brought no relief, nor did it seem to move her son any closer to the world.

Artos came to her bedside, resting the back of his hand against her brow.

 “It’s worse this time,” she confided in the maester when it finally ebbed. “It’s so much worse. Why?”

He sighed and sat on the bedside, his massive hand nearly eclipsing her head as he stroked her hair. It made her feel remarkably like a kitten. “I cannot say, princess. There are many possibilities. This child could be larger, in a slightly different position, or…” He hesitated. “As I said, there are too many possibilities for me to be sure.”

His pause unsettled her, but it soon faded away when another wave went through her. “Is he nearly ready? I can’t do this much longer.” At least she knew what to do this time, so surely it would be better.

“Ah, another son, is it?” Artos stood from the bed to examine her spread legs. Several maids gently moved her to replace the sheets beneath her. “Not yet, but soon. Your motherly instincts will tell you when.”

Motherly instincts. Gods, she was a mother now. There was a child on the other side of the room that she had given birth to, that she had grown within her. A son who would depend on her for his entire life. Her, and his father.

Aemond would be a good father, she knew, even if he were decidedly lacking as a husband. But as a father, he would be attentive, kind, and loving. He would give their sons all the love he was denied by their own father.

They would not repeat the mistakes of the past. They would love their sons. They would not ignore them, speaking to them only to scold them. They would teach them the language of their ancestors themselves instead of relying on tutors. As soon as they were old enough, they would teach them how to be compassionate and fair rulers. They would not force them to marry for political advantage or the continuation of the bloodline but let them fall in love, as they had.

She could see them now. Both with white hair and unruly curls. Bright lilac eyes. The elder would take after her, but with Aemond’s determination. The younger would take after their father but with her gentle temperament.

As if the vision was summoning her second son, she felt her body constricting, muscles tightening. Without fear, she began to push.

“Princess, stop!”

Artos screamed as if someone was holding a sword to his throat, desperate and panicked. His eyes were wide and bulging as he looked from her face to where her second son should be emerging. “You mustn’t push now, princess. Not once. I…”

He stood, pulling one of the Septas aside. Others followed, and their frantic, poorly hushed whispers grew louder. She knew the sight should frighten her, but she forced herself to remain calm. Aemond said he trusted this man and had seen him work miracles. Whatever was wrong, Artos would fix it.

She was sure.

Artos burst out of the door without warning. Aemond pushed away from the wall. “Is it over?”

The maester sighed.

Shit. Seven Hells and all the Gods.

“Your wife is strong, my prince,” he began. Holy gods, he sounded as if he would cry. “Enough so that I would have little doubt that she could deliver your second child, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Aemond felt his heart race, his blood surge, his finger twitching for his sword. He was going into battle, but this was not a battle he could fight with steel or fire. This was not a battle he could fight at all. “Artos?”

“The babe is not in the right position.” He moved his hands as if it would somehow make Aemond understand what he was saying.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the babe cannot be born, your highness.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything she had suffered and survived.

“If she were to continue her labors, neither she nor the child would live.” Artos put a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort. “I can save only one. Who survives… that is your decision, my prince.”

The gods were cruel to force this upon him – the very choice that had damned their family decades ago when Viserys chose to sacrifice his wife and queen for the chance at a son. That was where the seeds of destruction had been sown.

Aemond could not repeat the mistakes of the past. He would not be like his father. He had his son and heir. A second would be preferred, but not at the cost of his ābrazȳrītsos.

His ābrazȳrītsos, whose heart would break to lose her son. Who would never forgive him if he decided to –

He couldn’t choose. He couldn’t let her die, and he couldn’t let their son die.

He couldn't live without her, and he couldn’t take away her will to live.

He tore himself out of Artos’ grasp and stormed into the room.

Aemond threw open the door, his eyes wide and wet, and suddenly, she was not so sure that Maester Artos would fix whatever was wrong.

He ran to the bed, not sparing a glance at their new son. She burst into sobs the moment he took her in his arms. “Oh, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her temples. She entwined her fingers with his, desperately squeezing. “I’m here now. Everything is going to be fine.”

Liar. Sweet Liar. Beloved Liar.

“I want Mother. I want Helaena.” Her voice crackled with tears and exhaustion. Everything hurt. Someone – most likely her – was crying, though it sounded distant. And if Aemond was here, not waiting outside…

If Aemond was here, holding her hand and stroking her hair, it meant something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“Mother is not here right now,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. “And Helaena… she can’t be here. I’m so sorry.”

“She told me she would hold my hand like I did for her. She promised!”

“I know. I know, my love, but it is not possible.”

Because Helaena was dead. So were Daeron, and Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera, and Maelor, and Otto, and Ser Criston, and nearly every other person she loved. Aegon would be dead soon, too, then she would only have her mother and her husband.

Her mother, who had begged her to forgive the husband who betrayed her and broken her heart.

“I can’t do this alone, Aemond. I can’t.”

“You can, I know it. You are so strong, dearest.” Yet there was no confidence in his voice.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear his hair out just to make him hurt, too. “I can’t! I’ll die if you make me, Aemond, I know it. I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. “My love, I…” his voice faded, leaving them in total silence, save for that distant crying.

Then, he kissed her—not the soft kisses on the temple or head of the past fortnight, but the way he had kissed her when he said goodbye all those months ago. His lips slotted against hers perfectly, and she opened for him on instinct. She knew she should stop, push him away, and scold him, but she couldn’t.

Everything felt wrong—her entire body felt wrong. But this, kissing Aemond, felt right. Her desperation for comfort far overpowered her anger and resentment. Her trembling hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers bunching in his shirt. She pulled him closer, wanting more—more rightness, more connection, more feeling.

More Aemond.

But he pulled away, resting his brow against hers as she chased his lips again. He placed a hand on either side of her face, holding her still. “I’m going to fix this,” he rasped, his voice shredded by fear and desperation. “I will fix this, I swear.”

Then, he let go.

He stood from the bed and turned away from his wife.

He was leaving. He was fucking leaving her.

She screamed his name, cursed him, begged him to come back, hurled insults, and cried for him. He couldn’t do this to her, not after everything he’d already done.

This was not love. The heat that burned in her chest was not love.

It was hate.

For the first time in her life, she truly hated Aemond.

“Alys!” Aemond bellowed as he descended the stairs to the servant’s quarters, taking the steps two, three at a time. No one dared approach him. Not even Artos had tried to stop him as he ran away from his ābrazȳrītsos.

She may hate him forever for this, for leaving her when she was so weak and scared.

Fine. It would be worth it.

“ALYS!” The door snapped from its upper hinge as he tore it open. The witch was precisely where she’d been when Aemond left, her hand on her chin as she looked into the fire. What vile hell did she see in her visions now? “Alys!”

“I heard you, Aemond.” She did not look at him, only staring at the flames, those green eyes flitting around as if she were reading a book. “The entire continent heard you.” There was no humor in her voice, no hint of a smile on her face.

He swallowed, panting. He was crying – weeping like a little boy. That didn’t matter now. Very little mattered now.

Aemond fell to his knees before the witch with whom he had destroyed his life. He would do whatever she asked, destroy what little was left of his pride if necessary. “I need your help, Alys. Please.”

“She’s dying?”

“Yes. The maester said I had to… that I had to choose who to save.”

“And you can’t choose between her and the child.”

 “No, I – ” he swallowed as his voice shattered. He was going to vomit. “I can’t, Alys. I can’t. Please.”

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?” She was colder than the Wall, than the entirety of the lands beyond it.

“Save them, both of them.”

Alys’ eyes narrowed. Her face was painted with an expression he had never seen. He had no clue what it meant. “What would you sacrifice,” she asked flatly, “to ensure your wife and her children – your true heirs – live?”

“Anything,” Aemond croaked, “Everything.”

One corner of her sinful mouth lifted in a way that did not bring him comfort. She sighed as if taking the time to thoroughly consider his plea. The wicked bitch was gleefully stalling when the lives of his wife and child could end at any moment.

“Please, Alys,” he begged again, desperation crawling through his veins like spreading ice. “I cannot live without her, and she will never recover from her grief if she loses the babe.”

Something passed over her face, and she smiled fully. “You have always been a man of loyalty and nobility, Aemond.” Her grin sharpened as she laid one delicate hand upon her belly. “Almost always, at least.”

“Alys,” he growled in warning.

“Oh, don’t be a beast about it,” she scoffed. “I will do it – save them. If only in memory of our time together.”

Aemond sagged as relief swept through him, but it did not last long. She was still dying. The babe was still dying. Whatever Alys would do, she needed to do it now. He opened his mouth to command her to start, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I promise it will be done.” She flung her hand to the door in dismissal. “You should be there for her. She is still so very frightened.”

He needed nothing more to run back to his wife.

She was alone. Even with Maester Artos and the dozen women hovering around her, even with her son cooing softly from the cradle by the window, she had never felt so alone.

Aemond was gone.

He’d left her. Without even a goodbye, he’d left her. He had not even stopped to meet his son.

Artos murmured something to one of the Septas, who quickly gathered the other women on the far side of the room. He approached the bed, again seating himself upon the edge, and pressed the back of his fingers to her brow briefly before petting her hair. “How are you feeling, princess?”

“Am I going to die?”

He hesitated in answering. “I cannot say for certain…”

“I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.” Her heart constricted as his fingers brushed against a spot where Aemond had kissed her. “You told him, now tell me.”

“Very well,” he sighed. His harsh face fell, and she swore she could see his eyes glistening. “The babe is breech. It should emerge head-first, but it is not. It’s… the way it is attempting to come out is nearly impossible. Should I not intervene, one or both of you will die.”

No. No, no, no, it wasn’t fair. To suffer for this long, to endure what she endured, only for her child to enter the world wrong? In a way that would kill them? She had always been good and devout. She prayed and studied holy texts, listened to her Septas and the Maesters, and avoided sin at all costs. Then why was she being punished?

Unless… the gods had not sent this to punish her.

Aemond had abandoned her and their marriage – their holy union – when he slept with Alys. It would be fitting, and very like the gods, for him to lose that which he had forsaken. She and her second son were merely instruments of punishment. But it wasn’t fair.

“There is nothing you can do?” She felt hollow as Artos continued to look at her in pity.

The warrior-maester looked as if he were about to cry, as well. “In these situations, it is usually asked of the father whom he would rather save.”

So that was why Artos left the room – to ask Aemond whether to save her or the child.

“Who did he choose?” Either answer would devastate her. He would either prove the fragility of his love for her, or he would willingly break her heart by killing their son. Whatever he chose, he would become a kinslayer thrice over.

“He… he did not, your highness.”

“What?”

“I explained the situation, and he stormed in here – to you. When he left, he said nothing. He just ran. I presumed he had…” But he hadn’t. Had not said a word about the peril she and their son were now in.

A coward. Too frightened to maintain his vows of marriage. Too weak to admit his wrongdoing. Too cowardly to even make this most crucial of decisions. The gods damn him.

If they hadn’t already.

“So… what will you do?” If she had to be the one to make the decision, so be it.

“There are three options.” None of them were very good, she knew, simply by looking at his forlorn face. She had thought him a grave man when she first saw him. Now, he looked mournful – a reluctant harbinger of death. “I can forcibly remove the child, more than likely killing it in the process. I can attempt to save it and, in so doing, certainly kill you. Or we can proceed with the birth, risking killing both of you and pray that the gods may be merciful.”

Such a choice – a decision of life and death – should be difficult. It should tear away at the soul to condemn another. It should be far beyond the limits of the heart or mind.

But it was easy.

“Save him,” she whispered. “Let me die.”

Artos frowned deeply, shook his head, and said something in return, but she did not listen – she could not and would not hear his words. She only vaguely saw him move to the end bed, ripping away the sleeve of his robes as he barked orders at the maid and midwives. Perhaps the gods were merciful to dull her senses now so she could pass peacefully.

What did it matter if she died now?

She will have fulfilled her duty and given her husband his heirs. Finding a new wife would be easy – what woman would not want to marry him? Even if news of Alys spread beyond the walls of Harrenhal, surely it was nothing in exchange for a crown. Aemond would have everything he needed to be king.

If she lived, what sort of life would it be? To raise one son while constantly mourning the other. To be the wife of a man she could no longer trust. To remain empty, a shell of her former self. She would be alive, but she would still be a ghost.

“Save him,” she said again, her voice fading.

It was easier this way. Hadn’t she already learned that it was easier not to fight? Letting Aemond take care of her was easier than fighting him. Perhaps it would be easier to let him care for the children, too. He would love them enough that they would not feel her absence.

Distantly, she felt pressure between her legs, then heard her firstborn son cry out to echo her own screams.

Her son.

Oh, he had no name.

She couldn’t leave him motherless and without a name.

Months ago, she had decided on names, but they were hard to remember now. What was it? She could grant him this one last gift. She just needed to remember…

“Daeron.”

Yes. It had been her brother’s name. Her kind, brave, daring brother. He died some months ago. There had been a battle. Why was her little brother fighting? He was too young for that.

Tendrils of pale mist crept into the edges of her vision, playfully willing her to sleep.

Once she was gone, Daeron—her Daeron—would have a little brother, too. He would need a name as well—a strong name, a courageous name. When she was dead, he would need courage.

“Aenar.”

A strong name. With courage enough to forge a new beginning.

There. Names for her sons, the little princes.

With that last parting gift, she could close her eyes at last.

Goodbye, she tried to say.

I love you, my children.

Be kind to each other.

Love each other always.

Goodbye.

The mist filled her vision, illuminated by a distant light. It was cool, like a late spring morning. She did not hurt anymore. Did not feel anything but an overwhelming sense of peace.

The distant light faded.

The mist darkened.

Through it, she swore she could see grass-green eyes and hear the faraway cry of a babe.

She was still screaming. Good.

Screaming meant she was still alive. Screaming meant Alys was fulfilling her promise. Screaming meant that Aemond was racing back to his wife – his living, breathing, beloved wife – and not her corpse.

The door was still locked when he arrived—one final obstacle between him and his family.

No, not final. Far from it. The door was the only tangible thing keeping him from his wife and children, yes, but there was far more beyond it. The pain he caused her, the hatred his ābrazȳrītsos now surely felt for him, and the third child that would soon be born still kept them as far apart as the earth and stars.

They would get past it. They had to. They were siblings, husband and wife, now destined to become King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They were meant for each other. The gods or fate or whatever else had made her for him and him for her.

They were two parts of the same whole, cleaved.

“Prince Aemond.”

Cregan Stark, the man who humiliated him and his wife mere hours ago, stood behind him. Aemond snarled. “Leave. Now.”

Stark stood strong and still. “You have been my enemy. You may be still, I have not decided. I have no admiration nor respect for you, my prince. In short, I do not like you.”

“Do you want me to kill you?” Aemond asked. He did not wish to greet his sons with blood-soaked hands, but if Stark didn’t close his fucking mouth –

“To lose the woman you love so dearly in this way… it is a pain I know all too well and one I would not wish on anyone. I have instructed all my men to pray for the Princess and the child, and I will join them soon. Negotiations will be postponed indefinitely.”

“I…” Perhaps Aemond had underestimated the brute, if he was a brute at all. And though he knew the prayers were unnecessary, gratitude still dulled his rage. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

He simply inclined his head and walked away, leaving Aemond leaning against that godsdamned door, listening to nothing but the sound of his own panting breath.

Oh gods.

He froze.

The screaming was gone.

It was silent.

Was she dead?

Had Alys betrayed him?

He would kill her. He would tear her apart with his own hands and –

A child cried.

Then…

Oh, thank each and every god a thousand times over.

For then, Aemond heard his wife laughing.

“Princess?”

She always expected that the voice of the Father would be deep and smooth, but shouldn’t it be the Mother to greet her, given how she died? And shouldn’t the gods greet her by name, not her title?

“Princess, it is time to wake up,” the voice said again. “Open your eyes for me.”

Oh, her eyes were closed. She should open them.

The Heavens were not as bright as she imagined, nor as golden. They were dark and sparsely decorated and looked very much like –

“I am not dead?”

Maester Artos looked down at her and smiled. It reminded her of the few times she had seen her father smile at her, sparking a warmth in her chest she had not felt for years. She had not known she still remembered those smiles. “I am very happy to say you are not, your highness.”

“But, my son – ”

“He lives, too.”

It couldn’t be. After all the suffering of the past year, she could not believe it could be true. Loss had become a certainty, as sure as the sun rising each morning.

A babe cried, and she turned toward the sound. A young maid was wrapping an infant boy with a shock of white curls in a cobalt blue blanket. Daeron.

A different, softer cry came from the other end of the room. There, another boy with only a smattering of silver wisps atop his head was being gently cleaned by a Septa. Aenar.

Her sons – alive and well and here.

She threw her head back against the pillows and laughed.

She laughed with joy and relief, with eight months of eager waiting and sickness. She laughed with a body nearly dead, saved only by some miracle she did not understand. And she laughed with a heart that was both shattered and overflowing.

This was the moment she had dreamed of since she learned she was pregnant, since the moment she married Aemond. She had dreamed of this all her life. It was her destiny, even if it was vastly different from how she had dreamed it. For she was not at home in the Red Keep but within the cursed stones of Harrenhal. Her mother was not by her side but miles away. The family that was supposed to crowd around her and coo over the children were nearly all dead. And her husband…

“Let me in!” he shouted through the door, the wood pounding against stone as he threw himself against it. He had been doing that before, but she did not notice until now. It was so like him, the impatience and need to act, that she laughed again. “Ābrazȳrītsos! Is that you? Tell me you are safe!”

Taking her laughter as permission, Artos opened the door. It was mere heartbeats later that Aemond was upon the bed, his eye flitting over every inch of her, his hands roaming to try and locate something wrong, to stem blood that did not flow or relieve pain that did not exist.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “I did it, lēkia, and I’m fine.”

“You did it?” He looked down at her in utter disbelief and joy before his eye drifted to the Maester. Tears slipped from his eye and caught the light of the setting sun. “She did it…”

Her gaze went to the maid that held her firstborn – the girl with eyes like her mother’s. Fitting, for her to be the one to hold him. But it was her turn. “Bring Daeron to me,” she ordered,” some strength at last returning to her voice. “I want to hold him.”

Aemond stared at her. “Daeron?”

Was he angry that she named their sons without him? She couldn’t quite tell. Her mind was still fuzzy, like the mist she had seen still lay over her, casting everything in a sweet, happy light. She shrugged. “There are already too many Aegons, so…”

He laughed. She had missed that sound – she loved it so dearly. He settled into the bed next to her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, like two halves of a broken plate. So many familiar feelings – the warmth of his arm around her, the rhythm of his heart, his lips kissing her temple in the gentle way that always sent shivers down her spine. Hadn’t her spine hurt not long ago? “Daeron is perfect.”

Indeed, he was absolutely perfect. So tiny and precious as he was put in her arms, looking up at his parents with wide lilac eyes. Neither she nor Aemond said anything as they beheld him, taking in each tiny, perfect detail. The wild curls of his silver hair. Each and every eyelash framing his bright eyes. The pink of his lips. Fingers and toes so wonderfully soft and small. A toothless smile that lit the world.

“He’s going to be king someday,” she realized aloud. How could someone so tiny rule an entire kingdom? He had a lot of growing to do before the Conqueror’s Crown would fit.

“A great king, I think,” Aemond mused. He held out a finger, and Daeron instinctively wrapped his hand around it. “Wise and strong. Daring, like his namesake.”

“He must be kind, too.”

“He will be,” Aemond assured, brushing out her damp, tangled hair with his fingers. The feeling was so familiar, but each touch had her flinching slightly. “We will raise him to be kind. His brother, too.”

“Aenar.”

Aemond stiffened. Had he forgotten they had another son, or did he not like the name she gave him? He pulled his finger back from his son’s fist to touch the babe’s hair. “The Exile?”

“I just thought…” Perhaps it had been a foolish name. But it had felt right when it came to her, when she was on the brink of death. “Our family needs a new beginning.”

“Yes… I suppose it does.” He kissed her again with slightly too much pressure. ��Another fine name.”

She looked at the Septa that had been cleaning him. Maester Artos stood with her now, along with several other women, crowding so much she could not see the babe. “I want to hold him, too. Bring him to me.”

None of them moved. The room fell silent.

“Allow me just a moment longer, princess,” Artos said. His voice shook, and he would not look at her or Aemond. “I am still finishing my assessment of the boy.”

He’s dead, her mind insisted. They saved your life at the cost of his. He died because of you.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Daeron began fussing in her arms, disturbed by how she began to tremble. She failed one son by killing him, and now she was already failing as a mother to the one who survived. Aemond tightened his arm on her shoulders, pulling her closer as his free arm gently lifted their son into his own grasp.

He hushed her, ducking his head to press his cheek to hers. “Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos. Izūgō daor īlo bēvili gō.” Calm, little wife. Do not panic before we have reason to.

“Kostan daor,” she whimpered. If Aenar was dead…

“Is he alive?” Aemond’s hand moved to shelter Daeron’s head as if to shield him from whatever danger or heartbreak lurked. She turned to press herself into him – into the safety of his arms.

Brother. Husband. Protector.

Why did the feel and scent of him no longer make her feel safe?

“Yes, my prince,” Artos answered.

“Will he remain that way?”

“Yes…”

“You could tell me he’s green-skinned and winged for all I care.” His arm curled protectively around her, but it did not comfort her. Rather, she bristled against it, the possessiveness of it. He did not notice. “He’s alive, and that’s enough. Bring him.”

Artos hesitated but obeyed, hastily wrapping the babe in a dark blanket.

He looked whole – unbroken. Aenar’s eyes were closed as the Maester placed him in her arms, but she could feel his warmth, his little heart beating, and the faint rise and fall of his chest. He only woke when a tear fell from her cheek onto his.

Even then, he did not cry. He only looked at his mother with bright eyes – the same shade of violet as his father's and brother’s. “Ñuha trēso,” she whispered, and he smiled. My son.

“Taobosa sylvȳse,” Aemond added. “He already recognizes the language of his ancestors. He will serve his brother well. Dārys sepār Ondoso zȳhon.” Wise boy. The King and his Hand.

They had two perfect sons. So why did Artos still look like that?

The Maester’s frown deepened. “I am afraid…” he cleared his throat. “It appears that the younger prince was injured during the birth.”

She examined him again but could find nothing wrong. He was perfect. Surely, Artos was mistaken.

“May I?” His large hand hovered over the edge of the blanket.

Her instinct was to pull away, to not let this man touch her son. Yes, he had saved both their lives, but he must be wrong now. Why should she let him make a problem where there was none?

She suppressed that instinct and allowed him to uncover Aenar’s right arm. Artos’ demeanor had made it seem as though something was horribly wrong – that the arm would be missing or deformed. But it was just an arm, small and plump and pale, with a splotch of reddish-purple covering the shoulder like a pauldron.

“It… is it a birthmark?” She brushed a thumb over it, the skin smooth but slightly raised. A birthmark wasn’t an injury, nor was it exceedingly unusual. There were several families where such a mark appeared on nearly every child born.

“Explain yourself, Artos,” Aemond hissed. He looked ready to tear the man to pieces. If he did, he would likely do so without even setting Daeron down.

With a sigh, Artos ran a finger down the length of Aenar’s arm. “Note how he gives no reaction.”

“So he is calm,” Aemond spat. “I fail to see the injury.”

“Do the same to the elder.” He repeated the touch. “Gently, my prince.”

Aemond obeyed with a scowl. The moment he touched the babe, Daeron squirmed and flailed his arm.

“But he looks fine.” She looked down at her second son, her wise boy, and held out a finger, as Aemond had with Daeron. Aenar’s left arm squirmed within its wrappings, but the right was still. She touched the arm, silently pleading with the gods for it to move, for that tiny hand to reach for her.

It remained still. A desperate noise escaped her. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond and Artos said in unison. Her husband attempted to pull her into his chest, but she pushed him away. An embrace could not fix this. Nothing could. He did not pursue her again.

“It is not uncommon among children born breech.” the Maester explained. “I have seen many such injuries and many even worse.”

Artos offered no sympathy or apologies, and she was thankful for it. There was nothing he could say to ease the pain of knowing that her son would never be whole, just like his father. But unlike Aemond, he was never even given the chance, wounded from his first breath. What would the people call him? ‘Prince Aenar One-Arm, son of King Aemond One-Eye?’

“What do we do?” She asked her husband, the Maester, the gods. Anyone who may have an answer.

Aemond’s face was drawn with grief – for his son and for himself. “He will adapt, as I did. I will ensure it. He will be stronger for this. I promise.”

I cannot trust your promises.

The thought was a sudden gale of icy wind scattering the lovely mist coating her mind into oblivion, leaving her with only stark, wicked reality and the faint memory of green eyes.

“How did I survive?”

Too quickly, Aemond turned to her, taking hold of her chin and pulling her close to him. “It does not matter, ābrazȳrītsos. All that does is that you are still with me. You and Aenar.”

If he wasn’t holding her firstborn, she would have shoved him from the bed.Liar. Liar. Liar.

I will fix this. he’d said before he left her. The pure, unrelenting anger she felt as she watched him leave had prevented her from considering what those words meant. Now, she could think of nothing else. What could he do? He was no midwife nor Maester. He had no knowledge of childbirth, beyond the few questions he’d asked of Orwyle months ago. What could he have done for her and Aenar except beg the help of another?

Of Alys.

Alys, who had eyes the color of fresh grass and possessed a dark magic that allowed her visions of the future. Was she also able to influence that future?

How?

At what cost?

What had Aemond promised her in exchange for their lives?

“No Maester wants to admit to ignorance,” Artos smiled sadly as Aenar continued to try to wriggle his left arm free of his blanket, “but I cannot explain it. All I can think is that the gods are kind to you, princess, and for that, I am glad.”

She could not look at him or any of the others in the room who watched her as if they could see the Mother’s hand upon her shoulder.

The gods weren’t kind. They were cruel to allow her to now owe her very life, and that of her son’s, to the two people who had destroyed her. Would she ever be able to look upon Aenar and not remember? To not feel her soul torn between unyielding hatred and infinite gratitude?

Yet, she had her life – and her sons. Surely anything was worth that.

Wasn’t it?

“I’m tired,” she said. The day had seemed to last a year, and the sun had not even set. “I want to rest now.”

After what she endured, no one argued.

His ābrazȳrītsos fell asleep mere moments after Daeron and Aenar were settled into their cradles. She did not even wake when Aemond lifted her so the servants could replace the soiled bedding. Just as she had so many times before, she tucked her face into his neck as they sat in the window, sighing contentedly. Now, he lay beside her in the bed, trying to memorize how it felt to have her in his arms.

When she woke, he knew she would never allow him to hold her like this again.

She knew. Somehow, his wife knew what he had done to ensure she and Aenar survived, and she would never forgive him for it for as long as she lived.

But she would live.

Aenar would live. Though he would bear the wounds of his father’s sins forever.

After his wife had fallen asleep, Maester Artos had told him that it would likely be necessary to amputate Aenar’s arm. The purple mark on his shoulder had grown, apparently indicating further bleeding within the limb. If it grew much more before morning, the arm would be removed before midday.

It was his fault, Aemond knew.

Alys had told him that in her visions, both boys had been healthy. But that was before his ābrazȳrītsos knew that he betrayed her. Before he brought her to this cursed place. Before he failed to stop her from meeting Alys and learning the full extent of his sins.

He only hoped Aenar would not grow to hate him for it.

For now, the boy slept in his crib, limp arm hidden beneath the dark blanket he was swaddled in. Aemond rose from the bed, moving closer to his son.

How peaceful he looked now, with the redness of his skin finally faded. He did not have as much hair as his older brother, but his was wilder - more reminiscent of his mother’s curls than his father’s straight locks. At least he had that part of her, if not the warm brown eyes Aemond had hoped for.

In the other cradle, Daeron fussed slightly, though he did not wake. It seemed he resented being confined within the tight swaddle of his blanket. The thought made Aemond smile, remembering how his younger brother once did the same. It faded quickly.

He had to go to Alys. To thank her for giving him his family - a kindness he did not deserve. To say goodbye to the child he would never meet. Another cost he would force himself to pay.

He had to go now, while his ābrazȳrītsos slept.

“Before our wedding,” he whispered, careful not to wake her as he approached, “I promised to hold you every night I could, that I would do anything to return to you when I was away. I have failed to uphold that promise, and for that, I am so sorry.”

When he stroked her cheek, she turned into his touch, a small smile upon her lips. Seeing that some unconscious part of her still reacted to him with love warmed his heart, even as the knowledge that her conscious mind would never allow her to do so felt like a dagger buried in his gut.

Aemond knelt at her side, basking in her beauty, memorizing her peaceful face. “Now, I swear my devotion again. I know you no longer wish for me to hold you, and I promise I will not try to persuade you otherwise. But I swear I will always be with you, to love and protect you, even if I must do it from a distance. I will never fail you again.”

It did not matter that she could not hear his vow. Even if she did, she would not believe him. But he made it anyway, for his own sake, and so the gods, wherever they may be, would hear him. It was to them he spoke next.

“Should I ever harm you again, I pray that the gods will strike me down where I stand. And if they do not, I shall do so myself.” He kissed her brow - the sealing of a promise and a farewell - and left.

A maid shrunk away as she passed Aemond in a corridor deep beneath Harrenhal, cradling the bundle of cloth she carried closer to her chest. It was one of the same maids who had tended to his wife—the young girl with deep brown eyes. She did not wear the clothing of a midwife, but the colors of her linen dress were similar. Perhaps a midwife in training.

Strange, then, for her to be here. Stranger still for her to be seemingly performing the duties of a laundress.

He glanced down at the bundle of cloth she carried and froze.

There was blood. Too much blood.

A young midwife, carrying bedlinens soaked with blood.

What would you sacrifice? Alys had asked.

Aemond ran.

He knew what he would find. There was no other explanation. Yet he still hoped and prayed he was wrong. Loss had followed him like a loyal dog for so long, but today it was banished. It must be.

Alys stood in front of her fire. One hand rested on a stomach that was not as distended as it had been only hours ago.

His wife’s stomach now looked very much the same.

“What did you do?” His voice shook with fear and guilt and shame. Gods, he felt so weak.

Her eyes, cold and distant, slid to his. “What you asked.”

“I didn’t ask you to…” This blood was on his hands - the blood of his child.

The word that had haunted him for more than a year - the word that had nearly led to the death of every person he ever loved - echoed in his mind.

Kinslayer.

Killer of his nephew. His uncle. His child.

Aemond looked back into the corridor, hoping to see the young midwife again. Had he not looked closely enough? Had she been carrying the body of his child within those bloody linens?

“I only wanted you to save my wife and son.” His words were a justification, a plea. It fell on the deaf ears of the gods and the dead child’s mother.

“And you thought there would be no cost?” Alys laughed, cruel and cackling. “No god in the world is so generous as to save a life and ask for nothing in exchange, boy.”

“I didn’t think – ”

“You never do.”

Grief morphed into anger. Reckless, aimless, dangerous rage. “You should have told me!”

“What would you have done?” She faced him fully now, her hand falling to her side. There was no trace of the woman who had once comforted and reassured him - who had kept him sane amidst the insanity of war. There was only annoyance and derision. It reminded Aemond of his dead half-sister and her bastard sons. “If I had told you?”

“I –”

“Would you have left your wife to die? Let her son die?” Alys’ lip curled in a hateful sneer. “You could not choose between wife and son, yet you believe you could have chosen between two sons?”

The world stopped. Only Alys’ flickering fire and burning eyes remained.

“I… it was a boy?” Aemond leaned against the wall, sliding down to his knees, savoring the scrape of the rough stone against his back. He deserved every bit of pain. More.

Alys let a single hint of sorrow slip through her cold façade. “It was. Three sons within a year. What your father would have given to have had the same.”

The last thing Aemond wanted to do was to think about his father. The king who had nearly destroyed his throne by choosing one child over another.

Gods, was he any better?

Did his ignorance of his son’s sacrifice absolve him of blame? The guilt?

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Alys sighed. “Better for his death to mean something than for his life to be spent destitute and fatherless.”

“I would not have allowed that to happen,” Aemond said. It was a reflex, a reassurance he’d grown used to giving since he learned he seeded a bastard.

“Wouldn’t you? Perhaps if my visions had not changed. But now…” She shook her head, more exasperated than sorrowful. Did she mourn the child at all? “No. You’d have wanted us as far away as possible and done anything you could to not think of us.”

“I would have ensured your comfort.” The words felt as hollow as his chest.

“Your wife would, yes.” Alys smiled fondly, just as she had when his ābrazȳrītsos sat across from her earlier that very day. She had never smiled that way for Aemond. Never truly cared for him. He should have known. “She is kind-hearted. But not you. Your resentment of me, of us, would have festered until you found some way to be rid of us.”

He wanted to deny it. To say that there was nothing that could drive him to do what she insinuated. Once, it would have been true. But now, with the man he’d become in the war and how close he’d come to losing his heart itself, it would be a lie.

If he had killed Alys along with the rest of her cursed family, would he have become this man? Would he have learned to cherish the metallic tang of blood and its warmth as it coated his hands? Would he have become so proficient a liar that false words rolled off his tongue like a Valyrian lullaby? Would he have grown so accustomed to violence that it now came as naturally to him as loving his wife?

Would he have broken his ābrazȳrītsos’s heart?

He’d trusted her visions. It had been a mistake.

One mistake that led to thousands more, and it was all her fault.

Alys was the one who lied, who deceived him. Who had pulled his strings as if he were no more than a puppet, knowing that he was married and his wife was lonely and infirm.

His failure as a husband. His wife’s pain. The death of his third son.

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Aemond’s heart slowed, his breathing becoming deep and steady. No longer the heart of a broken boy or a desperate husband. Now, it was the blackened heart that had carried him through countless battles and raging rivers of blood.

“I will be rid of you now,” he hissed as he stood. “And I will be rid of you forever.”

The bitch had enough sense to look scared.

“In memory of the son you killed, I will allow you to live. But no more than that.” She didn’t even deserve that, this woman who did not mourn her own child. Perhaps it was good that the babe was gone, for surely he would have suffered with a witch as his mother.

He approached Alys, sneering down at her and the false bravery on her wicked face. “As Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I banish you from these lands forever. You have ten days to leave Westeros. After that, if you are ever seen here again…” He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, holding just tight enough to steal a bit of her breath - just enough to make her fight for it.

“I will kill you myself,” he promised. “Without hesitation or remorse, I will kill you. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, for it will bring me far greater pleasure than that withered cunt of yours ever did.”

She fell to her knees when he released her, clutching at her throat as she coughed and gulped for air. He didn’t care. He only turned on his heel and left, not sparing a single glance at the woman who had only hours ago been carrying his bastard child.

Only one woman mattered now, had ever truly mattered to him.

His ābrazȳrītsos was still asleep when he returned to their chamber, as were their sons. They had no idea where he had gone - that he had even left at all. No inkling of the fact that a moment ago, he had again become the man who wiped an entire bloodline from the earth, slaughtered tens of thousands, and delighted in the suffering he had wrought.

Now, as he leaned down to gently kiss his sons’ brows and muss their soft hair, he was a mere man of twenty, his heart bursting with love and affection for his family. How could a heart overflow with such love at the same moment it was fracturing with grief and regret?

It was a question far beyond him at that moment. Perhaps forever beyond his reach.

He was so tired. Too tired to consider the heartbreak that would come when he woke in the morning and his wife pulled out of his grasp. He could face that pain when it came. But now, he needed to feel whole, if only for a few hours.

So, Aemond climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her into his chest. He remained awake only long enough to kiss the top of her head and whisper, “Jāla tetan, ābrazȳrītsos. Īlon lentot selagon kosti.” It is over, ābrazȳrītsos. We can go home.

She woke to the sound of Daeron fussing. Strange how quickly she was able to tell them apart, even just by their little noises of discontentment. Although, considering she had been with them every moment of the last seven - near eight - months, it may not be strange at all. Perhaps that was why she felt so sure that it had been Daeron who occupied the top of her belly, constantly pestering her with his tiny fists pounding against her at the most inopportune times.

“Hush, little prince,” a soft voice said. “You’ll wake up your mother, and after what you and your brother put her through, I dare say she needs her rest.” A maid was speaking to him, a slight, old woman leaning over his crib. She had not seen the maid before, and somehow, it comforted her.

Daeron continued to grumble. She moved to stand but found Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist. Thankfully, he was still asleep. Quite deeply asleep, apparently, for when she untangled herself from him, he did not wake.

The maid curtsied when she saw the princess approaching and stepped away from Daeron’s cradle. His fussing had now roused Aenar, but the younger prince made no sound, only glaring at his brother in what seemed to be intense displeasure at his sleep being interrupted.

“Is something wrong with him?” she asked the old maid. Daeron quieted slightly upon seeing his mother but still fussed.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, princess.” The old maid had a kind, soothing voice - that of a wise grandmother. She looked at the babes with fondness and a hint of apology. “They are simply hungry.”

“Where is the wetnurse?” She immediately regretted asking. In her sleepy haze, she had forgotten that Alys was the wetnurse at Harrenhal. Why wasn’t she here? Did she even want Alys here? No, of course she didn’t. Had Aemond requested another be found so she would not have to see Alys again?

The old maid looked away, sighing. “I’m afraid she’s left us. No wonder why, poor thing lost her babe again. Such a shame. We all thought she’d had a miracle with this one. But not to worry, Maester Artos sent some men to find another girl from the closest village.” She shook her head and again leaned over Daeron’s crib. “You’ll be fed soon, darling prince, don’t you worry.”

Alys’ child - Aemond’s child - was dead?

It was a good thing, wasn’t it? There would be no bastard son of the new king, no living reminder of what he’d done. This was good news. She should be happy, shouldn’t she?

But she wanted to cry.

“Mother, forgive me,” the old maid looked horrified as she clutched her pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star. “I should not have said that, princess. Not when you’ve only just finished your own labors. Please, forgive me.”

She glanced at Aenar, now peacefully asleep once more. How close she had come to losing him. It had devastated her. Made her willing to forfeit her own life if only he could live. If she had lost him and had to live with that loss… it would have driven her mad.

“How…” she licked her lips. “How many children has she lost?”

The old maid dropped her pendant. “I do not know, exactly. Enough that we all stopped counting.”

Oh gods. She blinked to clear her eyes, wiping away an errant tear with her thumb. “You said she’s gone?”

“Yes, princess. She left in the night. Didn’t say where she was going, to my knowledge.”

It made no sense. If Aemond had struck a bargain with Alys to save her and Aenar’s lives, why would she leave? Had whatever he offered her not been enough to keep her in the place where she’d lost so many children?

Daeron cried again, his face reddened and wrinkled. He was so hungry, she could nearly feel it herself. She… she could feel it. When she looked down at herself, she saw two dark stains on her chemise right above her breasts. Her milk had finally come in, which meant -

“I can feed them.”

The old maid looked aghast. “Princess, there is no need - ”

“I want to do it.” She was their mother, why shouldn’t she be the one to feed them? It was her body that made them, that brought them into the world. It made sense that it would continue to care for them even now. “Can you show me how?”

It took a moment for the maid to close her mouth before she smiled gently. “I’ve raised nine children myself, princess. I think I know a few tricks.”

The maid had gone by the time Aemond woke.

Daeron was still suckling at her left breast while Aenar had fallen asleep using the right as his pillow. She had not realized how heavy and uncomfortable they had felt until the boys had drunk from her, easing the pressure that she’d become accustomed to.

“You should not be doing that yourself,” Aemond muttered as he raised himself on an elbow. His eye darted from son to son, only ever glancing over her exposed breasts. Once, he loved to worship them, quite similarly to how his sons fed from her now. “Where is the wetnurse?”

Did he not know that Alys had left? Had no one told him of the death of his child?

No. Those were the faint remnants of tear tracks lining his cheeks, and there was a deep sadness in his eye that was not there when he held his sons for the first time. He knew. He knew, and he was grieving, though he was fighting to hide it. She still saw it.

Perhaps that was the real reason he never returned to King’s Landing during the war - he knew she would be able to see the guilt on his face.

“There is no other wetnurse,” she explained gently. “Alys left. They’re looking for another woman now.”

Aemond froze, his gaze growing distant. She could not decipher his expression. Rage? Guilt? Sorrow? Grief?

“I’m sorry, Aemond.” He frowned and shook his head, but she continued. “Truly, I am.”

“It’s better this way,” he whispered. He didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

He reached out to her. No, not to her, but to Aenar, gently stroking his hair. She allowed him to take the babe and hold him against his own chest.

Aenar opened his eyes and looked up at his father. Then, he smiled.

Aemond took in a deep breath. “That boy should never have existed,” he said, letting Aenar take hold of his thumb and mouth at it. “I already had what I needed. And wanted.”

So it was a boy. Another son. A brother for her own. Would he have had his father’s nose, as Daeron did? Or his stern brow, like Aenar? Gods, why did she care?

“You are allowed to mourn him. He was innocent. I bear him no ill will.” Bastard or no, a babe was a babe, blameless of his parents’ sins. Deep in her heart, she mourned him, as well.

Again, Aemond shook his head. “I cannot mourn what never should have been.” He turned his head to face her, face open and pleading. “And I am mourning too much already.”

“I am alive. Aenar is alive. There is nothing to mourn.”

“You know that is not what I mean, ābrazȳrītsos.”

She did. He mourned not for the loss of a life, but for the loss of their life. The life they should have shared, and would have, had Aemond not strayed. In truth, she mourned for it, too.

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Daeron finally finished feeding, stretching his little arms to push her breast away. She pulled her robe closed again to combat the chill.

Aemond raised a hand to help her. She flinched away. He winced in response.

“Ābrazȳrītsos, please.” His voice was already breaking, his eye watering. The sight should have tugged at her heart. His begging should have fanned the flames of her anger. But looking at him, she felt very little of anything, save a small seed of pity. “Alys is gone. My… the bastard is gone. Can we not return to the way we were? Pretend none of this ever happened? Can’t you forgive me at last?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“No, Aemond.”

Within her, there was no longer a grassland, barren with loneliness and despair. The never-ending field of raging fire had also vanished. In its place was a small, lush garden, safely contained within tall stone walls draped with flowers and a polished iron gate – locked firmly, but perhaps not sealed forever.

“I shall always be your sister, your blood, and the mother of your children.” Daeron cooed, as if he knew she was talking about him, and she could not help but smile down at him. “I will remain your wife in the eyes of gods and men. And when Aegon dies, I will be your faithful queen.”

Aemond shook as his breath quickened, failing to keep the heartbreak. “You will be a wonderful queen, ābrazȳrītsos. I know it.”

She pulled away, taking Aenar from him and into her empty arm. “But I will never again be your ābrazȳrītsos.” She forced herself to ignore the whimpering, broken cry that escaped him, the breath that carried it echoing like a death rattle. “I will not share your bed. And I will no longer allow you to hold my heart.”

Between desperate sobs, Aemond raised his head to face her. Utter devastation lay in his eye, but so too did acceptance. Anguished surrender. “My heart is and always shall be yours.”

I don’t want it, her mind told her, even as her heart cried, I will cherish it forever.

But her decision was made. In all but name, their marriage – their once legendary romance – was finished. A few fragments of love remained but would never be repaired. Could never be.

Slowly, she rose from the bed, her sons still in her arms. Aemond began to reach for her, but when she did not even acknowledge him, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Though it tugged at her heart, it was the same she would feel for any man weeping so, no longer the instinctive pull of a wife. She did not comfort him.

The soft, pitiful sounds of Aemond’s grief faded as she walked toward the eastern window, settling herself in the cushioned seat just beneath it.

Daeron smiled, watching the trembling branches of an oak tree dotted with the first tight green buds of the season. Aenar angled his head just so, until the sun warmed every bit of his fat, pink face, then promptly fell asleep. She sighed, taking in the sweet scent of spring on the wind, and realized she had not breathed so easily in months.

It was a lovely morning in Harrenhal.

[anchoeritic]

baby, no attachment

pairing ellie williams + fem!reader

synopsis ‘together’. a term she always hated. ‘couple’. the thought of being in a relationship didn’t even cross her mind, not as much as it did yours. especially when she was calling you ‘hers’, and her as yours.

warnings eighteen plus content, minors do not interact. cunnilingus, ellie being a munch, slight daddy kink, clit play, fingering, edging, lowercase writing.

tick tock. you watched quietly as the time went by as slow as you could grasp reality.

the reality that ellie williams never really saw what you saw, wanted what you wanted, or felt remotely the same feeling when you two were together.

‘together’. a term she always hated. ‘couple’. the thought of being in a relationship didn’t even cross her mind, not as much as it did yours. especially when she was calling you ‘hers’, and her as yours.

or when she had the car pulled over to the side of the highway with her fingers tugging at the waistband of your jeans, her warm lips plump against yours in a wet kiss.

it takes everything in you not to overanalyze your.. little situation. whenever you did, you found yourself spiralling over something that was always known as nothing. that’s what ellie tells you.

“there’s no us,” she would tell you before trailing hot kisses down your neck, “there could never be. you know that.”

and the thing is, you knew there wasn’t ever going to be ‘something’. but you couldn’t help wishing that there was. hoping those sweet kisses you shared were more than nothing, more than something. her nicknames for you to be more than just a nickname.

you could admit it but she would never. she couldn’t. not when she still sees you as just a casual friend to her.

a casual friend that she seemed to always text late at night for a good time.

“what time is it?” ellie’s voice raspy as she dragged out her question, just waking up from her long sleep, after your long night together.

maybe the only good thing to come out of this situation is that she stays after the sex.

her hands found their way to your waist, wrapping themselves just tight enough to pull you in closer. pressing her warm body right up against yours, lips closing in the gap with just a peck.

her eyes fixated on your features, taking in the features that complimented your face. but it never quite compared to the other thing that caught her eye.

“got a staring problem, huh?” you muttered into the warmth of her cheek, teasing her just to get her feeling a little embarrassed.

you can see a smile creep up onto her face as you looked back up into her eyes, if you were some random girl, you probably would’ve thought she was in love with you.

but that’s nonsense, right?

“wouldn’t be starin’ if you weren’t so pretty,” your cheeks grow warm at her words, hot enough to radiate off your skin. “not complainin’, though.”

her hands slipped down lower between your thighs, gripping at the flesh just barely under your heat: the place you needed her the most.

the soft squeeze was followed by a quiet moan that escaped your lips, feeling her fingers trail even deeper between. just barely teasing you.

it didn’t help that you two were already bare from the night before, your skin hot against the touch of her fingers as they delve themselves between your wet folds.

“who would complain about wakin’ up to this everyday?” her breath hot on your neck, lips attaching on just after.

you didn’t have the strength reply, not when her fingers were treating you to your weakness.

only letting her know of your response with soft whimpers and the movement of your hips rocking against the ridges of her digits inside of you.

they never stopped pumping, only going deeper and deeper to watch your eyes roll back further. far enough for you to see the depths of what sat underneath your skull.

“look at me when i touch you, baby. look at yourself all wet ‘round my fingers,” she hummed.

she never failed to make you feel so attractive under her touch. but within her mind, you knew you were nothing but something casual.

just a casual friend that she kissed a little bit too much?

“i know you want more, pretty girl. but i need you to tell daddy,” the pace of her fingers moved quicker to the sounds of your moans, curling them just enough to make you talk.

“please, ellie,” you were barely able to whine out, clenching your thighs around her hand, only for her to force them back open. “mm— need more of you. more than your fingers.”

only a grin was shown on her lips as she slowed down her fingers once you said what she needed to here, not letting you come down at all.

that. that’s what had you wanting more.

shocked at her sudden stop, your hips quickened instead hoping to get the release you finally wanted. but you were only faced with more frustration when her fingers left you completely.

still grinning at you, she put those digits to her lips, letting her tongue swirl around her own slick-coated fingers.

god, it was embarrassing how much wetter you got from that sight.

“still so sweet, huh? you never fail to taste so fuckin’ good,” she pulled away from you, lowering herself to the level of your hips.

right in front of where you needed her most.

your wetness looked ready to be tasted, straight off her tongue. she couldn’t help herself. paying no mind to your frustrated state, she helped herself to what was in front of her.

“mm— f-fuck ellie. please, please, please,” you chanted away.

her tongue having a mind of its own, licking away at your folds like it was her last time to ever taste you, consuming you whole.

watching you from under, her hands held your thighs back secure, making sure to satisfy her needs as much as yours.

tongue deep inside of you, her fingers had to pay some sort of attention to your sensitive bud too. while her tongue was between your folds, her thumb was rubbing away at your clit.

your thighs couldn’t help but shake at all the pleasure happening between your legs, trying to close in on her.

“uh uh, stay still f’me, m’kay? let me taste you just a little more, baby.”

but your strength was no match to hers. the attempts only making her tongue flick faster between your folds.

the pleasure bringing you closer to your orgasm.

“ah— i’m s’close,” you whimper out, gripping tighter on the roots of ellie’s hair. tugging it harder while also pushing her deeper in.

“such a good girl, telling me when you’re gonna cum f’me. such a good fuckin’ girl.”

it didn’t take long for you to come undone right on her tongue, coating her tastebuds in more of your sweet, sweet juices.

even after you finished, she licked away at your slick like no other, because frankly, there really is no one like her. maybe she did see you as a casual friend but do casual friends kiss?

do you sleep over at your friend’s after hooking up with them because of your silly little failed date?

how did you manage to wind back up in her bed with her head between your legs, eating up what was left the last time she came to help your disappointment?

after all, it didn’t matter. as long as you continued to keep it quiet, it wouldn’t be a problem.

but ellie williams is just your friend at the end of the day, right?

[starrynights-sunnyskies]

as the flowers bloom, my heart does too ⋆*·ﾟmisa x putellas!femreader, social media au, (11/-)

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when your relationship ends and all you want to do is hide and cry, flowers suddenly start to appear on your doorstep.

or; misa hating to see a pretty girl cry and suffer and going out of her way to cheer her up while staying anonymous

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yourusername: guess who's back home!!! Liked by albaps9, begovargas, janafernandez3 and 1,309 others

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username1 what happened to home is wherever you are? 👀 ↳ username2 Exactly what I was thinking lol

bff1 she's baaaaaaack 👯‍♀️

albaps9 🤗🤩😭

salmaparalluelo ❤️

ingridengen Stay a little longer this time! We've missed you 💘 ↳ yourusername i'm planning on it!! 🥺

claudiaapina 👏

fridolinarolfo Missing us already? 😌

marialeonn16 You two should come over for dinner! ↳ yourusername it's just me, but i hope the offer still stands 🤭

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↳ 6h ago: marisabel_rguez added to their story

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albaps9: don't mind me hogging up all her time now that she's here 😛 Liked by alexiaputellas, marialeonn16, marisabel_rguez and 891 others

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yourusername yea uuf it's been unbearable ↳ albaps9 don't pretend you didn't miss sleepovers in my bed ↳ yourusername 🤏 ↳ albaps9 that's what i thought ↳ bff1 excuse me, i do mind?? ↳ bff2 Yeah, what's up with that? 😝 ↳ bff1 wait, i see what this is. she's trying to weasel her way into our group ↳ albaps9 gasp i would never ↳ bff1 🖕

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↳ 15min ago: yourusername added to their story

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marisabel_rguez: 🧡🤙 Liked by ona.battle, bff3, carolinemoller_ and 16,529 others

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username1 wait this is so sad, is she alone there? ↳ username2 obv not alone-alone bc someone took the photos 🤣 ↳ username3 Who's she doing all this with if YN is still in Spain? ↳ username2 ever heard of friends and family?!?!?

jennihermoso 😍 ↳ jennihermoso (to the sunset) ↳ marisabel_rguez Get out of here 😂

carolineweir95 enjoy!!

bff1 *jaws theme starts playing* ↳ yourusername that's not funny 😫

sofie.svava Have a good time back home 😘

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yourusername: 🌼 Liked by alexiaputellas, claudiaapina, judebellingham and 1,938 others

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alexiaputellas Chiquita 🤩

begovargas next time i'm taking you to the ones in el raval 😌 ↳ yourusername more clothes? yes please (i say while trying to get my suitcase to zip shut)

friend1 Missy!! 😍

username1 why's jude still lurking 🤣

albaps9 yea, you're right, nala did rock those sunnies better 🤭 ↳ yourusername but i still rock them better than you ever will 🙋‍♀️

bff1 i want to be that icecream ↳ yourusername ew get out, weirdo

username2 why are you not with misa liked by 12 others

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↳ 12h ago: yourusername added to their story

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Text Messages

17:39 mami 🌷(ICE) Mija, text me when you are home. We just went through customs. I love you.

17:40 mami 🌷(ICE) Make sure you lock all the doors and windows when you go back to Madrid. Your tio knows you'll bring the keys to him. Tell him we said hello.

17:43 mami 🌷(ICE) And don't forget to clear out the refrigerator. You can take anything else that will expire soon with you.

17:45 mami 🌷(ICE) Be careful when you drive back to Madrid. Take some breaks and text me whenever you can. I know we will have a big time difference but you can always call and text me, laelia.

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18:01 albaquerque 🌼you've got this! and you've got your girls, so you won't be alone! i really loved having you around again. we'll see each other again soon. don't miss me too much 😉

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20:05 ale 🐻About to get onto the plane. Thinking of you. You've been through worse than a month alone, remember? And you'll have Nala to keep you company. I love you. 😘

20:05 ale 🐻 Give Nala a kiss, btw.

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yourusername: i could cry. Liked by bff3, bff1, alexiaputellas and 872 others

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bff1 uh yeah and you did. multiple times this week. ↳ yourusername stop exposing me 😭 ↳ bff1 as long as they were happy tears ↳ yourusername they were 🥺

bff3 My favourite girls! ☺️

username1 WHY AREN'T YOU WITH MISA AT THE WC?? liked by 42 others

alexiaputellas Looking beautiful you two 😍👶

bff2 I love you all so much!! 🥺🥺🥺 ↳ yourusername we've come a long way 🥺 ↳ bff3 We have ❤️ ↳ bff1 i can't believe we're getting old ↳ yourusername get used to it ↳ bff2 At least we're getting older each year! ↳ yourusername can't wait until we're grey and pruning and wreaking havoc in the nursing home ↳ bff2 And then our kids come to visit us and get second hand embarrassment 🤣 ↳ bff3 I can't wait ☺️ ↳ bff1 jesus guys, let me find a hubby first ↳ yourusername are you implying you need a hubby to have kids bc i will fight you on that one ↳ bff1 NO. be gay do crime ✌️ ↳ yourusername 😚

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↳ 45min ago: yourusername added to their story

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↳ 16h ago: marisabel_rguez added to their story

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↳ 12min ago: yourusername added to their story

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↳ 2h ago: yourusername added to their story

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yourusername: friends and food. Liked by bff3, bff1, alexiaputellas and 872 others

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bff2 😍😋

marialeonn16 Pasta again? ↳ yourusername yea... i'm constantly carrying a carb infused food baby around 😭

bff3 Always the best cook ❤️ ↳ bff1 you're only saying that because she kept indulging your cravings ↳ yourusername i was just being a great friend xxx

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↳ 1h ago: yourusername added to their story

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yourusername: madrid madrid madrid 🌼 Liked by bff2, friend1, janafernandez3 and 1,290 others

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username1 girl what are you doing, the semifinal is in two days 😭 ↳ username2 At least she's back in Madrid? 🤞

friend1 Better luck next time! 🎾🖤

bff3 Loved our double date... + YN 😂 ↳ bff2 It was such a lovely day with our men... oh and YN 🙊 ↳ yourusername rub it in, won't you <3 ↳ bff1 next time you'll have me there again to save you from the thirdwheeling!!!!!

username3 get your ass down under asap for wag duties 😡 ↳ username4 fr why isn't she supporting misa at the wc? ↳ username5 Some people have jobs and responsibilities, ever heard of those? ↳ username3 and you don't think supporting your significant other at one of the biggest moments in their life is important?

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Text Messages

10:31 Misa Hey, what's up, are you free?

10:41 Alexia Sure!

10:41 Misa Can you come to the cafe on the corner of the street? I'm at a table outside.

10:41 Alexia Right now?

10:43 Misa If you can? 😅

10:43 Alexia Is everything okay?

10:44 Misa More than! Don't worry.

10:44 Alexia Are you sure?

10:44 Misa Positive. I just need to talk to you about something.

10:44 Alexia Okay. I'm coming down!

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marisabel_rguez: Hello Sydney, hello final! 🇪🇸😎 Liked by bff3, albaps9, haleyraso and 18,389 others

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sofie.svava If you don't bring me one of those hats, we're going to have a problem. ↳ carolineweir95 I can't tell if this is sarcastic or not 😂

haleyraso Welcome, welcome 😌

username1 ok misa i see those flowers 👀

username2 I miss YN in the comments 😕 ↳ username3 but she hasn't really posted anything, so what is there to comment on?

albaps9 HELLO 👋

alexiaputellas 😎

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↳ 23h ago: yourusername added to their story

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username1: YN IS IN SYDNEY, I REPEAT, SHE IS DOWN UNDER! (pic cred to username19 from twitter) Liked by 323 others

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username2 what hotel is this?

username3 Now we just have to cross our fingers she's not only there for Alexia because this sudden radio silence is creeping me out

username4 was she with misa?? ↳ username5 she's not staying at the players hotel and i doubt the players can go see family right now. they're always pretty isolated during big tournaments, especially now that the final is tomorrow. and i heavily doubt that vilda will let family come over to keep morale high

username6 it kind of worries me that they're no longer so loveydovey online, but i'm holding out hope for a YSN pic soon ↳ username7 they're probably fine. they don't have to salivate on each other's post week in week out to be going strong. ↳ username8 It lowkey looks like the initial hype died down a little after their hard launch, but hey, that's fine. It's their life, as long as they're happy 💘 ↳ username9 but they better go back to being loveydovey again soon tho 😭

username10 🕯praying everything is fine between them 🕯

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a/n: hope you've all had a sweet week 🌻

[firewasabeast]

(I made this little headcanon then had to write a fic for it. Here's 2k words of the 118 being obsessed with Tommy ft. Bobby being a dad, of course. Enjoy here or on ao3!)

The Problem

Buck has a problem.

He knows it shouldn't be a problem. Knows he should be grateful. He's never had anything like this before. Never felt so secure in his life. Work is good, home is good, friends are good, family's good, and his boyfriend... well, he's really good.

Buck is in love, like really and truly in love, for the first time ever. Yes, he's said it before, and maybe he meant it, but not like this. He's never had this much stability, and care, and comfort, and security. Buck doesn't just love Tommy, he feels loved by Tommy. Since the moment the words I love you slipped out of Tommy's mouth, there has never been a doubt in his mind that Tommy means it. And he knows that Tommy feels the same way about him too.

But none of that is the problem.

The problem is he's not the only one who loves Tommy.

All of his coworkers love Tommy.

A lot.

Apparently he is a very popular guy with the 118. Buck always knew Tommy was a cool guy, even when he first tried and failed to discredit the claim, but he didn't realize that every single one of his coworkers would also think Tommy was the coolest guy to ever walk the planet.

Okay, maybe they didn't actually think that, but it was obvious that they liked him and they wanted to be around him.

All. The. Time.

At first it was cute. Buck was thrilled that everyone liked the person he was dating. He was overjoyed that they always had something positive to say about Tommy, that they had him included in group chats, and invited him to hangout with the team after a shift.

Then it became... a lot to manage.

Chimney and Tommy had a long history, so it was to be expected that they would hang out on occasion. They both loved to watch classic movies and, while Buck didn't mind one every once in a while, he wasn't a huge fan of black and white so he let them have their time with that. He just didn't expect Chimney to add the Old Classics Movie Network to his cable subscription so there was always another movie being recorded that they needed to watch and analyze.

Tommy and Eddie were already friends, and Buck and Eddie were best friends, so it was easy for the three of them to hang out. Buck could get into wrestling, he liked karaoke trivia, and he was a big fan of learning Muay Thai. But that's where Eddie had a problem.

“Every time you come to Muay Thai,” Eddie whined, “you and Tommy end up going one round, get all horned up, and leave early.”

“All horned up?” Buck repeated with a glare. “What are we, fifteen?”

“You're banned from Muay Thai,” he declared, holding up a finger to silence Buck's incoming protests, “at least once a week.”

Then there was Hen, who Buck thought would care the least of them all.

He was wrong.

She became convinced that she was the reason he and Tommy ever got together, not Chimney.

“Chimney may have been the one to contact Tommy, but it was me who planted the seed in his head,” she'd say, “so I was actually the one who connected you two.”

It turns out Tommy and Karen also had a lot of similar interests, so one double date turned into regular double dates. Often, Karen was texting or calling Tommy to set up the next double date before Buck even knew a thing about it.

Hen also enjoyed Tommy's dry humor. They could battle back and forth for hours in sarcasm wars, and often enjoyed hating on the same things.

Even Ravi wedged his way into Tommy's life. He actually wanted flying lessons for other purposes than staring at Tommy for hours at a time while he rambled on about what each button did.

And Tommy was so kind, so insanely, annoyingly, kind that he always made time for everybody. Buck had no idea how he did it, but he did. He even always had time for Buck too, Buck just wanted more of it.

He knew it was selfish. He knew Tommy deserved to have all the friends and found family in the world, which is why he'd never say anything to him about it.

But, he could talk to Bobby. Ask Bobby to talk to the rest of the team, because he'd tried and they wouldn't listen to him. Or, maybe Bobby could just schedule him off a day where everyone else worked? Give Buck and Tommy a day where distractions weren't possible, because all of the distractions were busy at the station. Surely he could do something.

He should've known better.

The second he tapped on Bobby's office door, Bobby excitedly waved him in.

“It came in the mail today,” he declared, as if Buck was supposed to know what that meant.

“Wh- What came in the mail?” Buck asked cautiously as he sat down.

“The murder mystery game Tommy and I talked about last time you guys came over. I had no clue he was so into puzzles and mysteries. I already talked to Tommy, and you two are coming over for dinner tonight.”

“We are?” Buck asked. This was a lot of information to be thrown his way so quickly.

“Yes. Well, he actually said he'd ask you about it and then confirm, but you already said you didn't have plans earlier, so...”

He should've known that question was a trap. Bobby had asked what everyone's plans were while they were on the way to a call earlier in the day. Buck had answered that he and Tommy didn't have any, which was risky, but his mind went blank in the moment. His actual plans involved a lot of nudity, mind blowing sex, and hopefully some whipped cream, but he was trying to not be so blatant about his sex life anymore.

But now Bobby was looking at him with wide, excited eyes, and he did remember Tommy talking about that game, and Bobby's food was always so good, so it wasn't like he could say no.

“Yeah, of course it's fine.”

Which led them to now, having just enough time to shower and change before driving over to Bobby and Athena's place.

“I know we haven't had as much us time lately,” Tommy said as they reached the door. Of course he did. Of course he noticed everything. “So we'll stay for dinner, and do this game, and we'll go by nine.”

Buck tried to play it cool. “No rush.”

“Evan,” Tommy replied knowingly, dropping a kiss on his temple, “we'll go by nine.”

Who was Buck to argue? “Yeah... Yeah, okay.”

Dinner went smoothly, as if there was another option. Tommy was always great at keeping up conversation, and he and Bobby knew tons of people to reminisce about and catch up on. Tommy had a long history with Athena as well, and a lot of mutual respect between the two, so the conversation never stalled.

It wasn't like Buck was ever left out either. Bobby and Athena were his family; more of his parents than his actual parents. Bobby cared for him, loved him, watched over him in ways his father never did. Athena was a dose of reality when he needed it. She was stern, expected the best from him, and didn't whitewash anything. He felt more comfortable in their home than he ever did in the house he grew up in.

And Tommy always had a hand on his leg, or his back, including him in the conversation or bragging on whatever he did at work that week. When Buck talked, Tommy looked at him like nothing else existed in the world. He listened, hung on to every word.

He made Buck feel special.

Which is why Buck wanted to take him home, rip off all of his clothes, and adore every inch of his body.

He couldn't do that yet though, because it was only seven-thirty and they still had to play the murder mystery game.

It started innocently enough. It was a fun game with pictures, paperwork, some evidence, and background on all the suspects. Buck figured they'd read through the material, follow along, and they'd be led to the murderer in no time.

Then Bobby rolled out the cork board and began pinning suspect photographs and pictures from the “crime scene”.

Things devolved from there.

Athena gave up before nine. “I solve murders all day long, I don't want to do it all night too.”

Buck still held out hope they'd leave on time.

Another mistake.

“Hon, it's getting late,” Buck said a little after nine, gently patting Tommy's back. They were sitting beside one another at the dining room table. Buck had been half paying attention, half going through a Wikipedia rabbit hole that started with active US serial killers and had somehow ended up on the origins of duct tape. “Maybe we should let them get some rest.”

“Buck, we haven't solved the murder yet,” Bobby replied, lifting both of his hands to show all the paperwork. “Cassie's ex-boyfriend is a prime suspect, but I have no physical evidence to prove he did it.”

“I think we should look more into the circus clown,” Tommy replied, handing Bobby yet another piece of fictional paperwork. “I learned a long time ago that you never trust a clown.”

“We already cleared the clown. He had an alibi.”

“Did he though? His best friend, the balloon artist, was his alibi. The clown could've paid him off.”

That's when Buck decided he'd be better off slipping away and joining Athena in the living room.

“Would you like some leftover pie?” Athena asked, eyebrow raised knowingly, as she lifted up her own slice.

Buck nodded. “I got it.”

He returned a moment later, pie in hand, extra whipped cream. He sat down on the couch, across from where Athena was curled up on the loveseat.

“There's not much on right now,” Athena said, staring at the TV, “but these home improvement shows always find a way to reel me in.”

“As long as it's not a murder mystery, I'll enjoy it.”

Athena let out a laugh. “They're in it deep, aren't they?”

“I'm not sure an actual murder would take them away from that game.”

Athena shook her head, peering into the dining room. “Our boys are something else, aren't they?”

Buck smiled. He couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach. The night may not be going as planned, but there was something so sweet, so domestic, about it all.

Everything felt... right.

“Yeah,” he replied, “they're something.”

Two more shows started and ended, and Tommy and Bobby could still be heard in the other room, arguing about whether it was the clown or the ex.

“You know, I looked up that game a while ago,” Athena whispered into the darkness of the living room, the only light from flashes on the TV, “and it wasn't the clown or the ex.”

Buck sighed sleepily. “I think we'll be spending the night tonight,” he mumbled, his eyes slowly closing where he laid on the couch.

“Already made up the guest bedroom,” Athena replied, taking another sip of her drink. “New toothbrushes in the bathroom too.”

It'd be another two hours before Tommy would come and gently wake up Buck and lead him to the guest bedroom. They'd brush their teeth, and change into some of Bobby's pajama pants before snuggling in bed.

And then, before the sun rose, Tommy would be popping up from a dead sleep to exclaim, “It was the candlemaker!” before running out of the room, and apparently right into Bobby who- from the sounds of their mumbled laughter and high fives- had the same epiphany.

Yeah, Buck had a problem. And he hoped he had it for the rest of his life.

[uzurakis]

hi again!! (ik I just sent in a request I just had another one LMFAOOO) im back bc I got another request/idea!! jjk men (..yuta n Megumi 🙏 n whoever else u want :3) who got into a nasty argument (could be from ur argument post but it doesn’t have to be connected to that post!!) and then gets really injured on a mission right after the argument! it’s up to you if reader + jjk men end up making up, or it could end on a angsty route of them anxiously waiting for reader to wake up while trying to think to ways to apologize with regret; doesn’t rlly matter!! do what you want 😛😛

HEY, WAKE UP . . PLEASE?

featuring: fushiguro megumi. gojo satoru. yuuta okkotsu.

n. first, i apologize this one took a very long time because i wanted to carefully hit the right spots and nail the each character. second, i only make 3 characters this time ‘cause each one of them is long enough to read. third, i wanna make you guys suffer <3 enjoy !!

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

megumi’s fingers trembled as he reached out to touch your hand, the memory of his harsh words replaying in his mind. “why didn’t i see it coming?” he muttered to himself, voice hardly above a whisper. the guilt was suffocating, the feeling that he had failed you as a partner, both in life and on the field, gnawing at him relentlessly.

he hadn’t slept since you were brought in, eyes red and heavy, his emerald pupils weren’t evident anymore with the dark circles underneath a testament to his vigil. every beep of the monitors felt like a countdown, each passing second a reminder of how fragile everything was. he kept running through what he could have done differently, how he could have prevented this from happening.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking with emotion, repeating the words tremendously. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry—“

“i’m so sorry. i never meant for this to happen. i never wanted to hurt you.”

his mind was filled with images of your smile, your laughter, and the way your eyes would light up when you were happy. he wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, to hear your voice, to have the chance to make things right.

the silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines. megumi’s thoughts were a chaotic jumble of fear and determination. he knew he had to find a way to apologize, to show you that he cared more than he had ever managed to express. but how could he make up for the pain he had caused? how could he prove to you that he was truly sorry?

he squeezed your hand gently, as if the simple touch could convey all the words he struggled to find. “please wake up,” he pleaded softly. “i need to tell you how much you mean to me. i need to show you that i can do better. that i will do better. please, just wake up.”

as the hours dragged on, megumi’s resolve only strengthened. he would make things right, no matter what it took. the door to your room opened, but megumi didn’t look up. his focus was entirely on you, silently willing you to open your eyes. he wouldn’t leave your side until you did. he couldn’t. the weight of his regret was too heavy, his love for you too deep.

“please,” he whispered again, each syllable filled with desperation. “come back to me.”

GOJO SATORU

“you’re always so damn reckless!” gojo had shouted, his voice echoing in the small office.

“maybe if you weren’t so arrogant all the time, you’d understand why!” you had snapped back, feeling the sting of his words cut deep.

now, the same guy sat by your hospital bed, his usually confident demeanor shattered. his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, blood seeping from where his nails dug into his palms. the sight of you lying there, pale and unmoving, tore at his heart. he cursed himself repeatedly, the words tumbling out in a desperate, angry whisper.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” he muttered, voice breaking. “why the hell did this have to happen? why couldn’t i fucking save you?”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to give him some sign that you were still there with him. the argument replayed in his mind, each harsh word a dagger in his chest. he wanted to take it all back, to tell you how much he loved you and needed you.

“shit,” he hissed, slamming his fist into the armrest of the chair. “i’m supposed to be the strongest, but what the hell does that mean if i can’t even protect you?”

a hollow aching threatened to eat away at his chest, a gnawing remorse. tears blurred his vision as he looked at you, voice a broken whisper. “wake up. i want to apologize. i want you to know how sorry i am.”

the room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. gojo’s thoughts were a chaotic swirl of guilt, also his helplessness. he had faced countless curses and enemies without flinching, but this, seeing you like this, was unbearable.

he cursed again, the words raw and filled with pain. “damn it, why didn’t i stop you? why didn’t i fucking do something?”

his mind raced, trying to think of ways to make it right, to fix what had been broken. but all he could do was wait and hope. he reached out, gently taking your hand in his, his grip trembling.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “i love you. please, just wake up. i don’t know what i’ll do if you don’t.”

YUUTA OKKOTSU

yuta, who was normally expressive, was pale and drawn as he sat beside your bed. his voice was crushed by the weight of his remorse, and he was unable to speak. he was completely broken by the sight of you there, so still and vulnerable, in ways he never imagined. his fingers barely touched yours as he extended a shaking hand, fearing that the slightest touch could break you.

memories of the argument replayed in his mind, each moment seared into his consciousness. your angry words echoed in his ears, mingling with his own harsh retorts. he remembered the flash of hurt in your eyes, the way your voice had cracked when you told him you were done talking. he had let you walk away, his anger blinding him to the danger you were about to face.

tears welled up in yuta’s eyes, but he couldn’t let them fall. he had to be strong for you, even though you couldn’t sense a thing. the guilt gnawed at him, a relentless beast that whispered of his failures. he had promised to protect you, to be there for you, and yet here you were, injured and unresponsive, because he had let his anger get the better of him.

“it’s all my fault,” he grumbled, voice barely audible in the sterile room. “i should have stopped you. i should have been there.”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to open your eyes and tell him it was okay. but you remained still, your breathing steady but shallow. yuta’s mind was a storm of regret and self-recrimination. he blamed himself for everything, convinced that his failure to resolve things before you left had led to this. if only he had followed you, things might have been different.

“wake up, please,” he begged, voice breaking. “you can’t do this to me..”

he felt a sob rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down, determined not to break in front of you. he had to be strong, even if it felt like he was falling apart inside. the thought of losing you was unbearable, a gap that threatened to swallow him whole.

“why did i let you go?” he murmured, his fingers tightening around yours. “why didn’t i fight for us?”

the minutes stretched into hours, each one an eternity as yuta sat by your side, his heart heavy with guilt and fear. he couldn’t imagine a life without you, couldn’t bear the thought that he might have lost you because of his own stubbornness.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice choked with emotion. he stayed there, silent and unmoving, the weight of his regret a constant presence. all he could do was wait and hope, praying that you would wake up and give him the chance to apologize, to tell you how much you meant to him. until then, he would sit by your side, holding on to the hope that you would come back to him.

“i love you. please, just give me a chance to make things right.”

@uzurakis