#or him just straight up falling asleep in a fire or something

[crushpunky]

rafe x kook!reader - a drunken night (a cabin in the woods part 2)

inspired by "when we are together" by the 1975

Y/n had lined up countless activities for her and the boys throughout the week, everything from fishing to horseback riding and kayaking, all building up to the big hike on their final day. After a week of non-stop action, the boys were more than happy to find out y/n had factored in a “rest” day ahead of their hike.

The four of them had spent the day on the property, basking in the sun, playing cards, and shooting the shit. The heat of the day gave way to a chilly night, leading to them starting a fire near the small pond that sat on the property. Though she had brought her own jacket, y/n found herself reaching for Rafe’s sweatshirt once again as they sat around the fire. It was comfortable and warm, she had told herself. No other reasons, of course…

“That’s literally not true! There is no way in hell that you’ve done that!” Y/n laughed, taking a sip of the drink Topper had concocted from Kelce’s aunt and uncle’s liquor cabinet. Whatever it was, it was strong, and as the night grew on, she could really start to feel its effects.

“You’d be surprised, I’m a very adventurous guy.” Kelce said with a shrug. He had just finished recounting a story of how he had once snuck himself and a girl into the country club after hours, the two of them getting drunk in the bar before falling asleep on the golf course.

“Oh, please, Kelc. You don’t do shit.” Rafe said with a slightly drunken chuckle. As hesitant as she was to see him drinking, y/n figured it being only the four of them, and that he wasn’t doing anything worse, she’d let it slide. It had been a minute since she had seen him drunk like this, typically seeing him only when he was violently high or totally blacked out. It was a nice medium, his cheeks flushed and his demeanor a bit softer and without a trace of its usual grumpiness.

“I forgot we’re chatting with Mr. Adventurous over here.” Topper said, finishing the last of his drink before grabbing the pitcher that sat on the ground next to them. Rafe rolled his eyes, tossing an empty can at him. Topper looked back at him wide eyed and jumped to his feet, nearly stumbling into the fire.

“Hey! Hey!” Y/n shouted before the two started to drunkenly wrestle in the campfire, pulling Topper back into his seat.

“How about we settle this with a game of never have I ever?” Kelce said over the rim of his cup. Rafe and Topper groaned, but y/n grinned at Kelce’s avoidance of escalating the situation further.

“I’m not playing that shit.” Rafe said shortly, grabbing his beer and starting to get out of his seat. Y/n stopped him, grabbing onto the sleeve of his jacket. He turned to look at her for a moment, his eyes glassy from the drinks.

“Pleeeaaase.” Y/n sang playfully, tugging at his sleeve. Rafe paused for a moment, looking at her pleading, drunk expression, before relenting and sinking back into his chair with a huff.

“Why don’t you go first, Mr Adventurous.” Topper said, sitting up straight in his chair. Rafe scowled.

“Fine. Never have I ever kissed Sarah.” Rafe smirked wickedly, his eyes locked on Topper as he took a drink. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for Kelce and y/n to do the same.

“Woah, woah, what the fuck?!” Rafe’s smirk evaporated, looking around at his three supposed “friends” exasperatedly.

“Yeah, what the fuck?!” Topper said, his face almost as equally angry as Rafe as he shot daggers at Kelce.

“It was a long time ago, dude. Like, middle school. Calm the fuck down.” Kelce laughed, his hands raised in surrender. Y/n giggled before she looked over at Rafe, who was staring at her, his hand gripping the arm of her camp chair.

“Are you serious?” Rafe said, his voice low and eyebrows raised.

“Oh come on! It was a dare at a party, or something, and we were both drunk… friends kiss all the time. It’s no big deal.” Y/n laughed nervously. She knew that Rafe and Sarah’s relationship was difficult, and as hard as it could be at times, she really did consider them both friends. She hadn’t thought of telling Rafe about it because it didn’t really matter. She did like a Cameron in that way, but it certainly wasn’t Sarah.

Rafe’s mind raced despite the alcohol clouding his brain. Was that how she had thought about their kiss at Midsummers? Just two friends kissing, “no big deal”? Of course that was how she thought of it, they were just friends. Obviously. Nothing more, nothing less…

“No they don’t!” Topper said loudly, nearly spilling his drink as he waved his hands around wildly.

“Yes they do! You’re telling me you guys have never kissed each other?” Y/n said which caused all the boys to collapse into fits of exaggerated gagging and shouting. Y/n rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink.

“Ok, ok! Next!” Y/n shouted over their dramatics, attempting to get back to the game. She looked over at Rafe, his eyes still stuck on her. Maybe she was overthinking it, but she swore she could see a twinge of something in his face before he looked away from her.

“Alright, fine,” Topper said, his voice slightly slurred, “never have I ever… gotten into a car accident.”

Rafe and Kelce took a drink silently, both of them glaring at Topper. Funnily enough, the “crashes” they were drinking for were actually one and the same. Shortly after getting his license, Kelce had rear-ended Rafe as he was stopped at a stoplight in downtown. Rafe had been pretty pissed at him for a month before Topper and y/n eventually forced the two of them to reconcile. Y/n laughed at the memory, perhaps a bit too much because of the alcohol buzzing through her body.

“Nice, Top.” Rafe said gruffly, taking a sip of beer.

“Ok,” Kelce said, “never have I ever… gotten so drunk I fell off the Druthers. Multiple times.”

“That’s cheating,” Topper said pointedly, but taking a drink nonetheless. It was almost a running gag how often he seemed to drunkenly fall off the boat when the four of them were out on the water, it often taking everyone to drag him back onto the deck.

“Alright, um…” Y/n looked around as she thought of an answer before her eyes caught on the pond, the moonlight giving it a soft glow.

“Never have I ever… gone skinny dipping.” Y/n said, looking away bashfully as the boys all quickly downed the rest of the drinks before shouting over each other.

“What?!” Kelce shouted, tossing his can into the fire.

“How can you fucking live in the Outer Banks and haven’t gone skinny dipping? That’s like, a right of passage!” Topper chuckled.

“I don’t know, I just… haven’t.” Y/n said quietly, feeling her cheeks burn slightly.

“Do you want to?” Rafe asked quietly, his drunken words betraying him before he even had a second to think. What kind of person asks that to their friend? Let alone their girl friend? She’s probably gonna slap the shit out of him and—-

“I mean… yeah, maybe one day.” Y/n responded with a shrug, the fabric of Rafe’s sweatshirt sagging under the action. She seemed nonchalant (or at least she hoped she did), answering his question matter-of-factly despite the slight fluttering it gave her in her stomach.

“Well… we do have a pond here…” Kelce said, a drunken grin on his face. Y/n glanced at Topper who raised his eyebrows before looking over at Rafe who looked at y/n, his expression unreadable. Perhaps if she wasn’t so buzzed on whatever shit Topper had made, she would’ve thought it a bit weird to go skinny dipping with her three guy friends, one of which she was head over heels in love with… but that certainly wasn’t the case as she rose from the camp chair and started sprinting towards the dock.

The alcohol in her veins spurred her forward as she shucked off her pants and Rafe’s sweatshirt, leaving them in the grass. She didn’t look back as she continued onto the dock, discarding her undergarments before she jumped into the pond. The cold water sucked the breath out of her as she came above the surface. On the edge of the dock, the boys stood hooting and hollering.

“It’s really fucking cold in here!” Y/n shouted, treading water. Topper and Kelce looked between each other for a moment before moving to take off their jackets. Y/n turned away from the dock until she heard a splash, the two boys entering the water. They resurfaced, their grins wide. Y/n looked back at the dock at Rafe who stood there alone, his clothes very much still on.

“Come on, Cameron!” Kelce shouted, beckoning Rafe into the water. Rafe shook his head with a laugh.

“Yeah, get in here Mr Adventure!” Topper egged him on, splashing some water towards the dock. Y/n looked up at him on the dock as Rafe ran a hand through his hair. He looked nervous, for some reason, almost embarrassed to join his three friends. His eyes met hers, the moonlight reflecting off the water and highlighting her dampened features beautifully. 

She bit her lip nervously. Should she say something? Encourage her friend to get in? Would Topper and Kelce think something was up if she didn’t? Would Rafe think something was up if she didn’t? It wouldn’t be any different than how Kelce and Topper were already in there, so why was she overthinking it? 

“Get in here, boy.” Y/n said quietly. Topper and Kelce hollered as Rafe took a deep breath before shrugging his jacket off. Once more, y/n turned until she felt water splash her face as Rafe jumped into the cold pond. He resurfaced, tossing his wet hair back with a grin. The four of them treaded water for a bit, laughing at the pure chaos of the situation, before the boys made their way towards the dock. Y/n remained in the water, the boys hauling themselves out of the water and onto the dock before putting their clothes back on their soaking and freezing bodies.

She tried to pull herself out but the freezing cold water mixed with the alcohol made her arms feel like jelly. She groaned, falling back into the water. Topper and Kelce had already started back towards the house, their arms slung over each other's shoulders as they stumbled drunkenly. Rafe, however, was still on the dock, pulling his t-shirt on.

“Rafe!” Y/n whispered harshly, causing him to whip his head towards her as he stepped closer to the end of the dock.

“What?” Rafe whispered back, seemingly oblivious to her situation.

“Can you— can you help me out?” Y/n whispered, feeling her cheeks heat up. She felt like an idiot, not being able to pull herself out of the water and now having to have her friend drag her naked body out. It was utterly humiliating.

“Y-yeah, of course.” He stammered, offering her his hand. She took it and pushed herself up towards the dock, Rafe pulling her all the way onto the wooden surface. She stumbled, getting her footing and looked back at Rafe, whose eyes were closed as he faced her.

“Thanks.” She said, grabbing her undergarments off of the floor and slipping them on as quickly as her drunken state could.

“You can, um, open your eyes now.” Y/n whispered and Rafe opened his eyes apprehensively. He felt his cheeks flush at the sight of y/n dressed so minimally, her teeth chattering from the cold. It’s not like it was anything he hadn’t seen before, 90% of the time the two of them were in bathing suits lounging in the sun, so why was he acting this way?

He turned back towards the grass where her clothes laid, jogging to go grab them before returning to the dock. She took them graciously and slipped them on, the fabric of Rafe’s sweatshirt sticking to her soaked skin.

“Sorry about getting your sweatshirt wet.” Y/n said quietly, looking down at the now soaking wet sweatshirt.

“It’s fine.” Rafe said shortly with a nod. The two of them stood there for a second, staring at each other silently.

“Well… how was your first skinny dipping experience?” Rafe asked.

“Good,” y/n exhaled. “Next time I’ll have to remember to, um, keep my stuff by the water.”

Rafe chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, the two of them falling back into a silence. Silences between them weren’t usually “awkward”, but something about the tension in this silence felt as close to “awkward” as ever. 

Was it the fact that she had kissed Sarah? Was he mad about that? She knew he was always so self conscious when it came to being compared to her, was he mad at her? Or was it because they had just gone skinny dipping, after which she asked him to get his sweatshirt? Did friends do that?

Did she think he was being weird when he gave her his sweatshirt to change into when she was already nearly naked? Did she think he was being awkward and weird? Did friends act like this around each other? Did friends do any of this?

“We should probably go to bed.” Y/n said quietly, finally breaking the silence and stopping each of their minds from racing any further.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Rafe whispered, swallowing harshly before offering his arm out to y/n. She took it graciously, the two of them drunkenly stumbling down the dock, arms interlocked.

Maybe they could talk about this in the morning, the tension and awkwardness that had been growing more and more since Midsummers. Maybe, when they were less drunk and soaking wet, things would be more obvious, whatever those “things” were. However, as she went to bed that night, y/n couldn’t help but think that “things” would never be obvious or easy for them.

[plutonium-sky]

I have a few more scenarios in my head of Siffrin just doing skid stuff but unfortunately no time right now

[spencereid-reads]

juno | s. reid

word count: 2.2k words // warnings: fluff, kissing, mentions of sextoys, condoms, improper use of fbi handcuffs. this one gets suggestive and was supposed to have smut but i'm too scared to write it. there's some breeding fantasies in there i think. probably continuation issues, i started this last week when i first listened to sabrina's new album and wrote chunks of it on different days. not proofread!

kindashy!spencer x shy!reader

to put it quite simply, you felt like you'd hit the jackpot.

for once in your life, things seemed to be going in your favor. this was the closest to perfection, you were sure of it.

you'd recently moved into a great apartment, with a perfect view of the district from the balcony. your apartment had a balcony, not just an old fire escape you'd used as one on your previous buildings. you'd been offered a promotion at work, which you obviously accepted and enjoyed your days at work more and more with each passing day.

the best part though, you'd been on a few dates with a guy who was just perfect.

the foolish part of you, fueled by all the romance novels and rom-coms you liked to watch on sundays, was already picturing a whole life with him, and with someone like spencer reid, it was hard not to.

he was something straight out of a fantasy, tall, slightly awkward but sure of what he wants, attentive and never once making you feel insecure. and he was so, so gorgeous, with big brown eyes that made you swoon, curly hair that begged you to run your fingers through the soft strands.

not only was he absolutely gorgeous, but his personality was what really sealed the deal for you.

date after date he set the bar higher for himself, five dates were enough to accept being exclusive, wanting to try something serious.

after five dates where you talked about everything, where he listened and asked about your interests, your dislikes, your thoughts on movies, where he confided in you about his life and past experiences, the downside to being a child prodigy, five dates were enough to know that no matter how this ended, you’d never have anyone like spencer reid in your life again.

“i don’t want this night to end,” you admitted as he walked you to your apartment door. you’d just gotten back from dinner and a walk through the park, to celebrate two whole months since you became spencer reid’s girlfriend.

“me neither. but you need to sleep, otherwise you’ll be grumpy in the morning.” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. he made you wish you could have so much more time together than just two months of spencer reid being your boyfriend.

“i like my sleep. but i think i like you more,” you press your back against the door, inviting him in, to you.

“somehow i don’t want to test that theory,” he made you laugh, cradling your face in his hands as he leaned in and kissed you.

soft, full of want and longing, one of his hands cupped the back of your head, you tilting it back as your back arched against him. your hands wandered over his sides, down his chest, the slight tremble of his body against your hands made you feel powerful. the thought that he wanted you as much as you wanted him, was as affected by a brush of touch as you were.

“i- um, i should go. wouldn't want to keep you up,” spencer cleared his throat, pressing soft kisses to your cheek.

you knew it was basically impossible, but spencer was so dumb if he thought you'd be able to fall asleep right after this.

“okay,” you replied, hands fisting the soft material of his shirt before letting go, “text me when you get home?”

“of course. good night,” he pecked your lips once more, taking his time as he moved away from you.

“night, spence,” you whispered, your hand finding his for one last touch.

he pulled your joined hands up to his lips, kissing your knuckles, you swore your heart was beating out of your chest.

that night you dreamt of his lips on yours, his hands exploring, adoring your body, you felt something other than butterflies in your stomach, something new and exciting, hotter.

a week later, your best friend sarah sat on your couch as you told her everything that had been going on between you and spencer. when you showed a few pictures you'd taken of him, and the two of you together, she actually high-fived you as you giggled, excitement filling your body.

“i don’t want to get my hopes up so much, so soon, but-” you bit your lip, heat flushing your cheeks as you recall the kiss you’d shared the last time you saw each other, on the other side of your door. he'd been called in to help on a case with the bau and would be arriving that night, “he makes me wanna fall in love. make him fall in love with me, i-” you shook your head, it was stupid to be this infatuated with someone so soon.

“well if he’s managed to get you this lovesick so soon, i say go for it. get your man, who cares that it’s only been two months?” she shrugged her shoulder, sitting next to you and wrapping an arm around you, “i’ve seen you through all your stages, and i’ve never seen you like this. you deserve to be happy, and from what you’ve told me, it seems like mr fbi makes you happy.”

“it’s dr.” you corrected, smiling as images of him filled your head, when he explained his extensive college degrees.

two days later, you finished doing your hair, waiting for spencer to arrive. since he’d been lecturing more often now, it’d been easier to schedule dates with him, and his eagerness to see you as soon as possible made your heart almost beat out of your chest.

you rushed to answer the knock on the door, the familiar pattern spencer always knocked against your front door caused an almost pavlovian response in you.

“hey,” you smiled, opening the door wider to let him in. “what’s that?” you asked, looking at a medium-sized pink box with a bow wrapped around it.

“it was on your doorstep,” he handed it to you, you frowned, grabbing it and read a yellow post-it note glued to the top.

‘to my beautiful friend and dr. fbi, be safe and have fun ;)!’

you immediately flushed, seeing sarah’s familiar handwriting. you shook your head with a small smile.

“everything okay?” spencer asked, taking a step toward you as he closed the door behind him. “do you know who sent it? if not i could probably-”

“yes, don’t worry, thank you. it’s from sarah, uh- my best friend i told you about?”

“oh, right, the wedding planner?” you nodded in answer. “what is it?” he asked, taking off his coat and hanging it next to your mess of handbags and coats, removing his shoes as well. making himself at home.

“i don’t know, uh- it’s- for the both of us,” you swore your cheeks could not get any hotter, as spencer stood next to you, a hand on your shoulder as he leaned in to read the small note.

“oh.” was all he said, his thumb rubbing circles on the exposed skin. “should we- uh, see what’s inside?”

“um, yeah, i just… i don’t know what it could be, and i apologize if it’s something inappropriate, i-”

“it’s alright, let’s just see what it is,”

with your heart in your throat, you undid the bow and lifted the top.

“oh, my god.” your cheeks burned, your chest not too far behind, and you heard spencer breathing in sharply.

inside the pink box laid a ton of condoms, in different sizes, a small pink vibrator, something that was supposed to be a set of lingerie, but was so small and transparent that you were sure you’d be better off wearing nothing. and to top it all off, a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs. another note rested below them.

‘i’m not sure if the fbi has something against improper use of official handcuffs. use these ones meanwhile.’

you were going to die. scratch that, you were going to kill sarah and then yourself.

your trembling hands shook the box in your grasp, your whole being was screaming at you to toss it away, to cover it back up, to hide in your bedroom. but you stood there, frozen, still aware of spencer’s hand on your shoulder.

“i’m- i- i’m so sorry, i-” you managed to snap out of your shock, tossing the box on the couch and covering your face with your hands.

“hey, it’s okay- it’s-” he cleared his throat, “it’s an interesting gift, uh-”

“it was inappropriate and i should’ve- i should’ve checked before and…” you kept your hands cradling your burning cheeks, looking up at spencer and feeling your eyes burning too.

“it’s alright. i’m not offended or anything, i promise, besides i don’t think she did it with bad intentions, um- it seems like, uh, quite the opposite,” he cleared his throat once more, one hand moving to scratch the back of his head, and you noticed a pink tint in his cheeks, he was just as nervous as you were. “they don’t, by the way.”

“sorry?”

“the- uh, the bureau.” he clarified, “they wouldn’t know if i uh- were to use the handcuffs for, um-”

“oh.” you breathed, “that’s uh- good to know, i guess. yeah.” you answered, your mind wandering to places it definitely shouldn’t have.

“hey.” he called, standing in front of you, grabbing your hands in one of his, the other one raising to hold your face. “i know we haven’t talked about… uh, sex- yet, but- we won’t do anything until you want to. and if you don’t want to use any of this stuff we won’t either. the condoms, yeah, of course-”

“i’m on the pill.” you blurted out, and immediately regretted it.

“okay, but still, i’m not opposed to wearing condoms, yeah?” he reassured you, “let’s talk about something else, okay? i can feel how warm your face is. there’s no rush, i promise.”

“yeah?” you asked, getting lost in the change of his eyes, worried and soft, hopeful. “thank you.”

“of course. you don’t have to thank me,” he leaned in, pressing his lips to your forehead, and just like that all the uneasiness inside you melted away. “you good?”

“i- yeah. sorry for- freaking out i- i just didn’t know how you’d react to this, and i don’t- i don’t want to ruin this.”

“you didn’t. god, no, honey.” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “i’ve never felt this way before,” he admitted, “if anything i’m the one who should be worried about ruining this, with all my past and all the trauma.”

“spencer, i don’t care about that- i li- i like you just the way you are.”

“exactly, you don't judge me for my past, or make me feel self-conscious about it. and i like you just as you are too. sweet and shy, and all flustered for me.” he placed his hand on your stomach, “breathe, deep.” he instructed, “in, hold it, out.” you followed his lead, somehow unaware of how uneven your breathing was, though it didn’t surprise you. “and now i’m going to change the topic of conversation because i don’t want you to pass out on me, yeah?”

you laughed at that, shutting your eyes and shaking your head slightly, when you opened them back up, you were met with his soft, tender eyes looking at you intently.

“hey,” spencer said, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close. your arms, on instinct, found their place on his neck.

“hi.” you murmured sheepishly. “i didn’t even say hello to you properly.”

“that’s alright. let’s order some food and we can catch up, that sound good?” he asked, you nodded, a burst of confidence inside of you made you stand on your toes and kiss his cheek.

“i really like you.” you confessed, not knowing where this bravery came from. maybe it was just him. something about spencer as a whole just brought comfort and peace to you. if he was with you you’d be alright.

“i really like you too, sweet girl.” he grabbed on tighter to you, leaning in to press a soft kiss on your lips. all the air left your lungs once more as your fingers found themselves tangled in his hair. your loud mind became foggy as you focused on the feeling of him on you. his lips, his body pressed against yours, his hands on you.

a soft, surprised moan left your throat as spencer bit your lower lip lighty, retreating.

“i’ll make the call, italian okay?”

he left you standing there, still reeling from the kiss, the ghost of his lips on yours still there, your tongue poked out to lick your lips, tasting him, tasting yourself.

god bless whatever genes, deities and universes that came together in order to create spencer reid.

and if one of him is perfect, could the world handle two? a mini reid, with his hair and eyes and brain, his politeness, as well as the best part of your genes?

it’s a wicked thought for such an early state in a relationship.

“i ordered the tiramisu also, i remember you really liked it the last time we were there, i hope that’s okay.”

“it’s perfect, thank you.” you walk to him, quieting your mind as you hug him, burying your face in his chest. “thank you.”

for wanting me, for making me feel special, for paying attention, for liking me, for not running away, for making me believe a future is possible.

it all goes unsaid, but you mean it, and you hope he doesn’t think you’re clingy, as you pour all your feelings into the hug.

[taintedcigs]

— late night blues

pairing: roommate bsf!eddie munson x f!reader

summary: you can’t seem to sleep, so eddie offers to drive you around, but you have something else in mind that can make you relax and help you fall asleep faster; his fingers. (wc: 3.1k+)

author's note: not proofread. entirely self-indulgent. and normally i would gaf about interactions but i literally dont rn. i needed this <3 and for all my insomniacs out there... i appreciate u and i am u. hope this is like a warm/horny hug to all of u as much as it is to me. bc i need it desperately. the ending is kinda rushed i am so v sorry. pleaseeee reblog to support me. ty!! mwah.

Hogging the blanket you sank deeper into the couch, the light illuminating from the TV screen enough to have you squinting, but never enough to lull you into sleep.

You huff, impatiently, trying to shut off the voices in your head, thoughts swirling around everywhere and anywhere, making it impossible to let you embrace the sweet sleep you so desperately need.

"Why are you awake?" A low groan of Eddie's voice almost startles you, slight gasp leaving your lips, making you sit up straight with a deep breath.

"Couldn't sleep," you shrugged, "didn't wanna wake you."

"Should've," he grumbles, stomping on his way next to you, "y'know I can't sleep knowing you're awake, right?" A lazy smile is placed on his lips when he slouches right next to you.

The couch sinks with the impact and so does your stomach, the implications of his words not going unnoticed, the two of you have always been close, too fucking close to being considered as just friends.

Yet, none of you ever made any effort.

And you were growing tired of it, because, shit, did you like him. And a part of you, as well as everyone else in the gang kept teasing you about, told you he liked you too. Just waiting to be pushed.

"Wanna smoke?" He asked with a hum, "might help you sleep better." The brunette placed a lazy kiss on your forehead, another act the two of you always did, affectionate, too affectionate to be just friends, yet none of you ever dwelled on it, despite it leaving your entire body on fire in its wake, and Eddie's stomach churn with delight as you always smiled up at him. Sweet, almost peaceful, making you nod quietly, looking so fatigued that his chest ached for you.

"Was t'tired... couldn't roll one." You point toward the mess on the coffee table, grinder open with strains stuck in it, crumpled-up rolling papers, and a bunch of filters sprawled everywhere.

"How about we take a drive, princess?" He asks with a slight tilt of his head, the pad of his thumb slowly circling your face, tender and making you melt into him.

You shake your head quickly, not wanting to bother him in any way. "Eds, it's too late, I don't want you to-"

But he's quick to scoff. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Eddie, I mean it, we can just smoke this here and-" He tuts you quickly, already getting up, his Garfield sweatpants fully in view, making you giggle.

He takes your hand in his, dragging you while you huff and puff. "Grab a jacket or one of my hoodies, and let's fuckin' roll, honey."

Once you throw over one of his oversized hoodies, he almost carries you to the car, not wanting you to lose that sleepy state, knowing that it'd be hard for you to get it back.

You buckle your seatbelt, just watching him in his groove, head falling into the headrest as you admire him rolling a joint so quickly that it makes your head spin. "How the fuck can you do that?" You groan, "'s not fair." A pout overtakes your lips, causing him to grin. He wants to kiss it away, yet all he does is tuck the strands of your hair that are covering your features, turning your lips into a mellow smile, matching his.

"Well it helps if you were a dealer in high school." He rambles, a hearty giggle escaping from your lips, "I'll teach you some time too, honey, promise." You nod in acceptance, and another kiss is planted on your forehead, one you happily accept, let his warmth overtake your skin, eyes glazy and lidded as you look up at him, sleep deprivation so apparent in your face that it tugs at Eddie's heartstrings, seeing you this miserable. And not being able to do anything about it. Yet.

Quickly retrieving the lighter from his back pocket, he places the rollie on his lips, letting the igniting flame heat it quickly, sizzling sound as he inhales a small huff before passing it onto you calming you further.

You suck on it with a hum, watching the way Eddie quickly turns on the ignition, windows rolled down, the same relaxing tape playing over and over again, volume dimmed, Good Feeling by Violet Femmes serves as a background drop, one of your favorite songs, and of course, Eddie knows it.

The velvety dark sky steals your attention as you once again suck on the fragrant joint gently cradled between your fingers. Letting it engulf and numb you, for your bloodshot eyes to have a reason other than being restless.

A gentle breeze whispers through the cranked windows, rustling your hair in front of your face, making you giggle lightly. Three puffs, and you are already feeling giddy, "not too strong is it?" he asks, glancing at you with the biggest grin on his face, amber hues watching you intently.

"Nuh-uh," you hum, and his hand tenderly droops down to your thighs, giving you three gentle squeezes as a form of comfort. At least, he intends it to be for comfort.

But all you can think about is how thick and warm his fingertips are, cladded rings bringing a coldness that makes you hiss, tummy doing a flip as your hazy mind craves more.

It is the last piece of the puzzle you need to finally fall into that deep slumber, Eddie making you cum on his long fingers, curling inside of you, rings slicked with your juices, it's all you can think about.

You whine at your thoughts, throat growing dry at them, not knowing if it is cotton mouth or how stunning Eddie looks while focused on the road.

The perfect side profile that you can't help but admire; chiseled jaw with the slightest stubble that you'd do anything to have it rubbing against your clit right about now, Adam's apple bobbing slightly the more he gulped, lips plushy and so soft that you wanted nothing more than to bite into them, have them suckling your neck.

Fuck, this could be it, couldn't it?

You were already a bit dizzy, giving you enough courage to ask him to, and if he rejected you, you could always just turn it into a joke, couldn't you?

You rasp a desperate breath when his hands squeeze your thigh again, prominent veins making you mewl. His head cocks towards you in worry at the sound, "you okay?"

You barely register his words, gaze too focused on the tempting hold he has on you, "hmm?"

He quirks a brow, a smirk playing on his lips when he realizes how hazed you are, "are you hungry or something, sweetheart?"

Yeah, you were. Hungry for him.

You shake your head slightly. "You sure?" He asks, more attentive, and you can feel your wetness pool around your thighs, slicking you.

"Mhmm," you reply, head turning to meet his gaze, and when he slightly tilts his head, his shaggy bangs fall onto his forehead, making you gulp physically, he looks beautiful.

"Do you want anything?"

If he was any more attentive, you were going to crawl into his lap and grind on his bulge that hugged the print of Garfield on his sweatpants, "Nope," you gulped, prying your eyes away from the outline of his huge cock forcefully.

"Need anything?"

"You." The words slipped past your lips without any interference from you, it's like your subconscious was doing all the talking you had been so afraid of.

The insomnia and weed becoming a dangerous combo.

He choked out a laugh, cheeks crimson red, spreading across his bone like crushed raspberries. "Hah, funny aren't ya?"

He avoided your gaze, yet your head snapped to meet his. "Eddie- I-I mean it."

"Sweetheart," he mumbled, a low groan awaiting in his throat.

Doe-eyed, melting, and pleading hues finally met his. "P-please, Eddie, need it so bad, need to cum, relax," you coaxed, hand placed on his, squeezing it back, causing a drawl of sigh out of him.

He can't bring himself to ease into your touch, his lips quivering at the thought of finding you soaking for him, "Honey, you're high," he tries to reason, voice squeaky pitch, he wants it, so goddamn bad, but he can't take advantage of you in any way.

You huff, disagreeingly. "Oh, c'mon, Eddie, I just took like three huffs, you know I'm not a lightweight!"

"Sweetheart, I know but it doesn't feel right-"

"But I'm begging you to!" Your pleading voice crushes him, cock stirring just at your squeaky tone, you're going to be the fucking death of him.

"Y-you have no idea how fucking stupid I feel for turning you down when all I want to-" He sighed. "I don't wanna do anything that you might regret."

You huff at that, does he not realize how desperately you want him? How badly you have wanted him all this time?

"Fuck, Eddie, just-" Fingertips graze his once you grab his rough hands, they are powerless in your hold, and you're quick to dip them down your pajamas, rubbing them against your cotton panties that are now entirely soaked with your juices. "Do you feel that?" Your voice is shaky, and low groans rumble in his chest, his focus on the road becoming dizzy.

It feels surreal, you begging for him, for his fingers, how wet your panties feel just because of him. His brain can't comprehend a thought, your name slipping past his lips like prayers.

He can't help but press his hand further against your panties, just to feel more of you, cock straining against his own cage of boxers, knuckles white from the harsh grip he has on the steering wheel.

And you can see the desperation in his eyes, spurring you more and more. "How fucking wet I am just because you squeezed my thigh? Do you think I'd regret anything when I'm this soaked for you?"

He can't help it, roaring the engine again before he abruptly comes to a stop on the side of the road, his mind too dizzy to comprehend anyfuckingthing. "Fucking christ, baby, I-"

You interrupt him again, head lulling to his side, giving him those desperate, lewd eyes again. "I've wanted this for so fucking long, Eddie, p-please, you said you'd help me sleep... relax, I'm more than okay with it."

You know he's on the verge of caving in, he wants this as much as you do. "Angel..." he mumbles, tone so pornographically lustful that you feel the need to show him how much you want him.

You shove his hands inside of your panties in frustration, and he groans lightly at it, fingertips run up and down your slit, never entering your hole, taking his time to fully feel how badly you want him.

He collects your wetness at the tip of his digits, smearing them over the hood of your clit, earning a shallow gasp from you, just enough to break him, "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, you're soaked," he grunts, eyes watching you hungrily.

"Mhmm, all for you," you hum, head thrown comfortably into the headrest, eyes lulling. He runs his fingertips over your sides, teasing, covering you in your juices, and all you can do is mewl for him.

A digit slips inside of you easily, making you moan so loud that Eddie's cock aches in the confinements of his sweats, admiring the way your mouth gapes at how good his fingers feel. "God, you're perfect like this, princess," he hums, fingertips circling around your clit, knowing exactly what to do to get you worked up.

It makes you whimper pathetically, turns out Eddie really does know you. So much so that all you want to do is cum on his thick fingers, have him take you home, make you bounce on his cock again and again.

He pushes another finger inside of you, watching the way your cunt takes his fingers all greedily. You're the one who's supposed to be high, yet he feels dizzy, so fucking dizzy that he can barely comprehend it.

This is all real, you just begged him to finger you, and now you're mewling on his fingers, pussy throbbing as he stretches you out slowly.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, listening to the sweet sounds of your whimpers, "doin' so good f'me," his praises drive you even crazier, and loud moans escape from your parted lips the more his thumb circles around your clit.

"So greedy, hmm?" He coos condescendingly, relishing in the pretty faces you make, his ring finger joining inside of your soppy cunt easily, "E-Eddie," you mumble, lost in him, fully.

His fingers pump in and out of you at a rough pace, getting you closer and closer to the edge, he can feel your cunt squeezing his ringed fingers desperately.

"You close, angel?" He grunts, and a sheen of heat creeps its way across your chest and up your throat at how good he is, all you can do is nod pathetically, too dizzy and too lost in his fingers to even speak.

You take your plump bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to stiffle your pathetic moans, but once he adds another finger, cold rings brushing against your clit, you can't help yourself.

"E-Eddie, fuck!" You moan, and he watches in awe, keeps his praises up, eager to see what you look like when you cum. He knows you'll be even prettier, screaming out his name, soaking his fingers in your pretty juices.

Your chest heaves with how much you're feeling him, stuffed full of his fingers, you can't even begin to imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you. Shit, maybe next time.

You pathetically rut your hips into his fingers, and he groans so filthily that your body feels frail, "That's it, baby," he praises. "Use me, honey, use my fingers to get yourself off."

Your face contorts with the sweetest pain and pleasure, his fingers plunged deep inside of you, padded thumb still continuing it's circles. Once his fingers curl inside of you, you know you’re a fucking goner.

Each of his movements, his touch, ignites a fire within you that is heightened by the weed, you are so desperate to cum that you don't even realize how pathetically you've been soaking his fingers, so wet and Eddie relishes in it.

"Oh, f-fuck, I'm gonna cum!" You moan out once you feel that dizzying pleasure bubbling in your chest, he can feel your pussy flutter around his thick fingers, making his chest swell with pride. "Mhmm, just like that, darlin', cum on my fingers."

It's all the confirmation you need before you cry out his name again, back arching as pleasure explodes inside of your stomach, vision growing white and dizzy. Your fucked out face, pathetic moans, and your gaping mouth making Eddie's cock strain tighter and tighter, as if that’s even possible.

His fingers don't leave your soppy cunt until he makes sure you ride your orgasm out, relishing in the pretty expressions your face contorts to as you fall apart for him.

Bringing a stupid wide grin to his face that has you feeling giddier. The weight of what the two of you did doesn't dawn yet, you're too tired, too fucked out to care, and all Eddie can think about is going back to the trailer and rubbing one out while thinking about the pretty sounds you made, the pretty shapes your face took as you came on his fingers. His.

He'll think about how pretty your eyes look rolled all the way back inside of your head when he's slamming into you, cock stuffed inside of you, parted lips repeating his name like a fucking prayer. Your tight cunt fluttered around his cock, milking him dry.

With a groan, he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking clean the remains of you, pathetically groaning at how sweet you taste. You watch him with lulled eyes, breath growing heavier, and if you weren’t about to pass out, you’d beg him for more, have his hard cock stuffed inside of you.

“Tastes so goddamn sweet,” he grunts, licking any taste of you left off his lips, your sweet juices engrained in his tastebuds.

You blink quickly to process all of it, mind numbed out. Fuck, he’s making this so goddamn hard for you.

“E—Eddie,” you say breathlessly, chest heaving as a shy smile appears on your lips, mind hazy as you try to form words. "T-that was amazing, shit."

"Yeah?" He beams, the praise is all he needs. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes glimmered at his words, air between the two of you was charged with a sweet tension. Breaths almost synchronized with the way both of your chests rose and fell on the rhythm of what just fucking happened. And all the feelings that led up to it.

You wanted to talk about it, take this further, maybe even continue back home.

But sleep began to settle inside of you, eyelids betrayed your pent-up feelings for him, already drooping in surrender.

And of course, Eddie knew by the sheepish smile you gave him, you were almost on the brink of sleep, and it was more important than his stupid feelings because the two of you had all the time in the world to talk about... whatever this was, tomorrow.

But if you lost your sleepy state, he knew you'd never get it back, “You sleepy yet?" He asked, thoughtful, caring gaze watching you intently, making you nod.

"Mhmm," you hummed, "But, Eddie..."

"Yeah?" He prompted, eager to soak up each and every one of your words.

"I don't want this to be a one time thing," you admitted, shyly, your heart leaping out of your chest in excitement.

"Thank fucking God." Slipped past his lips unintentionally, causing a hearty giggle to bubble up within you, easing away all of your worries.

Pools of warmth swam in his gaze, fully melting into you. "Me neither, sweetheart," he whispered, starting the car again, engine humming to life.

He met you with a saccharine smile. "But we have all the time to talk about that tomorrow, promise."

It hung in the air, the promise, almost like a warm hug engulfing you. All the confirmation you need.

"You just go to sleep, now, honey, I'll carry you inside," he urged, pressing a light kiss onto your forehead.

"T-thank you," you hummed, resting your head comfortably, deep slumber not taking long to find you while he watched intently, mind still running with thoughts of you.

Both of you had no clue what would happen with this; yet, you were now sure that this wouldn't remain as a one-time thing.

After all, you had a hard time sleeping almost every night, thankfully, you would now have Eddie to fix that.

[humanpurposes]

August

Part 2: Tell Me What You Want

You and Aemond are getting closer. Things aren't so hostile but there's a new kind of tension between you and it's starting to get unbearable.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader // Modern AU

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v sex, sexual tension, competitive siblings

Words: 8k

A/n: thank u for waiting everyone, I had a rough few weeks of character building 😙 This is a three part series so one part to go

Nights like these come straight from a song, a music video from your favourite band, a moment in a book that stays with you for weeks, months. Crackles and pops come from the fire, smoke and embers rise into an inky sky dotted with stars. In a few months you’ll be looking back on the memory, wishing you could have bottled this feeling, or let it drag its feet so it would never have to end.

The wine has gone to your head. You’re blissfully fuzzy, your mouth slightly numb, a sickly sweet taste lingering on your tongue. Helaena and Aegon are in hysterics over something Daeron has said, a joke from years ago that the siblings had all forgotten until now. Even Aemond cracks a rare smile. You’re sat beside him tonight, leaning against his arm. His hand sneaks its way onto your thigh underneath a blanket, tracing patterns on your bare skin, dangerously close to the hem of your shorts.

The light from the fire looms over his face and you watch him like you did on the beach below Dragonstone. His smile is less refined than the rest of him. You’re not sure what makes you think this. Maybe it’s because he tries to hide it and shrink into himself. Maybe it’s because his mouth is a little crooked and you’re not used to seeing his teeth. 

He turns his head to look down at you. Your heart is frantic in your chest; his nose is so close to yours. You could tilt your head a little further and capture your lips with his, but you won’t, not in front of Helaena and the others.

His eye glances across the fire at his siblings. “Ah,” he mutters under his breath, understanding your hesitation.

You allow your head to settle against his shoulder, adjusting your body, letting yourself mould into the shape of him. “This is nice,” you say with a sigh, just loud enough that only he will hear.

“Hmm,” Aemond says, the sound of his voice and the steady beat of his pulse humming through your chest and limbs. You wonder what he’s thinking about, what’s happening behind that beautiful eye.

Settled against Aemond, a different sort of tipsy ensnares you. Your eyelids are heavy, your body feels at ease. You start to worry if you don’t get to bed soon you won’t make it at all.

Aemond nudges you softly. “You’re falling asleep there, darling.”

Darling.

“I think I should go upstairs,” you mumble.

“Come on,” he says, whisking away the blanket so the mild air jabs at your skin. His body is gone, his warmth is gone, but he’s standing above the bench, holding out his hand for you to take.

When you stand you stumble a little. Aemond’s hand clasps around your wrist to steady you. Your eyes meet his and you giggle to stifle your nerves.

“Lightweight” Aegon calls.

“Piss off,” you return with a grin as Aemond walks you towards the patio doors.

Somehow your arm finds its way to become intertwined with Aemond’s. He leads the way through the gold accents, tall windows and mirrors of the west gallery, but with the light gone it takes on a gloomier, eerier air, darkness reflected into darkness, broken by the chandeliers overhead. You gaze up at the soft light and sparkling crystals. In the morning you’ll probably have an awful hangover, but for now everything around you takes on a fascinating sort of beauty. You hardly realise you’re losing your balance and falling into Aemond. 

He holds your hand as he guides you up the stairs, along the route towards the east wing. When you come to the corridor where your room is, Aemond’s arm snakes around your waist. His fingertips linger softly against your skin, above your shorts where your top has ridden up a little. You don’t mind– gods, he could do anything to you and you wouldn’t mind. 

With this thought, you look at him. Your legs move slowly but synchronised, one slow step after another. You lift a finger and trace it along the length of his nose, down to the little cleft at the tip.

He huffs a laugh. “What?”

“I like your nose,” you say.

“Thank you.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“I like you being honest.”

You both come to a halt when you reach the end of the corridor and the door to your bedroom. Aemond’s hand slips from your waist but he lingers, watching you, his eye roaming over your face. You don’t quite reach for the door handle yet.

“You didn’t have to walk me,” you say. It’s not dreadfully far to get from the garden to the moat room, and besides, you know your way around Dragonstone now.

“I didn’t have to.” Aemond takes a step into you, placing a wide palm at your side and guiding your back against the wall. He sighs slightly as he exhales and excitement floods in your gut. “Maybe I just wanted to get you alone.”

What can you possibly say to that? The lowness of his voice has rendered your mind useless. But you’ve been wondering if that’s what he thinks when he looks at you. It’s hard to tell with Aemond. His pupil is blown wide, wine, darkness, wanting. His lips are parted and each breath he takes is a gentle stroke of air on your skin.

“You could have just said,” you utter.

His hand tightens at your waist. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

His lips are curled at the corners and it’s just too inviting. He inches closer into you and like a jolt of electricity has sparked in your bloodstream, you surge into him. You melt into one another so effortlessly, lips and tongues, his hands on your sides pulling you into him, your arms around his neck and your fingertips teasing his hair.

It’s been inevitable, hasn’t it? All his smug glances, the way he catches your eye in a crowded room or across the garden. It’s pure energy, hot and visceral, every part of you overwhelmed and yet craving more.

He pauses for a breath and kisses you again, then pauses again. He makes a humming sound in his throat and squeezes your body in some kind of finality before he steps away.

You don’t understand it. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, of course you haven’t,” he says quickly. He takes a breath and runs his hand through his hair, his gorgeous, gorgeous hand. “I just… it wouldn’t be fair on you right now.”

You frown. You know you’ve pushed past your usual limit of drinking, and Aemond seems at ease, not in a state where he should be questioning his decisions. But then that probably makes him the sensible one and you haven’t realised how far gone you are.

“No, you’re right,” you say, unable to look away from his eye.

Aemond swallows thickly. “I want to, I really want to.”

“Me too,” you say, heart starting to sink, or is that just the wine?

“Gods, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you’re reaching for the collar of his t-shirt, pressing your fingertips into the fabric and the hard points of his collarbone underneath, “we can be grown ups about this.”

He curls his hand around your wrist. “We get on, don’t we?”

You shrug, hoping he’ll think you’re not that bothered. “I think so.”

“And I think we could have some fun together.”

“Fun?” 

“When we’re both in the right mind.” He lifts your hand away from his chest and brings it to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss against your knuckles. His eye stays fixed on your face, bright blue and hypnotising. You watch his lips, savouring the feeling of them against your skin. You could pull him into you, beg him to kiss you until you can’t breathe…

“Because you’re cute,” he says with a soft click of his tongue.

“Cute,” you repeat.

He leans in to peck your lips. It’s quick, nice, cute.

“Sleep well,” he says and turns away, wandering idly along the corridor. 

“You too,” you say after him, finding your voice feeble and quiet. Before he disappears from your sight you throw open the door to your bedroom and hide yourself away inside.

Back against the closed door, you breathe and clasp your fingers over your mouth to hide your smile from the empty room.

The next day you skip breakfast, needing a lie-in, some painkillers and a large glass of water, provided by Helaena knocking on your door long after you’re usually awake. 

“I didn’t think you were that bad last night,” she says, opening one of the windows.

“I’m not usually a wine drinker, maybe that’s what killed me off,” you grumble, wincing at the light she lets in. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe you just need the sleep, maybe it’s the image you’ve been replaying of Aemond’s body pressing into yours and his vague promise floating around in your head. “I think we could have some fun together…”

You snap yourself out of that pretty quickly considering his sister is perched on the edge of your bed.

“And Aemond walked you up, that was nice of him.”

Apparently there’s no escaping it. “Yeah, it was.”

“So… he was all over you in the garden last night.” When you drag yourself to sit up Helaena is looking eagerly at you.

You blurt out without even thinking, “nothing happened.” You need to get it off your chest, but saying it out loud you don’t feel especially relieved, more embarrassed.

“No of course not,” Helaena says with a mischievous grin. “But you’ve been rather friendly with each other since your little misunderstanding.”

Enough for his siblings to notice at the very least. “It’s not weird, is it?”

“Is what weird?”

You tilt your head with a pleading look. 

“Oh babe,” she says. “No, not weird at all. If anything it’s a little obvious, Aegon’s been waiting for the penny to drop for weeks.”

You cover your head with your hands and groan. For you, attraction, liking someone, has always come with a sense of humiliation. Your friends don’t get your type, and while Aemond is a little unconventional for you he fits the bill well enough, tall, smart, not too boisterous. He also just happens to be pretentious but subtle and perhaps even sweet… the more you think about him the deeper you’re digging yourself into this hole. 

Healena is clearly in hysterics but is trying not to laugh too much to spare you. “It’s cute actually, Aemond’s been a bit… well it’s nice to see him being excited about something for once.”

Once you’ve regained a bit of composure and gotten over the fluttering feeling in your chest, you say, “he kissed me last night.”

“Liar! What happened to ‘nothing happened’?”

“I thought maybe he was a bit drunk.”

“Are you joking? He looks at you like a lost puppy.”

“Please don’t tell me that.”

“No look, here’s what you do. You and him are living under the same roof for another, what, two weeks? What have you got to lose? Live a little, flirt with him, and don’t overthink it.”

If only ‘don’t overthink it’ was a sentence that could actually compute in your brain. 

You’re lying in a lounger by the pool in one of your bikinis, having moved on from Crime and Punishment to Frankenstien. Your body is lathered with suncream, the scent of artificial coconut clinging to your skin. The sun makes you sweat, but you’re enjoying the position you’re in.

Then you take a breath and you smell the cigarette smoke.

You don’t move your head too obviously, your sunglasses hiding where your eyes are looking, but you see Aemond at the edge of the patio, as close as he can get to you without stepping onto the grass. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt and shorts, sunglasses perched on his nose as he watches you. Even from a distance his gaze burns into your skin, you can feel it writhing there.

You wish you could be closer, so you could hear his inhales and exhales, see the flexes of his hands as he lifts the cigarette to his lips, the pout as he blows smoke into the air. It’s intoxicating. It’s infuriating.

He disappears into the house before you’ve reached the end of your chapter. You tut to yourself, furious you hadn’t read the lines fast enough so you could accidentally run into him on your way inside. You swing your legs round and slip on your pair of sandals. “Don’t overthink it,” you whisper to yourself. So what if he looks but never comes over? So what if he left whatever this is between you as a wine-fuelled kiss outside your bedroom? When all he had to do was open the door, lay you down on the bed. You would have said yes, sober or not. Would he?

Don’t overthink it. Whatever happens happens.

You leave your towel and book by the pool, but you need a drink to fight off the dry feeling in your mouth. Or maybe you’re just restless. Maybe you need something else to do than sit around and wait.

You go into the kitchen, thankful to see there isn’t anyone around. No Criston sitting at his laptop, no Alicent leaning on his shoulder. There’s noise coming from the staff kitchen, tonight’s dinner prep, which won’t be served for a good few hours. 

In the fridge you find an array of drinks, all sorts of iced teas and flavours of lemonade all in glass bottles. You pick the first thing you see, something pink and labelled as raspberry flavoured. As you’re digging through a drawer trying to find a bottle opener, you hear a few soft footsteps against the tiled floor. There’s a faint scent of cigarettes and aftershave.

“Want some help?” Aemond says.

Conveniently, you close your fingers around the bottle opener. “No, actually, I’m all good,” you say, turning around to flick off the metal cap. 

His eye follows your hand as you place the cap and the opener down on the counter, as you bring the bottle to your lips and take a small sip so that the drink doesn’t fizz.

He’s a friendly distance from you, not close to touching you, but every muscle in your body tenses. You’re so aware of everything he does, the subtle change in his gaze, how his eye darkens as he tilts his head down to look at you, how he holds his mouth, how his nose twitches ever so slightly when he breathes.

And you’re painfully aware of how indecently dressed you are, how good you thought you looked when you last checked your reflection, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of your neck. Can he see it? Does the heat drive him to restlessness too?

“This is nice,” he says, looking over the bikini, a shade of blue that compliments your complexion perfectly. You see his hand twitch at his side. 

Is he thinking about touching you? Is he desperate to pull you in like he did the other night?

“Do you think so?” you say, leaning back on one hand against the counter, waiting for his eye to come back to yours. “You’ve never complimented any of my outfits before, Aemond.” 

His eye seems to light up when you say his name. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them.”

You take another casual sip from the bottle, watching how his throat bobs when he swallows. 

He takes another step forward. He’s testing the waters, you realise, seeing how close he can come before you squirm. You take your weight off your hand on the counter, closing the distance by just another fraction.

“Did you think about me last night?” he mutters. You’re close enough that you can hear him, even when he speaks under his breath. 

“After you left me standing outside my bedroom door?”

He raises a brow.

“Maybe I did.”

“I thought about you,” he says.

“But you didn’t do anything about it.”

With one more step he’s pressed against you, the counter digging into your lower back. Aemond puts his hand at your waist, his thumb resting on your front, not firmly, but noticeable. Your breath hitches.

Aemond smiles to himself. “I said we should both be in the right mind, and you agreed, didn’t you?” His hand trails, moving down to the waist of your bikini bottom. He slips two fingers under the fabric, sliding them up, along the conjuncture of your thigh and your hip. 

You dig your teeth into your lower lip for a moment, determined to keep your composure, desperate to deny him the satisfaction even though it’s already written all over his face. He can see you’re breathless, that your heart is racing in your chest.

The pull to him is like gravity, something that binds the world together, crushing and impossible to deny. 

He leans over your, his lips hovering by your ear, circling an arm around your middle. You can smell the beads of sweat on his neck, the scent of his shampoo, something naturally him that you think will linger in your mind for a while. “So why don’t we stop tip-toeing around each other and enjoy the rest of the summer?”

Why shouldn’t you? Really, why? It’s been so long since you felt a draw like this, since you felt wanted. He’s grovelled enough surely and something about his mask of perfection slipping to reveal something primal and reckless, excites you. Proud Aemond Targaryen, digging his hands into your flesh, grazing his lips over your ear, your jaw–

Your eyes flicker to the door. Daeron’s standing in the doorway in his tennis gear, face pink and sweat dripping from his silver hair.

Aemond notices you’ve frozen. He slowly pulls away and glances over his shoulder. His posture instantly shifts. 

“Alright, kids?” Daeron says, shoulders swaying as he walks into the kitchen.

Aemond’s standing in front of you, nudging you with his hand to keep your body concealed behind his. From over his shoulder you watch Daeron take a bottle of iced tea from the fridge. He opens the cap on the side of the counter.

“Don’t stop on my account. I’m not even here.” Daeron chugs from the glass bottle, making a smacking sound with his lips and taking a breath with a smug “ah!” when he pulls it away from his mouth.

Aemond turns to face you. “Thinks he’s so fucking funny.”

Daeron shoots you a wink. With the moment firmly crushed under his younger brother’s Asics tennis shoes and Adidas socks, you slip from Aemond’s grip.

“I’m gonna get my book,” you say.

Aemond angles his brows like he’s begging you to stay, but he lets you go out to the garden without much more of a fight.

His lingering stares and double takes are becoming more brazen now.

You sit with your parents that night at dinner. Your father tells you about the golf club on the neighbouring island of Driftmark, which Corlys Velaryon is insisting the men should all go to visit sometime this week. It’s not far, a quick journey on one of the yachts. Your mother had gone into the town today with Alicent and shows you the photos she took of some adorable clay figures of animals and seashells in a local craft shop.

This doesn’t seem to deter Aemond at all. He’s where he usually is, at the head of the table, looking over at you every so often while Helaena speaks at length to him. You catch snippets of this one-sided conversation, sea birds and prey, wingspans and something about dinosaurs?

The distance between you is starting to feel unbearable.

After dinner Aegon leads you and the others to the library where he rummages through a floor to ceiling shelf of DVDs.

You and Aemond find yourselves sat together on the same sofa, with space for an extra person between you. Helaena is elated when she finds Dreamfyre the cat curled up on one of the arm chairs, scooping her up into her arms and hugging her close to her chest like a teddy.

Daeron takes the other arm chair, his arms full of snacks. He throws a packet of salted popcorn at Aemond and it hits him on the blind side of his face. “Fuck, sorry.”

Aemond turns his head to you and gives you a pointed look. 

You tilt your head. Ignore him, you think, then realise the absolute insanity of thinking that Aemond can hear what you’re saying in your head. You huff through your nose, a smile on your face, and shuffle closer to Aemond so you can claim the popcorn. The fact that you’re sidled up to him and his arm has found its way around you to get more comfortable is a happy coincidence. 

“A-ha!” Aegon presents his finding like it’s an ancient heirloom; a copy of American Psycho. 

Helaena groans. 

“It’s a masterpiece,” Aegon insists.

“Yeah, I so want to spend my evening watching some self absorbed investment banker brutally murder women.”

“Even if he’s played by Christian Bale?”

Helaena does a double take of the DVD cover. “Put that shit on right now.”

As Patrick Bateman goes through his psychotically perfect skincare routine, does crunches to the sounds of screaming women and lodges an axe in Jared Leto’s face to ‘Hip To Be Square’, you and Aemond melt into one another. It hits you how settled you feel lying against Aemond’s chest, your ear against his ribcage so you can feel his heartbeat, your head rising and falling with his breathing. His fingers start to trace over your arm, up and down, lulling your mind until you’ve forgotten to be nervous about being so close to him, so self conscious that you might be in the wrong position, how your cheek might look slightly squashed against him.

It’s not very ‘Letterboxd enthusiast’ of you to be thinking less about the film, instead wondering if Aemond will walk you to your room tonight, if he’ll kiss you again, if he’ll ask to come into your room and shed the simple layers of your t-shirt and jeans.

You press your lips together. You haven’t touched any wine tonight, and neither has he. 

Once the credits have started rolling you sit up, noticing how stiff your body is having been in the same position for the entire length of the film. You stretch your arms out and catch Aemond looking at you, trying to hide a smile.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron are arguing about the next film.

“Scream.”

“Aegon, please, no more horror.”

“But Matthew Lillard!”

“What?” You say, meeting Aemond’s eye.

He makes that cryptic humming sound again. “Feel like going to bed?” He says quietly.

Your stomach drops, but you want to play this cool. Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it. “Whose?”

Aemond half smiles. “Mine.”

You make your excuses. Aemond makes his. As soon as he shuts the door to the library the boys start howling like dogs.

Your heart is racing. Every part of you is screaming at you, begging for more contact, to have that beautiful eye on you again.

“Sorry about my family,” Aemond says, running his hand through his hair. You’re trying to pinpoint the notes of his aftershave, sweet and dark, like black coffee and honey. “As you can see they’re all very good at minding their own business–”

Your hands are on the sides of his jaw, against the gentle sharpness of his silver stubble, pulling his lips into yours. 

Aemond immediately offers you his hunger. It takes you off-guard for a moment, how he grabs at your waist, pushing his body against yours so he can devour you how he wants to. His mouth moves down to your neck and you sigh without meaning to.

“Moaning for me already?” he teases, dragging his teeth over your skin.

“You fucking wish,” you say but your voice sounds utterly pathetic at the feeling of his hands on you, your hips, the backs of your thighs, cupping between your legs. “Aemond…”

“Sorry, I’m getting carried away,” he says, kissing up along your cheek and your temple. He pulls away from you, pupil blown wide in the darkened corridor, roaming your not quite flattering David Bowie t-shirt. He reaches for your hand and presses a peck against your knuckles.

You let him lead you towards the east wing, to the corridor where you’d usually part ways if you were going to your own bedrooms. Once you’ve gone past the door that would lead you back to the moat room, you start to feel lightheaded, disorientated. Somehow it feels nice.

Your heart beats more furiously with every door you pass. You don’t know which one will lead to his room, but there’s one at the very end, which he seems to be eyeing.

“Aemond?” You’ve stopped walking.

He grips your hand tighter. “Yes?”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Oh. No, that’s fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t– don’t say sorry. Fuck, I should be the one apologising, I didn’t– I thought you wanted to?”

Seven hells, I’ve made it awkward. He hasn’t misread you, you’ve played into everything he’s given you, but something’s still holding you back. His grip on your hand is getting loose, his gaze is dropping. The moment is slipping and you can’t let it happen.

“Wait,” you say, reaching for him. Your fingers close around his forearm, slim but strong. “I don’t know, I’m not great at asking for what I want.”

His eye comes to yours, determined, more intense than you think you’ve seen before. “That’s alright. You can tell me, what do you want to do?”

You take a moment to consider, your eyes tracing the curve of his lips, the shape of his nose. You hold your breath so you can listen to his. You want this. You want this. You want him. “I want to kiss you more.”

He takes your hands in his, circling his thumb over the delicate skin of the inside of your wrists. “Yeah?”

“And, I want to be near you.”

He lifts your right hand and replaces his thumb with his lips. A surge of wanting shudders through your limbs. “And?”

You close your eyes and whisper. “And I want you to make me come.”

He smiles against your skin. “How do you want me to do that?”

“With your mouth,” you say. You feel his fingertips at the pulsepoint of your left wrist. You love watching his hands, you can picture them perfectly in your head. “And your fingers.”

“There’s a good girl,” he says.

Aemond steps away from you, opening the door and inviting you inside. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from his room but this seems about right, dark wood panelled walls like the rest of the rooms in the house. The curtains are wide open, overlooking the front of the house and you’re high up enough that you can see the sea, or you would in the daylight. He has bookshelves, mostly full of fantasy novels, children’s books. He explains most of these are from his summers spent here as a kid, plus a few text books, Comparative Politics, The History of Philosophy…

“The impressive collection of classics is at my place in King’s Landing.”

“I’m sure it is impressive,” you say. You wonder if you’ll ever get to see it.

He has a vanity, a hairbrush, a few bottles of aftershave, face serums and deodorant all placed neatly underneath a mirror. He has posters on the walls, all in black frames and hung in an orderly fashion, of sci-fi shows and movies and bands that were popular ten years ago. There’s another stack of shelves by the wardrobe with trophies, plaques, medals, photographs of Alicent with four silver-haired children, a certain little boy with a tennis racket in his hands, another with a fencing mask under his arm.

“I haven’t changed the room much,” he mutters.

“It’s adorable,” you say.

His arms circle around your middle, pulling you in close so he can kiss your neck again. “You’re moaning again,” he says when you let out a heavy breath.

“No I’m not, I’m just breathing.”

“Liar,” he teases. One of his hands slides along your body to your rear and he squeezes you through your jeans. 

When you catch a glimpse of a silver chain under his collar you’re suddenly insatiable. Your hands are clawing at his t-shirt and he wastes no time in pulling it off, coming back to kiss you like he cannot bear to be parted from you, and kissing him feels as perfect as it did that night when you both tasted like wine. 

You don’t care where your clothes fall, which pile of fabric is his, which is yours. He lays you down on the bed with a gentle but commanding grip on your neck. He kisses you over and over again, grinding a growing hardness between your legs against the fabric of your panties. He smothers you, his bare body sinking against yours, your lips grazing against his skin, your legs parting to make room for him, desperate for the friction. 

He works his way down, trailing his tongue along your throat, kissing your bare chest, teasing your nipples with his lips, tongue and teeth. Maybe you are moaning. The thrill of it echoes through your body and serves to stir the wanting in your belly, the tightness that’s going to drive you insane.

He keeps kissing down, pausing when he comes to your panties. He looks up at you, lips parted, your fingers starting to slip into his hair. “Look at you,” he says. “You’re so hot when you’re needy.”

He’s barely touching you and you can’t take the teasing.

He doesn’t keep you like this forever. He kisses around it, the soft skin of your inner thighs before he finally, finally pulls your underwear down your legs. He starts slowly, gently, each swipe of his tongue tortuous and divine. 

And usually your mind would wander. You’d try so hard to focus on the pleasure, think of some depraved scenario so you could actually come. Aemond commands your attention and you can’t bring yourself to look at anything other than the sight of his mouth working against your cunt, the obscene sounds he makes, the roughness of his voice when he stops to remark how wet you are, how good you’re doing for him.

Your grip of his hair tightens. You don’t worry if it will hurt him, not with the way he whines when you do, how his body jerks as he tries to grind his hips into the mattress. 

It’s too much and it’s perfect. It builds and builds until it bursts and the pleasure tears through your body. Aemond holds your legs apart to see you through it, until you’re shaking and begging him to stop.

When he lifts his head he’s as breathless as you are, his brow dewy with sweat. “How was that?”

“Good,” you say, then decide that isn’t quite enough. “Really fucking good.”

Aemond smirks. His eye stays on your face as the tip of his middle finger rests at your entrance. As soon as he slips inside, your body is weightless. You could almost laugh to yourself, all those times you’ve looked at his hands and now you know you were right. He feels good, thicker, longer than your own digits, reaching deeper than you ever could.

He makes a game out of this, seeing how he can make you react, praising every movement of your hips, every noise you make, how many times he can get you to come.

When it’s done and you can’t take any more, he lies beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. You let your hand settle on his stomach, on the patch of hairs that trails down to the waist of his boxers. 

“You don’t have to…” he says, as you start to feel over his skin with your fingertips.

“Do you mind if I return the favour?” you ask, sitting up and leaning on your palm, looking down at him.

Aemond stares at your face. “Of course, as long as you want to.”

“I do,” you say,  enjoying the way his expression lightens.

You position yourself along his body and rid him of the boxers. His cock is an impressive size, a little intimidating, but you’re already craving the feeling of him in your mouth, hard and needy, especially after he’s watched you come undone so many times. 

You trail your tongue along his length, teasing over the tip and savouring the taste of him. You work him with your mouth and your hand where you can’t take him. You love the sounds he makes, his sighs and moans.

“Good girl,” he coos, “can that pretty mouth take more?”

You want to, you want him to feel good. You look up to him, trying to take more every time your mouth moves down.

Aemond watches you in wonder. He gathers your hair in one hand. “Tap my leg if it gets too much.”

You hum in agreement.

He pushes your head down. “Relax,” he utters, “fuck, just relax, you’re doing so good.”

You hardly understand how it makes you want more, the weight of him, the discomfort in your jaw, but you like it. You feel your stomach starting to tighten again.

Aemond pulls your head up and you catch your breath, quickly working your hand over his cock. He’s squirming now, pleading for release. You move your mouth to his balls and he doesn’t last long after that.

He pulls you by your hair again, prodding the tip at your lips. “Swallow it,” he growls as he slips into your mouth once more. You feel the warmth over your tongue and he comes, wincing slightly at the taste, letting it dribble from the corner of your mouth. 

You must look like a fucking mess, his cum dripping from your mouth, your hair ruffled from his grip, trying to catch your breath as his cock softens.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he utters. 

You fall asleep in his bed, your head against his chest and his arms around you. As you drift off you try not to think about the summer’s impending end, that the days are already getting shorter.

Don’t overthink it.

You think you could allow yourself to enjoy this, the light feeling in your body, the relief of being held by someone else, the sound of Aemond’s fluttering breath soothing you to a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Helaena suggested that you join her and the boys for tennis, you thought it meant you might actually get a chance to play. You and Aemond could have played a doubles match. He could have given you some pointers on your technique, and if you won he could have looked at you with that smug look of his. Or you could have gone head to head. He would have won, inevitably, but he’d be looking at you with a competitive intensity which could easily be switched into a different kind of eagerness.

You’ve not got a terrible view. Aemond’s face is dark with determination, every part of him drenched with sweat and his hands gripping the racket like it’ll purposefully try to jump out of his grasp. He grunts every time he hits the ball, and he does it with a terrifying amount of power. 

“Match point!” Aegon’s made himself comfortable in a plastic chair at the side of the court, sipping bottles of beer from a cooler box he made Daeron carry over.

At first you were worried you might have to watch Aemond lose this. Daeron started off strong. He’s young, slim, quick, but he’s running out of stamina. This is where the match turned in Aemond’s favour. He hasn’t tired out so easily. 

Daeron serves. Aemond sends the ball flying back. Daeron has to run for it but he just manages to hit it into Aemond’s court. And while Daeron’s far over on the left, Aemond hits it to the right. There’s no chance that Daeron will get it and he knows it, not even running for it. But Aemond’s hit it hard, if it’s out of the court then Daeron has another chance to win.

You all freeze. Aegon leans forward, eyes on the line and…

“In!”

“Fuck!” Daeron cries.

You and Helaena break into cheers. Aegon wipes his brow as if he’s the exhausted athlete and helps himself to another beer.

Aemond looks at you, trying not to smile. He offers his hand to Daeron but he’s having none of it.

He comes straight to you, lifting you into a spin like you’re in a rom-com.

“Why do I feel like you’ve just won Wimbledon?” you say as he sets you down.

“Please, this is more competitive than Wimbledon,” Helaena says, evidenced by the fact that Daeron has grabbed his racket and is already walking back towards the house.

“It’s a valuable lesson to learn how to lose gracefully,” Aemond insists. 

On the walk through the gardens, Aemond keeps his arm around you, even when you protest that he’s literally wet with sweat. Not that you mind, you’re in a t-shirt and some sports shorts you’ve borrowed from Helaena. It’s all very sweet, very intimate all of a sudden, after you’ve spent the last few weeks acting like you dislike each other.

It’s early evening and the sun is inching closer to the horizon. The crashing of waves surrounds Dragonstone, no matter where you stand, the tennis court, the gardens, the front drive. Helaena and Aegon announce they’re going to have a few more drinks on the patio. And Aemond leads you upstairs to his room.

The moment the door is shut his lips are on yours, hands lightly touching your jaw. Is he afraid he’ll douse you with sweat, that his hands will feel too rough on your skin, that he’ll break you somehow?

There’s a nagging feeling in your heart and in the back of your head, the overwhelming urge to be close to him, to feel him. You stumble over yourselves and you drag him towards the bed by the collar of his tank top.

He’s on top of you, palms on either side of your head, his hair falling over your forehead, keeping you flat on the mattress with his body. “Don’t get me all worked up, darling, I need to shower–”

You interrupt him with quick, needy kisses. You can’t get enough of him, the softness of his mouth, his heat, the taste of him on your tongue.

He has to drag himself away, grinning, stroking his jaw with the backs of his fingers. “You’re tempting,” he muses.

“Not tempting enough,” you say with a playful pout.

“Give me two minutes.”

“I’ll be counting.”

He huffs a laugh. “That’s a good girl.”

Your brain short circuits. In that moment you’d wait for hours if he asked you to. 

He strips off in front of you, his trainers, his top, the shorts and the pair of boxers. You sit on the edge of the bed, hypnotised as you watch his muscles and tendons flex under his skin, all his sharp edges, the contented look on his face.

He leans over you once more, kissing you lightly on your head before he disappears into his ensuite. You listen to the rush of water, the sound of his footsteps when you can catch them. You imagine him there, water running over his body, hands working some shower gel into a lather and rubbing it into his skin. 

You take shallow, steady breaths, telling yourself you’re not trying to commit the smell of his sheets to memory. But you feel comfortable here, in his bed, in his room, in this small fraction of his world. There’s only so much you know of him, the books he likes, how quiet and commanding he can be, how his mouth feels and how his brow scrunches when you make him feel good. You’re sitting amongst fragments of him now, the sports trophies, the old photos, the text books, trying to piece it all together into the man you fell asleep with last night.

What’s his place like in King’s Landing? You bet it’s in some expensive neighbourhood, Visenya’s Hill or one of those squares by Regent’s Park. You picture marble surfaces, vintage furniture, rows and rows of books, dark wood floors, deep shades of blue and green, tall windows, maybe a bed for Vhagar.

There’s so much you want to know about him, so many questions you could ask.

The shower stops. You try to act as casually as you can and like you haven’t been restless on his bed waiting for him to come back to you.

When the door opens a cloud of steam wafts into the bedroom. Aemond has dried himself off mostly, ruffling the towel in his hair. You can taste the sweetness of the water on your tongue, and breathe in the scent of his shampoo. His eye is on you as he tosses the towel aside and approaches the bed.

He kisses you tenderly, slowly tugging away your t-shirt, then the shorts. Once you’re naked his demeanour shifts. His hands are firm on your thighs, spreading your legs apart, holding you down as he drags your panties to one side and devours you. 

You can’t stop moving but it doesn’t matter, Aemond keeps you right where he wants you, circling and pressing with his tongue where you need him. Has he remembered from last night? Has he thought about this since?

When you come undone Aemond hums lowly in his chest, pleased, satisfied, to a point. He grinds his hardened length against your bare cunt, effortless with the aftermath of your orgasm. Each push of his head against your clit sends a shockwave through your spine. He’s teasing you, you can see it on his face.

You let out a quiet noise from your throat.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Aemond says sweetly.

You try to angle your hips and rock against him, but he knows what your game is and keeps his tortuous movements steady.

“That’s not good enough, tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you mutter, looking away from his face.

He’s having none of that. There’s a weight on your neck, his hand, forcing your gaze back to him. “Say that again.”

He’s slowed down, any hint of pleasure is fading quickly. You can’t let it happen, you need more. “I want you to fuck me,” you say again.

Aemond leans into you, forehead against yours, breath hot against your open mouth. “Beg me for it.”

“Please,” you whisper, lips grazing over his, “please fuck me, Aemond.”

The tip of his cock slips down to your entrance. He whispers in your ear, “is no condom okay?”

You nod. “I’m on the pill.”

Without any more preamble he slowly starts to rock his hips again, inching inside. You gasp at the stretch, clinging onto his shoulders as he works himself into you. You let your forehead rest against his chin, focusing on him, the little grunts he makes as he fills you.

“So fucking tight,” he whispers. Maybe he’s just as desperate and needy as you are.

His thrusts are shallow at first, but he presses in deeper. He keeps it slow, thorough, propping himself up on his hands, letting his pelvis grind into your clit. Your legs curl around his hips to keep him close, to keep yourself open for him. 

He’s reaching so deep, then he ups his pace, fucking into you quick and hard, and you can do nothing but cling to him and take it. 

You feel yourself clench around him, letting out a strangled sort of cry.

“That’s it,” Aemond rasps in your ear, “that feels good doesn’t it?”

You utter a mindless “yeah,”

“Are you going to come for me?”

“I…” you think so, something’s tightening inside you. You can’t speak or help the moans that slip from your mouth.

“I wanna feel you come around my cock,” Aemond says, “please, sweetheart, please,”

The pleasure snaps and your whole body lurches, back arching, your nails digging into Aemond’s skin. He fucks you through it, panting and sighing until he stills. With a few more gentle thrusts you feel a warmth blooming inside of you. He pulls out slowly, leaning back on his haunches to admire his work.

There’s a quiet moment, when you’re both catching your breath. Your eyes meet and you smile at him. He’s sweating again.

You go back to your room to shower and dress for dinner. Helaena knocks on your door before you head down together, a pleasant ache between your legs that feels like a shameful secret.

“Aemond seemed happy about the tennis,” she says.

“Mm hmm,” you offer.

“So did you…”

“Seven hells, he’s your brother,” you whisper, feeling blood flush in your cheeks.

“Well obviously I don’t want details about him, but as your friend I want you to be happy and have good sex.”

You wish you could shrink into your shoulders. “Yes, it was good.”

She squeals with laughter and tickles under your chin like you’re a child. “I’m so proud of both of you,” she says.

You and Helaena sit together around the table, this time you’re next to Aemond. Daeron is opposite you, Aegon to his right, opposite Helaena. 

Alicent is keen to hear about the result of the tennis match. 

“It was a tough call,” Aegon says like a sports commentator, “going in, expectations were high for Mr Targaryen, and equally Mr Targaryen is a promising young player, as we all know well–”

Otto chuckles from the other side of the table. The rest of the table starts to become engrossed in Aegon’s retelling of events, even Viserys.

“But ultimately the younger player was worn down, and it was in fact Mr Targaryen who prevailed!”

“But, who actually won?” Alicent asks, completely lost until she sees the scowl on Daeron’s face.

“Who knew Aemond still had it in him?” Aegon says, raising a piece of steak on a fork to him like a toast, “after all those office hours, I thought you were officially a boring bastard.”

“You know Aemond,” Daeron says, “he’s full of surprises.”

You frown with a flicker of confusion. Aemond’s glaring at his younger brother. Aegon raises his brow, taking a deep drink from his wine.

“A man of many talents,” Helaena adds lightheartedly.

“Take this development for example,” Daeron says, nodding to you.

“Daeron,” his mother warns.

Anger rushes through you like a fist around your heart. “What’s so interesting about it?” you ask.

Daeron shrugs. “It’s just that Aemond’s usually into older women–”

There’s a scraping sound as Aemond rises from his chair. He doesn’t shout, or glare, or slam his fist on the table. He simply leaves.

Daeron’s smirking. Everyone else is looking at you, Aegon, Alicent, your own parents.

“You’re a fucking arse,” Helaena hisses across.

You’ve had dreams before, when something’s chasing you and you can’t run, like your legs are made of ice and you can’t convince them to move, to keep out of the reach of danger. That’s exactly how you feel now, like you’re living in a nightmare, pulse pounding in your chest, no way to escape.

You don’t wait to consider what Daeron might have meant. You get up from your chair and follow Aemond from the dining hall.

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates <3

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

hi hi ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ☀︎︎

Can I request a lil ficlet please 🥹

I would like the following prompt: Cuddling before falling asleep in your arms with their lips parted so you give them a peck

But but can I add secret relationship trope and they’re in the BAU jet?

PS: your fics are just amazing and I love them.

Cuddles and Cameras - Spencer Reid x GN Reader (Fluff w Fade to Black)

Spencer practically dragged me across the threshold to the hotel room. His hand, ready to hold me, reached out into the dark hotel room. I flipped up the light and was pushed up against the wall before I could even kick off my shoes.

"Ooof! Spence!" I shouted, my voice soon muffled by Spencer's lips.

"Sorry, baby..." Kiss on the lips Kiss on bottom lip. Kiss on the top. Kiss on the lips. "I couldn't help myself. It's hard for me to have to stay on good behavior."

I chuckled, my hands reaching up to tug Spencer's hair. He smiled, letting me kiss his neck and down to his collarbone. I grinned as I kissed Spencer. His skin was practically shivering from holding himself back.

"Yeah? I didn't think that I was tempting."

Spencer rolled his eyes, his mouth hovering above my in an upturn smirk. His eyes danced with playfulness as he watched me.

"You have no idea how hard it's to keep us a secret." He whispers. I licked my lips and felt the ghost of Spencer's lips against mine. I was tired of clinging to this small, secret, hidden touches. I wanted him in daylight, not under the covers.

Spencer tugged down my windbreaker, leaving me in the stiff work clothes. "I am putting on PJs right away." I announced.

"It's fine, sweetheart. I wasn't planning on letting you be dressed for much longer."

"Sex then room service?"

Spencer knelt on the bad, grabbing me by the waist. He took my cheeks into his palms and brought me so close. His skin was fire against my cheeks. And then he kissed me.

Kissing Spencer was like breathing. I needed it like I needed water. I drank him in, reeling in the way his mouth molded to mine. Against me, Spencer was liquid heat, quick and malleable.

We stopped, Spencer catching his breath and me slowing the pounding of my heart.

"Perfect." I whispered, kissing Spencer again and pushing him down onto the bed. I wasn't sure if I took off his shirt first or if he took my off my pants. It didn't matter who peel away the first item of clothing, I had never bared my soul more than to anyone besides him. Never stood more naked than I did with my clothes on than I did with Spencer Reid.

After that night in the hotel it seemed like something between us shifted. For a while now, we danced in that limbo. I knew that I loved Spencer. And Spencer knew that he loved me. And we both knew what the other knew.

Yet, I had to contain myself as we sat next to each other on the jet. Spencer had already started and finished two books. I, on the other hand, did not finish anyway near two books. I couldn't even read a single sentence without my mind wondering.

And I knew Spencer well enough to understand that he probably felt similar. Two books in about 4 hours is akin to my measly half a paragraph in Spencer's eyes.

"They're sleeping." Spencer said. He didn't look up from his book. "Hotch is facing the same way as us. He can't see us. And even if he did....I don't care."

I don't care.

God. How I wished to have heard that for the last couple of months? Instantly, I folded myself into Spencer. He sat with his legs out stretched straight on the jet seats. I laid between his legs with my side cushioned against his front. Spencer laid the blanket on top of us and when his arms wrapped around my torso, I melted.

As good as he was a sex, Spencer was between during the moments after. He was incredibly sweet. We both hated the mess that came with it so nearly nine months into our relationship we had our after routine completely memorized.

"This is nice." Spencer whispered. He breathed my scent; between staying at each other's places a couple days a week each we started just use each other's products.

"It is."

He kissed the top of my head. "Go to sleep."

"You, too." I countered. "Don't let me make your leg numb." I requested, shifting so I wouldn't hurt him.

"It's fine, babe. Just move up, I want to be able to see your face anyway."

I scooted up, shifting so Spencer and I were face to face. We were so close that I could feel the shadow of his smile. I eclipsed it with my own. He kissed my forehead and I, in moment of sleepless delusion leaned further and kissed him. It wasn't a polite kiss. It was the sort of kiss that is hidden in hotel rooms, shelved away from nosy coworkers and professional regulations. It was the kind of kiss that made me see the world in full color.

How would I go back to black and white. If I had to choose, then I would choose Spencer, hidden, but in Technicolor.

We must've fallen asleep soon after because the next thing I remember was blinding white flash. My eyes were shut, but the flash of white was enough to pull me from a sleep. Spencer's arms didn't release me so he was still sleeping.

"Morgan...?" I croaked. The image before me cleared up. Derek Morgan's white smile beamed. He practically was flashing me and Spencer's cuddled forms his dazzling pearly whites.

"Penny G!" His voiced sounded positively delighted. I sat up and realized that the flash of white was an old crime scene camera. Why that was still included in our packs when the Bureau went digital two years go, was beyond my job role.

"Did you take a picture of us!?" I shrieked, breaking free of Spencer's grip and leaping from the seats. "Derek! Is that the picture! Derek!" Spencer must've woken up somewhere in between me screaming and shouting.

The rest of the team, notably our boss, Hotch's head snapped up.

"Morgan! Y/L/N!"

"It's okay." Spencer's hand rested on my shoulder.

We backed down, hearing the stunning level of "dad" in Hotch's voice. Morgan dropped the picture against my lap. It was one of the photographs that you could see the image almost right away. Slowly, an image of Spencer and I appeared, sleeping and intertwined. Our faces were so close that our lips nearly touched.

Emily and JJ exchanged glances that said more than words could ever. Morgan's eyes shifted from mine to Spencer's as he figured that this wasn't the first time we had feel asleep like this.

"You two. My office, but Monday. I'm too tired to deal with this, even though we all knew." Hotch explained. He shut his computer, decidedly finished with work for the day. His eyes closed as he got as comfortable as one could still wearing a suit and tie.

"Penelope is going to be heartbroken." JJ said, loud enough for the entire jet to hear. I felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach. Spencer and I didn't similar like a weird notation. There wasn't a time in my life that felt more right and I felt more like myself than the time I've been with Spencer.

"JJ-" Spencer started. Derek's eyebrows narrowed and even Hotch opened a single eye. Emily practically backed away. Clearly the entire team was Team Us. Spencer's thumb brushed against my lower back.

"She's not gonna know whose side of the weeding ceremony to sit on."

[messylustt]

This is my first request ever so I’m sorry if I’m not clear enough. 😭😭 so Ethan breaking in readers home and he’s horny he just fúcks her right then and there while she sleeps. Reader is dumb so before all of this she doesn’t really notice that ethan likes her even after several obvious hints. If you’re not comfortable with this it’s fine! You’re an amazing writer!!

i was literally about to write something similar! thanks for the request

unconscious confession — ethan landry + reader ( scream ) : ethan can’t help but touch you in your asleep

contents : smut somnophilia (DONT READ IF IT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE). non con. dark!ethan. wc 1.0k

He slid through the window that lead to your living room, treading quietly. You had a safety ladder—for fire escapes—right by your apartment, that lead to an alleyway. If it was anyone other than Ethan you should have felt concerned.

Though in all honesty Ethan’s intentions with you were not exactly honourable. Your house was dark, all the lights switched off for the night. Ethan silently stepped through your house until he reached your room. He was careful not to make a creak, even though he knew how much of a deep sleeper you were.

Ethan shut your door behind him as he finally glanced at your sleeping form. His breath hitched.

Your duvet was halfway down your body, resting by your hips as the moonlight shone through your window. He would have tried to crawl through there, but he wanted to make sure you were sound asleep before he got too close.

Your shirt was slightly ridden up, showing a sliver of your stomach. Your hair splayed out around you, as your chest slowly heaved up and down. Ethan walked closer, not taking his eyes off you.

You looked beautiful, unaware and peaceful. Ethan dragged his gaze along your face, as he brushed a stray hair from your cheek. His finger halted, continuing to brush across your cheek bone.

Ethan had always found you pretty. When you joined the group, having met everyone at Blackmore University, you fitted in wonderfully. Always a bright smile on your face as you made everyone laugh. Ethan could never take his eyes off you.

He had tried to sit closer to you whenever you all would gather. He had tried to help you with anything and everything you needed. He had dropped hints—some extremely obvious—about his feelings for you. But you just never seemed to notice him.

Ethan began to trace your face. His pointer going down the bridge of your nose, until he reached your lips. When he lightly brushed along your bottom your head shifted slightly, but you still stayed asleep, unaware of the boy beside your bed.

Ethan drags his finger to your top lip, loving the feel of the plump flesh. He drags his finger across the space between your lips, feeling a slight bit of your spit. His chest had already started heaving, as stepped closer, his knee hitting your bed, as he pried your lips open, slowly and carefully.

He then dipped his finger inside, the warmth of your mouth sent a shiver all the way through his body and straight to his dick. He began to brush over your tongue, before pulling his finger out. He was growing heavy and dazed, as your mouth stayed cracked open a fraction.

He began to shift his gaze down your body. You were just in a loose large shirt, the shape of your breasts telling him you indeed were wearing no form of a bra.

Ethan shifted to the end of the bed, grabbing the edge of the duvet by your hips and pulling it down. He then crawled onto the your mattress, his legs coming to kneel on either side of your hips. He stared down at you, tilting his head as he observed the fall and rise of your chest.

He was mesmerised, and turned on. He then placed his hands by your head, just hovering over you, his breath hitting your face. He watches you for a moment, and that’s when his morals came to call, telling him how wrong this was.

But Ethan was hard, his throat tightening at the thought of your body being on display for him. How you would feel in his hands.

Ethan leant down and placed a delicate kiss to your cheek, testing the waters. He leaned back to look at you. You didn’t even move. Ethan grinned as he began to place sloppier kisses to jaw, leading all the way to your ear. He darted his tongue out to lick your earlobe, as the feel of your skin against his tongue and lips made him want to grind into you. But he refrained, wanting to feel all of you first.

He rounded your neck, as he licked up the side. He was like panting dog just wanting your attention. He kissed and sucked on your soft skin, unintentionally leaving marks you’d probably question the next day.

Ethan’s hands dug into the mattress as he leant back to his knees. He could see his saliva glistening in the moonlight, all over your neck.

His cock was rock hard. There was no way he was stopping now. His hand touched the bare sliver of your stomach as he widens the gap, pushing your top to reveal more of you. You slightly shifted, but as Ethan grew to realise, you weren’t waking up. You were a deep sleeper indeed.

Ethan began to just touch you, tracing his hands across your skin, rubbing, and leading all the way up until he felt the bottom of your breast. He gulped as his other hand went under your shirt. He started to fondle your breasts, squeezing and and tracing your skin. He peeled your top over them, to rest, scrunched up by your neck.

Your nipples are peaked, the coldish air helping even more so. Ethan just stares for moment, trying not to orgasm right there. He was pathetic, but also desperate. His fingers began to circle around your nipples, feeling the bumpy skin. He then switched to his thumbs, rubbing across both. You shifted, the most you had. Ethan looked up to your eyes, seeing that they were still shut.

He started to quicken his pace, liking the feel your nipples. He then pinches one, earning your body to shift.

Ethan noticed the way you slightly rubbed your thighs together. You were wet, and the thought of feeling how much, made his eyes roll. He reached down to lick one nipple experimentally, before kissing your stomach. He shuffled back, eagerly reaching for the band of your loose shorts. Ethan helped you out of them, by placing a hand on your back and raising your hips. Slowly—of course.

Any sort of fast movements would most likely get to wake. Ethan began pulling the duvet completely off, along with your shorts, all the way down your legs. Goosebumps had begun to litter across your thighs and calves. Ethan dropped your shorts at the end of the bed before tracing his finger up your leg to reach the spot he’d been craving.

Fuck, he was starving. He slowly began to rub you over your panties. He went harder over your clit, going in a figure of eight. He caught a quiet whimper leave your throat. Looking up from his spot at the edge of your bed, he saw your brows had begun to knit together, as you go to rub your thighs again.

Ethan grabs your thighs, pulling you further apart so he could see. He kept one hand on your thigh while the other went back to stroking your pussy. A wet patch had formed on them, making Ethan’s pride inflate.

He settled between your legs, peeling your panties off and tossing them to the side. He spread you wider. You shivered slightly as the air surrounded your open pussy.

Ethan watches as he pulled apart your lips with two of his fingers. You were soaked, and Ethan panted at the sight. He held you open, as his thumb began to spread through your wetness, brushing over your clit repeatedly. You shifted, a moan caught in your throat. He then brought his thumb back to suck your taste off. His grin was almost scary as he leant in, licking quickly at your pussy.

Your legs shifted, but Ethan kept them held down, as he began to lap at your pussy, slow and torturous strokes of his tongue. He covered your entire pussy with his tongue, before he pushed it into your weeping hole. You sleepily moaned as Ethan pulled in and out.

He then pulled away, and kissed your inner thigh. He looked up at your face. You had a cute almost in pain look about you. Your lips pursing as your brows furrowed. Ethan’s eyes grew dark as his fantasies wandered.

He crawled up your body, finally pressing his clothed cock against your pussy. Ethan’s breath hitches. He stares at your lips, before kissing you. He sucked on your bottom lip, pulling way to take off his belt.

Your lips were red from Ethans sucking, and as he pulls his cock out, pumping himself slightly, he kisses them again. He liked kissing you, even if you were t able to kiss him back.

Ethan adjusts himself—slightly preparing if you were to wake—before he pushes the head of his cock into you. He hisses at the feeling of your warmth. Your body is hummed to life, while your mind stayed knocked out, probably dreaming your getting fucked instead.

Ethan began to slowly thrust into you, feeling you clench around him. His breathing was uneven as he uses one hand to play with your tit. Rolling it between his fingers as if this were an addiction.

You feel groggy, disorientated, and…horny. You weren’t sure what was happening. Your eyes slowly blinked awake as a pressure fills you inside. A moan slips past your lips before you could stop it. You then felt the body on top of you. But in your sleepy state all you can feel is pleasure.

You can spot messy curls in the moonlit room. And a body, thrusting into you. Your head falls further into your pillow as you whimper. You felt so good.

Ethan seemed to realise you had woken up. He was surprised you hadn’t pushed him off yet, but when he saw your heavy lidded eyes, he realised that you were a heavy mix of sleepy, confused and fucked out. He quickened his thrusts, aiming higher inside you. You choked a moan as your back arched against your bed.

Ethan didn’t dare speak, for fear of ruining whatever state you were in. He just kept thrusting, getting closer and closer to his expending orgasm. Fuck, he felt good, and you felt amazing clenching around him.

He stares down at your fucked out face, open mouth, hooded eyes, and bare body and couldn’t find it in himself to regret.

You hadn’t noticed him before. And maybe you wouldn’t even now, in your haze. But Ethan leant down and kisses you, wanting to feel you kiss him back.

And you do, head spinning with pleasure. Ethan growls into your responding mouth as your tongues clash. He didn’t regret it.

And maybe that makes him immoral, or psychotic or just simply fucked up. But he would do anything to touch you, hold you, and gather your entire attention. He thrusts harder into you, making you fall apart underneath him.

Ethan would do anything to have you kissing him. Panting against your mouth he finally spoke. “You look so pretty…y/n.”

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[kakujis]

do you love me? 3;

synopsis: they wake you up at 3am and ask if you love them. 1 + 2 + 4

ft: hanma, ran, and rindou.

warnings: gn!reader, insecurities, clingy bfs, jealous!rindou, swearing, mentions of drinking, not proofread, reader is a lil mean in hanma's ): and thaat should be it!

a/n: is it me or are these getting longer?! anyways, here's part 3! the last one will be mitsuya, draken, and chifuyu! i’m running out of steam thinkin’ of scenarios uh oh. anyway, writing ran's bit was so much fun, since i feel like he's a goofy loverboy. i kind of struggled w rindou’s but i hope it still falls together nicely! ALSO WHY IS HIS SO LONG WTF and here's a special lil tag for @fuyuluvr ♡

the city is quiet as the hum of a motorcycle comes to a stop. hanma’s not sure how he ended up here, well actually he is, subconsciously driving straight to the one place that always riles him up, setting his veins on fire faster than the rush of a zipline. 

he hums to himself, taking off his helmet, and nudging down his kick stand. he looks upwards, toward your bedroom window, his heart already starting to flutter in his chest. stuffing his hands into his jacket, he walks up, getting ready to scale up towards your window. he glances around, although no one’s around in this dead of night, he would rather not have anyone calling the cops on him. 

they’re probably asleep, he thinks, as he peers back up, nails digging into the stone as he uses his leg to boost himself up. he hoists himself until he’s up to the sil, laughing a little to himself when he notices you left it open like you were expecting him. 

he tumbles in, knocking over your lamp in the process. “oops.” he says. meanwhile, the crash has you bolting awake, screaming, no, screeching as you grab your alarm clock, holding it up, ready to throw or swing. 

he throws his hands up defensively as he approaches, “it’s me!” and in your sleep deprived state you scramble back, the grip on your device tightening. 

hanma barks out a laugh, before he switches on your bedside lamp. “hi baby. ♡” he chirps, seeing your shoulders slump as you settle, a particularly loud sigh escaping you as you place one hand over your chest. he kicks his shoes off as he jumps onto your bed, diving straight into your comforter, laying on his stomach. 

“you scared the shit out of me!” you yell, “besides, what time is it?” you look at the device in your hand before you realize it’s off, ripped straight out the socket. frowning, you toss it onto the floor, before crossing your arms and facing him. 

“you were really gonna fuck me up, huh?” he muses, honey eyes twinkling at the idea of you actually swinging on him. he would’ve dodged of course, but it would’ve given him an excuse to grab you and have you underneath him. 

you sigh again, “shuji, i don’t have time for this. i’ve got a work meeting tomorrow morning.” you grab your blankets, shimmying underneath them and pulling them up, “we can hang out this weekend or something,” you yawn. 

“eh?” is all you hear as you turn over, shutting your eyes in hopes of getting some sleep. maybe he’d fall asleep with you or maybe he’d leave, but the only thing that’s really on your mind is this stupid meeting. just a few more days until the weekend, has been your new mantra, if you can just tough it out, you’ll be golden. 

it’s quiet for a few minutes, but the dip in your bed is still there and soon enough he’s asking, “do you love me?”

“no, shuji, of course i don’t…” you start, sarcasm tinting your voice as you roll back over, but you stop when you see his defeated expression. it’s different from the shuji you know, his solemn eyes studying you, as he nervously plays with your sheets in one hand. 

hanma shuji has been so damn bored. it’s been like this ever since you got a job, constant “i can’t”s, and “maybe next time, shu.” he wants so badly to go on late night rides with you again, the sound of your laughter ripping over the roar of his motorcycle.

he wants to stay up with you until sunrise, at the top of your favorite hill, hands intertwined and shoulders brushing. he wants to snap pictures of you at the top of this hill, thinking you're prettier than any sunrise. you make him feel like he’s invincible and that everything’s okay.  

shuji has been so bored, but more so than that, he’s been lonely, unsteady. he misses you so fucking much, nothing’s as fun without you, everything’s dull like the world’s covered in sepia. 

“c’mere,” you say, opening your arms and he crawls forward, collapsing into you. “i love you, shuji, i do.. and i’m sorry.” 

you realize now how distant you’ve been. unbeknownst to the two of you, just how stressful a new job could be, you were just trying to jumble a new set schedule but you had been snappier, neglectful, and even downright mean at times.

shuji tried his best to accomodate you, going off on night rides by himself, always saying, “it’s alright.” when you’d turn him down again. he tried to busy himself more with his friends, but his mind always wandered to what you’d be doing - did you miss him too? - checking his texts every now and then in hopes there’d be a new message. 

“shuji?” you whisper when he doesn’t respond and you think he has every right to be upset with you. but instead he says, “yeah?” his face suddenly dangerously close to yours, the tip of his nose lingers by yours and your face heats up at the proximity. 

“um,” you stutter and soon there’s a smirk dancing on his face, “d-did you hear me?” 

“i heard you. loud and clear, ♡” he says, lips ghosting over yours, “i was just replayin’ it in my head.” 

shuji always has you melting and tonight is no different, so you close your eyes and let him kiss you. deep, sweet, and full of all the things the two of you don’t know how to say. you pout when he pulls away and he grins, “so cute.” 

an idea strikes you then as you gaze at the love of your life. “hey… wanna go for a ride?” besides, what's the harm in losing a little sleep?

the way he perks up has you giggling, you’re sure if he had a tail it’d be wagging a mile a minute. he’s practically beaming, as he starts to pull you up and off the bed. he stops for a second, head tilted and finger on his chin, “wait, don’t you have a meeting at in a couple hours?” 

you nod, “yeah, so bring me home by 5?” you smile at him as you reach for a jacket.

“i can do that.” 

ran:

for the first time in his life, ran haitani cannot fall asleep. he lays there, one arm resting above his head, the only noise being the sound of your soft snores as his mind continues to wander. he thinks about the dinner you two had earlier.  it was dumb, the entire situation, your friends were clearly too drunk to be saying reasonable things. ran knew this, he’s been the same way countless times before.

but when she hiccuped, arm slung around you, “maann, can’t believe you ended up with ran! you used to only talk about rindou in high school ehe.” ran felt his stomach drop. 

you froze at that, quickly glancing at ran whose face was otherwise unreadable. she continued, incessantly giggling, “seriously seriously! everyday was ‘man rindou looked sooo cu’-“

“thats enough!” you had said, placing a palm over her mouth to muffle her. “lets get you home, okay?” desperately glancing at the rest of your friends, who took the hint and helped her out of there. 

ran remembered how after everyone left, you had tried to talk to him, “listen..” your hand reaching towards his. 

but for some reason, he had stopped you. “it’s fine, people say dumb shit when they’re drunk,” he mused, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “don’t worry about it.” 

and maybe the reason was that he was scared, scared to hear you admit that yeah, you did like his brother. and when that didn’t work out, you settled on him. 

he shakes his head, getting up from the bed and padding over to the bathroom. turning the faucet, he douses cold water on his face. don’t be stupid, ran. 

when he walks out, he stops when he sees you sitting up, sleepily rubbing your eyes. “ran?” you mumble, “are you okay?” 

he settles back into an easy grin, walking over and climbing back in. “yeah, i’m alright.” 

“liar.” 

he blinks. “what’d you just say?”

“i said, you’re a liar.” you huff, placing your hands on his cheeks, swiveling his head towards yours. “you’re upset.” 

“and why do you think that?” he says, but there’s a red tint dusting on his cheeks, and his eyes flicker from you to various objects around the room. 

“first of all, you’re awake,” you emphasize, “when is ran ‘if i don't get enough sleep i’ll kill you and your family’ haitani awake at 3am? hm?” you dart your head every time he tries to look away trying to stay in his vision. 

he sighs, “okay, you got me.” he stills, looking at you with a crease in his brow. “do you love me? and.. was what your friend said right? that you used to like my brother?” 

you soften at his question, “of course i do. i love you and only you. let me explain?” 

he nods and you drop your hands, opting to intertwine them with his. sighing, you begin, “okay so, in high school there was this… friend- okay no i hated that bitch-“ 

you give ran a look as he whistles, caught off guard by your vitriol, as he motions you to continue on with a little grin, “don’t mind me.” 

“there was this acquaintance,” you continue and ran nods, “and every single guy i was into she would try to take them from me, so i pretended to like rindou because.. i was scared.. she would actually get together with you.” 

its your turn to burn with embarrassment, looking down at your interlocked hands as you reveal the secret you kept for so long. you glance up at ran and groan out a “what?!” when you notice his shit-eating grin. 

“i’m really a catch, eh?” he teases and you scrunch your nose. “don’t make that face,” he points, “you’re the one who tried to gatekeep me.” 

“ugh fine,” you pout, your face on fire,  “this is so embarrassing… ah!” ran pulls you down, hugging you tightly. “ran?” 

“man, i feel like a million bucks! who would’ve thought the person i’d been chasin’ all throughout highschool felt the same way. i should’ve asked you out sooner.” he pinches your cheek, cooing, “my baby.” 

you can’t even focus on the fact that he casually mentioned the two of you were mutual crushing for so long. if you could die from embarrassment you would. on the flipside, if ran could die from love, he would. he’s never admitted it before, but he’s always felt a little insecure, so he hides it behind a mask that only you get to uncover. 

“did i ever meet her?” he asks, face to face with you. he can’t stop smiling, instead continuing to poke your cheek as you pout. 

“hmm, maybe. i dunno, i tried to avoid her a lot of the time.” you answer, “why?” 

“cause if i did, you wouldn’t even have to worry about it.” he says, running the pad of his thumb over your cheek. “i’ve only had eyes for you after all.” 

was he always this cheesy? seriously, you might die. “i’m gonna die,” you profess, your face and body on fire, moving your hands up to hide your expression behind them. “if you continue, i’ll seriously die.” 

“dying in my arms is super romantic though.” he muses, “i bet it’d be a dream come true for you.” 

“shut up!” you groan, burying your face into the pillow. 

“babe, seriously, it’s a dream of mine. romeo and juliet, who?” 

“ran haitani, shut up!”

rindou: 

rindou haitani was seething. on the outside, he had it all. a club that he owned with his brother, able to play his music to an excited crowd, and to top it all off, a loving partner who did their best to support him. but on the inside, he was someone who hid from his emotions, snuffing them out before they had their chance to reach the surface and maybe that’s why, in rare moments, when he couldn’t snuff them out he waited until you fell asleep to think about them. 

maybe it was his fault for inviting you out, but it’s always been a dream of his to watch you dance to his music. at first you refused, something about how crowds aren’t really your thing. but he persisted, noting how you always dance for him when he plays his music so why not do it at his club? 

“besides, you always get along with everyone you meet, just try it.” he insisted, beaming when you said “okay, just this once.” 

he wasn’t usually jealous, something he prided himself on, that you could hang out with whoever you wanted whenever you wanted and he’d have no issue. but tonight things were different. you looked amazing under the neon, pulsing lights, feeling the beat down to your bones as you swayed and moved on the dance floor. 

ran was supposed to stay close to you, but the two of you got separated by the mass of bodies. from his view up top though, rindou could see you clearly, and when someone came up to you to dance, he was sure you would deny them. but perhaps it was the slight buzz of alcohol running through your veins or maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through you that caused you to say yes. 

you didn’t grind on them, thankfully, but still, the way you laughed and cheered, eyes fully on them was like a kick to rindou’s gut. at one point, they leaned in to say something to you and rindou almost stopped his set, wanting to take you home immediately. but instead, he grit his teeth and kept playing. 

he didn’t have the heart to tell you anything on the way home either, the way you excitedly bounced up and down detailing to him about how much fun you had and how you’d love to go again. he shut those emotions down again, instead laying a hand over yours, smiling and saying, “i’m glad you had fun, love.” 

but now as he lay there in your shared bed, one arm around you as you slept on his chest, he was steaming. he has a continuous fight with himself in his head over it, how he isn’t the type to dance anyway, so it’s fine if you have fun dancing with someone else. but also, have you ever had that much fun with him before? like you did tonight with some stranger? he’s so pissed off he can’t remember, especially when he thinks about how close they were to his baby. 

when rindou is lost in his head, he never notices the things he does outwardly to keep himself calm. like the tapping on your arm or the shake of his leg, but you do, rousing out of sleep, peeking one eye up at him. 

“rinnie?” you croak, voice hoarse from the amount of shouting and laughing you did tonight. “you okay?” 

he looks down at you, unable to control the frustration clearly etched across his face. “i’m fine. go back to sleep.” 

“no.” you say, even in your half-asleep state you can tell that something’s up, “what’s wrong.” 

“nothing.” he huffs, trying his best to not let his emotions get the best of him. but if there’s one thing rindou hates, it’s talking about his feelings.

you pause, trying to think your words over carefully. “did i do something wrong?” he doesn’t respond, and you mull it over again, when an answer comes to you. “oh… i won’t go to the club anymore, if that’s what you want, i bet i looked pretty lame dancing out there-“

“no!” he interrupts, “no… you looked amazing…besides, i love watching you dance.” 

“then what is it, rindou? i can’t read your mind, y’know?” you remind him and his face softens. 

“i know…” he replies, and you wait for him to continue. that’s something that he’s grateful for, that when he does talk, you never rush him, letting him go at his own pace. “it’s just… did you have to dance with that guy tonight?” he mumbles, voice trailing off so that it’s barely audible. 

“hm? i didn’t hear you, did i have to..?” you ask,  tilting your head. 

“did you have to dance with that stupid dude tonight?!” he nearly yells, rushing out his words and you blink, a little taken aback. 

“oh…” you realize, he’s jealous. you realize now that from where he was looking it probably did look bad, his partner, dancing and laughing it up with a stranger. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know that bothered you so much…” 

for some reason, that sets rindou off and he scoffs, pissed off once again. of course he’d be annoyed, of course he’d be jealous. you’re his partner. “do you love me?” 

his question comes out more like an accusation and you hate it because it stings. in turn you say, “i do. do you trust me?” 

he wants to bite back, but when he looks at you, he can’t. you look so hurt, he sighs, rubbing his temple with his free hand, “… sorry. i do trust you. i’m bad at this.” 

“i know,” you say and he glances at you, surprised, which makes you smile. “you’re awful at telling me how you feel, so you act all cool and tough instead.” 

“aren’t you mad at me?” he asks, your sudden smile catching him off guard. 

“hmm… not really mad, just a little hurt is all.” you say, because even though he was the one who told you that you get along with everyone you meet, you know rindou inside and out, culminating from the many years the two of you have shared together. 

rindou doesn’t want to seem controlling, but because of that he neglects to establish his boundaries, too focused on how comfortable you feel. it’s his own weird way of control, if he doesn’t push you, let’s you do your thing, then you’ll stay. you won’t leave him like he’s scared you’ll do if he ever says no.

he apologizes again, his frustration turning to shame. you're so patient, even when he snaps at you or can't find the words. but you shake your head, “thanks for telling me. let me know what bothers you, please?” 

“i’ll try,” he mumbles, glancing away, and you know that means that next time he probably won’t. he’ll most likely bury those feelings deep inside until you catch wind, but it’s the fact that he’ll at least try that makes you happy. it’s okay, you’ll always be there when he needs it. 

you settle back into your original position, closing your eyes and within a few minutes, you’re dozing off asleep. 

tonight really did a number on you, he thinks, while playing with your hair, maybe i should be more honest with you… i love you. 

but there's a few things that rindou doesn’t realize. like how he’s talking out loud, or that you’re still just barely awake, his “i love you,” warming you up like the morning sun. as much as you wanna mention it when you wake up, you also don’t wanna embarrass him. for now, you’ll keep this a secret.♡

[everythingacotarbxm1012]

They're Mates - with Y/N Pt 3

Summary - Y/N decides she wants to learn to fly again.

Warnings/Other Notes - This one is in 2nd person pov because the first two chapters were looking at Y/N and Az’s relationship from a source not within their relationship. 2k word chapter- Again, some of these lines/plot points are inspired by, or directly quoted from, ACOMAF. This chapter takes place prior to the first two chapters.

Injury mentioned, though not super graphically. Reader relives/remembers having her wings cut.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Masterlist

✨💫

You could feel the blade cutting into your wings. Tears spilled down your face as you screamed in pain, begging the Mother to make it stop. You were never going to fly again. The one thing that brought you unending joy, your only source of freedom, was being taken away.

“Y/N?”

The edges of your memories blurred. That voice, you recognized that voice.

“Y/N?!”

That sweet, honey-like voice called you. Something in you warmed and the pain lessened. Like you were basking in the sun.

“Y/N!”

You shot up in bed, your legs tangled in the sheets. A cold sweat dripped down your face and that same smooth voice kept saying something, but your mind was still catching up and couldn’t process them, not right now. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and then there were hands cupping your face. Not those smooth hands in the romance novels, but hands with bravery and adventure etched into them. Hands that felt like home. Your eyes shot up to meet a pair of hazel ones. Azriel.

“You’re safe. I’m here, your safe. Your father can’t touch you anymore,” the shadowsinger whispered to you. 

You nodded and leaned forward to wrap your arms around him. He reciprocated. You chased away the nightmare, remembering where you were. I’m here with Azriel. With Cassian, and Rhysand. With Rhys’s mother. Az saved you. Your arms tightened slightly around the shadowsinger, burrying your face into his muscular shoulder. His shadows curled around the both of you. His scent felt like home. The same scent that you had become familiar with every time you fell asleep, the one still lingering in the bedding when you woke up and he was gone off to train, with a promise to come back in time for dinner.

Sharing a bed with the Illyrian didn’t start right away, not on purpose. It just happened one night. Azriel never made it back to his own bed, instead he fell asleep comforting you from the same nightmare. Then it became purposeful, falling asleep and not returning to his own chambers. And one night the shadowsinger didn’t even bother finding his way into his own bed, Az just went straight to yours. You certainly didn’t mind and Rhys’s mother never said anything.

“Azriel?” You asked against his shoulder.

He placed the gentlest kiss to your temple. One that reminded you of a waltz you heard one day in Velaris. “Yes?”

You lifted your eyes to look at Az’s face. “What if I never fly again?” Your chest started heaving again. You broke away from the shadowsinger and looked away. It felt like someone had lit a fire inside you. Not one that someone makes to keep you warm on an incredibly chilly night, but a fire started out of malice, one to kill and destroy.

Azriel’s features became softer, contemplative if that was at all possible. “Impossible…because I’ll teach you.” 

Your eyes shot up to his face. “Are you…certain? Do you not need to train? I don’t—”

“I would spend the rest of my life in that damned cell for you again, Y/N.” He paused. “Don’t think I wouldn’t teach you to fly. Unlike Cass and Rhys I remember learning. Both of them would tell you to just flap your wings. I understand the fears and mental blocks of being older.”

You let out the softest laugh, wiping a drop of sweat from your forehead. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He nodded in his silence, considering something a moment. Az stood from the bed, his pants sitting low on his hips as he disappeared into the washroom and reappeared a few moments later with a damp cloth. “May I?”

You nodded and he gently pressed the cool cloth to your forehead, making the sweat disappear as if it had never happened. His shadows flitted through your hair. Whispering to you. Care. Care. Care.

The shadowsinger tried to call them back, but they had a mind of their own, especially around you. You chuckled lightly. Silly little guys, acting like a bunch of toddlers. When Az decided he had done a sufficient job of wiping your face he pressed another kiss to your forehead before hanging the cloth to dry and returned. 

You were lying down in the bed when he returned. He climbed in next to you before pulling you against him. You both fell asleep and slept soundly for the rest of the night.

The following day you went into Velaris with Rhysand’s mother to run a few errands. Her skills as a seamstress were impressive and she used it as an opportunity to occupy a portion of her time. You stopped at your favorite bakery to pick up a few things for dinner that evening. You also found a used book on diplomacy that was on sale. Rhys’s mother kindly bought it for you; well maybe more for Azriel’s shadow who seemed desperately intrigued with it. When you returned home, to your surprise, Trouble, More Trouble, and Too Much Trouble, were already there. (Nicknames you had aptly given to Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian.)

Too Much Trouble grinned when he saw you and clapped his brother on the back. “This one here got us kicked out early today for starting not one, not two, but three fights. I mean he looked like death coming to collect souls for the next life. Don’t insult, Y/N!!”

“Shut up, Cassian,” Rhys said, giving a pointed look.

“You weren’t any use, Cassian,” Azriel growled back while shoving his brother’s hand away from his shoulder. Az had a black eye and dried blood along his cheek bone. He didn’t meet your gaze but his shadows happily slithered over to you. Protect, Protect, Protect, they whispered to you. Then you understood the shadows’ need to be near you, hovering. The reason why you had a shadow over your shoulder since Az saved you from your father. A form of protection, something to keep you safe, something to report back to the shadowsinger if you were in danger. 

And that’s exactly what Azriel had done earlier that day. Defended you without remorse. 

You glanced at Cassian who had a bruise on his jaw and then to Rhys who also had a black eye. Rhys’s mother looked far from pleased. “Cassian. Rhysand. Upstairs! Clean yourselves up.” Her gaze turned to the shadowsinger. “Azriel. Sit .” She announced as she put the bags down from your earlier trip to Velaris. 

For all her softness, Rhys’s mother certainly had a sharpness to her not often seen. Rhys and Cass’s wings hung ever so slightly and only for a moment before they shifted again and they disappeared up the stairs. You followed them.

When you got to your room, you opened the book bought earlier that day and began reading on the bed. The sheets still smelled of him, of both of you. The shadow rested on your shoulder, appearing deeply engrossed in the words too. About fifteen minutes later you could hear the shadowsinger coming up the stairs. You knew it was him for the sole reason of his footsteps. You had learned how Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian walked. The heaviness of their feet, the pace.

You could hear Az and Rhys out in the hall. “Your mom wants you,” is all you heard before Rhys is walking downstairs and the shadowsinger is walking into your room. You closed your book to look up at him.

“C’mon.” The shadowsinger stepped towards the small balcony and opened the doors. “You can’t learn to fly in here.”

“What,” you asked him, confused.

“You think I started the third fight for the fun of it?” Azriel asked, offering his hand out to you.

You only gave him a confused look, remaining on the bed.

He walked back towards the bed where you sat reaching for your boots. He knelt down on his knees. “Sure, the moron had it coming. That doesn’t change the fact that fighting with him for a third time got me the afternoon off to teach someone how to fly.”

Your mouth fell agape. “Azriel,” you admonished and a smile came over the shadowsinger’s lips before pulling on your boots. “I am perfectly capable of putting on my shoes, Az.”

He only offered you a hand after he tied them up. You took it before he swept you into his arms. You craved his embrace, more than so many other things. Azriel walked back towards the balcony and shot into the sky.

You never imagined how some people hate this, because Gods this felt good, felt like freedom. It reminded you of your childhood when you flew whenever you could, as if flying up into the sky might take you away from all of your problems. You just hoped the next time you flew it would be on your own wings.

Azriel landed in a clearing, gently placing you down on the ground carefully, to make sure you didn’t fall. “I want you to be careful. If anything hurts too—”

“I promise I’ll tell you,” you said to him with a nod. 

“Is it…is it okay…okay if I touch your wings? For correction I mean? Should it be… necessary?” The shadowsinger asked from behind you, almost nervously. For good reason. The concept of touching someone’s wings without permission, in particular females, was beyond inappropriate. 

You nodded, you could sense the shadowsinger behind you, observing your wings carefully. You could feel his eyes scanning up and down. “Azriel?” You asked quietly.

“I can’t say I am a healer and know the anatomy well, but perhaps we start at the beginning. Test the muscles, the ligaments.”

You nod, something feeling oddly intimate about the moment. You turn to face the shadowsinger whose face had contemplating written all over it.

“Try spreading them and tucking them in,” he said as you faced each other. 

You nodded, spreading your wings as best you could. Mother above you hadn’t actually tried to do this in a while. You grimaced but managed to spread them, pushing them to your full extent, spreading your feet to offer you more balance.

A small smile of pride was clear on Azriel’s face. “Now fold inward.”

You did, slowly, afraid to tear or rip something in your wings. You couldn’t stop the smile when you folded inward with success. 

“Good,” he said with a mild amusement in his eyes. “Try again.”

You spread your wings again, your muscles ached, but that was good. That meant they were there, that meant you had a chance. 

Azriel’s eyes followed the movements, and cauldron boil him if your form wasn’t the most stunning thing he had ever seen. The shadowsinger had to put more concentration into not letting his knees buckle under him than he would like to admit. Beautiful. Stunning. Lovely. Beautiful, stunning. Lovely, his shadows whispered in his ear.

You pulled your wings shut rather than slowly closing them which caused you to lose your balance slightly, falling forward. Azriel reached out to catch you before you could land on the ground with a light amusement in his eyes before he suddenly realized how close in proximity you were to him. 

You’d been this close before. By the Gods, you shared a bed every night, but something felt different. You gently rest your hands against the shadowsinger’s chest in silence. 

“Y/N?” He asked quietly, hands shifting to cup either side of your face.

You looked up to see his face leaning down slightly. “Azriel.”

You don’t know who leaned in first, maybe Azriel, maybe you. It didn’t matter, because moments later the shadowsinger’s lips were on yours. They were sweet, and salty, and soft and warm. Like a warm biscuit on a cold night. Your fingers wound up in his hair before he pulled away. “Was that okay?”

His response was pulling your lips to his again, harder, more desperately like he had lived in a dry desert for centuries and you were a tiny pool of water in the middle of it all.

You returned to opening and closing your wings, building the muscle until it was as easy as walking, though it certainly felt like the cauldron was burning you alive when you woke up the following morning. But you couldn’t be bothered, you were going to fly again.

Taglist: @5onedirection5

[miraclewoozi]

ELECTRIC. - y.jh

your best friend is many things. smart, funny, empathetic, a complete and utter pain in your ass to name but a few. and on the evening of his twenty-eighth birthday, you discover something a little unexpected: jeonghan is very afraid of thunderstorms. 

pairing : jeonghan x fem reader. content : f2?. smut. fluff. a bit of angst. comfort. (MINORS DNI) w/c : 6.3k warnings : swearing. jeonghan has astraphobia / a fear of storms (for a brief period, he's a little fragile). intentional lowercase. smut tags utc. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. notes : happy birthday to this sweetest of sweethearts. i would chew my right arm off if he asked me to. (barely proofread. if you see a typo, no you didn't.<3)

smut tags : pussy drunk jeonghan (my beloved), no real power dynamics but jh is a cocky mf and a bit of a dick, panty sniffing hehe, fingering, oral sex (f rec), reader is turned on by the storm. they're very unserious about it.

the lead actors meet in a kiss. the screen fades to black. so ends yet another round of your annual birthday movie nights.

jeonghan reaches for the remote and silences the end credit theme to the film you’ve just finished watching at the same time as you lift your head up off his shoulder, stretching high above your head and letting out perhaps the loudest yawn (-stroke-moan) of your life. your joints ache from too long spent in one, rather cramped, position, your eyes feel heavy in the late hour. the room falls almost silent around you both, save for the harsh splashing of rain against the windows. 

(this really doesn’t help the fact that you’re seconds away from falling asleep.)

“what did you think?” jeonghan asks, stretching his long legs out in front of him. 

“not my best pick,” you say, scrunching your nose a little. “not my worst, either.”

your best friend gives a short ‘ha’ of agreement, finally standing up off the couch. “couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

he gathers up the takeout boxes currently decorating his coffee table and grabs the now empty drinks glasses with his free hand, grunting softly as he stands fully upright again. you see him trying to roll out a kink in his neck and laugh from where you’re still settled comfortably in the couch cushions.

“you’re going stiff in your old age,” you tease him, grinning brightly. he fires a look at you that simultaneously dares you to keep going down this path, and yet also, tiredly agrees. “remind me to book you a good massage for your birthday next year.”

he grunts something that sounds suspiciously like an instruction to go fuck yourself as he takes his leave from the room, carrying everything that needs to be thrown away or washed up into the kitchen. you busy yourself on your phone while he’s gone, deciding to check in on your weather app. you quite like the rain and you’re really not that worried about driving home in it; you’re just curious how long it’s going to last for. 

in the delay of the app opening, a series of bright flashes bounce off every single wall in the living room. when you glance outside, the rain is falling harder than before; barely ten seconds later, a thunderclap roars through the ajar windows and you feel it all the way down into your tummy. 

you don’t have a chance to excitedly run across the room to get a look at the storm, though. a loud swear and the sound of crashing glass stings your eardrums before the rumble is even over. instead, you’re bolting through in the same direction jeonghan disappeared off in just moments ago, your heart having taken dangerous residence your stomach.

“what’s wrong?!” you ask as you skid around the corner in your socks, just managing to catch yourself from sliding straight into the wall at the end of the hallway. “i heard a—”

you freeze, then, falling silent. jeonghan is gripping onto the kitchen counter like his life depends on it with both shattered glasses laying at his feet; he looks like he’s seen a ghost, all white-knuckled and clammy and pale-lipped. it’s terrifying. 

“hey,” you say, slowly making your way into the room, mindful not to startle him and even more careful not to stand on one of the many shards on the laminate. “what happened? are you okay?”

he nods, weakly. swallows hard. blinks a few times, curls and uncurls his fingers, steps back from the counter. 

“yeah,” he breathes eventually, uncertain and still visibly shaken. he wipes his palms on his sweatpants and looks over at you, forcing a smile, but you’ve known him for entirely too long to be sold on this terrible performance. “i, uh-...”

but jeonghan stops short, shaking his head, running out of words to say. for a moment, you think maybe he’s about to apologise; that’s the shape his lips make, anyway. you cut in before he gets the chance.

“it’s okay,” you say, leaning one hip up against the counter. “go sit down, i’ll clear all this up. watch where you stand, though.”

“you don’t have to–” he starts, but you interject before he can even entertain the idea of cleaning the mess himself.

“i know i don’t, but i want to. go. i’ll only be a minute.”

begrudgingly, he agrees; you grab the broom from his kitchen cupboard and start slowly sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan while he carefully steps on the safe parts of the floor and makes his way back through to the living room. you make reasonably quick work of everything, emptying the fragments into the bin on top of the takeout boxes – all that’s left by the time you’re finished a couple of minutes later, is to try and figure out what caused all this in the first place.

jeonghan isn’t an easily shaken individual; you know this from years of experience. he seems to be able to catch you every time, without fail: whether he’s just popping out at you from behind a door and making you yelp, or he’s near-on giving you heart failure by texting you that something terrible has happened and that you need to come over, immediately, only for said ‘terrible’ thing to be that he got really comfy on the couch without making any popcorn. but regardless of all the numerous ways he manages to terrorise you, you’ve never, ever managed to do the same back to him. 

he’s always shrugged off your attempts, bragging that he just isn’t afraid of anything. so… you’re not really any closer to finding an answer at the time of going back through to the living room with your backpack slung over one shoulder.

“you wanna tell me what happened in there?” you ask, sitting down next to him on the couch. you’re sure his posture is supposed to be an attempt to convince you that he’s absolutely fine, now, but jeonghan looks stiff and is outright refusing to meet your eyes, despite your best attempts. again, unfortunately, you aren’t so easily fooled.

“i just came over dizzy,” he lies, doing his best to play it down. “maybe i stood up too fast and had a delayed reaction, i don’t know.”

“i’ve known corpses get up faster than you did, hannie,” you deadpan, laying one hand by his knee. “come on. that’s crap.”

he doesn’t quite jerk away from you, but you do feel his thigh muscles tense under your touch. you slide your palm down onto the couch between you instead in an effort to make him a tiny bit more comfortable. 

“it’s nothing,” he tries. “really. it’s–”

“jeonghan–”

“y/n.”

the room around you falls silent, both of your stubborn personalities at a stalemate. he won’t talk, and you won’t let him stay quiet. it’s been this way for years. since you were teenagers, even. you’d think he would have learned by now. (he hopes that you might have, too.)

but, there is a fact at play that makes you stop staring him down, and you relax your shoulders slightly as you sit forwards.

“i’m only letting this go because it’s your birthday,” you sigh, clasping your hands together. “if it was any other day of the week–”

“yeah, yeah. trust me. i know.”

there’s an edge to his voice that almost sounds like your jeonghan. like the teasing menace you know and adore. almost. it’s missing something. missing his usual spark.

“i swear to god, though, if i find out you’re sick and you’re not telling me,” you mutter under your breath. not quite under your breath enough, mind – he hears you perfectly, and you can see, out of the corner of his eye as you start to rummage through your backpack for your car keys, the way his ears prick up.

“don’t be stupid, i’m not sick,” he says. the truth in these words, specifically, is evident in the weight of his voice, in the way his fingers brush against the small of your back. “i swear.”

“pinky swear?” you ask, turning to look at him over one shoulder.

he holds out his little finger on his right hand for you, both eyebrows raised in a silent challenge. you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’. saved for really important promises. when he does the same, you know you can believe him.

“okay,” you concede, going back to your search. “in that case – i think i’m gonna head on home before the roads get flooded.” you had to learn the hard way that the drains in this part of town aren’t known for their ability to handle much more than a middling rainfall.

somehow – always, somehow – buried at the very bottom of your backpack, you manage to find your keys and your hand curls around them as soon as you feel one of the rough edges against your fingertips. it’s barely been three seconds since your announcement, but jeonghan has managed to shuffle right into your personal bubble anyway and is now sitting with one arm pressed fully against your own.

“i don’t know if it’s safe to drive when it’s like this,” he says quietly. “it seems dangerous.”

“i think i’ll be okay if i leave, like, soon,” you try to reassure him. 

“you think,” he repeats, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“i’ve driven in so much worse, believe me,” you say. “don’t worry, i’ll be careful.”

“why don’t you just stay the night?” he offers. “you’re not working tomorrow, are you?”

“i’m not,” you confirm, and you do genuinely consider the offer for a moment before deciding to decline. “but i need a shower, and–”

jeonghan interrupts you, a little too quickly. “you can use my shower, i’ve got spare towels. i’ll sleep on the couch. don’t drive in this.”

“hannie, stop worrying,” you laugh, starting towards the door. “i promise, i’ll go slow and i’ll text you the second i’m home.”

“y/n,” he sighs, stepping towards you, jaw tense. “please. just this once.”

you swallow, looking all over his face, trying to figure out what train of thought the cogs behind his eyes are turning in tune with, why he’s so stressed about this. you’ve never known him behave like this sober. (you’ve only ever known him to be like this once, at all, and he tried to kiss you, then, so–)

“i really…” you start, only to be interrupted by another brilliant white flash. your eyes dart to the window just in time to see the lightning bolt through the clouds, and you feel your face noticeably soften in wonder. barely four seconds later – it’s getting closer – the loudest thunder clap you think you’ve heard in your life drowns out every thought you’ve ever had. 

every thought, except the sudden pressure of jeonghan’s fist around your forearm. every thought, except the stuttered gasp he lets slip. every thought, except the sudden fear in his too-wide-eyes.

oh, you think, realisation dawning on you as the blunt press of his nails grows just a fraction softer in time with the end of the rumble. that’s…

“it’s okay,” you say softly, taking a step closer to jeonghan and opening your arms for him to step into. “it’s okay. i’m here.”

he falls against you like an unsteady house of cards, his arms tight around your back and his head buried into the place in your shoulder where it fits the best. you’ve never seen him like this, and you’re not really sure what to do with yourself; he’s always been the sturdy one, between the two of you. he’s always been your rock. there’s a little bit of an irony in how he’s always been the one to help you weather the storm, but with the shoe on the other foot…

“how can i help you?” you ask, trailing your fingers up and down his back, not really sure that he can feel you through the thick material of his sweatshirt but you’re trying your best, anyway. 

he squeezes you tighter, buries his head further down into your shoulder, takes a few shaky breaths in through his mouth and screws his eyes shut a little more before he makes his request. 

“please stay with me.”

if your heart wasn’t aching for him before, it most certainly is now. you nod to the room at large, hoping jeonghan can feel the movement even a little. you don’t loosen your hold around him, though: you let your best friend cling to you for as long as his muscles will allow before they start to ache and he has to step away. 

“come with me,” you say once he’s finished running his fingers through his hair, trying to set it back to rights. “it’s okay.” you hold one of your hands out to him and he takes it, albeit apprehensively; giving his palm a squeeze with your own, you guide him through the apartment towards his bedroom.

“what are you–?” he asks, and despite his earlier hesitance to hold onto your hand, he doesn’t want to let go of you now you’ve reached your destination. he just stands next to you, fingers threaded through yours, looking at your face with tired eyes and a lifted brow. 

“grab your bedsheets,” you tell him, shaking your hand free. “and your pillows. we’re gonna make a fort.”

“a what?”

“a blanket fort,” you say. “to hide from the storm.”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, and for a brief second, you think maybe the idea has offended him. his face hasn’t lifted into the smile you sort of expected it to; instead, he’s just staring down at his bed as if he’s trying to will himself out of existence.

“we don’t have to do all that,” he says. “it’s… that’s way too much?”

“it’s your birthday,” you counter. “and i want to make you a birthday fort. like we used to, when we were kids. it’ll be fun!”

he gives a little sigh, but it’s not one of sadness or exasperation with you. it’s defeat. except, you think if you could taste it, you’d be able to pick up a tiny lacing of sweetness in his exhale. 

“fine. you’re building it, though.”

you think it’s safe to say that perhaps, you’re a bit out of practice. you distinctly remember this being much easier when you were young: throwing bedsheets and blankets over the couch and propping them up with chairs or broomsticks. the forts that you would make as a child were, truly, a sight to behold: you used fairy-lights to decorate one, once, and it still remains one of your most prideful projects to date. the slight catastrophe that sits in jeonghan’s living room by the time you’ve finished laying out the last few pillows is… more a cave, in your opinion, and not a very pretty one, but you emerge from it smiling anyway and jeonghan looks at you so fondly that no matter how rubbish it is, it’s worth the half an hour you spent putting it together.

“what do you think?” you ask, sitting back on your heels.

“it’s not your best,” jeonghan teases as he walks towards your monstrosity masterpiece, critically eyeing the ‘roof’ that would definitely fail any kind of health and safety audit. “but it’s not your worst, either.”

a bright smile lights up your face as he drops down to his knees and crawls inside the space alongside you, letting the ‘door’ (a particularly thick blanket) fall down behind him. one of the (many, many, many, many, many) problems you encountered was trying to make one of these to fit two grown adults, but with him tucked away inside with you and a few flashlights to prevent you from being plunged into darkness… ignoring the potential for it all to come collapsing in on you at any given time, it’s surprisingly comfortable. 

you lay back against the pillows first and jeonghan follows soon after, a weirdly gleeful smile playing at his lips as he does. he curls into your side and you talk, and talk, and talk. about everything. about nothing. it doesn’t really matter.

you’re not quite sure why, but the deep roars of the storm outside don’t seem to bother jeonghan quite as much in here. maybe it’s because he’s not alone, and there’s no imminent threat for him to be: maybe your company really is making a difference. he still reaches for you every time there’s a particularly loud clap, still closes his eyes and takes a series of deep breaths until his stress passes, but for whatever reason, he feels significantly less tense.

and when, after the third boom, he decides just… not to let go of your hand? who are you to try and force him?

there’s… just one problem, though. you’re ecstatic that the storm isn’t bothering jeonghan as much, now. that he can talk absolute nonsense to you in your private little hideaway, that he can lean his head against your shoulder and chuckle at your bad jokes and even crack a few of his own. genuinely, you could not be happier. for him.

but there was more reason than wanting to sleep in your own bed that had you desperately trying to get home before you realised the gravity of your best friend’s situation. 

with every new growl of thunder outside, something low in your stomach twists, accompanied by an ache, a warmth, a throbbing between your thighs. at first, it was easy enough to battle through. you kept telling yourself that the thunder never lasts too long, that you could get through this without jeonghan being any the wiser, that everything was going to be fine. but now, almost an hour later, the buzz of electricity in the atmosphere and the entirely-too-addicting scent of your best friend’s fabric softener has you feeling hot enough you could faint.

you twist and shuffle over and over, hoping to find a position that eases the throbbing. it’s fine, you think, taking a deep breath and praying to every deity you can recall by name that jeonghan doesn’t notice your discomfort. i can do this. it’s fine. just a little while longer.

a spectacular boom sounds through the apartment and jeonghan’s fingers tighten around yours so much that, against all your better judgement, you let out a loud gasp. not out of pain, though – no, you wish. if only it was that easy. ha. no – as he squeezes your hand, images flash through your mind of him being the one to relieve you of the tension building up beneath your skin. of him gripping and grasping and tugging, thrusting, tasting, adoring. your throat runs dry and you squeeze your thighs together desperately, pinching your lips tight, willing your pounding heart to calm the fuck down. willing your cunt to stop drooling into your panties.

“fuck,” you breathe when he finally lets go. you feel him shuffle at your side and prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at your face with mild terror written into the lines of his own.

“i’m so sorry – did that hurt?” he asks, searching your eyes for any kind of clue. you wish he wouldn’t. surely, you think, pressing your tongue harshly against the roof of your mouth, surely my pupils are blown to oblivion, right now.

you shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“are you sure?” he asks, slowly running his fingers down your arm, moving to take hold of your hand again if you’ll let him. you flinch, the drag of his nails akin to an electric shock – like being struck by lightning, you tell yourself – and he snaps his hand back straight away. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you hurry, pushing yourself up to sit (almost head-butting him in the process) and groaning at the way the seam on your jeans rubs against your clit. who wears fucking jeans to a movie night? what absolute moron–

“do you feel okay?” jeonghan questions, sitting fully upright now too. “do you think it was the foo–”

“oh my god, please,” you whimper, bowing your head, letting your hair fall around your face, shielding you from him. just a little. not quite enough. “please. i’m fine. stop asking. i’m fine.”

“said everyone, ever, who was in fact – not fine,” jeonghan quips. “do you need water? i can help, just talk to me–”

“jeonghan,” you snap, whipping your head back up. your face feels hot and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt this tense before in all your years on this earth. all your muscles are tweaking in anticipation for something that most certainly is not going to happen, and you really need him to stop talking in that deep, smooth, caring voice. with immediate effect. for the love of god – 

…and heaven above, the penny drops. 

jeonghan’s concerned expression turns to one of complete shock and you cover your face with both hands, trying so desperately hard not to be perceived by him in this most humiliating of moments. he doesn’t say anything for a second, and you tell yourself that he’s probably trying to find either a terrible joke to ease the tension or a way to tell you to go home. you don’t know which would be worse, but it’s only a matter of time until you find out.

therefore, you definitely don’t expect him to pry your hands away from your cheeks, and for his shit-eating, impishly charming, handsome-as-fuck grin to be the first thing your eyes land on when you open them.

“really? thunderstorms?” he asks, close enough that you feel the breaths that his words don’t quite steal. “that’s your kink?”

“it’s not a kink,” you whine, throwing your hands down either side of you. he doesn’t release his hold on your wrist, though. “come on, don’t be–”

“of all the things you could be into,” he says. oh, he’s back. he’s back with a vengeance. you suppose, really, you should be glad that he’s feeling more like his usual self, but the fact that it’s at your expense? that there’s no-one else around for him to turn on instead? that this is your topic of conversation at ten past midnight on his living room floor?

“hannie, please,” you huff, lips drawing downwards into a frowning pout. the ache isn’t going away. why isn’t it going away? why is this cocky, smirking version of your best friend making you feel even hotter under the collar? what’s going on? “don’t you think i’ve suffered enough?”

“not even nearly,” he says, sitting up on his knees, resting his palms on his thighs. “since when? how did you even fig–”

boom.

and his jaw falls slack, watching you squirm.

you’re quite literally fighting for your life. or, at minimum, for your friendship. because, really, you could jump jeonghan’s bones right now and you don’t actually think he’d turn you down (something to be filed under: thoughts that are not making this any easier). but that’s not what you’re trying to do; you’re trying to help him feel better, and take his mind off his fear, and when he pulls his bottom lip between his bottom teeth before speaking –

“okay, wait. hear me out.”

to both of your surprises, you do. you don’t try and protest, which he was sort of expecting you to do. you don’t tell him to shut up, you don’t try and get away from him. you sit there, eyes wide, hands curling into the blankets beneath your slowly numbing ass, and you wait for him to continue.

“i can help you.”

your heart shoots up into your throat and you struggle to swallow around it. your breaths are heavy, laboured, your lips parted and a little swollen from how you’ve been biting at them for the past hour and a bit.

“you don’t have to–”

“shut up, y/n,” he says dismissively, crawling in front of you and lifting your hands away from the bedding you’re kneading (pathetically, in his professional opinion) like a cat. “listen. you’ve helped me so much tonight, you don’t even know. let me return the favour.”

“hannie…”

“hannie,” he whines, in a poor imitation of your voice. “hannie, i only helped you because you needed me– is that it? look at you, y/n. you’re a mess.”

if this were anyone else, you’d be livid. not only at the way he so effortlessly makes fun of you, but at the fact that he accurately finished your sentence without having anything more than an affectionate nickname to work from as a hint. you don’t know what to say, suddenly stunned into silence, but it’s all right. you don’t need to say anything; he keeps going.

“you need me. let me help you – look. it’s my birthday.”

he wants this, you think to yourself, growing slightly concerned by the way your heart continues to hammer in your throat. he wants… me.

you give one slow, but definite, nod of your head and jeonghan’s grin grows from cocky to genuine. he crawls until he’s right up in your space, lifting a hand to your cheek, and you forget how to breathe for a moment as he looks you in the eyes with more heat than the mid-august sun.

“lie down,” he says, pushing that last little bit closer and capturing your lips in a kiss. it’s short, but mind-boggling. your brain goes totally blank when he pulls away. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

but you do as he says and shuffle around the little fort so you’re on your back, head resting against one of the many pillows you’re grateful you brought in here with you. he crawls on top of you, then, caging you in with one hand either side of your head, settling with one of his knees slotted between your just-parted thighs. 

“okay?” he asks, searching your face for any signs of discomfort or worry. he doesn’t find any, though – he’s met only with a perhaps too enthusiastic nod and your hands playing at the hem of his sweatshirt. he chuckles, bending down to kiss you again, a little deeper this time, a little longer. open-mouthed and hot, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, dropping onto one elbow so his torso lies almost flush against yours. 

“easy, tiger. taking care of you, right now.”

you sigh as his lips start to descend down the column of your throat, and you press your shoulders back into the blankets to try and push that little bit closer to him. one of his hands slips beneath your own shirt and his palm comes to rest flush against your hip, dragging his thumb in small circles over your skin. 

“this,” he mumbles into your collarbone, tugging the neckline of the garment between his teeth for a moment so you know what he’s referring to. “off.”

“bossy,” you mumble, your body cold all of a sudden as he sits back away from you and you tug your t-shirt off over your head. as you do, he reaches behind his neck and tugs off his sweatshirt as well before he tosses it up near your head, out of the way.

now, this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever been around jeonghan without anything covering his top half, but it is something that you rarely get the chance to see. if it’s not the fact that he’s chronically freezing cold, it’s because he’s grown emotionally attached to some of the baggiest tops known to mankind, or he’s worried about getting a sunburn so is still covered up at the beach. for one reason or another, this just isn’t something you’re blessed to see very often, and he looks so good you almost forget that it’s him.

of course, that only lasts until he says something really fucking dumb. in other words, all of about three seconds.

“how… practical,” he says, eyes trained down on the bra covering your tits. in a way, it’s probably a good thing you’ve snapped back to your senses, because you once again find yourself thinking that if this were anyone else, you’d have told them to get off you and never call you again.

but why is jeonghan, of all people, criticising your choice of comfy underwear… weirdly endearing?

“sorry,” you grunt, making no effort to hide the (flesh-toned, full-coverage, entirely too old) bra that he’s looking at like it’s personally offending him. “didn’t expect to need to impress, tonight.”

“don’t be sorry,” jeonghan says, shaking his head as he unpops the button on your jeans and tugs them down over your hips. “just… do better next time, yeah?”

you laugh so suddenly, so abruptly, so loudly that you choke on your own spit and end up coughing a little, propping up on one elbow to try and relieve the burn in your lungs as he continues to work your pants off your legs. by the time he scrunches them into a ball and puts them to the side, too, you’ve managed to catch your breath, and gasp out, “next time?”

“next time,” he nods, making himself comfortable between your thighs. he lays one palm on the inside of each knee, pushing them as far apart as your hips will allow, before he brings one hand over your covered cunt and drags his thumb up and down your slit.

you don’t even get a chance to ask why he’s so sure there’ll be a next time. he skillfully works you through the material and in seconds, has you tipping your head back into the pillows, moaning at the overwhelming feeling of finally being touched.

“so fucking wet,” he sighs, feeling your arousal through the cotton of your underwear, pressing the material between your folds. his thumb circles your clit over and over, the pressure just right – not so light that he’s teasing, not so hard that you’re squirming away from him. hell, if you knew he was this good, you’d have dragged him into bed years ago.

“come on, hannie,” you gulp as he starts to work his thumb faster, starts to massage at your inner thigh with his other hand. “need more…”

well, he doesn’t need to be told twice. you lift your hips and he tugs your panties down your thighs, unhooking them from around your ankles. you expect him to, you know, return to business, but he does something just a little bit unhinged first and brings your soaked underwear up to his face. you hear how deeply, how loudly he inhales, the subsequent groan he gives even louder, and you swear the reason you end up bumping his hip with your knee is to bring him back to earth, because it actually feels like he’s forgotten you’re lying right there.

“i’ll do it myself, in a minute,” you threaten, and jeonghan grins wickedly down at you as he lowers your panties down to join the rest of your discarded clothes. 

“no you won’t,” he tells you – he tells you? – , finally now lying down between your legs, just inches away from your glistening cunt. “god – as if i’d ever let that happen.”

“i swear– ” you start, half a second before one of his fingers presses against your hole. you stop talking with a gasp, a hand flying to your chest and squeezing against your tit. just like that. in a heartbeat, you’re done for. 

he seems intent on gathering as much of your arousal on his fingertip as he possibly can, running it through your folds, pressing it inside you, smearing your slick all over and then some like a fucked-up painting. only once he’s satisfied does he finally start to work his finger in and out, pressing his lips just above where your clit is begging for his attention.

“don’t play stupid,” you chide him when he looks up at you through his lashes, eyes wide and feigning innocence. “if you can find it through my underwear, you can find it now.”

“bossy,” jeonghan tuts. “what’s with the rush, huh?” 

and he adds another finger to the first, both long and elegant and reaching spots inside you that your own physically can’t. you keen against your will, hips reacting of their own accord, trying to fuck your pussy down against his hand. he makes no effort to stop you.

“m’not gonna beg,” you tell him. “just – fuck, get your mouth on me. now.”

to his credit, he does.

and more to his credit, being eaten out has never, ever felt this good.

the hand not grasping at your chest shoots down to tangle in his long, silky hair, and jeonghan moans loudly against your pussy as he laves his tongue everywhere he can. over your clit, between your folds, slipping it inside your hole in place of his fingers – he’s relentless, slurping and groaning and finding some sort of insane stamina from somewhere deep in his soul. you swear to god, this is not the man who sometimes falls asleep with his light on because he doesn’t have the energy to get up and turn them off.

within a matter of minutes, you can feel the coil in the pit of your stomach growing tighter and tighter, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your moans and whines only getting louder by the minute. your legs are shaking. your thoughts are little more than static, and him. at some point – you don’t know when –, jeonghan reached around your hips to pull your thighs together and clamped them around his ears, mumbling against your clit something to the effect of to help with the thunder. (you don’t mention that there hasn’t actually been another thunder crack since he started making out with your pussy. it doesn’t feel relevant, somehow.)

every time you tighten your thighs, every time you squirm, he hugs you tighter against his cheeks and you just end up humping against his tongue. something tells you maybe that was the plan all along? 

sparks of energy start to prickle all over your skin as you teeter on the edge of your high. your fist tightens in jeonghan’s hair, your breaths become fewer and further between. it’s frankly a bit of a miracle you’ve even managed to last this long – you held back as long as you could, determined to milk as much of the pleasure his hands and his mouth so skillfully bring as you can. just in case there’s no next time, but… hell, do you hope there is.

“hannie, i’m–” you gasp, his fingers curling upwards again and resuming their earlier assault on your g-spot. “fuck, hannie, i’m so close–”

“mm, have been for a while, huh?” he asks, drawing his mouth away from you, licking his tongue over his arousal-slickened lips. “you’ve been holding out on me.”

“yeah, but-... i wanna come so bad,” you swallow. jeonghan flicks his tongue out over your clit again and you jolt up into the touch. “please, don’t stop.”

“won’t,” he promises. and it’s the last thing he says before his lips meet your pussy again and he brings you over the edge into the most electrifying of climaxes.

by the time you’ve stopped twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, jeonghan is sat up on his knees again, softly massaging at your hips with his thumbs. your vision is still kind of fuzzy at the edges when you glance up at him, and for a moment, with a hazy outline and an amber glow behind him owed to the flashlight you set at the entrance to the fort, you think he looks a little too much like an angel.

“where the hell did that come from?” you ask him, fighting against the squirming in your belly. fighting against the sensation that feels a little too much like butterflies. 

“really?” he asks in a breathy laugh. “that’s-... i mean, do you actually want to know, or…?”

you mull this over for a moment before crossing your arms over your eyes and concealing yourself from his view, shaking your head. one part of you is morbidly curious as to how he got so good at giving head. the other part of you is too busy trying to gather the brain cells he just sent flying across about eight different dimensions.

“i think you’ve broken me, jeonghan,” you breathe, feeling more than seeing him lie down next to you again. his lips press sweetly against the curve of your shoulder. warmth radiates from that one spot, all over your body. you smile, like a complete loser. 

what’s worse is that you really don’t mind.

“is that a yes, then?” he asks, slinging an arm over your waist. you turn your head to look at him, eyes crossing a little with how unexpectedly close he is. 

“yes to what?” 

“to next time,” he says. his grin matches yours and you nod your head at him, yes. in your peripheral vision, you notice how he lifts one hand, extends his little finger. straight in front of you, you see both of his eyebrows raise.

you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’. 

saved for really important promises.

“to next time.”

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.&lt;3

[leewritestoomuch]

Sanji x Reader: Grinding

I saw a post on tiktok say bring #dryhumping back. I think we need to bring it back to writing.

I’m coming off hiatus🫡‼️

This was written with the Live Action Sanji in mind, but any Sanji will fit the narrative.

Warnings: dry humping, semi-public/exhibitionism (but like just risky)

Your boyfriend is needy man. He’s always being overly touchy or too much in general, but it’s not necessarily a negative trait.

His hand meets your shoulder and brushes off down your arm as he alerts a zoned-out you that he made you a snack. As you snap back to reality, you realize he made you your favorite. By the time you manage to utter a thank you, he’s returned to prepping for dinner.

You think to get up and thank him with a hug or a soft kiss, but you know it wouldn’t stop there, and it feels disrespectful to let the food he made you grow cold without even taking a bite first, not to mention cold food would disappoint you too. You look down at your food, conflicted as to what to do. Settling on saying a quick thank you out loud before digging in, and doing just that.

“We’re gonna have to stop at a port soon enough. Feeding Luffy is not easy.” Sanji speaks up, chuckling. This tears you out of your thoughts, but you take a moment to respond. A moment too long, because Sanji’s face changes as he sets down the bowl he was holding as moves to stand behind your chair.

“Is something on your mind, love?” He asks, hands moving to your shoulders. He rubs them, for now, but you know he’ll go lower. If you’re being honest, you’re beginning to crave it.

As shocking as it is, having the pervert boyfriend that you do, it’s been a little while since the last time you two had some fun together. He’s usually busy in the kitchen, if he’s not the other members of the crew aren’t far behind the two of you. And with sleeping quarters being shared, you’d both be rude and indecent, in your opinion, to attempt while the others are asleep mere feet away.

You’re beginning to get antsy, but you’re reminded of where you are as a timer goes off. A timer you doubt Sanji even needs, but maybe you are distracting enough for him to need a reminder. It seems that’s the case as he lets out a soft “oh, right” and his hands recede as he swiftly moves across the small kitchen.

You huff in a newfound frustration, but he doesn’t seem to notice. After a couple of minutes, he comes back with a short apology. His hands move back to your shoulders, and within seconds he’s asking you if you want to talk to him about whatever is bothering you while his hands start to drift lower.

You consider telling him you’d rather show him, not tell, but you remind yourself you’re in the kitchen. The door doesn’t lock. His head falls to the crook of your neck as he bends down to wrap his arms around you fully. You retain control until his lips are on your neck.

Within minutes, you’ve forced him to sit in the chair so you can move to his lap, straddling it. Every kiss shared is desperate and hungry. Any breath taken has an end marked by a string of saliva, destined to be taken over by another passionate kiss that steals that breath away again. You feel a heat between your legs, like a burning sensation that only he could cool, despite feeling just as on fire as you.

Sanji’s hands are groping at your chest, kneading like he would dough. Every touch and squeeze sends electricity through your body. To dispel that energy, you feel the need rub your needy core against him. He whimpers and feeling causes him to jolt, but respond shortly after with movement of his own. You rut your hips against him like you need this feeling to live.

You briefly notice how obvious it is that Sanji can’t think straight. His mouth is open, letting out heavy breaths, and his eyes are watching where your bodies grind together. He’s practically drooling as he becomes impossibly harder.

You grind your hips down and his hands shoot up to grab at them, groans and helpless whimpers falling from his lips. It was obvious he didn’t think it through, because he looked as if he couldn’t make up his mind as to rather he’d stop you or move you himself. You ignore his hands as his minds twists to decide, instead picking up your pace.

The friction between your bodies and your clothes are making an almost vibrating sensation for you. You shudder against him as you feel pleasure beginning to peak. His breathing picks up and you feel light twitching even through his clothes shortly before he begins to beg.

“Wait, baby, please. Love, not like this— at least let m—“ but he’s quickly cut off by a more intense grinding, the friction sending him over the edge shortly before you topple over too.

“Oh fuckkk.” He moans, head falling back. You let out your own moans as you let yourself fall to just lay against him.

[atlabeth]

the first ball (aka luke goes a little insane)

pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader

a/n: okay these two literally just like. possess me because i am already thinking about them always. thank you to those who sent in requests, they were already things i wanted to write for them in the future so it's perfect!! we're all on the same wavelength fr i just needed to get this out before i started on them

wc: 3.2k

warning(s): luke is a lil sad </3 knightly duties are rough

once again, a mix of hc's and traditional fic!

okay so last time we left off luke had been knighted and you were kind of upset that he straight up promised to die for you. 

since then, things have smoothed out a bit. The fire inside of you has cooled.  

It was easy to get used to Luke’s constant presence. It was a bit more difficult to get used to what it truly meant for him to be a knight.

In private, he was mostly the same Luke you knew. When he would walk you back to your room at the end of the night and you would invite him in, and you’d sit on the floor and talk for much longer than you should. Go out to the balcony with him and stare at the stars, wondering aloud about your future. You would crack jokes in the hallway and he’d laugh like always—he’d actually talk with you, act the way you have for years.  

In public, though, he had a different part to act. And that part was largely silent. During meetings he would stand with all the other knights, and the most you could get out of him was a slight smile or a glint in his eye when you looked over at him after something ridiculous was said. 

More often than not, his role in your life was to trail quietly behind you or stand at attention. 

Sometimes, when the knights would train in view of your balcony, you would stand there and watch, just so you could see Luke display some fierceness, some emotion other than the obedience that was required. 

You had to get it into your head that you weren’t just you and Luke anymore. 

You’re the Crown Princess, the sole heir to the throne, and Luke is the member of the crownsguard, a knight entrusted to your personal protection. 

Things are different now, and you wonder how long it’ll take you to get that through your head. 

and things are about to get a little more complicated for you both lol 

It’s your first ball since Luke was knighted, which means that it’s the first ball he’s coming to with you. 

When you were younger, you typically stayed home and you and Luke would mess around the entire night; stealing treats from the kitchens, giving your governess the runaround, and running out to the castle grounds to do whatever the hell you wanted. 

Once you were old enough to accompany your parents, Luke would just have to be alone. His mother always went with your family, seeing as she was your father’s guard, but Luke only had servants and knights decades his elder for company. 

He usually ended up training, roaming around the grounds himself, or thinking of you. 

Actually, no matter what he was doing, he was typically thinking of you. 

Luke would wait up until you came home and listen to you talk and talk and complain and talk about everything that happened. He could be seconds from falling asleep and then he would hear the horses and carriages and he would be back on his feet immediately, instantly going to find you. 

You mostly complained—about how your feet hurt from the shoes, how you had to talk to so many stuffy nobles (he would remind you that by definition, you were the stuffiest noble), how you had to pretend like you cared about anything anyone was saying. 

Luke doesn’t care, though. He’s always loved listening to you. 

One thing is typically the same, though. 

“I wish you were there, Luke.” 

(So does he.) 

Times seemed so simple then, when you were just there to be there—you didn’t have to think of the intricacies of politics, you were just a twelve-year-old who happened to be a princess. 

And now you’re only two months from eighteen, and you’re already feeling all of the pressure. 

Namely in the form of a marriage. 

Relations with your neighboring kingdoms are shaky as hell but they’re a necessity if you want to keep any modicum of peace. No one likes it, but you’d like war a little bit less so you’ve gotta suck it up. 

The easiest way to keep the peace is through alliances, and the easiest way to get an alliance is through marriage. Fortunately for Aurelda, the princess is eligible and seems to be the subject of many noble affections. 

Unfortunately for you, that princess is in fact you. 

And for like, the first time since Luke has been knighted, you’ve actually been separated from each other for the majority of the day

Luke had to get a lecture on knightly etiquette, this being the first ball he’ll have attended away from Aurelda. He’s gained a temper as he’s gotten older, and the last thing anyone needed was for him to lose it in the midst of peace talks. 

And you were busy with all sorts of preparations. A meeting with your parents and their advisors ensuring you would know what to talk about, a meeting alone with your parents ensuring you knew how to act as the Crown Princess in times like these. A talk from your parents not as their daughter, but as their heir, on how to deal with the suitors you would meet. 

Unlike the Aureldan nobles that would thrust their sons in front of you in the dim hopes of sparking your interest, the men you would meet at this ball would actually be potential husbands. Princes, sons of the richest dukes and earls—and you would be expected to entertain whatever advances they deemed appropriate, or worse—make the advances yourself. 

The thought of it was a bit overwhelming. 

And obviously, Luke is such a fan of it. 

(He kind of wants to die just imagining it.)

(But he doesn’t tell you that.) 

You leave Aurelda a few days before the ball to make sure you’ll make it in time (carriage rides go crazy)

unfortunately, Luke is on horseback alongside the rest of the cavalry and so you have nobody to save you from the continued lectures of your parents. They really just want everything to go perfectly, and you understand it, but you’re already tired of this. 

You arrive the morning of the ball so you spend near the entire day accompanying your parents as they talk with the royal family—at one point you’re forced to go off on your own with their son who just happens to be your age. 

He’s nice, at least—just dreadfully boring. You manage to slip away from him at one point after he gets distracted talking with a servant, and Luke follows you without complaint. 

“Do not say a word,” you told him.

“As my princess decrees,” he said, amused. 

At the end of it all, an hour before you’re meant to leave, you find yourself in your room with Luke. He’s standing guard at the door, and you’re making last minute adjustments to your appearance. 

You should both probably be somewhere else—everything has to go perfect tonight, and you feel as if the entire staff has been in disarray trying to ensure that—but you had to get away. 

And if you’re getting away, Luke is coming with you. 

It doesn’t matter that it’s his duty—he would do it anyway. He thinks he’d do anything you ask.

You’re also very thankful that he doesn’t snitch on you—sometimes, you’re able to appeal to best friend Luke rather than Sir Luke.   

You’re fixing up the last couple bits of your appearance, ensuring all your jewelry is shiny and your gown fits just right and your makeup is perfect. 

The only sound is your sighs and hums and the clinking of your bracelets. You feel Luke’s eyes on you the entire time, and then he finally speaks up. 

“I don’t like this, princess,” Luke said. 

“Really?” you hummed. “I think I look quite dashing.” 

“You always look beautiful,” he said, “but you know that’s not what I mean.” 

“You don’t like much,” you mused, adjusting the position of your necklace. 

“This ball is a bad idea,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“I don’t have a choice,” you said. “It’s enough that my mother is staying home—if I don’t go, especially now that I’m of marrying age, it’ll be taken as a huge insult.” 

“Let them be insulted,” he said. “Your safety is more important than their feelings.” 

A smile tugged at your lips as you turned around and cocked your head at him. “Everything is going to be okay, Luke. No one would be bold enough to…” 

You trailed off, your smile fading as the memories fronted. It had been almost two years and it still felt so fresh. 

Of course Luke would be thinking of it—this would be his first ball in a foreign kingdom as your knight. His mind was probably reeling thinking of all the ways you could be murdered.

You shook your head before the memories could fully surface, before you could entertain any possible disasters. “It’s going to be okay,” you repeated, more forcefully this time. “You’ll be by my side the entire time, right?” 

“Of course,” he huffed. “I just hate the thought of you having to go through all of this.”

“It is what I was born to do,” you said wryly. “I’m going to lead this kingdom someday.”

“Queen is a good title for you,” he admitted. “It seems so far away, though.”

You huffed. “And may it remain that way.”

You moved closer to the mirror to check your makeup, which was when you realized you forgot the most important piece.  

You picked up your most prized necklace from your jewelry box and undid the tie. You attempted to get it back together around your neck, but for some reason you couldn’t get the knot from this angle. After a few fruitless attempts, your shoulders sagged. 

“Luke,” you grumbled, “can you help me with this?”

You could see his raised eyebrows in the mirror. “If you can’t do it, what makes you think I can?”

You didn’t give him an answer, instead turning around to face him as you batted your eyelashes. “Please.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Please,” you repeated, jutting your lip out. “You can swing a sword—you can do up a necklace.”

Luke sighed, but he was already removing his gauntlets, setting them on your bed. “You’re dangerous, princess.”

 You smiled inwardly, and once he was done and walking over to you, you held out the pendant.

Luke paused as he took it, and his eyes darted back up to yours with the slightest smile on his lips. “You still have this?”

“Of course I do,” you said. “It was from you.”

It was only five years ago, but it felt like a century. Luke had gone into town with his mother when your father was cooped up all day in meetings. He’d come back beaming brighter than the sun, proclaiming he’d gotten a gift for you. 

Luke was paid a tiny sum per month at May’s request for the chores and work he did around the castle—she claimed it would keep him in order if he was rewarded for staying in order. It partially worked.

Luke saved for months under your nose, and used what meager gold he possessed to buy you a simple pendant from a merchant. Once again, your excited scream must have echoed through the entire castle.

You wore it every day for the next year and a half, but at some point after tragedy struck, it ended up out of rotation. 

But you’d always had it, even when you weren’t wearing it. 

Always. 

“I just thought…” He glanced back down at it before looking back at you. “It’s not nearly as nice as your other jewelry.”

“It’s from you,” you repeated. “That means it’s my best piece.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, and he gestured for you to turn around. You did, and you watched his work through the reflection. 

His callouses scratched your skin ever so slightly as he moved your hair out of the way, and a shiver ran up your spine both at his touch and the cool air hitting your bare skin. You were silent as he positioned the pendant, not daring to even breathe. 

He tied it together with deft fingers, and you smiled as you felt the leather cord settle around your neck again. 

“And you said you couldn’t do it,” you said wryly.

“Perfect,” he murmured, almost to himself. Almost as if he’d forgotten you could hear him. 

For a moment, time froze. Luke’s hands just barely grazed the bare skin of your neck, and your breath caught in your chest at his proximity. He’d done what you asked, but he didn’t move. You didn’t ask him to—you didn’t think anything would come out if you tried. 

You could see his lips part, but they opened and closed a few times before he managed words. 

“Princess, I—”

And then there was a very loud knock on your door, jolting the two of you apart. Air finally returned to you as you tried your hardest to will the heat out of your entire body, and Luke was putting his gauntlets back on quicker than you’d ever seen. 

“Come in!” you exclaimed, voice higher pitched than usual as you smoothed out your gown and fixed your hair and felt the blaze beneath your skin. 

Your lady’s maid opened the door, not even paying Luke a second glance. “I was wondering where you were, Your Highness.”

You forced a smile, thankful for all your childhood training that it would be at least somewhat believable. “My apologies. I required some time alone after the chaos of today.”

She nodded. “You needn’t apologize, Your Highness, but it is necessary you get on your way. Your Majesty is nearly ready, and it is imperative you enter together.”

You swallowed thickly as you glanced over at Luke. He wouldn’t make eye contact with you. 

“…Of course,” you said. “Lead the way.”

You followed your lady’s maid and Luke trailed after you. For some forsaken reason your skin still burned where he’d touched you. 

and you’re expected to entertain other suitors tonight with Luke in the vicinity.

god help you. 

but anyways. you manage to regain most of your bearings by the time you reach your father—Luke still won’t look at you, but you can’t deal with that problem right now, even if it’s clawing at your insides—and your father helps calm you down before you go in. 

You enter the ballroom on the arm of your father as the two of you are announced, and your hold on him tightens as you see the sheer number of people here. It all feels much more overwhelming than it did when you were younger—maybe because you understand what this all means.

You continue to stand with your father, clapping politely as other royals are introduced, connecting faces to names and descriptions that you’ve been quizzed on for years. 

It isn’t long after the king of the kingdom you’re visiting gives his speech that you’re pulled into a conversation with your father, and it takes five seconds for you to realize this is what the rest of the night is going to be like. 

You search for Luke by the wall with all the other guards, but you can’t find him. You sigh and let your attention be drawn back to the conversation at hand. 

Luke, meanwhile, can see everything. He sees you looking for him, he sees you talking with the prince of a nearby kingdom, he sees both your and his father casually moving away to leave the two of you to talk alone. 

He says nothing. 

Not that he can, anyways. Luke stands at attention with the other crownsguard, specifically stationed next to your father’s personal guard. He’s within view of every exit, and he can’t help but profile every person that walks past him. 

He’s especially honing in on every person that talks to you throughout the night. His mind is working overdrive trying to remember all the names of foreign royalty—he feels like he’s already made up ten worst case scenarios for how this night could go. 

It only takes another hour for the prince of the kingdom you’re in to find you and spark up a conversation, and a muscle works ever so slightly in Luke’s jaw. 

He already had to deal with that dull prince for hours, showing you around the castle and trying to start conversation and just making everything so dreadfully boring Luke was surprised you could handle it. 

That was why you were the princess, after all. You could take everything in stride with a pleasant smile—Luke fought his way through his problems. 

He couldn’t exactly fight through this one. 

But you sure as hell could smile through it—and gods, your smile was beautiful. No wonder you were talking with what seemed to be your fifth prince of the night. 

Whatever he says makes you laugh. The prince places his hand on your arm, and Luke feels himself flinch. 

He’s thankful that the guards are the same as background decorations for a majority of the people here. He’s gotten good at controlling his emotions when he has to, but none of his slipups will be noticed. Not by the crowd, not by your father, not by you. 

It’s a torturous existence that Luke’s got going on here. It’s his job to look out for you, to watch the every move of you and those around you, because he has to be the first to act if anything goes wrong. 

But it’s not all that great for him when he’s just watching royal after royal vie for your hand. 

At least, that’s what he figures they’re doing. He can’t exactly hear everything through the revelry, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. 

Luke keeps going back to the two of you alone, you asking—pleading, practically—for him to help with your necklace. 

The necklace he got you in a childish declaration of love, that he thought you had forgotten about. 

You hadn’t. 

It looks out of place, he knows that much—a piece of himself among gold jewelry and shimmering gems. A leather cord holding onto a rough piece of turquoise, your initials carved into the back in the corner—his own work. 

You had a part of him with you as noble sons tried to woo you, as you tried to take the next step into your future. 

He doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse

Sometimes, Luke wonders if you know. Oftentimes, Luke wonders if you could feel the same. 

He never lets himself entertain that train of thought for very long. 

It doesn’t matter how he feels. It doesn’t matter if you went against all rationality and somehow felt the same. 

Because you’re a princess—the heir to the Aureldan throne. Expected to marry and produce heirs and lead your kingdom into a golden age of peace. 

Luke is just a knight. 

Nothing will ever happen. 

That’s the only thing he needs to remember. 

But that doesn’t mean his lip doesn’t curl in disdain ever so slightly when the orchestra starts up, signifying the beginning of dances, and that tiresome prince offers you his hand. 

You take it, smiling back at him as you walk onto the floor together with other pairs. 

Remember your place, Castellan, he thinks. 

It's a lot harder than it should be.

[theemporium]

Slay 🙇‍♀️ my original request was for a “The fastest way to shut me up is to kiss me” dirty flirtini with jack 🩷🍸

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

23. “The fastest way to shut me up is to kiss me.” 

.

“You don’t actually prefer Trevor as your beer pong partner, do you?”

Your brows furrowed together as your brain fought through the sleepiness to process the fact Jack had spoken to you. You were half asleep, cheek pressed against the cool pillow beneath you after a long day out in the sun tiring you out. You were seconds away from falling asleep, hardly aware of the fact your boyfriend was wide awake and restless beside you.

“Hm?” You hummed, your eyes still closed and your body barely fighting the urge to stay awake. 

“Like, I would always be your number one choice, right?” Jack continued, rolling over so he was now facing you. 

You let out a sigh. “What are you talking about, Jack?” 

“And, like, if you had to choose someone to be stuck on an island with, it wouldn’t actually be Cole over me, right?” He asked, nibbling on his lower lip as he waited for your answer. “Because I think I could easily light a fire from scratch better than he could. And I reckon I could fish with a spear if I tried.” 

You blinked your eyes open. “Baby, you’re using way too many words for me to understand right now.” 

There was a pause before Jack leaned over, flicking the lamp on and watching your face screw up at the sudden intrusion of light. You whined, shoving your face back into the pillow but Jack remained unfazed. 

“I just wanna know if you’d pick me,” Jack told you, shrugging his shoulders a little.

“Is this about the ‘would you rather’ game?” You asked, the pieces slowly starting to click together as the memory of the group around the firepit a few hours ago flashed in your mind. “Babe, you weren’t even an option in any of those questions.”

“I know that,” Jack sassed before sighing. “But I would always be your number one, right?” 

“Of course,” your eyes softened a little. “It was just a game, Jack.”

Jack nodded. “And if you had to be stuck in a horror movie with someone—”

“Oh no, then it’s definitely Quinn,” you said with a straight face, nodding your head. “At least he wouldn’t keep me awake by asking pointless questions.” 

Jack rolled his eyes but there was a smile on his face. “You know,” he started. “The fastest way to shut me up is to kiss me.” 

“My needy, needy boy,” you murmured with something fond in your voice before you reached for him, hand on the back of his neck to pull him down so you could press your lips against his.

“Hm, yeah, like that,” Jack smiled against your lips.

You huffed out a laugh, falling back against your pillow. “Can we please go to sleep now?” 

The boy didn’t even argue, settling down with his body sprawled over yours with his head resting on your chest. 

.

[dilfcho]

stuck on you

spider-man!choso x reader wc: 1.8k warnings: mentions of cheating, fluff at the end, also suggestive at the end but no smut, he's such good boyfriend!!!!! too sweet for his own good

choso couldn’t keep this up much longer.

he doesn’t mean to run off mid-make out, it’s just that a giant mutant wreaking havoc through the city isn’t something he can necessarily ignore. your lips are pulled from his against your will and you practically feel your heart deflate. he doesn’t miss this, decorating your waist with his calloused one to comfort you before he drops those dreaded words on you.

“i have a… thing, honey. i’m sorry.”

you use his chest to keep steady as you lift yourself off his lap. his gaze stays on you longingly, lingering on the frown he regrets causing. his eyes search yours for any hint of disappointment, and unfortunately, he finds what he’s looking for. you shrug, not being able to put up a fight this time. seemingly embarrassed, your arms crossed to cover your bare torso.

“it’s okay, go.”

worry swirls in choso’s head. you’re letting him leave without questioning him? no thoughts about where he’s off to? what he’s doing? has your need to know been stretched too thin? the frantic beeping from his police scanner keeps him from dwelling on your words, and he fights every muscle in his body that begs him to stay with you.

he stumbles out of your bed and swipes his backpack from the corner of your room. with one foot out the door, he pauses, turning on his heels and straight back to you. perplexed, you open your mouth to ask him what he forgot, but he shuts you up with his answer.

a careful hand sneaks behind your ear to tug you into him. slow and careful, he presses his lips to yours. you wanted to pull back, to be frustrated that he would walk out on you once again, but your heart knows better. it deepens, the kiss you craved consuming you both whole.

a crack shoots down the center of choso’s heart when he weakens his hold on you. he feels the frown on your lips, you accept that he has to leave. he separates from you, forcing himself out the door and to the roof to strip to his suit.

you’re mad at him, of course you are, but the way he made his spot in your heart a home keeps you running back to him. you’ll always love him, so you keep the questions you’ve deemed too pushy in the back of your throat or hold him as he falls asleep, exhausted from whatever day he blames his tiredness on.

you whip up dinner, sitting at the table alone as always. a part of you believes he’ll come back, maybe even in time to eat across from you. in hope of his return, you plate his portion and sit in front of the empty seat. the forbidden thought gnaws at you. are you not enough for him anymore?

disgusted by the idea, you try not to let it take too much space in your head. your fork pokes at the sides of your plate, waiting impatiently for the sound of the door to break the silence.

instead, it’s a loud bang on your fire escape and you begin to regret leaving your window open. a shadow is what stands on the other side. they’re facing the building opposite yours, so you can’t make out their identity. what puzzles you is the sleek silhouette they possess. there’s no part of their shadow that looks like clothing. you think to grab a weapon because what else does one do when a possibly naked person drops on your fire escape?

you stand behind your counter, the sharp knife kept tight in your grasp. you’d like to be able to call the police, but the location of your phone is lost on you. all you can do is watch from around the corner and pray choso gets home in the sixty seconds.

they toss their backpack to the metal flooring to pull out a pair of pants, a few flower petals falling out with it. as they slip more clothes on to thankfully cover themself, the high beams of a parking car illuminate their body.

your breath hitches. this person was thankfully not naked. in fact, they were covered head-to-toe by a skin-tight suit. the red and blue that covered their body sent the alarms in your head blaring. you freeze, recognizing the exact colors and suit design from the news clips that top your feed daily.

should you be looking? spider-man’s identity has yet to be revealed and you doubt he wants a random person to find out, especially in a vulnerable moment like this. you softly place the knife on the kitchen tile as to avoid it clinking against the tile, choosing to focus on how to slip into your room unnoticed.

you wait until he gets to dressing his torso, timing yourself to when his vision is obstructed by a hoodie. silently and carefully, you sneak by as fast as possible to your hallway, letting your back hit the wall to keep you standing upright. a heavy breath lets itself out, relieved you’re no longer in his line of sight.

though, you wonder. would it hurt to take a peek? he’s using your fire escape after all.

against your better judgment, you crane your neck around the corner to hopefully catch a clear look at his face. with luck on your side, he has the top of his mask in his fist, ready to tear it off.

there was nothing that could have prepared you for the dark, silky strands that fanned out over his neck. the same hair you had your hands tangled in just hours before. and even though you didn’t need the confirmation, he turned his head slightly to the side, showing off the pout of his lips, one you knew all too well. you quickly flattened yourself against the wall again and tried to process what you’d just witnessed.

a sense of relief blooms in your chest. this answers all the questions that tainted your perception of choso. however, that sweet relief rots into guilt and you realize how horrible it was of you to think so lowly of him. he’s been balancing the weight of the entire city on his back and you had the nerve to be upset every time he left.

still, you stand in disbelief. do you go up to him? do you let him find you? maybe you should pretend you didn’t see any of this, it might stress—

“fuck!”

choso jumps about ten feet in the air when he turns the corner. you stand before him, eyes wide and lips parted.

“baby? what are you doing up?” his blood runs cold, reading your expression. “is something wrong? are you hurt?” he drops his bag to search your arms for any sign of blood or bruising.

when you don’t reply, he panics. he shuffles closer and you can practically feel his heart pounding out of his chest. he cups your face, albeit a little too tight as your cheeks get squished, waiting for your reply.

“i thaw—“ you pause and come up to soften his hold on your face, “i saw you,” you breathe out.

“saw me... you saw me?” it only takes a split second for the words to register. “like out there?” he points to the window he didn’t close, the cold air lightly blowing through the curtains.

“yes… and i’m sorry, really! i didn’t mean to look but… you know when someone is standing outside your window and making all tons of noise—which you should not be doing as spider-man—it’s hard to look away! and then i saw you take off your mask and i genuinely felt my heart jump out of my chest and—“

he cuts you off with a tight embrace, his sore arms shoving you into his chest. your chin sits in the valley of his pecs, and you feel his heartbeat slow. he doesn’t say anything, at least not with his words.

it’s quiet, but not in a way that makes nervousness buzz in your chest, nor in a way that sends you searching for words to fill the silence. no, quiet in a way that makes your heart swell and your breath slow.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you,” he mumbles into the top of your head, “i didn’t want to worry you.”

“i think you worried me way more by not telling me.” his eyes close, not wanting to think about the stress he’s caused you. “i thought you were cheating for a little bit.”

“oh, never that, honey. never ever.”

“i know. i just… i had to fill in the gaps so i didn’t feel crazy.”

he loosens his arms around you, letting you look up at his sullen expression. “don’t feel bad, okay? i should’ve never given you time to even come to that conclusion. i should’ve been with you.”

you don’t exactly disagree. he’s missed out on half your relationship, leaving you to pick up pieces of something you didn’t break.

“oh! hold on.” he whips around to pick up the too-old backpack he’d walked in with. he tugs at the janky zipper and sticks his hand in to grab something.

when he turns back to you, his face is drastically different from the giddy one he had just seconds ago. when you look down at what he pulled out of his bag, you can’t help but laugh.

“they got… crushed… on the swing here.”

in his hands are wilting flowers. he holds them out to you defeatedly, some of the petals falling to the floor between you.

“you’re out there fighting god knows what and you still got me flowers?”

“i think that’s the least I could do.” he frowns at you like a kicked puppy.

you accept them and place his hand in yours. “i’ll go find a vase. oh and if it makes you feel better, i made dinner for us,” you pipe up, remembering the table you set before he made his grand entrance, “i even plated yours. it might be cold though.”

“even after i left you in the middle of…”

“you can say it, stupid. we were kissing. making out. we’ve been together too long for you to be shy about this, you know.” your finger pokes into his forehead, tilting it back a little.

“i just… you make me nervous sometimes. all the time, actually.”

“we should get comfortable then.”

“what?”

you nod towards the end of the hall you stand in, the door of your bedroom still open from when he ditched you. his blood rushes south and he thanks himself for keeping the suit as an extra layer of compression under his clothes.

“oh. ohhhhh. okay. yes.”

dinner and flowers are long forgotten, and choso makes up for lost time.

-

mlist

[sometimesanalice]

In a Place Just Right

Summary: It's your first year hosting Thanksgiving in San Diego for the Daggers and Bradley can tell you're a little nervous about it. But he already knows it's going to be one for the books, because any holiday spent with you better than anything he could have imagined.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 5K

Warnings: fluff and allusions to smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! Happy Thanksgiving, friends!)

For the last six years Penny has been the one to host Daggersgiving, but this year hostess duties had fallen on your plate. Needless to say, Bradley knew you were more than a little stressed about it.

When you had asked him about his opinion on the merits of canned cranberry sauce versus homemade he’d blinked at you a few times before asking, “Is this a thing people care about?”

He’ll never forget how adorably aghast you looked to learn that he had no preference on the matter. And maybe if you had asked him when the sun was up instead of at 3 AM he might have known better than to give you such a noncommittal answer.

“Both, we’ll have both,” you’d stated resolutely.

“Whatever you want, kid," he’d murmured as he’d pulled you to his chest and wrapped an arm around your stomach. His smart and beautiful wife. "Now go back to sleep, you’re supposed to be dreaming of sugarplums not cranberries."

“Wrong holiday, Bradley,” you’d sighed contentedly, relaxing against him. And it hadn’t taken you long to fall back asleep with that cranberry crisis having been averted.

But now people were due to show up in less than an hour and you are frantically fluttering and huffing around the kitchen like a madwoman in a very pretty green dress, "I knew that quickie was a bad idea. You're never quick, Bradley."

He’d been away and missed many holidays over the years due to his career.

Your mom had always made it clear that he had an open invitation to join in whatever merry festivities were happening with your family, but more often than not it rarely aligned with him being stationed all over the world. But he’d always been happy to get to have a phone call with you and eat the homemade cookies you’d sent him on those years spent apart.

But now Bradley got to look forward to spending every holiday with you in the home you shared with him.

Over the last week the house had slowly but surely transformed into something that was straight out of a magazine.

There was a display of pumpkins, ribbons, and a garland of strung dried orange slices that decorated the fireplace. And overpriced candles from your favorite store flickered cheerfully on every surface that wasn’t a fire hazard to a bunch of enthusiastic Naval aviators. The dining table was dressed up to the nines and everyone spot with their names painstakingly written in your pretty script on a place card sitting in a pinecone.

You had even made some oversized confetti in the shape of oak leaves out of some old books, the copy of ‘Why Men Love Bitches’ that Nat had given him years ago as a joke was finally repurposed and recycled into something more festive over where the beverages had been set up.

The whole house smells amazing. Warm cinnamons and nutmegs mixing with bright citrus and rich vanillas. The kitchen island and countertops were filled with various plates and platters and bowls of dips, charcuterie, fruit and vegetables, nuts, and other savories. All the other dishes were being kept warm in the ovens for when everyone arrived and was ready to settle around the dining table for dinner.

Bradley was positive that no one would leave feeling hungry. He also wasn’t entirely sure where the things his friends are bringing were going to go, but there were worse problems to have.

Penny had taken Amelia with her to visit her family on the East Coast. They’d decided it would probably be better for Mav to hang back in San Diego for the holiday, those tensions with her dad were still a bit strained even though they’d been married for almost four years now.

Which is how the Bradshaw’s were hosting their first Thanksgiving for everyone.

This morning had been organized chaos. Some of the last minute-things had only managed to be checked off with the assistance of strong coffee and a good playlist.

However, he’d still managed to sneak in the opportunity to spin you around the kitchen to your wedding song when it came up on shuffle. After all the cranberries were still popping and boiling down; there was time for it, he'd always make time for it.

But that was then.

Now, you are glaring at him like you’d been personally victimized by him and his cock.

“You complaining, sweet girl?” he asks with a smirk, leaning his hip against the kitchen island watching as you briskly stir the gravy heating up in the copper sauce pot on the stove. “Don’t think that’s what I was hearing thirty minutes ago when we had that pretty green dress of yours bunched around your hips. Sounded something like ‘more, Bradley, more’ to me.”

You shoot him a look that would make a weaker man wither, but he’s built up an immunity to it over a lifetime of having it directed at him.

“I think that’s quite enough out of you,” you reprimand, but he sees the amusement in your eyes even as you fight to keep the annoyed façade on your face. “We’re behind schedule now. I thought I buffered in enough time, just in case-”

“Just in case you begged me to give you an orgasm to, and I quote, ‘help me chill out’?”

“I was kidding,” you say, stopping your agitated whisking to go fluff the stuffing instead.

“All I’m saying is that if my beautiful wife is begging for me, I’m certainly not going to say no. I’m only human,” he says with an all too pleased shrug.

Bradley grabs the can opener and works on opening the canned cranberry sauce. He reaches for a couple plates, holding them up for your approval and you point to the one on the right, the scalloped white one with gold rim.

“For the record, I certainly did not beg,” you say primly, glowering into the homemade stuffing that you’d had him get the bread from the nice bakery across town for.

“Sure, sure,” he drawls, the smirk growing wider on his face as he sets to freeing the jelly from its rippled container.

He knows he shouldn’t tease you right now, but you’re so cute when you get huffy that he can’t help himself. He’s known that petulant raise of your chin his whole life. And sometimes when he looks at you he can so clearly see the little girl he’d been forced to entertain for hours when your moms were hanging out.

You went from being his favorite nuisance to his best friend to his everything.

“Do I still look ok? Or do I need to do a quick refresh before everyone gets here?” you ask. You turn to fully face him, tilting your head one way and then another for his inspection.

He would happily stare at you all day if you’d let him. He loves your pretty eyes and what you’ve done with your hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he grins, “And if anyone asks, we can just say you’re flushed from all the cooking.”

“Bradley,” you whine setting down your wooden spoon down on the counter with a sharp thwack.

“Ok, ok. I’m done, I promise,” he says putting his hands up in surrender with a chuckle.

He pushes off the counter and grabs a glass off of one of the floating shelves and fills it with some ice water.

“Good,” you tut haughtily, as you fiddle with the white and orange striped kitchen towel hanging on the oven door, “I was about to threaten to make you sleep on the couch tonight.”

“You wouldn’t.” Even the thought of it makes his stomach feel unsettled.

After nearly two decades of hard beds on foreign bases and on lumpy carrier mattresses, he’s never slept as well as he did since the two of you found your way to each other.

His peace was found under a fluffy green duvet on a wooden canopy bed with you tucked under his arm.

“No. No, I wouldn’t,” you agree, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his cheek in thanks when he presses the cold glass into your hands.

Bradley tugs you away from the warm stove and you reluctantly follow and sit on the barstool he’s pulled out for you on the other side of the kitchen island.

He runs his hand up and down your back comfortingly as you take a few sips, “We’re in a great place, sweet girl.”

“Mhm, yeah. Sure, of course.” You couldn’t sound less unsure if you tried. “It’s just… I’m nervous about the mushroom and leeks bread pudding. I’ve never made it before. And what if we run out of wine?”

“What’s been our motto?” he asks, taking over the helm at the stove whisking the gravy together as it begins to thicken.

“‘In Ina we trust’,” you say with a serious nod of your head. 

“Atta girl, we sure do. And Nat said she’s is bringing a few bottles she picked up from when she went to Napa, the good shit. It’s going to be great. Trust me,” he says giving you a warm smile. “Will it make you feel better to go over everything again?”

“Yes, please,” you say, anxiously drumming your fingers along the side of your water glass.

He’d stepped up where he could like making sure the house was pristine and cleaning up the yard by blowing off the wrinkled remainders of the yellow Tipuana flowers. He’d even been able to source and rent some more chairs to make sure that everyone would have a seat at the table.

Bradley wasn’t a schlump in the kitchen. He knew his way around a cookbook and a stove. His knife skills were pretty damn good too, if he did say so himself. But he also knew when somethings were out of his wheelhouse. So he’d taken to being your sous chef, and had taken to washing and prepping the ingredients for you so that all you had to do was toss them in whatever shiny pot they were destined for.

He even made his mom’s favorite pie. It had been years since he's had it, and he was excited to share it with everyone.

Your mom had mailed the copy of the original recipe she had that was written in Carole’s rounded, flourished script. You had made a photocopy of it to use so that the original didn’t get ruined, and then pointed out a spot on the wall where you said you’d thought it would look nice in a frame hanging in the kitchen. And he'd fallen a little more in love with you.

“Ok, hit me with it,” he says turning the heat to low for the gravy and putting the lid on.

This was a partnership through and through, he was going to give you all the support you needed.

“The turkey?”

Bradley picks up the fancy digital meat thermometer he’d bought for the occasion to check, “Big Bird has an hour and twenty more minutes to work on his tan and then he’ll rest for another thirty. Giving people time to graze and mingle and get some drinks in them, just like you wanted.”

You nod and hum contemplatively, “I’ve been thinking we need a salad. I don’t feel like we have enough vegetable options.”

He knows better than to point out that you’re currently snacking on snap peas from not one, but three, of the veggie platters the two of you had put together the night before.

“We’ve got the crispy brussels sprouts, the garlic and hazelnut green beans, and the honey glazed carrots with lemon. We’re more than fine on the fiber and beta-carotene. Michelle Obama would be proud, kid.”

That gets a little laugh from you.

“Well, as long as you think Michelle would be happy than we’re probably fine,” you say with a smile around your water glass that tells him you know exactly what he’s doing invoking your favorite First Lady.

“What else are you thinking about?” Bradley asks peering in the lower of their double ovens, where foiled covered dishes are lined up in perfect symmetry are warming away having been prepared in advance.

“Do you think two bags of rolls will be enough? Or should I text Mav and ask him to grab one more?”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes dip down to his ass in his gray slacks. So he might linger as second longer than necessary to let you enjoy the view, since it’s for the female gaze and all.

He’s never understood wearing the most restrictive clothing on the holiday that involves the most eating, but that was Penny’s tradition to have everyone dressed in their nicest and you had insisted on keeping it going even if she was on the other side of the country.

You’d teased him earlier when you’d seen him emerge from the bedroom wearing the short-sleeved green cashmere polo you’d gotten him a couple years ago. It fit a little more snug that he remembered it, but he thought he still pulled it off well.

“When did we become the couple that matches?” you’d asked gesturing to your dress as you gave him an appreciative onceover.

If the past was anything to go off of, you would be running your hands over the soft material covering his chest and back all night.

“I just like reminding people who I belong with, sweet girl.”

He might have had something else in mind to wear for the evening before he saw you in that dress, had ironed the shirt the night before and everything, but last-minute pivot it was well worth it when you looked at him like that.

When he stands back up, he gives you knowing wink.

And in return you throw a baby carrot at him with a laugh.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least to hear the quick clack-clack-clack of nails on the wood floors as their fluffy black and white Portuguese Water Dog rounds the corner. Having been summoned by the sound of food hitting the floor from where he had been dozing near the fireplace in the living room.

The carrot is gone in an instant and he comes to sit at Bradley's feet by the stove, looking up at him from under his curly eyebrows clearly hoping he'll get another snack.

“Nah, bud. You’re barking up the wrong tree over here,” he says leaning down to scratch his floppy ears.

“Ah, come here, Duck,” you croon, calling him over to your side of the island. “He’s so mean for a man who claimed he just saw God not too long ago, isn’t he?”

Bradley snorts and shakes his head at you amused.

He still doesn’t know how he ended up with a dog named Duck.

At the dog park, more often than not people mistook it for ‘Buck’. And you were usually off to the side more than happy to let him take the lead, biting your lip to keep from laughing at his less than enthusiastic expression when he’d have to warily explain yet again It’s Duck like quack.

You’re not even subtle about the piece of cheese you pull from the charcuterie board to feed him.

“I saw that,” he says, giving you a pointed lift of his eyebrow, “You know Bob is going to be spoiling him all night.”

“It was just a little piece of cheese. Plus, I don’t know who you think you’re fooling. I saw you go over there and deliver him his own little veggie platter with some of the leftovers we had while I was making the apple cider sangria.”

“That’s different, that’s good for him,” he says rounding the island, reaching over and snagging his own slice of cheese to snack on.

“And cheese is a protein. He’s just a baby, Bradley, what am I supposed to do? Not give him a piece of swiss?” You slide off your chair to squat down and rub Duck’s belly, you’ve always been his favorite.

“He’s almost five,” he replies flatly.

“A youth!” you exclaim, “He’s a growing boy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bradley says affectionately with a little roll of his eyes. He knows a losing battle when he sees one.

He offers you his hand to help you stand back up, but you wave him off and pull yourself up using the edge of the island. You take a moment to readjust your dress before making your way to the sink by the big windows that look out into the backyard.

“Speaking of Bob, do you know if he’s bringing his fiancée?” you ask from over your shoulder as you wash your hands.

“Not this time, sweetheart. I guess she volunteered to cover a shift in the NICU when she heard they were short staffed.”

“Oh that’s too bad, I was excited to see her ring in person,” you say drying off your hands and heading to the pantry.

“It’s all he can talk about at work. I guess they’re thinking about a Spring wedding next year. They don’t want to wait too long to get married.”

“I’m so happy for them,” you say, digging around for a moment and then emerge with a stack of some sturdy plastic plates and set them on the last free spot on the countertop. “Don’t let me forget to make them up a couple plates that he can bring home for her, before Fanboy declares it time for ‘second dinner’ and eats all the yams like he did last year.”

“I won’t forget, promise,” he says fondly.

If you were facing him, he knows you’d probably tease him for the look on his face and just how gone he is for you.

You’ve always been so generous, it’s one of the things that he loves most about you.

You were always good about hustling him out of his well-earned money from is part time job scooping ice cream in high school, like with the fundraiser you did for the local soup kitchen and the one for the elementary school summer arts program.

He’s always been wrapped around your finger, it just took him awhile to realize why.

It’s the same reason why there’s been a donation that comes out of his bank account every month for the last five years for one of the San Diego animal shelters.

Bradley had made a rather sizable donation and then set up a smaller reoccurring monthly one after the chaos that was the time Bob had set you up with his friend who worked at the shelter, back before the two of you had gotten together.

Even after all these years, he still can’t help but get a little irritated every time he sees that guy’s face in the monthly newsletter that comes to his email. He’s pretty sure Casey still might have a little crush on you, but Bradley can’t blame him. He’d have a hard time getting over you too, so it’s a good thing he’ll never have to.

On newsletter day, Bradley always finds himself giving Duck extra treats.

You are his wife. And Duck is his dog. Ridiculous name and all.

He couldn’t wait to surprise you with the golden tennis ball that the shelter sends out as a thank you after a decade of donations.

Only five more years to go.

You’re over by the bar that’s been set up off to the side, straightening the already very straight rows of gleaming wine glasses when he hears you suck in a sharp gasp.

Bradley drops the dish cloth he had in his hands as he attempted to give what little counter space there was left a final wipe down and is in front of you in half a heartbeat. Was there a fluke with some faulty stemware? Are you bleeding? There’s a reason Thanksgiving is one of the busiest days at the hospital.

“The butter!” you cry out as you whirl around, your pretty eyes welling up with tears, “I let you fuck me and I forgot to pull the butter from the fridge. It’s going to be too hard for people to spread now!”

He knows it’s more than just hosting jitters that’s got you like this, but it still catches him by surprise sometimes.

“Woah, woah,” he says as he catches you on the way to the fridge and pulls you to his chest, “C’mere, my sweet girl.”

You make a distressed noise but allow him to keep his hold on you, “But the butter…”

“I already pulled the butter, see?” He points to the sticks that are already softening away on the counter. “This place looks and smells amazing. We did good, baby. Will you take a couple slow breaths for me, please?”

Bradley takes in a couple measured breathes with you, and feels the moment your body relaxes into his.

He presses a kiss to the side of your temple as he smooths his hands down your soft, pretty green velvet dress and the warm, firm curve of your rounded stomach soothingly.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s the hormones,” you sigh, as you lean your head back against his shoulder.

He hums empathically as he sways gently side to side with you in his arms.

“I would like to go on the record saying that I like pregnancy hormones, especially the ones from earlier,” he jokes lightly.

“That makes one of us,” you say with a watery laugh, “Just wait until I am waking you up at 4 AM because I am craving something from a drive-thru that’s not open.”

“Mm, can’t wait,” he murmurs before dropping a few kisses along the soft line of your jaw.

Bradley still can’t believe he gets to be this lucky in life.

He doesn’t want to forget a single moment of this. With you, with his family.

“We did a really good job with this one,” he whispers into your ear, still stroking your stomach and enjoying this moment of calm with you.

“We really did, da--” Bradley groans and cuts you off with a kiss. He can feel the impish smile plastered on your lips as he kisses you. His favorite menace.

He knows you’re pretty sure it was the spontaneous hook up in the storage closet at the Hard Deck on the Fourth of July that’s responsible for the noticeable bump you’re sporting. Call him a romantic, but he likes to think it was that night in the Bronco overlooking the ocean when he’d taken the long way back home.   

You pull away all too soon for his liking to grab his left hand. He sees the flash of the two diamonds on your engagement ring, one from his mom and one from yours, as you take it and press it to a spot near your bellybutton.

The feeling of the fluttering under his palm will never get old. He’s not too proud to say he’d shed a tear or two the first time he’d felt it.

You hum in contentment, your finger lightly tracing over the shiny gold band of his wedding ring.

Bradley lets himself bask in this moment as the two of you stand there in the kitchen of your dream house.

There are a few pops from the wood in the fireplace, the refrigerator is humming away in the background, and he can just hear the sounds of a melodic piano from the playlist he queued up earlier playing over the speaker.

Of all the delicious scents that waft through the house, the smell the floral and musk notes in you perfume is still his favorite.

There are times in the soft quiet of night, usually when you are asleep and his mind won’t quite settle, that he sometimes thinks he was put on this Earth to hold you.

It’s the only reason he can think of that explains why you fit so perfectly against his body.

Why his palms can fit so perfectly over your rounded stomach.

Why it’s his hands that you have trusted to protect your heart.

And he’s still holding you in the warmth of the kitchen when he hears the front door open.

Bradley knows he’s going to have to play host soon and he just wants to keep you in his arms for just a little longer.

“Hey kids, I brought the turkey,” Mav calls out from the entry.

You spin in his arms, looking at him wide eyed and confused as you two exchange a look. He presses one last kiss to your cheek before letting you go.

“Thought you were going to bring the rolls, Mav,” Bradley calls out just in time to see him round the corner.

Pete stands there proudly grinning holding a few bags of bakery rolls in one hand and a turkey in the other.

The sound of your delighted laughter makes his heart swell in his chest as he takes in the sight.

“Cooper Mitchell Ford Bradshaw, you are without a doubt the cutest turkey I have ever seen,” you gush as you go to greet Mav with a warm hug and a kiss on his cheek. Your son’s chubby arms reaching out for you.

Mav has dressed your almost two-year-old son in a soft, plush turkey costume that is complete with tailfeathers and a beak. He’s clearly a fan of the outfit too because he is grinning widely, showing of the more of the baby teeth that have come in over the last few months.

Mav had swung by early this morning to take him off your hands to get ready for Daggersgiving without chasing an almost-toddler around. While it was nice to have some time just the two of you while you got the place in order and took care of the last-minute things, like that homemade cranberry sauce, but he’d missed not having his son around.

The sweet sound of Cooper’s giggles and your coos fill up the kitchen as he watches you pepper his face with kisses. You bounce him a little and do a little spin, making the little boy laugh even more. The two of you in your own little bubble.

“You doin’ ok over there, kid?” Mav asks. A soft, knowing grin on his face as he sets the rolls on the counter to pull him in for a hug.

The two men had made their way back to each other over the last few years, just another thing that Bradley was grateful for in his life. The man had always been his father in everything but name. That is until he’d seen the man who helped raised him hold his son for the first time.

“Yeah, Dad,” Bradley says, clearing his throat a bit, “Everything’s perfect.”

From there it’s a flurry of activity as people start to arrive.

Nat comes with her longtime girlfriend and the extra bottles of the fancy Napa wine she promised to bring. Only handing it over once he promised to give her the name of the contractor the two of you had worked with and the exact shade of green that was used on the lower cabinets during your kitchen renovation.

Payback and Fanboy and their wives show up wearing oversized turkey hats on their heads each carrying a bakery box of pie.

Bradley isn’t surprised when Duck ditches the attention that Coyote was giving him the second Bob shows up with the famous Floyd family scalloped potatoes. Bob has always been a sucker for a pair of puppy dog eyes.

And in between checking on people’s glasses, swapping out empty appetizer trays for fuller ones, and making sure Jake doesn’t tamper with his perfectly cooked turkey, he’s got his eyes trained on you.

There are no words for the pride and love that washes over him every time he looks over and sees you with his son propped up on your hip and the way your pretty dress stretches around your growing family.

He had missed this stage of your pregnancy when he was deployed and you were pregnant with Cooper. He was determined to savor every second of this one. Every butter related freak out and every late-night milkshake run.

Being in his house surrounded with all the people he loves, minus a couple who are here in spirit, isn’t something he could ever take for granted. It’s more blessings than he ever hoped to receive in this lifetime.

You look over your shoulder at him and everything about the way you’re looking at him is picture perfect.

Your smile sunshine gold and just for him as you hold his gaze for a moment as time ticks on around the two of you. You send him a little wink before turning back to Mav who has his phone held up for a FaceTime call with Penny and Amelia.

Bradley sees his son peek his head up from where it had been nestled into your neck. Cooper grins when he sees him, his tiny hand reaching out for his dad. For him.

As he makes his way over to the two of you with his heart full, he makes a mental note to ask Mav later where he got that costume. He’s already planning on running out tomorrow to see if they have any more in stock now that it seems they have a new Bradshaw tradition on their hands.

He’s going to have three little turkeys running around this time next year and he couldn’t wait.

Twins.

Bradley sometimes still couldn’t believe it. When the tech has announced that you were cooking not one, but two future Bradshaw’s, his heart had nearly burst from his chest from the shock and joy. A gift from his late father’s side of the family.

Cooper and him were going to be outnumbered soon.

The two of you had found out earlier in the month that Everly Wren Bradshaw and Millie Lark Bradshaw were going to be the newest members to join your little family.

His girls.

It was an announcement the two of you were excited to share later tonight with everyone else when the slices of pies were being passed around.

He scoops up Cooper from you with one arm, dropping a kiss onto his little boy’s perfect curls as his small fist clutches as the soft fabric of his shirt. And then Bradley kisses the crown of your head as he wraps his other arm around you, his thumb stroking the swell of your belly.

With you- because of you- he gets to have it all.

The wife. The family. The house. The dog. The life. The dream.

He’s right where he wants to be.

He’s right where he’s supposed to be.

Happy Thanksgiving! This was such a joy to write, thank you for reading!

It might not be Carole Bradshaw's famous pie, but it's one of my favorites! And who better to share it with than you! Cranberry-Lime Pie

If you haven't read the 'Like I Can' series you can read it here!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[slutforaemondtargaryen]

Nobody hurts what's mine | Aemond Targaryen

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: fluff, mention of rape (not by Aemond), murder/death, blood, slightly dark Aemond, no use of y/n, traumatic event

Summary: While Aemond was out on duty a Lord from the court took advantage of you. Aemond will definitely not let that slide.

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n: hi! i really don't know how i thought of this. i've never written anything like that so it's probably not the best quality, but i hope you like it and enjoy it! any support is very much appreciated.

reblogs, likes and comments are very appreciated <3

DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE MY WORK!

She was sitting in their chambers, Aemond not present. She couldn't stop thinking about what happened.

It was supposed to be a quick dinner with the rest of the court. She would drink a few goblets of wine, eat some food, and quickly disappear to her chambers, where she would fall asleep.

She wasn't planning that Lord Lannister would follow her. He clearly had a few more drinks than he should've. His walking was not very straight.

Before she could even react, he pulled her aside to an empty hallway. She tried to fight him, but he forced himself upon her, putting a hand over her mouth to prevent her from screaming. She bit him multiple times however he didn't seem to feel it at all.

It was probably quick for him. For her, it were the longest minutes of her life. When he was done he just whispered ''Don't tell anyone or something bad will happen.'' and disappeared back to the dining hall.

She quickly went to her chambers. She told a maid to prepare her a bath as quickly as possible and requested moon tea. The maid sent for the moon tea without asking questions nevertheless made sure to let her Lord husband know. The bath was prepared in no time.

Her skin was raw from how strongly she washed her body, the places Lord Lannister touched. Scratches from her nails as she tried so hard to get the awful feeling off her. She felt so dirty all the segments of her skin that his disgusting hands touched. It felt like they were on fire. Tears streamed down her cheeks as everything slowly sunk in. The realization of what actually happened.

So many thoughts were running through her head. Does this mean I was unfaithful to Aemond? Was it my fault? Did I deserve it? Did I provoke him? What if Aemond finds out? What will happen? Will he blame me?

She stepped out of the bath. Water was dripping on the floor, but she did not care. The robe she put on was comfortable, like silky sheets that were caressing her aching skin.

The moon tea was already served on the table, waiting just for her. She drank it quickly, making sure there was no drop left. Praying to the Seven that she would not be with a baby of the filthy Lannister.

When Aemond got the message, he immediately canceled everything he was doing and returned to the King's Landing. He needed to know what made his wife ask for moon tea, and he had a feeling that he won't like it.

When he arrived at the King's Landing, he got off Vhagar's back and without talking to anyone, headed to his shared chambers. He walked quickly, ignoring his mother, Queen Alicent, on the way.

The guards opened the chambers to him. When he looked into the chamber he saw his Lady wife sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace. She didn't even notice he was there. The doors closed behind him as he walked up to his wife.

He kneeled next to the armchair and sighed. ''One of the maids sent me some information,'' he said while placing his hand on hers. She flinched slightly, which caused him to put his hand away. Wounded a little. ''Is it true that you ordered the moon tea?'' he asked with a soft voice, not wanting to make her feel pressured.

She nodded. She didn't feel like talking at all, she was scared of Aemond's reaction. ''Why?'' he asked. He wanted to touch her, caress her hand, hair, anything, but he wanted to respect her comfort zone.

She kept silent. The bad habit of scratching her fingers until they are bleeding coming back. Aemond noticed it and took her hands in his which made her look at him.

He kneeled in front of her, his face desperate and worried. He loved her too much and he was scared of what happened. His hair was loose over his shoulders. He was wearing his clothes for riding, which he usually took off right after. Not now, his wife was his priority.

He kissed her hands gently, causing her eyes to swell up with tears. Aemond did not understand what was happening so he hugged her. He wanted her to know that he was there for her. She cried over his shoulder and they both sat there like that for a few minutes.

Aemond finally started getting what happened. Why his lady wife has requested the moon tea and why she was crying now. He only needed a name. A name of the bastard that laid his hands upon her, who forced himself upon her.

''Who?'' only came out of his lips. His voice was demanding although gentle at the same time. ''Lord Lannister,'' she said in between sobs, clutching on him even more, scared that he would leave her. That he was disgusted by her.

Aemond's lilac eye darkened. How did the filthy Lannister dare to touch his wife while he was away? He would pay for it, and Aemond would make sure that Lord Lannister would regret every second of the terror he did to his wife.

He got pulled out of his thoughts when she said something he never thought he would hear. The sentence 'Are you disgusted with me?' ringing in his ears.

He pulled a little away to look into her eyes. ''What? No of course not, my dear wife.'' He caressed her head slowly while she looked at him with glossy eyes. He could see how much pain she had endured. ''Why would you think that, little dragon?'' he was a little sad that her head would even come up with it.

''Because of...'' she looked away. ''Of what he did. What if it was my fault? What if I-'' Aemond cut her off with a gentle 'shh' ''Do not say those words again. It was not your fault, never think that. That pig of a Lannister cannot keep his hands to himself, and he will pay.''

He kissed her forehead. ''There is nothing that could make you disgusting to me.'' she smiled at that, clearly relieved. He caressed her cheek with his thumb. ''I love you, little dragon.'' he pulled her into his chest and kept caressing her hair. ''I love you too,'' she replied.

Those words made Aemond's body fill with warmth. He loved her so much, too much. He would kill for her, burn the world for her only to make sure that she was happy and safe. He loved her to such depths that he would betray his family if she asked him to. He hated it, but he knew that his life without her would not make sense.

When she fell asleep at night after many comfort hours with Aemond he went to finally take his revenge for his wife. He wanted to do it earlier, the second he found out but he couldn't leave his little dragon alone, not in that state.

He was furious when he found out that Lord Lannister left the King's Landing, and returned to Casterly Rock due to 'important issues'. He tried to run away. Coward. Aemond thought.

This wasn't going to stop him. He would get his revenge even if it meant he had to go to Casterly Rock.

He rode Vhagar. Oh, how he wished to see Lannister's face when he saw Aemond's dragon. Aemond didn't waste any time finding a place to land. He landed on the castle grounds, not caring about some towers falling because of Vhagar's wings. Why would he anyway?

He heard people screaming, some panicking. Aemond didn't care. He headed inside the castle. A young maid helped him find Lord Lannister's chambers. Such a sweet servant girl, she didn't know that she was helping the murderer to kill her Lord.

When Aemond barged into the chambers he saw Lord Lannister packing things in fear. ''You won't need them,'' Aemond told him. His tone was so horrifying that many courageous guards would run away in fear.

''What do you want?'' Lord Lannister said, his eyes filled with fear. ''What do I want?'' Aemond repeated slowly. He twirled with his dagger between his fingers. ''Don't you know that you shouldn't touch things that are not yours?'' he asked. His whole demeanor was calm which was surprising to Lord Lannister.

He didn't reply, instead, he tried to grab a sword nearby. Before he could even reach him he screamed in pain. Aemond's dagger was in his hand. ''Was that hand first?'' Aemond asked with a coy smirk. ''Doesn't matter you're going to lose both.''

Aemond ripped the dagger out of his hand and cut it off in a swift motion. Blood flowed out on the marble floor. Lord Lannister screamed in pain, he tried to clutch the hand to stop the bleeding but Aemond wouldn't let him. He loved his pained screams so much. ''You're a little cunt, aren't you? Taking advantage of my lady wife when I'm not there. You really thought I wouldn't find out?'' Aemond snickered.

''I told that bitch to not tell anyone,'' Lannister said. Aemond got furious when he heard Lannister call his little dragon a 'bitch'. Without waiting for anything he cut off his other hand.

''This is going to start a war between us, boy!'' Lannister gritted out. He was angry, and Aemond smirked. ''So be it,'' with that word, Aemond slit Lord Lannister's throat.