#the memories fic very much would be

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[rendnotmyheart]

Soulmate aus are so interesting in an iwtv context. Like for humans it's easy, right? They get their soulmate mark, they find their soulmate, or maybe they don't, and they live their life. For vampires though? Do vampiric soulmates even exist? How could they when the soulmate marks are relics of their human life? When the other person who has the mark will be dead before their life as a vampire has even begun? Or were they always fated to become a vampire? Did the universe take that into account? Will they have to wait some hundreds of years for their soulmate to be born? Their soulmate could be anywhere, any time. Hell, their soulmate could be the person they just drained. Who knows. Even if they were somehow able to find them, what are the chances they'd stay together for eternity? It is eternity after all. Not even the universe or fate can guarantee that.

[khaleesiofalicante]

when you are vibing to the succession theme and drinking a cup of chamomille and you get hit by a cursed idea™ for a TLND sequel...

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

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scene of all time

[sysig]

It always seems like such a good idea in the moment (Patreon)

The first four are in reference to a great idea I had of - since I’ve finished my lower-limit page number testing for making books; shorter fics take up less page space, and just increasing the font size isn’t as handsome! - simply making a mini book! All it would take would be to halve the pages again, right? Just cut them right down the middle! Easy peasy!

As I’m sure you can tell by the second, no. Not easy peasy. Difficult painful un-fun >:(

Obviously I still did it tho! What do you take me for, someone who could have the idea of an even tinier book and then not do something about it?? No It’s also the only one so far to have a paper bookmark rather than a ribbon!

All told it’s a bit smaller than your average manga (I love the monochrome covers on these under their dust jackets haha <3) - you can see even with effectively doubling up the pages by halving their size, it was still very small-spined!

A quick shot while it was still being made hehe ♪ It’s Out! Paired here - and the earlier one, just without its dust jacket haha - with my Zarla SC2 collection (ft. Family, Negotiations are Going...Well, and With No Obligation) - I absolutely kicked myself after the fact for not including Out as the run-up to everything, I was really trying to make a full collection in probably-chronological order! Out would’ve been a perfect start! And it only would’ve taken like four pages!!

Ah well, it was still quite a learning experience - I probably wouldn’t make another standalone of under 4k-ish just for formatting reasons but I did get some good ideas of how to do so if I wanted to! Although, my next project is going to be even more of a formatting nightmare........I’ll get there when I get there! Lol

[bellshazes]

I did figure out the necessary inevitable narrative tone of distant station's conclusion and I'm sad about it. not because it's a sad ending but because it's sort of just flatly true on a meta-level. see you in two years when I write it tho

[bonestrouslingbones]

i think. im gonna do it. im gonna start the atbb reboot

[sealer-of-wenkamui]

oh right i got permission from the author of the JP LimDan fanfic that I'm absolutely obsessed with to draw art for it, so I should probably actually post the one I'm finished with!! (I'm close on a second piece now too aaa,,,, and I want to draw more like I HAVE to do something for the scene where Limbo mutilates a girl for parts to use in Danzou its so central to the fic and i love that they do not shy away from showing that sort of cruelty but also I want to do something from the end dream-like part as well and aaa so good!!!)

[rystiel]

i’m not a fic writer but. concept:

the doctor/yaz and the doctor/rose crossover 🤯 like yaz meeting this younger version of the doctor with a companion that he’s very obviously in love with, and she wants her doctor to be that open with her, but she starts to understand why the doctor ends up more closed off from loving her companions like that as she learns how hard the loss of rose was on her back then etc etc

[orcelito]

Ykno, I've been thinking about the way discacc has a bit of a running theme with Dancing. Between The Dance (metaphorical dance to describe the entire time they weren't being upfront about things), goro's happiest memories with his mother being of them dancing, and then the literal dance marking the end of The Dance...

There's a theme.

Couple that with the fact that the original name of discacc was going to be Discordant Harmony (until I googled it and found it was a mlp episode and I CANNOT have that), and we get a definite theme.

Harmony, music, and dancing.

That's the source of the series name, Steps to Harmony. Recycling the use of Harmony from the original thing I had in mind, then coupling the fact that this is a series of steps towards them achieving their "harmony" (since discacc will Not be the end of their emotional problems lmfao) AND dancing imagery.

Steps to Harmony. It's a dance.

It all goes back to dancing.

[starberry-skies]

genuinely don't know if i love or hate the fact a fic i'm reading just mentioned my immortal

[joelsflower]

love language | origins!logan x f!reader

logan told you one million times he didn’t want anything for his birthday… anything besides you, lingerie and the moonlight.

a/n: hiiii <33 lis disappeared but is back again and apparently still obsessed with the concept of hot old men unwrapping you like a present. the hugh jackman fever hit me VERY hard and im down bad cough cough enjoy! also to enhance the experience when i say “he looked up at you” pls picture him exactly like in this picture ☝🏼and expect to feel something growing in ur belly in the next 9 months

wc: 4k

warnings: 18+ mdni. pure smut and fluff!! lingerie, logan is obsessed w reader, older!logan (i picture him in origins cause wtf is this man and reader in her early/middle 20s but up to you! legal ofc!!) fingering and eating out but brief cause reader is hot to go!, blowjob, facefucking & deepthroat (not rough), unprotected piv (wrap it up!), creampie, AFTERCARE!!! like SO MUCH logan is soooo soft!dom in this the whole time is like toothache sweet cause it’s a lis fic and yes. they are IN LOVE yall. oh and also reader is a kindergarten teacher (oops

🎀🎀🎀

“Stay”

You grabbed his wrist the moment he recollected his will to leave the end of the bed. Logan’s eyes turned soft, finding you from over his shoulder and turning around to follow the sunlight that kissed your cheeks.

“I wish, angel,” he cooed, both hands brushing your cheeks while his body towered over you “but someone already made me late, huh?”

You gave him a shy smile to meet the smirk that adorned his features, both of you sharing the memories of your bodies tangled just minutes prior. “Wanted to give you a present,” you almost whispered, remembering the one hundred times he told you he didn’t want anything for his birthday.

Not a cake, not a present, not a party. Nothing. Just you.

Logan’s smile faded, but you knew he wasn’t mad. With large hands embracing your neck softly, he kissed you on the forehead, “told you,” on the nose, “you are,” on the jaw, “the only thing i want”, and on your mouth, leaving the taste of him to linger on your lips throughout the whole day.

Your eyes slowly drifted up to find his gaze, the back of your head now resting on his palms.

“Promise” he gave you a sterner look before walking towards the door, “I promise,” you whispered, following as the smile you had earned earlier returned to his face, his back only turning to you when he heard the words fall from your lips.

But it was only a half promise. After all, he still wanted nothing but you, right?

🎀🎀🎀

The day passed by very slowly. You didn’t work on fridays, so you spent the most of it correcting some grades and planning the activities for your next week’s classes. You missed the kids, you can’t lie, and having glue and glitter all over your house definitely distracted you from the little something that was waiting patiently inside a very fancy box on the back of your closet.

The sun was setting around the time Logan would be home and you also had finished all the things you had planned earlier, so you used the time you had to take a shower and get ready.

The scent of some very sweet flower graced your nostrils when you pulled the lid of the heart-shaped box. Your eyes glowed in awe when your fingertips brushed the delicate baby pink lace, the little hairs on your lower belly goosebumping with anticipation, thinking how beautiful you’d feel in it and how the man that loved you would feel about you in it.

And that’s when you heard his steps on the stairs.

Logan arrived silently, and in part to make sure you hadn’t burnt yourself out making some sort of surprise for him. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but all the glitter and glue on the table and the all the silence scared him a bit.

“Baby?” He called you while undressing himself down to his black t-shirt and boxers. “Oh, hey you,” his expression softened when his eyes found your head peaking from the bathroom door, gaze savoring the sight of him slowly unbuckling his belt.

“How was your day?” you asked watching him from the same spot, the muscles of his arms flexing when he reached to close the door and turn off the lights. Exactly how he said, the only things he wanted for his birthday were you, the lingerie he still didn’t know about, and the moon watching the two of you through the window.

“Great. Apparently someone told the guys it was my birthday and they let me work on paper today. So… Not so tired as I usually am.”

“I’m not sorry for that,” you smiled, knowing exactly who told the guys it was his birthday.

“I know,” he reciprocated your smirk, offering a hand in your direction. “Come here.”

Your breath got momentarily caught in your throat, excitement bursting in your body like fireworks in your veins.

“Close your eyes,” you said.

“Sweetheart-“

“Please?”

And how could he not? When your soft voice asked so nicely for him to? And the sweet and at the same time sexy scent of your perfume bewitched his thoughts? With your eyelashes blinking up at him and making the cold of his claws run to the lower of his spine? If closing his eyes would end the distance between you, then he would.

You then stepped carefully towards him, trying not to bump onto his knees and ruin the surprise.

You took both of his hands within yours, playing his fingers with your smaller ones. The simple contact made him shiver, the warmth of your presence washing all his tiredness and worries away.

“Could sit here with my eyes closed and just smell you forever”

You grinned. You knew his senses were heightened and definitely wanted to play with it tonight.

“Well, you told me you didn’t want to receive anything,” you then brought his hands to the sides of your thighs, the firmness of his palms on your soft skin sending shivers up and down your belly.

“Not totally true,” he thumbed your leg, fingertip brushing dangerously close to the fabric.

“Mhmm,” your hands glued on top of his and guided them a little lower, his palms now resting on top of the delicate, lacy garters adorning your thighs, “but I want you to feel it.”

Logan’s thoughts were in completely caos. Which of course, could only be translated by the grin on his face. You were close enough that he could not only smell your perfume and your scent, but knowing that he was the one causing that and with so little effort drove him insane. He could hear your accelerated heartbeat and used the grip on your legs to soothe you, moving his thumbs up and down, up and down, very slowly, feeling the contrast between the lacy fabric and your thighs.

“Yeah?”

You agreed silently, using your grip to move one of his hands all the way up to your belly in a very slow motion, to then release them both and let Logan’s fingers dance freely around your body.

The one hand he kept down gripped your thigh harder, snaking down to the back of your knee to bend it over his own leg, giving him better access to the rest of you. The thumb on your belly caressed around of your belly button in small circles and traced all the little flowers and bows on the thing garter that hugged your waist and decorated your breasts. The image being painted on Logan’s mind was already enough to make his underwear start to stiffen.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, and it felt like the first fresh breath he had taken in the day.

The contrast of his rough digits with your delicate skin made your body a too tight space to contain yourself, inching closer to him at every touch. He then surrounded your middle with both of his arms and gave your stomach a kiss, your fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck when he moved his face upwards, his chin rested on your tummy, eyes inching to meet yours.

“Can I see you, princess? Please?”

You hummed a quiet “mhmm”, and when he looked up at you with the most lovelorn eyes you had ever seen, you weren’t strong enough to hold back and kissed him.

It felt like the first kiss you two have had in a lifetime; deep, warm and wet. Your tongues danced together while his arms kept you impossibly closer, hands tightly holding from the back of your thighs to the top of your spine. When you parted to breathe, his eyes found yours again;

“There’s my girl. Let me see you, baby,” he held your hand in his and you took his signal to do a little spin, showing him your lacy one-piece.

“Happy birthday, love” you whispered, hands resting on his shoulders to balance yourself, one leg returning to rest on his.

“So you’re my present, hm?” Logan waited for you silent confirmation, palms devouring your thighs and ass while the kisses that he so gently placed on your knee slowly inched forward, “and do I get to unwrap you, angel?”

At that moment your walls were already pulsing with desire and your mind was already empty of words. You felt his lips wrap at a very special place on your inner thigh while his opposite hand moved up to message one of your boobs. You knew it wouldn’t take much for any of you to release control and quit the teasing, and being both on the verge of bursting the whole day waiting for the other, that was the time and the place.

You whimpered when his hand moved down and cupped your clothed center, his lips now distributing pecks on your hip while your nails dig in his shoulders.

“Gonna let me taste you, sweet girl? Hm?” He kissed your beating clit trough the lace and you nodded your head fastly, not being able to hold back anymore. You knew very well the animalistic look he had on his eyes now and the way his hands couldn’t rest in just one spot; he wanted nothing but to devour, explore and adore you.

With your consent, Logan wasted no time in sliding the delicate fabric to the side to meet your leaking pussy. The groan that left his chest when he saw your juices dripping to down your legs put your whole body on fire, followed by the cold that ran through your veins when two of his digits gently spread your lips apart.

“Fuck, look at you,” his thumb toyed with your clit, drawing little circles with a small pressure of the pad, “that’s how wet this little pussy gets for me, hm? Left you waiting the whole day to take care of you… Bad ol’ man, ain’t I?”

“N-no, you’re g-ood,” you managed to take the words out, eyes rolling to the back of your head and nails digging impossibly deeper into his shoulders when his digits lowered down and teased your opening, “and I wanna. Fuck. Wanna be good for you, Logan.”

“Oh, you are, princess. You’re my best girl.”

Pressing your clit between his lips and tongue, he sucked and savoured on it as if you were the source of all life on the planet, the most succulent fruit to the most starving man, like he himself once said; the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. His fingers pumped in and out of your hole rhythmically, hitting deeper and deeper each time. His other hand gripped your ass tightly and pressed your lower body impossibly closer to his face, making you moan loudly with all the stimulation.

You felt your walls start to clench his digits and pulled his head back by his hair to join your mouths in a wet, hot kiss, your other hand slowly removing his own from your sopping pussy, your shaking legs leading you to straddle him.

In his lap, the kiss only deepened; your and his movements were desperate, constantly searching for each other. You gripped his shirt by the collar and helped him take it off of his body, his muscular torso greeting you. Your hands eagerly pressed against his chest while Logan dig his fingers deep into your waist and moved you back and forth, your cunt pooling his underwear with the grinding of your exposed center on his throbbing and neglected cock.

“Wait- Logan, wait,” you pulled his roots again, making him moan.

“I’m here,” he rest his forehead on yours, fingers playing with the ends of your head while your breaths and heartbeats found the other’s rhythm.

“Wanna suck on you”

“Get on your knees for me then,” he demanded after a moment staring at you, trying to hide in his smile the excitement that flooded through his body.

You removed your body from his finding balance on his shoulder, lowering down to your knees on the carpet with the help of his arms around you.

He looked so, so beautiful like this. His prince hair and strong shoulders outerlined by the glowing moonlight that touched his back. His arm muscles tensin when one palm rested on his thigh and the other lowered down to finger-kiss your face. The “thank you, I love you” look he had on his eyes the whole time you were together. Who wouldn’t get get on their knees for this?

“That’s it princess, comfortable there?” You nodded and spread his legs a little, giving you space to kneel closer. He gave you another peck on the lips and moved his hands to rest flat on the bed, giving you all the freedom to do your thing.

You started by running your hands up and down his thighs while kissing down his abdomen, the thick path of hairs on his belly tickling your lips. Slowly, your hand snaked to his boxers while your mouth kept him distracted, licking the angry veins on his happy trail.

You palmed him eagerly, the volume of his member filling your whole palm and a little more. This first contact was enough to earn a raspy groan from his chest and some beads of precum that pooled on the little wet patch between his tip and boxers, where you butterfly-kissed before finally putting his underwear down.

You used your hands to spread his precum down and pump him a bit, desperate to have him in your mouth, you kept moving up and down while your mouth lowered to wrap around his tip, nursing on it like it was your favorite lollipop.

Your messiness has Logan seeing stars. Spit and precum was all over your face already, tongue darting up and down his shaft with desire. He almost screamed when your fingers played with the very top of his head and you lowered your mouth to his balls, suckling each into your mouth carefully.

“Jesus baby, that’s my girl, fuck-“

But it wasn’t enough. You were starved for him, for his pleasure. You waited the whole day to see his mouth hanging in bliss and you also wanted him to have what he wanted. You took his mouth of off his balls and kept lazily stroking him, lashes batting up to meet his eyes, “Fuck my mouth?”

Logan couldn’t believe how such a cute thing like you could look so sexy saying such filthy words. He loved it.

“Are you sure?” You nodded.

He then motioned for you to scoot back a little so he could get up, positioning himself in front of you, now both of you in front of the bed, sides facing the window.

He could die like this. The last thing he would ever see in his life could easily be you, on your knees, fucked out face with his precum and spit all over your face, with the moonlight reflecting on your rounded eyes just waiting for him to love on you. And he would die peacefully.

“Gonna start real gentle, ‘kay?” he assured you while brushing your hair back to hold it in his hands, one wrapping around the strands at the back of your head and the other holding his member.

“Lemme see this pretty tongue, baby’” he waited for your mouth to hang open and positioned his tip on top of your waiting tongue, tapping and circling it there. Logan kept teasing you (and himself) for a moment like this, smearing the leaking tip of his cock all over your mouth, tracing your tongue and lips at a torturing pace until he understood the desperate look in your widened eyes and scrunched brows, a silent “please”.

“Shh, gonna give you what y’want, princess. Suck on the tip, hm? Just the tip. Like you were doing before,” you loved when he ordered you around like this, especially when he looked so big towering over you and his voice was so low and deep like it was right now. You wasted no time in closing your already plump lips around him and deliciously suffocating his bulbous head in your mouth.

“That’s it bub, fuck. That’s my girl,” he loved when you were so obedient like you were right now during sex, his own little princess. His free hand stroked the part of his cock that wasn’t enveloped by your lips, using the mix of your spit and his own precum that was everywhere by now.

Your hands left your lap to dig into his thighs and your movements started to get more shallow, eyelids heaving and lashes blinking slowly up at him. You knew what you wanted, and Logan knew too, and he was gonna give it you.

The hand that was on his cock moved up to hold your jaw and the back of your head, inclining it up a bit so your face was now completely turned to him. This simple move of his already made his cock slip a little further into your mouth, taking a moan from both of you.

“Shhh, angel, yeah, that’s it,” his firm hold in the back of your head allowed you to stop moving and he slowly started to move his hips, pumping his cock in and out of your mouth carefully to not gag you. Not right now, at least. “Gonna give it to you slow, baby. You can take it, can’t you?” He knew an answer for you wouldn’t be exactly available at the moment, but you gave your best to manage out a nod, “know you can, bub.”

Logan kept his pace for a while before roughening and fastening it a bit to prepare you, tightening his grip on your head and steading the movements of his hips, his cock now halfway into your mouth, in and out, in and out. He felt your lips and throat loosening and the gagging sounds leaving your lips were driving him insane, his bones were on fire from keeping back and not just fuck your throat like he (and you) wanted.

When his tip kissed the edge of your throat you let your eyes close and your hands fall to his calf, letting him know you were ready, “just a bit more, sweet girl, just-“ his tip entered your throat with ease, curving a bit to follow its anatomy. When your lips finally touched the hairs on his base and his whole cock was seated into your hot mouth, he stilled completely.

You could hear his heavy breathing as if he ran a marathon in five minutes. The silence between the two of you letting you know that if he said or did anything he was surely cuming at that right moment. Logan’s eyes were closed and his head turned to the ceiling, brows furrowed trying to contain himself.

Your fingers caressed his leg slightly, reminding him you were ready, and when his gaze turned down to give you attention, dark and serious, like a big wolf preying down a little bunny, you knew what he was feeling. It faded quickly though when his eyes found yours, his rough expression turning into a smile, “you’re my best girl, aren’t you? That’s what y’wanted babe? To choke on my dick?”

You blinked your eyes assuringly, the heaviness of your eyelids taking a sexy, deep laugh from his chest. His hand left your head momentarily to caress your cheek with the back of his point finger, “think you can swallow for me?” he whispered.

You’ve done that before, and the feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced, the both of you. And you felt that it was coming by the calm and patient way he was dealing with you tonight. Logan was always careful to ask for things that edged your limits, always trying his best to keep you safe and comfortable. And who were you to deny the birthday boy what he was asking for?

You prepared yourself and slowly clenched your throat, suffocating his tip in the curve of it. Tears involuntarily pooled and fell from your eyes with the overstimulation and the feeling of oh, being so full of him, of his cock angrily pulsing in the whole extent of your mouth and now your throat. Logan’s eyes turned to the back of his head and his mouth hanged open, his fingers flexing in your hair to not lose control.

“O-one more time ba-“ and before he could even finish his sentence you were swallowing him down again, this time earning a loud and raspy groan from him, “fuck! baby, c’mon,” he carefully pulled himself from your mouth, cock hanging angry and desperate from your activities. “Need to feel you,” and kissed you hungrily.

He pulled you by your arms and intertwined them around his neck, tapping your bum slightly in a sign for you to jump in his lap. Logan was careful to drop you on the bed, never parting your lips and laying with his whole body weight on top of you. The hairs on his chest feathering over your nipples and the kiss of his tip over your folds were growing in you a type of desire you couldn’t quite decipher.

Sweat, spit and love were everywhere, your bodies swayed under the moonlight as if you were one. While your tongues fought for space into the other’s mouth, he reached a hand down and starting to thumb your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that had your mouth unplugging from his with a whine. When you felt his head finally circling your hole, you released him and turned around.

“Like that?” Logan watched as you switched positions, large palm finding your lower back while you placed yourself tummy down on the bed. “Can we?” you whispered, looking at him over your shoulder.

Logan smiled; if you kept being this cute he was going to fuck the sense out of you without effort. His other hand reached behind your knee and lifted it, giving him more easy access to you. Positioning himself into your entrance, he slipped his cock up and down your folds, your juices mixing in a squelching sound.

When he felt your hole flutter and your eyes close, your smaller fingers gripping the sheets, he reached up and kissed a drying tear in your cheek, “shhh baby, g’na go slow, ‘kay?” you nodded. There’s no exaggeration, Logan was big. Big and wide and veiny and filled you in all the right places.

The moment his head eased into you, you were seeing stars. The way your walls spread to welcome his girth made your mind fuzzy and all your senses heightened, the moan he left ecoed in your brain and the touch of his hand embracing yours burned like fire. He slowly pressed forward until his cock was perfectly engulfed inside you, both his member and your walls pulsing in unison.

“Move,” you mewled, fingers gripping his thumb in need. Logan used the hand on the small of your back to balance himself, starting to pump in an out at a perfect pace; not so fast but not so slow, deep, deep as he could to kiss every inch of your cunt and rearrange your insides.

“Pussy so warm, angel. Gripping me so tight,” he sad in your ear, “my little sweet gift.”

Stars exploded all the way down your spine, the fullness of his cock pumping your pussy and the weight of his body pressing on top of yours drove you over the edge, your walls gripping him tightly while you came, bringing his thumb into your mouth.

“That’s it, sweet girl, come for me,” he kissed your temple, “gush this cock, it’s all yours,” Logan slowed his pace inside you to let you calm down, caressing your hair and distributing kisses around your teary eyes.

“Think you can take a bit more, princess?” he whispered gently in your ear, his cock still throbbing inside you, “just a bit and I’ll be done. So I can fill your pussy up and good? Keep you full and plugged with me, hm?” You nodded with his thumb still between your lips and felt his hips meet your ass again.

It was so good. The overstimulation had you throbbing nonstop and your head in the clouds. Logan’s groans and moans were music to your ears along with his “that’s it, princess, fuck”, “whose’s pussy is this, hm? All mine to fuck and love on, ain’t it?”, “yeah, baby, that’s my sweet girl. Taking it so good f’me”, until he himself could take anymore, his cock pulsating and balls stiffening, until his voice got muffled by a low groan and you felt his seed fill you completely, gushing your insides and spilling down and off your walls.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, tired. His forehead rested on your temple as you both calmed down, breathing harmonised. Logan awaited until you opened your eyes and delicately pulled his thumb from your mouth, brushing your hair off of your face.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey,” you reciprocated, receiving a little peck on the lips, that turned into many many kisses all over your face while his palm messaged your back. “Thank you, sweetheart. Gonna pull out now, ‘kay?”

While Logan left to the bathroom to clean himself and find a cloth to clean you, you rested your chin on your forearms and stared up at the full moon through the window, sweetly reminiscing the last hour and thanking her for him. On moments like these all your mind could process was Logan Logan Logan.

“Here, bub,” he carefully whipped the fluids from your pussy, the pair of you giggling when you clenched in sensitivity, “c’mon, I draw the bath.”

You hand Logan spent another hour in the warm bath, cleaning and caressing and stealing kisses while the bubbles danced on your skin. You rested your head on his chest and lifted one finger, using the others to simulate a lighter to lit up the “candle”. “Here, make a wish,” you motioned it in front of his face, taking a laugh from him, who closed his eyes and made some funny faces to amuse you. He then blew your finger and playfully bit it, “what did you wish?”

“Well, I can’t tell you, can I?”

You kissed him and closed your eyes, laying back to your position on his shoulder.

“You. You’re my only wish.”

🎀🎀🎀

[jensthwa]

show & tell pt. 2 (SMG x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

After the… masterclass you gave Mingi the night before, you’re left anxious on what the future holds for you both. But there’s a pool party you promised you would attend and there’s not really time for you to figure your feelings out before your best friend shows up at your door to drive you to it. So maybe today is not the day to figure your feelings out, right? It’s just a pool party anyways, so nothing out of the ordinary is going to happen… right?

PAIRING: best friend!mingi x afab reader.

GENRE: childhood best friends (idiots) to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 11k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) anxiety attack, attempt !!! at comedy, wooyoung being a little shit part two ft jongho, a new oc being the voice of reason, reader is clueless and in denial i fear, jealousy, miscommunication, fighting so this part is just a tiny bit angsty :(, confessions, teasing, face sitting, hand job, car sex (don't do it in public people, it can get you arrested), pet names (love and baby), a plot line at the end none of you guys are going to get until my new wip drops but it's worth the wait!

NOTES: hey everyone! thank you so much for patiently waiting for this second and last part to drop. i think that, after this one, if you guys want to request any drabbles or if i come up with some scenarios for this couple i will post them but for now nothing is on the works. what is on the works is a wip that's part of the same universe as this one, so pay attention to the new characters i mention if you want any clues! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: july 28th 2024.

TAGLIST (sorry if i forgot anyone, pls let me know!): @vannerriin / @mingtinysworld / @purple-bell / @bakepotatoman / @nxy3h / @taehyungmami / @nxcxllxsevens / @breadpuddingboys / @hotteokkay

masterlist.

When you wake the next morning, the consequences of restless sleep show up in your face as a reminder of what happened the night before. 

It's not that you regret it, it's more the fact that you feel so unapologetic about messing with the perfect dynamic you have with Mingi that caused you to toss and turn so much. 

Last night, after putting your duvet back on and then crashing into the mattress feeling all tingly and giddy, you asked yourself a thousand questions. 

The main one being: What the fuck did you do? 

The words kept repeating over and over in your head, your voice of reason (or your anxiety) screaming at you to get your phone and make it right before everything becomes a complicated, unresolvable mess. 

You had a brief moment of panic and heavy breathing, your chest tight with unspoken emotion and your eyes filled with tears. 

It was too much, so you forced yourself up and paced around for what felt like hours trying to get your feet back on the ground. Nothing was working, so you sat down at your desk and rested your forehead against it. 

When you didn't feel the usual coolness of the wood, a comfort sensation for when your studies got the best out of you for the day, and instead felt a pen almost stab you in the eye, you -very confused- leaned back. 

Mingi’s notebook and the pen he didn't put back on the pencil case seemed to stare back at you lovingly instead of mocking you for losing control over your own emotions. 

A sense of peace washed over you when you flipped the pages and landed on the instructions he wrote down. Memories of the amazing years you have had by his side started crossing your mind, like recomforting flashes that allowed your heartbeat to go back to normal: 

The first day you saw Mingi, chasing behind a worned out soccer ball and then kicking it so hard it landed on your lawn. 

The first time you two hugged, when your dad scolded you for having bad grades until you cried in front of him. 

The way he held your hand before heading inside to take the college admission exam, last year of highschool. 

His kind eyes. His reassuring smile. The way he made you feel just a few hours back. 

There's no getting rid of me either, love.

We'll figure it out. 

Letting a few contained tears run down your cheeks, you nodded to yourself as if he was there in the room with you. 

Yeah, you'll figure it out.  

And then proceeded to, very much, not figure shit out for the rest of the night. You could still feel his hands everywhere and hear his voice against your ear whispering how much he knows you and pays attention to you. 

You are fucked. 

It's all you can think about when you get ready for the day. It's all you can think about when you help your dad with lunch and when you let your parents know at the table that you are going out that same afternoon. 

“Mingi is driving you, right?” 

“Yeah…” you whisper in response, eyes focused on one specific spot at the table and mind a million years away from the conversation. 

“Good. He's such a good kid, Y/N, I'm glad he knows how to take care of you.” 

Choking on air when your brain finally catches up to her words, you look back up at your mother in shock “W-what?” 

“Yeah honey, what? Y/N can take care of herself,” your father chips in, unaware of your red cheeks or the honest expression of panic you're giving both of them “She's a big girl that carries around that, uh… What was it?— Ah, that pepper spray I gave her, right?” 

“R-right.” 

He lets out a satisfied see? at your answer, gives you a tiny smile and gets up from the table to take his finished plate over to the sink. 

Your mom stays behind, giving you a look you can't quite read before her usual calm expression washes it away. Only then, you can take a proper, very needed, calming breath. 

“I need to get ready. Thank you for the food.” 

“You made it, dear.” 

“I mean! For taking care of the, uh, plates,” you clumsily correct yourself right away, getting up from the table as well “Love you. Bye!” 

You don't miss the confused giggle on your way to your room and when you're behind closed doors, you finally take into consideration that you might be, in fact, overreacting.

Not much, you think, but just enough to give your feelings away. And it's truly a shame, because you were planning on concealing and bottle everything up until it, inevitably, blows up in your face. 

Maybe not the smartest option. 

If you bang your head against the wall with enough force maybe, just maybe it’ll help—

Someone's texting you. 

> gi: heeeeey > gi: just woke up lol > gi: had the best sleep ever tho > gi: how are you, love? 

Okay. So normal texting it is. Maybe your initial plan of just pretending nothing happened is, coincidentally, Mingi’s plan as well. 

So you type in it's literally almost one, ya lazy and let your thumb hover over the send button, eyebrows creased at a sudden realization. 

The casual texting annoys you. 

Sure, Mingi is used to keeping everything casual between him and the people he sleeps with, but you're not just anyone! You didn't sleep together, either! 

Oh, maybe that's why. 

But it ticks you off either way. 

Is he not feeling the same way you do? Did it mean something different for him than it did to you? What did it even mean to you in the first place?

Why, after all the panic you felt the night before, did you have any sort of expectation for today? 

It doesn't make any sense. 

You hit send. 

> gi: aaaaand?  > gi: god forbid a man gets a good night's rest after being thrown off a bed. 

Scoffing, your eyes roll before you can even control it and, to your demise, the giddiness returns. You respond with did you get hurt? awww and raise a hand to your blushed cheek before sending the message.

> gi: yeah wtf  > gi: my butt is all bruised.  > gi: kiss it better? 

Oh. 

Not casual texting. At. All. 

Or maybe it is? 

Ugh.

Blanking on everything Mingi has ever texted you before, you decide it's best to entertain yourself by getting all pretty to sit around the house party tonight and do nothing else instead of torturing your confused brain any longer. 

Using the help of an emoji to flip him off and, hopefully, gather yourself together enough to get ready, you shoot him another text rushing him to do the same because you don't want to be late. 

And he usually takes forever to get ready anyways.

Showering with very cold water, taking a good thirty minutes to decide whether to wear something comfy and fitting or sexy and fitting for the party do the job when it comes to taking your mind off him for, at least, the time being. 

Yunho was insistent the day before in that you didn't need to bring a bathing suit if you didn't want to, but you pack one anyways because you can sense Wooyoung's and Jongho’s intentions even if the youngest couldn't make it to your impromptu gathering yesterday. 

They know you hate when they get away with annoying you and throwing you into the nearest body of water -in this case, Yunho’s pool- in front of many people you don't know (therefore, you are not going to able to go insane mode on them) seems like the perfect opportunity to get away with it.

The last time they did it you weren't really able to scold them properly either, so they laughed and pointed at you until you threatened to kick their asses in a very dishonest but playful way. 

Mingi, of course, did nothing but laugh along with everyone else and then kiss your forehead as an apology later that day. 

That was last summer and since then both perpetrators have treated you to meals and buttered you up enough for you to forgive (as if you didn't do that the morning that followed the incident) but you never forget. 

Maybe you should. It would make the sight of Mingi parking outside your house easier, you think.

You're sure he's parking outside just to give your dad, who comes out to greet him with a hug, some peace of mind. He's very protective of you and he trusts Mingi even if he gives him a hard time everytime he sleeps over or takes you somewhere.  

Like now, you have a very clear view through your window of the sermon he's giving your best friend. You don't hear it but he's moving his hands in the air way too much for it not to be a clear step by step on what to do if you run into any trouble on the way to Yunho's. 

Mingi likes step by step and he's good at following instructions, so you don't think it's going to be an issue. 

God damnit, Y/N, get it together. 

Sighing, you pick up your bag, check your outfit once in front of the mirror, and rush downstairs and out of the door. 

“You do know how to change a tire, son?” 

Mingi is standing in front of your dad with his hands behind his back and a tight smile. 

“Yes sir, my dad taught me and then at the school they made sure I didn't forget about it.” 

“And make sure to—” 

“Could you let the guy breathe, dad?” 

They both turn to, your dad wears a mocking smile and you see Mingi’s tight one breaks into a genuine one a second later. A grateful one, even. 

He looks really good. Which is insane, considering that to you he looked like Chewbacca just yesterday morning. 

Crazy what a good orgasm can do to a person. Or maybe it's the first time you ever let yourself see him in this light. Either way, he's wearing light wash jeans and a fitted t-shirt that clings to him just right and it's going to drive you insane, you can just feel it. 

“I was just making sure that he—” 

“Knows what to do,” you nod “He knows what he's doing, dad. Stop giving him a hard time,” you give your dad a quick kiss on the cheek and then rush to the passenger seat, giving Mingi a glance so he can get in the car as well. 

“Alright. Love you, take care!” 

“Love you too, Mr. L/N!” Mingi says, getting into his seat and giving your dad the opportunity to see when he fastens his seatbelt. He doesn't say anything else, even though he didn't tell Mingi specifically that he loved him and instead gives you both a nod of approval. 

When Mingi finally drives off your street and into the main one, you sigh in relief. 

“He's neeever going to trust me, huh?” 

“He trusts you,” you say right away, cheek resting against the seat so you can take a proper look at him “I'm his only daughter and you're a man after all. Cut him some slack.” 

“He never cuts me some slack!” he fights back but you just laugh and he can't help but join you “You look really good, by the way. A dress? Are you trying to impress someone?” The tone he uses sparks the remaining tension from the night before, like zero time has passed since he kissed you goodnight by your front door. 

When you got into the car with Mingi, you didn't consider that you two would be alone for, at least, forty minutes before getting to your destination. Your mind skipped the fact that he has this new ability to fluster you by just existing near you and you curse it for not letting you prepare well enough for the way he's looking at you right now. 

“Obviously,” you answer in a whisper, clearing your throat a second later “Wooyoung needs to be distracted so he doesn't tackle me into the pool the second we get there. Don't know if it's gonna work on Jongho, though.” 

Mingi clicks his tongue, baring his teeth and pretending to really think about it “I don't think so, love. You'll have to bribe him into considering dropping their whole summer schtick for you.” 

“You can help me with that.” 

“Can I now?” 

“Yeah. You can just… lock him up in a room and my dress can do the rest of the work.” 

Your best friend laughs and then takes a hand off the steering wheel to roll the hem of your dress in between his thumb and index. His knuckles brush against your thigh and you almost -almost- make a noise at the sensation. 

“It's not the dress, love… It's who's wearing it.” 

A bit of silence passes within the both of you. 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

Laughter fills the car and drowns out the honking on the other side of the street and you wonder why you were worried in the first place. 

Nothing has changed. 

Aside from the intention laced with the flirting, it feels the same way it ever did and you couldn't be more glad because now that you know Mingi doesn't hate you (like you thought for a brief moment last night) or wants to hard launch a relationship that doesn't exist to your friends the second he gets them all together in the same room, you can enjoy the car ride and the evening that's about to follow it.

So you flirt with him freely, listen and sing along to songs that just feel like summer summarized in three minutes of exquisite writing and roll your window down once Mingi takes a turn into an hill, trees replacing the buildings you're so used to seeing. 

Your friend is rich rich. His family makes good money and his parents go on lots of business trips. That being said, it's the first time you actually attend one of his parties, and so when you get to Yunho’s house and ring the doorbell, you’re caught by surprise because you can already hear the loud music playing in the backyard and the blend of new and familiar voices through the thick door. 

You expect him to open the door for you but Seonghwa’s smile is the first thing you see before you and Mingi both have the opportunity to step in. 

“You made it!” 

“It's pretty hard to miss this house, Hwa.” 

Your older friend side-hugs you and stays by your side while Mingi takes it upon himself to put your bags for the day in the pile of other bags next to the door “How are you doing today?” 

You're about to answer but when you look at him, you see him staring at Mingi, so you do too. He's staring at Hwa with a little smile “I'm doing good. I blocked her and everything and I can confidently say that…” he turns to you “My ego’s not bruised anymore.” 

If Seonghwa caughts the spark between you and you best friend, he decides to ignore it “That's goo—” 

“Mingi!” 

What the hell is she doing here? 

Not, not that bitch from yesterday but this girl who Mingi meets with sometimes. You don't really know her, you just know she's gorgeous and that her name starts with an h, maybe? 

She's a fashion major and it shows in the way she's dressed up today. Truly, an enjoyable company whenever she's around at frat parties, a saving grace when you're tired of surrounding yourself with only men. 

Right now? She's your worst nightmare. 

Wrapping her arms around Mingi’s neck and getting on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek, she smiles like she knows she's getting laid tonight and your best friend does nothing to pull her away. 

She doesn't even say hi to you before dragging him to the backyard! You and Seonghwa follow them and when she takes Mingi’s arm and pulls him over to -you assume- introduce him to her friends, you almost stomp your feet like a little kid. 

Trying to get rid of the annoyed frown on your face, you turn to Hwa with a teasing smile and your eyebrows raised. 

“Well fuck me, am I right?” 

“I might!” Arms wrap around your waist and you feel Woo’s chin resting on you shoulder immediately after “That's a very nice dress, Y/N.” 

If Mingi was next to you, like you want him to be, you would give him a I told you so glance. Instead, you just look at Seonghwa with absolute horror before he snickers and goes away. 

“Right? And it looks horrible when it's drenched in nasty chlorine water.” 

“You can't possibly know that.” 

“I know a lot of things and— No! Woo, please don't,” you beg when he lifts you off the ground for a second. Behind you, you hear laughs and, even though you can't see them, you know it's San and Jongho “I just got here and I haven't even changed yet, please.” 

He turns you around and hugs you properly this time before letting you go. You take the opportunity to punch him in the arm and then go over to San and Jongho to do the same. 

“We'll let you get your swimsuit on this time.” 

“You're so considerate, Jong. Seriously, they're going to give you the Nobel prize if you don't stop.” He mocks you, repeating what you just said in a higher pitched voice and you laugh as you sit next to Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend, Gyuri. 

San also has a girl sitting beside him with his arm around her, but you don't really know her so you just wave at her. They're all in their bathing suits already “See how he tried to flirt with me to try to get me with my guard down? He's a monster.” 

“And in front of me, too? The nerve on this guy.” Gyuri, of course, backs you up immediately and you want to return her smile, but you can see Mingi from the corner of your eye and it's distracting. 

“Oh, they're ganging up on me already,” Wooyoung whines, sitting down in front of you both and handing you a drink “It's like my worst nightmare.” 

“He's enjoying it, don't let him convince you otherwise,” San says, getting up from his seat and taking his girl with him “Especially coming from you.” He points at Gyuri and you laugh. 

“We're just friends now!” 

“That's what you told me like three years ago before—” 

Wooyoung gets up to chase after him and San lets go of the girl's hand to try to get away from him. 

Turns out, you're not the one Woo tackles into the pool. This time, him and San crash down on the water hard and a few droplets of water wet your feet. Gyuri laughs and everyone else does too when they realize what's happening. 

Jongho gets up and joins them in the water soon after to try and help (kinda, not really) San escape the wrath of his best friend. 

You almost miss it, because you take the opportunity to look at your best friend and, when you do, he's already looking at you. 

Breath catches on your throat and the lump that forms afterwards has a name and a reason: Mingi is looking at you with so much longing it physically hurts. 

He looks like wants to drop everything and come and confuse your fragile mind even more, just like he did the night before. 

Then why the fuck is he there with whatever her name is and her friends and not sitting right next to you? 

You look away, grasping your drink for emotional support and convincing yourself you're starting to see things that are not actually there. 

“Why the fuck are y'all fighting this time?!” Yunho comes from inside the house and it's the first time you see him today “No choking! No running! It's literally in the rules!” 

“Wooyoung please let go of my boyfriend!” 

Ah. So she is San’s girlfriend. Still, you turn to Gyuri to ask. 

“Who is sh—” 

“San’s new girlfriend, Kyungmi. We don't give a fuck about her or San right now, we're mad at them,” you want to ask who we is, because Wooyoung seems like he's just playing, but she interrupts you again “What the fuck is going on with you and Mingi?” 

Huh?! 

You make a quick mental review of your plan. Conceal? Clearly it didn't work. Bury your emotions deep so no one notices? You probably can't recover from the way you smile just dropped. 

The only thing left on the list is pretend that you're insane, but you're not sure it'll work either. So you turn it on her: “Nothing much. He played Espresso like three times on a row on the way here and I almost kill him, but—” 

“You can't bullshit me, Y/N.” 

Great, that didn't work either. 

“I saw that. Seonghwa did too but he got up before I could convince him to ambush you,” she dramatically sighs, chugging the rest of her drink down “So, what is going on?” 

“Nothing,” that much is true “he's literally with a girl right now.” 

“And she will never mean as much to him as you do. Next.” 

“Gyuri… I really don't know what you want me to say.” 

Squinting her eyes at you suspiciously, Gyuri takes her time before answering and you fidget in your seat a little. Wooyoung liked her for a reason, she's feisty and goes straight to the point and it's something you usually admire but right now it's not the time for her to do this. 

“I just thought maybe it finally happened…” She whispers and shrugs the entire conversation off before getting up “Let's head inside. They're going to start grilling meat at any second and I also don't want to be near Wooyoung when he gets out of there.” She points at him and you laugh. 

Jongho has him in a chokehold and Yunho is trying to separate them while San desperately swims towards his girl that's still waiting for him near the edge of the pool. 

“Sure thing.” 

You pretend you don't feel Mingi's eyes on you as you move. 

This is not unusual. Whenever you all go to parties, hosted by someone inside of the friend group or not, you end up separating from Mingi. 

He does his thing. He's outgoing and he likes dancing while you enjoy conversation and drinking away at the rest of the party, occasionally making out with someone and calling it a night when your social battery runs out. 

So you hang out with Gyuri in the kitchen until the sun starts going down and when the last ray of it disappears you decide it's time to swim a bit before you're too tipsy for it to be safe. 

Grabbing your bag and greeting some new people you don't know at the door, you head up to the bathroom you are told by the host himself it's upstairs. 

When your tying up the strands of your swimsuit, the door slams open and you jump and cover yourself up with your hands because you're not able to finish the job, so the strands fall down and the only thing holding the top part of the fabric it's you. 

“What the fuck, Mingi?” 

Turning around, you're only able to look at him through the mirror. 

“Lock the door next time! What if it was somebody else?” 

“People usually knock!” 

“I didn't mean to scare you, it's the door’s fault,” he makes a fool of himself trying to prove it “See? I— let me help you with that,” he closes the door again and, this time, he locks it before taking a short step and grabbing the strands of your top “It's the second time this week I scare you like that, huh? I’m sorry, love.” He ties the strands together with a secure knot and his apology finally allows your tense muscles to relax. 

You remind yourself that there's no valid reason for you to be mad at him. You'll figure it out, he said it himself, and maybe today is not the day to do so. 

But he's not stepping away once he's finished, he's not even saying anything else before his hands grab your waist and his chest collides to your back. 

Looking at him through the mirror again, you silently ask him with your eyes what he thinks he's doing. He ignores you, bending down so the tip of his nose can trace the skin on the side of your neck. 

“I missed you,” his voice sounds like honey when he says it and you, once again, curse the ability he has to make you crumble “and you disappeared like an hour ago.” 

You let out a sigh. 

“I was in the kitchen, Mingi, not missing and we were in the same space for at least twenty minutes before that and like… forty minutes in a car, together.” You remind him and he frowns “Besides, you were with Ha… Haneul?” 

“Hanni,” he corrects and you huff out a whatever “and she was introducing me to some of her friends that are in the same major as me, just a year over.” 

“Cool.” 

He pecks your shoulder. You do your best to not melt completely into him and fix your hair in the mirror. 

“Y/N…” he starts and you hum in acknowledgement “I missed you.” 

It pisses you off for some reason. The mature thing to do is to let him know but the words that leave you are petty and laced with annoyance. 

“I’m sure you did, buddy.” 

He grins against your skin and you turn around to face him, eyebrow raising. 

“What's so amusing?” 

At your tone, he seems taken aback but his smile stays curving his lips upwards.

“I'm just really happy to have this moment with you,” he says, matter of factly, and you press your hands against his chest to regain some personal space. He doesn't budge an inch “What's going on?” 

He's such a guy sometimes. 

“You're here, kissing my neck, while a gorgeous girl who I'm sure is waiting for you downstairs is probably bragging to her friends about how she's going home with you tonight and—” 

“Y/N, I'm literally taking you home.” 

“I can easily take a car back— Mingi, seriously,” taking a deep breath, you stare at him with all the honesty you can gather “I don't want to do whatever this is if afterwards you're going downstairs to dance and flirt with Haneul or whatever her name is.” 

He looks like he wants to correct you on it again, so you level him with a daring glance. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

“And I also don't want you to hurt her feelings if you tell her you can't leave with her tonight, so—” 

“I don't give a shit about her feelings, love.” 

“Mingi, don't say that!” 

“I don't! I wasn't flirting with her at all, either! Listen, it's…” he stops to chuckle for a few seconds “I mean, it's adorable that you're jealous but there's no reason for you to—” 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

It's the second time today you have said those exact words to him. The first time, you also felt your heart bang with such force against your rib cage but for a completely different reason. 

“I'm not one of the girls you fuck on the side when you're horny or bored out of your mind. Don't fucking treat me like one.” You warn and suddenly the image of you telling him that teaching him yesterday could mess you both up crosses your mind.  

“I'm not, Y/N! I'm just saying that you look adorable when you're—” 

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous when we are not together, Mingi? I'm literally looking out for the girl!” 

“You don't even know her name, love.” 

“That's not the fucking point!” 

He finally takes a step away from you, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath, surely.

Now you're pissed off because he saw right through you and your words. 

That disgusting weight on your chest you felt back by the pool while you kept staring at him from the corner of your eye? Jealousy. 

Now that he brought it up, it makes sense. 

You hate it. 

You always hated being put in a position where you felt the need to compare yourself to others. Always hated how easy it is for anger to run through your blood and infiltrate every waking thought until it clouds your judgment. 

Because you shouldn't be angry. He just said he didn't care about her feelings. 

And yet, all you can think about is that he spent an hour with her instead of you. 

When he turns to you, there's a storm in his eyes and you just don't want to hear it tonight. 

“Save it, keep it, sleep on it and we'll talk tomorrow,” picking your dress from the spot on the floor it's been sitting all this time, you put the fabric on, take your bag and then unlock the door “I’m going home.” 

You don't give him the opportunity to say anything else before getting out of the bathroom but you do hear a groan when you're rushing downstairs. 

Yeosang and Yunho are just leaving the kitchen when you trip on the last step and the host jogs the few steps to you after laughing. 

“There you are, Y/N. Listen, there's some meat already grilled back there but we're—” 

“I'm actually going home, Yun,” you cut him short “I'm not feeling that well. My plan was to swim a little before leaving but I don't think I can do it.” 

“Did something happen or…?” 

What happened is coming downstairs as he asks. 

“Nope. Nothing, I just think I'm catching a cold or something. Thank you so much for inviting me though!” You hug your friend quickly, kissing his cheek before pulling away. 

“Always…” Yunho is very observant but, as you always do, he doesn't press you with questions about what's going on “He's taking you home?” Pointing behind you, you don't have to turn around to get what he means. 

“Ye—” 

“No. He's having a great time here, I don't want to get in the way,” you shrug “I'll just get an uber or something. Don't worry.” 

Yunho frowns slightly, eyes moving from your face to over your shoulder. 

Immature. Petty. Rude. 

You're sure that's the way you’re coming off right now. But feeling anger bubbling behind the smile you give Yunho, you think it's better they make their assumptions instead of actually seeing you upset. 

You move to hug Yeosang as well and he murmurs his farewell. When you turn around, Mingi is no longer there and you don’t spare a look towards the floor to ceiling glass windows that separate the living area from the backyard because you're sure he's sitting right beside that girl again. 

As he should be. 

You bolt for the door, giving your friends a tiny smile before going down the few steps and into the hill. It's already dark and you're sure no uber driver it's going up this hill for the tip you're able to offer them, so you figure your best shot is to go down and try to find a cab on the main street. 

The light from your phone illuminates your scowl as you walk. Past the bushes and the trees and the lines of parallel parked cars where Mingi’s Lexus is. 

You don't notice him there until he opens the backdoor to block your step. 

“Get in the car, I'm taking you home.” 

Closing the door he just opened to stop you, you shake your head. 

“I told you I'm getting a ride and—”

“I don't give a fuck. Get in the car.” And then he's opening his door and closing it so fast it gives you no room for debating. 

He's angry. Shit. 

You can't even see him through the tinted window to assess how much damage you have done, so you look down the hill one more time and wonder if making the run for it is worth it. 

When your phone lights up with a notification from Gyuri asking you if everything's okay and to make it home safe, you take it as a sign to round the car and get into the passenger side with an annoyed huff. 

The engine comes to life. You're not looking at him but at the trees until the leaves start showing the building lights in-between them and soon you're on the main road. 

You can't even ask him to turn the radio on. Stubborn, you refuse to let the anger inside of you dissipate in fear of shame taking over. It's better being angry than being ashamed, at least in this exact moment because you can practically feel Mingi's anger through the silent treatment. 

But you need to say something. The silence is suffocating and the street is surprisingly empty so you can't distract yourself with anything. 

“You shouldn't have bothered.” 

“I am bothered. You bothered me.” 

Clenching your jaw, you turn to him in disbelief “I told you to stay at the goddamn party so we can fix this tomorrow but I bothered you?”

“Did I stutter or something?” 

“No, you're just not making any fucking sense!” 

“Yeah, fuck this,” you see him look around, biting the inside of his cheek like he's holding his words in “We're fixing this right now.” 

The car makes a harsh turn and you have to grab the door for support. 

“Mingi!” He's not listening to you anymore. His hard gaze stays on the road, it feels like forever before he pulls into a somewhat empty parking lot and when the vehicle stops you go to open the door and get the fuck away from him before you two kill eachother inside this car. 

That's an exaggeration but with the way he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, you know your pride doesn't stand a chance. 

The summer breeze briefly hits your face before his hand is on yours, closing the door and preventing you from, once again, escaping the situation. 

Frustrated, you let out a loud groan “What the fuck is your problem?!” 

“I don't know, Y/N! But I'll tell you what your problem is, alright?” he chuckles. It's a humorless sound, his face painted in something you've never seen before “Your problem is that you assume you know what everyone else is feeling and you assume you're right. But intuition can only get you so far, love, so I need you to take your head out of your ass and think logically for a second.” 

Flabbergasted, you think you murmur something in your defense but he cuts you short. 

“No! You didn't let me get a word out back there so now you're going to shut up and listen,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes “You assume you're smarter than everyone else but you're actually so dumb. Dumb, you're acting very dumb and reckless, Y/N! That back there?” he points out of the window to nothing but you know what he means “Leaving— Scratch that. Leaving me and not giving me a chance to say anything back? Trying to go down that hill alone and in the dark? Stupid.” 

Staring back at him with watery eyes, you don't even know what to say back except a whispered excuse me?

“And usually I would beat up anyone who even dares to call you that but I guess all these years I've been wrong about you. Because if you were smart, you would've realized that Hanni means nothing to me and I mean nothing to her. There's nothing, she loves appearances and that's it.” 

You knew that already, but you're not giving your stance up. 

What even is your stance? Ah, right, he treated you like an envious no one back there and not like his best friend.  

“Yeah, I can tell you mean nothing to her from the whiny tone and the hug and the dragging you to meet her friends, Mingi.” Scoffing at the memory, your lips press into a thin line. 

“Well, she's a friendly girl!” 

“She didn't even say hi to me!” 

“So she doesn't like you, Y/N! Who cares!” you sure don't but, again, you just stare at him in disbelief and his open arms, palms to the sky “Do you care? Because I don't! And guess what? I doesn't fucking matter if she likes you or not or if she wants me or not because I like you!” 

What? 

“W-what?” 

“I like you! And I'll choose you over her and everyone else again and again and again until you notice but fuck it's so tiring. You're so fixated on why I let her drag me to her friends that you completely ignored me the rest of the time we were there and maybe if you looked at me more than once you would've realized that I was staring back at you the whole afternoon!” 

You let out an annoyed chuckle “So you were, Mingi.” 

“I was! I was trying to get you to look at me and notice how bad I wanted you to come over, rescue me from that boring ass conversation, grab my hand and claim your place right beside me because—” he pauses, resting a hand on the steering wheel and looking at you like he can't believe he has to spell this out for you “Because I want nothing more than for her and everyone to know I’m yours! I'm sure everyone already fucking knows too, except you. So yeah, sometimes, you're pretty fucking dumb for such a smart woman, Y/N.” 

Words escape you. They escape your mind, your reason and your pride shrinks until it disappears behind all the love you feel for Mingi. 

So that's what you are feeling. That's what you felt yesterday night when the tiredness couldn't drown out your thoughts of him and all he meant to you. 

Love, love, love. In all its forms, in all its possible scenarios. Your heart burns for it and you used to think that your hopeless romantic desires began and died with the movies you tend to see and the books you tend to read, that it was impossible to feel this way for anyone but there he is, chest heaving in the yellow interior light, waiting for you to say something back. 

“And I realize that before yesterday I showed no interest in you but believe me when I say that I—” 

Shakily, you interrupt him with whispered words, heart soaring and hands reaching out to cup his beautiful face “Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

When you kiss him, you make sure to pour out everything you couldn't say a minute ago into it. 

When he kisses you back with the same feeling, it crosses your mind that he already forgave you. 

And when he grabs your waist and drags you over the break handle and the transmission to collide his chest against yours and drag his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip, you think that, for the first time ever, you have to tell him he's right. 

You are stupid. Stupid for not realizing it sooner, stupid for confusing his longing stares for something platonic, stupid for thinking you could wait until tomorrow to tell him he has the right to see and be with anyone he wants to because this is it. 

This. The way your entire body comes alive when he sighs into your mouth and groans at the way your knee opens up his legs to make room for you on his side of the car and partially on his lap. The way his thumbs run through your cheeks and dry the tears you didn't even feel falling down. The way your heart jumps frantically and the way its beats could get confused by his because you're so close. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, you can't recall a time Mingi didn't make you feel this exact same way. It's overwhelming, it expands through you like a fire and it knocks the remaining air out of your lungs enough for you to pull away and rest your forehead against his, shaky breaths tangling together and fingers grasping the neck of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself. 

You sniffle, incapable of not feeling emotional over his confession and your realization “I'm sorry, Mingi. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for treating you that way I was… I behaved like…” 

“An ass.” He nods and you look at him with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Yeah,” you nod as well “I was an ass. A jealous ass.” 

“I know, love.” He whispers, eyes moving on your face before his lips are on yours again, briefly, sweetly, even if you don't feel like you deserve it “You tend to forget that I know you, hm? That I've seen you jealous before? You were an ass back then, too.” 

“Okay! Okay, stop calling me an ass, I get it.” 

“I'm sorry for waiting for you to do something when you didn't even… I guess you didn't know, right? The way I feel about you?” 

“I know now,” you whisper back, nudging your nose against his and then putting some distance so you can see him better “I feel the same way, by the way. We're shit at communicating, apparently, so I'll just tell you now that—” 

His lips are on yours again and he's giggling against them and shaking his head when he pulls away. Brown eyes search for yours and you're not sure what he's looking in them but he seems to find it, his muscles relaxing against the leather of his seat seconds later. 

So you kiss him again. And again and again until your back starts hurting and the steering wheel is pressed uncomfortably against it, forcing you to shift on his hold. 

“Let me… Wait.” He lets you go to pull his seat back and then closes his legs, forcing your knee to fall on his other side so you can fully straddle his lap “That's better. Now come here.” And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck and stealing your breath away again with another kiss.

The tension shifts right then. When he can fully feel you pressing up against him and when a noise escapes you once his hands drop and give your bare legs the attention you didn't even know you were craving. 

You thought a second ago that the sweet kisses would stop once you were both sated with the sweet aftermath of all the yelling and confessing but now you don't want it to stop. 

There's a lot to catch up on, a lot of missed time you need to make up for. 

You still want to make him feel good. The sparks from yesterday come alive again and soon you're yanking the strands of dark hair with your fingers and letting your mouth explore the skin of his neck. When you sink your teeth into his skin, he lets out the same noise he did the night before and you smile against the mark you just made. 

His lips find your shoulder and he breathes hard into it once your hips start moving at their own accord, slowly yet firmly, the pad of his fingers digging hard on your thighs until you break away from his neck to focus on his face again. 

“This goddamn dress, love.” 

Humming, you caress his red cheek with your lips “What about it?” 

“Been thinking about it all day…” 

“It worked, by the way.” 

“Woo?” 

“Mhm. Distracted him so he didn't throw me in the pool right away.” 

“And Jongho?” 

“Probably plotting against me right now.” 

He laughs softly into your skin “Probably.” 

Chuckling as well, you stop your movements and take in how he looks. Gone, a little too fucked up from just making out, lips swollen and eyes clouded with something you're getting too familiar with, too quick. 

“Worked on you, too.” 

He smiles and shrugs, letting his head drop into the headrest “You look good in everything, love. It doesn't really matter what you wear.” 

“Oh?” 

A firm hand trails up your body, slowly, from you leg to your hip, your waist to the side of your breasts and your until it cops your face with affection you never imagined you would experience. 

“I have always thought you are the most beautiful girl to ever exist.” 

This is it. 

Leaning into his touch, your lips connect to the palm of the hand holding you before you lean forward again. 

“I love you, Mingi.” 

He doesn't seem surprised by your confession and you're glad he knows. It doesn't really matter if its too soon, if you even mean it in a romantic way or not, the love you have for him transcends all labels. 

“I love you too, Y/N.”

And his does too. 

You kiss him until it hurts. 

He kisses you until you're gasping and your body is pleading for more. 

The both of you kiss each other until you're sure nothing else will replace the taste of one another, that it will linger forever even if your paths stop crossing at any point in time. 

It feels like you're trapped somewhere where the clock doesn't tick at all, where you can take your time exploring him with your mouth and your hands. 

And then it doesn't. 

The fabric of the dress starts bothering you, his tight shirt is suddenly not tight enough and the hardness steadily growing and pressing into your core is screaming for attention you can't give him with all these clothes on the way. 

He feels it too, fingers tracing the hem of your dress for the second time today and then they're under it, pulling at the fabric up until it bunches on your waist. 

You're still wearing the swimsuit he helped you put on earlier but it does little to conceal how affected you are. Looking down, you're not even ashamed of it when he follows your eyes and let his linger on the patch of wetness darkening the color of the bottoms. 

Still, he moves his hands upwards again and soon you're struggling to get the dress off, considering you're almost bumping the roof of the car when you straighten your spine to do so. 

“Wanna know what crossed my mind when I saw you in the bathroom?” 

When it's finally off, he immediately goes for it: His index tracing your collarbone and slowly descending, his short nail dragging against your skin before the rest of his fingers join, right in between your breasts, where there's fabric holding together the top of the swimsuit. 

He could easily tug on it if he wanted to. Instead, he ignores it and presses the heel of his hand against it, forcing you to lean back and almost bump into the steering wheel again. 

Unable to speak and panting, you only nod as a reply to his question. 

“How easy it would be to get on my knees and eat you out. I thought: What if I just…” Using his other hand to mess with the knots that keep the left bottom part of the swimsuit together, he demonstrates what he means without actually doing it, his eyes following the motions “Undo these, get on my knees and make her come all over my face?” 

“Fuck, Mingi…” 

“You would like that, wouldn't you?” He smirks without actually looking at you, the hand on your sternum traveling down against your skin before joining the other one, teasing the knots on the right. 

“Y-yes.” 

Maybe he can see it on your face, the sudden nervousness at the scene he painted before you, because he grabs one of your hands and brings them to his lips before drawing you close again “Please tell me your idiot ex-boyfriend ate you out when you were together.” 

Blush darkening, you make a face that gives the answer away. 

He groans “He's worse than I thought, fuck. Come here.” And without any warning, the back of his seat goes down until it touches the backseat with it.

Bracing yourself against his chest, because you went down with him as well, you huff out a surprised laugh “Go where?” 

“Up here. Let me teach you something tonight.” 

“Mingi…” 

“First, you need to make sure your hands are clean—” 

“Stop,” laughing, you interrupt his bad attempt at teasing you with the same words you used on him yesterday “There's no real support for me if we do this, where do I even—” 

“Knees here,” he motions the backseat and you could actually do it, but you would have to sit on his face instead of hovering like you imagine it would be more comfortable for him “hands here” he points to the grab handle and the headrest of the passenger seat and then straightens his spine a little, bringing his face closer to you so he can whisper right into your worn out lips “Turn the light off, I'll do the rest.” 

He looks like he's going to kiss you but then he falls back onto the seat with an excited smile curving his lips. 

What a tease. 

So of course you turn off the light and prop yourself up into the position he wants to. It's challenging, the car is not that small but it feels like it is and you very much would rather do this on a bed, spare his back and yours in the process, but excitement also runs through your body and your brain stops making up excuses for why should deny yourself of the pleasure of Mingi using his mouth to make you see stars the second his fingers undo the knots and peel the bottom half of your swimsuit off your body with ease. 

Lips trailing up your inner thighs and hands on each side of them, holding you in a secure position, Mingi doesn't tease you much before attaching his mouth to your heat and your subconsciousness flies out the window when his tongue flicks your clit. 

You look down at him and the sight of him enjoying himself has you beaming, the warmth spreads through you and the zeroes on your pussy. You don't even try to quiet down your moans, completely forgetting that you're in a public parking lot that can fill up at any second. 

But paying no mind to it either, Mingi also moans encouragingly into your wet folds when your hips move a little, chasing that high. 

He shifts his focus to your entrance, his tongue working itself into you and when you move your hips again at the feeling, his nose bumps into your clit in a way that has you grasping the headrest for support, right hand slipping down and resting on the window while your mouth hangs open and your eyes shut close. 

“Mingi… Baby, fuck, I'll—” he adds his thumb into his ministrations, pressing it against your clit the way he did yesterday and it only takes a few side to side movements for you to come undone on his mouth. 

And again, the intensity of your orgasm takes you by surprise. It's obviously not as intense as yesterday's but it still got you trembling so you want to curse him out for being that good at what he does. 

He eases you into it, slowing his mouth and you only register that it leaves you completely when your thighs are being kissed tenderly. 

Breathless, you look down at him and catch his smile before his teeth are sinking into your skin and forcing you to hiss out a laugh “Good?” 

“Yeah,” you smile, climbing down from your position and hovering over his lap in an attempt to not ruin his jeans. It's very obvious he enjoyed it too, his crotch holding the evidence tight and probably painfully against the fabric there “Really, really good.” 

You want to get on your knees and return the favor, make him squirm in pleasure, but the space is not working in your favor. So even though your thighs are hurting and sweat is dripping down your neck, you start working on the button and zipper of his jeans before he sits up.

He wants to say something, but your tongue is touching his and tasting yourself on it before he gets the chance. Clumsily, a little too far gone for your liking as well, you are able to get through the layers of clothes and let your hand hang over his dick “Are you gonna make me beg for it today?” 

“You don't have to, love.” 

“Beg?” you ask with a smile that he reciprocates “Or touch you?” your free hand brushes the hair out of his face, sliding down until you're propping his chin up with it, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly “Because I want to touch you. I want to make you feel so, so good, baby. Please.” 

He kisses the pad of your thumb and then takes it into his mouth, tongue caressing the tip of it until you're panting again and then nods. 

That's all the permission you need before taking him with your hand and pulling him out of his boxers. Taking your hand out briefly, you gather up saliva and spit right into it. 

Mingi lets out a noise at that. Interesting. 

Starting slow, you focus on his expression. Testing the waters, taking note of what he likes because, unlike him, you probably pushed to the corner of your mind every sexual conversation you two had before yesterday. You take a second to look down at it, the size is no surprise but your mouth waters at the image of you taking him into the heat of it. 

Maybe another time. For now, you focus on making him feel good with the little you can offer him in the enclosed space of his car. 

He mouths at your neck, choked up sobs vibrate through the skin on your collarbone and your top gets moved to the side so he can mark the side of your boobs as he pleases. It sets the fire inside of you alive again, your folds getting wetter when he rolls his tongue around your nipple and then throws his head back when you twist your hand in a motion he seems to really enjoy.

“Just like that, love.” 

To your delight, he's not quiet. He's loud, he's grabby, taking the opportunity to hold onto your ass and press down on the skin when you tease his slit and gather his precum on your fingers so you can spread it around his cock and your hand can slide easier. 

Movements get sloppy once he's close, he's no longer paying attention to you and you welcome it as a great sign, his hips bucking into your hand and he moves you forward until you're sitting on his lap again. 

The only thing preventing your pussy and his dick to touch being your hand. 

You glance at him and he looks back, probably the same idea popping up into his mind so you nod once.

The car moves as you two move around, to the back seat, the spine of his seat up and the entire thing moving forward to make space for him next to you, over you, on top of you once he kicks his jeans and boxers off to the floor. 

You reach out to him in a silent plea and he bends down to kiss you soft and moist and hot and breathy, sensually, with sweet sounds escaping both of you when you reach under his shirt and lift it up until he gets what you want. Discarding it with the rest of his clothes, your top follows it and the contentment you feel when his naked chest touches yours is unmeasurable. 

There's no real room to move around and there's not really any patience left within both of you, so when he apologizes when he moves his hips where he shouldn't and his tip brushes your entrance, you pull back from his bruising mouth. 

“Condom. Now.” 

He obliges right away, searching on his jeans for a minute or so and when he comes back he's smirking like he can't believe you “When I told you we needed to raincheck I didn't mean it to be like this. Bossy.” 

Even if you're punching him on his chest and giggling at his breathy words, you take the teasing with pride “You started it, Mingi!” 

Putting the condom on skilled and fast, he's soon resting his forehead against yours and kissing you softly again “I wanted you on my bed…” his lips trail down and the giggles die on your throat as he's kissing it, a moan escaping you “On your back or knees or riding me…” he continues in a whisper going down and down and down, giving your nipples attention before going back up and taking your mouth in his again “Making a mess on my cock…” 

He takes the opportunity to enter you slowly and you gasp at the stretch, wet enough so it doesn't hurt you but you're unfamiliar with him, with his size splitting you open deliciously. 

“F-fuck, Y/N.” Mingi leans back to watch you take him in and you whine again. Tilting your head back, you let him work himself in and you moan loudly when he almost bottoms out “Look at you…” 

You don't. You can't. He's pressing his thumb on your clit again to ease you through the stretch and it makes the heat pool in your belly like you didn't come in his mouth a few minutes ago. 

Slowly but surely it gets easier for him to rock his hips into you, mouth parting in pleasure when you remind yourself to look at him. His abdomen tenses when you run your nails against the skin there, softly, until you're detouring them into his back and sinking them in just enough to have him whining at the feeling. 

“Baby… Harder.” 

“Yeah?” 

Hips bucking up to meet his at a particularly hard trust, you reach up to him so he can rest his body weight on yours. Close like this, with the pace picking up, the knot on your lower half tightens and threatens to break. 

“You take me so well, love. Fuck, always knew you would,” you know he can feel your walls tightening around him at the praise, because he smiles and kisses you once before continuing “My pretty, pretty girl… Taking my cock so well…” he punctuates his words with the roll of his hips and you cry out, holding his face in between your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. 

In this position, his lower abdomen bumps into your clit and it's soon tipping you over the edge. 

“So good, so good, oh— Oh, God.” You're mumbling incoherently while Mingi keeps whispering sweet nothings and then the tension on your belly breaks. It takes three seconds of your walls pulsating around him for him to groan loudly into your mouth and come undone as well. 

The only thing you can hear is breathing, all you can feel is breathing. His against your chin, yours blowing on his hair when you rest your cheek on his temple. 

It takes a second to gather yourself again and when you do, you tilt your head back to give him a chaste kiss that he returns. 

“That was so good, baby.” You tell him and he smiles, nodding in agreement “I am sticking to the fucking seat though.” 

Mingi snorts and just like that the energy shifts back to the usual you. Only this time, you come back to it knowing that no one’s ever going to have you the way he does. 

He slips out of you, doing his thing with the condom and you sit up, looking through the windows and becoming aware of your surroundings for the first time since you got there. 

There's a car parked far away from you that's empty and the rest of the cars that were near it have left. You wonder how long this all took, because you lost track of time the second he told you he likes you. 

Chest still heaving and boxers now on, Mingi rests his back on the door and takes your hand in his “Is it dumb of me to assume you're my girlfriend now, love?” 

“Is it dumb that I assumed that's what I was when you said you like me?” 

“No,” he answers right away “not dumb at all.” 

Smiling, you nod “Then I'm your girlfriend, Mingi.” 

He beams at that and then he's crowding you again “Say it again.” 

“I'm your girlfriend.” you repeat, enunciating each word and giggling when he nuzzles his nose into the crimson on your cheek “I’m yours, baby.” 

Resting his forehead against yours, he hums in contempt “Good, because I've always been yours too.” 

“There's no way! You two... together? Guys… See, that would be me if I didn't saw it coming but I'm smarter and cooler than everyone here so I did.” 

Wooyoung's over the top reaction has Mingi throwing his head back in a silent laugh and you staring at the black haired guy, unamused and a little offended. 

It's two days later and, as usual, you're at Wooyoung's and San’s apartment hanging out. 

After putting your clothes back on and going for some well deserved food, Mingi took you home, kissed you goodnight and showed up the next day after class to break the news to your parents. 

Your mom almost cried. Your dad too, but for a completely different reason. 

In the end, they both agreed they saw it coming and when you told Mingi’s parents, they said the same thing and invited yours to have celebratory dinner without you. 

What happened in Mingi’s room after was worth missing dinner anyways. 

Mingi and you decided to break the news when most of the group showed up for movie night and you were nervous to see their reactions. 

But everyone seems unaffected by it. 

“I knew you guys liked each other the second I met you. Ask Gyuri, she agrees with me.” 

“Sadly, I do.” Wooyoung's ex looks at you from her spot by the door, where she's getting her shoes on. 

She winks at you and you fake a gasp, falling into your boyfriend's lap with an annoyed huff. 

“And no one told us?!” 

“Sorry, Y/N. We didn't want to get in the way.” Hwa is apologetic and Yeosang nods alongside Hongjoong but you gape at them like they betrayed your trust. 

“To be fair we didn't know till’ last week, love.” 

“She didn't know.” Gyuri corrects him and now you turn to her to give her the betrayed look “You were pining over it for six months already.” 

“I say it was more like nine but…” Hwa shrugs and sips his cup, giving the man holding you close a knowing smile. 

Oh, they definitely talked about it, huh? 

“Nine months and no one cared to fill me in, huh?” 

“I’m sure Mingi did—” 

“Wooyoung!” 

“Well I didn't notice.” Yunho interferes with a shrug and gives you a recomforting smile that doesn't work at all. 

San laughs “That's because you're a puppy that can't even tell when someone likes you.” 

“Am not!” 

Everyone, including you and Mingi, make a noise in agreement with San.  

“You're one to talk, though, leave the puppy alone.” Gyuri tells her ex's best friend and Wooyoung laughs at him when his smile drops. 

There's some story there you don't know. 

“Guys… Does someone like me right now? Be honest.” 

Yeosang is about to tell him something but Jongho interrupts. 

“Enough with the love talk! Can we start the movie?” But he's pressing play already, so the answer doesn't really matter. 

Gyuri laughs once and Wooyoung makes his way over to her to give her a hug that she enjoys for one second tops before pushing him away. 

“Enjoy everyone! I'm so happy for you two, by the way, not that these neanderthals would tell you to your face but I'm sure they're too.” 

“Thank you, Gyuri.” Mingi murmurs from behind you and you mouth a thank you as well before she leaves for the night. 

Something about her best friend having a boy crisis. 

You don't miss the way San’s eyes follow her until she leaves or the way he looks at Woo, something clearly worrying him. 

His best friend ignores him, though, so you confirm that might just be a little pissed off at him after all. 

“Tell her to text you what happens.” San asks Woo once she leaves and he rolls his eyes. 

“Mhm. I’ll tell her to stop calling us neanderthals too.” 

You smile “Well, she's right.” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

Jongho has to stop the movie and you see him sulk while everyone else is arguing. Some of them, like Hwa and Yeo, are siding with you and Gyuri. And the rest of them, like your boyfriend, are telling them off. 

When you turn to face him, his argument dies mid-sentence because he stops to smile at you. He takes your face in his hand and kisses you for the first time ever in front of everyone else. The group stops the argument to tease you both and you laugh into his mouth. 

A cushion is thrown at you and Jongho gets up to separate your faces before sitting beside you with a pout on his lips. 

“Can we watch the goddamn movie?!” 

You're the happiest you've ever been.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔗𝔬 𝔗𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔢

Summary: Isolated and weary of your solitary marriage with the prince, you gather enough courage to approach him one night with the declaration that the both of you try to become better acquainted. When you had proposed the idea, you never could have imagined how it would forever alter the dynamic of your union.

Warnings: 18+ content. Minor's scram. AFAB descriptions, some female implying terms used such as "wife." Fingering, Oral (F!Receiving), naked female and clothed male, some hints of sub Aemond, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink. Not proofread. Probably very poorly translated High Valyrian, blame the internet, not me. Aemond being a little shit, but also a little soft, just to balance it out. Aemond speaking in High Valyrian because it does unspeakable things to me.

Notes: 24.8k words. Another unnecessarily long fic because I have no self-control. Reader is a Baratheon. This was honestly just an excuse to write about dragon riding with Aemond. A little bit of Vhagar appreciation because she receives far too much hate.

Life has not been easy as of late. With the threat of war ever-present, looming over the entirety of Westeros like a great storm cloud, thick and heavy with the promise of shrieking winds and a downpour violent enough to rip the foundations of the Seven Kingdoms from the earth and sweep them away in tides of blood. This war could be the end of it all. With dragonflame so readily at the disposal of both opposing sides, there is the possibility of no victors in this battle. All could very well wind up as a victim. Charred corpses to litter the burned lands, scorched black and red from fire and blood like forgotten toys carelessly left discarded and damaged by the children (or the gods) that played with them. 

It is becoming increasingly difficult to nudge it all - the paranoia and worry - back to the distant recesses of your mind. But it clings to you like a stubborn sickness. Making a home in the pit of your stomach like some vile, nauseating thing. It has you hopelessly adrift with no source of salvation to cling to. Especially now that you are in a place that brings you no comfort. Confined within the cold, labyrinthian walls of a castle that you do not truly know beyond the whispers of its name and the faint, watery memory of once dining in the Great Hall as a child while people jovially chattered and feasted on banquet. 

It's all so lost. Being forced to show a polite expression and nod and entertain lords and ladys that hold no true familiarity or warmth to you. Strangers with faces that would smile and stare as though they have known you for years. It is all so restricting. Binding and tight and clinging to your person like the new garments that you have been gifted with upon your arrival to the Red Keep; forced and expected to sport the customary garb and accessories of the Targaryen culture and trends. All wrapped up and pinned up in fine jewelry and embroidered fabrics like a prized broodmare. 

But perhaps then, even "prize mare" is giving yourself far too much praise. Prized pawn is far more fitting of a term. Just some plain, ordinary piece meant to be moved about the board at the whims of the player. Plucked to jump from square to checkered square with little care. You are a simple instrument on a much bigger board; the scope of which, you know is entirely beyond you and your imaginations. 

It makes it all so difficult to not be cross. To push down the anger that prickles at your flesh like hot coals and burns within the chasm of your ribcage. You feel cheated somewhat. Used and played with despite having prepared for this possibility since the moment you had been delivered from the safety of your mother's womb and into the chill of the world. It should be no shock that you have found no comfort. Not in your daily duties and the nugatory responsibilities and diversions you must fill your time with; all of the needlework, entertaining and book reading. It is tedious. Dull. Weak distractions against your harsh reality. That here, so far from home, you are well and truly at your lonesome. Wed to a man who wants little to do with you beyond your expected obligations.  Though you might truly have only yourself to blame for that. Your husband had worn his intentions on his sleeve when he had arrived Storm's End that one tempestuous evening, bearing his true colors to your father and your sisters when he had traded for the Baratheon House's allegiance and loyalty in the exchange for accepting your hand in marriage. He propositioned such terms swiftly. Shockingly so. Sheading little thought to the requirement - it was as easy as breathing for him. All while you stood alongside your sisters, being mindful to keep your spine rigid and head held high while your future was bartered away so easily; swallowing down the unease that stirred in your gut. 

And even with your reservations on the matter, and the buried urge to rush forward and object, you could not help but to study him from your place beside your siblings. You had heard stories of the Targaryen family your entire life. And although you had seen them once before as a young girl, the memories had done little properly illustrate the nearly ethereal grace with which he carried himself with. The first word that had crossed your mind when you first watched him prowl into your family's ancestorial home was simply just:

Stunning. 

For most men you would have used handsome, or dashing. And perhaps those words could be used for the likes of Prince Aemond Targaryen, but there's something about them that does not quite do him the proper justice. He was imposing as soon as he entered the space. Footsteps softly echoing along the stone floors as he approached your father's throne with nothing but pure confidence in his stride. As though you were the guests and not he. And like a moth drawn to a steady open flame your vision had immediately been caught and fastened onto him as though you were placed under spell. 

A simple, harmless fascination, you like to tell yourself. After all, it is not so strange to be captivated by a man who is said to be closer to a god than man; one who rides on the back of a great dragon. And when you first saw him, even with all your uncertainty of his arrival, it was impossible to look away. To try and not to study the countenance of a man you have heard so much about. Tracing the pronounced ridge of his aquiline nose, the keen cut of his jaw, the curved shape of his lips that were set with a slight purse. His features were decidedly sharp, but it suited him well with the assured way he held himself. The scar that marred the left side of his face could do nothing to damage his beauty. A beauty that is so inherently Valyrian. Attributes that mark someone who has blood of the dragon rushing through their veins, smoldering their hair into shades of smoke. And his hair was no different. Spilling down his back like rivulets of pale, silver silk. 

But it was his eye that had caught your attention the most. Even with only one to look, it peered at the world with a focus that was nearly unnerving. Locking onto your father in striking shades of either blue or violet - you could not tell at the time from the distance that had spaced between you. 

And in the moment that you had stood and evaluated him with a sense of wonder and dread, his eye had never flickered over to you. He had hardly spared you a glance. Holding his focus entirely on the Lord before him with the hints of a satisfied smirk nudging at the curled edges of his mouth, even while he held himself so composedly. Like he was truly pleased with the trajectory of the evening. The lack of his attentions on you should have been more than enough to clue you in on the trajectory of your life with the prince. Moreso than the ominous tempest that raged outside the stone walls. Downpours and thunder are no strangers to Storm's End, often ravaging the world beneath with flurries of rain and winds strong enough to lift waves to thrash the against the surface. But that day you had decided that the storm that had blotted out the golden hue of the sun was not simply just a common occurrence, but instead a bad omen. One brought on with the arrival of the prince, set as a warning - a blight on the future of your matrimony that heeded nothing but misery. And you had been right in some regards. 

You knew for certain that as soon as Aemond Targaryen had stepped away from you to stalk after his young nephew with the insistent ravings, flashing a blade with nothing but a crazed scorn in his voice, that you would find no solace within the cradle of your marriage to the prince. And the death of the Velaryon child and his dragon that swiftly followed that night only solidified that assumption. You are married to a mad man. 

One ruled by duty and strategy, but a mad man, nonetheless. 

Even with that in mind you could not help but to long for a connection with the prince. No matter how minuscule or spurious it might be. Your associations with the second born son have been spars at best. Done purely out of obligation at best. Each time you had ever been within each other's presence it had been out of a means to project the image of husband and wife that was expected by the masses and the court. The wedding, the feast you had partaken in, the consummation of your marriage. It was all done with an air of detachment from the prince. He was never rude, or untoward with you, but there was silent boundary that he had sliced between you with his absence and apparent lack of interest in your union. The nights that he would bed you were few and far in between. Done out of the necessity of producing an heir rather than a means to show affection. You could feel it in the clinical way that he touched you. Gentle, firm and somewhat rigid when he would guide you to bend over the foot of the bed with the palm of his hands, lifting up your skirts swiftly as though he is always eager to be done with it and somewhere else. 

You are not a foolish young girl anymore who would listen to your late mother's romantic stories and tales of besotted, star-crossed lovers with a rapt, captivated attention. You now know the nature of marriages. Especially those of highborn society. The expectations of them. They are often done out of the means to strengthen political alliances, not done out of a declaration of love. 

Still, it would be nice to at least know the man that you are set to spend the remainder of your life until the Stranger finally takes you from this mortal realm. The desire for it burned at you, ate at you with teeth that ripped and gnawed at your heart piece by vicious piece until you felt hollow. Not even Queen Alicent, despite her best, though often rare efforts to bring you ease has managed to pull you from the depths of your melancholy.

You wanted more. You were weary of belonging to a stranger. A man who made no attempts for as much simple conversation with you but spent every waking moment strategizing for bloodshed and the success of his house. You knew that if you meant to alter the course of your union with the prince that it is you who must go to him. And the thought of that terrified you greatly. 

You had heard the tales of those who dared to claim dragons that had no desire to be asserted. Those fools' endings were all same. Snapped up between the sharp maws of the great beasts to be swallowed in a gruesome lump of bloodied meat and crushed bone or engulfed in raging flames of bright, molten gold. You had absolutely no desire to become one of those fools. And despite knowing your husband so little, you were able to gather enough, that despite his cunning, he was also undeniably impulsive. Lead by the ferocity and the heat of the dragon blood that coursed throughout his body and burned within his soul like the fire they spit from their throats. If you went to him in the endeavor of drawing him into a connection that he truly did not seek, the only thing you might gain in turn is his ire. 

And so, you had resisted the urge for as long as you could. Settling for the brief interactions you shared during the supper's spent with the family, or the moments when he would meet you within your chambers to do his duty has husband and prince in the hopes of planting his seed and creating his successor. But it all quickly caught up with you. It was not enough, living on the meager crumbs that these encounters provided. Quickly you had decided that you would rather hypothetically get scorched alive by the scorn of your husband than continue to spend your days as a living dead woman, drifting about the cold corridors like a ghost wondering about the life that could have been, had you simply just confronted him. 

It was nearing the night, just little before the hour of the bat, that you found yourself standing outside the doors of his chambers, with soft lilac hues of the twilight slipping through the windows that lined the corridor and painted the floors in dusty shades of lavender. It was purely unbecoming of a young woman to be out so late without an escort, even if she was intending to meet with her husband. It had made the anxiety quivering in your chest even stronger. Fluttering like some wild, frightened creature while your mind swarmed with paranoia and hesitation. Your thoughts had seemed determined to persuade you from your intentions, begging that you turned heel and returned to your quarters before you were noticed. 

Perhaps he was already abed. Deep in slumber and at peace in his rest. Or perhaps he was not even in his chambers at all. Busy with matters beyond yourself. 

It was all almost enough to tear your feet from their place on the floor, but your body seemed eager to betray you, and before you could even notice the movement of your own hand, it was lifted and the sound of your knuckles rapping against the cool wood of the door had rung out within the confines of the hallway. Sharp, loud, and almost violent in your ears. Echoing out like nails being struck into the face of a coffin. 

You nearly flinched, mouth running dry at the realization of what you had just done, and with it the urge to flee had never been so great. Trembling up your spine like a cold breath. You had hoped that he would not answer. That he truly was asleep or vacant from his apartments, but like a twisted jest, the universe had answered your desires, and the sound of his voice slipped from beyond the door. Muffled by the obstruction, but no less commanding. Unable to ignore the call, you had drawn in a deep breath. Steeling yourself and the relentless patter of your heart before you drew the door open and slipped past the threshold with the drag of your skirts whispering ominously as you went. 

The air had seemed to shift when you had entered, and the shadows that clung to the corners and ceiling of the room felt as though it was prepared to swallow you whole, had it not been bayed away by the low flickering the candles that burned about the space like plumes of delicate amber. Your eyes had flitted about the quarters like a startled doe's, desperate to learn the structure of the area as though you might have to flee. Your vision had skipped over the various tomes and documents scattered about the tables; the random objects placed about in meager means of decoration. But you could appreciate them at least, for giving you a small glimpse into the mind of the man you have been bound to. Much like the chessboard left perched atop a tabletop, like a clue to his intelligence and keenness for scheming, and the quills and ink vials and parchment spread along his writing desk. 

But you were only able to distract yourself for so long before your attention had been tugged along as though by an invisible string to focus on the man sitting across the space from where you stood, one of the aforementioned documents held within one of his hands while he watched you steadily. His expression was mostly neutral. But even with how easily he was usually able to school his features, you could see the hint of surprise bleeding into his gaze. The subtle raise of his brow and the confused purse of his lips. You could practically see the question ready at the tip of his tongue, and you loathed the awkwardness that permeated the air. Stifling and prickling like a rash along your skin. 

"Wife," he finally greeted. Though you could still hear the dull bewilderment in the softness of his tone. 

It took you a moment to collect yourself, feebly trying to shake the uncertainty that still clung to you and when you had finally willed yourself to speak, you could only think the gods that your voice did not quiver, even though it was but a few words. "Lord husband," you returned the acknowledgement, nodding your chin slightly in substitute of a curtsy.  You watched closely as he gently placed the document in his hand down flat on the desk, tracing his face and the shadows the spilt across his features from the dim candlelight and the remaining, dull remnants of sunlight that managed to slip in through the windows; the reflection of the fire and sun glinting within the captivating shade of his eye. 

"To what do I owe the honor?" He inquired. 

It had been enough to snap you out of the daze that had clouded over you, jerking you from it so suddenly that you had nearly gasped with the realization that you had been staring. Embarrassment burned at your cheeks, hot and uncomfortable. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders in an effort to at least appear confident, but you swore that you had caught the edge of Prince Aemond's mouth twitching up in the semblance of a smile, letting you know that you had not succeeded in your aim. 

"I wished to speak to you." You had answered, clasping your fingers together in front of yourself, and you were now unable to ignore how clammy they had become. 

"So late in the evening?" Came his quick reply, the brow above his good eye perking ever so slightly. And if you did not know any better you would let yourself entertain the idea that it nearly sounded playful, had his face not been so woefully lacking joy. 

"Yes," you said just as fast. You had to ignore the weight of your tongue in your mouth. It suddenly felt too thick. Too clumsy. 

He only hummed in response to your answer. The sound was low and inquisitive, thrumming through the air like warm velvet. And though he had not spoken a word back to you, the singular eye that had he pinned you with bore into you with enough focus to drive you to speak. Forcing the words from your still lungs like a grip that did not exist. Wringing your breath from your body with only the weight of his gaze. "I would like . . . " Your voice died out as quickly as it had risen, snagging within your chest like it had been caught on something. It did not help that your nerves were alight. That your heart was beating wildly, like a skittish animal. But it was mostly just irritating. It had made you feel stupid, the way that your body refused to yield to your own commands. Far too caught within the spell of a primal sort of caution and reluctance to relent to something as easy as talking. 

"You would like to. . ?" Prince Aemond articulated the question slowly, letting it hang between the both of you, as though you were a child. Annoyance had spread throughout your flesh like a wildfire, and for one idiotic moment you contemplated snapping at him. But fortunately, your self-preservation still clung strong and forced you to be mindful of your tongue. 

"This may sound odd," you began, swallowing around the spit that had welled up within your mouth. "But I would like to get to know you better, my prince."  

It sounded completely stupid as soon as you heard it from your own ears, and a part of you had longed to wince but you remained surprisingly unflinching. But Aemond it seemed, had been taken by complete surprise. Even though the slip in his composure was quick and subtle, you caught it. The mild slump of his shoulders, the straightening of his posture, the soft pinch between his brows. All of these minute tells that told you so much, though they were gone just as quickly as they had shown. Melted away and replaced by a composure that must have taken him years to perfect. 

But no matter how small his shock had been, the sight of such a naked, human emotion flickering across his face was enough to break the barrage that sealed your voice. The words seemed to flow from you more freely then in a rush of thoughts and feelings; desperate to finally speak your mind and make peace with yourself, and most importantly him. 

"I hold no delusions over this marriage. I know that our union was a strategic one, brought on by the possibility of a looming war, and the foundations of it are clear." Your sight had flickered back up to his own once more, and the hold of his stare once again threatened to leave you breathless. "I realize that we are not truly lovers, however, I do not think that must mean we are to be strangers also. I wish to know you, husband. I do not expect your affections, or love, but I desire at least the possibility of your attentions. An understanding of each other. And perhaps, if it is willed, a sense of companionship. A comradery." 

He remained horrendously silent from his place across from you. Watching you with a keen eye while the hand that still rested along the desks surface fidgeted, the point of his mid-finger ceaselessly gliding along the back of his thumb. It had made you nervous, the way he watched you. Akin to a predator lurking in the shadows, awaiting its moment to strike for its prey's vulnerable throat. You must have stumbled. Foolishly, like the greedy men in all of those ancient folktales. You slipped within the dark and it was then you knew that the dragon was stirring; throat welling up with fire to burn you down for being so presumptuous. 

"So you are here, in the beginnings of the night, interrupting me in the midst of my duties, because you are lonely?" 

That all that you needed to know that you had truly wandered too close. Assumed and hoped too greatly. Blindly walking into the dragonpit to be burned alight like kindling for a fire. And even with irritation gnawing at you and begging that you speak out in your own defense, you had known that you must tread lightly, even while the prince scorned you like you were a naive girl child chasing after some witless fantasy. He wished to humiliate you it seemed, and even while he was entirely successful in his aim, you would not give him the satisfaction of showing it. But you knew that you had to be tactful. An unchecked rise of your emotions would only serve to go against you. 

"Yes, my prince," you had agreed without wavering. And much like your own, his gaze had shifted. The sardonic edge that it had held changed into something darker. More directed than even before. Studious almost. But no matter how much gravity it had held, it was no longer enough to withhold you from speaking. You kept your voice as light as possible, but the firmness, the fervor behind it was more than apparent, drifting out to fill the silence of his quarters. And with each sentence, you let the courage that you had not allowed before to guide you a step closer to the prince. "Yes, I long to know the man that I am to be tied to until death. Yes, I long to know the father of my future children. Yes, I long to know my husband." And with that you allowed yourself to halt after your final step. Then you were so close to his writing desk that if you had leaned over you could have easily reached out and touched him. But you remained fixed in your place, hands still clasped and shoulders high. "Regardless, if my husband will become a lover or simply an ally." 

He remained silent in his observations. Regarding you closely as though he expected you to suddenly give way underneath his stare and dash out of the room. But you did not. Not even when the chill of apprehension trembled along the expanse of your back, sneaking underneath the fabric of your garments like a cold draft. He shifted back in his seat, muscles coiling underneath the dark leathers of his doublet and for a moment you had considered the idea that he might lunge. That he would strike forward like the instincts of his blood no doubt urged him to do. At the very least, you had suspected cold words. A detached response that would order you to return back to your apartments and to leave him undisturbed of your person until he saw fit. 

"Very well then . . . Wife." His head tilted just the slightest when he addressed you, and the glint of his eye reflecting the light of the many candles seemed to bore into you; notching the words he spoke that much deeper and nourishing the surprise of his agreement. "I will make more of an effort to appease your loneliness, should it bring you ease." 

It was because of that decision - because of that night, that your relationship with the prince had been altered. No longer did he suit to sit along your side at social gatherings, tightlipped and rigid, but now he made somewhat of a strive. Much more than before. Though still quiet, he took more attempts to include you in the conversations that he would bother to indulge in. Typically, unremarkable topics that he would try to join you in on, like snide comment on the lords and ladies or an observation of your gowns. Prince Aemond, you easily concluded, had no idea how to speak to the fairer sex. A characteristic that you might have let yourself see as charming if he were not always so subtly contemptuous and withdrawn. Even with all of the improvements with his communications, his presence itself was still scarce. Constantly torn away by the impending threat of calamity and battle. 

And no matter how much you knew that his absence was entirely necessary for the good of the kingdom, especially after the Battle of Rook's Rest and the unexpected injuries that have left the King bedridden and near death, the prince was sparser than ever, with him assuming the role of Prince Regent in his brother's stead. But like a poison, that bitter, selfish part of you could not help but to be displeased by the near constant lack of his company.  

Today however . . . Today you might actually be regretting his attempts at companionship. 

"You still have not told me the nature of our outing, my prince!" You call to him, trudging after him like a shadow with your skirts bundled and clutched within your palms as you desperately attempt to keep up with his much longer stride uphill. The muscles of your calves have already begun to burn and ache with your body already growing weary of the incline, and the weight of your dress does little to aid you in your climb along the earth, still damp from last night's rain. Realistically, there are only a few paces between you and he, but in your mind, it feels as though there are stretches of land separating you. 

He only offers you the barest look, hardly even glancing over his shoulder at you as his long legs continue to carry him upward. "For someone who is so desperate for my time, I did not expect to hear any complaints," he answers, full of snark even though his tone remains just as steady and soft as always. 

Heat prickles at your cheeks. Though now, with your exertion, it is difficult to ascertain if it is simply from your efforts to trek after him or purely from annoyance. A retort rests heavy on your tongue, but you are unsure if you should bother spending your breath on it. It is tempting. But perhaps later. "It is no complaint; I am simply wondering just where it is that you are taking me. If you wished to go for a walk, perhaps the castle grounds would have sufficed . . . or at the very least, a mention of it would have given me time to at least prepare for more a suitable attire." 

He spares you another glance, managing to look down his nose at you from over his shoulder as he continues his ascent until he reaches the leveled crest of the knoll. Leaving you to chase after him while the damp soil, and soaked grass and wildflowers threaten to slip your traction out from underneath your feet with every step. You have never had the urge to strike the prince before, but here and now, you think that you could if he were only close enough. This time he opts to remain silent. Returning his attentions on what lies ahead of him, and it has a flicker of concern breathing to life inside of you. The paranoid, unfounded thought that he means to kill you tries to sprout. It would explain why he had lured you so far away from the safety of the castle walls, and why he had chosen to leave both of your mounts downhill and unattended to graze. How pathetic it would be, to be slain in the middle of the wood, like a dumb girl lured away by a fae in an old folktale. 

And if the treasonous whispers that dart about the castle are true, that he had been the one to strike down the king above the battlefield of Rook's Rest, then surely, he would have no qualms about killing the likes of you. 

Still, while irritation and caution thrums underneath your flesh, you cannot but help to stare at the expanse of his back as you near the top of the hill, taking in the sight of the confidence in his posture as he all but struts along the earth. The sunlight dances along the pale shade of his hair, bringing to life the faint hint of cream and soft gold that hides within the silver. He is gorgeous out here like this. Relaxed within the peace and confines of nature, while the little birds nestled inside the protection of neighboring trees chatter and trill. For a rare moment like this, touched by sunlight and the air, perfumed with the musk of a storm passed and the fragrance of flowers, it is easy to pretend that he is still not a complete stranger. That the impossible gap that seems to divide you both has grown closer, and he does not look to you as an obligation but as a comfort. 

Another fool's reverie perhaps. But a sweet one that you cannot help but entertain while you raise your muddied skirts to strengthen your stride and widen your steps in the hopes to gain on him. But then blessedly his pace finally begins to slow, giving you the means to finally draw in your straining breaths and lessen the expanse between you, making sure to near him from his right, so's not to walk in his blind spot. He tilts his body just the slightest, angling it so that he is able to give you his focus as you draw near, and you have to try your hardest not to gasp and gulp for air in front of him. You need to give him no more reasons to tease and prod at you. 

The glint of his eye, a color that you have now discovered to be a delicate, yet vibrant shade trapped between a soft blue and a muted purple draws you into his stare as you approach. It seems to hold you captive, grabbing your attention as you come to walk alongside him, no longer huffing and panting, and the ache in your legs begins to subside. 

"You have asked to become familiar with me," he speaks suddenly. Not a question at all, but a statement, and the mention of it has your brows raising just the slightest as you manage a nod. "All I ask of you is that you do not scream or allow yourself to panic." 

The sound of those words alone has ice prickling along your skin and settling within the pit of your chest. And the sensation of your apprehension melding with your bewilderment does little to aid you in properly asking him what he could have possibly meant by such a cryptic statement. The inquiry hangs heavy in your mouth like metal, and your jaw seems to open on its own in the means to ask him to clarify. But then, as though it had been timed, a guttural bellow rings out across the placid atmosphere. Humming so heavily that you feel the weight of it vibrate underneath your feet as though the earth were speaking, shaking a small flock of tiny birds from their perches within forest, forcing them to scatter and flee into the clear sky above. 

The abrupt noise of it has you all but tearing your vision from Prince Aemond's unbothered, observational expression to whatever lies ahead of you. And your eyes nearly bulge from their sockets at the sight of the behemoth that lies only several yards away. How you had managed to miss the sight of such a monumental creature is entirely beyond you. The only excuse you could possibly make is that the beast has flattened itself along the floor of the clearing, leathery wings lazily stretched open, head resting in the miniscule cover of the knee-high wildflowers and grasses that scatter along the hilltop in what might be some sort of attempt of basking itself underneath the suns glow. 

It is a beast that you easily recognize despite never truly having been within its presence. The sheer mass of the creature, and the rich green shade of its skin easily gives it away as the great Vhagar. You have heard of her name from countless stories. Those passed on down from generation to generation to speak of the ferocity and brutality of the battle hardened she-dragon, of how the size of her alone could blot out the sun from her flight. You have even caught glimpses of her in the air before. Often from within the confines of the castle while she soars high above and far from reach. None of those rare moments or stories had done any justice in depicting the true scale of her. 

And while you stand, gawking like a slack jawed idiot at the sight of her, you can only manage but to wonder the dumb, fleeting thought of how the Crown could ever possibly manage to supply enough sheep for her appetite. And then any semblance of awe or shock is twisted into a pure sense of dread and a primal fear. Your mind blanks as you try to form some sort of reason for you being here. Why Prince Aemond could possibly desire for you to meet his dragon, but you are left with naught. Something primordial and blazing sears throughout your veins with urge to run, but you find yourself frozen stock still instead while your lungs struggle to move and catch breath. You feel as though you have passed away on the spot and left your body behind to, trapped within this singular moment. 

It is not until the dragon begins to lift its head up inquisitively that you manage to regain any control of yourself at all. The sight of her lids peeling open to reveal blazing amber eyes are enough to force your lost voice back into the base of your throat. 

"Wha - why have you brought me here, Aemond?"  

The look he gives you is entirely unsympathetic. If anything, it seems to be amused. The corners of his lips threaten to perk in the shadow of an arrogant smile. If your heart did not feel as though it were seconds away from overexerting itself and giving out entirely, you are sure that this time, you would have struck him. You would love to hear the impact of your hand meeting the shape of his cheek and snuffing out the pompous way that he is holding himself, but he steps away from you before you can even think to act, fearlessly striding in the direction of the colossal dragon. 

"You long to know a dragonrider, lady wife," he answers with the cool timbre of his voice trailing after him and to you. "Flight with one with be the best way to make that connection." 

You are certain that your heart has well and truly stopped with that statement. That it turned still and unrooted itself from the cavern in your chest to plummet down below into your gut. And for a moment you wish that you have misheard him. Despite your internal panic, your brain manages to scramble and put the meaning of his words together quite quickly. The urge to refuse or ask him to clarify illudes you. You are far too bewildered. Too trapped within the seize of your own chaotic emotions to properly articulate yourself and your reservations. There's an anger stirring in you as well. Brewing and twisting with everything else, spurred on from the haughty glance he had given you before making his approach towards the beast he is bonded with. 

You try and fail to connect his reasoning. The logic entirely beyond you, but when you look upon his face it becomes quite clear. No matter how brief your eye contact had been, you saw the dare that had been dancing in his eye quite clearly. He was challenging you. He is expecting you to turn on your heel and run from the trial that he has set before you. And that has lit a sense of competition in yourself unlike any that you have ever felt before. 

He is no longer paying you any attention to see you coming to a sudden grip in resolve. Instead, he has drawn his observations to his dragon, who has lifted her head just enough in a proper greeting to accept the way that he runs a hand along the slop of her enormous muzzle, just above those massive, gnarled fangs that poke like her lips like daggers. The span of his fingers seems so small posted along the swell of her snout, like little more than a speck. And yet he stands before her so confidently. Free from the faintest edge of discomfort or fear. Instead, you hear him murmuring soft words to her. Speaking quietly as though she were a babe in need of praise or encouragement and not a battle worn goliath that has lain waste to armies and dragons alike.

The sound of his ancestor's tongue is beautiful as always. In your short time together, you have heard little of the language from the prince, but when you do manage to catch the glimmers of it from him you make sure to listen keenly. It flows past his lips like a rich silk; all but rumbling and sweeping around words that you do not know but find captivating regardless. It makes you wish that you did understand them. 

It is astonishing that no matter how small the prince appears now in comparison to her vast scale, he still holds himself so proudly. His shoulders are set straight, and head tilted high: the posture of royalty. All while he composes himself alongside a monster that could easily open her drooping maw and swallow him whole. 

But of course, she does not. A low grumble trembles forth from the wide set of her chest, reverberating throughout the air in a sound that could nearly be likened to the purr of a contented feline. It is shocking to see the famed - the feared Vhagar in such a light. And to similarly see the prince in such a manner as well. Both of them are calm. Peaceful on this tranquil, balmy evening. Untouched by their shared excitement for battle and bloodshed. 

It's akin to watching a pair of ruthless gods' slumber. 

And it seems to be that, more so than the sense of rivalry that has been kindled, that inspires you to move forward. No matter how uncertain you truly feel. Despite your reservations the odd sweetness of the situation still has you drawing close. All while a frigid kind of fear pools in your stomach. So, you try to focus on the little bits of life around you. The cheerful singing being carried by the birds of the forest, the soothing whisper of the air shifting the leaves, the saccharine scent of the colorful flowers that sway in the grass. It is all so soothing, so delicate. But still, it does little to appease the anxiety coursing throughout you as you grow closer to the beast. 

With each step forward, she seems to rise bigger; the growing proximity between you both only making her true mass even more apparent, as you are confronted with the mind-boggling truth of her scale. There is no safety of the castle walls to save you, the collection of the trees that surround you in a half circle would not serve to shield you should Vhagar decide that your presence is an irritant. Her potent fire would consume the forest and you with it with a single breath. Here and now, you know that you rely entirely on the word of Prince Aemond to keep her violent urges at bay. 

And that both comforts and terrifies you. 

You make your lungs draw in a shaky breath that does little to calm you as you step closer to the she-dragon. But you are certain that there is not a single thing on this earth that could truly bring you serenity as you bear witness to her. Never in your life have you ever stood before a being that has ever made you feel so miniscule. Not even the sight of the stars in the cradle of the night sky, in all of their multitudes and vastness as come close to the trepidation or awe that she has roused in you. You are small. Insignificant in terms of her looming stature. Pitiful in the decades that she has lived and the feats that she has achieved. You know now why the dragons are said to be old gods. You can hardly process that you are now right in front of one. Watching the rise and fall of her ribs as she pulls in massive breaths. The subtle shake of her wilting neck that shifts as she angles her head in your direction to study you with eyes that almost seem to burn with the fire contained within her. 

Her nostrils twitch as you come to stop alongside Prince Aemond; near enough that your shoulders nearly brush, but a part of you craves the dim amount of comfort that he provides. She is trying to smell you no doubt. Trying to take in your scent as means to familiarize herself with the stranger who travels with her rider. 

"You may touch her," Aemond offers. Or orders perhaps. 

It catches you completely off guard, like most things this evening. Regardless of the gentleness of his tone, it is difficult to tell if it is a suggestion or a command. Having what little knowledge you have of the prince in mind it was most likely the latter. Or it is another challenge of his. 

The sharp blue of his eye pierces through you once again like he is waiting for you to cower. But now, the prince's concerns and expectations are second at best when it comes to the interest of Vhagar. The brief flicker of your gaze on her confirms that she is still quite placid in mood. Her eyelids low with the remnants of the slumber that she had been goaded from. But that still does little to calm you. Dragons are unpredictable creatures. Gaining a trust of her this easily would be ignorance. 

"Does she wish me to?" You ask, and you see that twinge of what might be amusement grace Prince Aemond's features once again. 

"She will hardly pay you any mind." That is his assurance. A useless one. Your unease is strong. But your desire to please your husband, to beat this little challenge that he has set for you, and to form some sort of relationship with the prince - no matter how fragile - is stronger. With all the courage you can muster you begin to lift your hand. Slowly and steady in your movements as not to cause the beast any annoyance. You would not want to suggest to her that you feel entitled to touch her. Dragons can be opinionated things after all. 

A low noise rolls from her throat at the sight of your hand raised just above her muzzle, just where Aemond had lain his own earlier. It gives you pause. Old, primeval instincts rising inside of you bid you motionless. To wait and see what her move will be next. If she will calm or open her armored jaws to snap you between them. 

"Lykirī." 

It is Aemond's voice that speaks out. Low yet firm in its inflection as his tongue purrs out the elegant High Valyrian word in a silky drawl. You know not what he said, but it was enough to appease whatever offence you might have committed. She blinks slowly in response and the growl dies down into a soft silence. Still, you now find it difficult to lower your hand. Sensing your hesitance, or perhaps weary of it, Prince Aemond's own is suddenly engulfing the back of it, nearly threading his fingers with yours as he guides your palm downward. The weight of his flesh along yours comes as surprise. You have felt your husband's hands on you before. In much more intimate places, but it is the care with which he directs you with that almost seems foreign. New and delicate.

Currently he wears his gloves, usually seen on his hands whenever he intends to take flight, and you hate how a piece of you longs to feel them bare. To touch the callouses along his palm, made from wielding the grip of swords in combat and clasping the horns of Vhagar's saddle. It is a juxtaposition to the much softer skin of your own. But you do not find the texture of them offensive in the slightest. You could almost relish the sensation of it had they not been covered by soft hide instead. 

He leans his body much closer to yours. So much closer that the light brush of his breath glides over the side of your face and the length of your throat. The scent of him wafts from his body in the musk of leather, the spice of dragon smoke and the crisp fragrance of wind. It makes you wonder if he had flown long before he had come to the castle to retrieve you. It is all so distracting. The press of him along your arm, the mesmeric sound of his voice whispering soothing words in his ancestor's language. 

But reality comes back to you quickly in the weight of the dragon's flesh settling flat underneath your palm; rough and thick. You have heard before that dragons run hot. Heated up by the fire roaring within their chests. Those words have not prepared you for the warmth that radiates from her and the strength of it. Of the coarseness of her flesh. How sturdy it is. Much like the leathers used in creating amour. Though you suppose that the purpose of her skin is the same. 

Her massive nostrils flicker again and her eyes squint as she watches you. Studies you really. As though she is weighing and measuring you of your worth. Which is not a farfetched idea. It is the dragon, after all, who chooses its rider. She must be deciding if you are worthy of standing in her presence. 

The elation that floods you at the feeling of her beneath your hand comes like the scattering of butterflies. A smile threatens to break across your face at the small success. A rush of joy from still being alive after touching one of the most violent war dragons the earth has ever seen. 

"Are you prepared to ride?" 

Aemond's question rips you from your elation like a sudden storm smudging out the bright warmth of the sunlight. The smile that could have been dies out with the happiness that had filled you. It is water doused over embers. And with it the urge to snap at him is back in full force. No, you wished to answer, you are not prepared to ride, because you were not told that you would be expected to until only moments before. But you keep that complaint to yourself. Locked within tightly as not to offend the prince and the dragon whose massive mouth rests directly underneath your open palm. Still, many questions gush up and stir a torrent up within your mind. 

"How am I expected to do such a thing, my prince?" 

The look that crosses his face appears tired. It makes you wonder if you have somehow asked something foolish, but you come up empty on what that could have possibly been. It is a perfectly expected question. A dragon will only choose a single rider at a time. And only those who are blessed with Valyrian blood could have the potential honor of sharing such a bond. An ancient line that you have no direct lineage to. But the stare that the prince is holding you with now is one of exasperation, yet also sardonic. 

"You will sit on the saddle; I thought that much was apparent." His lips have pursed slightly, making his expression a blend of smug and annoyed. He is toying with you once again. It also makes his boundaries quite apparent. There is to be no possibility of a bond between the two of you unless you push when he shoves. If you let your offence get the better of you now while he clearly raises his challenge, then your relationship with him will be reduced to nothing more than his child bearer. A vessel for his future heirs. You shall not yield. Not even while your heart races like that of a rabbit who has been tricked into a corner by the snarling fangs of a hunter. 

You are soft but firm when you remove your hand from its place tucked between Vhagar's flesh and Aemond's palm. Your determination rests easily on your face as you turn to observe the netting of ropes that are draped down the side of her great neck as a means to climb astride her. Never has something seemed so daunting before. Not the day that you were bid to leave the familiarity of your life in Storm's End, nor the moment that you had given yourself over to Prince Aemond in matrimony. They all seem so little now as you allow your hand to grip one of the lines of worn rope. 

"Lykirī, Vhagar." 

A nervous sweat dampens your fingers as you squeeze your grip along the course lines, the frayed edges digging into your soft flesh. The sound of your husband placating the beast rings in your ears like a warning though she has not stirred from her position against the forest floor, even while another rumbling hum echos from her chest. It trembles throughout your arm from being so close to her, rattling up your bones. For a moment you contemplate removing yourself from the makeshift ladder, but the firm, urging glare that Aemond shoots you from his place beside you and the embers of your determination spur you to continue forward. 

"I will be behind you," you hear him promise as you haphazardly lift your skirts to enable yourself to place a foot upon one of the rungs. It is now you who hardly offers him a returned glance as you focus on raising yourself along the ropes. You expect for Vhagar to disturb upon the weight of you heaving yourself along her neck, but she does not. She remains blessedly stationary as you urge your body to move upward to scale the high length of her neck, for your mind to remain quiet and centered through your internal panic. The way that the ladder wobbles unsteadily as you work to lift yourself does little to quell the way that your stomach flips with the growing effects of nausea. 

You could swear that many moons have passed by the time that you have made it to the top of the ladder, where the ropes meet the smooth leather that creates the structure of the massive saddle. The seat of it is far greater than any other you have ever seen; those having been suited for horses and not the great backs of dragons. But even considering the long forward slop of what must be the equivalent of the rise and pommel and how the cantle stretches slightly backward to support the rider's spine during an upward flight, it is more than apparent that the seat is designed for only a single person. Every bit of grace room is only available for the positioning that must be required in flight. The design of it allowing for the rider to lean forward comfortably in the seat or relax backward, if necessary, but offering little more than that. 

If you were both truly meant to ride together it would be an awkward fit. Surely not one safe for something as perilous as flying. 

The urge to question this little goal of his rises up high. But instead of voicing your concerns you opt to follow through with his desires. If the two of you do truly not prove to fit on the seat and it turns into an ill sighted blunder on his part, then at least you will be able to silently bask in the pleasure of seeing his arrogance dim at the realization of it. 

You reach for some of the leather straps that lie between the junction of the rope ladder and the saddle, using your grip to hoist yourself upward again, slipping a foot into one of the rungs to push yourself within the range of saddle's lowest set of horns. Your fingers can only reach the base of the grip from your current height, but it is enough to enable you to hoist yourself towards the cradle of the saddle, though your muscles burn with the labor. Some torturous thought wonders what would happen should you slip and fall from such a height, and you struggle to block it out entirely as you continue your clumsy ascent. Using the hold that the flat of your feet have within the straps to keep yourself secure as you work on exchanging your hold from the lowest grip and onto one the horns belonging to the higher set to haul your body upward, swinging your right leg out to lurch across the seat. 

It strains your arms as you angle yourself, and the length of your skirts threaten to snag on the curve of your knee when your all but throw your body onto the saddle. But by the grace of the gods, you make it. Your chest slightly heaves from your lost breath, and your muddied skirts have pulled and rucked up above your knees in the most unbecoming manner from the stretch of your thighs around the width of the seat. But you hardly have the ability to pay it any mind while your nerves still cause your limbs to quiver, and your body burns with an excess of energy. 

While you collect your breath, clasping onto the horns of the saddle with both hands tightly enough for the edges of the leather bound around them to bite your palms, the sound of the wind's current whispering in your ear tugs you from your anxieties. 

It is then that you finally realize just where you sit. Comfortably astride the largest dragon, looking down on the world from the ridge of her back. You could see above the trees from this point, the stretches of the wood that gave and showed the lush rolling hills that expanded far beyond your sight. It was all so small and yet so vast this high up, once again making you realize the scope of your existence. You can spy glimpses of King's Landing up in the distance. The glimmer of the rooftops and the spires of the Red Keep, almost lightened in a shade of bronze from the cast of the evenings golden light. The sea beyond it glittering in a reflection of the sun, like a flat mound of shifting coins. 

The sudden weight of a hand clasping the grip along the free space just above your own snaps you from your awe. You hardly have time register it as the prince effortlessly swings himself into the saddle, notching a place for himself between your hips and the support of the cantle. His presence forces you to scoot further up along the swell of seat, much higher up than you are meant to be, but the press of his body flat against your own gives you little choice. The angle of it practically has your rump perched against his hips. And when his other arm reaches around your other side to grip the opposite horn of the saddle, you find that you have been completely enclosed in his body. His chest is pinned snug along your back, and you can feel the point of his chin nudge along your shoulder as he looks past you. 

There is something horribly intimate about it all. Something that you did not even think to consider when you agreed to this. But now that you can fully feel the warmth of him seeping through the layers of your garments to slip through your skin, you could not find any other word to call it. If your mind was not already so preoccupied with your anxieties, it would have easily latched onto the fact that your skirts are still indecently rucked around your thighs, improperly showing off the fabric of your stockings. It could have made you fidget or heat up with embarrassment had you the mind to, but you are far too preoccupied with what is to come. With the weight of your husband so near you. So high up here, with the wind stronger than it had been down along the ground, his scent seems to pool around you. It fills your lungs with musk and spice, and your body longs to draw it in like a glutton, but you do not allow yourself to. You manage yourself to maintain the steady inhales that you have been taking thus far. 

"Remain calm," he reminds you. 

As if on cue Vhagar begins to shift. Her giant head lifts from the meadows floor with a low grunt, as though the action alone costs her a great deal of energy, causing the weathered, battle worn flesh along her neck to wobble loosely along her throat. A bout of nervousness prickles in your gut as the motion jostles you forward. On reflex, your grip rightens around the horns, latching onto the pitiful bit of comfort they prove. Anxiety spreads along your fingertips and toes as she digs the wrists of her great wings into the earth to push herself onto her feet. A simple action, but for you it invokes nothing but unease. Her movements continue to nudge you about, all but prodding you backward to the press of Aemond's chest, and now you are actually thankful for how he is seated behind you. Offering a sense of support that you might have fainted without. 

You can feel the subtle shift of her muscles even through the saddle, and it wobbles just the slightest from the quiver caused by her old flesh. It has your unease spiking. And you think that you yourself could fly, fueled by nothing but your own apprehensions. 

There is a noticeable shift in how she holds herself once she balances on her legs. And incline in her spine lifts as she raises her head high, removing her weight from her wings to unfurl them. You can hear the leathery sound of the thin skin unraveling, spreading out wide enough like sails of a colossal ship preparing to leave port. 

You know what is coming, but you naught of how to weather it. All you can do is stare ahead, looking past the expanse of her neck and to the sky above that you will soon be soaring through. He must be able to sense your anxiety. Or perhaps he felt the tension of it in your back, in the rigid set of your shoulders, because he manages to press himself even closer against you. Like he means to cradle you to him. He releases a single hand from its grip long enough to place it along your waist to steady you. Your mind instantly latches onto the sudden pressure and warmth of it. Your body longing to lean into the weight of his palm but you keep yourself motionless as he leans himself close until you feel the brush of his words along your neck when he speaks. 

"Be still, wife." His voice rumbles out all placid and velvet. The sound of it so close to your ear that it has a tremble skipping down your spine. You can only hope that the thick of your combined attire hid it from him, but his hand flexes against your waist; fingertips pressing inward, and you know that he noticed it. But he fortunately makes no open marks of it. "With me as your guide you will be safe. When she begins her ascent, lean forward into it. It will help to keep you balanced." 

And as quickly as it had appeared, his hand is gone from its position on your waist to return its grip on the horn. You crave to have it back on you again. To have the support of it on you once more, even with the phantom sensations of it still live on your skin, though you do not bother to dwell on your foolish desires. You can only focus on the instructions that he had set. The direction of it serving to ground you, even as the saddle underneath shifts just the slightest as her wings expand. Now entirely unfurled. 

The anticipation of it weighed heavy. Murmuring across the air like something electrical as though you were in the midst of a storm and lightning looms ahead. But apart from a few scattered clouds, it was all but clear skies. Vhagar was prepared to soar. Her muscles were coiled, stretched and tense, and were it not for your being astride, you are certain that Aemond would have commanded her to take off much sooner. If that truly is the case, you are thankful. 

His ribs swell slightly along your back, and the command slices through the air, simultaneously exacting and clement: 

"Sōvēs!" 

Wind claps underneath the great stretch of her wings as she lifts them only to bring them down in a powerful downstroke. It snaps her from the ground in a quick lunge, and the sudden rush of being airborne causes your stomach to turn. You scramble to come to terms with the abrupt weightlessness of your body. It is like all of the breath has been snatched from the depths of your chest as Vhagar brandishes her wings in great, long stokes that sound akin to tremendous waves crashing against the surf; sharp and frightening like a whip slicing towards its target. 

A horrid thought enters your mind, whispering vile things, such as what would happen should you fall off. How you surely would not survive a plummet from such a height. It has your hands tightening around the grips of the saddle. Squeezing so harshly that your tender palms sting. But you almost welcome the burn of it. It is a good distraction from the nausea, from the disorientation that comes from rushing far from the earth so quickly. Now she truly begins her climb upward, and you just barely remind yourself of Aemond's previous command; tipping yourself forward to press yourself along the swell of the saddle as she rises. 

Much as he promised, the change in your posture does help to keep your seat firm as she works to bat her wings to scale her flight. Aemond dips down low after you, resting himself over your body to follow his own instructions. Even while Vhagar approaches her ascent at a slant, the incline is still enough to put strain on your arms as your own weight attempts to pull your backward. You can already feel the strain of it in your limbs, searing along your muscles and setting an ache deep near your bones. 

Never had you ever truly put in mind the physical prowess and endurance a dragonrider must have to properly seat their mount until now. It almost makes you feel idiotic that you would not have truly expected the demands that such a thing would imply. Already the wind claws at your face, slicing at your cheeks like it means to maim you, stinging at your eyes enough to prompt tears to pour. It is difficult to draw in a proper breath as the air passes too quickly for your lungs to properly catch, making you fear that you might suffocate. It feels as though your chest could combust. From the debilitated ability to properly breathe or from the confused sense of excitement, you are not entirely sure. 

Your being has been split down the middle. Caught in a strange limbo of an icy terror and a bubbling kind of joy as she continues her ascension, carrying you both high until the forests below become less defined and meld into blotches of rich greens. You cannot tell if the laugh the begs to erupt from you is one of elation or hysterics, but it froths inside of you with a warmth that rivals the heat that radiates from the brilliant sun above. Your lips part in the semblance of a breathless laugh as your eyes dart to take in your surroundings. The earth is so distant now. Reduced to a flat stretch of emerald and hunter, and the gentle rolling slops of hills and valleys that, in some points giveaway to farmlands. You can spot organized rows of green that must be rich vineyards, and there are many quaint little houses and homely settlements that sparsely dot about the scape. 

Being so high up within the heavens makes the rest of the world seem so small. Reduced down to dots and shadows and shades of color. It reminds you vaguely, of the ancient war table that sits within the council chambers of Storm's End; the stubborn, enduring anatomy of Westeros etched into the face of it, mapping out all of its splendor in its factions and landmarks. 

Out of your peripherals you notice Vhagar's wings tilt, moving to level her body out of its angled position, settling so that she is able to coast on the winds. It near instantly releases the strain on your arms, allowing the sting to ebb from your clenched muscles as you will yourself to try and relax, and the harsh cusp at which the biting wind had struck you with finally loses its violent edge. Still quite strong but no longer clawing along the shape of your cheeks and your unprotected eyes like it means to rip at them. 

It is Aemond who straightens himself first, removing his weight from your back to properly sit astride, completely comfortable in his place along his dragon and untouched by a semblance of worry. Even though you cannot see him from his place behind you, you are still able to sense the composure that he holds himself with. He is entirely within his element. At home here on dragonback. The arm that had grasped the grip on the left of you releases, moving past the line of your vision to where he probably allows it to casually hang at his side, now supporting his clasp on the saddle with only a single, sturdy hold. 

It takes you much longer to will yourself back into an upright position; finding solace in the weight of the saddle pressed to your stomach. But is a crutch that you do not wish to exhaust, and so you right yourself until you can once again feel the expanse of Aemond's chest, snug against your own in an unintentional semblance of an embrace. That stubborn little part of you loathes how the other half preens at the sensation of it. Yearning to bask in affections that are not truly there like some lovestruck girl child that elects to ignore the obvious indifferences displayed by the object of her infatuation. It irritates you to no end. Filling you with a conflict that you do not wish to bear but are unable to ignore. Aemond does not love you, that much is clear. The nature of your union, the quiet apathy that he has shown you thus far have been unobtrusive but very telling in this. Even now, as he makes an effort to test the nature of your will and your desire to truly get to know him, hauling you upon the back of his dragon, it seems to hold closer bearings to that of a trial than a well-meaning rendezvous. 

The look that he had given you when he asked if you were primed to take flight was playful, almost in a malicious manner. Like he was expecting and counting on you to decline and flee. It makes you ponder if you have actually managed to surprise the prince by accepting his proposal and clambering astride the beast's saddle. If your decision to stay and meet his little challenge head on has pleased him at all. 

"Geptot, Vhagar!" Aemond commands, shouting to be heard over the roaring winds. Obediently, the great dragon adjusts the massive span of her wings, muscles rippling to rearrange herself on the support of the currents to redirect her glide in the direction of King's Landing and the vast glittering waters of Blackwater Bay that extends beyond. It is still such a shock to see such a tremendous creature acquiesce its will to the instruction of a man. A man that may sustain the blood of the gods, but still a man, nonetheless. 

She could consume the both of you a single snap of her jagged mouth. Your bodies would be a pitiful bite for her jaws. And yet she allows you to take up space along her back. To become a vessel to suspend you along the heavens to soar between the sparse clouds that hang within the azure cradle of the heavens like tufts of a lamb's fleece. Vhagar is a violent beast you know. You have heard the stories of her wars and blood-soaked accolades, the battlefields that she has left soot covered and smoking, littered with the remains of soldiers. She is a violent creature to be sure. Honed and defined by violence, and yet it is here, carted among the tepid winds, that you decide that she is a glorious behemoth. One whose years have been stained with the life's blood of millions, but it does little to tarnish the position she has taken in your eyes. Not necessarily one held by affections, but mostly a sense of respect and awe. 

You are not diluted enough to think that Vhagar holds any sort of esteem for you. Had you not been accompanied by her rider; you would have been lit aflame from so much as approaching her, but that simple truth does little to dissuade you from attempting to show her your appreciations though uncertainty and apprehension still takes root in your gut. Your hand has a slight tremor when you manage to peel your fingers from their tight grip around the horn. A symptom of the energy and searing heat that pumps through your veins at your body's instinctual fears rather than a conscious bewilderment, but you do not let it stop you from leaning forward as much as your reservations will allow to place a soft, unsure pat along her back. Though the size of the saddle is so great that you still only manage to stroke its leathers rather than the rough expanse of her flesh.

You know that there is no possibility that she managed to feel your touch through the thick of the preserved hide of the saddle. And even if the buffer had not been there, your hand probably would have felt like little more than the landing of a fly; bothersome and barely perceivable. But it still does work for you somewhat, to help in seeing her more as more than simply a vengeful, aggressive beast. 

It shocks you, when you allow yourself to gaze downward towards the horizon to see how quickly you are approaching the edge of the city. It has you daring to tilt your head downward to see past her wings to gaze upon the sprawling cluster of the buildings and structures that create the capital; the clay tiles of the many roofs burning in shades like honey and ginger. The rich hues only amplified by the golden tint of the evening sun. Smoke pours from the some of the stacks, puffing from the hearths, the people down below working to prepare tonight's dinners. The streets thread throughout the ancient settlement like tan lines of thread, intertwining and connecting to unify the entirety of the city, bustling with people who, from your high vantage point, look hardly more than little moving dots; completely unbothered by Vhagar's flight above. 

It's breathtaking. Literally, of course, with the winds that continuously rush against you, but also in the sense of how stunning the view of it is. Had you, in some other life, been blessed with the honor of a dragon, you fear that you would never come back down to earth. As the fear in your stomach begins to thaw and ebb, giving way to nothing but a bright awe, you realize that you could spend an eternity within the sky at peace. This may be freedom incarnate. Untied from the earthly responsibilities and troubles that ail you down below. Here, it is simply the wind beneath Vhagar's vast wings. The same winds that tug at your hair as though it means to unravel it from its dressings. A laugh, a true laugh bubbles up from your chest, rising with the brilliant, beaming warmth of joy, and the smile that tugs at your lips this time is irresistible. 

You doubt that the purpose of Prince Aemond spiriting you away on this outing had any intentions of truly extending an olive branch. Not one in the expectations of actually solidifying a bond between the both of you at least. This was meant to be a game of sorts; you are still entirely convinced. But even with that in mind, you are unable to feel anything other than gratitude. For so long you have been confined to the unfamiliar walls of the Red Keep. Forcing smiles upon your face to maintain the proper ladylike appearances for your social standing. Exchanging forged laughs with the men and women of the court, batting your eyes like a dazed fool as you suffocate within the entrapments of your own longings for home. Strangely, it is here, where the harsh breezes threaten to stifle to the flow of air into your lungs that you feel at your lightest since you have been at the Red Keep. He knows naught of what he has given you, and even if he did, you surmise that he probably would not care regardless. 

Despite the possibility of Prince Aemond's reasonings, it does not stop you from turning your head, rotating your shoulders as best as you can to enable the motion as you make to look at him. It knocks you somewhat off-guard to see that he is already watching you. You had also not anticipated the proximity between your faces, with hardly more than a hair's breadth left between your noses which are so close they could touch. If you only twitch forward the press of your mouth could easily brush along the plush of his lips. The urge of it comes with the realization that the prince has never kissed you. Not even whilst you both fulfil the duties of your marriage in the midst of the night. It has all been disconnected. Done with the same automated detachment that one does with their chores. It should serve as a cold dousing of reality. It should make the rise of your emotions die down into a tame hush, but it does not. 

Your chest heaves involuntarily at the weight of his stare - of how near he is. Your thoughts are tempted to unravel. To get the better of you and indulge in the smoky, lewd corners of your mind that you have not allowed yourself to entertain, like a sinner giving into their temptations. 

The intensity that always seems to lurk within his attention is ignited ten-fold by the way that the sunlight glimmers within his eye, twinging the flecks of soft violets and rich blues with glints of golden light; it bathes his face in the same hue, making it seem as though the pale complexion of his skin has been kissed and painted by the sun itself; set alight by the dragon's blood that surges through his veins like liquid fire. The tresses of his hair billowing in streaks of a pallid silver that rivals the moons glow. 

He is beautiful. You are forced to mark it once again. How captivating the prince is. Disarmingly so, much like the stare that he continues to pin you in place with. The weight of it seems to reach into you, brushing along the boundaries of your spirit and binding it with its grasp. You are unable to discern the reasonings of his intensity, of what his thoughts might be. If they lean in your favor, or if you somehow may have unwittingly foundered into his bad graces. Just how you may have possibly stumbled is beyond you, but his tempers and his motives continue to be elusive. Still, the desire to speak honestly still hangs heavy. If anything, his attention only amplifies the need. 

"Thank you." It leaves your lips delicately. Or as softly as one can project while soaring through the skies without their voice being lost to the wind, and you can only hope that he was still able to detect the depths of your sincerity and appreciation. But you are certain that he hears you. You see the recognition of it flicker in his eye. Something else passes through it as well. It is an emotion that is beyond your scope of understanding. One that you have yet to witness upon the typically neutral or sardonic expressions he tends to display.  

His eye flickers downward. As though it is tracing the shape of your lips, attracted by the sound of your voice when you had spoken your gratitude. For a moment, you think that you must have imagined it. But the steady focus of his gaze is unignorable. He is truly trailing the contours of your mouth with his stare like he means to study them. Transfixed with a similar brand of concentration that he displays when he pours himself over his duties. But there is a fervor behind it that you have yet to personally witness; smoldering in his stare so strongly that it nearly pulls you into a trance. A molten heat flows down your spine, settling inside the pit of your gut with a warmth that startles you. The magnitude of the sensation is a shock, pulling a ragged gasp from your chest and like a puppet follows after the tug of its strings, your head snaps back to face the horizon to break whatever strange influence fallen over you both.

Your vision blindly locks on what lies ahead, desperately searching for something to distract yourself from the hazed chaos that clouds your mind. Though it is hard to focus with the near fevered way your skin has begun to warm, your chest rising and falling rapidly underneath the hold of your garments. The eye contact that you had shared was broken, but the effects of it still linger on you. It envelops you tightly, tingling over your skin, whispering along your flesh like fingertips. It has bout of nervousness fluttering inside of you like a cluster of frenzied butterflies, and it melts when it meets the foreign rush of heat that muddles you, twisting into something excited and burning. 

It has you adrift in a torrent. Completely at the mercy of your own emotions and desires - the severity of which, you had been utterly ignorant to. You scan the rippling face of the waters below, and the sight of it has your mind sluggishly realizing that Vhagar has flown you all past the boundaries of the city and the edges of the land to coast above the glittering, shifting face of Blackwater Bay. It is a sight that would have encapsulated the entirety of your observation before. You would have delighted in the way that the cerulean waters underneath the dragon's wings reflect the suns light like diamonds laid out along a rich silk, but it has become increasingly difficult to do so as you have become increasingly hyperaware of the prince. The press of him at your back, the enticing warmth of him latching onto your skin and spreading so potently that you think it may have sunk bone deep. 

Still, you hardly have the ability to prepare yourself for the sensation of Prince Aemond melding himself closely against you until the faintest stretch of space between you has been completely eliminated. His hips nudge tightly along yours, all but nestling your rear even deeper into the cradle of them in a manner that is entirely crude.

A confused question rests heavily in your mouth, but it is all but snuffed out when he tucks his head against your own, hooking his chin over your left shoulder as the hand that he had previously dropped from the horn of his saddle once again raises to take its position back above your own, as though it had never left. It makes your heart beat wildly like the wings of a startled bird, and the enlivened rhythm only quickens when his scent envelopes you with his proximity. It swaddles you in that mouthwatering combination of leather and smoke. The earthy musk and robust spice seem to find a home in your lungs. 

"Gaomas bisa drējī kostilus ao, ābrazȳrys?" 

The sudden velveteen sound of his voice over the whistle of the wind inspires your body to still. As though drawn under a trance every facet of your being seems to become inert. Quiet in its endeavor to listen to the words that spilled from him. You assume that he must be speaking to Vhagar. Entrusting another command onto her in his ancestors' tongue, but the beast makes no movements to suggest that she has heard him. The tone in which he spoke with was low, but purposeful. As though he were sharing a secret, conversational in its cadence. 

You are almost reluctant to draw the conclusion that he may be talking to you instead. For some reason, the idea of such a thing seems so ludicrous, despite having spoken to him before. In brief moments when your paths cross within the castle or when society demands it for appearances. He had exchanged words with you on the ground previously, just before Vhagar had taken flight, yet it all feels so impossible. Strange from the odd rapport that seeps into the atmosphere around you. The gusts that rush past you in dashing currents are unable to destroy the inviting aura that has dropped around you both. Yet is all still so jarring. Abrupt in a way that is strange and new. And the aspect that he is using High Valyrian has left you especially lost. Hanging onto words that you could not comprehend as though they were the answer to a salvation that you did not know you needed.  

"Naejot sagon kesīr lēda nyke?" His head tips much lower now. So dangerously close that his lips sweep along the edge of your ear when he murmurs to you. 

"I do not understand." You confess, daring to slant your face towards his. Such a minute movement but it has the point of his nose nudging at your temple, drawing him all that much closer. He hums in the back of his throat. A quiet sound as though he is considering your utterance. It is humiliating how it makes your entire being thrum with something that is suspiciously close to delight. 

"Pāsan ziry gaomas." 

Your brows pinch close in a confused furrow as he continues to use his second tongue. It is almost as though he is teasing you. Like he is prodding at a weakness that you did not realize you had; an animal nipping and digging at a wound to watch its prey jerk in its grasp. He is teasing you. The small clues there all connect and tie together a little too finely when the understanding creeps in on you. 

He knows, your consciousness decides quickly. He must have figured out the infatuation you have with his voice. The allure that it has on you when he especially uses it to articulate the rhythm of that old language. Perhaps he had seen it on your face. In your eyes, the way that your breath snags in your throat or how your muscles seen to tense with anticipation at the sound of it. It could make you embarrassed that you have been so obvious in your attraction to it. So much so that he means to taunt you for it so openly. But here and now, with his form so hot along your own and the desire that burns so steadily in your gut, you are unable to find it within yourself to be irritated or sheepish over the fact. 

"Ēza nyke pendagon " - the curve of his lip glides along your ear, and you swear that you can feel the damp warmth of his tongue trace the sensitive skin - "hen mirre se tolie ways nyke could kostilus ao." 

The shiver that skips itself down your spine is completely involuntary. You can only hope that he will assume it to be caused by the chill of the winds, but you know truly that he would be a complete simpleton to think so, and Prince Aemond is anything but. You are sure, without seeing, that his mouth has lifted into the faintest hints of smirk; the impression of it against your ear. Time stutters when his thumb sweeps down along the knuckles of your right hand. It is such a small motion. A gentle, subtle caress. One that would hardly receive one's attention but is so different from any other gesture he has displayed for you that it has something inside of you melting and turning tender. It is damning for you. 

Some kind of plea smolders on the tip of your tongue like molten honey. A plea for what is entirely beyond you. For him to relent and move away to give you air? But even simply the idea of such a thing has you mourning the loss that has not come. This entire situation is nudging at the boundaries of the dynamic you have built with the prince thus far. It is unexpected. Bizarre even. But also, entirely exhilarating in a way that fills your lungs with excitement and looms over your being with a charged type of anticipation. 

And then, just as quickly as he had invigorated the raw suspension between your bodies, he removes himself away from you to hold his posture straight and his thumb slips from your knuckles to return its grip on the saddle horn. You are suspended in air, but the loss of his warmth feels as though the support of the earth has been abruptly tugged from underneath your feet. Humiliation wells up, and anger. It seems like a jest on his part. A cruel trick for what purpose you are not certain. To stroke his own ego. To make you feel like a fool. 

It is bitter in your mouth. The tart of it induced by your bewilderment. It leaves you woefully unmoored as your body craves his even as he still remains behind you, his thighs and hips embracing your own. The whispering of the ocean-salted wind suddenly sounds like a lonely, warbling cry. But even while in the midst of your internal conflicts, the longing has yet to subside; instead pooling in your belly. A gasp pushes from your chest, and you urge yourself to look upon the waters beneath and the horizon ahead. Marking a mark of the clouds that drift about the golden support of the heavens, counting a flock of waterfowl that fly in cluster above the ocean as a means to collect yourself, though it proves to be futile. 

"Let us return home now, wife - the hour grows late." 

You make no means to return a comment or to refute. You remain silent as you both dread and crave the return back to the Red Keep. You have no desire to bear the facade that you have been masquerading in for so long, but being grounded may also help you in gathering the torrent of your emotions. Still, the flight back to Vhagar's chosen plot of earth outside the edge of the forest arrived quicker than you had anticipated, and the dismount from her saddle had nearly been just as awkward as the ascension. Neither of you had exchanged any words as you found your horses still hitched to the branches that they had been left posted at earlier, cropping at the rich grass near the base of the tree with their teeth. 

The bustling of the streets does little to assist the chaotic nature of your thoughts as you guided your mount through the crowds alongside the prince. A part of you was still briefly able to marvel how you had just seen the same avenues from above only moments before; the people who had once appeared as little specs now parted around you to make way for you and the prince. Some daring to pass the two of you fleeting glances as you went about. 

You receive similar looks once within the interior of the 'Keep. The servants and people of the court pass you curious and disapproving peeks at the muddied edges of your skirts as you carried yourself down the winding, grand hallways. Though you pay them little mind. Instead, you direct yourself to try not to focus on the dull, rhythmic tap of Prince Aemond's footsteps from their place beside you as he trails you like a stubborn shadow. He had proposed that he escort you to your quarters, as is expected of a husband. 

There is a new sort of uncertainty that has been wedged between the two of you. Though it is so very different from the quandary that had been there before. This type has no longer tinged with apprehensions or resistance, but instead it is almost alive. The want that festers inside of you is so strong that it is nearly tangible; a creature with claws that means to creep and snatch and a hunger that demands to be feed. You are not entirely lost. You are informed of the body's desires and the symptoms that often accompany it. But it is rarely something that you have ever experienced yourself apart from the few rare nights that you had built up the courage to explore yourself within the privacy of your own apartments. And never have you ever felt it so fiercely, searing and thrumming throughout your flesh. 

The buzz of your previous flight does little to damp the fervor of it. If anything, it douses a potent fuel upon the embers, daring to set the smoldering cinders aflame. The scent of him is strong at your side. Sharp from the winds and mouthwatering with the crisp, spicy aroma of his natural musk, and it is a temptation that you can only hope that you will be able to resist. Your only solace is that the entrance to your quarters draws near, only a few paces left near the end of the corridor, and you look to the massive looming doors as thirsting man would an oasis. 

"I take it that you enjoyed todays outing, my lady," Aemond says from your side. 

It draws your attention to him like an insect becoming hypnotized by the gentle flickering an unguarded fire. You dare to allow yourself to admire the almost lazy saunter he carries himself with, the composed way that he holds his hands behind the controlled posture of his back. 

"I did. Truly." You answer honestly. Not even the muddled state of your feelings and yearning could keep you from repelling the truth from him. You find yourself twisting softly on the heels of your feet as you both come to stand before the entrance of your apartments, moving to enable yourself to meet his gaze. It suddenly feels too vulnerable. You no longer have the buffer of being shielded from his stare as you stand in a pair at the end of the dimming hall. He watches you keenly. His expression is mild, and it is only his eye that displays a faint hint of curiosity, but it is enough to prompt you in continuing. "I do not wish to burden you with my toils, but finding my place here within the court has been an adjustment. The people here have been kind, yet it is still a somewhat of a challenge to find my footing. " You pause, the air snagging in your throat and you find your fingers winding together in an awkward clasp as you work to navigate yourself and bear the weight of his unflinching observation. "The flight with you and Vhagar, it was a reprieve that I did not expect to be afforded. I know that you have been occupied by the priorities of the kingdom and the burdens of the war; you have little moments available for yourself, I imagine. So I am grateful that you made an effort to extend that time to me." 

It all seems so delicate now. Something vulnerable has wormed through the cracks of your already weakened restraints. And you swear that you see something just as uncertain and raw peek through the detached facade of the prince. Such a pale passing of emotions that had you not been paying so much attention to him; it might have slipped past your observation. It looks odd, but not unbecoming on him. He is typically so relaxed and serene. Unstirred by the influences of his surroundings. It manages to endear and embolden you all at once, and as though they have a mind of their own you find your feet closing the small amount of distance that divides you. The prince's vision is latched onto you as you move near, unwavering and heavy in his watch. 

For once in your uncertain relationship with the prince, it is you who seems to hold the sense of power. As shaky and foreign as it is. But he observes you with the same speculative surprise as a predator that has been taken off guard and is deciding on if its energy should be spent on fighting or evading. You make sure to be gentle in your approach, lest you break the brittle, intimate blanket that has fallen the vacant corridor. You can nearly hear the thump of your own heartbeat inside of your chest, pulsing along the palms of your hands. 

You surprise yourself as you dare to lean forward into his space. The scent of him engulfs you, and the perfume of it is almost dizzying. Clouding over you in a rush of subtle spice, leather and wind. It guides you press your lips upon the high ridge of his cheek. The soft divot of the scar catches underneath your mouth; the gnarled slivers of its subtly raised edges. You make sure to be gentle so's not to possibly aggravate the old, damaged tissue. His skin is warm. Sultry and smooth against your lips. You raise a single hand upward to place your fingertips along the sharp sweep of his jaw as a means to ground yourself. Or perhaps it is just an excuse to touch more of him. You are not entirely certain anymore. 

You can feel his chest swell with a surprised breath, muscles pulling taut underneath the leather of his doublet. You fear that you may have overstepped, and it draws you to break the kiss from his skin, though you find it difficult to pull away. He has made no attempt to tear his face from the light hold of your fingertips. He remains fixed in place. Quiet and motionless. For one horrid moment, you fear that you might have actually been able to disgust him. That you had terribly transgressed and shattered the delicate little relationship that you have only just began to fabricate. 

But when you look to meet his gaze the stare that he is studying you with holds a sort of hunger that you have yet to ever experience, and it is so disorienting to be on the receiving end. It completely eclipses the way that he had watched you with during the flight. You are sure that this is how it feels to be stalked by something dangerous and starved. It mutates with the vulnerability that seeps into his posture, and the combination of it melts into an ardor that is stifling. 

You are not sure how to navigate it. Of what this all could mean for you. For him. It has your blood roaring through your veins. Everything falls into a hush. You are sure that the rest of the castle is still lively with the preparations for supper. Servants are no doubt preoccupied by the nature of their longwinded duties, causing the innerworkings of the Keep to astir as they all go about their own matters. But here, in this quiet corridor, it feels as though you have been tucked away into your own private bubble. Sealed away and safe within its dulcet embrace. 

You can see the want in his eye so clearly. Bright and burning in its quality, but he makes no moves to act upon it. It is so strange to see what appears to be a sort of hesitance in the prince. Someone who is usually so certain of their wants and desires and acts on them unflinchingly. Arrogantly, even. It makes him appear so much more human. For once, in the little amount of time that you have known him, he finally stands close at a base that you could compare yourself. Not a god. But simply a man. A man who experiences reservations and uncertainty just as you do. One made of bone and blood - even if that blood may run hot with dragonfire. He still just a man. One who appears as though he wishes to seek you out. To bask in the comfort of your flesh and consume you where you stand but will not allow himself to. 

You are unsure where this sense of hesitancy could stim from. You have already lain together before in the hopes of producing a child and he had not shied away in any of those occurrences; having taken you with that cold, calculating indifference each time. You have no ability to say what has inspired the felling of that austere approach, but the sudden lack of it rouses a bravery that has long evaded you. Your lips, still hovering closely above his cheek venture to press against his skin once again. Much lower than their previous position along the sharp contours of his face, but now only a few scant breaths from his own lips. 

You pause briefly to surmise his reaction. Gauging the shift in his breathing and the way that he holds himself to see if you may have misread and breached an unsaid boundary, but he makes no move to tear himself from your proximity. But that is not enough. You must hear it from him. 

"Do you wish for me to stop-" 

A surprised yelp is snuffed from your throat when the plush of his mouth claims yours in a kiss that is so passionate that it is nearly ferocious. Your teeth clack together from the rough nature of it. It makes your mind draw a complete blank. All semblance of thought mutes down into a quiet hum as every bit of your being draws down to focus on the entirety of him. So heavy in its attentions that you hardly bear notice when he crowds you against the heavy doors of your chambers. So eager that the back of your skull knocks on the thick, ornate wood. The pain that flares is stinging and sharp, but you can hardly bother to pay it any attention as he presses himself along your body like he may starve without it. 

Once it all finally catches up with you, you find your hands reaching to sweep along him explorative, greedy strokes. Your fingers claw at his doublet, slipping along the buttery leathers in a weak grip before moving to clutch at the nape of his neck to draw him closer to you. It is crazed. Animalistic. A perversion of the sort of chaste affections that a lady should share with her husband, but you can hardly be bothered to care while your body is overcome with relief. It is suddenly as though he has become the air you require to breathe, and you are under the threat of suffocating. 

His hands are just as rapacious as your own. Clutching at your hips, your waist; reaching fingers gripping onto your hair. He is like some feral animal that does not know where to bite first. Desperate for the taste of flesh and blood but unsure of where to start. 

His teeth nip at your lips; tongue swiping, and obediently your jaw softly parts to allow him to lick into your mouth. The moan that leaves you sounds shocking to your own ears but it is impossible to be ashamed when the taste of him seems to set you on fire. You are quickly to reciprocate with equal ardor, but it is clumsy and underskilled on your part. And it dawns on you that this is your first true kiss with your husband, so very far off from the demure, obligated peck that he had given to you on your wedding day. It makes you burn all the hotter. Your eagerness intensifying tenfold as you grip onto him as though he may vanish if you do not. 

An almost wounded sound leaves you when he removes his mouth from your own. Though it is promptly stamped out when he nudges your head to the side with his own to latch the wet heat of his mouth onto the tender flesh of your neck. A contented sigh leaves you and your body seems to lose all of its strength, going lax against the support of the door as your head lulls back to bear your throat to the bite of his teeth and the suction of his tongue. You feel as though you are turning to mush. Going pliant underneath his ministrations; the heat of him has melted you like wax. 

It is the low bubble of chatter that breaks you from the haze that dips over your mind like the beginning effects of alcohol. Your eyes flutter open to gaze over the prince's shoulder, though he has not even so much as slowed the searing kisses along your flesh. Whether that be because he simply does not care or because he has not noticed the sound of carried voices you are not sure, but you cannot keep yourself from trying to peer down the long stretch of the corridor to spy for the origins of the conversation. You see no one but you are certain whoever is speaking is nearby. Their voices carried and projected by the stone no doubt, but they could round the corner at any moment and catch you and the prince in a most unbecoming manner. 

You mourn the very idea of stopping him, but the requirement to keep appearances and your position of the court untainted from untoward gossip prevails. It has you slipping your fingers along the roots that grow from the nape of his neck to tug as gently as you possibly can, urging him to pry his mouth from your flesh but he remains unmoving. Almost stubborn in his exploration of tasting the salt on your skin. 

"Aemond," you call softly. "We must stop; we will be caught." 

That seems to pull him from the fervent spell that had been casted over him. He finally allows himself to be removed from the crook of your neck, righting his posture meet your line of vision with a slight pant in his breath. The passion in his stare has not wavered or diminished at all. If anything, it seems all the fiercer. 

 

"Will you invite me into your chambers?" He inquires against your lips. "Will you have me?" 

The way he stated the question was straight forward. Blunt in what it implied. Unshy in its desire. But there is an unmistakable edge to it that is almost frail. Fragile in its essence. You know now that here the both of you are at a fork in the path. One single decision that may decide the fate of what lies ahead, and the balance of your matrimony. Prince Aemond wears that facade of his. Like no matter what response leaves from you he will be unbothered, but you can see the vulnerability bleeding into his gaze. You hear it in his questions. The hope that you do not turn him away. 

You know then that you will not send him off down the corridor while you tuck yourself away in your chambers alone. Not as elation and peace wraps itself around you and urges you to tug him closer; guiding him towards you as you make to reach behind to grab for the door latch. 

"Yes, I will have you Aemond." You whisper it softly, as though it is something sacred and delicate. 

That is all it takes to earn his mouth back upon you. Just as starved as it had been before. You are not certain which one of manages to pry one of the doors ajar, but as soon as it is open, you find yourself slipping through the entry as you pull him through by his shoulders as you blindly guide each other across the floor of your apartments. You just vaguely register the sound of the door slamming shut behind you both, but you hardly pay it any mind as his hands sweep along your hips with a grip that threatens to smart skin. The heel of your foot nearly trips along the edge of the tapestry rug, and it is Aemond's firm grip that keeps you secure as you attempt to navigate your clumsy journey to the bed. 

Already his fingers slip behind you, eagerly tugging at your skirts like he means to ruck them over your hips, but then he stops himself short and backs away from you so abruptly that for a second you fear that he is having regrets. That he plans to storm out of your quarters and pretend that this has never happened. His eyes trails over you as he steps away, halting himself he is several paces from you to observe your disheveled state. 

"Undress yourself."  

He says it that poised, calm cadence of his, but the order in it is still apparent. For some reason it makes you pause. You have never been completely bare before him. All of the previous times you had been afforded the crutch of your shift, skin always concealed from view. During your bedding ceremony, while the corridor just outside of Prince Aemond's chambers were crowded with the wedding quests, the attendees of the court and the Crowns Sept, all present to make sure the tradition was followed accordingly, you had still clung to the safety that your chemise had provided you. The two of you were hurdling over so many new steps and parameters in your relationship. For some reason, it does not feel obtrusive or jarring. Simply unexpected. Unfamiliar. But exciting still. 

You reach for the silk placket on the front your bodice, carefully unplucking the golden straight pins that your maidens had secured it with just this morning, being mindful to tack them back into the fabric so they do not drop upon the floor and run the risk of jabbing someone underfoot. Your fingers quiver slightly as you begin to unwind the ribbon lacings underneath, tugging them free from their eyes to loosen the grip of your bodice until the rest of the gown slides free of its grip on your body, enabling you are able to slip the sleeves from your arms for the rest of the garment to pool around your feet. 

You still have several layers to go; held within the confines of your kirtle but he is already watching you with an impassion stare akin to starvation. All of the vigor that he had unleashed on you before in the drag on his lips and the nipping of his teeth has been detained and seized onto with a shaky resolve; his weak restraint projected through the near feral look in his eye. It is clear that he wishes to watch you unburden yourself of your clothes. It gives him some kind of pleasure, to observe you exposing more of yourself to him at his whims. And you would like to indulge that lewd desire of his, but you know that the lacings along the back of your kirtle will be difficult to undo on your own. It is rigid in its structure, and combined with how tightly the many levels silk cord that cross up your spine are cinched, it will be a challenge. Often times it is a pain for even the deft fingers of your maids. 

"Would you so kind, lord husband, to assist me?" You do not bother in awaiting his response as you rotate around to present your back to him. The room is silent, save for the quiet rise and fall of the air steadily leaving and returning to your lungs. You do not hear him diminish the space the separates you both. The sound of his boots along the stone floors does not make a single tap or echo for you to gauge his nearness. But then his hands are just on you, settling at the point between your shoulder blades to pluck at the knot of your silk ribbons.   

The warmth of him wafts against you, causing the hairs along the nape of your neck to rise and your skin to pepper with gooseflesh. You crave to lean back into him. To bask in his natural, soothing heat, but you command yourself to remain stationary as he begins to tug at your lacings. Much steadier and slower than you have suspected. It has anticipation building and churning within your gut. Smoldering and settling like hot coals and molten wax beneath your flesh. 

His lips come to sweep along the junction of your neck, feeling as though they are branding you in their exploration. It should be of a concern with how much that thought thrills you. The idea of walking around with the prince's marks clearly presented for the court to see is an indecorous idea - downright craven. And yet it does nothing but make the flames inside roar brighter. 

You feel the moment that he finished in unlacing the kirtle. It slackens considerable on your torso, before he hastily slips the embroidered edge of the neckline from your shoulders; the truth of his avidity managing to peek through such a simple action. And just like that the materials fall from your body, leaving you in nothing but your shift. It shocks you how quickly his hands find a place on your hips. Fingers clasping tightly like he is resisting the urge to tenderize your skin underneath the pressure of his palms. But that twisted little part of you is still present and greedy. It has you pressing the shape of your rear against his pelvis, and you are unable to contain the delighted gasp that leaves you at the hard press of his cock straining underneath his breeches. 

He has not even seen you naked yet and already the evidence of his arousal nudges at you through the thin fabric of your chemise. He groans as you continue to roll your hips against you his. It's a pleased, low noise, that nearly sounds like a purr rumbling from his chest, and it vibrates along your neck as he threatens to sink his teeth just underneath the edge of your jaw. His fingers begin to tug and lift at the skirt of your shift to pile it around your waist. 

You twitch as he exposes you to the tepid draft of the room; nipples hardening beneath the delicate fabric at the chill. Suddenly, one of his hands is placed before you, fingers hovering close to your mouth as though he expects something of you. Your thoughts scramble along. Already pathetically sluggish and scattered from the lust searing at your being.  

"Take them into your mouth and bite, ābrazȳrys," he guides in a firm murmur. 

Obediently, your lip's part, allowing him to guide the tips of his fingers past them. The leathers concealing the nimble length of his digits is smooth along your tongue. Warm and slightly tangy in its flavor on your palate. The weight of them makes your eyes lashes flutter, threatening to slip closed before a distant voice in the recesses of your mind chides you to follow his desire, and eager to please you gently clamp the edges of your teeth down onto the tips of his gloves. He coos in a satisfied manner when he notices the compliant press of your teeth. He tugs his hand free from the casing of its glove, allowing the now empty garments to lie limp in your mouth before he removes it from between your teeth to discard it somewhere along the floor. 

You vaguely watch his hand from your peripherals as it lifts past the scope of your vison, but the low, wet sound in your ears cues you on what he may be doing. He is licking his fingers. Getting them wet. It makes your body thrum with want. The flavor of his gloves is still strong. A temptation that you never would have imagined. He had used your mouth for something that seems so frivolous, and yet it makes you ache. It reminds you of a bit of course chatter that you had heard from one of the ladies of the court.  A horrible gossip who often whispers of the most perverse of topics between lovers. Though you could not help but to have been intrigued when she spoke of pleasing one of her paramours with nothing but her tongue. 

You know what Aemond plans to do with his hands. The anticipation of it bubbles along the atmosphere like water simmers inside a heated pot, threatening to boil over as his fingers slip between your thighs and part your damp heat with little fanfare. Your body seems to sizzle. A delicious buzz licks up your spine as he sweeps a single finger over your cunt to gather the slick that already threatens to smear down the inside of your legs. Collecting it on the pad of his digit to aid him in delivering a slow, torturous circle along your clit. A drawn-out whine rips itself from your chest, and even with his hand buried underneath the fabric of your skirt, working pleasure between your thighs, you cannot help but to think of the possibility of taking him into your own mouth. 

To delight in the weight of his cock filling it up, weighing on your tongue. How it might taste. The expressions he would make. If his eye would express the same vulnerability that he had displayed to you in the hallway, when he asked if you would have him. Would that hint of desperation no longer be masked, but instead boldly shown? Would his face pinch with pleasure, eye clouded with lust as he watched you on your knees before him?

How gorgeous he would look. 

You have to tuck your face into his shoulder as you helplessly rock your hips against the ceaseless strum of his finger, muffling your cry as he suddenly slips one within the entrance of your cunt, forcing it to stretch and give around its width. He brushes it experimentally along your walls, almost like he is prodding or searching for something within you. Distracting you with the press of the heel of his hand on the bud of your nerves, feeding the fires the pit of your belly. He does find what he is in search of with an adept quickness. You feel it as soon as he does. The blind yet tactful pursuit is rewarded when he caresses something devastating buried inside of you. You gasp, breath snagging as you burrow your nose into his neck, choking on his scent while you search for your voice.  

"Aemond, please." It comes out as hardly more than a wanton moan puffed against his skin, and your hips continue to chase after the exquisite heat that he is effortlessly stoking within the cradle of your thighs. "Please, Aemond. I want to taste you. I want you in my mouth." 

You feel the way he hums in consideration more than you hear it. A nonchalant noise, as though you have questioned him about the quality of his day. As though he was not knuckle deep inside of your cunt. "Hmm, such a temptation. Though, if I recall correctly, was it not my wife who ventured into my chambers with revelations of her loneliness? It seems that I have long ignored my husbandly duties. I think it is due time that I rectify that." 

Those words sound so promising. So sweet in its oath. So, it is entirely cruel when he all but rips his finger from the walls of your cunt, leaving you feeling empty and the scorching embers in your gut smoking but unfanned. A question, an insult, or a cry hang on your tongue, but you never get the opportunity to figure out which it is. Aemond grips you by the shoulders and nudges you in the direction of your bedding, giving you little time to orient yourself through the lustful haze that has clouded your mind over. 

"I want you lying down on your back; cunt spread." His instruction rings out sharply. Like a strategized order that would be given in council. "And remove that fucking garment from your body." 

He spat out the sentence as though the cloth is an offence to him. The sight of it alone enough to rouse his ire. So eager to see you bare before him. You have half the mind to try and tease him, but tonight you can hardly be bothered. The weight of the shift is stifling on your dampened skin, and his covetous stare urges you to do his bid. You do not turn to face him as you disrobe. It nudges from your shoulders easily. Dropping free from your body to leave you in nothing more than your silk stockings and garters, and the diamond accessories that dangle from the lobes of your ears. 

You swear that you can feel the line of his vision upon your flesh. Trailing down your spine, tracing the shape of your ribs as they meet the contour of your waist, skirting along the swell of your arse. You do not turn to face him until you place your knees on the cushion of your mattress, plush and filled with down and feathers, offering you enough support to crawl along the stretch of it before turning on your back as he had bidden. The impassioned look in his eye seems to suspend you adrift. It does not make you feel disgustingly ogled or leered at to be so blatantly admired. He studies you as though he is in the presence of something sanctified. Divine. 

You are not sure of how to compose yourself underneath such unabashed devotion. The only thing that seems to give you any sort of stability is the continued ring of his earlier command reverberating in your mind. You cling to it, like someone who is threatened to be swept away in a rough tide. It is almost absentmindedly that your leg's part, offering yourself up to the insatiable stare of your husband in a manner so vulgar. But you cannot deny that there is something titillating about it. How his posture seems to simultaneously go rigid and slack all at once. A restraint in his composure visibly snapping before he stalks across the room towards you like he means to devour you. 

He is upon you before you can hardly blink. Gripping onto the thick of your upper thigh with his gloved, left hand to further pry your legs apart. Stretching them until you can nearly feel the strain of it in the joint of your hip. "Sīr gevie se dōna raqagon bisa, issa ābrazȳrys." He lifts your opposite up just enough to nose at your knee, ghosting his lips about the breadth of it as his eye locks with your own sight. Something nearly playful dancing in the vivid shade of colors. "Gaomagon ao sylutegon sepār hae dōna?"

He continues to sweep his nose along your flesh. Dragging it downward towards your intimacy, where you burn and ache for him the most. You cannot stop yourself from rolling your hips upward, tempted by the warmth of his breath gliding along your skin and the heat of your cunt. It makes you clench around nothing, as though your body is mourning how empty you are without the stretch of his fingers. 

"Aemond, pleas-" 

He hushes you softly. A placating, quiet sound but it cuts through the air with the swift impact of a steady blade. Like an eager soldier you find yourself falling silent. Focused entirely on him as he lay between your thighs with the relaxed composure of a dragon with its prey already secure between it fangs. "Patience," he murmurs. Though he hardly gives you any time exercise such a restraint because his mouth is on you as soon as the word leaves him. The shock and feel of it sears through you, lashing itself across your body akin to charges of lightning crackling across a storm. Nothing could have prepared yourself for such a thing. The wet heat, the suction of his lips, the skilled slip of his tongue. 

Your legs twitch on reflex, threatening to close but the hand that he had clasped around your thigh keeps it secure in place. Still, it does not stop him from glancing up at you from the apex of your legs with an unvoiced reprimand glinting in his eye. A broken cry shudders from your lungs. Sharp breaths nearly hiccupping from you as he licks at your cunt, burrowing the pronounced, attractive swoop of his nose against your clit while his tongue laps at your entrance. You cannot stop yourself as you begin to sway your hips along the press of it. Practically riding his face with the mindless drive of a woman possessed. Your fingers claw along the blankets; nails tearing at the fabric like it might help you weather through the bolts of ecstasy that ravage your body.  

Your head lifts to properly gaze upon him as he continues to drag his tongue over you, groaning softly into your heat as though he were the one experiencing pleasure. You have heard of women satisfying their husbands with the comforts of their mouths but never the opposite. You know now that it is easily something that you could become addicted to. And based on the pleased pinch between his brows and the way that his eye has nearly slipped closed it seems that he has just as much of an appetite for it. 

"Oh, my gods! Aemond- fuck!" 

You can feel the amused chuckle he releases vibrate along your cunt, making the burning coil in your gut wind that much tighter. He parts his lips from you just long enough to speak, slipping a finger within the tight entrance of your heat just as he does so, crooking it against that delicious spot that he had found nestled within you earlier. "Such a filthy mouth you have on you. How unbecoming for someone who holds the title of a princess." He mocks, crudely stroking and curling his finger within the tight warmth of your cunt. You think distantly to scold him. To remind him of who has drawn such untoward responses from you in the first place but then he is guiding a second digit in along the other, making you stretch to accommodate them; causing your mind to blank. "What would they think if they could see you now? Mewling like well-paid whore."  

You are not sure why that awful little comment has warmth drizzling down your spine like drops of warmed honey. You feel yourself flutter around the ceaseless pulse of his fingers, back arching in a means to draw him deeper. He notices as well. Of course he does, ever so observant. It has him humming in that considering way of his. Like he is pleased with his discovery. You expect another witty remark from him but get none. What he chooses to say next is even more damning. 

"I'm going to fuck you with my fingers, and you are going to be a good little wife and peak on my tongue." 

His tone leaves no room for argument - not that you have given him any in this state. Especially not when the sultry drag of his mouth returns to your cunt to join the clever curl of his fingers. The combination of it threatens to make you sob. Your body writhes when he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking at it gently with steady pulses of his tongue. One of your hands blindly reaches to grip his head, threading your finger through the silken tresses of his hair as though it might ground you; keep you from floating away. It is all so overwhelming. Too much and yet too little. And like a starved glutton you find your opposite palm coming to slip along your own torso, sweeping along your feverish skin to explore your breasts. You mindlessly reach to take your nipples between your thumb and fingers, rolling and plucking at it to further stoke the fire in your belly. 

You hear the sound of Aemond's pleased groan, no doubt watching you from his place between your legs as you touch yourself. Already the rapture flooding your veins begins to rise up. Cresting upon you like a wave being tossed within a great tempest. You can practically taste it. Dancing along your tongue like something sweet and hot; burrowing into the cradle of your hips by the euphoric drag of his hand and tongue. 

"Aemond!" You sob. With the intent to warn him or to merely cry you are not sure. Your face pinches as the grip of your pleasure begins to close around you, holding you tight within its vice like it means to wring every ounce of euphoria from you. "Aemond, I'm going to- gods-" 

The glide of his mouth and fingers is almost brutal. Precise and nimble in his intent to hurdle you headfirst into the throes of bliss, and he is certainly achieving that goal. You can feel the muscles within you drawing up tight; fire lashing and curling over you and wearing at your soul. You can hardly speak. Now struggling to get out broken panting breaths and pieces of the prince's name as your release bears down on you. He shows you no mercy in your state, continuing to suckle and lap at your cunt like he means to drink you down. 

It is with a wrecked scream that you reach your peak. The cry that rips from your throat is short and hoarse, and there is no doubt that some unfortunate soul wandering the hall has heard you. Though you are too beyond yourself to care. Sparks bursts inside your flesh, dousing you in a bliss that you have naught ever brought yourself. Like a mindless animal your body continues to ride itself against the press of Aemond's tongue, his nose, his fingers, all of which still work against you to draw out the euphoria that engulfs you. 

It is not until you hiss from the sudden tenderness in your cunt that he wills himself to pull away, giving you a reprieve to lay boneless and spent along the plush of the bed. His breath is raged when he rises from your hips, face smeared with the evidence of your pleasure, his stare is wild. He looks disheveled, hair disordered from when you had gripped it and chest pulling in frantic gulps of breath. He nearly looks just as winded as you. Though you are surely partly to blame with how you had desperately pushed his face into your cunt like some sort of sex-crazed whore. And the patch of leather that conceals his eyes has become slipped from its place. Not enough to display whatever grievous, old wound may rest beneath, but another unintended brush against it may knock it askew completely. 

You do not think when you guide yourself to sit up and lift a hand, thoughtlessly using your thumb to nudge the leather back down to rest securely above his socket. But the realization seems to come to you both unanimously. His own hand coming to grip your offending wrist, keeping it suspended in its place in the air; your fingertips still resting on the structure of the patch. 

 The stare that passes between the both of you is joined by so many varying emotions. Many of them extending from his side: a brief flash of anger, bewilderment, unease. And then, there it is again. That trace of vulnerability that he tries so hard to contain. But it seems to always be there. Lurking underneath the surface like pain disturbing an old wound. And like a shadow, you see that hint of hope again too. It is the only things that keeps you from shifting from him. Of giving him space that you would have otherwise assumed he needs. But now you draw near. Resting on your knees to sit before him. Instead of attempting to withdraw your hand from his clutches, you instead reposition it to cradle the side of his face, maintaining to keep your touch light in case he chooses to remove himself from underneath your hand. 

Few breaths pass, and he makes no moves to do so. He leans closer. It is such a tiny gesture. A barely perceptible movement, but you feel it. The difference in weight against your hand. The glint in his eye pierces into you with a desperation. Like he is expecting you to suddenly come to a realization and flinch away out of fear. Like he is hoping that you do so. 

But you will do no such thing. You shift closer to him, making sure to be careful as not to accidentally prod his eye patch from its place while you clutch his cheek. He observes you closely. As though he is studying you. Searching for a shred of hesitation or disgust so that he may turn you away. The opportunity for him to do that does not come as you lift to seat yourself upon his lap. His chest expands almost shakily as he gazes at you. Eye slightly widened as though he is in a state of awe or disbelief. The sheer unabashed emotion reflecting inside that gorgeous mix of blue and violet could make your heart ache and skip. You long to tell him of how you feel. The breadth of your emotions. Not quite love yet, of course, but it must be the beginnings of it with how tender and passionate it burns, like the birth of a blaze. 

But that may be too much to confess. Perhaps, your actions will have to suffice for now. 

You are certain he gasps when your lips press against his, tongue sweeping along the plush of his mouth like he had done to your earlier, gathering the tart and sweet taste of yourself on your palate. The flavor of your own arousal does not deter you in the slightest. Not the damp of it against your skin as you draw him into a soft exchange of kisses. Much softer than the one that he had inspired in both of your earlier. This somehow seems so much more explorative. Delicate, even with the heat that begins to simmer beneath the surface once more. 

Your fingers once again slip and find purchase in his hair, nails lightly scraping at his scalp as your hips begin to undulate against the bulge that still presses against his breeches. He groans, panting into your mouth while he runs his hands along your nude flesh, reaching down to grip the swell of your arse to aid you in grinding your hips with his. The hard impression of his cock nudging at your cunt through the fabric of his trousers is delicious, even while you are still slightly tender from your previous pleasure, licking a sensitive fire along your skin. Still, it does not stop you as you continue to grind yourself on him, wanton and aching once again. Delight peeks through the drunken haze of your desires as he removes on of his hand from you to slip between your bodies, fingers reaching for the laces of his breeches where he eagerly pulls at tugs at them to draw them loose. 

He groans sharply in relief when he guides himself from the restraint of his trousers. The alleviation must be great, with how long the straining weight of his cock has been tucked behind the material. You hear it in the low hiss that rises from his chest, and it has you humming softly at him, a light reposeful sound as you continue you to exchange a languid, unbroken kiss with him. The both of you unable to tear yourselves from each other, even has the hot length of his cock comes to rest against his stomach, now pinned between the pressure of both of your bodies, burning against your ferverish skin. 

"I need to feel you," he breathes against your lips. "Let me have you." 

You peek your eyes open long enough to consider him, and the longing that burns within the depth of his stare knocks something inside of your soul off guard, shaking the very foundations. Such raw, unprotected emotion. He stares at you as if you are the creator of the heavens, having fashioned the moon and the burning of the stars with only your hands. It makes you unsure of how to stand unwavering, unaffected underneath such a devoted gaze. If only he knew that it is you who wishes to worship him. To pour your affections and adoration onto him like an acolyte offering their deity tokens and praise. 

An understanding seems to pass through the both of you, a wordless communication. He reaches down to grip himself as you post your hands upon his shoulders, your nails burrowing into the leather of the doublet that he has not bothered to shed as a means to braces yourself as you line the head of his cock with the entrance of your heat. There is little fanfare before you begin to lower yourself onto him, splitting yourself on the head of cock as you use your thighs to settle downward. You walls stretch to accommodate his girth, fluttering as he guides you open to find solace in your body. A strained set of words seems to squeeze from his chest, all of them in that beautiful language that you yet to understand. It has a sense of pride flaring. A deep, hedonistic satisfaction welling up to know that you have such a strong, composed man crumbling around the edges from nothing more than the grip of your cunt. 

You place another brief kiss upon his lips, a smile tugging at them when he nearly tries to chase after you, but you distract him by further sinking yourself down around his length until your rump meets his thighs. His mouth drops open in response, eye fluttering at sensation of your walls clenching and flexing around him as though it means to somehow draw him deeper. 

The pressure of him inside of you, carving a space for himself within you almost makes you breathless. It licks itself up your spine like a bolt of lightning, forcing your body to shudder and draw closer to his, subconsciously seeking out the warmth of his skin and mourning when you feel nothing but the dim chill of his leather doublet. 

"Aemond," you beg softly. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as they begin to lift themself upward to roll back down, working to repeatedly spear yourself on his cock with only desperation and hedonism guiding you. His hands come to grip your waist, spreading his thighs out wider to find a better stance to drive himself up inside of you easier, aided by the slick of your arousal, causing his thrusts to become even more pronounced. The sensation of his girth stretching you out to its shape, veins dragging along your walls has your back curving taut like a bowstring. 

The warmth of his mouth suddenly closes around one of your breasts, tongue lapping at the peak of your nipple as he continues to drive himself inside of you in a devastating rhythm. It has your mind drawing a blank. Going white like a wall of fog as embers and fire sear at the pit of your gut. Your lip's part. Soft gasps panting from your throat as he continues to ravage your body for his pleasure while further tearing you through the depths of yours. It seems to choke through you, forcing you to hiccup and whimper around the insistent pounding of his hips, the weight of his cock dipping inside of you. 

It is disoriented and abrupt when he shoves you onto the flat of your back, knocking what little bit of air was still contained inside of your lungs out and leaving you stunned. You can only lay and take it as your mind scrambles to gain a sense of clarity, while pleasure scalds itself throughout your veins, snuffing your body in a cloud of smoke. His body extends over yours, only supported by his arms posted on either side of your head. His mouth leaves your breast with a subtle nip of his teeth, sparking pleasure with their blunt edges, making you arch your chest to seek out more of it. 

But he ignores the blatant offering, opting to nudge himself up to kneel to better support his weight as he grabs one of your thighs to swing your leg along the perch of his shoulder. It somehow manages to drive him deeper. Effectively punching the air from your chest, the crown of his cock brushing along something inside of you that has your body twisting along the support of the bed. A sob wracks through you and your eyes nearly roll in the back of your skull. You distantly hear yourself whispering his name. Repeating it over and over again with all of the devotion and desperation of a mantra, of a prayer meant for the ears of a god. And here above you now, he certainly looked like one. Pale eye blazing and wild with his lust, hair unkept and freeing from its tie, a sheen of sweat glittering along his pale flesh like flecks of gold and stardust. 

"There she is," he marvels in a coo; pleased and smug in the debauched thing that he has reduced you to. A complete juxtaposition to the longing, vulnerable man that he had been just moments before. "My sweet wife gone dumb and pliant beneath me. Do I satisfy you? Having you like this? Taking my cock so obediently. " You moan in agreement, hips twitching and jerking to further aid him inside of you. Even while it feels like he is deep in your gut, shoving your breath from you with his rhythm, you crave more. "I should keep you like this. Fucked and filled. Would you like that, ābrazȳrys? Stuffed full until it swells your belly with my heir?"

 

It douses you with fire. The comment engulfing you as though you have been guided into the starved clutches of an inferno. The satisfied stare that he pins you with only makes you feel bare and exposed despite the intimate positions that he has had you in already. Like he is piecing you apart and gazing at your soul. Even with the filth that he casually rambles, it does nothing to dampen the tenderness and hunger that seeps into your bones and gnaws at your being. Your body thrums with the delight at being claimed so primally by the prince - by your husband. To walk about the great halls with his babe safely tucked away inside your stomach. The idea of it has you clawing at his back, no doubt leaving marks along the leather, and it is a great regret that it is not his skin that you tear the traces of your nails along. 

"You will truly be so beautiful in such a state. There will be no mistake that you're mine. Mother to my child. My wife." 

The possessiveness that streaked through his words made you arch into him, driving the metal clasps of his doublet into your flesh, causing the skin to sting. You can hardly pay it any mind though. Not while you are hurtling towards your peak. The promise of your release rushing towards you with the intensity a liquid fire. He too is close. You can see it in the furrow between his brows, the pale stutter in his breath which begins to meld into low groans; feel it in the slight falter in his pace. 

"Please, Aemond." You moan, just barely managing to get your tongue to cooperate in forming the plea. His eye locks onto you with the concentration of a hunter, but that softness, his need is beginning to melt it around the edges once again. "I want you to let go. I want to feel you filling me up." 

His hips flounder for a good moment, and it takes him a bit of correcting to regain the fluidity of the brutal stride that he had set, though once he does it is like he had never faltered at all. The almost violent bliss smoldering along your being still engulfs you and nips at you like it means to rip you apart. He swears sharply again. The sound of your wish, both a beg and a command having the most delicious effect on him as he continues to build that euphoria within the base of your stomach, causing the muscles there to clench tight.

"I'm yours. All yours." You assure breathlessly, aiming to appease the proprietorial nature that he has shown you. That is all you can manage before the euphoria finally crests and completely blindsides you within the deluge. You feel outside of yourself as your body writhes, cunt clenching around the deep stretch of his cock as he continues to pound into you, tipping you into something akin to a drunken stupor. It is rapturous. The sheer weight of the pleasure that possesses you and leaves you little more than a vessel that can only lie and try to survive the onslaught. 

Aemond's body shudders over your own, spine curling inward to tuck his face within the crook of your neck as his own peak seizes him. His groan rattles along your throat, followed by a strained fuck as a burst of liquid heat floods inside your stomach, filling you with warmth. His hips jerk shakily, meeting the languid pace of your own as you both work to assist each other in riding out your shared highs. Though it does not take long for either of you to lose your vigor, muscles and bones going lax as you both relent to the weight of your spent bodies. He does not bother in removing himself from the grip of your cunt as he all but collapses on top of you, effectively pinning you to the mattress with his weight. 

You make no effort to move him from you - you find no desire to. The air around you is thick with the scent of sex, still thrumming and alive with the fervor of your shared lust even as it ebbs from your body, replaced with the temptation of sleep. Contentment and exultation pools in your chest, syrupy and thick from the pleasant warmth of his form along yours, and it guides you to glide your fingers through the silken strands of Aemond's hair. He has made no efforts to extract his face from your neck. Perfectly at peace to keep himself tucked against you with his flaccid cock still buried deep, as his breathing levels out into steady puffs against your skin. 

"We cannot sleep, my Prince. The servant girls will be here soon to prepare me for supper." You warn, though he does not stir in the slightest. A hum leaves him. The only confirmation you receive that tells you he has heard you. He almost seems to clutch onto you tighter, as though he longs to burrow into you and meld into one. So desperate for your touch even while he hides so many facets of himself from you. There is no way to truly foresee what the future has in store for you and him. For the welfare of the kingdom. The home of your children. There are many uncertainties. Many stimming from your Aemond himself, the many lethal edges that create his being. But that is fine. You are patient. Tonight has marked a new turning point for you and he, you are certain. You will wait no matter how long you must for him to come to you, and to reveal himself and his truths to you unabashedly. No matter how damaged and bloody and wild those parts of him may be. 

You are certain that you will marvel in the twisted beauty of it regardless. 

"I will get up shortly." He finally replies, tone gentle and rich in your ear. "Let us just lie here for a moment; just you and I." 

Does this truly please you, wife? - Gaomas bisa drējī kostilus ao, ābrazȳrys? To be here with me? - Naejot sagon kesīr lēda nyke I believe it does - Pāsan ziry gaomas It has me wonder of all the other ways I could please you - Ēza nyke pendagon hen mirre se tolie ways nyke could kostilus ao

So beautiful and sweet like this, my wife - Sīr gevie se dōna raqagon bisa, issa ābrazȳrys Do you taste just as sweet? - Gaomagon ao sylutegon sepār hae dōna?    

[dark-fics-4-you]

Old Grudges Die Hard

dark!Bully!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Rafe Cameron had made your life hell ever since you first met him in elementary school. When you moved away for college, you thought you were finally done with your bully, but your life changes when you come face to face with him at his party a year later.

Warnings: noncon (rape), smut, unprotected sex, dacryphilia (crying & tear kink), rough sex, slapping, choking, sexual harassment, harassment, degradation, bullying, drinking, drugs

A/N: this fic begins when Reader and Rafe are in elementary school, but nothing sexual happens between them until they are 19 years old

When you were in elementary school, your parents explained to you that part of being a Pogue meant that people would hate you for absolutely no reason other than the fact that you’re poor.

Grasping your scrapped knee in pain as fat tears rolled down your cheeks, you were quick to tell your parents about the altercation at school as soon as they picked you up.

When you asked them what a ‘Pogue’ was, they exchanged a concerned look before gingerly explaining why the rude boy in your class had shoved you really hard at recess.

“B-but why would he do that?” You sobbed. “It’s so hard to make new friends here!”

“I know sweetheart,” your mother looked down at you sadly. “Is this the first time something like this has happened?”

“No! He made fun of my clothes on my first day. He said I look poor and he would know since he’s rich.” You cried louder, remembering how upset his words had made you. “A-and then all of the girls wouldn’t stop grabbing my skirt or pinching me because he told them to.”

“Have you told the teacher about this?” Your mother asked. You had reached the car now and she helped you into your seat and buckled you in.

“They just ignored me! Rafe gets away with everything,” you grumbled.

“Maybe he’s got a crush on you, Y/N,” your dad jokingly teased from the front of the car and you gagged loudly.

“Ew! No! I hate him! I would never like him in a million years!” You angrily exclaimed.

“Well, I’ll call the school and let them know he’s causing problems. He shouldn’t be able to get away with this without punishment.”

What your parents had a much harder job explaining to you was how powerful money is, and how unfair the world is.

Three parent-teacher meetings with your parents and Rafe’s accomplished little to nothing. If anything, the attention that you had brought to his behavior only made it worse.

It was remarkable how sneaky he could be in his torment of you, always waiting for the teacher’s back to turn before pinching your arm hard enough to make you scream, and bringing the teacher’s attention back to you only for you to be chastised for interrupting class.

He would accuse you of looking at his quizzes, all the while he was cheating off of you.

Any craft or art project that you worked on would mysteriously turn up damaged or missing, getting you in more trouble with the teacher for not completing work.

By the last day of 5th grade, you were thrilled to be heading off to a different middle school than Rafe.

And for three blissful years, you were safe from his cruelty. In fact, Rafe Cameron had become all but a distant memory by the time you reached high school.

Excited by your high grades in middle school and how fast you were learning the material, your parents saved up their money to put you into the best high school in Outer Banks, one that was populated mostly by rich Kooks.

You were so excited to start high school at such a nice school! It was very obvious to you that you were in Kook territory given how well funded it was, and you hoped that despite your Pogue status, you would be able to make friends.

When you realized one of your closest elementary school friends who had switched schools in the 7th grade was at the same school, you were over the moon.

Linking arms with Olivia, she gave you a quick tour of the school before leading you over to your locker. After several attempts, you opened it and loaded your things inside.

“I’ve already made so many friends and we haven’t even started classes yet!” Olivia giggled.

“Really??” You asked. If Olivia was making friends this quickly, maybe it would be okay for you.

“Yeah! And there’s sooo many cute guys here! Like Brady, Joey, Daevon, Rafe, Aaron L, Aaron R, although Aaron D is straight up fugly.”

“Wait hold on, did you say Rafe? As in Rafe Cameron?” Your stomach dropped at the thought of running into him.

Even though it had been three years and you hoped that he had changed, you couldn’t help but feel apprehension at his name.

“Oh yeah, he’s sooo cute!” Olivia gushed, looking around the hall quickly before meeting your eyes again. “Why? What’s up? Do you have a crush on him too?”

“Well, I haven’t seen him in so long, but the last time I did, he was basically my bully in elementary school,” you joked, trying to make light of the situation.

“Wait, what?? That was Rafe?!”

“What did I do?” A familiar voice from behind you made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you swiveled around to come face to face with the last person you wanted to see right now.

His face had changed and he was obviously much taller than he had been when you last saw him (you both were), but there was no mistaking his face.

He took you in for a moment, eyes widening when he recognized you.

“No way, Y/N Y/L/N, is that really you?” His voice was incredulous and you had never wished more that you would just evaporate.

“In the flesh,” you nervously joked.

“Hi Rafe!” Olivia excitedly greeted him, but he ignored her, much to her dismay.

“Y/N um, you know…” he paused, looking a bit pained. “I uh, I feel kinda bad about how I treated you back then, that was so long ago now though.”

He laughed and you reluctantly joined in.

“But anyways, I uh- wanna make it up to you, you should come sit with my friends at lunch today.”

His offer shocked you and you couldn’t help but stare at him for a few moments with raised eyebrows.

“Is this a joke?”

“No,” he quickly responded, looking to the ground with embarrassment burning across his cheeks. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

You glanced over at Olivia who gave you an encouraging grin, looking a little jealous herself.

“Um, I guess! Thanks Rafe!” You smiled at him and he mumbled a goodbye before running off to class.

Olivia squealed with excitement before pulling you into a tight hug, “OMG!!! Y/N!! He is so into you!”

“No way! He’s probably just trying to put the past behind us,” you rolled your eyes at Olivia’s enthusiasm.

However, as lunch approached, you found butterflies growing in your stomach. Were you scared or nervous? Why?? It was just lunch. Rafe did look very different, and you couldn’t deny that he was a little cute, but you still felt anxious to see what lunch would bring.

The bell rang out, releasing you from your last class before lunch. Your stomach was in knots as you walked to the cafeteria. You grabbed your food slowly, letting people filter into the seats and trying to spot Rafe.

He confidently walked in with his friends in tow, all of them laughing loudly as they made their way to a table near the back of the cafeteria.

You swallowed your nerves, clutching your lunch tray tightly before approaching their table.

Rafe stood up, grinning at you before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you to a seat before pushing you down onto it, “here, sit next to me.”

He sat beside you introducing you to all of his friends at the table, “that’s Topper, Kelce, Byce, and Joey.”

“Hi,” you nervously told the boys your name.

After meeting them, the conversation moved on to discussing all of the cool things they had done this summer. You even chimed in yourself and they all seemed interested in what you had to say.

Rafe opened his lunchbox before sighing in disappointment and chuckling, “my dumbass parents forgot the silverware again.”

He looked down at his leftover spaghetti, seemingly with no fork or spoon in sight.

Feeling like you wanted to repay Rafe for inviting you to sit with him and his friends, you told him you could grab it.

When you stood and turned to walk away, you heard the entire table break out into loud laughter.

You whipped around, nervously meeting Rafe’s eye.

“What’s so funny?” You demanded, raising your voice to cut through their snickers.

Your panic caught the attention of the students around you, who also began laughing.

“Looks like Aunt Flo is in town, Y/L/N.” Rafe cackled, and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized what was going on.

On the seat that you had just been in, beside Rafe, you could see red paint drying to the seat.

Without thinking, you reached behind and your heart clenched when you felt wetness on your bottom, and you looked down to see the same red paint now smeared on your hand.

Rafe and his friends burst into laughter, along with the other tables that had been nearby when you stood up.

The cacophony caught the attention of the other students seated further away, who noticed your seemingly blood stained shorts and started laughing along at you.

You had never felt so publicly shamed in your life, and you realized that you were dead wrong to assume that Rafe had changed at all.

You didn’t think he could ever turn over a new leaf now.

Hot tears sprang to your eyes as you ran out of the cafeteria, sprinting to a bathroom stall to lock yourself in as you cried.

After 5 minutes of ugly sobbing, you finally collected yourself and decided to go to the front office to see if they could help you.

Not wanting to mention the fact that you had been pranked, you tied your sweater around your waist and asked them if they had shorts you could borrow.

Luckily enough for you, they did and you were able to get changed as everyone in the lunch period filtered out to their next classes.

You grabbed a note from the office before rushing to your class, 3 minutes after the final bell had rung.

Entering the classroom, you tried to ignore the soft chuckled and looks of recognition you got, but your stomach clenched when you realized there was only one seat left.

Right in front of Rafe.

He sneered at you as you sat down, and you did your best to ignore him.

Halfway through class, his hot breath at your ear nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“Why were you so late to class, huh? Already running to mommy and daddy to tattle?” His whispered voice gave you chills and you ignored him, with great difficulty.

After whispering to you several more times and trying to get a rise out of you, he seemingly gave up.

Until you felt his finger hook underneath your bra strap at your back, pulling it back before snapping it against your skin.

You let out a gasp before spinning around in your chair to glare at him, “what’s your problem?!”

Rafe’s lips curled into a small smirk before responding, “what? I didn’t do anything.”

At this point your English teacher had noticed your outburst, walking over to you and Rafe with a stern look.

“Why are you disrupting my lesson? This better be good.”

You parted your lips, ready to respond, but Rafe beat you to it.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her, she just snapped at me,” he laid the charm on thick and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s lying!”

“Quiet, both of you! I don’t want to hear a word from either of you the rest of this class.” She chastised you, and you felt your cheeks burn with shame.

It just reminded you of him getting you in trouble years ago and you couldn’t believe that history was repeating itself.

The rest of your freshman year was no easier, with Rafe continuing to torture you and try to get you in trouble at school.

He never missed an opportunity to call you a ‘dirty Pogue,’ or shove you against the hard lockers whenever he spotted you in the hall.

Of course, no matter how many times you reported this to the school, often with witnesses, they always had their hands tied behind their back and deep in the pockets of Ward Cameron, who used his money and influence to shield his golden child of any and all consequences for his actions.

Sophomore year, his preferred method of torture was having his buddies pick on you in gym class. They would pummel you with dodgeballs as you huddled in the corner, the gym teacher laughing too hard to stop them.

Junior year, he broke into your locker, stealing all of your textbooks and breaking the locker door. Conveniently, the cameras were down that day and because you couldn’t prove that Rafe had done it, you and your parents had to pay for new textbooks and a new locker door.

Senior year, he and all of his friends on the football team took immense sadistic pleasure from whistling at and catcalling you whenever they saw you, albeit in or out of school.

You never assumed that he had suddenly had a change of heart about you and was now interested in you. No, you knew that this was just Rafe trying to get under your skin and make you as uncomfortable as possible.

To him, harassing you had clearly become a game, one that you were growing extremely weary of as it went ignored by school staff for longer and longer.

The sick grin that would spread across his face as you squirmed in front of him proved how much he enjoyed toying with you.

Despite Rafe literally chasing you down the hallway while repeatedly calling you a ‘slut’ at full volume because you had worn a shorter skirt to school than usual one time, none of the teacher or administrators ever took your side.

For four years, Rafe Cameron made your life a living hell, and you still just couldn’t understand why.

Yes, he hated Pogues, that much was clear to you after seeing his treatment of your friends, but he seemed to harbor a deeper resentment towards you than he did towards anyone else.

No one else was ever on the receiving end of such hateful and calculated behavior, and your friends all agreed that he seemed to have it out for you specifically.

When graduation rolled around, you were less excited about graduating high school than you were to finally be done with Rafe.

Considering the fact that you were off to college while he was going to community college in Outer Banks also gave you a sense of pride. Despite his wealthy background and many privileges, you were still starting your future on a better foot, looking forward to attending Duke University on a full ride scholarship.

Your first year there was a dream come true, a whirlwind of meeting new friends, working hard in your classes, and going out to parties for the first time.

Without Pogue vs Kook bullshit poisoning the air, you found that you were finally able to be yourself and find your real identity.

Dating was still somewhat new to you, but you had at the very least lost your virginity first semester of college on a hookup with a cute guy.

It wasn’t anything special, but it could have been worse, and you were just excited to get more experience as college went on.

After the second semester ended, you packed up your dorm room to move back to Outer Banks for the summer, excited to reconnect with old friends.

Which is how you found yourself in the front seat of your friend’s car, parked in the driveway outside of a huge house party as you quickly fixed your make up last minute.

“Let’s go, Y/N! My pregame buzz is already starting to wear off!” Olivia complained from the backseat and you quickly put away your makeup before giving yourself a once over in the car mirror.

“Are you really trying that hard to impress Outer Banks boys when the Duke hotties are just a summer away??” Jade asked beside you.

“I just want to be ready for whatever the night brings,” you giggled. “I’m keeping my options open for now.”

The girls laughed along with you.

“Well you look hot as fuck already, let’s gooo!” Jade opened her car door and stepped out before you could get another word in.

“Okay, fine!”

You stepped out of the car, feeling very confident in your short party dress and heels.

Walking up to the large, imposing house, you could already hear the music pulsing loudly from inside. There were people standing outside to talk and you recognized one or two of them, saying “hi!” on your way in.

Everything was much louder inside the luxurious house, which was absolutely packed with people. The deep bass of the music rumbled throughout the house, rattling around in your ribcage.

Since Olivia and Jade had gone to parties here before, you let them lead you into the kitchen where the drinks were.

A large variety of beers, hard liquor, seltzers, and jungle juice greeted you inside, but you headed straight for the jungle juice.

“Ooh it’s blue tonight!” Olivia noticed, “I bet it’s gonna be super sour.”

You poured yourself a glass before taking a sip to try it. It tasted like blue raspberry, and the alcohol level made you gag in surprise at first, but on the second try you found that you liked it a lot.

“It’s good! Wait should we all do a shot together too?” You locked eyes with your friends, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“Fuck yes,” Olivia cheered.

“I’m in!” Jade added and you poured out 3 shots.

Grabbing your shot glass, you raised it up, along with the other girls.

“Cheers!” You clinked them together, then tapped it down onto the table once before throwing it back.

“Okay, can we find the hot guys now?” Olivia joked and you nodded in agreement, reaching to pick up your drink.

Your hand slipped as you grabbed the plastic glass however, and it fell off the counter, spilling it’s contents all over the floor.

“Shit!” You cursed, looking around for some paper towels.

Your friends grabbed a roll off the fridge and handed it to you.

“Ugh I’m sorry!” You apologized as you got onto your hands and knees to clean up the mess. “Hey, you guys should scope out the people in the next room.”

“Ooh that’s a good idea! Let’s go Liv!” Jade grabbed Olivia by the arm and pulled her out of the kitchen, leaving you alone to mop up the sticky drink with paper towels.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Rafe’s easily recognizable drawl made goosebumps erupt across your skin, and you froze in place. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

All of the sounds of the party seemed to zone out as you quickly stood up, turning to face him.

When you looked up at the man who now towered far above you, you could tell that he had changed in the year since you last saw him.

Rafe had never been a skinny guy, especially when he had played football throughout high school, but now he seemed more ripped than you had ever seen him. Clearly he had been using a lot of his time away from school to build up his physique.

You also noticed that he seemed to have grown into his face more, looking more lean and handsome than he did in high school.

The smirk that was plastered on his face was all too familiar to you though. It was the look he always had when he was playing games with you.

“Hi, Rafe,” you nervously answered. “I could say the same.”

He paused, his gaze flitting down before slowly working its way up your body. His blue eyes narrowed as they met yours and you repressed a full body shiver.

“It’s my house,” he took a step closer to you and you instinctively took one back. He chuckled at that. “That’s why I’m so surprised to see you, ‘specifically looking so dolled up.”

His words surprised you and you mentally kicked yourself for not pressing the girls for more details about whose party you were going to.

Honestly you were just surprised and a little hurt that Olivia and Jade would choose to bring you here knowing your history with Rafe.

“I- I had no clue this was your house,” you stammered, taking another step back to create more space between you and the taller man.

Despite the muffled sounds of the party around you, and the knowledge that your friends were just down the hall, you felt so incredibly alone in the now all too cramped kitchen.

“How’s Duke been treating you?” His face was even, but his nasally tone betrayed a hint of disdain.

“It’s been…” you paused, unsure what the best thing to say would be. “It’s been really good. My first year was easier than I expected, but still interesting.”

He was silent, just studying your face for a moment. Rafe’s nose twitched before he let out a flat, “that’s good.”

Already feeling a heightened anxiety from being around him, and feeling distrustful about his questions, you were ready to exit this conversation.

With your drink clutched in your hand, you made a weak excuse about needing to catch up with Olivia and Jade before trying to walk around him.

You were shocked however when he suddenly moved as you walked by, his fingers wrapping around your arm just above your elbow and stopping you in your tracks.

“What are you doing? Let go of me,” You demanded, looking up at him in confusion and trying to tug your arm out of his grasp.

He moved in front of you, blocking your exit path with his grip still firm on your arm.

“C’mon, wait a second, I- I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I know I was really an asshole to you when we were younger, but that was so long ago, y’know? Could you just let me apologize to you?”

His words came out somewhat stammered, but still confident, and due to the forced proximity you could probably deduce why.

Rafe’s pupils were blown wide, his free hand gesturing in a jittery manner that could only point to one conclusion.

He was high as fuck.

“Please just- let go of me!” You begged with him again.

His eyes darkened, jaw tightening in annoyance as he looked down his nose at you. Rafe huffed, his lips parting to say something else but he was interrupted.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on here?”

You had never felt happier to hear Olivia’s voice. Glancing over Rafe’s shoulder, you could see her and Jade standing in the doorway glaring at Rafe.

Rafe immediately released you and you quickly rushed over to your friends.

“We were just catching up,” Rafe spoke with a casual ease as he turned to face you, like he hadn’t just corned you all alone at his party. It reminded you of all of the times you had tried to report him to teachers, only for him to sweet talk his way out of punishment.

“See ya around, Y/N.”

You shot him a dirty look before rushing out of the kitchen with Olivia and Jade in tow.

“What was that??” Jade asked as soon as the three of you were in the crowded living room.

“Better question, did you guys know this was Rafe Cameron’s house?” You angrily asked them.

You were still feeling shaken by the interaction. Maybe you should have anticipated that he would at the very least be at this party, but you had never expected he would be the one hosting it.

Olivia’s face dropped and she anxiously apologized, “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I honestly figured we wouldn’t run into him since there’s always just so many people here.”

“It’s okay,” you sighed. “He’s just being his normal, weird and creepy self. We probably won’t even see him again the rest of the night.”

You took a large swig of your drink to calm your nerves.

What this night needed was a distraction from Rafe Cameron, and you, Jade, and Olivia were still determined to have a good time tonight.

The three of you walked through the large house, coming across many familiar faces from high school.

Even while catching up with old friends though, you felt incredibly uneasy.

The feeling that there was a pair of eyes trained on you was burning at the back of your neck, and you weren’t surprised when you peeked behind yourself at one point to spot Rafe standing about 10 feet away among a group of guys.

Even when you met his gaze, his eyes didn’t flick away, and you shivered as he took a long drink from his solo cup, eyes never leaving yours.

Turning away from him and tuning your attention back into your friends, you couldn’t help but question yourself.

Were you crazy or was he looking at you differently?

The only times that he had even shown any interest in talking with you was before he was about to publicly humiliate you in some horrible way, but this time felt different.

There was something more behind his eyes that you couldn’t identify that raised alarms in your head.

No matter where you, Jade, and Olivia went, it seemed like Rafe wasn’t far behind. Despite joining the different groups nestled just out of view, you would catch a glimpse of him that would spike your pulse.

Your paranoia didn’t want you to get another drink. You felt almost unreasonably nervous about what might happen if Rafe trapped you alone, but you felt reassured by Jade and Olivia’s presence, emboldening you to serve yourself one more cup of the jungle juice.

That confidence quickly fizzled however, when halfway through finishing your drink, Jade found a cute guy to hook up with and split off from you and Olivia.

Olivia was quick to leave as well, despite your pleas that she stay with you, “there’s plenty of people you know here, Y/N! Just lighten up a bit, you’ll be fine!”

With neither of your friends beside you, you suddenly felt very alone and you looked around the room, hoping to find any high school acquaintances you could catch up with to avoid the awkward nervousness you felt right now.

Unluckily, you didn’t recognize anyone, so you threw back the rest of your drink and started making the rounds.

Downstairs yielded no results, so you made your way upstairs, hoping to find either Olivia and Jade or other friends to talk to.

You checked several rooms only to be unsuccessful in finding anyone that you knew.

Jade and Olivia hadn’t been responding to your texts and you were starting to get annoyed.

Upon finding another empty bedroom, you frustratedly sat down, pulling your phone out of your pocket to call one of them.

The sound of the door closing caught your attention, and you raised your head to see Rafe Cameron standing in front of the now closed bedroom door.

“Rafe?” Confusion tinged your shaky voice as you sat up, staring at him in the dimly lit room.

He got closer to the bed, never taking his eyes off of you. “D’you have any clue how crazy you drove me all through high school?”

A pit began to form in your stomach at his words and your throat felt tight as you looked up at the imposing blond.

His hair was disheveled, words slurring together as his angry blue eyes cut through you.

“What the hell are you talking about? If I remember correctly, you were the one torturing me!” You snipped back at him.

“You have no idea-” he sniffed, rubbing a shaky finger under his nose. “You think you’re so much better than me, hm?”

Rafe took another step closer and you shrunk in on yourself nervously, eyes darting to the door behind his looming figure. He seemed much more drunk and high now, a fact that made you even more uncomfortable.

“I- I don’t think that Rafe,” you stammered. “I never said that-”

“You didn’t have to, Y/N,” he bitterly sneered. “Y’moved out of Outer Banks for a year and now you think that makes you feel so high and mighty around the rest of us.”

“Rafe-”

“What makes you so special, hm?” He spat out, moving closer, now inches away from where you sat on the bed.

Your body was buzzing with anxious energy, but you felt frozen to the spot, completely caught off guard by this outburst from Rafe. There was nothing you could do to get yourself to move.

You had encountered Rafe when he had been drunk or high several times before, he was no stranger to coming to high school intoxicated. But you had never been trapped alone with him and completely at his mercy before and you couldn’t push down the nagging feeling that something awful was about to happen if you didn’t leave the room.

“You’re just Pogue trash, and let’s be real, it won’t be long till you fail out of college and you’re walking the streets of Outer Banks like the slut you are,” he growled and your cheeks heated up in anger.

You brought one arm up to push him back from you, but he snatched your wrist, fingers tightening around you painfully.

You let out a cry when he twisted your arm behind your back and he chuckled at the tears kissing your waterline.

“Still just the same uptight bitch you’ve always been, huh?” His eyes flitted down to your lips for a moment. He was so close you could clearly smell the alcohol on his hot breath.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you whispered, voice shaking with fear. Sure, Rafe had been a nightmare before, but you never even imagined he would take it this far.

The taller man let out a short chuckle that sent a chill up your spine.

“Or what?” He smirked down at you, clearly enjoying your dismay at the situation he had forced you into. “Gonna tattle to a teacher?”

Your chest and throat felt tight, panic beginning to build inside you as you tried to deny what you were sure couldn’t be true.

“This isn’t fucking funny, Rafe.” You weakly tried, desperately hoping that this was just another one of his twisted pranks that he was taking too far to watch you squirm.

“You still think this is a joke, sweetheart?” He sneered, Figure Eight cockiness dripping from his nasally voice.

Time seemed to slow as Rafe leaned down, his lips covering yours as he released your wrist and locked his arm around the small of your back.

For a moment you were too shocked to react, but you quickly reached one arm up to push at his chest. Instead of pushing him away from you however, your force made you fall back against the bed, bringing him down with you.

He shamelessly grabbed at your waist, before trailing up, hands reaching past the neckline of your dress and traveling up to grope your tits as his lips found yours again.

You could barely process what was happening, your head still spinning from the alcohol. Rafe’s lips moved against yours, trailing across your cheek when your turned your head away from him to gasp for air.

One of his hands roughly grabbed your chin, pulling your jaw back towards him, and your stomach flipped at the feeling of him pushing his tongue into your mouth and groaning into the kiss.

When he shifted on top of you, grabbing your legs and spreading them apart, you struggled against him. Squirming on the bed, you managed to crawl away from him a bit, but his large hands grabbed your legs, pulling you back underneath him.

You froze when his fingers wrapped around your throat and you looked up at him with wide, nervous eyes.

“Stop fucking moving,” he huffed, forcing his free hand between your legs. He roughly pushed your dress up, pausing when he drank in your pink, lacy panties underneath.

Rafe licked his lips, a cruel smirk spreading across his face, “guess you’re not so innocent anymore, huh?”

Tears filled your eyes as you squirmed beneath him and the hand at your throat pressed down harder, pinning you in place.

His fingers ghosted over your core and you tilted your hips away from him, squeezing your thighs shut against his wandering hand.

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, his blue eyes darkening as he scowled down at you.

“Y’know, I was almost gonna be nice to you…” His scowl disappeared as he trailed off, his pink lips curving into a sick grin. “But if you want to make this difficult, I can make it difficult too.”

You watched with fearful eyes as he reared one hand back, unable to flinch away due to his iron grip on your throat.

The cacophony of the party muffled your cry of pain when he slapped you hard. His golden rings made your cheek sting even more and you could stop your tears from spilling over.

Your ears were still ringing when you felt his hand leave your throat, but you were too dazed from the slap to react. Rafe’s impatient fingers dug into the skin of your thighs as he pulled your panties down your legs.

Time slowed as you could hear your heart thundering in your chest and you leaned up on your elbows to watch Rafe push his shorts down before palming his already hard cock. He was bigger than the guy you lost your virginity to, and much thicker.

Tongue thick and heavy in your mouth, you tried to tell him to stop, but the blood was rushing in your ears so loudly you couldn’t hear your own voice.

Rafe heard you though, and you watched him roll his eyes before ignoring your pleas.

He shifted on top of you, roughly parting your legs before placing himself between them. The blond wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, guiding it to your core and you struggled beneath him when he dragged the tip along your already slick lips.

“Fuck-” his low groan made your stomach flip. You reached up one hand to weakly push at his shoulders, but he swatted you away.

There was nothing you could do but watch as he planted one hand on the mattress to brace himself before pushing the tip of his cock between your folds and forcing himself inside your tight cunt.

“Rafe-” Your protest was cut off when his hand slapped over your mouth. Hot tears fell past your lashes as Rafe slowly stretched you out inch by inch.

His piercing eyes never left yours, watching your face with a sick delight as he violated you.

You shifted uncomfortably beneath him as he split you open, and you winced when he grabbed your arm, fingers digging in to your tender flesh.

You whimpered when his tip grazed your cervix. The blond tilted his hips back before pushing himself deep into you again.

Rafe let out a shaky breath, his cock twitching as you squeezed around him.

“Shit, if I knew you felt this good, I would’ve tried you out years ago,” he chuckled darkly, words slurring together.

His hand was removed from your mouth only to be replaced by his lips. You shuddered when he forced his tongue into your mouth, and you could taste the liquor on his lips.

Rafe pulled away from the kiss as he slowly began rocking his hips back and forth, stretching you out around his thick cock again and again.

Your hands came to his shoulders, nails digging in to his tanned skin as you tried to slow his pace.

Unfortunately, your attempts only amused Rafe, who sneered down at you cruelly before picking up his pace, forcing himself deep into your snug walls.

Intoxication clouded your mind, and the room seemed to be spinning even faster now.

“Fuck-” you moaned when he hit a spot that made you see stars. “Mm please-”

You were momentarily broken from the spell however when one of Rafe’s strong hands wrapped around your throat, stealing your breath.

When you tensed in fear, involuntarily squeezing around his cock, Rafe groaned, watching your misty, fearful eyes roll back in your head with each thrust.

“You look so pretty right now, Y/N. All teary eyed and cock drunk,” the blond whispered.

You wanted so badly to be able to escape, to avoid the wicked things he was doing to you, but you were so painfully aware, as every sensation was heightened by your terror.

Hips still snapping against yours, Rafe leaned down, his hungry lips finding yours. With his hand at your throat, you couldn’t turn away, and you clenched around him when he pushed his tongue into your mouth. His lips slid over yours greedily, refusing to stop until you clutched at the hand at your throat.

You took a gasping breath when he finally pulled away, your tears falling more freely now, and Rafe kissed your cheeks, licking up your salty tears.

“Perfect little Y/N is such a mess, huh?” He mocked you, mumbling against your skin before sloppily kissing you again.

You couldn’t deny the overwhelming feeling building between your legs, no matter how much it disgusted you. Shame clutched you when you felt yourself growing slicker with his every thrust.

“Don’t-” you whimpered when he hit a sensitive spot. “Stop-!”

Your assailant snickered at that, relishing your pitiful protests, “do you even know what you want right now? Y’think you’re so smart, till you take some cock and you turn into a stupid slut.”

His degrading words cut deep and your cheeks flushed in humiliation, tears spilling past your lashes.

Rafe’s pace was downright punishing, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass along with the lewd sounds of your wetness filled the room, punctuated by your whimpers and the coerced moans he drew out of you.

Hatred and resentment burned behind his blue eyes as he watched you squirm beneath him, only taking his eyes off of your face to watch his cock push in and out of your tight cunt.

Drawing even closer to the edge, you could feel the dam inside of you ready to burst, and Rafe could too; you were practically pulsing around him now.

“Yeah, that’s it sweetheart.” His low, nasally voice made your stomach flip, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to resist the inevitable. “Just do the one thing stupid sluts like you are good for and make a mess all over my cock.”

With another thrust, the dam burst, and you whined as your orgasm cut through you.

Rafe fucked you through it, cursing when he felt you squeezing around him like a vice. His grip on your throat tightened as his pace reached a crescendo.

“Fuck-” he growled, his hips stuttering before he pushed deep into you one more time, painting your walls with his sticky cum.

You squirmed beneath him, trying to push him off of you, but he easily grabbed your wrists, pining them down as he stayed buried inside you. You felt nauseous when his cock pulsed as you struggled, the reminder that he was still getting off on your distress was sickening.

His lips draped over yours again and you whimpered into the kiss, body still shaking as you tried to wrap your head around what had just happened.

By the time he broke the kiss, your head was spinning, and you somehow felt more drunk than when you had first entered the room.

When Rafe finally pulled out of you, you shuddered because you could feel his cum slowly leaking out of you.

Instead of getting off the bed like you expected, the blond shifted on top of you, lowering himself to get a better view of your sore pussy.

“Shit, Y/N, hope you’re on a good birth control,” he chuckled wickedly, and you squirmed when he used two fingers to push his cum deep inside of your sensitive cunt. “Cause there’s no way in hell I’m paying child support for some Pogue brat.”

Your cheeks burned in anger and shame, fear and disgust sparking in your gut at his words.

Rafe pulled his fingers out and climbed off the bed, quickly pulling his clothes back on before seemingly looking around for something as you slowly sat up.

He found what he was looking for, picking up your pink panties from the ground before locking eyes with you and then stuffing them into his pocket.

You shivered as he triumphantly smirked down at you, “I’m gonna.. get back to the party... You should clean yourself up, you look pathetic right now.”

Embarrassed, you looked down at the bed, not wanting to meet his eyes as he further humiliated you.

“And uh, don’t let me catch you alone again, Y/N,” Rafe sneered, laughing as he closed the door behind him.

[temis-de-leon]

He has a nightmare where he rejected you

Characters: Lucifer and Mammon (x gn!reader, separately)

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Main Masterlist

CW: very OOC since they'd never reject you to begin with, but hey, that's why it's a nightmare

A/N: the rest of the brothers, as well as the dateables, will have their own part too, but I'm writing the requests and the fics for the 500 followers event at the same time, so everything will take some time <3

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Lucifer – You weren’t his first choice

Under the fear and the mistrust, you showed a clear interest in him since the beginning.

He couldn’t blame you; he was handsome, after all, and he knew his attitude was attractive to most.

And while he found you beautiful as well, you meddled too much in his family’s business and your defiance to him only felt irritable.

You were a nuisance. A threat to his Lord’s wishes.

He made sure to keep you at arms’ length except the few times he felt the need to threaten you.

Surprisingly, the more you forced him to know you, the more he couldn’t say no.

Your shared time turned enjoyable and you soon started to hang out in his office late at night or, if you were an early riser like him, in the morning during breakfast.

He should’ve expected your romantic feelings towards him, something he saw before you had the chance to tell him. The way you looked at him or blushed when he paid you attention, how you searched for his presence more and more.

He rejected you before you could even talk to him about it.

It was brutal, in a way, cold and straight to the point. He didn’t bother to pour his heart into his apology.

He had his duties to Lord Diavolo, to his family and the kingdom.

The attraction he felt for you, the love that could’ve been, wasn’t enough for him to stay.

There were two types of pain in his chest when he woke up: the pressure in his sternum caused by the sharp edge of the desk and the sting in his heart from the hurt in your eyes.

He didn’t do that, did he?

He accepted you, he accepted your love with open arms, gave his in return. Lucifer could remember the smile in your first kiss just as much as the sincerity in your voice each time you reminded him the depth of your feelings. He always opened his ribcage like you would with a book to show his reciprocation.

Staring at his paperwork in horror, the pool of saliva slowly drying under his distress, Lucifer searched for memories that could prove the existence of your relationship. Your weight on his lap, your scent in his clothes, the last message you sent him, the last time he treated you on a date.

When was that?

How many days ago?

Weeks? Months??

His fingers trembled when he pushed his hair back and he knew the sting in his eyes wasn’t due to fatigue. Now gasping, eyes wide open in panic, he got up and paced around the room, the false reality of his dreams thankfully fading away and letting him see himself pouring two drinks while you stared at him in adoration, setting you on top of the table to kiss you carelessly or letting you drag him out of the office for a good night sleep.

 “Dear Diavolo” he mustered to himself, taking his coat off and letting it fall to the ground before breathing deeply. “How stupid… Stupid…”

Although not entirely, the embarrassment of suffering such despair for a nightmare washed the panic away, making him thank everything that would listen that none of his brothers were there to witness his fear and desperation.

It was the last thing he needed.

However, still hating the oneiric sight of your heartbreak, Lucifer refused to stay in the office. Reading official documents and signing them with his beautifully practised handwriting seemed like proper torture now and he knew that going back to his work would only give him more suffering dreams.

Would you hug him for the rest of the night if he asked or would you rather have the roles reversed, as it usually was? Oh, what he would do to feel your fingers through his hair and your heartbeat under his cheek. He’d stay awake forever if that meant never letting you go the way he did in his dream.

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Mammon – He wouldn’t admit the truth

He thought so lowly of you during your first week in the Devildom that once he caught feelings, admitting them was simply mortifying.

The second born, Avatar of Greed, falling in love with a human? It was embarrassing at best and pathetic at worst.

Yet, he followed you every step of the way. Going to classes, to the cafeteria, back to the house once the day was over...

As days went by, he even spent more time in your room than his; watching a movie, taking a nap, studying or just hanging out.

And when he wanted to do something else? Something more… illegal and underground?

Oh, you followed. You followed him just as blindly as he followed you.

It was painful, yet wonderful.

How full his chest felt whenever you smiled or even looked at him, the complicity in your conversations, the comfortable silence you shared.

The quiet sobs that closed his throat each time he insulted you because he accidentally showed too much of himself, the horrifying emptiness of his room that engulfed him when you finally had enough and wouldn’t let him visit you out of the blue anymore.

Your feelings for him were as clear as the ones he had for you, but none of them were spoken about.

Yours came and went, first hopeful and then neglected.

His stayed.

He still followed, you just didn’t look back anymore.

He woke up crying, body hyperventilating and sweating and mind still in the horror that his dream had created.

He recognized the sheets as the ones from his bed, but everything else looked blurry and too dark to pay attention to. However, Mammon could feel the spot next to him still warm and the silhouette of your figure was visible on the mattress. A quick glance at the door and the lights of the bathroom shining through helped set his heart in a steady pace.

You were there with him, unavailable for just a couple of minutes, but soon to return to the comfort of his arms. Your clothes were mixed with his on the sofa, he was charging his DDD with your charger because his was in your room.

Even if it was hard to say out loud, Mammon loved you too much to ever let you go, as did you.

There was no possibility of that nightmare ever being real.

“Did I wake you up?”

There you stood, above him, hair completely dishevelled, eyes half closed, either from grogginess or the temporary blindness from light exposure, and hands reaching out for him. Your fingers intertwined with his as soon as they found each other and your lips slowly came down to clumsily kiss the corner of his mouth.

“What was that?” he softly laughed, quickly forgetting about the nightmare.

“Shut up, I can’t even see you”

He could only observe in tenderness and relief as you climbed over him, ignoring your side of the bed in favour of his entire torso, but, just when you were settling in, you licked your lips and stared at him, even if you weren’t entirely able to see.

“Baby, are you crying?”

“No, I’m not” he immediately answered in a defensive stance, blushing in embarrassment.

How could you know being blind as a mole?? Did you taste his tears when you kissed him?

“Mammon”

You tried to look serious, but the exhaustion betrayed you, turning your glare into a pout. He could’ve laughed at you, and he would’ve in any other situation, but the feeling of being too late to freely love you still crushed his heart and the only thing he wanted to do was to keep you close and hope you were still there by morning.

“I’m not crying” he insisted, this time in a softer tone.

That seemed to reach whatever was left of your consciousness, so you finally let your head fall on top of his chest to continue your slumber, talking one last time only to say what he needed to hear the most.

“I love you, Mams”

“I love you too” he sighed.

He’d tell you again once you were awake. And once more after that, just to make sure.

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