#i SCREECHED when i saw the announcement

[slafkovskys]

isaac rochell’s newest tiktok is so norri family coded

🥹🥹

literally him, momma, henry, and bailey when they first get home the hospital

[yuujispinkhair]

Tribe leader/Viking Sukuna headcanons

After seeing this fanart, a sweet anon sent me this prompt: "Imagine that you are a simple girl in another tribe who attracted the leader Sukuna who at that moment came to negotiate with the leader of your tribe, he became interested in you and decided to make you his wife and cooperate with your people. So you left with him and began to live with him and give birth to his heirs."

Thank you so much for sending me this! When I saw the art, I was thinking of something along those lines, too! The picture reminded me of the tv show Vikings, so the following headcanons take place in that time.

Pairing: Viking!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Smut + fluff Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, arranged/forced marriage, virginity loss, blood, breeding, pregnancy, slight lactation kink, having children, miscarriage (Sukuna comforts reader afterwards. He doesn't just want her because of the heirs she can give him), general mentions of violence and human sacrifices. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared for his ruthlessness in battle and his strength that seems almost god-like. All the other tribes try to stay on his good side and forge alliances with him instead of giving him a reason to burn down their towns.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who looks so intimidating when he comes to visit your settlement. Tall and broad-shouldered with all those buff muscles on display and the bones of his enemies decorating his clothes.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you can't take your eyes off when you and the rest of your tribe gather in your leader's throne room and watch the negotiations. He sends shivers down your spine, but not just in a fear-inducing way, if you are honest. He is so enticing. Powerful and intelligent, and so attractive.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a beautiful man. His face is too pretty for a warrior. Not even his scars and tribal tattoos can hide his beauty. A smug smirk lifts the corners of his lips, and his voice is calm and confident. He moves gracefully like a big cat, beautiful but deadly. He is the most stunning man you have ever seen, and you hang on every word that falls from his lips as if he carries ancient magic in his voice.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose icy blue eyes scan the crowd slowly, glittering like two precious jewels in the firelight illuminating the crowded room. Your breath catches in your throat when that intense gaze lands on you. You feel like a small animal trapped in the gaze of its hunter. Should you lower your head to show him your respect? Or will he take affront if you dare to look at anything else but him?

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes the decision away from you when he smirks at you and laughs softly before he turns his attention back to your leader.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who announces his conditions for a peace treaty in a confident, demanding tone. The voice of a man who is used to getting what he wants. A man who knows he is too powerful to get turned down.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who suddenly points a long tattoed finger at you and speaks the words that will flip your whole world upside down, "And I want her."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your heart drop with his demand, but all you can do is stare at him in a mix of fear and excitement. A murmur runs through the crowd, and already, several hands are pressing against your back, shoving you towards Sukuna, making you stumble and screech as you are about to fall at his feet.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who catches you before you hit the ground, his muscular arms holding you easily, an amused smirk lighting up his handsome face, light blue eyes glittering in amusement as he drawls teasingly, "Aww, someone's eager to become my little wife, huh?"

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you sit on his lap that evening when a big feast is held in his honor and to seal the peace treaty with your tribe. You barely dare breathe, full of fear as you sit on his strong, muscled thighs, gasping when one of his large hands wanders under your skirt to squeeze your thigh possessively.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has two of his men stand guard in front of your door so no one will attack his future wife or maybe to prevent you from sneaking away. But you aren't even sure you want to run from him. Who are you here in your current tribe anyway? Just another orphan who grew up to help on one of the farms. Isn't this new role much more important? To be the bride of Ryomen Sukuna? To be a means that allows your tribe to prosper and ensures peace and trade with Sukuna?

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large hand has a firm, unrelenting grip on your arm as he leads you to his horse the next morning. But he lets you say goodbye to all your loved ones, taking their blessings and well wishes with you before your future husband helps you onto his horse.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a rough man, but whose hands are surprisingly gentle when he lifts you onto the back of his giant horse. He sits behind you, his firm muscles pressing against your back, rippling with every move he makes. His muscular buff arms cage you in, keeping you captive or keeping you safe. You can't tell which one of the two it is.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes a conflict rage in your chest. On the one hand, you are scared of this dangerous big man who has the power to just demand to have you as if you are some cattle. On the other hand, you can't deny that small hidden part of you that feels excited that such a powerful and attractive man desires you enough to want to make you his wife.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your pulse flutter nervously when you feel his strong arms around you and hear him order his men around with his low, velvety voice, telling them to find a good resting place for the night.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses you roughly on that first night. His large hands that cup your face are calloused, but his lips are warm, and his tongue is soft and so skilled when he pries your mouth open and licks into it. It's nothing like the shy, clumsy kisses you shared with the boys in your settlement. Sukuna is a feared warrior, a powerful tribe leader, someone who people believe is actually the son of a god. And you can feel all that in his kiss. Deep and intense, making your head spin and your body brim with a desire you have never felt before.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rides with you again the next day and trails teasing kisses down your neck to pass the time during the long ride. You are sure he is fully aware of what he is doing to you. How he makes your heart race and makes a mix of fear and arousal throb in your veins. Especially when he grabs your chin to tilt your face up and capture your lips in a heated, wet kiss, licking unashamedly into your mouth in front of his men, showing everyone that you are his.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who whispers in your ear, "Are you scared of me, my little wife?" and then breaks out in loud, barking laughter when you exhale shakily and tell him, "Only a fool wouldn't be scared of you... but maybe I am also flattered that you picked me, my lord."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who still chuckles while his tongue licks a lazy stripe up the side of your neck, and he huskily tells you, "I am not a lord. I am a god. And I saw a goddess right there in that shabby throne room. I had to take you with me. It was a sign from the gods. You will give me such strong and beautiful children. Together, we can conquer the whole world."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who forces himself to keep his hands off you before your wedding night as a show of respect to the gods, but who lets you feel his desire for you when he hugs you from behind and presses his hardness against you once you have moved into his house.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has you dressed in the finest garments for your wedding day. A beautiful red dress lined with gorgeous white ermine fur that was specifically made for you. Your neck, wrists, and ears are decorated with glittering gold and precious gemstones.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you squeal when he swoops you up into his muscular arms and carries you into the ceremony hall, accompanied by the loud cheers of his people. Your hand is shaking when you exchange wedding rings with him, but you stay brave, speaking your vows and taking Sukuna's heavy sword when he offers it to you as his promise to protect you.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who sacrifices several of his enemies to the gods to ask for their blessings for your marriage and your fertility. He looks scary with the pattern painted onto his face with fresh blood. But at the same time, it makes him look feral in a way that makes an unknown heat throb between your legs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shares his food and mead with you on the decadent feast held after the wedding ceremony, where you sit on the throne next to his. One of his strong arms stays wrapped around your waist the whole evening, and the deep glances he sends your way make your skin tingle with anticipation.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes your virginity that night, making you cry out in pain when his thick cock splits you open for the first time. But his lips silence your cry, and soon you make other noises. Loud moans of pleasure fall from your lips as your new husband moves inside you with deep and sure thrusts that hit a spot inside you that makes you scratch the broad muscles of his back and arch up against Sukuna's huge body. Your cunt throbs around his cock as you find the sweetest and most intense release you ever had.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who afterward pushes two of his long fingers into your used cunt to push his seed back into you, leaning down to kiss you savagely and murmuring in your ear that he wants to see your belly hard and swollen with his heirs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who paints his clan symbols on your face with a mix of your virginal blood and his cum, telling you that you are his forever and that you are blessed by the gods now too after taking his seed into you.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is so proud when you show the first signs of pregnancy.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who becomes extremely protective and possessive now that you carry his heir. Who worships your body every night, cupping and kissing your swollen breasts, licking at the drops of milk that already spill from them, telling you it tastes like the nectar of the gods.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large rough hands caress your swollen belly gently, who kisses it, and talks to your unborn child, telling his son, as he predicts, that he will be born under the blessing of the gods. That he will become a great leader and a god himself one day.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is triumphant when your first child is a boy with pink hair and a strong build and loud voice. A future leader just like his father. The first heir of many more to follow.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared by everyone but treats his wife and newborn child with a gentleness that surprises you. He asks you to let him hold your baby and carry him in his strong arms. And the way Sukuna looks at your child tells you that he doesn't just see little Yuuji as an heir but as someone who has Sukuna's heart.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose hungry and proud gaze follows you for days until he has you under him again, fucking you with hard, deep thrusts, moaning loudly, and pumping you full of his seed over and over again. "You gave me such a strong heir, my love. I know you'll give me so many more."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rushes to your side when you have a miscarriage during your second pregnancy. Who hugs you to his broad chest, wipes the sweat and blood off you, and cradles you in his arms.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses your tears away and reassures you when you are scared he will kick you out if you won't give him more heirs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shakes his head and tells you, "I mourn our unborn child, but I thank the gods for not taking my beloved wife away from me too. You are more to me than just a vessel that gives birth to my heirs. You are my wife, my companion, the one who the gods sent to me as my soulmate. I love you. Even if we have no more children, I will never take a new wife."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you see in a new light after the reassurance and love he gave you on that day. And suddenly, you find yourself falling in love with your husband, too. You treat him more tenderly. You caress his soft hair when the two of you cuddle in your bed to keep each other warm. You kiss the tattoos on his face and smile at him, your heart fluttering when Sukuna smiles back at you and pulls you into a slow, tender kiss. You will never forget the happiness in his eyes when you tell him you love him too.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who fucks you thoroughly that night until the two of you are sweating and rolling around on top of the warm furs, kissing and caressing each other needily while he fills you with his hot seed until you are overflowing from it.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is delighted when you give birth to your second child, and that child looks like the perfect mix of the two of you. He grins at you and tells you that this is clearly a child of love, conceived on the night you confessed your love to him.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is actually a caring husband who truly treasures you. Who likes to spend his nights with you wrapped under the warm furs, making slow love while he kisses you deeply, rolling his hips with those slow, languid moves that make you sob his name and come undone so sweetly on his cock. 

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who likes to hold you in his strong arms afterward, with your head resting on his broad chest and your small fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest and abs. He loves to talk to you for hours every night, telling you all about his day, about his current worries and plans, about political things and battle tactics, trusting you with all his secrets.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose love fills you with warmth even on the coldest winter days. Your heart is held securely in his strong hands. And you know that no one will dare lay a hand on you or your children in fear of Sukuna's wrath. His strength and power make you feel safe here in your new home.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who teaches you how to enjoy sex to the fullest. Who teaches you how to ride his cock and his face. Who teaches you how to take from him too. Because he is your husband, and that means he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who trusts you with ruling in his place during his absence. Who declares that anyone who disrespects you will get sacrificed to the gods.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who keeps you on his thick, strong cock all night before he has to leave for one of his various exploration trips or battles, savoring you to the fullest. Making sure to fuck you so good that you will still feel him for days after he set sail.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who pulls you into his arms one last time before he boards the ship, kissing you deep and long. And there is this burning love in his blue gaze when he tells you, "I will do anything in my power to come back to you, my love. I have the gods on my side. But if, for whatever reason, they should decide it is my time to enter Valhalla, then I want you to know that I will wait there until you join the afterlife, too, and I will come find you, no matter where you are."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who luckily doesn't go to Valhalla and always comes back to you with more scars on his gorgeous body but with the same love in his eyes.

AAAHHH I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM!!! This became much longer than I intended, but I really miss the show Vikings, and I love Viking!Sukuna to an insane amount, so it is what it is ;) This was, once again, very self-indulgent, but hopefully, some of my fellow Sukuna lovers will enjoy it too! Thank you so much to the nice anon who sent me that prompt!

Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[whipped-for-fictionals]

when Alhaitham's song comes up in your playlist and you stop working to dance to it in your living room at 1am at full blast

[6esiree]

Gen Z Things With The Hazbin Men

Just some funny stuff I saw on Instagram. I’ll do one with the women next! Also, writing for Zestial is so hard like, why does he speak like that? 😭

Alastor:

The Dill-Doe Shirt

“Look at what my darling bought me!” Alastor announces excitedly, stretching his shirt so everybody could see, the word ‘Dill-Doe’ in bold below a deer in a pickle. “Ha! Isn’t it hilarious? It’s a doe wearing a dill pickle as a costume!”

“Al, that says Dill-Doe,” Angel says, trying not to laugh. “Do ya know what that is?”

“A what now?” Alastor asks innocently.

“Shut up, Angel!”

Lucifer:

The J in June

“Luci, do you know what the J in June stands for?” You ask Lucifer.

“Oh, I didn’t even know it stood for anything,” Lucifer says. “Well, what is it, honey?”

“The J in June is for the Jiggle in my ass when I walk,” You say, looking over your shoulder as you strut down the hallway.

“I believe you,” Lucifer says, fanning his face as he watches your ass do just that.

“You have no shame!”

Husk:

Spell RUN

“Husk, touch your toes,” You tell Husk, trying to keep a straight face as you discreetly record him.

“Fine, but it better not be somethin’ stupid,” Husk says, bending over and touching his toes.

“Okay, now spell ‘Run’ three times.”

“R-U-N, R-U-N, R-U—“ Husk realizes, his eyes widening as you start laughing while you hold up your phone. “Wait a fuckin’ minute.”

“HA! You’re asking if it’s in your—“ You start, but then he tackles you to the ground, shattering your phone.

Vox:

Can I Hold It While You Pee?

“I’m going to the restroom,” Vox announces as he stands up from the couch.

“Wait, let me come with you!” You say, following behind him.

“What, why would you want to do that?” Vox stutters as he turns around, a horrified look on his face.

“Can I hold it while you pee?” You ask, but he shakes his head as he backs up from you, accidentally cornering himself.

“At least let me tie a bow on it!”

“Stay away from me!” Vox says before teleporting out of the room, leaving you pouting.

Adam:

Throw Cheeks, Bbg

“Throw cheeks, babygirl,” You tell Adam as you walk into the room.

He instantly turns his backside away from you, covering his ass with his wings.

“NO! I’M NOT THROWING CHEEKS,” Adam yells, folding his arms and shaking his head. “I DON’T WANNA!”

Angel Dust:

Impregnating A Man

“Ya eva’ love ya man so much ya just wish ya were seahorses?” Angel sighs as he looks at you, but you’re too busy scrolling on your phone to notice. “Ta get him pregnant, I mean.”

“Just because he’s a man doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” You tell him.

“Huh, yeah, ya right!” Angel says, grabbing your chin and making you look at him. “Wanna try, sweetcheeks?”

“Oh no, I forgot that was me.”

Sir Pentious:

The BBL

“Hey, Pentious!” You greet the serpent, an innocent smile on your face. “Can I give you a BBL?”

“A BBL? What isss that?” Sir Pentious asks you, confused. “If it’s nothing bad, perhaps I could allow you to—“ He continues sheepishly.

“DON’T SAY YES, THEY BOTCHED MINE!” Angel screeches, barging into the room, two small pillows falling from his skirt.

“Wait, Pentious, DON’T GO!” You whine as you watch him slither away in fear.

Valentino:

I Don’t Take In Strays

“What’s your address?” Valentino texts you. You only gave him your number so he could leave you alone. “I’m spending the night.”

“4351 Pasadena Ave,” You text back.

“That’s the animal shelter?”

“Yeah, they take in strays. Not me, goodnight.”

Saint Peter:

When Did I Ask?

“So, uh, Emily was telling me about this new restaurant that opened up,” Saint Peter starts, nervously wringing his hands together. “And I was wondering if you wanted to go?”

“When?” You asked, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, well, how does Friday—“

“Did I ask?”

Saint Peter’s face drops, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment, losing whatever confidence he had built up to ask you out.

“Oh my God, you poor baby! I’m so, so sorry, I have no self control,” You said, rushing to him and holding his face in your hands, a relieved sigh escaping his throat as you litter him with kisses. “Yes! I’ll go out with you, a million times yes!”

Zestial:

Mike Who Cheese Hairy

“Good morning, sweetness,” Zestial says, leaning down to look at your shirt when you approach him. “Oh? What art thee wearing today?“

He squints as you stretch it, four words in bold staring back at him: Mike, Who, Cheese, and Hairy. Carmilla’s daughters are trying not to laugh.

“Repeat it and you’ll find out,” You say, a wicked smile on your face.

“Mike…Who…Cheese…Hairy,” Zestial says out loud, still confused. “I don’t understand?”

“Who said ‘My coochie is hairy?’” Carmilla asks as she walks into the room.

“Zestial!” You burst out laughing, but then she throttles you, leaving the older man horrified.

[briefalpacashark]

~The Rally Driver~

Warnings: A bit of swearing. Death. Guns.

Synopsis: You and the 141 get in a car chase. You're the driver.

Perfect song to listen to while reading.

================================================

You rarely had a mission in the heart of a city. But there you were, in the heart of London hauling ass down a street, the boys hot on your heels. You all tuckered yourself around an alleyway hiding from the array of bullets. 

“This is a shit show,” Price grunted as he checked the nick on his arm. 

“Yeah no shit,” you chuckled nervously, going to reload only to find you were out of ammo. 

“I'm out,” As you chucked the empty magazine to the side, your head snapped up at the sound it made. Your eyes took in what you assumed was a car under a fancy-looking tarp. 

“Hold on, I've got an idea,” you announced. The boys barely spared you a glance as you walked up to the car, yanking the cover off. A low, impressed whistle left your lips as you took it in. A 1969 Dodge Charger painted in a sexy navy black sat in front of you. You almost cried as you slammed your elbow into the window, smashing it. Slipping in, you worked a little magic. (Stabbing a small knife into the ignition and turning it). The engin roared to life, gathering the boy's attention.

“Get in bitches!” You called excitedly. Quickly, they piled into the car. Simon in the passenger seat, Price, Gaz and Jonny in the back, left to right in the respective order.

"Seatbelts on," you called.

"Nows not really the time to be worrin about taht love," Jonny chuckled.

"Seat belts save lives. Put them on or I'm turning this car around," you threatened.

"Were not even moving," Jonny grumbled but they all obeyed. As soon as you heard all four clicks you took off. You slammed the gear stick forward and put the pedal to the metal. You gave all the boys whiplash as you tore out of the alleyway. 

“She's got a bit more of kick then I though,” you chuckled excitedly, ignoring the boy's desperate need to get there seat belts on. Guessing your position in the car the enemies got off a few shots, the glass from the rear window shattering and running down upon you all. You shoot through the gears, zooming down the street. Gaz let out a strangled scream as his body was pushed into the back of the seat. Now the streets of London weren't necessarily long, they were a maze of old and new architecture. Which meant there were a lot of sharp turns. With expertise you skidded, turned and slipped around every corner with ease, rarely losing the speed you were building up. 

“You're crazy!” Jonny yelled.

“Don't worry, crazy people can still drive,” you shoot back. As the group held on for their life, you couldn't help but smile at the thrill driving gave you. 

“PEOPLE! PEOPLE! PEOPLE!” Price yelled, pointing to the group of drunken club goers crossing the street.

“Dont fucken back seat drive. I can see them” you yelled, swinging the car to the side, missing the group, and using the sidewalk as your new road. You took a sharp intake of breath when you saw the restaurant that had seating set up on said sidewalk. The road next to you was filled with cars so you couldn't move. You slammed your hand down on the horn, the few occupants quick to scramble out of the way as they saw the car barreling maliciously towards them. The car plowed through the seat tables and food. Simon stared at you as you casually flicked the wipers on, cleaning the window from the wine and food.

“Oh that smells lovely. We should get dinner there next time,” you suggested casually as you returned the car to the actual road. 

“TRUCK!” Simon yelled as he spotted a truck pulling out of an alleyway. Jerking your hand break up, you turned quickly, slowing just enough for the corner of the truck to scrape along the driver's side of the car. The screeching sound of metal on metal filled your ears as the side mirror disappeared in the near miss. 

“That didn't sound good,” you  mumbled, hanging half out of the window to look at the damage.

“GET INSIDE THE FUCKEN CAR!” Gaz yelled.

“Alright, I think everyone just needs to calm down,” you said gently, turning around to face the panicked passengers. As you did so she caught the look of a certain pissed of enemies pursuing you in another car. 

“KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD!” Simon yelled. He looked hilarious, propping his large body the best he could in the corner of the seat. “Hey don't tell me how to drive. Why don't you be useful and use your little toy on our little friends” you asked slowly turning back to the front to return to driving. The boys turned round, spotting your pursuers. Simon threw half his body out the window as he started to fire, and they fired right back. The rest of the boys quickly joined Simon's efforts. 

“Does anyone have a map?” you asked casually through the gun fire. Simon cursed as his gun ran out of bullets. 

“No, we don't have a fucken map,” Ghost growled as he slipped back into his seat, throwing the gun down. Coming to a roundabout you smoothly drifted the car round Gaz struggling to understand the physics of a car driving sideways.

“Should you even be driving?” Gaz yelled. He had given up returning fire and handed his gun to Jonny. He was much more focused on the danger in the car. 

“I don't think so. You know I think there should be a law that if you fail your driving test ten times, then you shouldn't ever get one,” you chuckled, half jokingly.

“YOU FAILED YOUR DRIVING TEST TEN TIMES!?” Gaz screamed just about to pass out from the fear. “Of course not,” you reached back, patting his knee comfortingly.

“It was more like eighteen,” you stated. 

“Oh lord help me,” he whispered. The boys grinned at the interaction.

“I'm out,” Price announced. Jonny got off a few more shots before repeating his words. The poor night  inhabitants of the town were plunged into confusion at the cars that drove through there streets like rally drivers. A rally driver would be the only way the boys could describe your driving. It scared them shitless. But they had to admit, you were good, really good. You were quickly forming distance with the other car. Ghost reached across you where you usually held your gun.

“Lieutenant, so forward?” you chuckled. 

“Gun,” the simple word was meant to explain what he was doing. 

“Safe word?” you asked teasingly, making him look up at you with a small glare. A glare that momentarily faltered due to your close proximity. He hated to admit it, but his body flushed in attraction. You pose having one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear stick and the annoying smirk sent his heart racing. You chuckled at what you assumed was an are you serious look. You grabbed his hand and moved it to your lower back, sliding it down to meet the gun you had tucked into the back of your pants. Clearing his throat, he pulled the gun free, returning to the window, firing another shoot. 

“Drive straight!” he yelled struggling to keep his balance.

“You shoot straight,” you shoot back but tried your best to steady the car. Steady enough for him to land a hit dead center in the driver's head. To your shock, the passenger kicked the man's body out the door and continued driving.

“Shit,” he hissed, firing off more shots failing to see the fast approaching wall. You did, however. Reaching out, you grabbed onto the first thing your hand landed on. Which just so happened to be his belt buckle. Yanking him back into the car, he narrowly missed decapitation. His eyes snapped down to the grip you had on his belt, your hand pulling the material taunt.

“Close one, lieutenant,” you spared a grin at him, releasing his belt buckle. Simon was surprised, yet not entirely against it. Dare he say, even slightly aroused? 

“This place is like a maze,” you mentioned, taking her time to look at the signs.

“You are way too calm for this,” Simon huffed, going to fire again only to find that he was out of bullets. “Shit,” he whispered. Luckily, after another quick turn it seemed like you had lost them.

“Well, there's no point in panicking. Sure he's firing at us but there a terrible shot. Ain't that right boss?’ you asked, glancing back at Price that for a man with great composure looked like he was about to lose his shit. 

“Please focus on the road!” Price begged.

“Alright well.I feel like I'm taking a tour through this town. Where am i doing?” you asked.

“Head west,” he ordered. “Alright cool,” you nodded, pausing for a few moments. “Which way is west?” you asked.

“Left!” he snapped. Jokingly, you held up your hands. Holding your thumb and index finger into L shapes.

“SARGENT!” Price snapped.

“Ok ok, sorry!” you whispered back, making a quick left turn, a quick left turn that had them headed in the west direction, a direction that put them directly in line with an all too familiar car. The enemy. They had cut you off.

“Shit,” you whispered. Slamming into the break. The car came to a screeching stop. Almost sent Ghost through the windscreen. The driver in the opposite car gave you a shit-eating grin as his allies poked themselves out of the windows.

“Get down!” You yelled. Everyone did so, including you as you slammed the car into reverse, taking off just as fast as you had before. Gritting your teeth, you prayed for luck as they opened fire. Snapping up, you placed your hand on the back of Simon's head rest and not to toot your own horn, but drove like a boss ass bitch. Backwards. At full speed, weaving and jerking side to side doing your best to dodge the bullets. The chase was back on, with you doing your best to drive backwards. Waving and dodging cars as perfectly as you had done before. There just wasn't any room to turn the car around. And your near miss count was going up with every passing second. 

“Oh my god we're gonna die,” Gaz stated simply as he watched you. 

“Not today, bud,” you stated. You saw it, you slammed the hand brake up, throwing the car around barely losing any speed as you returned to forward face driving. Your eyes searched for your exit, anything. Then you saw it, A Little bridge in the distance.

“How long can you guys hold your breath?” you asked.

“What?” Jonny asked.

“Answer the fucking question!” You snapped.

“A long fucking time!” Ghost yelled.

“Alright, everyone, windows down seat belts off,” you ordered.

“Um fuck no,” Gaz stated, simply holding tighter onto his life line.

“Do it now!” You snapped. 

“Wanna fill us in on your plan?” Price asked.

“We're going for a swim. Everyone brace yourself,” you ordered, cutting the lights off. You took a sharp turn at the building, cutting off the view of the car behind. And in one quick jerk, you threw the car off the side of the walkway. You cut the engine just as the car hit the water under the bridge. The car was quickly submerged as you all clambered out. Well, almost all. You grunted as something caught on your ankle. You assumed it was the seat belt. Your hand reached for your knife as it pulled you deeper and deeper into the depths. Only your knife wasn't there. It was in the car's ignition. You reached for it, trying desperately to rip it out to no avail. Shit. You were running out of air as you struggled to untangle your foot. Only you had no light, and you couldn't figure out how it had snagged itself on you. You felt your body getting tired, panic started to set in. Your limited vision started to fade and your lungs burnt for air. Shit, you thought. As you started to acknowledge your possible death, your body went limp as you fought for the last remained of your consciousness. You didn't want to die. There was still so much you wanted to do. God and the boys would never let you down if this was how you would die. They would tease you shitless in the afterlife. You were about to let it go when a set of hands grabbed your shoulders. They gave you a yank, quickly discovering you were caught on something. Their hands patted you down till they found the culprit slicing the seat belt. They swam you back to the surface, you gasping like a fish out of water at the much needed oxygen. Sighs of relief sounded as you briefly caught a glimpse of the skull mask on the face eof the man who kept you afloat resting your upper back on his shoulder.

Ghost had saved you.

“Fucken hell,” Ghost whispered. You couldn't really tell due to the lack of oxygen but you could have sworn you felt him pull you closer to him, his chin pressing against your head in an awkward hug. Price swam over to you, taking your face into his hand.

“You alright, Sargent?” he asked. After a few more gasps of air, you nodded, pulling a thumbs up. 

With deep breaths you all waded in the water waiting as you heard the other car approach. As it drove over the bridge and off into the distance. You had lost them.

“Well, personally, I think that went well,” you said with a cheerful grin. The boys all chuckled as they somewhat relaxed. 

“Do you even have a license?” Gaz asked.

“An Australian one, yes,” you nodded.

“But then again, the police officer doing my test was drunk when I drove him home,” You shrugged casually, earning another set of chuckles. Reaching up you hugged Simon arm tightly. “Thank for saving my ass big guy,” you whispered.

“Don't scare me like that again, you hear me?" he grumbled holding you impossibly closer.

"No promises," you stated.

"Hey what was that bout seat belts saving lives again?" he asked as he sawm you to shore. You simply chuckled shaking your head.

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--COD Master List here--

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[holllandtrash]

fragile line | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader

You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time But I never thought I'd live to see it break

what happens when the driver daniel falls in love with, ends up being the one who brings his career to a screeching halt? word count: 7.7k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: fluff-ish, plot with implied/very little smut, angst, mclaren danny, zak brown (gross), some incorrect f2 stats but whatever, time jumps, really just a lot of angst, its a rollercoaster

“What do you know?”

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you, the emphasis making it clear as day that you both carried the same career-altering information. 

His signature grin and comforting optimism were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Daniel’s expression could be described in a variety of ways. Solemn, disappointed, hurt. 

“What was I supposed to do?” You asked, going straight to the defensive. You couldn’t be helpful in this scenario, you just needed to explain yourself. He wouldn’t understand it from your perspective, but you had to try. 

“Not take the seat,” he offered a solution, as if it was that simple. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you corrected. You had no say in this. McLaren had plenty of driver options for the 2023 season. There were rumours of Daniel’s contract coming to an end a year early anyway, everyone heard them, everyone ignored them. The only thing that remained uncertain for a while was who would replace him should the rumours be true.

You. 

“You don’t even like McLaren.” You told him, voice raising a little as if that helped get the point across. “You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Daniel noticed the way your bottom lip quivered. He caught the way your eyes dropped from his, even just for a split second. There was something unspoken between you, something that weighed on your mind and Daniel stepped forward, wanting to know what exactly it was. 

“Zak-” you started, reluctant to even say this. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

Here meaning Daniel’s flat in Monaco. The place you spent more nights at than your own. You played it off by saying his view was better but that was such a bullshit answer. Daniel’s flat always felt more like home than yours ever did. 

You had formally met the Australian driver a few years ago, but god did time fly. It was at a race in Monza. You could pretend you didn’t know the date but of course you did, you had it memorised. September 3rd, 2020. There was no way you could forget the day your life changed for the better. 

Or possibly, for the worse. It was up in the air at this point. 

You were new to the Formula 2 series. The only female driver on the grid as you raced with Prema alongside Mick Schumacher. F3 proved to be quite a successful stint for you and you had your eyes set on the coveted Formula 1 series. You wanted to be in the big leagues. 

Daniel saw that. He saw how determined you were to not only make waves in Motorsport, but to make something of yourself. You trained just as hard, if not harder than the other drivers in the junior series and Daniel had seen that for a while. He was often surprised to see you at the hotel gym, already working up a sweat when he walked in at a little after 6am. He would be even more surprised when he saw you there in the evening when other drivers went and called it a night or even went and celebrated. 

Your race weekends were the same as F1 weekends, but you just had limited ones. It was a shorter season, less intense, but whenever you were there. Daniel saw you. He saw you and he paid attention. He even rooted for you, very publicly as well whenever he could, despite the two of you never having exchanged a word. 

The first time you heard about Daniel cheering you on was after the Monaco race, quite early on into your first season. You qualified 7th, not ideal for a track like Monaco where the opportunities to overtake were far and few between, but somehow you did it. And then you did it again. And you could say it was luck but it was really smart strategy and an insane amount of driver skill that had you finishing fifth. In Monaco. 

Those were Daniel’s words. He was asked pre-race if he watched the F2 run and he said of course. He said he “wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” wanting to see what you could do this weekend. 

“It’s not luck, she’s incredibly talented,” Daniel had told the Sky Sports reporter. “She’s doing big things in the series, and I’m rooting for her. Truly. It’s rare a driver comes around with such raw natural talent, where you look at them and you know racing’s just in their blood, but it’s in hers. I would love to see her in Formula 1 one day.”

You watched that interview clip about twenty times. Daniel Ricciardo, the Daniel Ricciardo who had won Monaco a few years back, was complimenting you. He was rooting for you. 

It wasn’t until Monza, nearing the end of your season that he finally approached you. 

“I want to work with you,” Daniel said, straight to the point. You were in the middle of stretching in the hotel's fitness centre. It was only Thursday, the race weekend itself had barely started but Daniel knew he’d find you in there. 

You pulled your airpods out and looked up at him in the mirror, “You what?”

“I want to work with you,” Daniel repeated, this time sitting down on the floor next to you. He kept your stare in the reflection. “I’m not a trainer by any means, but I want to work with you. I want to see you in Formula 1.”

You were flattered, honoured really, but you didn’t know what that entailed. “Work with me how?”

“Well, regular fitness training for starters,” he said. “But managing, really. I want to help you with everything that it takes to move up. Media training, mental preparedness, finding sponsors, getting you in touch with the right people. Let me help you, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what brought this on. Part of you was convinced it was because he knew this would look good on his behalf. If you did make it to Formula 1 and Daniel’s name was attached to yours, he’d look like a genius. A hero. He would be known as the first person from F1 to publicly support you. 

But that wasn’t what it was at all. When you agreed and accepted his help, you soon came to learn that Daniel didn’t want to be in your spotlight at all. He found the opportunities that you needed and then stepped back. He didn’t mention to the media at all that he was helping you, he didn’t see a need to. He saw your potential and he truly wanted to help you make something off.

So there he was during the off season, meeting you in London where you resided. He trained with you, set you up with the right people, did weekly check-ins, he really was like a sort of manager. 

He was there during pre-season testing the following year, literally. He stood in the Prema garage like he was just another member of the team. No one really questioned it, not when you said he was acting as a mentor to you. Everyone loved Daniel’s presence there and he was told he was welcome whenever. 

He was there during race weekends whenever he could find time in his own busy schedule. He was never there during the actual race, needing that time to prepare for his own, but he always watched from his drivers room or had someone in his ear updating where you were and what was happening.

He was there in Silverstone, when you crashed during Saturday's Sprint Race.

It was one of the last sessions of the day, Daniel had already finished qualifying and he was standing in the back of your garage, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen. 

He was the first voice you heard when you spun, losing the breaks in mere seconds and all you could do was brace yourself for the impact of the barriers. 

“Tell me you’re okay.” Daniel’s voice came through your radio. Not your engineer, not your team principal. Daniel. “Say something, sweets, tell me you're okay.”

Sweets, he called you. But only ever in private, or in front of close friends. What started as a joke when you complained about him not having any sweets in his flat the first time you visited in Monaco, stuck. 

But everyone had access to the team radios. It could be heard by other engineers, other teams, fans even and those watching at home should F1TV choose to broadcast it.

Of course they did. They aired the exchange for everyone to hear and it spread like wildfire. It was all anyone on social media could talk about. 

“Say something, sweets. Tell me you’re okay.” 

“I’m okay,” you sputtered out, hands shaking as you unclenched them. It was an instinct to pull them off the steering wheel and tuck your arms to your chest, physically bracing where you could. 

“Good,” Daniel breathed out a very obvious sigh of relief. “Good.” He paused, and then with a quiet chuckle added, “What the fuck was that then?” 

You laughed in response, needing the humour at such a traumatic time. You had crashed before, but this was a bad one. You didn’t even need to step out of the vehicle to know you were lucky to not feel any immediate injuries, but there was a ringing in your ear and the adrenaline was preventing you from really understanding the damage your body had sustained. 

It wouldn’t have helped, though, to have gotten an earful, not like it was your fault anyway. It also wouldn’t have helped if you were asked again and again if you were okay. The more people asked, the more stressed you would grow. Daniel knew you needed a bit of lightheartedness at this time. 

“No brakes, Danny,” you answered through a soft laugh.

“That just sounds like an excuse to me,” he muttered, the sarcasm evident even through the crackling radio.

“Are you going to continue to question my driving abilities or are you going to send medical out here to help me?”

That whole interaction went viral. From the radio message, to the clips of Daniel accompanying you to the medical centre, to the photos of the two of you smiling in the paddock despite the bruising on your body, the concussion you were diagnosed with and the instruction from the doctor that you were not stable enough to race on Sunday.  

Which sucked, to put it plainly. But you were with Daniel. He made the situation bearable. With his arm around your shoulder, he walked you to the car at the end of the day, having waited with you the whole time. 

People speculated, of course. Questions were asked. 

Why was Daniel Ricciardo paying such close attention to you? Why did he get over the radio when he crashed? Why did it sound so flirty? Had he been in your garages the whole time and no one noticed? Was he a mentor? A friend? More?

You had put out a statement when you got to the hotel, thanking everyone for the kind words and well wishes. You shared that you would not be driving on Sunday and you also shared that you were thankful for the support of Daniel Ricciardo, your mentor, who reminded you that even the best of the best crash out sometimes. 

Mentor, you publicly called him That’s what he was, right? Or trainer. Or Manager. Or friend, really. There were a lot of words to describe his relationship to you. 

People online didn’t believe it. They thought there was more because, who looks at each other like that if they’re not fucking? 

But you weren’t. Honest to god, that line with Daniel was never crossed. You never even considered it. Always content with his companionship and his advice, you didn’t want anything physical or romantic. 

At least, you thought you didn’t. 

Daniel dragged you into his room instead of letting you go up to yours because you were under strict instructions to not be left alone for the next twelve hours should the concussion worsen. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, handing you a glass of water. “I know I joked over the radio, but I was worried. It wasn’t a pretty crash.”

“Are any crashes pretty?”

He sat down next to you, closer than normal considering when he rested his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers were within the distance needed to play with the strands of your hair. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, “I guess it depends on the driver. I make the crashes pretty.” 

The comedic gasp you let out as you clenched your chest had him laughing. 

“Daniel Ricciardo, are you calling me ugly?”

“Don’t twist my words!” He exclaimed, eyes squinting as his smile widened. “I said I was pretty.” 

You hummed, “You pretty much said I made the crush ugly.” 

“I didn’t say you were ugly,” Daniel playfully tugged on a strand of your hair. “You’re not- I mean, you-”

And then the humour faded. He met your eyes, his hand fell to your shoulder. He was still smiling but it was the sort of gentle smile one wears when they figure out the answer to a question that had been eating at them for a while. 

Something clicked for Daniel. At this very moment. 

He wasn’t going to let it escape him. 

“Pretty doesn’t do you justice,” Daniel told you, voice lowering. “You’re breaktaking, Y/N. On the racetrack, at home, at events, you put everyone around you to shame. And it’s not- it isn’t just your appearance, it’s you. Everything about you. Your heart, your charisma, the way your eyes light up when you smile but only if you’re talking to people you like,” he chuckled, having experienced it first hand and having seen the way you don’t look nearly as pleased when someone you dislike approaches you. 

You were speechless, though. Frozen where you sat as this admission came out of seemingly nowhere. 

And Daniel was attractive, that was an undeniable fact, he was everything anyone could ever want in a man. But you never allowed yourself to look at him the way other people would. He was your trainer, manager, mentor, friend. 

You had no words to explain the way he was staring at you now. Nor could you explain why it made you feel more alive than driving a racecar at inhumane speeds ever could. 

Daniel took another breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You are unlike anyone I have ever come across and I know, in my lifetime, I will never find someone who could ever compare to even a fraction of who you are.”

There was no way you could continue to be just friends after those words passed his lips. 

You kissed him. You had to. It wasn’t like there was anything you could say that would match what he had already said, nor could you even find the words. 

You kissed him and Daniel pulled you onto his laps, your legs moving to straddle either side of his hips. His hands roamed your body, sliding up the Prema shirt you still had on as your tongue roamed every possible inch of his mouth. 

His hand gripped your waist, rolling you over top of him so you could feel in a matter of seconds how this conversation had now taken a turn. His cock started to harden, constricted by his pants, but you still felt it underneath you each time he shifted, each time you grinded against him. 

When you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, Daniel leaned back, both of you taking that second to catch your breath and question if you were really going to do this.

“Is this a mistake?” You whispered, your thumb gently tracing over his lips. Your working relationship was perfect. This could ruin everything. You had fears, doubts, worries. One night could lead to dozens of complications. 

But Daniel shook his head and all of those thoughts vanished.

“No,” he said, sounding so sure of himself with that one syllable. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life but you are not one of them.”

That was the only validation you needed. You kissed him again, more lust, more passion, than before as Daniel stood up, carrying you towards the bed at the back of the room. He dropped you down on the edge of it, smiling at the squeal that escaped your lips.

Daniel wanted to worship you every way he could. He was gentle with you, with your body, as he dipped his head between your thighs, making you feel a wave of euphoria that no one had ever brought you too before. 

It wasn’t until you were begging for more did Daniel realise he didn’t need to be gentle the entire night. He slid two fingers past your folds, lifting his head and hovering his body over yours, wanting to feel your desperate breaths hit his face as he rapidly thrusted his digits in and out of you, your walls clenching around him.

When he attached his lips to that spot on your neck, his teeth pressing against your skin, you saw stars. Daniel’s motions didn’t let up as you came around his fingers, loving the way your legs shook and how you dragged your hand through the hair on the back of his head.

He was cautious about doing anything else, knowing you were injured, he didn’t want to overstimulate you or cause any more pain. 

But you needed him. You reached for the zipper of his pants and tugged it down, telling Daniel you wanted this, as if the way you looked up at him didn’t already make that perfectly clear. 

He was careful when he entered you, patient. The tip of his cock slid past your folds slowly and he kissed your collarbone so gently you almost didn’t feel it as you adjusted to his size, quiet moans emitting from the back of your throat. 

He had praised you before, but only ever at the race track, so there was something so familiar yet so foreign about the way he whispered against your skin. It lit a fire within you.

“You take me so well, sweets,” he fought back a groan as your walls tightened around him when you clenched your legs. “So good for me.”

It was safe to say the dynamic between you two changed after that night. 

Daniel adored you already, admired you greatly for your achievements and growth in the sport. But now he fought with himself every weekend, knowing that he couldn’t touch you how he wanted. He couldn’t show you the attention he so desperately wanted. He couldn’t kiss you when you got that podium in Belgium, despite finding a way to sneak out of the pre-race duties for a second to run to the barrier to be there for you with the rest of the Prema team. 

Whatever was going on between you, it was unlabelled and it was private. The rest of the world didn’t need to know you were sleeping with the man you looked up to, the one who helped you become a great athlete in such a short period of time. 

People continued to speculate. You were private, sure, but you weren’t overly careful. 

You were seen landing in Monaco over the summer. You were spotted hanging out with Daniel on plenty of occasions. Even though you kept your hands off of each other and refused to act like anything more than friends out in public, you were different when you returned after the break. You both were. Everyone noticed. 

Daniel was, if it was even possible, happier. And you were less stressed it seemed. While you were still fighting a constant battle of being the only female in F2, it no longer seemed as heavy because the weight of it wasn’t just on your shoulders anymore. Daniel was there too. 

It wasn’t just physical, what you had. The emotional connection you shared was undeniable. Daniel was always there for you, and you, him. During the bad days, the good ones, and everyday in between. 

When you finished the season 5th in the drivers championship, the only person you wanted to celebrate with was Daniel. He was so proud of you. He watched you go from finishing 13th last year to 5th. He played a huge part in that, but when you tried to tell him that, he only brushed it off, saying that it was all you, he was just happy to be there for the ride. 

It was his idea for you to test drive for McLaren at the end of the year, too. ‘We’ll get you in a real F1 car’ he said. And you didn’t question it when the offer was brought forward to participate in a few practice sessions. It was exhilarating and terrifying and you cried tears of joy when you stepped out of his car because this was what you dreamed of. Driving a Formula 1 car. 

Now you just needed a permanent seat and Daniel wanted that for you too. He was your biggest supporter, and you only grew closer as the days went on.

You met his family over the holidays. He spent New Years Eve in London with you. 

When the season started again, he spent more time with you and Prema. When there were no scheduled F2 races during F1 weekends, you accompanied him in the McLaren garage. 

At this point, quite a few people knew you were together, or at least they assumed it.

You didn’t post about it, you didn’t want to, you didn’t need to. Daniel didn’t need to show you off, nor did you feel obligated to let everyone know you were with him. What you had was private, it was sacred, it was only for the two of you. 

But of course whenever you had a good performance, whether it be from a practice session, qualifying or a race, he’d share your celebration picture to his Instagram story. 

“Would you ever do a shoey?” Daniel asked you one Tuesday night, zooming in on a photo of you, more specifically on the smile on your face as you clenched your second place trophy from Imola on Sunday. 

You rolled your eyes but the smile was impossible to hide as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest. 

“Next time you win,” Daniel suggested with a laugh. “I expect a shoey.”

“I’m not Australian.”

“You’re dating one, sweets.”

You never actually discussed what you were. The term boyfriend-girlfriend seemed so childish. Dating was, in a sense, accurate, but again, there were no labels. He had your heart, you had his. That was the only thing that mattered. 

“The world doesn’t know that,” you pointed out. 

“They kind of do,” Daniel kissed your cheek, giving your side a squeeze as he stepped aside to help you prepare dinner. 

You weren’t even sure when you fell into such a domestic lifestyle but there you were, practically moved into Daniel’s place in Monaco at this point  and he was at your side, chopping carrots for the salad while you prepared the chicken breasts. 

“A shoey would confirm it,” you glanced up at him, but the smile on his face told you he wasn’t completely against the idea. 

Daniel stepped behind you, fingers playfully pinching your waist, “Just think about it. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just reckon it would be entertaining for everyone.”

He didn’t bring it up again, not even when you got third in Spain and didn’t do it. It was your first time getting a back to back podium since you started racing and of course it was something to celebrate, but the idea of a shoey made your stomach churn. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know about your commitment to Daniel. 

You walked a thin line, being with him. And while you enjoyed every possible minute spent with him, you knew the world was cruel. The second you officially went public, you’d lose respect in the motorsport industry. 

The only female F2 driver dating an F1 driver? How scandalous.

Despite the rumours, the correct rumours, you were still in a bubble with him. You could pretend you were just friends, close friends. The tabloids had nothing to go off except your polite interactions and maybe a little too friendly smiles and so what if you were there in the McLaren garage cheering him on? 

You were his biggest supporter and he was yours.

But it didn’t help that while your performance was improving, his was rapidly declining. While you had less races than his, already your stats were better. You qualified in the top 5 for the first three races. You finished second in Imola, third in Spain, already better than how you started the season last year.

Monaco was next. Daniel loved Monaco, you both did. Everyone did, it was the pinnacle of Formula 1. 

It was unfortunate that your weekends ended up so drastically different. 

Daniel qualified 14th and then finished 13th. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did his best to hide his disappointment for you, especially since you were starting on the front row, P2, for the feature race. 

And somehow, you won. 

After trailing behind Drugovich for the majority of the race, you were starting to believe you would finish behind him too. And you probably would have, had there not been a safety car almost six laps after he boxed for fresh tyres, giving you the advantage of newer tyres and less wasted time. It was a strategy your team was banking on, waiting for a safety car. It was risky, but it paid off. Overtaking was nearly impossible with Formula 1 cars, but you had a better chance in your series and somehow, by the grace of god, you did it. You pulled ahead and swiped the lead from Felipe. 

You made history that weekend. The first female F2 driver to not only podium, but to win at Monaco. You gripped that first place trophy so tight your hand turned red. 

Usually, F2 didn’t draw nearly as big of a crowd, but this weekend was different. Everyone was a fan of the series after that performance, a fan of you. You saw people in the crowd wearing Red Bull gear, Ferrari merch, McLaren hats, and they were all applauding you. 

Of course, you were blown away by the support. Hearing your national anthem play was an incredible sound. There were tears in your eyes and your entire body was trembling, yet somehow you managed to find Daniel. Right in front, with your team. 

He was so proud of you. 

Despite his shitty qualifying, despite knowing he had such a low shot at earning points at his race that was in just under an hour, he was there for you. You couldn’t tell if he was cheering the loudest, or if you were just so prone to finding him in a crowd that you couldn’t process anything or anyone else. 

You weren’t sure what came over you, but once you grabbed the champagne bottle, you found yourself taking your shoe off as well. As Felipe and Théo started spraying their bottles in celebration, you poured the bubbly liquid into the sole of your racing shoe and lifted it up to your lips, pointing directly at Daniel who couldn’t believe what he was watching. 

It was rancid, as you figured it would. It was champagne out of a sweaty shoe, you knew it wouldn’t taste good, but it was a shoey and it was for Daniel. Felipe patted your back, laughing at your reaction and muttering something about how Daniel would get a kick out of that. 

He was right, but Daniel wasn’t the only one who found it entertaining. 

Your name was once again trending following the Monaco Grand Prix. Not Checo’s, even though he won the F1 race. Your name. 

Not that you really cared that night. How could you care about what the internet was saying when the man you were with told you that he loved you for the first time? Nothing online mattered, not when Daniel took your face in his hands and told you he was madly in love with you. He was proud, he was happy, he was in love. 

And you knew you loved him too. You had known this for a while. Monaco was just the perfect time to say it. 

After going about as public as you could without physically coming out and saying you were dating the Australian driver, Monaco was the perfect place to tell him you loved him. You were on cloud 9, you were making history, you were in love. 

You continued to deny, or at least ignore, the rumours that followed, still. You both did. You were in love with each other, not the whole world. Things would get complicated if you announced you were dating. You were vying for a Formula 1 seat and you wanted it without Daniels’ influence. 

But at the following race in Baku you were asked similar questions. 

“Your shoey last week, did that have anything to do with Daniel Ricciardo being there to cheer you on? You two have gotten pretty close in the last few months, he’s one of your mentors, isn’t he?” 

You shifted your weight to one leg, wondering what the fuck kind of post-qualifying question that was. You had just completed three back to back podiums, you were on a hot streak now, starting third at this next race and the reporter only cared about what happened at the podium celebration last weekend.

“Sorry, did you have a question about this week's race?” You asked, and when he stammered over his words, you just nodded and walked away, a tight smile on your face. 

Daniel’s conversation went a bit differently. 

“Y/N’s shoey last week, we all saw it. Was that your influence?”

“Yeah I never thought she’d actually do it, it was sweet,” Daniel laughed. “It was great though, I happily pass the tradition onto her.”

“She’s really come along in Formula 2 since she started back in 2020, do you think she has what it takes to be Formula 1’s first full-time female driver?”

“Absolutely,” there wasn’t a shred of doubt or hesitation. He was happy to talk about you, to explain to the rest of the world why you were up and coming and should be taken seriously as a real contender for a Formula 1 seat. He probably would have continued on if his PR rep hadn’t pulled him away, reminding him of other duties.

The next few races were similar to your first ones. A couple more podiums, some outstanding qualifying sessions, more history being made. Your phone was blowing up weekly, everybody wanted to talk to you now and you knew Daniel had something to do with it. Him constantly sharing the faith he had in you did wonders for your reputation. 

You might have been on top of the world, but you were well aware you were alone up there.

Daniels’ performances were anything but newsworthy. He had gotten a few points in Austria and France, but nothing to be extremely proud of, especially when he compared his 9th place finish at the Red Bull Ring to your first place podium, making it your second one this season. 

He never let his disappointment for himself and McLaren stand in the way of your achievements. In fact, you didn’t often speak about the races when you were together. You were aware Daniel was having issues with the team, with Zak, with the car, but he didn’t want to weigh you down with his own problems, even though you assured him time and time again you could handle it. 

Really, if Daniel had come to you with his struggles, you would have thought twice when Zak Brown approached you prior to the Hungarian Grand Prix. You probably would have slammed the door to your drivers room in his face if you knew how Daniel was being treated at McLaren. 

But Daniel held his cards close to his chest while Zak laid his all out on the table.

“If a spot opened up for you,” he said, after spending the last ten minutes talking about the rich history of the team and praising your accolades. “Would you consider it?”

It wasn’t an official contract, just the start of a conversation that could lead to one.

Of course you thought of Daniel. And Lando, having grown close with him simply through Daniel. 

“For 2024?” You asked, knowing both of them were set to continue driving through to at least the end of 2023. 

“No,” Zak shook his head. You didn’t like how harsh his tone had turned, having no remorse for what he was about to say. “Daniel’s contract would be ending early.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping the table as you tried to recall Daniel ever telling you that he was leaving McLaren. “Is he- he wants out?”

“It’s mutual,” Zak assured you. “He knows we can’t give him the car he wants and unfortunately, he’s not delivering what we need. We had high hopes with Daniel, but the working relationship isn’t what any of us thought it would be.”

It’s mutual. Those two words was all it took to convince you that Zak Brown and Daniel had already had a conversation about this, about terminating the contract a year early. 

It didn’t help that Zak brought up your test sessions in the McLaren from last year, pointing out that you had better times than Lando, even. He went on to praise what you were doing this year at Prema and said, multiple times, that you would be an asset to McLaren should you choose to go that route.

And who were you to turn that down?

A team principal of a Formula 1 team wanted to sign you. Was it unfortunate that it was Daniel’s seat? Yes, obviously this situation was less than ideal, but he wanted out. You were convinced he wanted out, that he was done with McLaren. A 45 minute conversation with Zak Brown convinced you of that.

You should have been wary when at the end of the conversation he said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, yet. You know how the public can be, let’s just keep this to ourselves for the meantime.”

“But I can talk to Dan, right?” You asked. 

Zak knew you were dating Daniel, it was a little harder to hide that from his team than it was the rest of the world. Maybe that’s why hesitated before answering, knowing that keeping a secret, something as big as this, from a partner had the potential to cause chaos.

But he shook his head, “Between us, yeah?”

And you listened to him. You wanted that Formula 1 seat so of course you followed orders. 

You desperately wanted to talk to Daniel about it, but you knew you couldn’t. And either he sensed that something was off, or he was dealing with his own problems again and wouldn’t share, you really couldn’t tell when the summer break started and things just seemed…different. 

You didn’t go to Monaco for starters, even though Daniel invited you to. But there were so many meetings with Zak and the board at McLaren that it made more sense for you to stay in London for the start of the break. 

Daniel didn’t call as often and you wanted to give him space, knowing that this break was probably needed for him. You expected he was out with friends, letting loose, getting the weight of a horrible season off his back even if just temporarily. 

The plan was to go to Monaco for the last week and a half and then travel to Belgium together. You had to delay that plan, however, when Zak called you and said it was official.

The 2023 seat was yours. 

You wanted to celebrate, with Daniel, but how could you celebrate with the person you were replacing?

It was strange that Daniel had said nothing to you about leaving the team during the summer break, especially since Zak had said time and time again they were on the same page, that Daniel was ready to leave. The only thing that crossed your mind was he was given strict instructions to not say anything to anyone either, at least until McLaren went public with the news. 

But with it being official, with you having just signed on the dotted line, you were tired of keeping it to yourself. You may not have been able to share the news with anyone else, but you had a right to have a conversation with Daniel about it.

You didn’t know how he would react. Surely he’d be happy for you, right? You were getting a seat in Formula 1, something that both of you desperately wanted to happen. And again, you were under the impression the departure from McLaren was mutual. He would be happy that someone he loved was taking his seat, right?

Right?

You had to tell yourself that the entire ride over to his place. You unlocked the front door to his building and took the elevator up to the fourth level. You didn’t think to knock, knowing he never locked it when he was home so you pushed open the door and stepped in, your suitcase trailing behind you.

You were happy to see him. He was always a breath of fresh air, despite the odd distance between you, you still loved him. You always would. He muted whatever was playing on the screen and stood up from the couch when he heard you walk in.

Usually, Daniel would greet you with a kiss.

Usually, he’d be smiling so hard his jaw would be hurting.

Usually, he was happy to see you.

You left the suitcase by the door and met him halfway, only he stopped walking when there was about a foot of space between your bodies. To you, it felt like you were still miles apart.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest. 

Your heart sank. 

You had convinced yourself, Zak had convinced you, the whole back of house team had convinced you, that Daniel was aware of this upcoming change. That the termination was mutual. You taking his seat might have been a surprise, but it was never supposed to be a blindside.

“What do you know?” you asked. 

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you.

You were both fully aware of the exact same information. Daniel was leaving. You were taking his seat. Only, you had been informed this much earlier than he had.

“What was I supposed to do?” 

“Not take the seat,” he scoffed. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you said and then added, “You don’t even like McLaren. You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

“Zak-” you started, finding it difficult to hold his stare. This wasn’t the Daniel you knew. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, taking a few steps away from you. It hurt, watching as he tried to physically distance himself from you. Like being in too close of proximity would set him off.

“I struggled with the team, yes, but I’m not ready to give up racing. You have now left me without a seat.”

It was easy for Daniel to blame you, you were standing right in front of him. You were quite literally the driver set to replace him.

But the real villain was Zak, for not having opened up this line of communication earlier. For making you believe everyone was on the same page. It was Zak’s fault for rushing to end the contract with Daniel instead of putting in the effort to work with him. He saw the shiny new toy that was you, that Daniel helped create, and he wasn’t going to let someone else take it first.

Daniel wanted to blame himself too, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that until much later. He was the one who did everything he could to help you grow in this sport. He was the one who introduced you to Zak and the rest of the McLaren team. He was the one who got you in the car for the practice sessions, his car. Foreshadowing at its finest.

“You are unbelievable,” Daniel spoke quietly, heated with anger but his words were like ice as they sunk deep into you. “After everything I’ve done to help you for you to betray me like this, I just- I don’t think-”

You knew where this was going and you wanted to put a pin in it before he could finish any of his thoughts.

“Don’t finish that sentence, Daniel,” you whispered. “Please. Please, we can figure something out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” his mind was made up. “You took my seat.”

“Wouldn’t you rather it me than someone you don’t know? Someone you don’t trust?” You tried to turn this around, have him look at the positives, if there were any. “Daniel, everyone on the grid loves you, you’ll find a new team. One that helps you grow and get to where you want. McLaren isn’t that, we both know it.”

“I think you should go,” was his only response. 

“If I hadn’t signed that contact, someone else would have,” you pointed out, grasping at straws here, painfully honest straws, but straws nonetheless. “Piastri, O’Ward…McLaren had options, Dan. Aren’t you at least happy for me that I out-qualified all of those guys?”

Daniel actually laughed, “You want me to be happy for you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Dan-”

“Leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You need to,” he was stern. He was angry. He was done. With you, with the team, with everything he used to love and cherish. He was done. 

You thought you knew Daniel. You thought you knew how this conversation would play out. You figured it would still be rocky, but god you now realised how naive you were to believe you could still make things work. 

“I love you,” you told him, because what else could you say except remind him that you were so hopelessly in love with him, that he was all you would ever want in life. 

Except, that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

You wanted a seat in Formula 1 too. You just never thought you’d have to sacrifice one dream for the other. 

Daniel’s stare was cold. He only looked away for a second to nod his head towards the door behind you, “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done this.”

You stepped forward, desperate at this point because how could he do this? How could he throw away what you had, over a seat?

Or was it you, who had ultimately thrown away what you had when you sat down with Zak Brown all those weeks ago?

It pained you to think about the strong possibility of that being the case.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you were. You were sorry about how this turned out, how he was betrayed, how this was coming to an end. You grabbed hold of your suitcase and nodded, backing up towards the door, “I really am sorry, Dan.”

He didn’t believe you. Why would he? In his eyes, Formula 1 was more important to you than he was. A career decision that benefited you, but ruined him, mattered more than your relationship. It was a bold move, a cold move, one that you didn’t think would lead to this.

Neither of you could have predicted this. On September 3rd, 2020, when Daniel first said he wanted to work with you, neither of you thought it would end like this.

Just as you grabbed the handle of the door, Daniel opened his mouth, wanting to get the final word in. And you really wished he hadn’t because those final words destroyed you. 

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I never thought you would turn out to be one of them.”

You said nothing. You walked out of that Monaco flat with your head low and your heart even lower. You couldn’t even be excited about the next season, or the remainder of this one where you had the potential to finish in the top three. 

You weren't happy, you were empty, you were defeated. And painfully so, you were also still in love.

Despite what was said, you knew it would take a while to get over Daniel. He was your rock for so long, he was always there for you and even though he could disappear without so much as a second thought, your feelings couldn’t, the memories couldn’t. It would take a long time until you felt whole again.

You didn’t know it yet, but the decision to take that McLaren seat would haunt you as you moved forward in your career. 

This was not going to be the last time you ever saw Daniel. 

part 2 haunted

[majosullivan]

Nevermore Dashboard Simulator 2

🔄 many-coloured-grass reblogged

🌷 many-coloured-grass Follow

I don’t care what any of you are saying, I just think it is weird that people are joking that Lenore and Annabel are secretly into each other when they have shown constant distant for each other?? Go take a walk through the academy grounds

🔮 sorcery-sorcery-sorcery Follow

the fun police right here is trying to put me in gay detenion but Lenore and Annabel are blocking the way because Lenore has pinned Annabel against the wall

🌷 many-coloured-grass Follow

THE DEVIL HAS A CLAIM ON YOUR SOUL

#WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? #THEY CLEARLY HATE EACH OTHER #WHY ARE YOU PEOPLE SAYING STUFF LIKE THIS?

8,689 notes

🎇 labyrinth-of-light Follow

[snapping out of remembering the horrific details about how I slowly suffocated under a black mass of slurry, not knowing if my siblings were alive or not, all because I smelt the scent of coal coming from the fire in the common room] oh I should have been at the club

13,477 notes

⚰️ were-all-dead-here Follow

906 notes

🔄 ghostlygal reblogged

🕯️ phantomwraith Follow

i can’t deal with this academy anymore! i mean i can, and i will, obviously. but i can't fucking do this anymore!

🖤 ghostlygal Follow

Area Man Who Has "Had Enough" Wakes Up Next Morning at 7:00 AM to Get Ready to Go to Class Again

7,347 notes

🌤️ serenest-skies Follow

I don’t know if it’s just the stress from the announcement that there’s only one new life, but I SWEAR I just saw Lenore drag Annabel Lee into a closet just now

#or I have started to lose my mind #with how today ended #that seems like a much more reasonable conclusion

29 notes

🔄 spookyxskeletons reblogged angelic-oddity

☀️ angelic-oddity Follow

God I wish I was that bell

☀️ angelic-oddity Follow

THIS WAS MEANT TO BE SAVED TO DRAFTS

☀️ angelic-oddity Follow

GUYS PLEASE STOP REBLOGING THIS, ISN’T MY SHAME ENOUGH?

☀️ angelic-oddity Follow

NO YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME

15,074 notes

🔄 fable-silence reblogged

🍁 fable-silence Follow

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭I HAVETO GO TO CLASS AGAIN😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰

🍁 fable-silence Follow

my greek chorus ^

4,832 notes

🎊 impishimpulses Follow

My roommate, who just manifested into an six foot tall ochimusha and consistently calls me dearest: All the creatures in this maze seem to desire nothing more than to suck dry any life we have remaining, i just don’t understand this academy

Me [heard “suck dry” and got so hard i got nauseous]: i think i hauve the devil in me

3,496 notes

🔄 ferocious-fiddle reblogged

🧟‍♂️ gutzngore Follow

The Deans are literally Tweedledum & Tweedledee coded because of their sinister symmetry. but whatever

🎻 ferocious-fiddle Follow

OP I know this is a joke, but just remember that if you go knocking on enough doors asking to see the devil, eventually he’ll answer.

6,660 notes

🩸 bloodstained-petals Follow

I’m never going to listen to anyone ever again that tries to give dating advice along the lines of ‘The worst thing that they can say is no :)’, bitch I just witnessed that Ada girl get insulted so throughly in public after she tried to flirt with Prospero that she literally manifested into some screeching rotten hag

#like be real with me right now

706 notes

🔄 spookyxskeletons reblogged

🪸 drenchedkelpie Follow

The whole experience with the rats in yesterday’s lesson felt like having to escape a ficious pack of bloodthirsty hunting dogs, and I was but a simple and unexpecting deer

🪸 drenchedkelpie Follow

WHAT THE SHIT

☠️ spookyxskeletons Follow

3,969 notes

🔄 floatinghoax reblogged

🌺 etherealdances Follow

Kill them with kindness? WRONG. Spectre attack 👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻

1,002 notes

🔄 deadgirlwalking reblogged namelessghoul

⚙️ the-greater-the-ass Follow

Call me Wall Street the way I. The way I just crashed onto the floor because of that fucking Hungry Ghost

⚙️ the-greater-the-ass Follow

Have y’all just. Ignored everything that has happened the past few years or are some of you just fucking with me?

🌹 blushedandbloomed Follow

Is this some kind of wide spread prank that people are doing? Me and my roommate were talking about what memories of our family we had recovered and I mentioned how badly my brother was affected by his conscription during the World War II, and my roommate just looked at me like I was speaking another language and asked me what war I was even talking about

⚙️ the-greater-the-ass Follow

I’m sorry, world war number

WHAT?

🃏 demonic-betting Follow

I’M SORRY, WORLD WARS???

🌹 blushedandbloomed Follow

🪲 goldbug1843 Follow

@blushedandbloomed you cannot just react like that without any explanation about what on earth you meant by World War II

🌹 blushedandbloomed Follow

I MEANT WORLD WAR II, AS IN THE SECOND WORLD WAR, 1ST SEPTEMBER 1939 - 2ND SEPTEMBER 1945. WHY ARE YOU GUYS REACTING LIKE THIS?

🌻 hyacinth-hair Follow

Unless you are the Oracle of Delphi, why the hell are you stating an end date for a war that’s still going on?

🌹 blushedandbloomed Follow

BECAUSE I’M NOT??? WHAT YEAR DO YOU THINK IT IS?

🌻 hyacinth-hair Follow

1942, WHAT YEAR DO YOU THINK IT IS?

🌹 blushedandbloomed Follow

1950. I WOULD LIKE TO THINK I WOULD KNOW THE YEAR THAT I DIED THANK YOU VERY MUCH

⚙️ the-greater-the-ass Follow

IT’S LITERALLY 1934???

🥀 wilted-rose Follow

🌃 eveningstar Follow

This is getting out of hand

🪵 premature-burial Follow

I DIED IN 1916, HOW ARE YOU GUYS SAYING THAT YOU WERE ALIVE AROUND TWENTY YEARS AFTER THAT WHEN I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF THE WAR THAT TOOK MY LIFE IS EVEN OVER?

💤 sleepyirene Follow

LOVELY ARE YOU TELLING US THAT YOU DIED DURING WORLD WAR I?

🪵 premature-burial Follow

THAT IS WHAT YOU ALL MEAN BY WORLD WAR I???

🐸 hop-frog Follow

🌟 celestialwhispers Follow

I must be having some kind of vivid dream because there is no way this is right. In the most recent memories I currently have, the coronation of Edward VII recently occurred, and now I’m seeing people claiming that they died 1910-1950?

🌬️ loss-of-breath Follow

HOLD ON, QUEEN VICTORIA IS DEAD?!

⚙️ the-greater-the-ass Follow

🌙 voyage-to-the-moon Follow

I am going to lose my marbles

🪓 namelessghoul Follow

WHAT FECKING YEAR IS IT

🪦 deadgirlwalking Follow

56,395 notes

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Young Gods (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 

Summary: History has a way of repeating itself. Much like another pair before you, Aemond and you make each other worse. 

Requested: Yup. Hades!Aemond with a not so literal twist. Strong!Reader. Requests still open!

Warnings: Dark fic? Rape is mentioned a lot. People in their underwear, non-consensual touching and nudity. Beheading. Kidnapping, duh. Plenty of self harm threats. Detailed TW after the whole work. 

STORM’S END IS cold. As you dismount, the wind snaps your braid back, forcing you to grab it with one hand. You are careful to fix the flower shaped pins attached there. They were a terrible choice for today, as was your dress. It’s made of a fine red linen, bodice shaped like leaves hugging your body.

You favor botanical patterns, but it seems this keep is not the place for it. Sensing your distress, your dragon whines. 

“Everything it’s alright, girl.” You shush her, affectionately. She is a lovely dragon, although on the small side. The guards don’t seem very impressed with her, and it vexes you. She may not be what people think of when they picture a dragon, but she had been with you since you were only a couple of days old.  

Her youthfulness is seen by many as a hindrance, but not to you. Just as your brother’s dragons, your Green Lady is a daughter to Syrax. She had hatched when you were a babe, and shared your craddle until she got too big and needed to be moved to the dragonpit. The bond you shared was stronger than what older dragons could ever hope to have with second or third riders. 

Perhaps because of your derisive thoughts about older dragons, there is a sudden, loud screech. Vhagar. Of course. That was why the guards were so unimpressed with your dragon.  You chuckle, out of sheer frustration. What else could go wrong today? 

The tensions in your family had always been more on the male side. Both Helaena and you had been left out of it, both deemed too queer to truly engage in clever quips and insulting toasts. Your uncle, in particular, had never paid much attention to you. 

There had been some japes about your bastardy, but Aemond had been more focused on Luke and Jace. He preferred to single them out, take his frustrations out through humiliating your siblings. 

Some of it, you guessed, had to do with the loss of his eye. Luke had taken it from him, after all. But a secret, resentful part of you thought it had to do with the fact they were men. 

Thank the Gods your mother had sent Luke to deal with the Arryns. You shuddered to think the face Aemond would make when he saw you, but had you been Luke, you feared that he would have snapped. He would probably have ended up doing something unforgivable. 

You tell one of the guards your name. “I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.” 

The man looks at you, pity in his eyes. He knows as well as you that your mission is doomed from the start. If you had beaten Aemond there, if you had something more substantial to offer…

Thunder cracks. Rain seems about to start. You square your shoulders, and smile at him. 

“… Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” It chafes, that the knight doesn’t refer to your mother by her proper title. You bet that when he announced Aemond, they named him brother to the King. 

When you enter the hall, your eyes do not linger on any decorations or the people there. Your eyes scan over them, searching for a tall figure, dressed in all black. Aemond is looming to the side of Lord Borros’ throne. Next to him, stands a girl with a no nonsense expression, dressed in Baratheon's colors. 

“Lord Borros.” You address the man on the throne. He is big and broad, with a long beard. He is also wearing a tremendous scowl. You give him your sweetest smile. “I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.” 

“Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King.” The man gestures at Aemond, tone dripping with condescension. “Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”

Some of the guards present and the Baratheon girl laugh. You keep your expression pleasant, unaffected by the mockery. Having grown as an unusual child, you are used to it. It had endeared you to your aunt, but unlike her, you were adept enough with social cues to know you were being laughed at. 

I’ll tell you a secret: Humiliation still tastes the same, even when you are expecting it. 

“What is your mother’s message?” Borros asks, when it is clear you will not react. You step closer and hand him the letter. “Where is the bloody maester?” 

You watch as the maester reads the letter aloud, whispering into his lord’s ear. You don’t notice how Aemond steps closer. 

“Remind me of my father’s oath. Bah.” Borros scoffs. Despite knowing your mission had been doomed from the start, you still feel disappointed. As silly as it sounded, you had been harboring a secret hope that he would change his mind. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact.” 

“If I do as your mother bids… Which one of my daughters will you wed, girl?” He mocks, and you see red. You wish to tear him to pieces, this smug man, Daemon, Jace. It comes down to that, once again. The fact that you are not a man. 

Your mother had yet to name her heir. She always excused herself by saying her throne was not yet secure, the succession issue would be settled in time. But you knew her true thoughts. Her sweet girl, she called you. The strange firstborn, who liked flowers and dressing up as a forest nymph. The one that was not fit to rule. 

There is no succession issue, you wanted to scream, sometimes, as you watched Daemon pat your twin in the back, give him secret smiles. He assumed he was to be King. The bond they had was one you envied, sometimes. Daemon had never looked at you as a daughter, having two of them already. But Jace was his first son. 

It wasn’t fair. You had come out of the womb first, wailing, before even Jacaerys was pushed out. Your mother was doing to you what her own father had done to her, refusing to recognize her as heir. But unlike what had happened to her, you doubted she would change her mind. 

“I would wed one of your sons, my lord.” You say, smoothly. The anger, the fire and blood that make you a dragon, threatens to burst through. “But I do not know if I am free to marry, for my twin brother heads North to offer my hand to Lord Stark.” 

Offer. As if it were not yours to give. You are not sure of how you will lay with a man when you despise them this much. The mere thought revolts you, tales of the birthing bed and the consummation making rage bubble up under your skin. You wish you had been born a man. 

Your brother rides North with tales of your beauty and fertility, the same you must have inherited from your mother. As if you were a breeding bitch, of impeccable stock, to produce more pups for the northern wolf. They do not see you as a person, so why should you see them like one, too?

“So you come with empty hands. Go home, girl. Go back to playing with your flower crowns and dolls.” It stings. A hand goes to your dark hair, held back in a braid adorned by marigold pins. You feel like such a silly little girl, and you hate him for it. “Tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.” 

You smile at him, coldly. You give him a curtsy, back ramrod straight, jaw hurting from clenching your teeth so hard. If you were a man, you would be allowed to be incensed at the insults being thrown your way.  Hell, if you weren’t, they would call you craven. But as a woman, if you show your anger, you will be called hysterical. 

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.” 

You begin to exit the hall, hands tightly clenched into fists. 

“Wait… my Lady Strong.” 

You recognize that voice. You would know it anywhere. Despite it, you keep walking. Aemond moves to intersect your path, bodily placing himself between the entrance and you. 

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

You stare at him, eyes full of hatred. You wish you were wittier, that you could give him a scathing quip about using your proper title and being half cunt, as Daemon says. But you are not. Instead, you try to evade him, but he steps into your path again, smug little smirk on his face and hands clasped behind his back. The picture of confidence. 

“I will not fight you. I come as a messenger, not a warrior.” You say, voice firm. Despite it, your hand lowers to the folds of your dress. Against your thigh, you carry a dagger. A last resort, and a precaution, Daemon had said, when giving it to you. Men were cruel to beautiful maidens all the time. His eyes had lingered a tad too long when you strapped it to your leg. More than what a father’s should.

Despite your unfortunate coloring, you still were Rhaenyra’s daughter through and through. The similarities weren’t in the bone structure, but in much subtler details. The tilt of your head when you laughed. The way you walked. How your cheeks dimpled. Enough that men noticed. 

“A fight would be little challenge.” Aemond mocks, hand coming to grasp at your jaw. Something odd crosses his eye. Almost… Wishful. It scares you. You jerk out of his grip so fast your cheeks ache. “No. You love your brother, don’t you? Luke.” 

You stare at him, unmoved. Aemond stares back. His gaze feels full of disdain to you, as it draws a path from your light red skirt, to the crown of flowers in your hair. He makes you feel small and trapped, and you hate it. You are not less because your father is not Laenor Velaryon, you remind yourself. 

“I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine. One would serve. I would not blind you. Mm. Plan to make it a gift to my mother.” His eye looks crazed, face dangerously close to yours. His expression is close to the lust you have seen in Daemon’s eyes, and it terrifies you. Because Aemond doesn’t admire your resemblance to his wife. His lust is for blood. 

“No.” 

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.” And he lunges at you again, and you can’t help it, really. You shriek, rushing towards the doors and avoiding him as best as you can. 

“Not here!” Borros interferes, for the first time. He sounds worried. You would be, too, if you saw a man stalking behind a woman in the way Aemond is going after you. Your heart is in your throat, you fear it might leap out if you speak. 

“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!” And this time, he does grab you. Your hands go to cover your eyes, and you keep screaming, shrill and high, terrified. 

“Not in my hall!” And there are hands tugging at you, tugging at your dress, getting Aemond away. You open your eyes to see Borros’ knights dragging him away. “The girl came as an envoy, and I will not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Escort the Princess to her dragon.” 

You can’t believe you are still alive. Aemond looks enraged, body positioned forward as if to lunge again. He struggles against the grip the guards have on him. There are at least four holding him down. He is a man possessed. 

You do not hesitate. You hike up your skirts and run. 

BY THE TIME Aemond leaves Lord Baratheon’s hall, it has already started raining. The guards release him only after you are out of sight, but rage still flows through his arteries, warming his blood. 

His face feels hot. He is no doubt blushing. Aemond is unsure if it is from fury or shame. Holding you against him, soft skin yielding like butter under his fingers, smelling of flowers, he had gotten struck by a memory. That smell… 

You had been a girl. No older than eight. You had sat in the gardens, surrounded by flowers, their perfume lingering in your hair and skin. Searching for fairies, you had explained, with the most serious face. Helaena was searching with you, giggling in excitement. The two of you had invited him to join, but Aemond had refused, citing fairies didn’t exist.

For a moment, he felt as the rude nine years old he had been, sneering down on silly girls who smelled like flowers. The memory had hit him with the force of a war hammer, dragging him out of his thoughts of getting his revenge on your siblings through you. 

He had been jerked out of it when you had started screaming your lungs out. It was not that you dared be sweet, with your flowers and childish dresses. Nor that you had grown into an objectively pretty woman. It was that you had dared push him off you when he had only wanted to gaze upon your eyes, that you had made his stomach swoop with uncomfortable feelings, that he found you so damn irresistible. 

Some fools in the realm called you the prettiest maiden in Westeros. Once, he had thought them exaggerated tales, to please your whore of a mother. Aemond despised agreeing with the masses, and yet, he now had to admit there was a certain truth to it. 

His grandfather was right. Bastards were treacherous creatures, made only out of lust. There had to be some sorcery at play. Aemond was sure of it, and he was going to end you for daring to use your tricks on him.  

“My Prince, are you sure you must leave?” His betrothed gives him her best cow eyes. Aemond is sure they are supposed to be seductive, but he is too annoyed to care. Besides, she seems as daft as they come, and conniving too. Nothing more dangerous than an ambitious fool.  “The weather is so terrible, and all of that with that wretched girl…” 

“Dragons care not for rain.” He answers, striding towards Vhagar regardless. Hearing you being called a wretched girl only serves to rile him up more. It was not Floris’ place to criticize you, she was forgetting her position. A whore and a sorceress you might be, but you were half Targaryen. This one was plain whore. “And mind your tongue, less you bite it and poison yourself.” 

Vhagar was agitated when he mounted her. Seeing your dragon had excited her, perhaps. It encouraged her to fly faster, more daringly than usual. It meant Aemond caught up with you in no time. 

He sees your back first. Your braid is whipping against the wind, most flowers gone. The few that remain look askew. Your red dress is absolutely drenched, clinging to the curves and dips on your body in an indecent manner. It makes his blood boil. You must have worn it to attract attention. Harlot. 

Your smaller dragon is having trouble keeping up with the weather. The wind hits against her wings, and she doesn’t have the experience Vhagar has when flying in adverse conditions. Your voice is carried by the wind, sharp commands in High Valyrian, ordering to fly lower, avoid the clouds. The poor thing tries, but not even your attempts at helping her are making a difference. 

“Riiñaa…” Aemond taunts, trying to reach you. At first, you don’t hear, his voice covered by the noise of wind and rain. “Riña!”

You jump on your dragon’s back. Unlike him and his siblings, you don’t ride chained to the saddle. You look back at him, brown eyes panicked. The rain sliding down your cheeks looks eerily like tears. 

“Adere.” You order your dragon. But Aemond will not allow you to escape that easily. Not when he has you so close. He orders the same to Vhagar. 

“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā!” He shouts at you. A debt. For the eye your brothers had taken, and the trick you had played on him mere minutes ago. 

“I don’t owe you anything!” 

It’s all a blur when he later reflects on it. Some things happen too fast to be stopped, and you can only watch in horror as time seems to pause before the disaster happens. 

Vhagar screeches, excited by the thrill of the chase. Her jaws snap towards your dragon. 

“No… No…  No! Vhagar, serve me! Serve me, Vhagar!” 

But she ignores his commands. No matter how hard he tugs on the reins, Vhagar won’t budge. It is both the foreboding crackling of distant thunder, and the desperation he feels at being powerless, what makes him reach forward, and grab your arm, tightly. 

Your dragon ducks. One second you are sitting in the saddle and the next you are not. Aemond can’t feel his hands. You are screaming so loud his ears ring, and Vhagar is roaring again. There is a sickening crunch, your green dragon roaring in utter rage. You cling to his arms, grip slippery and cold, rain still pouring over the both of you. 

He pulls up, as his shoulders crack in protest. Were it not for the fact that he is chained to his saddle, you might take him with you in your fall into the abyss. Your nails dig into his skin, painfully. You are howling like you are the one being murdered, but you climb, bravely placing a foot on Vhagar’s scales and helping Aemond get you in the space between the saddle and Vhagar, in front of him. 

You start to wail. 

“No, no, no!”

Aemond doesn’t dare look. His own hands are shaking. But as you start to try to throw him off Vhagar, slapping him everywhere you can reach, he has to. He needs to know. 

Your dragon is covered in blood. It is sprayed along her belly and wings, as if Vhagar had not only bitten her, but also shook her as a dog with a bone. Her front paw is missing, and she howls in agony with every turn. But she has the same bravery as you do, and she is trying to defend her rider, about to slam against Vhagar in a suicide mission. 

“Call her off!” Aemond orders you. “Call her off, she is going to die.” 

He knows how painful the loss of an eye is. He cannot imagine losing a limb. But the great beast, your Green Lady, as you call her, is still fighting. Her devotion must be stronger than the pain she is suffering. She doesn’t seem to care that Vhagar is much bigger and could eat her whole. 

Vhagar licks her chops. Aemond shouts something. He is not even sure what is coming out of his mouth any longer, but you sob, and peer to the side. 

You had not noticed she was still alive. You howl. Your dragon responds to your cry, roaring at Vhagar. 

Aemond looks at your face. He sees the calculation in your eyes, deciding if to call your dragon off or not, if it is worth the risk. If you could jump from the saddle, from Aemond’s front and into your own mount. It’s risky. 

“Lykirī!” You finally scream, and he nearly sags in relief. Your dragon obeys much better than Vhagar, stopping on her tracks. She hovers by, as if unsure why she should not try to kill the threat that took her human and her paw. 

Things are about to get nasty. He can tell. No matter how tame she is, she is still a beast, and the urge to protect and fight will surpass her training. 

“We need to land, now.” Aemond orders, and without waiting for your permission, nudges Vhagar into dropping.  But your dragon gets in the way once more, set on headbutting Vhagar. Aemond has to do a swerve to the side to avoid his dragon eating the damn thing. 

You say nothing. Your whole body is tense, anticipating the opportunity for a rescue. Your hands let go of Vhagar and instead, start to reach forward. 

Aemond snarls. He grabs at your braid and tugs back, sharply. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

“Lykirī.” You shout. Aemond’s mind is racing. What to do now? He almost killed you, he thinks, and cannot help himself. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, until you are flinching in his grip. 

Seven Hells, what is he supposed to do? He can’t land. Bringing whatever is going on between your two dragons to land is risky. If allowed, Vhagar would eat yours whole. And that is not considering they might as well take to the skies on their own and leave you stranded. There is nothing for miles, not even a Keep. 

You have family in the Vale. He could fly there and… What would he even say? I accidentally almost killed my niece? Your kinsmen would slaughter him.

There are a few heath leaves in your hair, pink and glorious against the dark backdrop of your braid. Solitude, Aemond thinks. Are you as lonely as him, or do you simply like pink? 

The memory comes back, unprompted. You, laughing in the gardens, smelling like flowers. A crown of marigolds in your hair, running among the tulips barefoot, sun kissing your skin. Searching for fairies. 

He has never gotten anything pretty for himself. But maybe… He touches a pink petal, watching how the rain clings to it. It’s almost like dew. 

Your mother had sent you away on your own. She didn’t value as she did your siblings, clearly. For any princess, no matter how loyal her dragon, should travel with her guards. 

He had wanted your eye. But it would be too cruel, wouldn’t it? To scar such a beautiful face. If he took something else instead… 

No one would notice. No one had to know if he just…

“Where are we going? You said we were going to land.” You ask, turning to look over your shoulder. The tilt of your head is enchanting, and he finds himself fascinated by it. 

You huff, annoyed by his lack of response. He observes how your brows pinch together, and thinks of the debt your family owes him. His eye. The eye of a prince for the maidenhead of a bastard girl. It wouldn’t even scar you forever, even when it would forever haunt you. It seemed like a fair exchange. 

“To the Vale.” Aemond lies, as smoothly as he can. “You have family there, and can no longer be my problem.” 

You keep an alert position, but you relax against him. You are too trusting for your own good. It is precisely why a woman, you, shouldn’t inherit the Iron Throne. 

When the two of you fly past the Vale, you do not notice at first. Your eyes are trained on your dragon, dutifully flying at Vhagar’s right, slightly behind. Just unreachable enough for you to jump on her, but also just unreachable enough for Vhagar to bite. Freedom in exchange for safety. 

You have not said a word during the whole journey. Perhaps you fancy yourself irritated at him. 

“Prince Aemond!” You scream, once you notice the terrain under you is no longer the green hills the Vale is known for. “What…?” 

“I lied. We are going to the Red Keep.” 

You call your Green Lady to you, high and panicked. Aemond grabs your braid, making a fist close to your skull and forcing you to arch your back. You yelp in pain. 

“Don’t you dare! Tell her to fly behind Vhagar. One wrong move on your part and your dragon dies.” Aemond warns. You get the same calculating look in your eyes, lowering them to the clouds under you. The fall would be fatal. 

“I will never forgive this.” It comes out from behind clenched teeth. Your back is still arched, Aemond’s grip still strong. He tugs a little more, if only to see you take it, pretty little body making a perfect bow. 

He thinks of his rage, and how he is starved for death and blood. He thinks of himself as Vhagar, biting down on your paw and shaking his head until his own mouth is covered by blood. Of your dark hair spread over white sheets, a halo. Of a boy’s dark hair, and a knife. The stench of blood, your wet body, your smile, the sinful urges. 

Maidenheads were just blood, too. 

YOU CAN HEAR your dragon screeching as the dragonkeepers drag her away. They prod at her, as she cries her distress, mirroring your own. Just as Syrax cries when your mother is in the birthing bed, your Green Lady cries with your despair. You scream, trying to get to her, and Aemond’s hands tug at your dress, your thighs, anything he can reach to keep you. 

When he tires of you, he throws you over his shoulder, hands digging into your thighs so hard it hurts. You are sure that there will be bruises left in the aftermath of his grip.

You do not stop screaming. All the way to the entrance of the keep, you scream for help. Every servant you see is one you ask to help you, the same for the guards. But while some of them pause in their duties to stare, Aemond doesn’t. 

He strides confidently, despite being in wet clothes and with a woman hanging upside down in his arms. You get glimpses of the Red Keep as you pass, tapestries and dragon motifs gone and replaced by the Seven Pointed Star. Gone are the crimson and black banners your grandfather had favored, replaced by green ones. The call to war is not missed on you. 

You are familiar enough with the layout of the building to know that the room you are shoved in is his. The door slams after you, Aemond not even caring to check if you landed on your feet.  You don’t waste your time looking around, choosing instead to try to force the door open. 

“Let me out!” 

No one answers. You scream and scream, but no one comes. You are unable to tell if Aemond has walked away or is still in the hallway. After a while, you begin to hear hurried footsteps. 

“Was that…?” The usurper dares ask. 

“That’s Rhaenyra’s heir! You will undo everything this family has…” Alicent. At least she is being reasonable, you suppose. Perhaps she will convince them of sending you back. 

“I have gained us a hostage, you mean.” You can almost picture Aemond’s haughty expression. His tone is cold, as if he finds Alicent’s concerns dumb. 

“Your grandfather..!” 

“…Just because you are not ruthless enough to do what…” 

A slap, hard. Aegon laughs, a bit hysterical. You wonder what Aemond had been suggesting, what Alicent had seen in his eyes to prompt the slap. 

“Do not take that tone with me. Dishonor the girl, Aemond and the Seven help you..!” 

Dishonor. Oh. Did she think the two of you were involved? You frown. You don’t like this. Anxiety begins to pool in your stomach, a sense of dread so strong it makes you feel dizzy. 

“One would think, with how often you called her mother whore…” Aemond argues. Instead of making you bristle, though, it only heightens your uneasiness. You are more focused on his tone than his words, and he sounds wrong. Like he had sounded when he was laughing after Vhagar bit your dragon. 

“A highborn woman can be two things: A maiden or a mother.” Alicent cuts him again, and the feeling of wrongness intensifies. Unable to see them, you feel like you are missing half the conversation, but your gut tells you it is bad. 

“Are you suggesting..?” Aegon sounds as confused and horrified as you feel.

“No! You will not use rape to terrorize our enemies.” 

Rape. Rape. You feel as if you are underwater. Everything sounds muffled, except from the thump of blood in your ears. You can’t breathe. In your mind, rape is not something that happens to Princesses like you. It’s something you read about in your history books, something that happens to servants or lowborn women. 

No one would dare touch you, you had thought once. For you were a good maiden, one that didn’t dress too provocatively and who was kind to everyone around her. But most importantly, your mother was going to be Queen. No one would touch you. They couldn’t. 

Men’s lustful glances were nothing new to you. As a princess, you were a coveted prize. You knew they lusted after your blood, the Valyrian children and the dragons you could provide. But never had you caught one lusting after your body. You still dressed like a girl, running around Dragonstone with flowers tangled in your hair and no shoes. 

If any man had looked, Daemon disposed of them. And while the glances your stepfather gave you were charged, you never thought he would act on them. 

“… The bannermen will think us fools!” 

Men who raped women weren’t princes. They were commoners, soldiers drunk on power, dirty beggars who pounced on strangers in alleyways. Drunkards in taverns, that smelled like piss. If there were any lords that partook in those horrid acts, you always thought they were cruel ones, like the Boltons, and always on serving girls. 

You had never felt unsafe near Aemond. He was a prince, he was part of your family. It had never occurred to you that you could be stripped naked and forced to share his bed, not even imprisoned as you are. 

You imagine him, ordering one of the guards to remove your clothes. You imagine yourself, naked, trying to preserve your modesty, and being beaten for it. Aemond’s hands, touching you, forcing your legs apart, hitting you when you do not comply. Your uncle, your uncle who preferred books to people, who was always so quiet, being no different from those terrible men at all. 

It's impossible, you think. He is only doing it to rile up his mother, to seem more manly in front of his brother. He has always felt the need to compensate for something. Yes, Aemond is incapable of it. 

Your entrails turn to ice. If it is so impossible, you think, why does it scare you so much? Why are your palms sweating, why are there acrid tears burning through your cheekbones, leaving a scorched path down to your jaw? 

Where is this fear coming from?

“I could send her back, broken. As a warning.” Aemond taunts. You feel like a giant fist is squeezing your heart, until it turns into a bloodied pulp. You taste the blood on your throat. 

Who is this man, that has taken you from a safe world and dragged you into this hell? This man, who talks of breaking you, of sending you back dishonored and beaten. You do not recognize Aemond. Not even after all the years of taunts and resentment you would have expected anything like this. 

Like a prey animal, you freeze next to the door, hands wringing together anxiously. 

“A lesson.” Another voice joins. Otto Hightower. “But there are more efficient ways to bring down our foes. No. You will take her to wife. Rhaenyra will have to be Queen, of course, but then it shall be her turn…” 

It all turns into static in your ears after that. You probably won’t be raped today, but you might still be. Who knows if Aemond will give up his plan because his mother and grandfather say so? Once, when you thought you knew him, you would have thought you were safe. He would never dare disobey them. But he would never dare suggest raping a woman either, right?

“… Running to a brothel no doubt. Essos, was it?” 

You no longer care about the conversation, but you guess they are speaking of Aegon. It is a mystery how he will fit in their plans. Be it as it may, you don’t intend to find up.  You grab your dagger, and sit on the bed. 

When Aemond enters, this is what he finds. 

You, still wet, dripping water into his bed. Hand holding a dagger to your own throat. 

“Take one step further, I dare you.” You whisper, eyes cold. 

Aemond’s expression darkens. He stands straighter, looking every inch the warrior. His eye moves from your dagger, to your eyes, then back at the dagger.  

“I could take that from you in a moment.” 

“I swear to you, if you step any closer, I will slit my throat and bleed to death right here in your bed.” You tilt your chin up, letting the cold kiss of the blade caress your skin. 

You had heard once of a culture where women would jump into fire pits when their men were defeated in battle, to avoid being dishonored by the conquering armies. It’s not a bad way to die, you think. Sounds less painful than the horrors that await you in this bed. You, too, would prefer death to being brutalized. 

“You are nothing more than a little girl playing pretend.” 

“This is not a game to me.” Aemond steps closer, and you make a slashing motion with the dagger. Blood starts to pool at the cut you make, barely deep enough to leave a mark. You lift the dagger again, set in your grim choice. Death before dishonor. Death before betraying your Queen and becoming a pawn in the Greens desperate bid for power. 

“Wait!” He cries out, eye wide with anger and fear. You imagine his heart must be thumping as loudly as yours was when you heard him proposing to break you as if you were an unwilling mare. “Stop! I will take the blade from you, you stupid…” 

“I’ll be dead before you reach me.” You taunt, with a vicious smile. It feels good, seeing him feel the terror you had felt mere moments before. The dagger rises again, your hand trembling slightly. 

It is not fear. Only an acute feeling of satisfaction, that feels close to sexual arousal, with how good it is. You are under control now. He has taken everything away from you, but he will never be able to take this. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Aemond’s nostrils widen, face twisting into absolute rage. You had thought him a man possessed before, a devil wearing your uncle’s face. But now, he looks beastly, a bull ready to charge and ram anything on his path. You don’t waver. “You are a woman, and you only possess the amount of courage women have.” 

You think of your mother, who took six times to the birthing bed. You think of yourself, all the old hurts that made you who you are. The times you had felt less, the times you had felt scared. And you think of how good it will feel, how much it will scar him if you die in this very room. 

“Put me to the test, then. If you dare. You know nothing of courage, you might surprise yourself.” 

Aemond examines your face. You do not know what he finds there, but it must terrify him, for his hands raise in surrender. 

“Fine. You win. You win, my Princess.” He takes a step back, and then another. You do not lower the blade, still holding it against your throat. You fear he is about to trick you. 

His hand goes to his belt, where his own dagger hangs. Your body coils, ready to spring up into action, but Aemond merely takes the sheat off it and throws it at you. 

“You win. Keep that as your prize.” And he is turning on his heel, and leaving the room. Before he exits, he shouts at you. “I'll send for clothes and a bath, less you catch your death.” 

Without taking your eyes off the door, you lean down and pick up the sheat. You catch a glimpse of your reflection on the metal. For a second, you think you see a woman watching you back, eyes cold as obsidian and a crown of dead flowers in her head. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, chopped off roughly. But when you blink again, the familiar brown eyes you are used to stare back at you. Your braid is slowly coming undone. 

THE SCREAMS YOU let out as Ser Arryk holds you down are more than enough satisfaction for Aemond. He might not be able to break you fully yet, but it's more than enough of a substitute. He imagines what it will be like, chipping your resistance away little by little, and cannot stop the smirk spreading on his face. 

He might not be allowed to rape you, but no one said anything about breaking you. It was fine, really. Rape was nasty business, despite its effectiveness in breaking a person. Aemond could testify to that.

Your dagger had been taken from you early on by the Kingsguard, when you had tried to stab him for holding you down. This time, Aemond wasn’t going to repeat his mistake of allowing you to keep the dagger. 

He strips you down to your chemise, just for the sake of it. He takes a good look at your teats, barely covered by the wet cloth, and trusted outwards with the way Ser Arryk is holding you. At the way your poor little buds stand to attention, even if unwilling. At how the white chemise looks obscenely sheer, clinging to all the curves and dips of your body. 

“No, please. No. I rather die. Don’t… Don’t… No.” You start to cry when your dress is peeled away from you, terrified. Your eyes are wide as saucers. They glint with your tears, highlighting their offending color. Poor little bastard girl, thinking Aemond will get enjoyment out of your body. 

He might. Just not in the way you think. 

“You are pretty when you beg, riñitsos.” 

“Aemond, please. No. I am still a maiden, I can’t…” You choke on a sob, next words unintelligible. 

Ser Arryk looks vaguely uncomfortable. He averts his eyes from the scene unfolding in front of him and stares to the wall, past Aemond, and over your head. 

“They call you the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms.” Aemond comments, idly. He unpins your braid, letting it fall down your back. With Ser Arryk behind you, and him pressing close on your front, there is nowhere for you to run. It’s delightful, the fear on your face. 

Unable to help himself, he pinches one of your breasts, making you yowl like a cat. 

“I like your teats best.” He leers, doing his best to imitate Aegon with the serving girls. It’s not that he is actually getting any sexual satisfaction out of this. This is about control and fear, and you have shown this is what you fear most.  It would be foolish not to take advantage of it. “Do you think they will call you the most beautiful woman, once I am done with you?” 

Ser Arryk looks at you with pity. He leans his head down, perhaps thinking he is being subtle. 

“At ease, Princess. You won’t be harmed.” He whispers. If Aemond had not lost his eye, he might not have heard him. But thanks to your beloved sibling, his hearing is more acute than a normal man’s. “Prince Aemond won’t disobey the Queen. He is only trying to frighten you.” 

Aemond smirks. He tugs at your hair. 

“I am not allowed to dishonor you, of course.” He smiles, pressing the dagger to the part of the braid that lays over your nape. You don’t notice, too busy hiccuping and recoiling in fear. “But I understand nothing done on the marriage bed is dishonorable. We might even call for a bedding, wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“I know no other queen but Rhaenyra Targaryen, queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. And she won’t allow her daughter to marry a craven cripple.” You stand up straighter as you speak, no matter that Ser Arryk is holding you. Your words are as much for the knight as they are for him. 

The urge to slap you, or stab you with the dagger is strong. For a terrifying moment, Aemond fears he might actually go through it, and ruin his grandsire’s plans. Impudent little bitch.

The dagger is so sharp it cuts through your braid in one pass. You howl when you hear something ripping, thinking it might be your chemise, by how you struggle. Aemond smugly presents it to you, some withering marigolds still weaved into the dark hair. 

“Something to send my dear sister.” He says, as he places the two long braids in a silk bag. You cry harder. Aemond wasn’t exposed to you much during your teenage years, but he remembered that as a little girl, your brown, glossy hair had been your pride and joy. A shameful proof of your bastardy, no doubt, but one that everyone complimented. 

You had taken to flaunting it, when older. Wearing flower crowns, and embellishments on it, keeping it long. A girl in the bloom of her maidenhood, more forest nymph than Targaryen Princess. 

And it was all gone. Packed neatly into a silk bag, along with your dagger and red dress. He hoped the old whore howled with the same agony when she opened it.

When Ser Arryk lets go of you, the first thing you do is reach up to feel your hair. A few locks fall from it still, chopped off badly. It is now about the same length as Aegon’s, cut in a way more suitable for men. Your hands are shaking. 

“I’ll never marry you.” You shout. Your eyes are hurt. It doesn’t feel good to be tricked, it seems. “I wish you were dead! I wish Luke had plunged the dagger deep, and cracked open your skull!” 

“You will.” Aemond answers, coldly. He hopes to hurt you as much as your words have hurt him. “For what is a girl to the Iron Throne?” 

He leaves you to your grieving. He would rather not admit it, but deprived of any blades, your words have still managed to cut him. You can be his mother’s problem from now on. 

The next two days are spent into lingering guilt and extraneous exercise. Every time Aemond’s thoughts go back to you, he spars with whoever is available. His whole body hurts by the end of it, and you still haunt him. He might have gone overboard, but he will never admit it out loud. 

There is a dark sense of satisfaction in his stomach. It slips past his guilt, sometimes. The terror on your eyes had been exquisite, worth every reprimand he had gotten afterwards. As he hurt you, putting the fear of the Seven in you, he imagined hurting your bastard of a sibling and finally felt peace. 

It’s best not to think of you. You bring up conflicting feelings and memories, the girl you once were, kind and sweet and the woman you now were, indifferent to him and easily frightened. The images superposed in his mind, betrayed eyes as he proclaimed he was going to dishonor you, crying at the funeral of Laena Velaryon, worried as Daemon whisked away with your mother, as Lucerys appeared covered in blood. 

It is easier to punish keep himself occupied in the training yard. He doesn’t think of you when he spars with the knights or when he swings his sword until his arms feel like they will fall off. Nor when he falls asleep out of sheer exhaustion, bruised black and blue.

Not until his mother comes looking for him. 

At first, he doesn’t notice her presence, busy hacking at straw figures until his arms ache. But she clears his throat many times, forcing him to turn. He does so while still holding the sword. 

His mother looks odd in the training grounds. She is small, almost dainty looking, a flame of green standing among the mud. Aemond approaches her in four short strides. 

“Mother. Is something the matter?” 

“The girl is sick.” She says, a troubled frown on her beautiful face. Aemond has always admired her grace and beauty, and even though life has been cruel to her, she has only cultivated it more. She is what she thinks all women should be, gracious and pious. If it had been up to him, he would have married someone like her, he thinks. Her only flaw is her sentimentality.

“Get her a Maester.” Aemond says, annoyed at being interrupted by something so trivial. You probably have a cold, foolish girl that you are, having insisted on staying in your wet clothes and refusing a hot bath. 

“I got her plenty. She nearly scratched the eyes off one, and when they tried to give her Milk of the Poppy…” His mother makes a pained face. Aemond doesn’t want to know. Truly, whatever you had done was probably willful and cruel. Gods, why did he have to marry you? You weren’t demure, you weren’t pious and you certainly weren’t gracious. “She is now refusing food.” 

“Let her starve off. When she is hungry enough, she will eat.” 

“The girl can’t die, Aemond.” His mother grabs his arm, brown eyes filled with mania.  “It would mean war. They say Rhaenyra has scoured the Seven Kingdoms each night on dragonback since she disappeared. She has only calmed after receiving the package, but negotiations are not going well.” 

He stays quiet. His mother glares. 

Aemond hates that his mother is still so attached to his sister, even after all the time that has gone by. He had never intended to be a part of this hare-brained scheme to save them all, much less her. He had not taken you because he had some great political ploy to put in place and needed you as his figurehead. 

Aemond had been thinking of something much more simple. Your family owed him a debt, and it was going to be paid in fire and blood. If he couldn’t have Lucerys’ eye, he would have yours. Or your maidenhead. Or any blood he could draw out of you, he wasn’t picky. 

If someone had asked him, he would have preferred Aegon as King. It was much simpler and the way things should be. 

“What am I supposed to do?” He asks after a while because he is sure you will not listen to him. 

“Convince her.” His mother orders, and Aemond sets down his sword and goes to your room. 

To get inside, he has to enlist two Kingsguard and a blacksmith. You have not spent your time free from his mother idle, it seems. Instead, you have moved a dresser or some sort of heavy furniture in front of the door. 

The blacksmith has to pop the hinges off the door, and only then, Aemond and the Kingsguard get to move the dresser and unblock the path inside. How you managed on your own, he has no idea. 

When he steps in, the smell of vomit and old sweat hits his nose. It’s revolting. There are several plates and cups upturned and laying in disarray over the rug, staining what once was pure white fur. A pomegranate, cut in half, has rolled to a corner. It is your favorite, but it lies untouched. 

Aemond’s annoyance spikes. He knows you are aware he has you situated on what were his personal chambers. The careless destruction you have left on your wake irks him. 

“Lady Strong.” He mocks. “Where are you?” 

His bed is unmade, missing the covers. Aemond checks inside the dresser that had taken three men to move and finds nothing. He then checks under the bed. Nothing either. 

It is only when he checks the bathing chamber that he finds you, sprawled on the floor. The covers are forming a cocoon around you, and your forehead is pressed tightly to the cold tiles. You only wear a sleeping shift. 

Your eyes are open and feverish, face sweaty and tinted red. You don’t seem to recognize him, but your head lifts slightly at the sound of the door opening. 

“Seven Hells.” 

The looking glass is smashed on the floor. You clutch a shard in your fist, tight enough to bleed as it digs into your skin. 

“I will not be drugged again.” You say, voice barely more than a rasp. “And I do not want a Maester.” 

“You are in no position to make demands.” 

“If you force me again to do something I do not want…” You trail off, clutching the shard more tightly. He should take it from you, but you look half mad already. If he hands you back to your mother like this, war will be inevitable. He doesn’t dare push you farther. 

“May I touch you?” Aemond asks, instead. 

“Since when do you ask for permission?” You lay your head down, once again pressing it to the tiles. 

“Come.” He grabs your arms, pulling you to your feet. Your skin is concerningly hot. Burning up, truly. “I’ll send for a lukewarm bath. And this time, you will take it.” 

You stagger. Your movements are sluggish, and your eyes are glassy. 

“I do not want anything from you.” But you lean on him, allowing Aemond to take you away from the broken shards on the floor. You are not wearing slippers or socks. 

“Let me get you a Maester.” Aemond offers, getting you to the bed. You land on it without any grace, and promptly begin to kick the covers away.

“I do not want a Maester. I want… My mother has a midwife.” It is as puzzling as it is unexpected. A midwife tending to a princess. His mother would have kittens.

“Are you pregnant?” You had thrown up, after all. The room smelled like bile, so much it was upsetting even Aemond’s stomach. He fought the urge to gag himself. 

“No. But she knows how to cure other ailments. Upset stomachs, colds.” 

“Do you feel nauseous?” 

You shake your head. Aemond’s grip on you tightens. 

“Don’t lie to me. It reeks of vomit here.” 

“Your mother put Milk of the Poppy in my food. I threw it up.” You deadpan. 

“You induced…?” Aemond is not sure which one is more interesting. His mother drugging you? Oh, you must have been throwing a spectacular tantrum. The fact that you were ruthless enough to force yourself to retch shouldn't be so surprising, though. You had been ruthless enough to threaten to kill yourself, twice. 

“Yes. And I won’t eat or drink anything else after that, you snake. Bitch. Alicent is… Daemon used a word…” You mumble to yourself. 

“What do you want me to do?” Aemond asks, frustrated. Why must women give him such grief? First Vhagar, with her willfulness and refusal to heed commands. Then his mother and her hare brained schemes to protect Rhaenyra. And now you. He must be cursed. 

You ignore him, eyelids growing heavy. 

“Cunt.” You say, after a while. You laugh. 

Aemond sighs. He sends for a lukewarm bath and some servants to tidy up the room. It will not be an easy night, it seems. 

“PRINCESS, PRINCE AEMOND is requesting entrance.” Ellia says, softly. You turn to look at her, from your place on the bed. You close the book on your lap.

The girl has been your constant companion ever since the incident. To ensure nothing untoward happens, said Aemond, and that you feel safe. She had kept watch over you as your fever broke, her hawk eyes following Aemond as he tended to you.

“Tell him I wish to bathe first.” You decide to test him, once again. Your uncle seems more in control of himself lately, but you still feel on edge around him. Aemond had shattered your trust in him and in men in general. 

You cannot bear to look at Ser Arryk. Your shame is too great. To think he had held you, and looked as Aemond…

No. You cannot think like that. Not with the news from Dragonstone. The negotiations are going better, it seems. Your mother has been considering leaving you here, from what Aemond says. 

Her betrayal hurts. You have always known Jacaerys was her favorite, but this is low, even for her. She is probably making more children with Daemon, trueborn and ready to contest your claim. Your suffering will mean nothing in the end, not even with Alicent’s plans. 

It is beyond cruel, to allow you to hope that you will get the Iron Throne. Not when she is throwing you to Aemond as a sacrifice. Is this what maidens in your tales had felt, when they were used to appease an ancient deity that asks for a price in blood?

Your mother has abandoned you. You are alone in this world. 

“The Princess says you cannot come in now, for she wishes to bathe.” You hear Ellia speak, her voice hard. You do not listen to Aemond’s answer, but considering Ellia comes back in and starts getting things ready for your bath, you guess he was not angered. 

“He asked that you not get dressed yet. He wishes to examine you.” Ellia says, helping you sink into the water. You keep your eyes on the ceiling, not wishing to look at your reflection. You already know what you will find. Dark circles under your eyes, unflattering haircut, skin waxy and pale.  As if all life had been robbed off you. 

You try to avoid her, this stranger wearing your face. She looks like the woman you had seen reflected on metal during your first day here. More ghoul than woman, all hail the Queen of the Seven Hells.  

That Aemond wishes to examine you doesn’t surprise you. He has been taking care of you since you have gotten sick. You were quite fearful of Maesters, both for being men and for what you had seen them do to your grandfather. Even in a feverish daze, you had refused them. 

Alicent hadn’t respected your choice then. But unexpectedly, Aemond had. Considering his uncouth and terrifying behavior before, you weren’t inclined to trust him, but had little choice. The feverish version of you was as weak as a kitten, and unable to resist his tender care. You feel lucky that you survived with your maidenhead intact. 

Once you are done with your bath, you dress in another shift, a cotton one that buttons all the way to your neck. You sit primly on your bed, covers drawn up to your waist. Ellia brushes your short hair, making tears well up in your eyes. 

Your mother had called it once the crown you never took off. A lion’s mane, for her brave girl. You had never imagined it could be taken away so easily. Gone were the elaborate braids adorned with flowers. You couldn’t even pin it back now. 

Aemond knocks. You brush your tears away. When he enters, you look perfectly composed. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, sitting on the side of the bed. He places a parcel down next to you. “I brought you a gift. Thought it may cheer you up.” 

You ignore him. Aemond sighs. 

“It’s a dress. And a cloak. The dress comes from Highgarden, it has flowers embroidered on it. I got you a brooch to wear with the cloak, too. It’s a silver marigold. You like marigolds.” He explains. Your expression doesn’t change. You stare resolutely at the wall. It is not the first time he tries to bribe you with presents.

His regret is not sincere. Not when he takes advantage of every chance to touch you, and make your skin crawl. Yet again, you have to get used to it. 

No way out in the underworld but through. Best to not look back. If he wishes to exercise casual cruelty to feel better about himself, good for him. You would do the same if you were allowed. 

“I am going to check your lungs now.” Aemond says, and you tense. His hands slowly open your nightgown, with great care. Your breasts are exposed, so you cross your arms over your chest to cover them. 

Shame and fear make you feel like you are about to throw up. You remember his hands, and the way he had cruelly pinched you, as Ser Arryk forced you into position. You jerk your head away. 

You will marry him. That is what Alicunt says. You must endure his touch, and provide heirs for the Iron Throne. The thought sickens you. 

Aemond grabs at your wrists, pulling them away. To your utter embarrassment, the thought of being restrained makes you freeze with fear, and begin to tear up. 

“I think you can listen to her back.” Ellia says, sharply. She draws your shift closed, with a harsh tug. The girl is a few years younger than you, but she is fierce and outspoken. You wonder who chose her for this job. She is perfect for it.  

“I…” Aemond stammers, taken aback. He isn’t very used to being told off by the help. “You are right. I apologize, Princess.” 

He buttons your shift again. You stay very still, waiting for him to push you forward and press his ear to your back. But nothing happens. Ellia’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, clutching you tightly.

“I have made a right mess of things, haven’t I?” Aemond asks, after a while. You are unsure if he is speaking to Ellia or to you. His lips form a bitter smile. “Fuck. What have I done?” 

He rubs his good eye, almost punishingly. You feel very numb. Something broke in you that night, something that you do not think can be fixed. He had not taken your maidenhood, but he had certainly taken your innocence. 

“I apologize. I behaved in ways that are not befitting of my station, and much less…” 

“I don’t think I can forgive you.” You interrupt, before Aemond thinks he can begin spouting out some remorseful tirade and get things to how they were before. Your relationship with him cannot be mended. 

There was once a string connecting the two of you. It had been pulled tight by the years and disagreements among your families. Despite it, the thread gave. It stretched, and tensed, and never snapped. But Aemond had pulled it too hard this time.

The string is no more. It lays broken between you two. He is no longer the boy who had played with your brothers. Now, he is just a cruel man. A small, bitter, man. 

“It is one of those things you don’t really forget, I suppose. I know a bit about that.” He gestures to his eye patch. You wonder if his string with Luke had been cut by your brother that night. You wonder if your pain and his are comparable. 

The both of you stare at each other. You place your hands on your lap. 

“You will be pleased to know your Green Lady is doing well. She will be able to travel in about a week.” He comments, seemingly out of nowhere. A way out. Ellia doesn’t notice, still standing behind you.

“I wish to be Queen.” You answer him, also seemingly out of nowhere. Your heart aches for a whole different reason. All of your suffering would be in vain if you heed his advice. You would be another Queen that never was. 

“Would you like some jewelry, next time I visit you?” 

“My mother prefers Jace over me.” You have nowhere to go. You look up at him, and try to convey that no matter how much you may wish it, your mother would never forgive you. Not after being so close to getting everything she wants. 

“Aegon is in Essos.” Aemond suggests, a strange look on his face. It is then you realize this is his attempt at doing you a kindness. Sparing you. Apologizing. 

Have you grown so used to cruelty you do not recognize kindness anymore? 

“I wish to be Queen.” You repeat. You wonder what he thinks of this cold woman that you have become. The one that only wishes for a single thing: A crown. “I will think of travels then.” 

Your mother appears on King’s Landing a few days after. She comes with Daemon, your siblings, Rhaena and Baela and even Princess Rhaenys. It seems she has taken every dragonrider available with her, to show both the common folk and the Greens that the might of House Targaryen stands behind her. 

You have dressed today, which is a miracle on itself. You have not really been feeling up for anything. The dress you wear is a sober, red velvet gown. There are no flowers in sight. 

“Mother.” You greet when she dismounts from Syrax. For a second, you think of running towards her dragon and taking to the skies. Your mother used to take you riding with her as a child. Perhaps Syrax will still recognize you now. 

“My wonderful girl.” The endearment is new. She looks half mad with worry, crossing the courtyard in one long stride. You curtsy, but she grabs your hands before you can sink into it, and pulls you for a hug. 

Her hands shake as she smooths the short strands down. 

“What have they done to you? Your hair… And you are much too thin.” She sobs into your shoulder. Her embrace is comforting, making you melt into her. You start to chastise yourself for judging her too harshly. She must have been doing her best to get you back, but wars were difficult. More so among kin. “I am so sorry, I never intended for any of this to happen.” 

You think of your imminent wedding. Of the six moons you will spend at Dragonstone, with only Aemond to keep you company. Of Alicent’s cruel eyes as she told you to get used to it, for Aemond would have a right to touch you from now on. I have suffered, her brown eyes seemed to say, so every woman must too. 

“Why did you agree?” You ask her, brown eyes meeting lilac. You need to know.

“To save your life.” She whispers. “To stop a war.” 

But her eyes tell a different story.  When you look over her shoulder, you see Daemon being greeted by the Goldcloaks, a smug smile on his face. 

What is a girl to the Iron Throne?

Your smile falls. There is a terrible feeling on your chest, as if your heart, which had been beating so merrily, has just about turned into stone. 

You remove yourself from your mother’s embrace. The pomegranate you had for breakfast tastes like ashes on your tongue.

YOU SPEND MOST of your time reading. Hiding away in the library, where you enjoy pretending Aemond can’t reach you. 

Aemond doesn’t understand it. Dragonstone is so big you could go on with your day as normal and never cross paths with him. But he leaves you be, just as he had left you be during the wedding night. It seems to help you. 

He dedicates his time to exploring the island instead. Unlike you, Aemond won’t get to leave it while you go back to King’s Landing. Nor is he allowed any visits. It feels suspiciously like a punishment, perhaps for what he almost dared do to you. 

He is sure his uncle is behind this. It reeks of him. Exile with only you for company? Surely, your mother wouldn’t be so cruel, more thoughtful of what he could do to her precious daughter. But Daemon? He would find it outrageously funny. 

The island is very intriguing to walk. There are several dragons here, and Aemond recognizes them all. There is the Cannibal, and the Sheepstealer, Silverwing, Verminthor. He had been fascinated by them as a child, when he had no dragon of his own. 

Vhagar seems happier here. He supposes it is much better than the confinement of the dragonpit. But your dragon, the pampered green thing, seems to hate it. Competing for food is not something she cares for. 

Aemond wonders if he will get to see the dragons reproduce. With all the spare time he has, he might as well solve the mystery. He could do some research, but the library is your domain. He would have to wait for you to retire for the day. You spend almost all your waking hours there.

What in the Seven Hells could you be doing? You had not been the studious type as a child. Nor had you been energetic like your brothers. You reminded him more of Helaena, but instead of insects, your obsession was flowers. 

He tries to think of something else, but he is so bored and his curiosity is piqued. His feet lead him to the library almost without meaning to. 

Aemond often does things out of sheer curiosity that he later regrets. The first time he had fucked a woman had been the product of that, and it had left him feeling ashamed and unsure, but wanting more. It had been the oddest thing. 

He had claimed Vhagar only to see if he could, too. He had made that cursed toast, wanting to hurt the four of you, but also curious about what your reactions would be. Watching Aegon slam Lucerys against the table would be forever one of his fondest memories, but the scolding after… 

You are sitting at a table near the window. Sunlight hits you from the side, giving your brown hair an almost golden glow and bathing your features in a soft chiaroscuro. Thick tomes are spread around you, bearing oddly familiar titles. 

“The art of war. Seven accounts of the battle for Dragonstone. Ten thousand ships. The first dornish war, a treaty.” He whistles, unable to help himself. It is quite the collection. “Are you planning on declaring war already, niece?” 

You startle. The quill you are holding falls from your hand. 

“Husband.” You say, tone haughty. “If you must know, I am trying to learn strategy.”

“Strategy?” Aemond echoes. It’s not something he is very well acquainted with himself. He has some knowledge about it, from books and listening to his grandfather and Cole, but he is nowhere near an expert. His intellectual pursuits had been centered around philosophy and history, more than this. When he read about wars, he often glossed over the accounts about formations and such, more interested in the economical and political ramifications of them. 

Strategy was also something a father should teach. Viserys had never been too interested in it, having not seen battle himself. What he had learned had come from observing Cole. Never having been at war, it was challenging to conclude if he had the right of things. 

“I plan to be a good Queen.” You answer him, closing your book. Your tone is awfully civil. “And education is the greatest equalizer.” You give him a pointed look. Equals. You want to even the playing field between the two of you, so he can never frighten you again. How funny this is the topic you choose to learn. 

“You shouldn’t worry about that.” Aemond snorts. “I hardly know about it myself.” 

“But you are a man.” You say, astonished. “Surely, you were taught! Daemon taught Jace, someone had to…” 

“My father was never interested.” He leans against the window, observing you. You observe him back, eyes glued to his hands as if you expect him to lunge at you and stab you. “How come Daemon didn’t teach you too?” He stresses your stepfather’s name. 

“I am a woman.” You say, bitterly. “He thought my time was best spent learning to sing and play an instrument, so I could secure a good match.” 

“He never seems to disapprove of the womanliness of your mother.” He arches an eyebrow because while his uncle might not be a good role model, he is exemplary when it comes to marital devotion. 

“Doesn’t he? He has her popping out babes like there is no tomorrow.” You start gathering your parchment and quills. You have a small bound book inside which everything goes. Aemond had seen you with it before, but he had thought it a diary, not a set of instructions on how to go about a siege. 

Showed how much he knew you. Go figure. 

“You find having babes demeaning?” 

Your expression turns positively murderous. Children seem not to be a good topic of conversation. This will probably become a problem later on, when the two of you need children of your own. He makes a mental note of it and moves on. 

“His word is law. Or used to be, in our home. She defers to him.” You say, tone bitter. Daemon has fallen out of your good graces. Aemond almost wishes to travel to the Red Keep with you when spring starts, to see what you will do to him. Almost. 

There would be nothing that could prompt him to enjoy his sister’s court. He refuses. 

“Perhaps they are partners, and she seeks his counsel.” Aemond offers if only to irritate you. He is starved for intelligent conversation, and if he has to defend Daemon to keep you talking, he will. His boredom is driving him mad. There is nothing to do here beyond eat, sleep and train. 

“He is great at it, just like you.” You say, coldly. Then, you say something very interesting. You repeat the same words that he had said to you once. “What is a girl to the Iron Throne?” 

“Ah.” 

So your resentment towards Daemon wasn’t about favoring your brother, or fucking more brats into your mother, but rather much more simplistic. You felt as if he had chosen to sacrifice you, so your mother could get her throne. Fascinating. 

An angel passes between the two of you. Aemond can almost feel its wings brushing against him. Then, you inhale, sharply, and break the silence.

“So. Strategy. You should learn too.”

“You think war will come for us? And here I thought you trusted Jacaerys.” Aemond mocks.

“Let’s not delude ourselves.” You say, touching a strand of your hair. Brown. Strong brown. “There are new players in the game.”

Your mother’s babes, Aemond thinks. Daemon’s trueborn sons. Like a monster of myths, you cut one head and two more appear. You had disarmed your opponents in this generation, making them toothless dragons. Aemond was chained to you, Aegon in Essos, Helaena in Oldtown with her children. But as dragons tended to do, there were new ones hatching already.

War would come for you. And him. Aemond had never truly imagined himself sitting on the Iron Throne, he had been born a supporter. He had always thought he would stand behind a King.

But just as Daemon Targaryen, he could stand behind a Queen instead.

“So we learn, wife. And we fight.” Aemond sits across you and reaches for his own tome. Prince consort of Westeros had a nice ring to it. Perhaps his uncle was onto something.

You eye him warily. But you go back to pouring over your book, shoulders relaxing slightly.

It takes a few weeks of repeating the same routine, the two of you reading side by side during the afternoon, for you to warm up to him. Timidly, you show up to break your fast with him one day and never leave.

He is an early riser, always making use of the training yard before the sun is out. You never wake as early, but you need to do it if you wish to catch him before he starts his day. You manage to be out of bed at sunrise every morning that week. Aemond doesn’t comment on your change of habits. He is not sure that he wants to stop it.

“Aemond.” You say, one day, as he peels a pomegranate for you. It’s not like he is doing you a favor, really. It is for his own good. Your hands are small, and you press too hard to break the seeds out, making a mess of the whole table. It’s best if he does it and saves himself from being sprayed with the red liquid. He finds it stains terribly. Your tiny hands always end up red for days, and it’s not proper at all for the future Queen of Westeros. “Could you…?”

“What?” He cuts the pomegranate into quarters and pops the seeds out, placing them in a bowl. He slides them towards you, with a spoon. Savage thing that you are, you might end up digging right in with your hands.

“You owe me a debt.”

“I do?” He startles. Aemond is unsure what you are talking about, but his guts twists. You have a long memory, he has come to learn. And an intrinsic ability to quote his own words back at him at the most inopportune moments.

“What you did was awful, and while our truce has been pleasant, I wish to forgive you. And for that to happen, you will do something for me.” Your voice is careful and steady. There are no tears in your eyes. Only the slight shaking of your hands as you reach for the spoon betrays the scars that evening had left in you.

Aemond doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. He wipes his hands with a napkin. The stains on his hands look awfully like blood, and they won’t come out, no matter how hard he tries.

“Who says I want your forgiveness?” He deflects. He does want it. But this past few weeks, pretending to be a normal marriage, have been too blissful to risking upsetting the delicate balance the two of you had found by ignoring the past.

“I do.”

Aemond looks at you. You are a bit pale, but your expression is calm. It relaxes him slightly, knowing that you are at ease.

“What I want is to get out of this damn island.” And it is true. He needs to get out of here, or he fears he might go mad. Seven Hells, Aemond fears he might already be. When had he started worrying about how you felt? Thinking of you as an ally and not a ball and chain?

“That won’t happen in the near future.”

“You are not my jailer.”

“Am I not?” You smile at him, deliciously wicked. It seems the little dragon is waking up, ready to torch everything in her path. Aemond’s scar starts to throb. He can tell something bad is about to happen. This doesn’t feel like your usual banter. “You want to rule. But before me, you were nothing. Only a second son.”

“And before me, you were nothing. Just a whore to throw at Cregan Stark and see if the damn dog was led by his cock enough to support your cunt of a mother.” Aemond’s mouth works faster than his brain. He is just so angry at hearing you say he was only a second son that his words come out before he can stop them.

You laugh. It only irritates him further. He feels as if he is unraveling, coming apart at the seams, but he just can’t stop it.

“Well, look at us. We made each other worse.” There is a smile in your lips, a coy, infuriating little thing. Insolent, impudent, just as your mother. He had been so wrong calling you a bastard. You are all dragon. “But you will earn my forgiveness, if you wish to share my bed.”

And it infuriates him, your presumption. That he will fall at your feet like a lovesick fool because you paid him some attention. Aemond half lunges at you, barely managing to stop himself from throttling you.

“You whore! I could just use you.”

You jump too. Your cutlery falls to the floor. Your eyes are alarmed. It is only then he notices what he has said. Aemond has crossed the line he had sworn he would never touch again.

“I am sorry. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. It was in poor taste, of course.”

Your eyes keep darting from him towards the exit. You are terrified, eyes both looking at him and somewhere far away. Are you there again, Aemond wonders? In that room with Ser Arryk and a version of him consumed by his bloodlust?

The next time you speak, your voice is but a whisper.

“You never think. That’s the issue.”

Aemond swallows. He has broken things once again, but he doesn’t know how to mend them. He needs to fix it.

“What did you need? The favor, what were you going to ask?”

Your lips turn white with the force you are using to keep them pressed together.

“It’s best I don’t.”

He thinks of you sitting in the library, hands smoothing down your parchment. Education is the greatest equalizer, you had said. An idea sprouts, half formed. As always, his mouth is speaking before his mind has time to catch up.

“If you knew how to wield a sword, would you feel safer? If I taught you to defend yourself?”

“I do not think…”

“I will let you trash me around the training yard, even.” Aemond offers because maybe wearing some of your bruises will help him feel better. Punish himself by letting you have a go at him.

“Fine.”

You are a good student. Despite an initial hesitance to be near him, you thrive on the training yard. You use your smaller form to your advantage, twisting and ducking in impossible ways. All those dance lessons seem to have paid off. You are light on your feet. He might make a swordswoman out of you yet.

“Do you think I could find Rhaenys’ sword?” You ask him, one day, as you laze on a rock. You are watching him hack at a straw opponent. The sun is hitting you just right, and lazy cat that you are, you are soaking it all up. “She had to have one.”

“Probably. But you think it is here?” Aemond pauses, out of breath. He sets his sword down and wipes the sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt. Your eyes trail his movements with barely concealed interest. It is a recent development.

“Where else?”

“Essos? Sold by pirates?” He offers, very reasonably. You have a tendency to daydream, he knows. Despite being a cold, calculating thinker, ready to go to war for your crown, you are still a young woman. Aemond doesn’t have the heart to tell you Rhaenys might not have even had a sword. It would shatter you.

You huff.

“You lack a sense of adventure.”

It is how he ends up joining you in a chase around Dragonstone. The castle is scoured from top to bottom, running up flights of stairs, scandalizing the servants and opening up secret passages. You force him out of his boredom and actually get him interested in discovering the castle’s secrets.

Aemond's chest hurts when he thinks of what he will do when spring comes, and you are not there to distract him. It is probably the sappy thought that distracts him, truly.

He falls down a flight of stairs, over his ankle. It hurts like the Seven Hells. It’s nothing compared to the loss of his eye, but it does make him cry out in surprise.

“Sprained.” The Maester says, as you fuzz over him. It bars him from running around the island, so you invite him to listen to your tenants.

Aemond finds holding court in Dragonstone is not as dreadfully boring as he had feared. He supposes he will have to do it in your stead when you travel. He despises the thought.

But what he finds he enjoys more, is being your sword. No matter that you are growing more adept with yours, Aemond rather likes standing menacingly behind you to intimidate the men that dare interrupt you.

It spirals out of control when winter starts. Aemond has commissioned you a small diadem in the shape of a flower crown, and he gifts it to you just as the last leave falls from the trees in your garden. Dragonstone is hard-pressed for flowers during summer as it is, much more in autumn.

“You have not worn flower crowns in a while.” He offers, as the only explanation, when he places it on your hair. You smile, admiring the glittering jewels on the top of your head in the looking glass.

“I love it.” And your eyes meet his in the reflection, and Aemond has to look away because he fears what he will say if you look at him a moment longer.

He focuses his gaze on your shoulders instead. You aren’t tense any longer, and you seem unburdened for the first time in a long time. He is slowly starting to see flashes of the girl you used to be, the one that would fill rooms with laughter and sunlight.

He finds himself drawing strength from the memory as the morning progresses. The petitioners today have been especially irritating, and a gruesome case has been presented for the Princess to pass her judgement.

A woman with a scarred back is brought before you, still bleeding from a lashing. The wounds seem to have cured badly, due to her lack of access to a Maester. As you had sent her to the one in the castle, the husband had been brought in front of you, and Aemond knew with just a look that he was going to be trouble.

He had tuned out the words you were speaking, choosing instead to stand behind you, a hand in the back of your chair. But it is as you sentence the man to a week in the dungeons, that he hears it.

“… You are a child. I won’t allow a child, wearing a flower crown, to dictate how to discipline my wife!” He bellows out, and makes to lunge at you.

You flinch. Your expression, relaxed, turns into a frown. He can tell you are embarrassed about it, your crown of flowers. You had not worn them ever since that meeting in Storm’s End.

The guards step forward, ready to intervene. But Aemond’s blood is boiling because how this did man dare mock his gift to you? Who was he to mock you for who you were, when it had taken you so much effort to go back to a semblance of normalcy?

“My wife may wear all the flower crowns she wishes, for she is to be Queen of Westeros.” He says, stepping forward before the guards can do anything. He unsheats his sword. Aemond cannot hurt him, not yet, but putting the fear of the Seven in him will be delightful regardless.

“If you think anyone will support this… This…” The man argues, pushing him and trying to intimidate Aemond with his bulk. Aemond lets himself be shoved, smirking. Got you, he thinks.

“That is treason. Do you know the punishment for treason?” He asks, very calmly. He raises his sword. The man, busy glaring at him, doesn’t see it.

“It’s the truth! She is as touched in the head as…” But before the man can finish his comparison, Aemond beheads him.

“Aemond!” You scream. He smirks.

“He was growing tiresome.”

Aemond goes back to standing behind you, feeling rather pleased with himself. After that, no man dares raise their voice at you.

Spring and summer are unbearable months in Dragonstone. Aemond entertains himself with keeping your lands in order. He patrols the island daily, and makes sure to handle petitions the way you would like it done.

The day the first leaf falls, you arrive on dragonback. You jump out of your saddle as soon as you see him, tumbling out into his arms.

By the Seven, if Aemond hadn’t caught you, you would have broken a bone.

“You are back.” He says, a bit perplexed by your enthusiasm.

“It is my home, is it not?” You say, smile bright and smelling of flowers. The diadem he has gifted you with shines on your dark hair.

“Oh.” Aemond says, as if struck by lighting. “I…” He has been a fool, hasn’t he?

You surge forward, placing one of your hands on his shoulder and tangling the other in his hair, and you crash your lips to his. You are so warm against him, so small, and there is fire in his veins instead of blood, spreading through his body, reaching his heart and setting him aflame with just one touch.

You smile against his mouth, a smug, infuriating thing. He kisses back, harder, crowding you against your dragon. You fall back against her, and he follows, giving a teasing squeeze to your waist.

You pull back.

“It is good to be home.”

“Indeed.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

DETAILED TW: Aemond knows reader is scared of rape, he feigns he is about to do it to her to scare her. He has thought of the reader in sexual ways, but it is clear in the scene he doesn’t intend to go through it since it is told from his pov. He does grope the reader. Reader threatens with suicide to avoid rape. Twice. Pretty much dark fic.

[storiesoflilies]

school bus love

synopsis: he wasn’t the kind of boy who was noticed first, but when she finally saw him, the world made just a little bit more sense.

pairing: teen!toji fushiguro x teen!f!reader

warnings: none.

a/n: hello my lovelies! here’s a little piece of lily lore, and just a smidgen of my heart sprinkled into it too. this is based on the very first time i laid eyes on my boyfriend when we were young and seventeen <3 if anybody wants a continuation of this, do let me know :) enjoy xo

drabble series link. // part 2

how strange it was to leave behind everything you had ever known for your whole life, all in pursuit of the future you wanted for yourself.

the tips of her fingers were ice-cold, with nail beds dipped in a light blue hue, and puffs of her breath came out in whispy swirls. there was no sun in the sky, only grey clouds promising sleet and snow, near slips on the icy asphalt. she stared down the road, shoving her hands into her blazer pockets, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet. she thought of home, knowing it most certainly wouldn’t be this cold there.

her bus buddy was standing beside her, careful not to lean against the wet stone wall behind them, while she typed frantically on her phone. the younger kids around them chattered away without a care in the world, still viewing the cold world around them through rose-tinted glasses, their zest for life seeming invincible.

she thought about how it didn’t seem all that long ago that she was just like them, only on the other side of the world.

“hey, by the way, my friend says she’s going to join us today,” her buddy announced, flicking her hair over her shoulder with an air of nonchalance. “she gets on at the next stop.”

“sure, yeah,” she replied, not really knowing what else she could say, and acutely aware that her opinion held quite little value.

this was a whole new world to her, a completely different way of life than before. she wasn’t used to having to learn all to navigate through the intricate social rules that came with enrolling in a school where students had known each other since they were toddlers. it was hard, and so very isolating. she didn’t like how subdued she had become and clung desperately to the hope that things would get better.

her bus buddy carried herself with her chin stuck in the air, clearly relishing in how much she didn’t know about anything at all, and was more than happy to share and gossip. she told her about who was in each friend group, where they all liked to drink in secret at the weekends, and who was dating who. menial things too, like how they had somehow earned the right to sit at the back of the bus simply because they were older, and how sitting anywhere else would garner harsh stares, as if she’d grown two heads.

not that any of it really mattered to her. she was just living on a big floating rock amidst the stars and inky black expanse of the universe, and was only here to finish her high school education and move onto bigger and brighter things.

hopefully.

as if on cue, the headlights of the bus shone through the misty air, coming to a screeching halt at the bus stop. she breathed out a sigh of relief, taking her hands out of her pocket and blowing hot air into them, rubbing them together in anticipation.

“fuck, fuck, c’mon let’s get on quick and get good spots,” her friend ushered, clearly impatient. “c’mon, before all the boys get here.”

they pushed through the throng of kids clambering onto the bus, and she felt a stab of guilt, although she was grateful to be getting out of the cold. her bus buddy ostentatiously plonked herself right onto a comfy spot in the back corner, and she slowly took the seat opposite to her.

“you think the boys are going to say anything?” she asked, slightly nervous, not wanting to be stuck in the middle of a confrontation.

her friend snorted. “who gives a shit if they do?”

heat rose to the back of her neck, and she rubbed it shyly, placing her backpack onto the floor between her legs. her friend was already texting again on her phone, paying her no attention, and she busied herself with trying to fish for her earbuds, and perhaps an old memory hidden somewhere in her pockets.

soon enough, she heard the familiar sounds of the boys whooping and boisterous voices approaching the end of the bus, and she shrank further into the safety of her crevice.

“hey hey hey! the fuck’s goin on here?” droned the familiar voice of satoro gojo, who was looking at them both with a disgusted crinkle of his perfect nose.

“shut up, gojo,” her friend spat back, sitting up straighter in her seat, glaring daggers at satoru that dared him to try and say anything else. “we were here first.”

satoru seemed to concede, albeit quite obviously begrudgingly. “whatever,” he mumbled, then returned to talking about whatever the rest of them were conversing about before.

the rest of the boys clambered into the seats, with satoro and suguru geto beside each other to the far left of them, with kento nanami sliding politely onto the seat beside her, quietly apologizing for brushing his leg against hers.

and then.

he sat down across from her, right beside her friend.

he, a boy with gorgeous dark hair and even more beautiful green eyes, immediately put his feet up in the tiny sliver of space between her and nanami. he who was big and broad, just exactly her type, and deliciously handsome. she was almost shell-shocked. had she ever seen this boy before in the two months she’d been here? something inside her told her that she had, but this had to be the first time she was really seeing him.

he glanced at her before immediately putting his headphones over his ears, tuning out the sound of the bus engine rumbling and sputtering.

she bit her lip and mirrored him, ignoring that familiar boom! badum! boom! of her heart.

the world flashed with a shade of rosy pink promises.

the universe smirked at her.

general taglist (open): @tadabzzzbee

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[sweetenerobert]

𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖

DAY FOUR OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

oberyn martell x male!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, MINORS DNI, modern au

prompt: cuckhold au + "i can't stop thinking about how perfect we would be together." "crawl to me"

summary: trying to think of ways to get back at your boyfriend for cheating on you; the result is you having sex with your nemesis, oberyn martell, in front of him

warnings: infidelity, cocky!oberyn, breeding kink, dirty talking, fingering, edging, mild praising kink, male masturbation, use of a vibrator, unprotected p in a, oral sex, spitting, handjob, cuckolding kink! (forced cuckholding ;)), no use of y/n

word count: 5.0k

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a/n: dividers by @saradika

a/n: I FORGOT ABOUT THIS! SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER! SCHOOL TOOK OVER MY LIFE, consider this a Christmas gift, that's been in my drafts for months

The noises played in your head like a neverending record. The moans, the yelps. The squeaking, your boyfriend’s voice – all those noises played in your head. You came home early from work, noticed your boyfriend was also home, and didn’t think of it. That’s when you went upstairs and made a dreadful discovery. You saw your boyfriend fucking someone else – a woman, in your bed. And you hated yourself that you stayed at your door, knowing that it would make your stomach churn and twist with each moan escaping her lips.

You’d left right before your boyfriend had cum – not wanting to bear with that, you went and acted like you weren’t there. You had driven to your favorite coffee shop and ordered a coffee, and you’d been sitting next to the large floor-to-ceiling window ever since. You often kept glancing at other people and noticing groups of friends and couples, and you wanted to cry; seeing the couples reminded you a lot of you and your boyfriend until your gaze landed on Oberyn Martell.

You and Oberyn weren’t the closest bunch – you practically despised him, and he enjoyed making your life hell on earth at work. The both of you worked together, and you loved your job but despised Oberyn – and hated that stupid nickname he gave you: Dove.

You drove your gaze back to the window, hoping he didn’t see you. Your curiosity got the best of you as you slowly glanced toward Oberyn’s position, and you saw him glancing at you – quickly looking back at the window, shaking your leg, hoping he didn’t see you.

Once you heard a chair screech in front of you, you knew it was undeniably Oberyn sitting in front of you. You could feel his penetrable gaze traveling on you. This feeling of sadness turned into a feeling of annoyance, and you were ready to thrash at Oberyn.

You could hear an exhale escape Oberyn’s lips, and you just wanted to bash his skull in with the coffee mug in front of you. “Hey, Dove, fancy meeting you in a place like this.”

“Fuck off,” You spat.

Oberyn whistles. “Feisty, aren’t we, dove?”

“I’m not in the mood to play Oberyn. I’ve had a rough day,” You announced.

Obeyn crosses his leg to rest on his other leg as he studies you. He could see your face written with distress and sadness written all over it. Something had made you look the way you did, and he didn't know about it.

“What’s wrong, Dove?”

“You, you're bothering me when I want to be alone,” You exclaimed loudly. Noticing people had turned their heads, looking back at you and Oberyn.

“Please, just leave me alone.”

Oberyn had a scowl slowly coming on his face; his jaw had tightened. You’ve never seen Oberyn mad before — he’d enjoy making you annoyed, but you’ve never really been angry.

“What happened.” it came out more of a statement from Oberyn than a question — a command more than concern.

“And you care because?” You question, turning your head to him.

“Anything that makes my dove mad doesn't deserve to live.” His tone made a chill travel down your spine, and your heart stop for a split second. You didn't want to answer him. If anything, you wanted Oberyn to leave and forget he ever saw you here. But, you knew he was persistent, and he wouldn't go anytime soon unless you told him what happened.

“It’s been like ten minutes, and I’m already going to tell the person I hate the most my business,” You huff a breath as you rub your hand across your forehead.

You slide your hand from your forehead — connecting with your thigh, making a twahp sound on impact.

“I’ve been having a rough afternoon,” You shrug. “Came home to find the supposed love of my life, fucking some woman, and you know what sucks? I stayed.” Oberyn looks shocked by your statement but doesn’t show it. “Yeah, I stayed and listened to everything. Did I get off on it? Hell no. I hated everything. I left before it could get any worse.”

You intertwine your fingers — a knuckle placed on the tip of your nose. A sniffle escapes your nose, reminding yourself of the terrible events that happened minutes prior. Your tear ducts felt heavy, and your nose felt congested. A tear slid down your cheek as you placed your palms on the table, and your head felt heavy.

Glancing at the wooden table, you felt your head get picked up — seeing Oberyn's finger pick your head, and you could see the concern on his face; his thumb wipes the tear slowly crawling down your face.

"Dove, you shouldn't cry over someone like that. You shouldn't cry at all. You're too perfect.” “Oberyn smirks, caressing your cheek. You slowly push Oberyn’s hand away from you and glance at the window again, trying to avoid any eye contact with Oberyn.

“Dove, look at me.”

You shook your head like a stubborn child. “Dove, I need you to look at me so you can listen to what I will say.”

“I can listen to you like this.” You shrug.

Oberyn was getting annoyed now — which would’ve been the first time, only if you saw his face. Oberyn fixes his legs to be next to each other and outstretches one of them to reach you. His foot made contact with your crotch — rubbing his foot along the print in your pants. You yelped in retaliation — looking at Oberyn. “What are you doing?”

“Getting your attention, and now that I have it. I need to ask you something.” Oberyn states, placing his legs in their original position.

You cross your arms and huff a breath. “What?”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he obviously can't get away with this.”

“What exactly am I supposed to do?” You question.

“I don't know, kick him out?” You shrug. “It's the only thing I can think of.”

“That’s all?” Oberyn questions.

“You can come up with the most creative insults you can throw at me, but when it comes to your scumbag boyfriend, you’re fucked?”

“Well, what do you have in mind, evil genius?”

“I’ve heard the best way to get over someone is to get under someone,” Oberyn smirks.

You shoot an eyebrow up and look at Oberyn with an annoyed look.

“Is that what you want me to do? Sleep with someone to get back at him? What is this, high school?”

“Not just anyone.”

“Then, who do you suggest?” You shrug and cross your arms.

Oberyn points at himself with a smug look on his face. You look at him with an annoyed look on your face. “Please tell me you’re kidding,” You spat.

“C’mom, I’m the best option.”

“Ethan, the homeless guy down the street, is a better option than you.”

“You know me—” Oberyn started.

“I despise you — and I hear the stories about you; you're a player — a playboy. I shouldn't get involved with someone like that.”

You’ve been aware of Oberyn’s “activities” for a while, ever since one of your Co-workers ranted about him to you — one of the many reasons you hate him. He was known for leaving people hanging after quote, “giving them the night of their life.” It frankly made you want to barf hearing anything involving having sex with Oberyn.

“Look, you’re one of the last people I want to hurt, but I want to see this scumbag crumble, knowing he lost someone as perfect as you.” Oberyn started.

You couldn't tell if he was messing with you or being genuinely serious, but all you knew was heat rose to your face.

“But, I promise. I won't hurt you. I want to see your ex suffer a little bit.”

“You promise this will work?” You question.

Oberyn places a hand over his heart. “Cross my heart, and hope to die.”

“Hopefully,” You scoff.

“But, you have to give me a week.”

“Give you a week for what?” You asked.

“Ah Ah Ah, it's a surprise,” Oberyn smirks.

“I hate surprises,” You grumble, crossing your arms.

“C’mom dove. You’ll like this one.”

“One week,” you firmly spoke. “That’s all I’m giving you.”

“Splendid, That’s all I need, dove,” Oberyn winks.

You essentially had to act like you still loved your ex-boyfriend: every talk, every hug, every kiss, and every interaction you had, you had to pretend like you cared. When, in reality, you wanted nothing to do with him.

And Oberyn was being more secretive than his usual outgoing personality. It often made your skin cold thinking about it. Oberyn was never closed off or reserved — always outgoing even when work needed to be accomplished; he always had time to talk or flirt with someone.

The end of the week had come faster than expected. It made you uneasy but also ready for anything. You heard a knock on your door while pacing — waiting for Oberyn. Your breathing became rushed and nervous.

As you opened the door, an exhale became longer than you expected. Seeing Oberyn wearing a long chestnut-colored lapel coat.

"Surprised to see me, dove?"

"Yes, I thought my "boyfriend" came home earlier than expected," You breathed.

"If I had a dollar for every time I heard that —" Oberyn started.

"Oberyn," You insisted.

"Kidding, can't take a joke, can you, dove?"

You step to the side to let Oberyn in. He walks in, and you close the door behind him. "I'm about to trust you with something so vulnerable about myself, so no, I can't take a joke."

Oberyn turns to look at you and rests his hands on your shoulders. "Dove, with me, you don't have to be afraid. Your body's a temple that I'm going to respect. Don't be scared."

"What do you think I'm going to do to you?" Oberyn questions, taking his hands off your shoulders and on his hips.

You took a breath, looked at the floor, and then up at Oberyn. "With him, he treated sex like a mission to complete — a side quest before returning to the main story. But with that girl, it was like she was something important, and I don't want to feel that way again." you find yourself looking back at the floor, a tear building in your tear duct.

Oberyn lifts your chin with his finger and plants his lips on top of yours. The kiss was soft, and the feeling of Oberyn's lips on yours made your body fire up — a feeling you've never felt with your boyfriend. Backing his head from yours — finger still on your chin, a smirk on his face. "Too stunned for words, dove?"

You push his hand off your chin. "No!" You exclaim, a wave of heat rushing to your face. "You don't have that power over me."

This rush of energy was coursing through your body like a drug; you yearned for more of it.

“So, where is the bedroom, sweetheart?” Oberyn asks.

You don't answer his question and walk towards your room. Opening your room door and seeing the bed made your anger boil — for the moment. Your boyfriend made it, and you find it as a sign that everything is normal — when, in reality, it isn't.

“Quaint, your boyfriend got a drawer?”

You point the nightstand next to the bed. Oberyn takes his jacket off and places it on the foot of the bed. He drops to his knees in front of the nightstand and opens the top drawer.

“What are you doing?” You question.

“All cheating assholes have something to hide. You aren't the least bit curious?”

“No, why would I be—” You start; as you thought about it, you somehow found yourself on your knees next to Oberyn. “I get top, you get bottom.” You state.

“I’m usually the top, but you know, there is a first time for everything.”

“I will punch you in the face if you keep these innuendos up.”

Oberyn laughs as you shove him. “Let’s get to searching.”

You open the top drawer, trying to find anything. After pushing things around, you found nothing worth explaining, closing the top drawer and looking at Oberyn. “Your turn,” You shrug.

Opening the bottom drawer, you back up and stand up to your feet, lying on the wall far away from him. Your eyes travel to see Oberyn bending down and his pants accentuating his rear end. You were tempted to whistle and compliment Oberyn.

“You like what you see, Dove?”

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” You admit.

“It's a nice ass, thanks for noticing,” Oberyn smiles.

“It’s a little hard not to notice. Is that what girls from the office are after from you?” You question.

“Girls and guys,” Oberyn corrects. “I’m not a manwhore for just girls, Dove.”

“Well, I didn't know that,” You shrug.

“A lot of people don't know I swing for both teams.”

“You learn something new every day,” You mutter.

A thud made you look at Oberyn as he pulled a box out of the drawer. You question the image you see on the box as Oberyn just sneers. “Is that a—?”

“A vibrator? Yes, Dove. It is,” Oberyn nods.

“Why would he have—?”

“Oh shit. Do you think my ex’s used it on that girl?”

Oberyn shakes his head. “The tape’s still on it. Meaning: hasn't been opened, or he’s waiting to use it.”

Hearing that a vibrator hidden in your ex’s nightstand drawer hasn't been used was a huge relief for you in a certain way. Oberyn holds the box as he has an idea and then looks at you. “Should we use it?” Oberyn asks.

“What? I wouldn’t even know what to do with that.”

“Let me do all the work, Dove.”

“What would you even do?” You state, crossing your arms.

“That’s a surprise, but first,” Oberyn States, walking towards you. “I need you to get on your knees.”

To say you were shocked was an understatement. Your eyes wanted to pop out of your head after hearing those four words. ‘get on your knees.’ Something about hearing those words made you want to fumble on your words but be mad at the same time.

“Make me,” You smirk.

Oberyn smashes his lips against yours in a hungry kiss — surprising you. Your teeth almost clash, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hand slowly trails down your chest to your bulge. It felt hard under Oberyn’s palm — betraying your hatred for him and weakening your knees.

Your knees dented the wood under you as you broke the kiss. You see Oberyn smirking and walking to the foot of your bed — placing the box on the mattress. Seeing him slip his shoes off, hearing his belt unbuckle being undone, and seeing his pants slide off. You notice that Oberyn wasn't wearing any underwear. Your face would've exploded if you didn't contain yourself.

Seeing Oberyn's cock made you feel like you were in an out-of-body experience. It felt like you were shocked but didn't show it. Watching Oberyn sit at the edge of your bed, wags his pointer finger towards you — arching his finger towards him.

"Crawl to me," Oberyn commanded.

Your body had a mind as you placed your hands on the floor and slowly crawled toward Oberyn. A more giant smirk appeared on Oberyn's face as he saw you crawl closer to him. "Such a good boy, dove," Oberyn muttered.

Your face was close to Oberyn's shaft — covering your face. You wanted to make Oberyn shiver, make him feel a way you've never seen him before. Placing your tongue on his shaft, bringing your tongue to his tip and back to your mouth.

You watch Oberyn release a breath — sounding like a whistle. "Such a tease, dove."

You hoist yourself off your hands and look at Oberyn — winking at him before you take the tip of his cock in your mouth, quickly retracting away from him. Watching his hips buckle forward, you can't help but sneer. "Desperate for my mouth, Oberyn?"

"You know what you're doing, dove. It's written all over your face," Oberyn grumbled. "So why don't you do something about it," Your question sounded more of a sarcastic comment. Oberyn takes notice of that. Tracing his hand on your cheek — thumb trailing your bottom lip. "We're going to whip that attitude of yours into shape."

Holding your face, Oberyn leads your mouth towards his cock. A long exhale leaves his lips as your mouth goes down his shaft — agonizing slowly. You pick your head up as you bring your hand to the base of Oberyn’s cock and start stroking his dick as you bring your head up and down.

Oberyn leaned on his elbows and enjoyed the pleasure your mouth brought him. Apart from Oberyn being secretive for the past week. He hadn’t jerked off and slept with anyone, so the build-up of cum had been stored in his balls for the week, and Oberyn was ready to burst.

“Baby, you're so fucking perfect. I don't know what is wrong with that dumb ass.”

Removing your hands, you start to go down deeper on Oberyn’s cock as you feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Clenching his teeth together, his moans escaping his throat — through his teeth like water.

“Baby— Ah— your mouth has a grip. I could cum fucking your face right here.”

“Why don't you then?” You ask, stroking his cock. You have a one-sided grin on your face. With inhuman speed, Oberyn picks you up to your feet — planting his lips on yours as your hands find the back of his neck. The hatred between you and Oberyn vanished in this moment. His hands explored your body as he touched your pants button — undoing them and sliding your pants past your feet. “Get on the bed, Dove.”

You complied with Oberyn. Your bare knees make contact with the mattress; you watch Oberyn grab the vibrator and take it out of its package. He held the device in his hand, hitting the button. Oberyn watched it vibrate in his hand.

“Asshole already put the batteries in. Bad for him, good for us.” Oberyn crawls after you, his face close to your cock. It twitches against his breath against it. “Has he made you cum before, dove?”

You reluctantly shake your head. "Like I said, there is a first time for everything," Oberyn snickers as he lowers the vibrator on your cock. Once you made contact, your eyes snapped shut, and you arched your back and fists towards you. Oberyn places a firm palm on your navel, forcing you to stop moving. "No squirming, dove." His firm demeanor sent shivers down your spine and made your cock twitch in anticipation of what was coming.

You heard your front door close, and your eyes snapped open. You attempted to move, but Obeyrn's hand on your navel prevented you from getting up. "Ah, Ah, Ah, dove. Where do you think you're going?" "He's back. We should stop." Oberyn looked at you with annoyance. "Do you think that asswipe cared whenever you came home?"

"But, Oberyn —"

"Let me make you feel a way you haven't experienced before."

Your breathing hitched as you looked at Oberyn. "How would you make me feel?" You gritted. "Happy, loved, wanted, cared for, everything someone as perfect as you should experience."

You calmed yourself — eyes drawn away from the door and closed. Feeling yourself grip the sheets — your moans intertwining together with your breathing. You felt as if you were about to cum, and that's when you heard your bedroom door squeal open.

“What the actual fuck is going on?” You heard Issac, your “boyfriend’s” bellowing voice. You kept your eyes shut so you didn't see Oberyn turn his head.

“Ah, just the guy I’ve been wanting to see. How are you doing?” Oberyn asks. In your head, you were laughing, but in reality, you were trying so hard not to cum right now.

“How am I doing?” Issac repeats. “How do you think I feel seeing some guy — pantsless next to my boyfriend’s dick?”

Hearing Issac emphasize that he’s your boyfriend made you want to punch him in the face; you would’ve — if your legs didn't feel like jelly. Spiritually Oberyn could feel your anger rising to your cock as it shifted for a split second.

“I don't know, dove, how should your cheating-asshole boyfriend feel knowing you're feeling more pleasure than ever before?” Oberyn smirked.

“Cheating? DOVE?” Issac exclaimed. You could see Issac’s eyes pop out in your head, and when you heard his tone.

“He -hould feel fucking dumb,” You gritted. You brought your arms resting above your head as you felt yourself about to cum any second.

“I should beat your ass for putting dumb thoughts in my boyfriend's head, man — and overall being anywhere near him.”

“But you’re not.”

“And why is that?” Issac asks, cocky.

“Because you’re going to go through my jacket and see the Manila folder and its contents inside, you're going to sit yourself down in that seat in the corner and watch me fuck the hell out of your boyfriend and cum deep inside him that I get him pregnant.”

You slowly open your eyes and see Oberyn smirking at you and Issac looking shell-shocked by what he just heard. And being honest, you were shocked yourself.

“I would do what he says. He can be pretty convincing,” You breathe. Oberyn smirks.

You turn your head — eyes strained from closing them. Issac rummages through Oberyn’s coat and sees the Manila folder he quietly dreaded. Sitting in the corner, he opened it, and the look on his face made it seem he got caught in a big lie. “Do you want to tell him, or should I? I don't mind either,” Oberyn shrugs.

“How did you get these?” Issac seethed.

“Okay,” Oberyn starts, ignoring the question. “Dove, what he’s looking at are photographs of himself and the girl he’s been cheating on you with — going on dates, going out, the whole nine yards.”

You wanted to scream, but the pleasure Oberyn delivered you on a silver platter brought you into overdrive, so you stayed mute.

“Fuck, Obeyrn. Your intense,” You spoke between clenched teeth.

“You close, baby?”

You nod. “I’m about to cum,” You exclaimed.

Your body wanted to give way, just to feel the immense pleasure you've yearned for.

Until Oberyn retracted the vibrator away from you, you looked like a deer in headlights while Oberyn had a shit-eating grin on his face. “W-what are you doing?”

Oberyn shrugs and looks at you. “Making you squirm.” His hands are firm against your inner thighs — feeling his nails press into you, his mouth slips onto your cock, and you arch your back in satisfaction. With Oberyn's mouth going slow on your cock, a rush came through your entire body. On the brink of cumming -- Oberyn cupping your balls in his hand, you wanted your cum to shoot down his throat.

Bearing your teeth, you grip the sheets again, glancing at Issac. He was pissed, but that made you want to cum even harder. "Hurt, doesn't it? Watching the love of your life enjoy someone else."

"Baby, it didn't mean--"

"Save it," You sucked in a breath. "Save it for someone who cares."

"Fuck, Oberyn. I'm close."

Oberyn takes his mouth off your cock; you watch your cock twitch on your navel, seeing precum leak from the tip. "Can I please cum, Oberyn? Please, it feels so good." You beg.

Oberyn shakes his head. "Not yet, baby.” Oberyn looks around and sees the look of despair written on Issac’s face — Oberyn’s cock twitching in retaliation. “Don’t be sad, Issac. Come on, sit right next to your boyfriend, and you’ll feel all better,” Oberyn smirked.

“Fuck off,” Issac spat.

Oberyn sucks in an inhale through his teeth and tsks at Issac. “Come on, don't be a poor sport; go ahead,” Oberyn nods to the open spot.

Issac reluctantly gets up and sits next to you. The look on his face read anger but was hidden by despair underneath it all. He was mad at you and Oberyn but angry and sad at himself.

“Come on, we don't have to do this. I mean, you already made your point with this whole “show” you’re putting on,” Issac argues.

“Oh, then I must haven't made it more explicit,” Oberyn nods.

Oberyn slides the tip of his cock slowly inside you. A sharp exhale. “Fuck, Oberyn. You could’ve warned me,” You groaned.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Your hands dig into Oberyn’s shoulders, making crescent moons etched onto his skin. His thrusts start slow and gradually pick up the pace. Your moans bounce off your bedroom walls. “You like hearing those moans, Issac? Having to hear them off someone else cock?” Oberyn breathes.

Issac can't help but stare at your face with each pump Oberyn was pushing into you. He knows that enjoying each thrust Oberyn delivers. Issac couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or sad at the moment.

“C’mon, you love that cock, don't you, Dove.” Oberyn grunts.

You nod, snapping your eyes shut again. “Fuck, Yes. I love it so much, You whine.

“Your cock is so fucking amazing.”

“That’s it, dove.”

“You see, Issac, this is how you treat art. You treat it with the love and respect it deserves.”

Hearing Oberyn refer to you as art made your cock dribble with precum. Inhaling a breath through your teeth. Oberyn’s hips quicken, and you can't help but snap your eyes open.

“Ugh! Fuck! Oberyn! You’re so fucking big.”

You couldn't if you said that to praise Oberyn or piss off Issav, but overall, you were stating the truth. You haven't felt this good during sex in such a long time. Oberyn loved the moans, the yelps, and the cries that escaped your mouth.

Oberyn’s hands slide on your cheek as he trails your bottom lip with his thumb. Looking into your eyes, he plants his lips onto yours as his thrusts start to slow down, and your nostrils breathe out air of relief.

As Oberyn backs up from your face, he looks up to Issac, seeing the sadness ride his face but then quickly to anger as he sees Oberyn’s face staring at him.

“Dove,” Oberyn breathes, backing his hips from you. “Turn around for me, I want to see that perfect ass.”

You happily obliged as you got on all fours, your feet dangling off the edge of the bed. His cock pressed up into your ass, but you could also feel it lift off of you. Oberyn spits again, and this time you don't pay any attention to it until you feel Oberyn’s cock gently glide in. You take a long, deep breath in.

“Damn, dove, I can barely fit it in,” Oberyn growled. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Oberyn’s cock was slowly and brutally stretching you out, relishing every inch of your insides. Oberyn’s thrust began slowly as his thighs slammed into your ass, but his hips had other ideas. Oberyn’s gradual thrusts grew more intense, yet you were smitten with the whole thing. Your moans would not stay on your lips, and as you advanced, Oberyn’s cock would slip out of you with every clap.

“Fuck, you’re intense, Oberyn,” You breathe.

“You haven't seen nothing yet, dove.” Oberyn teases you by sliding his cock between your ass cheeks. "You want this dick... right, dove?" Oberyn sneers, looking at Issac.

“You want your worst enemy to get you pregnant?”

You nod your head, almost begging for Oberyn to fuck you. “Yes, I do.” Oberyn notices your begging tone as he shrugs his shoulders and slides his cock inside you.

Oberyn’s thrusts get hotter, more powerful, and more animalistic. It was like something that you never experienced in ever. Your enemy making you feel this way and letting you enjoy the moment with him was something you didn't know you needed.

"I can't stop thinking about how perfect we would be together,” Oberyn grunts, glancing at Isaac shooting a wink.

"Damn, Oberyn. I'm about to cum,” You ignored Oberyn’s statement.

"Cum for me, dove," it sounded like a command more than a statement. Your cock throbs, and you exclaim your moans as stings of cum hit the sheets below you.

“Fuck, Dove. I’m going to cum,” Oberyn gritted his teeth. As Oberyn’s hips keep going back and forth into you, you grip the sheets under you as you hear Oberyn’s sudden groans and feel his cum swim inside you.

“See, that’s how you treat someone as amazing as dove here.”

“I see you enjoyed your little show so why don't we —”

“Get out,” You breathe.

“What?” Issac questions.

“I want you out of my house, all your shit gone by Thursday. I never want to see you again,” You state.

Issac can't believe what he’s hearing even though he was expecting it, as he expected a slap to the face. “Where— where will I go?”

“I don't fucking care, anywhere but here.”

Issac suddenly stands up, Manila folder in his hand, and storms out of your bedroom, slamming the door.

“You okay, dove?”

You nod. “I feel great. Thank you.”

Oberyn brings his palm to his chest and acts fake shocked. “Did you just say thank you to me?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” You snapped.

Even though you were both covered in sweat, Oberyn couldn't get enough of you when his lips connected with yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his hand hooks under your arm onto your chest.

“You are the best sex I’ve ever had,” Oberyn admitted.

“That needs to be on a shirt; I need that in recording.”

“You’re suchan oddity.”

“You love it,” You smile.

“Yeah, I do.”

[tarjapearce]

OMFG NOW U HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING WITH MIGUEL AND READER INTRODUCING BABY BELLA (that’s just a nickname i’d give gabriella if she was my daughter 😭) TO FOOTBALL 😭😭😭😭😭😭

i’m from germany that’s FOOTBAAALLLL

I was watching a kid play after I came home from work and AHHH reminded me of this ask!! (And don't worry, over here in Honduras we call it football too c: ) Hope you like :')

WARNINGS: Fluff, domestic shenanigans ~

There was little changes in your life after Gabriella was born. Domestic life sure had its perks, and with Miguel everything was thrilling, exhausting and tearjerker.

You had moved to your new home. A two floored home that you and Miguel bought to grow in. Gabriel remained in his now single apartment, teasing his older brother to no end once he saw him with one of your aprons as he cooked dinner while you were bathing Gabi.

Chaos was a constant part of your lives, discovering things as new parents sparked things between your relationship with Miguel. Your teamwork had improved significantly, and so your communication.

Even though there were little misunderstandings here and there, Gabi seemed the common ground that you needed to not fall back into the bad habits pre-marriage you had and sometimes slipped away into your new stage of life.

Gabi or Gabibi, a little play word for Habibi, a little nickname you've given her after watching foreign novelas with Miguel, had grown into a wonderful one year old toddler. And today, she'd witness her Papa's first soccer game.

Chubby cheeks, vivacious eyes that followed Miguel everywhere, a bubbly laugh that instantly melt him was always there whenever he showed up.

His princesa, his Solecito was always shining hard on his rainy days or whenever he had a fight with you. But now, she was resting on your lap, looking for him among the other team players after you lathered her skin with sunscreen and put a little hat to avoid any discomfort.

It wasn't hard to miss her dear Papa, not when he yelled like no other to Peter, and was bossy enough to make him the captain.

Gabi's eyes followed Miguel and she'd squeal and blabble overjoyed whenever he dribbled and kicked the ball here and there. She'd make the grabby hands to him and mumble a pa pa while clapping whenever he was close enough.

"Yes, that's Papa"

You smooched her cheeks while she kept her eyes on Miguel. Another loud squeal came after the whistle echoed, announcing the half time.

Miguel approached and she called him with baby and drooly words. A toothless grin came into her face while Miguel loomed over the both. Just like you, her eyes always looked at him with such marvel it made him weak.

You handed him a towel to dry off the sweat. He then kissed your temple and took Gabi in his arms to them shower her chubby and lovely face in kisses, earning him a raucous laugh and squeal while her tiny hands touched his.

"If I get a to score a goal, is for you and Mama, ok?"

"Ma ma"

"She's been cheering for you nonstop."

You chuckled while getting her back to drink some water.

"I heard her over the field"

"Even though my ears have suffered a bit, she loves watching you play."

"Pa pa!"

"Yes, mi princesa?"

Gabi blabbed and clapped, eyes keen and settled on the ball.

"You think she likes it?"

You took her again as Miguel drank from his bottle.

"Wanna find out?"

---

And against all odds, Gabriella had seemed to take a liking in watching Miguel play. Things seemed to take a turn for her when there was game nights in your own home.

Meaning, Miguel, Peter, Jessica's husband and Gabriel would gather up in the living room to yell and watch at the screen, beverages and snacks on the table. Despite the noise, Gabi wanted to be there, next to Miguel.

It was comical and endearing to see her mimic him whenever he was angry. If he yelled, she'd give a presumably angry screech, and if he celebrated, Gabi would clap and burst into a laughing fit.

Miguel had gotten her a little soft ball that she loved kicking, Miguel would enter his narrator mode and build up the tension to then help his daughter score.

He lifted her up in the air and tickled her.

And now, seeing her kick the ball and play in a little league school team, made his chest swell in pride.

His smile widened as he waved back at Gabi, that had greeted him right after scoring her first goal ever. A little cupcake was to celebrate as you recorded while your dear six years old baby girl smeared Miguel's cheek with frosting.

[neonghostlights]

Part Five

Series masterlist

“Steve called a lawyer and he’s on the way back,” Robin announced as she sat a plate of pizza in front of you.

You weren’t really in the mood to eat or argue.

“It’s not that bad,” Vickie said again as she read through the pages of the new magazine again, like it might be different this time around.

“It’s not bad, it’s awful,” Robin added.

Vickie shot her a look that told her to shut up.

You knew it was awful. Not only were there pictures of you but it also told the whole world where you were from, where you worked, where graduated from school and when you and Eddie had dated.

It also gave insight on why you two fell apart, and oddly the magazine blamed you. It painted you as a jealous villain in his attempt to become famous.

And how Eddie almost gave up his dreams because of you.

Jealousy was an issue but it went both ways and you had your reasons.

The article basically put a big neon sign on your back.

“I think if you just act normal it’ll all blow over,” Vickie said as you dropped your head into your hands. “If you let it destroy you then it will.”

“What do you want her to do? Go grocery shopping and pretend not everyone is staring at her?” Robin asked.

Vickie stuck her tongue out at her girlfriend. “I think if she shows people she doesn’t care what the world thinks then they won’t care either.”

You bit your lip, thinking about it for a moment.

Vickie might be right.

-

You put the cans of soup in your cart as you walked around the grocery store.

You had gotten a few odd looks from people, a few whispers but every one left you alone.

Besides, this was a small town. Every one knew you had dated Eddie anyways, it wasn’t like it had been a secret. It was the outsiders you were worried about.

But so far, Vickie has been right and as long as you didn’t make it weird then no one else did either.

You did a little happy dance on the inside as you went through check out and was only greeted by a bored teenage cashier.

You went through the automatic doors, bags in hand and fumbling to get a good grasp on your car keys.

“There she is!” Some one yelled and all feelings of happiness dropped in a heartbeat.

There was a group of people, probably about twenty of them screaming at you when you saw them. They weren’t worst part though.

There were reporters with cameras aimed at you.

You froze, debating whether you should run or try to fight them off when a black SUV screeched to a halt infront of you.

The window rolled down and all you heard was a voice yelling for you to hurry and get in.

You threw open the door and dove in without even thinking about it.

[haikyu-mp4]

Teamwork

word count; 1346 – f!reader

Kageyama was always persistent when he set his mind to something, and most of that dedication had always gone to volleyball. However, something else had been taking over his perfect concentration ever since the day he first talked to you. He’s in his second year at Karasuno, and it’s his first time experiencing something that feels like a crush.

You’re in Karasuno’s volleyball club, a starting player on the girls’ team. More specifically, you play in the position of setter. This year’s new captains for each team agreed that doing a joined practice would be a fun way to strengthen both teams, and this fuelled a competitive spark between you and Kageyama. You both quickly realised that Kageyama was much better than you, but that just gave you even more opportunity to learn from him. Instead of competition. it turned into friendship.

After that you kept stopping by each other when the other had practice, giving each other both teasing criticism and helpful tips, also making it very obvious that you were there to watch each other. There is no way the other members of your teams wouldn’t notice how you two were drawn to each other, but no one really witnessed any decent flirting.

Kageyama came to practice looking particularly bothered one day, making Ennoshita laugh at the pout on the youngest second-year’s face as he encouraged him to get to practising. No one dared poke the bear. No one except Hinata.

“Poutyyama!” he screeched, dancing around the taller player with a smile. “You were annoyed even before you saw me today, what’s up?” he asked, obviously aiming more at teasing than helping. However, Kageyama finally fell into a state of desperation. He kept glancing angrily between Hinata and the volleyball in his hands. He mumbled something under his breath that no one could pick up on, everyone in the gym slowing to a stop to watch as the boy didn’t immediately kick Hinata’s butt. This made Kageyama’s blush spread from his ears over his temples. “What was that?”

“I don’t know how to flirt,” he mumbled, this time a bit more audible. A snort came from behind him, where Yamaguchi and Tsukishima covered their mouths so Ennoshita wouldn’t yell at them.

“Flirt?” Hinata repeated loudly, looking absolutely horrified at the concept. “Who are you trying to flirt with?” This made Kageyama finally react, pouncing on his friend in aggression. Tanaka came walking over to separate them, Nishinoya trailing close behind with his chin held high.

“Obviously, it’s the pretty setter from the girls’ team,” Tanaka announced.

Nishinoya nodded. “It’s so obvious, now listen to the love doctors,” he said, putting his hands together like he was praying and catching Kageyama’s attention. “How have you advanced so far?”

“Well…” Kageyama takes a moment to think, lowering his shoulders. “I told her that her spike serves were great, showed her how to make the set curve and stop, or tried to but she didn’t really get it, and I bought her an extra box of milk when I went to the vending machine,” he listed. The rest of the boys blinked silently at him for a moment. Not exactly romantic, but it could be worse.

Tanaka put an arm over his shoulders. “Have you asked her to go out with you? Marry you?” he suggested as if it was the greatest tip ever. Kinoshita scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“You can’t just do that right away. We could ask someone on the girls’ team if she likes him back first?” he suggested, a bit more shy about romantic advances than his friends.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Ennoshita said, but he looked hesitant. “But there is something sweet about telling her you like her. It seems to me like she likes you too.”

Kageyama looked at his captain with hopeful eyes, clinging on to every word. “It does?”

“Hopeless…” came from Tsukishima along with a sigh.

“Well, what else did you expect,” Hinata added and crossed his arms, narrowly dodging Kageyama’s punch.

Yamaguchi chuckled but engaged nonetheless. “You can ask her to hang out outside of school and club,” he suggested, which was actually the best option presented to him so far. A couple of murmurs went around the room in agreement, and then Ennoshita clapped his hands.

“Let’s get back to practice! If she likes Kageyama, she’ll like whatever he decides to do.”

Kageyama was staring at a message from you with a weird smile and a calculating mind after getting home for the night. You wrote him saying you look forward to the joined practice you had scheduled after school tomorrow. What is he supposed to do? How does he return your energy, as he read in that one article he got through before getting bored of reading?

Ennoshita thinks you like him back. Maybe he should just combine all the tips he got into one. That has to make it a failsafe. As long as he leaves out the marriage part…

He slowly types it out, making sure there are no spelling errors before sending it and finally putting his phone to the side so he can try to sleep.

I like you, will you go out with me? We could do something outside of school and club activities.

Oh boy, did his teammates have a field day with his chosen tactic when he told them about it at morning practice. You hadn’t answered yet, but Kageyama wasn’t too worried about it as it was still early.

The third years looked especially pale, while the second years were mostly laughing.

“You did all of it, how creative!” Narita said in the most positive manner he could manage, making up for the others who were sitting quietly in their guilt over saying anything yesterday and then leaving him to his own defences. “Let us know when she answers.”

Kageyama nodded with a decisive smile, still pretty happy with his solution. Practice commenced and the team mostly forgot about the situation for a few hours until they returned to the locker rooms all sweaty. Kageyama was pulling on his clean shirt when there was a vibration on the bench below him. His phone.

Meanwhile, you had arrived at school half an hour before that, gathering as many of your friends as you could for help. You were practically buzzing with excitement, as Kageyama was the last person you expected to be this forward about such a topic. The girls squealed, and even a teacher hushing you in passing couldn’t calm down your energy levels. You all spent a while deciding on what to answer and then you chose to add the smiley at the end yourself, butterflies in your stomach as you sent the message.

That sounds great, actually :D

Kageyama didn’t even notice most of his team looking over his shoulder with loose jaws as they read your response, as he was too busy freaking out over it himself. “Yamaguchi!” he yelled, yelling again in surprise when he turned around to see the guy standing there already, along with a few of the others who were more shameless in their snooping. “Help.”

It took some work, but you two were finally enjoying your first date, going for ice cream in the sun and getting to know each other more. 

Hinata and Tanana were ready to pretend they had no idea this was where they went for the date in case anyone caught them spying, but were amused to bump into three of the girls from your team as well, who were also trying to find the best spot for watching you without being spotted. Their precious setters, somehow mastering communication when it was with each other. When you got home, you would blame your red cheeks on a sunburn, for sure.

But it was actually from Kageyama awkwardly kissing your cheek before leaving.

You see, Kageyama had texted Sugawara last night for tips, and he told him that if he felt like the date had gone well, he could kiss your cheek before he left.

masterlist

/I imagine Yachi wasn't there when they gave him tips and when Hinata told her everything she got so stressed out on Kageyama's behalf, she's so precious

[eitaababe]

SOMEBODY ELSE !

— chapter 4. friday night.

! texts are from neteyam's pov

series masterlist. | previous / next

at the game ! written portion below. —

you, lo'ak, kiri, and neteyam all reached the game right on time, shuffling your way to your spots on the bleachers. the stands were way more packed than you expected them to be, but to your luck, some of neteyam's teammates had saved the four of you seats.

"the game hasn't even started and i'm already bored." kiri plainly stated, making you giggle and her brothers shoot a glare her way. she was never one for sports, and even though you didn't play, you enjoyed watching lo'ak and neteyam play, and you as well enjoyed watching baseball every now and then.

"cmon, i'm sure it won't be that bad." you assured her. you mostly just wanted her to stick around in fear that the boys would get swept away by their friends.

"i'm sure it will be," kiri bit back and rolling her eyes at the noisy crowd at the announcement of the first batters name. "a couple of my friends are gonna get some boba and they invited me, you wanna come with? if not i'll make sure neteyam sticks with you the whole time." your friend offered, knowing you wouldn't want to be left alone in a place like this.

you debated going with her, but decided against it. "no, don't worry about me. go have fun! i'll stick with the guys."

you waved her off and focused your attention back to her brothers, confused when you only saw the older sully. "where did lo'ak go?"

"he saw tsireya," neteyam laughed, scooting to sit closer to you. "you warm?"

"mhm." you nodded, snuggling into his side when his arm wrapped around you for warmth. you weren't really all that warm, you dressed for the aesthetic rather than the weather and were quickly regretting it.

opening his mouth to speak, neteyam was quickly cut off at the announcement of ao'nungs name and the screeching of girls that soon followed after. you two shared an incredulous look before bursting into laughters and cheering the boy on.

"let's go ao'nung!"

"don't suck!!"

at your words ao'nungs eyes met yours and you froze, facepalming when he sent a wink your way. the girls behind you somehow saw it (do they have 20/20 vision or something?) and their screeches somehow got even louder, causing you and neteyam to cringe.

you felt a hot breath creep up behind your ear, heart racing when you realized how close he was to you, "i'm seriously gonna lose my hearing after tonight."

you chuckled awkwardly, training your eyes on ao'nungs at bat. "makes two of us." you coughed, trying to cover up the way your voice cracked at the end of the sentence.

the intimate conversation was interrupted by the loud noise of a bat, and you both looked up to see the white ball flying through the air. it sailed well over the outfielders head and over the fence, causing the crowd to roar.

"attaboy ao'nung!" neteyam shouted to his friend, the two of you clapping and screaming for him, your yells blending in with the rest of the crowd.

as ao'nung reached home plate he pointed over to your direction, causing the girls behind you to scream (again) and you roll your eyes, neteyam standing beside you, suddenly looking very unimpressed.

the game eventually came to an end after extra innings, and you exited the bleachers, holding onto neteyam to not get lost in the mix of people. "wanna wait for ao'nung?" he yelled over the noise and you only nodded in response, not bothering to speak over everyone else.

you two waited there for not long until neteyam's teammates tried pulling him away, and he looked over at you worriedly. "hey i'll be back in like five- ten minutes tops. stay here, alright?"

"o-okay." you watched as he disappeared from your sight, standing awkwardly in the clump of people. slowly but surely the stadium was starting to empty out, and neteyam still hadn't come back.

you went to call kiri and your phone shut off, showing the low battery icon, the battery flashing up at your face as if it was mocking you.

you heart sunk, and whoever was praying on your downfall got their wishes, as it had begun to sprinkle, which quickly fell harder, causing you to get soaked.

"just kill me now." you mumbled to yourself, debating if you should just sit in the rain and accept your fate when a familiar voice called your name.

"y/n!" he ran up to you, quickly taking off his baseball parka and wrapping it around your smaller figure. "why are you just standing here in the rain? you're going to get sick."

"i wasn't standing here on purpose," you spat, your shaky tone taking him by surprise. "i was with neteyam, and he told me to wait here for a little bit and he still hasn't come back and my phone is dead and i really don't wanna pay for an uber because it's expensive as fuck-"

"woah, woah, sweetheart, calm down," ao'nung cooed, gently grasping your arms. "look, my dorms right around the corner, we can just walk there. and then we'll get you into some dry clothes, okay?"

"don't you have to get to a party? i'm pretty sure i heard about one being thrown for the team and i don't wanna intrude-"

"you're not intruding. and it's fine, i don't really wanna go to that party anyways. plus, i'm not just gonna leave you here in the rain," ao'nung scoffed, slightly offended that you think he would just leave you here on your own. "please, sweetheart? i don't want you out here alone."

you bit the inside of your cheek, figuring you didn't have that many options. "fine."

FUN FACTS !

— neteyam played baseball when he was younger, and it's actually one of y/n's favorite sports

— ao'nung didn't see y/n before the game started and thought she wasn't coming, so he got all giddy when he heard her voice

— lo'ak ended up getting tsireya's number by the end of the night

—

taglist #1 / closed ! @n7ytiri @ilovejakesullysdick @possysblog @love-chx @stars4deku @evphology @afro-hispwriter @ydsm-29 @tsireyasgf @goldeneywa @doulcha @krazy-kattzz @fucksnow @squid4 @blairrrrrr @neteyamforlife @dreamtogether2000 @444lyra @ambria @cawi00 @calums-betch @burntoutraven @powowowy @fadingpalacebonkpsychic @elegantkidfansoul @kolsmikaelson @mirikusashes @yukichan67 @goodiesinthecloset21 @netemoon @littlethingsinlife @coconut-dreamz @anm3mi @jjkclub @il0veheartz @liyahsocorro @nao-cchi @drugs-for-memes @zendayaswrld101 @grierpilots @misscaller06 @lightskinloak @mommyneytiri @inluvwithneteyam @halibanana @iheartamajiki @ipoopedmypants47 @neigesprincess @lookiiheh @ghostjoohoney

a/n — sorry neteyam girlies this was a rough chapter

[bakubunny]

twelve days of kinkmas: a little tradition (1)

part 2

a/n: starting the month with a little bakugo fluff. was gonna do aizawa smut first, but @neon-gothicc inspired this with her denki fic so here u go i hope u like it friend.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x f!reader

prompt: mistletoe

tags: pro!bakusquad, mention of alcohol, katsuki has anxiety, shy!reader, first kiss

see the prompts and join the fun here

If his plan didn’t work, Denki was a dead man. He knew that much. It was early December, and Eijiro and Mina were hosting the first holiday party of the year. After telling them his idea weeks ago when they’d announced the party, Mina had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes and Eijiro was all stupid romantic grins at the thought.

As the couple got decor in place, setting out food and drink for the event, Denki helped set up decorations by hanging things that were a little too high for Mina to reach on her own. When everything was ready and the clock struck seven, people slowly began trickling in as the party started.

Katsuki walked in the front door after Sero. He looked around the room, not noticing much at first. Then he saw it, and turned around to walk out. Sero grabbed him by the coat and pulled him back in.

“Oh, no Bakubro. You dipped on every holiday party last year. You’re staying,” he said.

Denki, the little fucker he is, hung a sprig of mistletoe over every single doorway in the apartment that Katsuki could see. The two blonde men locked eyes, one with a glare and the other a nervous smile.

Yeah, he was a dead man.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

You were in the main living area where most everyone was gathered aside from him and a few others playing a game of some kind, looking like a dream, and Katsuki didn’t know how to handle himself. He couldn’t pull his eyes from the pretty red nail polish that complimented your outfit. It resonated in his head, the way you laughed so genuinely at every one of Sero’s stupid jokes as you sat near him. He felt like he was going to be sick. At some point, Katsuki caught your eyes glancing at the doorways once you’d noticed the first one, but you’d seemed unphased.

Of course she doesn’t care, you fucking idiot, he thought. You’re the only one who’s bothered by it.

As the night dwindled on, every once in a while people would “follow tradition,” giving chaste kisses to their significant other.

He’d hardly spent time with you at all. Truthfully, he didn’t have the courage to.

You’d been on his mind for years, little bits of banter going back and forth as you worked at the front desk of the agency. But he never had the courage to ask you out on a date. It felt stupid; Katsuki had all the confidence and smooth talk in the world when he’d first become a hero, knew just what to say to charm the pants off of any person he wanted to fuck. Then he met you three years ago, and it all came to a screeching halt. His stomach got tight, his mouth went dry. He’d fumble things in his hands for no reason, feel his cheeks heat up whenever you spoke to him. He fucking hated it. His friends never shut up on it, either.

Katsuki noticed there was no one in the main entryway to the dining room where snacks and drinks were displayed, so he took his chance and managed to get through the entrance and then to the bathroom unscathed. He slumped down onto the toilet and started at the floor for a long moment. Red, tired eyes looked back at him when he got up to wash his hands.

“I should just fucking leave. Don’t wanna be here anyway,” he mumbled to himself.

Another knot tightly wound itself in his gut.

It was too loud. Everyone was getting drunk. And tonight, he just didn’t care. He knew his friends must have something up their sleeve, convinced that he gives a single fuck about you when he’s told them time and again that, no, he doesn’t. That they need to butt the hell out of his love life. Because if he were to admit to them that he did, they’d only get worse.

Katsuki also knew that if he ended up under the mistletoe with you, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold himself back.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

“Just talk to him, honey!” Mina said quietly with a smile. “Or go take his seat. That’ll start something.”

Your face flared with heat; you’d been debating on approaching Katsuki all night. He looked miserable sitting across the room, but was engaged in other conversation for the most part.

“No, you’re crazy,” you replied.

You stood up and went to grab a glass of water from the dining area. Denki called out as you walked away.

“Hey, wait, can you get me-”

You ran into a wall of muscle with your head turned back to look the other way. Katsuki stood in front of you seemingly dumbfounded and not having noticed you either.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!”

“‘S fine, you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Kiiiiiss,” Sero shouted from across the room.

“Yeah, it’s tradition. You have to, bad luck if you don’t,” Denki quipped.

One look up and sure enough, you were smack under the entryway.

You stepped back with a nervous laugh and met Katsuki’s gaze. “N-no, it’s okay.”

“C’mon, just a little peck,” Eijiro said.

Katsuki watched your cheeks flush, and the words came out of his idiot mouth before he could stop them.

“Dunceface is right, y’know. Tradition’s tradition,” he mumbled.

With a smile and a sigh, you relented. You pushed onto your toes to reach Katsuki’s cheek and kissed him. As you pulled away, two large hands grabbed your face. Katsuki kissed you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

The sudden uproar of noise in the room faded in Katsuki’s head as he kissed you once, twice, and again. His heart hammered in his chest. By the second and third one, you were kissing him back. He almost couldn’t believe it.

For once, he thought, Dunceface had a pretty good idea.

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[buckybabesonly]

I'll Let You Lick The Lollipop

Summary: You're bored, and Bucky won't play with you.

Pairing: Bucky x female!Reader

Genre: Porn without plot

Warnings: Slight daddy kink, lollipop play (? is that a thing - PLEASE DON’T PUT FOOD IN YOUR HOO HA), slight spanking, dirty talk

A/N: I love writing these but please do leave requests for me! I'm happy to turn your smuttiest fantasies into fiction huhu

Length: 3.2k

Living your days in domesticated bliss with Bucky was one of your dreams come true. You loved the mundane nights you shared, those rare occasions where chaos wasn’t bringing worries and danger to your lives. You learned to cherish the ‘boring’ aspects of a relationship which weren’t boring at all - those quiet days lazing around and doing nothing, comfortable silence between you as you both got up to your own devices.

Today, however, you were in one of those moods, and Bucky wasn’t paying any attention. You observed him quietly as he frowned at the laptop in front of him, sitting in the semi-darkness with the screen brightness turned up, muttering something under his breath.

Boredom came over you as you lay across the couch, shifting positions every ten seconds, staring at Bucky and thinking about how this was not how you wanted to be spending your Sunday.

You stood up slowly, deliberately, tugging your sleep shorts slightly further up your hips, Bucky’s borrowed t-shirt hanging loosely off your frame. You pattered over, barefoot, to where he was sitting.

"Bucky, play with me," you announced like a petulant child, tugging on his arm as he hunched further over the dining room table, completely caught up in his work. He was doing some sort of background research on somebody - didn’t they have people at S.H.I.E.L.D who could do that for him?

"Stop it, doll," Bucky murmured, gently brushing your hands away as he frowned over his work. He heard you sigh dramatically before you disappeared into the bedroom, but Bucky didn't have the heart to feel guilty. He was totally engrossed in his latest mission, as he felt that him and Sam were on the cusp of an excellent lead, and as much as he loved his girlfriend, she wasn't helping.

Bucky made a few mental notes to discuss with Sam before you reappeared, seating yourself right opposite him. Bucky glanced at up, pausing when he saw the thin, white stick that was peeking out from between your lips. Your cheeks were suctioned in as you sucked the lollipop in your mouth, rolling your tongue around the candy, eyes fastened on Bucky.

Bucky scoffed, arching his eyebrows as you continued sucking, feigning innocence with your eyes.

"What?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. Under the table, you slowly lifted one foot and placed it carefully between Bucky’s legs, teasingly pushing against the length of his thigh towards his crotch.

"Doll," Bucky warned, glancing down at his crotch and seeing your feet press at his cock through his jeans.

"What?" You challenged again, lips looking so fucking delectable around the lollipop. He could see a flash of red, and guessed it was strawberry, your favorite flavor. At Bucky’s scowl, you peeked down shyly, unable to hide your smile.

“I just want your attention, baby,” you said in that sweet voice you knew he liked.

You felt a small thrill when you noticed Bucky tense ever so slightly. His eyes, in the already dim light, looked inky black.

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to focus now as he watched you, practically fluttering your lashes at him, tongue working it’s magic around that damn piece of candy. He could see your nipples poking through the thin material of his t-shirt, having opted to go braless.

So much for wanting to focus on work.

"You want to play? Fine, we'll play."

You smiled widely at Bucky giving in so quickly, watching like a hawk as he stood, chair pushing back with a screech. He circled the table and picked you up easily in his arms, lifting you to sit on the edge of the tabletop. He spread your legs wide so he could stand between them, one hand lifting to cup the back of your neck.

His other hand raised to your mouth to remove the lollipop, and you purposely pursed your lips and sucked hard so that it was released with a audible pop. He leaned forward and kissed you, tongue snaking into the cavern of your mouth, tasting you. He kissed so passionately, like he didn’t even want to give you time to breathe.

When he released you, a thin, gauzy string of saliva connected your mouths. He gave a crooked smile, popping the lollipop into his own mouth.

“Hey,” you protested, but was silenced when Bucky picked you up again and practically ran into your bedroom. He lowered you down onto the bed gently, before taking a step back to assess you.

"Bucky," you mewled, eyes seductive. "C'mere."

Bucky moved to climb on top of you, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He easily flipped you onto your front, and you promptly lifted your ass, instinctively trying to grind it against his crotch. 

Bucky threaded long, metallic fingers through your hair and pulled, hard. He lifted your head up, forcing your neck to crane backwards, and suddenly you found the lollipop being pushed past your lips again.

“Do you need me to spank you?" He asked in a low voice, and you nodded desperately. "Look at you. You love getting into trouble for being such a fucking needy girl, don't you? You've been waiting for me to fuck you all night."

"Mmm, Buck," you whimpered, words garbled, and blinked when you felt the heat of Bucky’s body disappear.

"Strip, baby. And then undress me," he ordered.

You complied quickly, tearing your t-shirt off and shimmying off your shorts, along with your panties. 

Bucky was smirking when you shakily took his shirt off, revealing your boyfriend's ripped, muscular chest. The jeans came off next, your fingers fidgeting impatiently with his belt and zipper as you tried to remove it at lightning speed.

God, his cock was magnificent. It bounced against his stomach the moment you stripped him of his underwear, thick and weighty. It had the most beautiful slight curve, veins running along the underside of it, the tip swollen and waiting to be placed inside your mouth.

You removed the lollipop and your hands reached out, keen to start, but he interrupted you with a deft flick of his hand.

"Ah, ah, ah," Bucky said tantalizingly, capturing your wrists and pulling them away. He plucked the candy from your hand and forced you onto your front again, onto your knees. He positioned himself on the bed once more, kneeling behind you, chest pressing against your back, and nibbled at your ear playfully. "Eager, are we?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of pleasure when you felt just how hard Bucky was against you, his dick brushing against your bare thigh. There was nothing gentle about the way he began grinding his thick length against your ass, breathing deeply as he did so. 

He pressed his front against your spine as his tongue darted out to taste the nape of your neck, and you so wanted to beg him to fuck you right there and then. But you knew you had to be patient.

"Are you gonna be my dirty little angel tonight?" Bucky asked, pressing his cock harder against your ass cheeks.

"Yes, yes," you nodded in hasty agreement. Bucky chuckled. 

"I'm gonna go hard on you. Aren't you a naughty girl, distracting daddy from his work? If you want it so bad, I'm going to give it to you so hard that you'll be begging me to stop."

You loved it when he spoke like this, and Bucky knew it as he continued in a voice that could only be described as feral. “I’m going to fill you up with my cum, keep pumping you over and over and over again until your cunt takes the shape of my cock. Going to use you like my personal fuck toy.”

"Please, daddy..." You turned your neck to glance back at him, delighted at the expression on his face that showed pure arousal. "Use me," you said in the huskiest voice you could manage.

You began pressing your ass deliberately harder against Bucky’s erection, and the latter promptly spanked your sensitive cheeks. His cold, vibranium palm instantly soothed the red skin as you gasped from the pained pleasure of it all.

"Do you want it?"

"Yes!"

"Hmm. If you had waited for me to finish my work, I would've fucked you any way you wanted. On the kitchen table, up against the wall, over the couch, maybe. But you just couldn't wait, could you? You want my cock in your pussy that badly?"

"Yes. Daddy, please, fuck me!"

"Don't give orders," Bucky barked, slapping your ass again, harder than before. He repeated the same motion of spanking you with his right hand, then immediately soothing you with the left, calming your stinging flesh against cold metal.

"I'm going to make you wait, baby. This is your punishment. You're gonna have to wait whilst I have my fun before I fill you up with my cock."

You wanted to cry with frustration, but you knew it would do little good to beg.

Bucky inserted his knee between your legs, forcing you to balance with them further apart. "That's it, push that ass out for me," he said encouragingly as you obeyed.

You turned his head to see Bucky sucking on the lollipop again, coating the hot red candy with his own saliva. You held your breath as Bucky slowly pulled the candy out of his mouth.

"You ready for this, baby?" He asked. He didn't wait for an answer before he spread your cheeks apart and rubbed the head of the lollipop against your slick folds. You whimpered wantonly as he pushed the sticky candy into your cunt, a smile growing on his face as he did it. 

Soon, the white stick of the lollipop was all that was left hanging out. Bucky sighed in satisfaction, running his palms lightly against your ass. 

"You keep that nice and safe for me, baby," he cooed. "Now come over here and suck my cock like a good girl."

Bucky withdrew from his position and lay on his back instead. You crawled round to face him, practically pouncing on his leaking erection, your small hands wrapping around the throbbing length. 

"Look at how horny you are," Bucky said, pleased as you lowered your head. Your lips parted and you took his cock into your mouth as far as you could, sucking enthusiastically as Bucky’s hands played with your hair.

"Yeah. Sucking daddy's cock so well," he praised with a grunt. 

You glanced up at Bucky’s face, noting how his eyes were half closed in ecstasy, head tilted back as both of his hands held your head, pushing you down onto his cock. Your drool dripped down his thick, pulsing shaft, trying not to gag as Bucky gave a particularly violent thrust up with his hips. Your eyes began to sting with tears, but neither you or Bucky relented. You continued to suck furiously, Bucky fucking your mouth and using you the way you loved to be used.

"Take it, baby," Bucky groaned. "Oh God, yeah. You love sucking my cock, you love swallowing my cum." 

The lingering, sugary taste of the lollipop on your tongue mixed with the saltiness of Bucky’s precum was new for you, and you fucking loved it. You groaned with satisfaction, continuing to work on Bucky’s cock, until he eventually pulled you off. 

He pushed you back by the shoulders until you were lying on your back. His eyes regarded you hungrily as he slowly pulled the lollipop from your pussy, tossing it to the side, forgotten.

“Let me taste you before I fuck your pretty candy cunt, doll,” Bucky said, licking his lips before he dived down to your pussy, pushing your thighs apart with his hands. He licked a long, thick stripe up your cunt, laughing as you squirmed with pleasure.

He knew exactly how to plunder your cunt with his tongue, mouth working against your clit and massaging that delicious bundle of nerves. The taste of your wetness combined with sugar was like fucking crack, and he closed his eyes as he continued to eat you out, enjoying the sounds of your moans and kitten-like whimpers.

Your eyes remained closed when you suddenly felt Bucky shift, and all of a sudden he was assaulting your neck with his lips. You tilted your neck to the side to give Bucky better access. 

"Daddy," you whimpered, arching your back as his hot, wet tongue left a trail from your collarbone to your neck. 

"Hmm?" Bucky asked teasingly, making you shiver slightly.

"Please give it to me?” You asked uncertainty, biting down on your lower lip. He looked at you, chest heaving, both of you breathing hard.

"Baby, by the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to fucking walk," Bucky purred. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. Do you see what you do to me?"

You glanced at Bucky’s cock, glistening with your saliva and standing to attention. You blushed a little as he smirked.

"I wanna feel you clench around my cock, baby.”

You nodded, spreading your legs wider in invitation, making Bucky laugh a little.

"So fucking thirsty for it," he murmured, lining up his cock with you entrance. He watched every micro expression on your face as he eased the head of his cock into your cunt, then suddenly impaled you with his whole length all at once, watching as you gasped and closed his eyes.

"How does it feel, baby?"

"Good, daddy," you replied instantly. You had taken him so many times before, but every time you could feel how he stretched your walls, how he could barely fit his cock inside you. "Please just fuck me," you pleaded.

"Fucking desperate whore," Bucky said, nipping at your neck playfully. He slowly lowered his hand down to your pussy and you didn’t realize what he was doing until you felt his fingers prodding around your entrance where his cock was currently sheathed.

“Bucky, what are you - oh fuck,” you practically screeched as he eased a finger into your pussy, alongside his cock. 

"Daddy's gonna give it to you good, baby," he murmured. You whimpered as he slid another finger inside to nestle against his own cock, your pussy wrapped around everything tightly like a dirty little package. 

He began thrusting his fingers inside you in tandem with his cock, watching as you unraveled at the sweet torture. Your hands flailed, pushing against his chest, and he withdrew his fingers from your cunt and pinned both wrists above your head. You sighed with contentment as you enjoyed the familiar stretch and burn of his dick pushing inside you.

Your nails dug into your fleshy palms in ecstasy when Bucky started to go rough, snapping his hips into you so that his cock jabbed your cervix, but you loved the pain. It was delicious to you as you clenched around Bucky’s cock uncontrollably, a guttural noise escaping your boyfriend's mouth as he sank further into you. 

"God, baby," he groaned. "I've fucked you so many times with my huge cock, so how the fuck do you stay so fucking tight?"

"Nngh, daddy," you said, gasping loudly. "Keep going."

Instead of spanking you for giving orders, Bucky simply smiled and switched up the pace. He started to thrust at a teasingly slow pace rather than fucking you into the mattress. The slow rhythm almost killed you, as you clenched your jaw in frustration, wanting Bucky to stop fooling around and just jackhammer his cock into you.

"I own this fucking pussy, baby," Bucky sneered, throwing his head back towards the ceiling, sighing as if he had finally found heaven, his cock nestled inside your wet, warm core. 

You should've kept your mouth shut like a good girl, but you couldn't help sassing. "I thought you were gonna fuck me hard," you said weakly. “Old man can’t keep up?”

You heard the low rumbling growl in Bucky’s chest.

His fingers reached out to pinch your nipples, hands massaging your tits and pulling them hard. Then, you felt his arms suddenly circle your back, lifting you off the mattress. You cried out in pleasure as Bucky sat back instead, tugging you with him and forcing you down onto his cock, impaling you hard. 

You began to grind down onto his lap, riding him as you resisted the urge to reach out and touch your clit. Daddy wouldn't like that. He liked it when you came with just his cock.

"You fucking bet I'll give it to you hard," he snarled. 

"Oh god, it feels so good," you groaned loudly as Bucky forced you down onto his cock over and over again every time you levered yourself up. "You make me feel so full with your big cock."

"Mmm, tell me more, baby," Bucky commanded. His hands were cupping your asscheeks, helping to lift you up and down with ease as you bounced on his cock. He loved this view, your tits jiggling in front of him enticingly. He leaned forward to capture the swell of one of them in his mouth, licking and sucking until you squealed.

"I love - I love having your cock in my pussy," you said breathlessly.

"My pussy," Bucky corrected. "You belong to me, baby. Every single fucking delectable inch of you is mine."

He snapped his hips up as you sank down on him, moving in perfect synchronization. He closed his lips over your neck, sucking deeply. A hickey formed quickly, and Bucky admired his pretty artwork blooming across your skin as your moans grew in volume.

"Daddy! Daddy, please,” you shouted in pleasure as Bucky shifted ever so slightly so that the head of his cock hit that sweet, spongy spot inside you, causing you to spasm in his arms.

"Cum for me, baby."

"I'm gonna - gonna cum so hard," you said breathlessly. "Gonna cum so hard for you."

"Yes, yes, yes," Bucky chanted, your own personal cheerleader. You could practically feel the pounding of his heart against your front as he pressed his slick chest to your tits, groaning loudly as he drilled his cock again and again inside you.

You could feel the way his dick was buried so beautifully inside your core, so deep, a feeling you just couldn't get enough of. You felt that wonderful, familiar rush as you came, pussy pulsing and clenching, shivers shooting through your body. 

You sobbed, feeling the hot warmth of Bucky’s cock shooting cum inside your cunt a few seconds later, some of it leaking out and seeping from your hole as Bucky continued to fuck into you.

Eventually, Bucky lifted you off his lap and twisted you back and around so that you were on your stomach. You didn't even have the energy to keep yourself up on your arms, burying your face into the mattress, whimpering as Bucky spread your pussy folds.

"Mmm, I filled you up so good," he said appraisingly. You felt Bucky’s fingers sink into your used entrance, inspecting the mess you made, and you wailed pathetically.

"Daddy...please, too much," you whimpered. Bucky pulled his fingers out again and slid them inside your mouth. You sucked obediently, licking the cum clean off his fingers.

"How do we taste, baby?"

"So good," you sighed. You slowly rolled over onto your back, watching as Bucky kneeled over you, gazing down at his lover adoringly. Suddenly, you pouted.

"What?"

"You wasted my lollipop," you murmured, and Bucky laughed despite still being a little out of breath. 

"Sorry, baby," he said, his voice soft as he lowered his head and slanted his lips over yours. He sucked on your lower lip softly, teasing you before pulling away. "I’ll get you another one. Happy?"

"Hmm. Okay."

He smirked as he kissed you again, his tongue sliding into your mouth again. Your hot, sweaty body against his and the echoes of your moans in his mind was driving him crazy.

"Round two?" You murmured against his mouth, as if reading Bucky’s mind. The way his hands gripped your hips possessively was all the answer you needed.