#I CANNOT WAIT TO MEET THE LAST SISTER

[dentedaluminum]

Okay idk about all y’all, but I was getting pretty antsy about Fujimoto possibly losing the plot this arc. But of course, now that the entire string of dominoes has been set up, they’re starting to fall and I for one could NOT be more ecstatic

I also predict we’re about to feel some real heartache here pretty soon…

#csm #csm spoilers #chainsaw man #csm 146 #csm chapter 146 #GUYS GUYS GUYS AAAAHHHHHHHHHH #I CANNOT WAIT TO MEET THE LAST SISTER #AHHHHHHHHH

[propertyofwicked]

speed demon - LN

warnings: speeding + dangerous driving, references to sex

short fluff :) fewtrell!reader -> can be read as a stand alone or an extra to the secrets series!

my take on a BTS of the quadrant athletes video with willne and bambinobecky :) p.s hey caitlin i know ur reading this

lando’s girlfriend was a concerning driver. growing up in the english country side, especially with her racing-mad brother max, she became very accustomed to driving at insane speeds down backroads, learning where the swerve potholes and where all the cameras were. honestly, put her in an f1 car with a good song and watch max verstappen crumble.

her brother and his friend could speed around race tracks, y/n preferred real roads.

the only flaw in her driving ability arose when lando, who notoriously hates being a passenger, sat to her left, gripping any hard surface he could as his girlfriend threw her car around a corner.

“y/n, angel, you know i love you - but why do you drive like you had somewhere to be 10 minutes ago?”

“this is a good song,” she answered with a shrug, which only confused him further, yet she slowed down, glancing at the man besides her, “it’s got a good bassline. you literally drive at like 200 miles an hour and yet you’re getting stressed about me going 80 on an empty road?”

“the difference between you and me is that i wear a helmet when i drive that fast.”

“no one is stopping you from putting a helmet on in my car, lan.”

“erm, i think the national speed sign meaning 60mph should be enough that i shouldn’t need to wear a helmet in your car y/n.”

“god you’re so dramatic, lando - has anyone ever told you that?”

“yes. you. the last time i complained about your driving, you little speed demon,” he said, finally laughing quietly at the situation.

in fact, they were late. they were supposed to be at a quadrant shoot in 10 minutes, but still needed to pick up will and becky from the station near to the warehouse they were filming in. when they finally reached the station, lando jumped out of the car to meet them, leaving y/n to sit in silence, queuing a few songs for the short journey to the shooting location.

“y’alright y/n?” will asked, climibing into the back seat of her car, becky climbing in from the other side.

“i’m good, thank you will. how are you?”

“im good, however i’ll let you know how i feel after ive experienced your driving,” he joked, earning a guilty chuckle from lando who was buckling himself back into the passenger seat. her hand rose, slapping his arm lightly.

“hey! my driving is not that bad.”

“let them find that out for themselves, angel,” he responded, dramatically rubbing his arm, feigning pain. she ignored him, shoving the car into gear before jamming her foot onto the accelerator, the loud engine loud enough to wake the dead.

when they did arrive at the shoot, will had gone silent, his face paler than usual. becky was still smiling and chatting, but her face conveyed the same level of fear as wills. the group of them walked into the warehouse, where max was already waiting.

y/n walked up to max, taking him in a small embrace before stepping back to let him greet the rest of the group.

“will? you good man? you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” max said, taking a step back to look at the man a second time.

“yeah, yeah, im good,” he responded, smiling sheepishly. y/n absentmindedly played with her car keys, the jingling of her key rings raising max’s attention.

“lando let you drive? jesus, no wonder will looks like he needs a fresh pair of trousers,” max laughed, doubling over.

“why does everyone think im such a bad driver? i have not crashed once. never. not a single crash. the same cannot be said for you or lando, max,” she exclaimed, beginning to feel offended at the accusations.

“in all fairness, lando warned me. i thought he was joking when he said she loved the accelerator more than she loves him,” will replied, the colour coming back to his face as he smiled. max shook his head at his sister again, before directing will and becky round to the sofas, running them through the plans for the day.

y/n felt a warm pair of arms snake around her body from behind, lando’s head coming to rest on her shoulder. he turned his head to look at her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

“im not actually a bad driver, am i?” she mumbled to him.

“no angel, people are just jealous of your sheer ability to drive at dangerous speeds and do it safely,” he responded, he meant to be sincere but y/n could feel the sarcastic undertones.

she shook her head at him, pulling away from his embrace, but his hand reached out, latching onto hers, before pulling her back into him. this time her chest melted into his, her head tilting to glance up at him.

“i hate this scarf,” she announced, but stretched her neck up to presses soft kisses along his jaw.

“ouch. why? i like it.”

“’cos it covers your neck. i love your neck,” she said, smiling up at him again.

“i know you do angel. your love for my neck is the reason i have to wear a scarf for the shoot today,” he said, laughing, his hands moving from her back to push loose strands of her behind her ears. a blush rose up her cheeks at the memory of the night before, as her fingers moved to pull the scarf down slightly looking at the bruises beginning to darken on his skin.

she hadn't meant to, but she had found herself on top of him last night, legs straddling him as his pushed up into her. with max only a room over, she needed to find an outlet for the noises she wanted to make and his neck fell victim.

“whoopsies. but im sure the lando girlies would love to see you with hickies.”

“i’m sure they would,” he said, grinning at her still and nodding slightly, “im sure your brother would love it to,” he added sarcastically, glancing over to the man in question who was now handing becky a script.

she tutted in response, pulling his scarf back up to covering his neck. lando’s head tilted down to look at her again, using his hands on her jaw to pull her face up closer to his. his lips pressed soft kisses to her forehead and cheeks before finally planting a soft but quick peck to her lips.

“lando did you want to stop getting it on with my sister and come and do your job?” max bellowed from across the room, pulling the two apart.

lando decided he should probably drive the two of them home that day, and let max take the others back to the station, but the moment the car moved off from where it was parked, he stalled the engine.

"formula 1 driver but can't drive a manual without stalling it. that's embarrassing - now who can't drive?" she joked, laughing at him as he restarted the ignition.

"still you," he replied bluntly, his foot slamming down on the accelerator sending the car flying across the car park.

"please don't destroy my car," she begged quietly at the sound of her engine about to take off, "a man i quite like bought it for me and id hate to make him angry when he has to buy me new tyres."

"ill just buy you another car," he joked as he returned to the speed limit of the road ahead, his hand moving from the gear stick to rest on her thigh, grabbing lightly at it.

"you're not a bad driver, you know that, don't you angel?" he said after a few minutes of silence. he'd admit that she wasn't the best driver, but she was still skilled even if slightly reckless.

"i know," she said, her voice still heavy with the annoyance from everyone's teasing.

"you would be great at karting, you know?"

"stop it - i spent my entire childhood trying to avoid karting please do not bring it into my adulthood," she begged, albeit jokingly.

"why did you avoid it? im sure max would've loved to race with you," lando asked, glancing to his side to look at her face, her head leaning on the door panel.

"it was max's thing, i guess. i didn't want to do what he did. i wanted to be my own person. i still do," she said with a shrug. lando's hand moved from her thigh to grab hers, pulling it up to his face to press a kiss to the back of it.

"i'm glad you're unapologetically you. i don't think i could cope with two max's in my life. or two of you for that matter."

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #propertyofwicked #maxfewtrell #fewtrell!sister

[lewisvinga]

too late! | liam lawson x fem! leclerc! reader

summary; when due to playing tennis and being a leclerc sister, y/n doesn’t often interact with other drivers. so while traveling, she meets liam lawson and ultimately falls in love with him. having overprotective brothers means having to stick to a soft launch before revealing her relationship

fc; various girls on pinterest

warnings; none (?)

taglist; @namgification

notes; requested ! haha but i actually don’t write for liam lol but i rlly liked this request:p n i don’t really know much abt tennis so bear w me lol

masterlist !

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and others!

yourusername: this week🌷💓

username: oh mystery man🤔

username: last slide??👀

alexandrasaintmleux: waiting for you to invite me to play tennis😣

yourusername: omg i’ll be in monaco soon!! let’s link up, i miss you😣😣

nicorosberg: make sure you keep that form up😉

yourusername: oh, nico, it was one time !!!

username: y/n gets a break from the wta tour and decides to soft launch😭😭😭

charles_leclerc: y/n??

yourusername: hiiiii charlie☺️☺️☺️

username: pretty girls stan y/n

username: 😍

username: who that

leclerc_pascale: toujours jolie, ma fille 😍 dis-lui que je te dis bonjour ! [always pretty, my daughter! tell him i say hello!]

yourusername: merci, mamannn💗 he says bonjour back😁

arthur_leclerc: maman, you know?

charles_leclerc: tell us, maman, please!

yourusername: go focus on ur vroom vroom go away

liked by arthur_leclerc, lilymhe, and others

yourusername: 💗

username: the alpha tauri shirt???

username: the leclercs really have the best genes wow

lilymhe: double date soon ?😁

yourusername: oh duh

username: wonder if the leclerc brothers know

arthur_leclerc: y/n, answer the gc now

yourusername: no😝

lorenzotl: do we need to have a family meeting ?

charles_leclerc: yes.

yourusername: no we don’t, you drama queens!

username: the leclerc brothers are so😭😭

nicorosberg: i would’ve liked to see how you played with him around 😂

yourusername: he distracts me 😞

charles_leclerc: nico knows but your own brother doesn’t???

yourusername: bc ur a drama queen

[caption 1; 🤍] [caption 2; serenading me 🥴]

liamlawson30 replied to your story !

liamlawson30

your brothers are gonna come after me😩

yourusername

they’re such drama queens

maman is happy 4 me , and my sexy bf is serenading me and that’s all that matters 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️

liamlawson30

sexy you say say😏

yourusername

not w that emoji …

charles_leclerc replied to your story!

charles_leclerc

y/n, what is this

hello?

answer

answer

Y/N???

arthur_leclerc replied to your story!

arthur_leclerc

wtf

hes a driver

y/n what the heck

lorenzotl replied to your story!

lorenzotl

yeah we’re gonna have to have a talk😬

alexandrasaintmleux replied to your story!

alexandrasaintmleux

keep me updated on how charles acts😭

yourusername

going crazy already🙄

liked by liamlawson30, charles_leclerc, and others

yourusername: 💗

tagged; liamlawson30

liamlawson30: love you💙

yourusername: love youuu

liamlawsom30: can we get back to ur sexy bf comment tho 🤔

yourusername: yes we can😁

charles_leclerc: no you cannot. 5 feet away from her. she can’t kiss anyone until her wedding day.

yourusername: 🤦‍♀️

username: CHARLES COMMENT??

username: LMFAO CHARLES

username: they’re so🥹🥹

alexandrasaintmleux: cuties🤍

yourusername: no u😩

charles_leclerc: wait, alex, did you know??

yourusername: LEAVE CHARLES ITS TOO LATE FOR YOU TO BE A DRAMA QUEEN

arthur_leclerc: LET THE MAN SPEAK

arthur_leclerc: ew

yourusername: ur ew.

username: i can’t get over charles and arthur’s comments😭

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #formula one social media au #liam lawson x reader #liam lawson smau

[everythingne]

all american bitch -- ls2

After a successful concert in Miami, your twin sister is caught having a little moment with her boyfriend outside a club. Most people jump to conclusions, but you have a way to shut everyone up (and give half of the F1 community a heart attack in the process)

logan sargeant x singer!reader

warnings/notes: cheating allegations, cursing, so many sexual innuendos, sexual lyrics, terribly written lyrics should count as a warning... also I wrote this to celebrate logan 2024 <3

fc: gracie abrams

-

04 MAY, INSTAGRAM

urusername made a new post!

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, sistersacc, and 450k others

urusername: miami!! u were ELECTRIC!! a great finish to the first leg of the tour. oh and thank u to both @ logansargeant and @ sistersacc for joining me in miami tn ahead of the gp <3

tagged: sistersacc, logansargeant, williamsracing

lilymhe: LAST PIC??

urusername: people keep sending logan text posts to me and its amazing

user1: girl explain what u were doing last night

user2: patiently waiting on her downfall fr

user3: MOTHER IS MOTHERING!!!

logansargeant: I LOVE YOU BITCH ASS

urusername: I LOVE YOU TOO FUCK HEAD !!! 💙💙

williamsracing: y/n. ur electric.

urusername: im leaving logan for u williams admin

logansargeant: dude what the fuck :(

user4: so we're gonna act like no one saw her cheating?

sistersacc: AAAA SO MUCH FUN THANKS FOR LETTING ME MAKE U MAD <333

alexalbon: thank u again for inviting me and lily i cannot express the joy of finally meeting the woman logan never shuts up about

user7: not everyone jumping to conclusions jfc

logansargeant made a new post

logansargeant: thank u williams for the incredible season and for trusting this american guy and taking a chance on me. thank u @ urusername for being my rock. see u all next yr 💙

USER HAS LIMITED COMMENTS ON THIS POST.

urusername: so so so proud of u baby <3 u did incredible

logansargeant: thank u <3

alexalbon: see u in a few weeks

oscarpiastri: great job man u did amazing

--

EXTRATV made a new post!

liked by 456k others...

extratv: While rumors are spiraling of potential cheating allegations against Y/n L/n, she was spotted with Taylor Swift at a local park in Miami after day two of her residency in the Kaseya Center. Has the checkered flag waved for the American 'It Couple' of F1?

user1: bro its so over for us.

user2: NOOO Y/N SARGEANT PLS </3

user3: people see taylor and think its an immediate break up. taylor literally helped y/n start music bc their moms are besties idk what y'all are on.

user4: reputation era real

--

"Do you see this shit?" You turn to look at Logan behind you, who currently has his face smushed into what was previously your pillow as he attempts to recover sleep from his season of traveling just about everywhere. You would be in the same boat as him if you weren't being hounded over doing your skincare and such everyday for tour. Because of that hounding, you had to take off all the makeup you had put on for dinner as soon as you got home. The dinner was with all your family and friends to celebrate the end of a season and the end of the first leg of your tour.

"No?" Logan blinks open his eyes and you cross the room from your shared bathroom, he lifts the blanket so you can slide in next to him in the bed as the fleeting Florida sun nips warmth into your skin before his warmth envelops you in the comfortable blankets you have across the bed as the fan above rotates on high.

You flip your phone, showing him the pictures of your sister people were using to say you cheated on Logan.

"Oh be so serious." He groans into your side as he looks at the photos, arm draped lazily over you before he plucks the device out of your hands and drags you fully under the blankets with them.

"Don't worry," He murmurs, sleep in his voice, "It'll blow over if we just ignore it."

"Logan they're trying to cancel me on Twitter." You deadpan, rolling into his embrace and snuggling against him.

"Write a song about it like everyone thinks you're doing with Taylor, play it on tour or something.'' He mumbles into the skin of your neck before giving you a soft kiss.

You hate how enticing the idea is.

"You're gonna have to review the lyrics before I post it, because I might make it absolutely filthy." You warn and Logan's eyes widen as he perks up from where he's cuddled into your side.

"Oh please, please, do." His little shit eating grin makes you burst into laughter as you nod, pulling out your notebook from your bedside table and a pen as Logan adjusts so he can watch you scribble down ideas.

-

urusername made a new post!

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, lilymhe, and 215k others...

urusername: im so sorry to @ williamsracing in advance. my new single miami burn comes out tmrw 💙

lilymhe: get em girl.

logansargeant: i apologize in advance to my pr team

williamsracing: logan please.

oscarpiastri: some times i wonder about u two. and then i hear about you and it makes me wish i never asked.

logansargeant: wow love u too man

landonorris: no i heard the demo im with oscar on this

arthurleclerc: prayers to ur pr team !

williamsracing: well now im scared.

#f1 fanfic #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #logan sargeant x y/n #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant smau

[bailaconox]

i just have to be petty and stupid in the tags for a moment before i let this fester and become A Whole Thing inside of me

#personal #so my sister was upset she couldnt afford to see some1 at fanexpo #but today our friend bought them tickets to go and now she gets to meet Yet Another one of her favs #even tho my sister (and our friend tbh) are in MASSIVE credit card debt and cannot afford this trip!!!!! #flashback to when i felt like shit over my bad luck w my favs and she said i just didnt want it badly enough bc it would work out if i did(: #and when both her and my mom said me Not Going to Concerts Or Seeing My Favs In Any Capacity wasnt about bad luck and got mad at me for #saying that #LIKE ARE YOU CRAZY YES IT DOES?????????? VERY LITTLE OF THESE SITUATIONS ARE UNDER MY CONTROL I CANNOT MAKE THEM COME CLOSER #I CANNOT MAKE TICKETS CHEAPER I CANNOT MAKE TRAVEL BETWEEN CITIES OR COUNTRIES CHEAPER #IF THE STARS DO NOT ALIGN I CANNOT CHANGE THEM!!!!!! and they never align for me. #so once again i must watch my sister meet her favs while i have every last hope ripped away from me #ummmmmmmmmm maybe i should book a therapy appt for next week instead of waiting two weeks 😓

[azsazz]

Lavender Haze

Rhysand x Rhysand's Sister's Best Friend/Virgin!Reader

Summary: Having a crush on your best friends older brother isn't ideal. Especially when he has one back.

Warnings: Flirting, sexual taunting and begging.

Word Count: 3,065

Belongs to the timeline and predates Clandestine Love

_________________________________________

“Where’s Ara?” you ask your dinner mate as Einar places a steaming dish before you. The savory scents of the herbs he used on the fresh meat fill your senses, and your mouth waters at its deliciousness. Vegetables swim in a thick cream sauce that looks all too delectable, and the mound of cut potatoes doused in flavor has your jaw tingling. You simply cannot wait to dig in, only able to keep yourself from diving straight into your dinner as the family cook replenishes your half drank glass of sparkling fae wine. “Thank you, Einar.”

The chef dips his head in response then spins on his heel, quickly leaving the room. A bite of guilt pinches your stomach as you watch the green-skinned, normally bright-eyed fae stalk back to the kitchen to prepare dessert. It’s not like Rhysand is that much like his father. While his personality and aura tend to lean to the more arrogant side, it’s usually attributed to the fact that he is a young, confident male, eager to bask in all of the indulgences son of the High Lord is offered.

Said male sita across from you, pinning you to your seat with searing violet eyes. His spine is rigid and his fingers are curled tightly around his utensils as he watches your gaze follow the chef scurrying from the room.

He wants to fire him, no matter how delicious his food is.

Rhysand doesn’t have a right to feel this way. He doesn’t like the rage that coils his stomach, that lights his bones on fire when your soft eyes meet those of any other male in the court. Ever since you’d worked up the courage to kiss him all those months ago, it had ignited something inside of him even he couldn’t seem to make sense of. He shouldn’t be feeling this conflicted over his little sister's best friend of all people, but even he couldn’t ignore your otherworldly beauty, the musical laughter he always ached to hear, feel those gorgeous eyes roaming down his body while you thought his attention was elsewhere. 

The following months after that fateful night had been spent in the Illyrian camps, avoiding you. He’d tried occupying his mind with training or drinking with Azriel and Cassian until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to have your lips pressed against his own, your breasts pressed against his chest, and your scent burrowing so deeply into his soul he might never forget it. 

You couldn’t be drowned by any female nor male he fell into bed with since. Rhys, as sick as it might be to admit it, had resorted to imagingin his partners were you when he couldn’t seem to get off. Horrible, he knows, but you’ve planted that seed and his feelings are an overgrown slew of vines, constricting his inner being.

And now you’re here, across from him. And he’s here, alone with you. And Ara is not here like she should be and his mother isn’t here to form a buffer and his father is away doing Mother knows what and Cassian and Azriel aren’t here to tell him how horrible this idea is, or how if he’d only fuck you it would get these feelings out of his system, at least, the former of the two would say.

Rhysand is in a dangerous situation right now.

He forces his body to relax, slumping back in his seat with the vanity only the prince of Night can convey. Masking his face into something a little more open—a little more nice—he stalls, cutting into the meat on his own plate. Blood spurts as he takes his knife to it, and Rhysand has to force himself from imagining it to be a certain chef's blood instead. “Mother whisked her into the city for dinner.”

“So it’s only you and I?” you blush, stabbing a potato with your fork. It has been so long since you’d last seen Rhysand, and it seems the few months he’s been away have made him even more handsome than you remember, even if his skin looks a little paler from the blistering winters in the mountains and the drink he hasn’t let up on since.

“It seems so,” Rhys answers, chewing.

“And no one else,” you murmur, almost breathless as your heart begins to race in your chest at the thought of what you and him could be getting into all alone, if he hadn’t decided to run from you. 

Rhysand quirks a brow, looking down the table as if looking for someone else, and replies, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Asshole,” under your breath, and Rhys fails to bite back his smirk. Both of you fall silent as you eat, only the sounds of your hammering heart and utensils filling the void in the luxurious dining room. You’re not sure how the family doesn't feel lonely like this, eating at the table built for an army. You can’t even hear Einar shuffling about in the kitchen, no clanging of pans or low curses if he creates something his perfectionist self doesn’t deem a ‘creation of the Gods.’

You can’t help but to glance at Rhysand, drinking in the sight of him. His straight nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow as he places a spoonful of vegetables and cream sauce in his mouth. His thick lashes are dark, so dark it looks like he’s let Ara around him with some of her kohl again. They’re long as well, brushing the apples of his cheeks when he looks down at his plate, and you’re envious of them.

Too long you’ve gone without seeing him. The most dramatic male you’ve ever set your sights on, running from you after you’d finally worked up the courage after months of pining to kiss him. It was after Ara had fallen asleep and you found yourself on the balcony, gazing up at the stars, his company warm and welcoming.

It had been everything to you then, the confidence you felt, the rush of adrenaline as you caught him off guard, the feel of his lips against yours, soft still, even if they were wind-chapped from the long flight. He hadn’t reacted, you hadn’t given him the time to, yanking yourself back just as quickly as you leaned in and running off to Araphel’s room, your mind screaming at you that it had been a horrible idea.

But you couldn’t ignore the emotions spilled between the both of you, the times where his hand had brushed yours or his touch lingered too long when he’d muse your hair, stroking the shell of your ear. You couldn’t ignore the heated looks Rhys shot you every time you spoke to another male, nor the way he always found an excuse to interrupt you, guiding you away from them with a large hand on the small of your back.

And maybe it was your silly little heart for wanting him. For crushing on your best friend's older brother who exudes confidence and can have any female in the court he wants. Any female on the continent, even.

The silence is damning, though, and you wish you could be how you were the night you’d kissed him, sanguine and bright with the idea that this could be your true love's first kiss. Of course, the fleeting press of his lips was enough to solidify many things for you, but you’d been unsure about Rhysand’s feelings on the matter, and by the time you’d found the courage to talk to him about what had happened, he’d already fled back to the mountains.

You’d kissed plenty of males since then, dragging Ara for nights out at Rita’s because Rhysand and his friends always raved about it. A part of you thought that he might walk in and see you in another male's arms, tear you away like the warrior-prince he is, but sadly, it hadn’t happened. 

And you have to say that you’re more than a little confused. He’d been blatantly glaring at Einar while the chef served your food. Had he heard about the kiss you shared with the young chef when Donan hadn’t allowed Araphel permission to go out one night and you spent it with the staff the High Lord kept around the house? It was all for a silly drinking game, but the green-skinned fae’s cheeks had been bright pink after the both of you stumbled back from the pantry, lips bruised and eyes shining bright with liquor. Maybe he had overheard some of the handmaiden's gossipping about it after all these weeks? Or maybe, the darkness always knows.

Now, the both of you are here, alone, staring at each other over the delectable meals prepared by the chef you’ve tasted once before. It hadn’t been anything like the peck you’d shared with Rhysand. In that millisecond of the brushing of your lips your world had shifted, body set alight with shooting stars and setting free the wild butterflies in your stomach. 

He has that glint in his eyes, the same one he always gets when he’s watching you, the one that heats your very core. And as you chew the potatoes in your mouth, you muster that confidence into yourself once more.

You will it into the marrow of your bones, rolling your shoulders as you prepare yourself to get exactly what you want. If there is no one here to interrupt, then the stage is set.

“Whoops,” you feign, allowing a drip of cream sauce to slip off the end of your utensil on the way to your mouth. It lands on the bare skin between the plunging fabric of your dress, and you catch Rhysand tracking the movement as you reach for your napkin to dab at your skin. “Spilled a little.”

Rhysnad hums, “You should be more careful, darling. Wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty dress of yours, now would you?”

“No,” you agree, ever the dream of poised elegance. You pop a vegetable into your mouth, chewing for a moment, before continuing. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my dress at all. But, if it’s meant to be, I can always have another one made.”

In that moment, you know you’ve got him. The stars in his violet eyes wink out as darkness settles in, pinning you to your chair. His look sends a shiver up your spine and you know that he is no longer hungry for the food plated before him.

Rhysand flares his wings a little and bites back a curse. For too long he’s been living at the Illyrian camps. There’s no one here he has to compete with for your attention, no one he needs to show off his wingspan to, though, by the way that your half-lidded eyes trace across the membranous skin of them, perhaps he’ll flare them wide when you’re beneath him.

It’s a line that he hasn’t crossed with you yet, one that he promised himself that he wouldn’t. You’re his little sister’s best friend for Mother’s sake, not just another female simpering after him because of his familial ties. You’re…much more than that, and he shouldn’t be thinking about crawling across this fucking table and licking that cream off of your chest and burying his head between your breasts.

“Meant to be,” he echoes, and you hum, tilting your head back with the motion. The exposed skin of your neck calls to him, even more so when you swipe a finger, capturing the sauce and popping it into your mouth to suck on. Your cheeks hollow exaggeratedly, and his cock strains painfully in his pants. He growls your name, a tenor of darkness that curls through your body like the icey patches of snow on the way into the city.

“What was that Rhys?” you ask, batting your eyelashes now. The meal in front of you is long forgotten, your hunger for this male insatiable. The way Rhysand makes you feel, despite only sharing a whisper of a kiss, well, you think you could be mates someday. “Did you need something?”

“I need you to stop doing that before I come over there and make you stop myself.”

You moan a little, legs falling wide under the table. “I think I might like that, though.” 

Rhysand’s nostrils flare as he drinks in the scent of your arousal, thick between your thighs.

“You’re supposed to be a Lady, darling. Who taught you to speak like that?” he purrs, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. You know that he’s only doing it to try and dispel the tension leaking from his body. You can scent it in the air, the raw, heady smell of him that threatens to send you right to your knees.

“You,” you moan in response. You can feel him creeping into your mind, watching. Waiting.

“And you always listen to your superiors, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” you hiss, squirming in your seat as those black claws of his rake gently across your mind. Your fingers curl around the arms of your chair, your spine arching at the soft caress. “Rhys, please…I need you to touch me.” 

It’s a simple request, one he’s always indulged you in.

In a moment he’s gone from his chair only to appear behind you, winnowing far faster than stalking around the edge of the table to reach your seat.

He looms over you like a touch of darkness crowding you in, and you revel in it. The hue of his eyes is a dangerous violet, set with lightning striking in the distance instead of stars. It lights you up, your breath turning faster, the beating of your heart thunderous in the silence of the dining room. 

You can see the war in his eyes when you tilt your head back, resting it on the back of your chair. You press your breasts out a little, and watch with rapt attention as his eyes flicker down the front of your dress before he rips them away, the line of his mouth tightening at your hidden tease of a smile.

In your head, late at night, you’ve touched him; a hand around his silky, long cock, mouth pressed to his desperately, too. He’s tasted your slick on his tongue, reveled in it, hardly able to hold himself back from crawling up your body and fucking you how he wanted.

But you’ve never had sex before, and as much as you want to, as much as you’ve tried, Rhysand has been holding back.

Maybe it’s because he’s nervous to cross that line with you. You’re his little sisters best friend for fucks sake, and he’s going to be High Lord someday. Sure, he’s slowly making his way through the camp girls, trying not to grunt your name when he fucks into them, because you’re never far from his mind. 

Maybe it’s because he’s scared, if his sister or father ever found out. Araphel might be happy for the both of you. It’s a thought he has less often than the opposite, if she’s upset that he’s stealing one of her only true friends, and he doesn’t want that. 

Maybe he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold himself back.

Your name is a growl on his lips. A warning, one you don’t have it in you to heed. So you go with your next best idea, taunting.

“I guess I’ll have to drag Ara down to the city when she gets back then,” you say with a sad sigh. You pick up your fork and force your eyes from Rhysand’s burning ones. You shrug a little, spearing vegetables with your fork. “Fuck whatever male I come across there.”

Rhysand is hardly able to hold himself back from baring his teeth. He won’t allow that, ever.

You can feel the tension roiling in his body as he stands at your back, his food long forgotten. You’re not faring much better with the ache pulsing between your legs and the dinner that’s turned to mush in your mouth. 

“I’ll turn any male that touches you to mist.”

“Are you planning on doing that to yourself, too?” you quirk a brow as you glance his way, faking your disinterest despite the way that your core goes molten at his words. 

Rhysands eyes darken in response, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

Your words are working, you can see it in the way that he holds himself back, body nearly shaking at every thought you’re planting in his mind. You know he’s on the verge of cracking, that he wants this just as badly as you do, so you continue.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t a virgin anymore. Would you fuck me then, Rhysand?” 

“What?” His voice takes on a dark tone, the stars winking out from his eyes.

“If I told you that chef Einar was the one to do it, to bend me over his worktop and fuck me, what would you say then, Rhys?” 

“I’d say you’re a liar. And that I’ll kill him either way.”

“If I spread my legs for him just like this,” you continue, leaning back in your seat and opening your thighs wide. His fingers ball into fists but he doesn’t move from his spot, still planted behind you, trying his best to ignore the way your scent hits him like a sword to the gut. “And let his hands roam down my body just like this—” You startle at the loud sound coming from the kitchen, pots falling to the floor in succession. It makes your hands that you’re dragging down your body falter, and before you can continue, your wrists are pinned in Rhysand’s harsh grip, his breath heavy against your throat.

“You should be very, very careful about what you’re going to say next, darling,” his growl sends your bones rattling, shivers wracking your spine. You wish it weren’t the harsh wood at your back but instead his warm body, holding you tight. 

“I want you to fuck me, Rhys,” you gasp, and it sounds like a desperate mewl. “I need you to fuck me.” 

Rhysand’s mouth is a whisper against your skin, a brand of night.

“If I’m going to fuck you, darling,” he purrs and your insides melt. “Everyone is going to know it.”

#rhysand x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #rhys x reader #rhysand #rhys acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[the-likesofus]

Buddie Fic Recs

This is my 5th Buddie Rec List! I started compiling this list last April and omg looking back through them now I desperately need to reread them all. Highly recommend all of these fics, also please show the authors some love in their comments xx Happy Easter lovelies <3 REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

where our eyes are never closing by @rewritetheending | T | 6k

After the lightning strike, Buck asks Eddie to take candid photos of him to help prove to Buck that he still exists. Absolute PEAK Softness. Buck through Eddie's eyes! I was a mushy puddle by the end. 10/10 would recommend. 

i got all my sisters with me by @useramor | T | 6k

Established relationship Buddie. Eddie’s sister has a baby and they travel down to Texas to meet the baby. DIAZ SIBLINGS UNITE! Seriously though the sibling dynamic in this is off the charts and Buck and Eddie are sickeningly in love, it is quite beautiful.

meet me where the tide comes in by @iinryer | G | 4k

A 3+1 fic about Eddie getting kissed on the head. FOREHEAD KISSES PTSD MORE HEAD KISSES AND BOYS IN LOVE!! Need I say anything more??

The one where Buck gets turned into a dog by @911onabc | G | 9k

Law Suit era BUT WAIT WAIT….DOG BUCK!! I am a sucker for fic where one of them gets turned into an animal. They are much more free with their affection when they think it's just a dog, or just a cat, and the bond between Eddie and "Boy" is so so wonderful. And I do love a happy ending xx

can't do this anymore (do it anyway) by @chronicowboy | T | 2k

Short and sweet but GOD this packs a punch. Eddie starts dating after the lightning strike and Buck is feeling Big Bad about it. He is so sad it truly breaks my heart but all works itself out in the end and Eddie proves Buck’s fears wrong.

We Found Each Other (Over There)  by @thekristen999 | T | 46k

Buddie WWII AU. A combat medic and a G.I. meet during one of the world’s greatest battles. This fic is a legitimate masterpiece. I cannot describe to you the quality of this fic because it is beyond words but I will tell you I stayed up until 3:30 am to finish it in one sitting and was left broken but made so so whole again. 

the mortifying ordeal of being known by @the-amber-raven | G | 60k

AU where Bobby is Buck’s adoptive Dad and Eddie is dating Buck but Eddie and Bobby think they are talking about two different people. Buck is training at the fire academy but hiding it from Bobby. This fic is the most beautiful tangle of miscommunication, love and family. 

like all good things are by @try-set-me-on-fire | T | 7k

Perfect, amazing, soul-destroying, magical, healing Fic. This literally covers all the bases. Chim and Bobby both get injured. OH! and Buck and Eddie were secretly dating all along. READ THIS FIC PEEPS!

find a way to you (if it kills me) by @eddiediazes  | M | 19k

The one where Eddie decides to start dating again, Buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief. BUCK PINING LV.10000000!

and i’d choose you (in a hundred lifetimes) by @monsterrae1 | E | 16k

Amnesia Exes fic by the wonderful Rae. Buck and Eddie fall in love via a penpal program and then Buck vanishes. This fic is set four years later. I literally could not put it down. I was reading it in class and then sat in my car for who knows how long just to finish it because I could not continue my day without knowing how it ended.

he never thinks of me (except when i'm on TV) by @loserdiaz | M | 18k 

APRIL'S FAMOUS!BUCK AND ARMY!EDDIE FIC!! In which Eddie finds out years later that his unrequited feelings for his high school best friend were not actually unrequited, Buck is stupidly famous now and they pine. OH THEY PINNNEEEEE! It’s delicious. 

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) by @chronicowboy | M | 21k 

Alternative S7, Buddie Divorce Era Pt.2. Buck does something reckless and Eddie gets angry about it but these boys cannot communicate effectively to save their lives! This fic is peak angst to a happy ending and I felt like I had a hole in my chest OMG.

left your mark on this heart by @chronicowboy | G | 5k

Buck gets medically diagnosed with butterflies and the doctor makes him write in a notebook every time it happens. Surprise, surprise, the cause and effect is Eddie-related. The notebook entries kill me in the best way, the happiest happy ending

ALSO, YES THIS IS THE THIRD FIC BY THE SAME AUTHOR ON THIS LIST WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?? READ IT IS WHAT! COS THEY'RE SO DAMN GOOD. 

endless numbered days by @cal-daisies-and-briars | G | 13k 

Buck and Eddie's wedding but from Bobby's POV as Bobby reflects on the family he lost and the one he gained. Absolutely beautiful, I cried.

don’t wanna let you love somebody else but me by @shitouttabuck | T | 14k

Chris wants dating advice so obviously Buck and Eddie decide to Fake Date for research purposes. This fic is PEAK adorable, sappy, and awkward Buddie. They’re idiots but we love them and the certainly love each other. READ THIS FIC! 

#buddie #buddie fic recs #buddie fic rec list 5 #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan 'buck' buckley #911 #911 fic recs #meegs rec list

[xxsabitoxx]

Pale Blue [2] No Context Teaser Suguru Edition

A/N: taking a little break from my finals just to share this cause I miss writing Pale Blue and physically cannot wait for this week to be over.

Pairing is Geto Suguru x Pregnant Reader

“She will be the last client for this year, please let any new potential clients know that I will not be able to meet with them until after the new year.” 

She nodded quickly before departing, leaving Suguru alone again as he reached for the paperwork he set down. “What a kind heart you have, papa Geto.” Suguru hadn’t even been able to read the next sentence, laughing softly at Mimiko’s comment. The brunette girl was kicking her feet, coloring intently beside her sister on the plush rug Suguru had put in just for them. “It’s important to help people in need, you know. She seemed like she could really use it.” He smiled fondly at the two sisters, listening to Nanako hum softly as she scribbled onto the page. 

“I guess you’re right.” 

“You guess I’m right?” 

Mimiko nodded, stopping her coloring to look up at Suguru behind his desk. “Yeah, I mean you really don’t need to help anyone. But you choose to do so even when you don’t have to. You have a kind heart, papa Geto.” The small girl repeated her initial statement, smiling softly as Suguru’s expression morphed into one of genuine surprise. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, watching her small head turn back to the paper she was drawing on, starting to hum along with the tune Nanako had set. Suguru sat there, wondering how a child could think of such things. 

He saw himself as anything but kind-hearted at this point in his life. But still, he didn’t have the heart to say those things, especially not to a six year old. Suguru had barely reached for his paperwork again when your face crossed his mind, making him freeze once more. You had been a constant thought in his mind since the day he left. Not even an hour had gone by where you didn’t consume his thoughts, knocking the air from his lungs and paralyzing him for a moment. He missed you. Fuck he missed you terribly and it was enough to render him utterly immobile at points. 

Slowly, he forced air back in his lungs, your smile leaving a permanent mark engraved in his mind. He didn’t regret anything he did up until this point, well maybe except for one particular thing. He didn’t take you with him the day he left. He knew he loved you too much to force you into this kind of life, he needed it to be a choice you made out of your own free will. Something cheesy about loving someone meant setting them free when the time came had crossed his mind when leaving you that letter. Leaving it on the bed he once called his own, so long as you were in it, it was his. 

But still, the choice to leave it all up to your own free will did nothing to fill the void beside him each night. How desperately he wished you were laying beside him, curled perfectly into his embrace, face snuggled into the crook of his neck. Your natural musk mixing with your perfume, your hair tickling his hands as he held you tight, your chest rising and falling evenly as you slept. He ached to hold you again, finding it hard to fall asleep each night in your absence. But he had made this choice, he had to own it, even if that meant you weren’t a part of his life right now. 

“But he knew, deep down, that it was only temporary; you'd come back to him.”

#banners from benkeibear <3 #may's pale blue 🩵 #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru smut #geto suguru #suguru geto #hidden inventory arc #jjk angst #jjk anime #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jjk #getou suguru x reader #suguru x reader #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #geto suguru angst #geto angst #suguru angst #jujutsu kaisen scenarios

[tteokdoroki]

Isagi is golden retriever behavior. Tell him to bakr he will do it. Tell him to kneel he will. He will protect you with his whole being even if he seems to be nice guy. He isn’t afraid to throw hand s

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— as close as strangers + yoichi isagi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — while at a bar with your sister, a stranger comes to your rescue and he’s not afraid to come to your defence.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, fluff, strangers to lovers, meet cute, reader has a younger sister, weird men at bars (harassment kinda? but it’s minor), pro player!isagi, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 1.4K.

⭑ notes — thank you nonnie for sending this in!! I got a little itty bit carried away but i hope you like it !! - m.list ✩

unironically, a bar can be one of the most dangerous places on earth. with its overpriced and watered down drinks, loud and disruptive patrons, and not to mention the countless number of men that can’t seem to take a hint. you find the sticky table tops gross and the peanut shells on the floor uncouth but you’re here for your little sister — who wanted no more than drinks and to catch up, filling you in on the details of her latest fling (who she’s sure is the one, despite it being the fifth time) since you returned to Japan.

you work a lot, you travelled abroad for college too so it’s been ages since you’ve last breathed the same air and walked underneath the same sky. you’d feel bad for missing this opportunity to meet someone important in her life while you still had it.

and you love your sister, so while she powders her nose in the bathroom as you both wait for her boy toy, you’ll put up with the stench of beer and the sleazy stranger arms length away from you who just can’t seem to get it through his head that you’re not interested.

“c’mon sweetheart, just one drink. lemme buy you a beer.” the stranger slurs over the top of his own beverage that threatens to spill into you as he encroaches on your personal space. 

shaking your head politely, you lean away. “no thank you. i’m not to keen on beer.” 

“then whas’ your drink of choice, cutie. let me know what i can get’cha.” 

nothing. you refrain from rolling your eyes. nothing that he could afford. grabbing a handful of peanuts to distract yourself, you de-shell them with ease and chew on them to avoid speaking any further. 

“no thank you.” you say plainly, reiterating yourself. 

he still doesn’t seem to understand, cosying up to your side — his alcohol tainted breath cascading over the shell of your ear. “then let’s get out of here, i’ll get you somethin’ you can really enjoy.” 

“i’m waiting on someone.” 

“who? a boyfriend?” 

“yes,” you lie as easy as breathing — you’re almost certain he wouldn’t leave you alone if he found out you were with your sister. “he’ll be here any minute.” 

the stranger lets out a chuff, “i don’t see him, gorgeous girl—“

he reaches for your hand and it causes a wave of uncomfortable goosebumps to rise along your skin. you shudder, hold back a gag, and if only the bartender was closer you could signal for some form of help but you can’t bring yourself to move.

that is until a warm arm slips around your shoulders— and instead of being slimy and unsettling, the presence of this stranger behind you is comforting and safe. “there you are precious,  sorry for being so late, i got caught up with work.” this man’s is smoothe like molten chocolate or rather honey running through your ears, and you find yourself enticed — leaning into him as if he’s a safety net. 

you turn, only just, catching a glimpse of the stranger’s handsome side profile — his skin is golden, glowing as if it had been blessed by the god’s of the son. his eyes are a blue im a shade that you cannot match, it’s almost unreal to you. his hair his soft, his face calm and again, he feels so safe. 

“i missed you,” you breathe the words into existence as if they’re natural, allowing a smile to overtake your features. “it’s okay.” 

the dark haired man gives you a firm nod before looking over your head at the drunkard who had been bothering you. he offers a hand to him. “hi isagi… the boyfriend. do we have a problem, here?” 

you recognise the name from somewhere but say nothing, letting isagi handle the situation from here. 

“n-no sir! i-i’m so sorry i didn’t realise that—“ 

“good,” isagi’s voice lowers an octave, far less welcoming and kind than when he had initially addressed you as your fake boyfriend. “then next time you’ll take a hint and learn to leave women alone when they tell you no the first time. fucking creep.” he spits, squeezing you into his side protectively. 

the stranger’s eyes blow wide and he lowers his head apologetically but you’re too focused on how flustered isagi’s whole act is making you feel. “a-again! i’m really sorry! i’m a huge fan i would never—“ 

“are you just that dense or do i have to repeat myself? scram.” isagi growls once more and does so until the man that had been bothering you flees the scene. within an instant, the tall dark and handsome man jumps away from you with an apologetic smile — and you embarrassingly admit to yourself how much you miss his embrace. “i am so sorry for touching you without asking. i-it’s just that i could see he was making you uncomfortable and no one else was jumping in so i just—“ 

turning around to face isagi fully, you shake your head and offer him your brightest grin. “it’s okay, if it hadn’t been for you i don’t know what would have happened. thank you…”

you pause to give him time and isagi trips over his words to give you his full name. “yoichi. yoichi isagi!” 

you respond with your own name, trying not to dwell on the familiarity of his. 

the pair of you spend the next few minutes chatting about everything and anything. you find out that yoichi likes soccer and has since he was a child. that he was an only child as well, travels a lot and has seen the whole world, though he thinks it gets a little lonely. you shyly admit that you feel the same — especially when work drags you across the globe and away from your family here in Japan.

the flow of your conversation is only interrupted by your little sister emerging from the bathroom excitedly, her nose effectively powdered as she waves an arm at you. “i see you’ve met isagi already!” she beams, sliding into the bar stool on your left while isagi takes your right.

“wait, you two know each other?” you squeak — how mortifying would it be that your younger sibling’s new boyfriend is the man you’ve been crushing on for all of fifteen minutes. “is he…the one?” 

the duo share an amused look over the drinks that your new friend had ordered, your sister shaking you as if to snap you out of your trance of crazy. “god no! isagi is way too polite to be my type. my bachira is a little more adventurous!” she rambles, all love sick like. “no offence yoichi!”

“none taken,” he laughs before focusing all of his attention on you , making you squirm under the surface of his ocean blue eyes. “i’m just here for moral support. bachira was nervous about meeting you so i told him to take a lap around the parking lot to calm down before he came in.” 

“wait bachira— as in meguru bachira? that one player from the blue lock team? i just styled him for my magazine in the US last month? that’s who you’re dating?” you ramble, eyes wide — which only seems to amuse isagi even more.

“uhuh, and this,” your sister grabs you by the shoulders and rotates you to face isagi, who’s cheeks flush red with nervousness. or shyness. “is yoichi isagi. blue lock’s heart and soul and your date for this evening. you’re welcome!” she sings.

“oh my god! i thought i recognised you! s-she used to have posters of you in our room back when bluelock was streaming!” 

“you’re the one that used to kiss them!” 

“you’re the one that’s dating his best friend!” you counter her stubbornly, but her attention is quickly stolen away by the world famous dribbler that slips through the doors — bachira’s own face lighting up when he spots her from across the room. your sister melts, running over and jumping into his arms. you can’t help but swoon, realising that whatever she has going on with bachira is obviously more serious than whatever chance at love she’d had before.

they look happy. you’re happy for her. “they’re cute together, aren’t they?” isagi mumbles, elbowing you gently with the wisps of a smile on his lips. 

“oh yeah, big time.” you agree, taking a sip of your drink as you scoot closer to japan’s beloved striker. “you’re not mad that he swiped her from right beneath your feet?” 

“nah,” yoichi responds simply, scooting closer to you as well. you let your gaze drift over from the happy couple to meet isagi’s fond one, looking down at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “i’d rather have that kind of happy with the girl who was making out with my merch.” 

you punch isagi in the shoulder out of embarrassment, and when his timbre laughter fills the room — you can’t help but think you’d want that happiness with him too.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk x you #isagi x reader #isagi x you #isagi fluff #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi x you #blue lock fluff #yoichi isagi x reader #yoichi isagi x you #bllk fluff #yoichi isagi fluff #isagi yoichi fluff #isagi yoichi imagines #isagi imagines #bllk imagines #blue lock imagines #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚✉️੭ — new notification #✧ ₊˚💬੭ — unknown messenger

[jb5lover]

obsessed with jude being your brother’s best friend and you guys secretly hooking up behind his back 🤭 and even though your both scared of how he’ll react when he finds out, the thrill of getting caught just makes the whole thing more exciting

him and your brother would go way back, and throughout their entire friendship he had never felt the need to announce that you were off limits. he assumed jude was aware of this, and he was. he knew messing with his honorary brother’s sister would make violating all sorts of boundaries, and he never planned on doing it. but when you saw each other that night at the party, the two of you looking so impeccable and feeling so madly drunk, it was obvious that all plans had gone on the window. since that night, the two of you had been looking for any free moment to be together.

your brother thought nothing of it when you walked downstairs mid-fifa game to come get a drink from the kitchen. he paid no attention to what you were wearing, which was one of jude’s jerseys over your shorts. what he also didn’t know, was that as you headed back upstairs, you gave jude that look that only hinted one thing to him. with a sweet smile, you headed back up to your room knowing he’d be meeting you in a matter of moments.

“gimme a sec, i have to go to the bathroom,” he announced, as he dropped the controller and walked briskly upstairs, skipping every second step just to get there quicker. almost the moment he arrived into the hallway, you were yanking him into your room and pulling him in by his shirt. “wow, you’re needy,” he muttered into the kiss. “you’re slow, i’ve been waiting for like two minutes,” you whined as you worked to remove his sweatpants hastily, rubbing your hands on him through your underwear.

he wasn’t as delicate in undressing you, choosing to yank your shorts down aggressively, before pushing you down on the bed. “you know this is really, really wrong,” you whined as he pulled down his boxers, letting his dick spring out. “really wrong,” he agreed, removing your underwear and tossing them aside.

“we shouldn’t do this,” you told him before letting out as a gasp as he slipped into you with ease, considering how wet you were. “but i’m glad we are,” he told you nonchalantly, lifting your legs onto his shoulders. he gave no time to allow you to adjust to his size, instead deciding that this quickie has to be exceptionally fast.

“oh, you’re so good at this,” you cried, as he rubbed your clip roughly. “fuck, how are you always so tight?” he grunted, throwing his head back in ecstasy. you knew you were both being a bit loud, increasing the risk of getting caught. but somehow that only turned you on more, and you knew it did the same for jude. no less than five minutes later, you felt your own climax approaching. from the twitching of his cock, you knew he felt the same.

“i’m so close,” you told him, fondling your own breasts as he fucked you harder into the mattress. “me too, i need to pull out,” he warned you. “no, i have to cum,” you argued, refusing to let him deprive you of what you’ve been craving since he prematurely pulled out yesterday when he was taking you from behind on the couch yesterday evening. “y/n, i-”

“jude, either hold in or do what you have to do, either way, you cannot pull out right now,” you whined, feeling him hit deeper and deeper inside of you with every thrust. the sensation of you squeezing around him was beyond unbearable. he tried holding it in for as long as he could but he knew it was no use. “fuck, i’m gonna come inside you,” he grunted out. “oh, please fill me up, i’m gonna cum too!” you sighed, feeling his load spurt every last drop that he had to give.

after catching your breath, and allowing him to throw on his clothes, he prepared to head downstairs. “you’re on the pill, right? i can go to the pharmacy if you need me t-”

“yes, i am the pill. no need for the pharmacy. in fact, if you finish up your fifa game a little early, we can try this again maybe. my brother’s got a shift later tonight. you won’t need to cover my mouth this time,” you told him, sending him a suggestive wink.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #my mini jude blurbs

[megu-meow]

when a fire starts to burn - sukuna

sukuna x fem. reader (reader is Nanami's sister)

Part 2 of my Hockey Player Sukuna Series - Part 1

Lmk if you would like me to create a taglist! :D

Sukuna finds himself looking forward to Sunday. He suddenly considers texting you non-stop not enough. He wants to see you in person. He wants to see with his own eyes how you react to his flirtatious comments, he often wonders if they make you blush. He is convinced that they do, considering that sometimes you react with unintelligible keyboard slams. He loves it, but seeing it in person would be hundred times better.

He considers himself enchanted by you. He finds it undoubtedly easy to talk to you, he loves telling you about his day and he certainly enjoys hearing about yours. He loves how passionate you are about your job, how excited you get about office gossip, and how you never hesitate to text him whenever the smallest thing happens to you throughout the day. The hardest part is hiding the fact that he is talking to you constantly from his Captain, your brother.

"Sweetheart, when is Bambi coming?" he hears Nanami's wife, Sophia question from the kitchen while Sukuna is sitting on the couch in the living room, and his ears perk up once he hears that adorable nickname of yours being mentioned.

"She's not coming here. We're meeting at the cafe." Nanami responds as he leaves their bedroom.

"Why is that? I haven't seen her in a while, I wanted to give her the souvenir I got her from Thailand."

"She's tired and irritated, she said she wants to hear about your travels when she's in a better mood."

Sukuna's grin widens. He knows why you're tired. He knows why you're irritated. The two of you stayed up texting until 5 in the morning and your conversation ended with him calling your cat stupid, which offended you deeply. The thing is, Sukuna is severely allergic to cats so he couldn't comprehend the cuteness of your cat even after receiving ten pictures of the sleeping feline from you. And you couldn't accept him calling your child stupid either. Nonetheless, he was displeased that you were not seeing him today in person. What's worse is that they're leaving tomorrow for a road trip which is scheduled to last at least a week, if not more. He doesn't really understand why he has these feelings after two weeks of knowing you, he usually wouldn't care about something so insignificant, but he figures that you were an enigma enough to entertain these thoughts running around in his mind about you. Once Nanami leaves the house, Sukuna retreats to his momentary room and starts packing his bag for the upcoming road trip. He has gained a lot of fans after the amazing debut he had with the team and now there's a lot of pressure on him to live up to the expectations. If everything goes right, he should get a raise in a couple of months, after the regular season is over and he will be able to get his own place after that. Despite enjoying how his current situation gives him more opportunities to see you in person, Sukuna hates leeching on others, so he cannot wait to get himself out of your brother's apartment.

While you're out with your brother, you cannot stop thinking about the pink-haired player currently living with Nanami. You really wanted to see him today, but you didn't want to cause suspicions with Kento and Sophia. Those two were incredibly good at figuring out when you have a crush on someone. This is not the case here with Sukuna - or at least you try to convince yourself about that. Regardless, you're being cautious.

However, your plan is thrown out the window by Sukuna himself, as he walks into the cafe and sits down at your table. Both Nanami and you glare at him in disbelief. He ignores your confused expressions as the waiter approaches and he orders the same thing he did two weeks ago.

"What are you doing here, Sukuna?" Kento questions, clear irritation in his tone.

"I told you this before, I'm extremely superstitious. The last time we had a game on Sunday and I joined you guys for brunch, I scored five goals, may I remind you. So I decided, to include this in my game-day routine." he explains, while gesturing to the situation at hand. His eyes jump in between you and Nanami as he tries to figure out how you feel about his bluntness. "And you, Captain, cannot say anything against this, because tonight, I'm gonna win the game for us."

Nanami is speechless, while the pink-haired guy grins, his enjoyment evident. He is having too much fun with the current situation, in your opinion. Kento looks at you expectantly, he doesn't really have a say in this matter. You were the one to decide that Sunday Brunch was just for the two of you.

You started chewing the inside of your mouth nervously. Sukuna trapped you into a corner: hockey players - or professional athletes in general - were peculiar about their routines. You heard of the most unhinged pre-game routines over the years, you were aware of how much goes into the mental preparation for games. You couldn't possibly sabotage Sukuna's career with the Wizards just because you want to be selfish about the time you spend with your brother. However, this is a really bad idea. You know why the pink-haired idiot is doing this: he wants to spend time with you. But this is a dangerous game, one that your brother would surely not approve of. Sukuna is secretive. He's arrogant and full of himself. He challenges you and is constantly on a mission to irritate you. That's why you don't understand why the next words leave your mouth.

"Sure, everything for the team right?"

Sukuna grins widely, as he crosses his muscular, tatted arms in front of his chest and leans back in his chair. His dark eyes are glimmering with joy as he looks at you, winking sneakily.

"Okay, Bambi. But..." he sighs deeply "If your performance falters, Sukuna, this ends right away."

"Understood!" he agrees, saluting your brother jokingly.

That Sunday, Sukuna scores a hat trick and gets an assist. It seems like he is determined not to screw up this unique opportunity to spend meaningful time with you every fricking Sunday. After the game, Akane, Senna, and Sophia convince you to go out with them and the team as they're celebrating the goaltender's birthday. You agree, despite knowing that you are gonna regret this decision in the morning. You often join the team for these kinds of occasions considering you have a good relationship with every one of them. You're having a good time, chasing around coach Yaga's kid, who has an unmistakable bump on his forehead. He probably ran into a table or something earlier, but it doesn't stop him from running around like a maniac. Once you catch him and pick him up, you are determined to deliver him back to his mother, who is to your frustration, talking to Sukuna.

"How are your brothers? Aren't they missing you now that they're far away from you?" you don't want to listen to their conversation, but you can't really help it as you hear the question being asked.

"They're gonna be alright. It's Yuji's draft year so he was about to move away soon anyway. And Choso is Choso, he's gonna go wherever Yuji goes."

Sukuna spots you and grins, he cannot help but think that you look incredible, even with the child clinging to your side.

"Special delivery!" you exclaim as you give the child back to his mother. The toddler's energy has faltered significantly and his mother looks at you gratefully for tiring him out. She says goodbye to you, leaving you alone with Sukuna.

"You have brothers?" you ask curiously.

"It's not nice to listen to someone's conversation, you know, sweet pea?!"

"I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Don't worry your pretty little head, I don't really care honestly." he teases "Yeah, I do have brothers. Two, to be exact."

"Are you close?"

"Yeah. They're brats tho."

"Figured."

"You wound me, y/n. I'll let you know, I am the best brother ever."

"I doubt that."

"Well, I would be the best boyfriend for sure, there would be not doubt about that one." he adds, winking at you, mischief evident in his features. You can't help the blush appearing on your face and Sukuna relishes the feeling of pride that takes over him. He was right, it is 100 times better now that he can see your reactions.

"You're such a flirt, Sukuna."

"Only for you, y/n. I hope you know that."

"Yeah? Prove it."

"Well, how about you let me take you out on a date once I'm back from our road trip?" you knew he was a straightforward guy, but he never expected him to be this blunt. His eyes scan your face rapidly for any kind of reaction, you get that feeling again, that he can read your thoughts just by looking at you. You misjudged him. You thought this guy was a master of hiding his feelings, but this time around, his eyes are sparkling with hope. He doesn't seem worried or scared of rejection, which is slightly irritating, but what did you expect from a guy with a big ego like his?! "I don't have all day, y/n!" he frowns, and despite his words seeming harsh, they come out as more nervous than demanding. You have him under a spell that he cannot understand just yet, he feels the adrenaline rushing through his veins as he impatiently waits for your answer. Suddenly, you smile brightly and Sukuna's worries are forgotten just like that.

"Okay. I'll let you take me out on a date."

Sukuna is beaming with happiness, but unfortunately, it doesn't last too long. On their way to Kyoto, Kento sits beside him on the bus.

"What do you want from my sister?" he asks, his demeanor completely different from the usual.

"What?"

"You heard me! First, you get yourself invited to brunch. Then, you're openly flirting with her at Panda's party. So, tell me what you want from my sister!"

Sukuna swallows hard, his Adam's apple jumping visibly. He has to play his cards right, otherwise he will have to forget about your date. He is perceptive enough to know, that you would never go out with him if your brother didn't approve of it. He knew from day one that he had to get Kento's blessing. He considered doing the cliche things that happen in movies and books, hiding it from him and letting the whole thing explode in his face, but Sukuna has a stronger sense of justice and fairness than to betray the person who took him in like that.

"I asked her out on a date. I don't think I have to tell you, but your sister is gorgeous, intelligent, and absolutely amazing. I plan to treat her with respect, I don't want to hurt her feelings. I will not tell anyone on the team about this, you know that I do not participate in locker-room talk and I don't plan on changing that. I would like to take her out to a nice restaurant and have a great conversation with her. Those are my intentions for now."

"For now?"

"Well, I don't want to get ahead of myself. I won't say that I would like that date to be followed by a second one, because there's no guarantee that's something she would enjoy. I do believe she is special, but whatever this leads to, she will be the one to set the pace. I would never rush any woman into anything, especially not someone like y/n."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Well, I knew since December that your sister is the kind of person you meet once in a lifetime, guess I had a hunch. And my hunch was right. She deserves the world. And if she gives me a chance, that's exactly what I would like to give."

"What do you mean you knew since December? You barely moved here four weeks ago and it's April. You guys met two weeks ago."

"I spotted her at one of our games. I guessed she traveled with you guys for the Family Game."

"She did. Are you implying you had eyes for her for five months just to get my approval? Or is any of this true?" Kento questions with furrowed eyebrows.

"I'm fucking offended that you would think of me so lowly that I would come up with an elaborate lie like this just to get into your sister's pants. Believe me, if that was the case, I wouldn't care a single bit about your approval." Sukuna explains.

Kento sighs, deeply. He lived with Sukuna for four weeks. The guy is insanely chill, despite his odd looks. He literally goes to practice, works out, and plays video games. He never hears him talking about anyone, especially not women, with disrespect. Hell, he never mentioned any woman before. He's been brutally honest with everyone and he's been nothing but gallant. However, Nanami knows what hockey players are like. He also heard rumors about the pink-haired prodigy from his old teammates. Thus his hesitation.

"Give me a few days. By the time we get back home, I will have your answer."

Sukuna nods understandingly. This is going to be the longest road trip of his entire life.

Part 3

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna ryomen #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #sukuna #sukuna imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagines #Ren Writes - Sukuna ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[humanpurposes]

We're Born At Night

Chapter 2

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, politics, mentions of death and war, Aemond is a bit of a dick but that's his job

Words: 5.9k

A/n: I was aiming to post this on Sunday (but a pretty girl said I was cute and I went a bit insane 😌)

“Cheat!”

Rhaelle conceals her delight as she claims the ivory King piece from the cyvasse board. “It is not cheating, dear sister, it is strategy.”

Sunset is not long away. Rhaelle and Daena have spent most of the day in their chambers, waiting, flicking through the small collection of books from the shelf, playing cards and games of cyvasse which all end in the same way, a decisive victory for Rhaelle.

She cannot stomach the thought of food or sweets, cider or wine. She just feels her heart drumming in her chest, pulsing through the blood that runs under her skin. Aemond’s voice is still a whisper in her head and the other faces in the throne room are a blur, like trying to remember details from a dream. She should have been more attentive. The number of potential allies at court might be few but they will be invaluable if they are to advance here. 

So they wait. Wait for Lord Corlys to give them some indication that the King has acknowledged their cause, that he has even heard it.

She glances down at her fingers wrapped around the King piece, at the hand he kissed a matter of hours ago. Aemond had been rather welcoming in the throne room, she supposes, at least publicly. 

“But you tricked me!” Daena protests, looking in despair over the few pieces she has left on the board.

“I acted within the rules of the game,” Rhaelle says simply.

Daena makes a disheartened but determined huffing sound and starts to set the pieces out again, when there is a knock at the door. Morra answers and returns with Ser Willis, donned in his white cloak, with his helm under his arm and a broadsword proudly by his side.

Rhaelle taps her fingers on the table in front of Daena to get her attention and rises. “Lord Commander,” she says, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Lady Rhaelle,” he greets with a small bow of his head. “I have a request from the King.”

Her heart leaps. Finally the waiting is at an end, but she contains herself. “Which is?”

“His Grace often takes his niece and nephew for a walk about the gardens in the evening, before the Prince and Princess are put to bed. He is unable to fulfil this duty tonight and asked if yourself and Lady Daena would like to take his place?”

She catches Daena’s eye for a moment and sees the same brightness in her gaze, the same hopefulness. 

Aegon, her heart whispers to her. Aemond has invited them to meet with their brother.

Ser Willis leads the way, Morra following behind as they head towards the courtyard, to the lowered drawbridge of Maegor’s Holdfast. The halls here are closer than inside the rest of the castle and the windows are smaller so the light is lower. Ser Willis leads them through locked doors and flights of stairs, until they come to a series of apartments that are bright and grand, with wide open rooms and paler stone walls that reflect the light.

At last they come to a room where pale blue is the most prominent colour. The stonework is adorned with images of flowers and dragons alike, and a fire crackles pleasantly in the hearth.

There are two settees in the centre of the room. On the one facing the door, a little girl with silver hair in a light blue gown stares intently at the book on her governess’ lap. Her lavender eyes follow the words as the woman reads to her.

And perched on the windowsill is a boy, a little older, with a wooden knight in his hands. He turns his head when he hears the door open and stares right at them, with his lips downturned and his violet eyes wide and unblinking. He looks like Daena did when she was small, with neatly combed silver hair instead of her dark brown curls.

The governess closes the book and gathers the children to stand before their visitors. “Forgive us, my Ladies, we have been waiting patiently for you, haven’t we children?”

The girl clings to the woman’s hand, staring up at them like she is holding back tears, while the boy stands straight with his hands behind his back.

“Princess,” the governess says, ushering the girl forward, “these are your cousins, the Lady Rhaelle, and the Lady Daena.”

Jaehaera, the orphan Princess, the last of her family save for her uncle Aemond. She had a twin once, and a baby brother. Prince Jaehearys was beheaded only a short walk away from this room, before the eyes of his mother, his grandmother, and his siblings. It was in the early days of the war, a son for a son, at the order of Daemon Targaryen. 

The little Princess takes a tentative step forwards, clinging to the sides of her gown as she curtsies steadily and gracefully.

Rhaelle curties low and rises to offer the girl a sympathetic smile, because losing a mother is a terrible thing, a lonely thing, which she knows all too well.

“Prince Aegon,” the governess says next, ushering him forward, “these are your sisters.” There is no warmth to her voice like she has for Jaeheara, but no contempt either, just an unsure sort of bluntness. 

Aegon looks between them. “My father’s daughters,” he says softly.

Rhaelle extends a hand to him. Those eyes are so precious, she thinks, the eyes that had to see his own mother burned and devoured by his uncle’s dragon. Her heart shatters for him, for both of them, that they have had to witness so much horror.

“We have wanted to meet you for some time,” she says.

Aegon nods and holds her hand tightly. In the corner of her eye she sees the governess watching them.

Ser Willis and another Kingsguard, Ser Gyles Belgrave, accompany them to the gardens. When the governess goes to follow, Rhaelle holds up her hand. “No need,” she says, “my sister and I should like to acquaint ourselves with her family. We will be no longer than an hour.”

Neither the governess nor the guards protest.

The gardens are nothing like the countryside around Runestone, gravel paths and fountains, rows of carefully trimmed hedges, walkways covered in red ivy and trees that have begun to shed their golden leaves. They stay in sight of the castle, and Ser Willis and Ser Gyles are never far behind them.

Daena is delighted with young Aegon. She runs her hands over his hair, kisses his cheek, asks him about his favourite books and if he has held a sword yet.

Jaeheara was quiet at first but has warmed up, letting Rhaelle take one hand and Morra take the other. Her hand is small, soft and delicate, so much that Rhaelle worries she might break her if she holds her too tightly. She babbles on about the things children do. She says her favourite colour is blue, like her gown and like the sky. She says her governess is teaching her how to read, count and dance, but she wants to learn to sew.

“What would you sew?” Rhaelle asks.

Jaeheara knits her brow in thought. “Butterflies,” she says, “and spiders, and ladybirds.”

“You like insects?” Morra says.

“I can’t decide,” says Jaehaera, “but mother liked them very much.”

Rhaelle so desperately wants to bring her into her arms and hold her close to her chest. “Did your mother sew too?” she asks.

“Oh yes, she had a gift for us every day.” She keeps her eyes on the gravel shifting beneath her feet. “That means she was kind, doesn’t it?”

Rhaelle stops and turns to Jaehaera, bending her knees a little so their eyes meet. A flash of silver catches her attention instead, back towards the castle. She looks past Jaehaera’s shoulder, to a balcony overlooking the gardens. She knows it’s him, if the hair doesn’t give him away the black eyepatch against his pale skin does.

“Your mother was kind to me, when I knew her,” she says, gently.

Jaehaera’s eyes widen. Rhaelle worries she might start to cry but instead she smiles. “Uncle Aemond says she was kind.”

Her heart is humming again and her hands are starting to tremble. He must be watching them, watching her.

A little further down the path, Aegon and Daena are picking blackberries from a bramble bush, giggling as they place them in their mouths.

Rhaelle can hardly help herself but cup one of Jaehaera’s plump little cheeks. “We might find some insects in the bushes, what do you think, little Princess?”

“I often see ladybirds on the bramble bushes,” Jaehaera says. “I think they must like blackberries.”

Aegon calls his cousin’s name and waves at her with one hand, while cupping something in the other. He has found a caterpillar and shows it to Jaehaera. She stares down at its little green body with an endearing wonder, before deciding she wants to hold it too and show Morra. 

While the children are distaced, Rhaelle steps close enough to Daena that they can speak softly to each other, without having to lean in too obviously.

“He said he knows all about us from Alyssa,” Daena says, “she used to tell him about us, about Runestone. Then he asked me if she was dead too.”

Rhaelle almost flinches. 

“He is not yet seven years old and he has watched most of his family die,” Daena whispers bitterly, glancing towards the guards, out of earshot. 

Rhaelle watches them too, far too busy with their own conversation to be listening to them and only sparing occasional glances towards the children. Then she looks back to the castle, hoping Aemond is still there, and he is.

When Ser Willis says it is time for the children to be taken back to the Holdfast, Rhaelle and Daena oblige. Jaehaera’s hands and mouth are covered in purple fruit juice and she is delighted with herself. 

They pass under the balcony where Aemond stands as they reenter the castle. Daena and Morra are walking arm in arm. Aegon and Jaeheara are excitedly talking about caterpillars and butterflies and all the places they would fly to if they could grow wings.

Rhaelle sees him though, and catches his lone eye. His face is unreadable, stern and soft, dark and light.

Instinct, a reckless urge that she justifies as a risk, drives her towards a doorway leading off from the entrance hall. Daena and Morra will wait for her in their chambers once the children have been seen back to the nursery. The doorway leads to a hall, then a small winding staircase. She hitches her skirts and climbs it quickly, ensuring not to lose her footing in haste. She feels like she is chasing something intangible and follows it along a gallery, then to the balcony beyond that.

Aemond is still standing there with his hands behind his back and his head tall, looking south, over the gardens and Blackwater Bay beyond that. The noise of the castle does not reach her ears here, only the sound of the wind and the waves rolling over the shore beneath the Keep. In the west the sky burns like fire and in the east it is already getting dark.

She approaches him slowly, her shoes making enough of a noise against the flagstone floor to alert him of her presence, but softly enough so as not to disturb him. She comes to stand beside him on his seeing side, keeping her head straight but watching him, always watching him. “Your Grace,” she says quietly.

The corner of his mouth is curled. Is he smirking? Or is he irritated by her presence? “My Lady,” he returns.

Her hands are shaking. She brings them before her, clasping them together so she cannot fidget. “I had assumed you had other business this evening.”

“You assumed,” he says without looking at her.

“Ser Willis said you invited us to see the children.”

“I thought you might like to.”

“I did,” she insists, turning her head to face him. “I did. I am grateful. Daena and I are both grateful.”

Aemond hums, low and cryptic. It makes her feel weightless for a moment. He finally turns his head towards her. “The boy has mentioned you before, his Royce sisters, each of you.”

Coming from any other’s lips she might have taken her mother’s name as a compliment, and it could almost be that given the softness of his voice as he says it. But something else is written in the way he holds himself, the intensity in his eye, the striking gleam of silver hair falling over black leather: he is a true Targaryen, and she is an outsider.

Perhaps if she looks into his eye for long enough she’ll be able to read his thoughts. She finds nothing, save for an unsettled feeling in her chest and stomach. So she looks away, back out over the gardens. “I am glad my brother is being treated so well,” she says.

“Why should that surprise you?”

She tilts her head and gives him a rather pointed look. She asks herself if she would dare answer that question seriously. He still has the knife on him, maybe he’ll draw it and cut her throat for treason if she presses him hard enough.

Instead he hums a small laugh. “Prince Aegon is my heir until I have sons of my own. You needn’t fear if your brother is being mistreated.”

For now.

Then he adds in a quieter voice, “he is good with Jaehaera.”

Aegon was an older brother after all, and meant to have a younger sister of his own until the outbreak of war.

“The Princess is a delight,” Rhaelle says, “she is easy to love.”

Aemond’s eye lights up and he almost smiles. “She’s a sweet little thing, just like her mother was. Jaehaerys was the same…” he seems to regret this train of thought when he takes a slow breath and frowns to himself.

Rhaelle watches his chest rise and fall, this formidable man, a King forged in a time of war, determined not to crumble in the face of his own grief. She can almost pity him, and perhaps she does when she feels a gnawing sort of feeling knotting and twisting inside of her. She aches for him, for his losses and for her own.

“I see my own mother in many ways,” she says, taking a step into him. Aemond looks to her again, darkly but patiently. “I see her in my sister when she is stubborn. I see her in myself sometimes, all the times I thought she was being overbearing. I see her when I ride through the hills at Runestone. I feel her hovering over my shoulder when I draw a bow.”

Aemond has turned his body to face her now, not completely, just a little. One of his hands rests on the balustrade brought into a gentle fist, and he’s standing close to her, enough that she can hear each breath he takes and smell the leather of his jerkin.

“Because we don’t truly lose them,” she says, “at least I hope not. I can scarcely remember my mother’s face but I still know her love.”

“And that gives you comfort?” Aemond says.

“It does.”

“And what of your father, what love do you have for him?”

His question steals the air from her lungs. What love does she have for him, the man she hardly knew? The man her mother hated. The man who gave her his name and the burden of his legacy. Daemon’s blood runs through her veins as much as Rhea Royce’s does, life beyond death, enduring and damning. 

Aemond is watching her intently, waiting for her answer, searching her face for a sign of weakness, but always with that gleam of amusement. Did he look for weakness in Daemon before they mounted their dragons at the God’s Eye? Did he find the fear he seems to feed off?

“The same all girls have for their fathers, I suppose,” is her answer.

“And do all girls love their fathers?”

“As best we can.”

“How diplomatic of you,” he says, smirking. He’s toying with her, testing her like a hunting trap.

“You distrust me,” she says. 

He tuts. “I would very much like to trust you.”

“Yet you do not.”

“Do you trust me, cousin?” 

It’s like asking if she would trust a snarling beast with a taste for her blood. “You are my King,” she says.

“And as King, it is my duty to identify threats, to my rule and to the realm.”

His gaze does not falter, and so she will not allow hers to either.

“Am I a threat, Your Grace?” 

He considers her for a few moments, like he did in the throne room, studying her as closely and thoroughly as a scholar studies an ancient tome. All the while he curls his lips like he has a secret. “My brother was King before me,” he says in a low voice, taking another small step into her. “You are aware of the end he met?”

“Poison,” she says.

“And I took Larys Strong’s head for it, a man who served my mother for many years, who saw Jaeheara to safety during the war, who helped Aegon return to King’s Landing when it was taken from him. I could have all manner of enemies in these very walls, those who might seek to replace me with a child, more easily controlled than I am. Wearing a crown did not spare my brother from death and it will not spare me.”

He can trust no one, he means. A crown has become comparable to a death sentence as of late, and Kings and Queens are perhaps not as invincible as they once seemed. 

“You are not your brother,” she says.

“No. What am I then?”

She parts her lips to respond, but she cannot give him an answer. In truth, the thought of being face to face with him, to ask for his mercy had terrified her when she first left Runestone. Aemond Targaryen, the man who started a war when he killed his nephew, who burned armies and put innocent men, women and children to the sword, who killed her father.

She has often wondered how he did it, if the battle was quick, or if it was long and bitter. She has wondered if the dragons tore each other to pieces, or if Aemond had been able to look his uncle in the eye as he claimed his life.

Before all of that he was a child with a gruesome gash in his face, who had tried so hard to hide his pain from her. 

He hums cryptically and she feels him lean in closer to her, coming close enough that she can see the imperfections and the details in his face, the lines around his mouth and the texture of his skin. The edges of his scar appear as thin lines now. It is a striking element to his appearance, but other than that, she supposes he is merely a man.

“I have asked you once but I shall ask again: have you come to ask something of me, Lady Rhaelle?”

Lord Corlys would warn her to be patient. There is a strategy that must be employed, a set order in place for making a request of the King. She must be delicate, for Alyssa’s sake.

She spots his hand on the balustrade and places her own over it, barely tracing her fingers over his. She feels his gaze on her all the while. “Our house has been divided for too long. Shouldn’t we seek to heal this rift between our families?”

He watches where their hands meet and lifts them until their palms are against one another. Rhaelle’s fingertips press into the grooves of his fingers, against his warmth and the rough calluses of his skin.

“Hmm,” he says, threading his fingers through hers, closing over her knuckles. “You have a way with choosing your words carefully.”

Naturally. Her survival depends on it. “As must we all, Your Grace,” she says.

He mutters under his breath, like she’s played a winning move in a game of cyvasse, “very good.”

She can still feel him when she returns to her chambers, the gentlest brush of his fingertips and the heat of his hand against hers. She can mistake a gentle draft or breeze for his breath ghosting over her face, the sound of the wind beyond the window as the sound of his voice.

Lord Corlys visits them after dinner. She offers him some of the leftover roast beef but she shakes his head and instead asks for a cup of wine as he makes himself comfortable in an armchair before the hearth.

Rhaelle joins him, bringing two cups with her while Morra carries the decanter of wine. Daena gathers a fur throw, a pillow and a book, and settles on a chaise by the window. She doesn’t usually like to read, especially not at night when she can scarcely see the words.

Rhaelle smiles at her, sceptically. Daena shrugs her shoulders and lowers her eyes to the page.

“I have news from Driftmark,” Lord Coryls says, “Baela and Rhaena have accepted their invitation to the King’s Tournament and will set sail for King’s Landing in three days time.”

This is supposed to make her happy. From what she remembers at their mother’s funeral and the wedding feast, her half-sisters were agreeable enough but still unfamiliar. Baela, the older twin, was a little more forward than her sister, a dragonrider from a young age and it showed. Rhaena was far quieter and more cautious. They must be changed now, being right in the heart of Rhaenyra’s war.

“The King’s Tournament?” Daena’s voice calls from the window.

“Tourneys, feasts, dancing; a celebration to mark the betrothal of the King to Lady Floris Baratheon,” Corlys says, raising his glass. 

A romance for the ages: he barged into Storm’s End looking for an army to support his brother’s claim, and she was the most agreeable of four sisters.

“The eyes of the realm will be on the two of you,” Lord Corlys says.

“I do not see why we would attract such interest,” Daena says.

“Aemond still needs to secure his rule. His heir is a child and the son of his brother’s rival. After that his closest competitors for the throne are his uncle’s daughters.”

“My sisters and I have no desire for a crown, Lord Corlys,” Rhaelle says.

“You are Targaryens and you have a claim to the throne whether you desire it or not. That invites challenge. Half the country has been devastated by war and the rest will struggle through winter. I’m afraid your matter will take time.”

“How much time?”

He gestures vaguely with his hands. “You will appear before the King tomorrow. You will renounce your father, your step-mother and your late betrothed. The King will accept, and you will ask only that Lady Alyssa be spared from the headsman.”

“He would have her killed?”

“It is a matter of contention amongst the members of the Small Council, but as I understand it, His Grace has little desire to spill any more blood than is necessary.”

Daena chuckles quietly to herself.

Lord Corlys’ brow raises, but he does not comment on it. “In return for your loyalty, I expect the King to welcome you wholeheartedly into his court. When Aemond and Floris are wed you may be given positions in the Queen’s Household. You’ll be able to stay here permanently, you’ll get to see your brother and sisters often, and eventually you’ll make good matches to rich and powerful husbands, as befitting your royal blood.”

She wouldn’t have her mother’s cousins pestering her about the absence of the Lady of Runestone, eyeing the seat that belongs to her sister. Hers and Daena’s futures would be secured. 

“And what of Alyssa?” she asks.

“I will ensure she is kept alive and well, and in time, we may convince the King to release her.”

May convince. The thought does not feel particularly assuring, but what else can she do?

She wakes at dawn the next morning, dresses and readies herself for court as she had done the previous day, taking her sister’s arm as they walk into the throne room. There is no grand entrance this time, they are led to an adjacent chamber and enter through a small doorway that leads them to the far end of the hall.

She and Daena stand to the right, below the steps that lead to the throne, behind the members of the Small Council, Lord Corlys, Lord Tyland, Maester Orwyle, Lord Unwin Peake, Martyn Hightower and his brother, Garmund. These men have no doubt argued over the matter of her sister’s imprisonment. “A matter of contention,” as Lord Corlys had said.

Aemond sits upon the throne again, comfortably poised, and she is amongst the first to lobby him. 

Lord Corlys steps forward to announce her as she approaches the Iron Throne. She comes to her knees before him and allows herself to look up. She half expects to find him smiling, but his lips are in a thin line, not amused or prideful, but curious, his eye fixed upon her face.

“Your Grace,” she says, mustering all the courage she can to give her voice a clear demand without pushing too far. “I come before you once again as your loyal subject, to speak for myself and for my sister, Lady Daena.”

Aemond crosses one of his legs over the other, with his arm resting upon the throne, amongst the sharp edges of the blades. He brings his fingers to his chin and tilts his head, a command to continue.

She feels her pulse quicken, the words threatening to catch in her throat as they had done before, but she forces herself through it. “I renounce my late father, the traitor, Daemon Targaryen. I renounce my late step-mother, Princess Rhaenyra and her attempt to supplant the true line of succession. I renounce my former betrothed, the late Prince Joffrey. I–” she catches Lord Corlys’ eye and he nods to her. 

She thinks of Alyssa, her brave, beautiful sister, who held her and soothed her when Ser Gerold explained that their mother would never return to them, whose wisdom she worshipped and whose arms she sought comfort in until the day Daemon took her to Dragonstone. Once the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, now condemned to death if Rhaelle does not save her.

“I come before you again, to pledge my loyalty to you, and to our house,” she says, keeping her head down, waiting for the sound of Aemond’s voice or his footsteps.

“Come to me,” he says.

It’s like her body is set alight, heat, fury and excitement rising in her belly, her blood running hot beneath her skin. There is anger too, because she cannot read him, because she cannot tell if this is a show of favour or if he means to insult her somehow. She resents his incessant staring. She resents his cold, impassive nature. She resents the light feeling in her limbs as she climbs the steps to stand before him.

He rises to meet her, his hand outstretched and his lips threatening to break into a smirk. 

Most of what she had heard of her father was that he was a jealous and ambitious man. He coveted this seat, held by his brother, promised to his niece, ultimately claimed by his nephew. Daemon killed for it, he died for it, and now she is close enough that she could reach out and touch it.

She places her hand in his and he holds her gently, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. She clenches her jaw as she tries not to shudder.

“I accept your pledge,” he says, then loudly, so the others in the room may hear him. “It is not my wish to punish you for the sins of your family.”

The room hums with curious murmurs, nods of approval and whispers.

“Forgive me,” Rhaelle says quietly, as if this were a private exchange, as if they were not on display before the court. “You asked me yesterday if I had something to ask of you, and the truth is I do.”

Aemond’s brow raises, but the rest of his face is solemn. “Go on,” he says.

“My sister, Alyssa, is currently your prisoner, declared to be a traitor by your brother’s order. Spare her life, cousin, I beg you.”

Suddenly the silence in the hall is tangible. What must they be thinking, the Lords and Ladies before them, the men of the Small Council, Lord Corlys?

She does not spare a glance for any of them. She tightens her grip on Aemond’s hand and when she looks into his eye she does not plead for pity or sympathy. She is a Targaryen just as much as he is, with fire in her blood and pride in her heart.

“Lady Rhaelle,” Aemond says, “you are the acting Lady of Runestone.”

“I am, Your Grace.”

“You do a fine job of it, so I understand?”

She hesitates. She ensures the castle, its lands and people are kept well. She advises Lady Arryn when it is required of her. “As best I can, Your Grace.”

He leans in closer to her, close enough that she feels his breath on the shell of her ear and her neck. “Do away with modesty, it is a waste of my time,” he mutters. When he pulls away the corner of his mouth is curled so that it could almost be a joke. “Lady Rhaelle,” he announces, addressing the room, “in return for your loyalty to the crown, I hereby grant you the title of Lady of Runestone and all its inheritance.”

The room applauds this decision but Rhaelle is struck by dread. She looks to Daena, equally surprised, equally powerless. She looks to Lord Corlys, who seems to accept this too. The faces of Lord Tyland, Lord Unwin, and the Hightowers are less pleased.

She turns back to Aemond and keeps her voice low, “Your Grace, I cannot accept–”

His grip on her hand becomes a painful one as he turns his face in towards her. “You will accept,” he says with a cold fury. “While I am moved by your devotion to your sister, she must remain a prisoner and forfeit any and all claims she was previously entitled to.”

His face is dark and severe and her stomach drops like she is standing at the edge of some great height, one step away from a fall. She might be wise to fear this side of him, she thinks, but she is tempted to refuse him, to take that final step from the edge if only to see what anger he can truly unleash. She’d take pride in it, and maybe it’s her Targaryen nature, but suddenly something in the back of her mind thirsts for chaos.

It is her choice to make, but her life and the lives of her family will be at risk if she makes the wrong one.

And so she must choose her words carefully, unsure if it will bring her closer to her goal or drag her further from it.

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.”

Rhaelle and Daena dine alone that night. She is starving, but then the meat is brought out, a cut of roasted lamb, rare meat still on the bone that bleeds when Morra starts to carve it for them. It repulses her. She cannot even look at it. She downs a cup of apple cider instead and manages a mouthful of bread.

Daena can see that something is wrong, but does not question her.

Morra, on the other hand, offers her more cider and something that might be softer on her stomach. “Blackberries?” she suggests with a kind smile.

“Please,” Rhaelle mutters. 

Morra brings her a small bowl of them, dusted with sugar. At first she is thankful for how refreshing the taste is on her tongue, until she looks down at her fingertips and sees them stained red. 

She forces her hand away from her lips in a sudden jolt of movement, and in her haste knocks her fork to the floor with a jarring clatter of metal against stone.

It doesn’t matter, she thinks, starting to wipe her fingers against her napkin, but the red will not fade. She tries harder, dragging the fabric against her skin until it almost burns, but it won’t come out, it will not–

“Lady Rhaelle?” 

She throws her napkin down on the table and covers her mouth, fighting the urge to gag. “I’m fine,” she tries to whisper, “I feel unwell is all.”

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Morra says.

Rhaelle shakes her head. “No, I just…” but she cannot find the words. She cannot decide what she needs.

“Come, sister,” Daena says, having risen from her seat and come to place her hand on her shoulder. “I think you need to rest.”

Rhaelle lets herself be led away into her bedchamber. Daena helps her to remove her jewellery and lays out a night shift on the bed for her. Once Rhaelle has undressed, she reaches for the pins in her hair.

“Let me,” Daena says softly, and Rhaelle’s hands fall away. Daena’s touch is unsure but gentle. She would never have had as much practice at doing another’s hair, not as the youngest sister, but it is a welcome comfort.

Rhaelle stares at her reflection in the mirror as Daena brings a brush through her hair. She watches candlelight and shadows flicker over her face, over both of their faces. Their eyes look dark in the lowlight, almost black, like their mother’s, not the striking violet that makes them their father’s daughters.

“Do you think the Gods will punish me for this?” she utters.

“Punish you? Whatever for?”

She swallows thickly, her vision starting to blur. “I offered a hundred men at arms to Lady Jeyne to fight in the war. I could have offered more. I could have mounted a horse myself and met our father at Harrenhal. I could have written to Rhaenyra and asked her to send Alyssa back to Runestone. I could have offered men to defend King’s Landing, or to hold Dragonstone. There is so much I could have done, and now I have forsaken our family, our own blood because I was too weak to do anything before–” she gasps to catch her breath. The tears have spilled from her eyes now, they sting against her cheeks and taste salty and bitter on her lips.

Daena’s hands vanish from her hair. Rhaelle instead finds herself cradled in her sister’s arms.

“Alyssa is our family,” Daena says. “It was not Daemon Targaryen who protected us when mother died, it was our sister, it was our cousins, it was House Royce. We remember, you taught me what that means.”

Daena presses a kiss to her head and strokes her hand over her hair, like Alyssa used to when they were girls, like the way she has always imagined her mother would. “Aemond will favour our cause,” she whispers. “He has to. He has to.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @persephonerinyes @gemini-mama @aemondzyrys @snh96 @magnificentdelusionr @aegonx @xxxkat3xxx @dahlias-and-marigolds @mandiiblanche @thaisthedreamer @heavenly1927 @herfantasyworldd @heimtathurs

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x ofc #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #hotd fandom

[ludibriadormonoteista]

Slay the Dragon

Papa Arc: Son… The time has come. The infamous Yellow Dragon has been terrorizing our village for far too long.

Jaune: I hear you, father. I have been training my whole life for this.

Papa Arc: Indeed, you have. Take the family sword. You shall honor the oath you took and slay that foul creature.

Jaune: I will see that it is done, father. *Takes his leave*

Papa Arc: Now, hold on a minute. *Grabs his shoulder*

Jaune: Yes, father?

Papa Arc: Before you go, I want to make one thing very clear. I said Slay. Not Lay.

Jaune: …Yeah, I got it the first time.

Papa Arc: Slay, son. Not lay, not laid, not bang, not bed, not consummate, not taking her out for dinner. I want you to KILL that dragon.

Jaune: Father, I don’t-

Papa Arc: It’s a giant DRAGON for heaven’s sake. That monster is responsible for wiping out dozens of villages a year and has killed far more people than you will ever meet in your entire life. So PLEASE! Don’t waste your breath trying to woo that blasted creature!

Jaune: Dad, I’m seriously not gonna-

Papa Arc: I cannot stress how much we need that bitch dead, and the very last thing we need is for you to try and stick your dick in it!

Jaune: D-DAD!

Papa Arc: I want you to take this sword and plunge into the beast’s heart! Chop it into pieces if you must! Don’t stop until the life has left its eyes!

Jaune: ALRIGHT, GEESH! *Calms down* For the last time, I’m not gonna seduce the dragon or anything. I don’t even know where you got that idea from.

Papa Arc: I just want to make sure you understand what I’m saying.

Jaune: Father, I’m not one of those dragon-lovin’ degenerates from the southern islands, okay? You don’t have to worry about that.

Papa Arc: Glad to hear it. *Clears throat* Go forward, son. Make your ancestors proud.

Jaune: Yeah, yeah… *Finally leaves*

Papa Arc: Phew! Crisis averted. Ain’t that right, honey?

Mama Arc: It’s not gonna work, Nicky.

Papa Arc: What makes you say that?

Mama Arc: Take a good look. *Shows her dragon tail* I still can’t believe you convinced our son I’m a lizard Faunus.

Papa Arc: So what if I got lucky and got myself a wife because I couldn’t read instructions properly?! I could’ve been killed! I don’t want Jaune to make the same mistake and risk getting scorched to death.

Mama Arc: I don’t know, Taiyang’s spawn did seem very lonely last I checked. And that was 20 years ago.

Papa Arc: Well, then Taiyang’s spawn shall find plenty of companionship in the fiery pits of hell. For our boy Jaune will not rest until the Yellow Dragon’s life has been claimed by the sacred Crocea Mors-

[}}]

Yang: S’up, in-laws! I’ve been meaning to meet you guys. Huge fan of your work here. *Slaps Jaune’s back*

Jaune: *red* Yang, please…

Papa Arc: *Disgruntled noises*

Mama Arc: Oh, you must be our boy’s fiancé he wrote about. Come now sweetie, let me show you around the house.

Yang: You got it, mom! Can’t wait to meet my new sisters. Later, hubby~

Papa Arc: Jaune… What did I tell you?

Jaune: Tell me what?

Papa Arc: The thing we discussed? Before parting on your quest?

Jaune: What thing- Oh. Ooohhh……

Papa Arc: Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?

Jaune: *Hand on the back of his head* I guess it slipped out of my mind…?

Papa Arc: Oh, something did slip, alright.

Jaune: It-It’s nothing like that! It all happened so fast, and-! Look, she’s on the run from a whole evil cult or some shit and I wondered if you and mom could let her crash here for a few weeks.

Papa Arc: And you didn’t think the neighbors would suspect anything from the blond girl with dragon horns waltzing around our house?

Jaune: I don’t know, I just figured we could tell everyone she’s a Faunus. Just like mom.

Papa Arc: *Wincing* About that, son…

#rwby shitpost #rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #dragonslayer #yang x jaune

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)

Part 2 - “Peter”

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Visions of a past life plague Felina as she recovers from burnout. Rhys seeks answers. Azriel comforts his mate as past-trauma comes crashing down on her. A former lover tracks her down.

Part 1 - El Paso Series Masterlist Part 3 - Vampire

warnings: past trauma, panic attack, references to sex, elements involving death, blood drinking, violence

Forgive me, Peter. My lost fearless leader.

“Quit fidgeting, Y/N.” Mother whispers as she runs a brush through my tangled hair.

Father is in Windhaven this week and I’ve been free to roam the skies as I please, whenever mother turns a blind eye. The arts district is vibrant with life and so often my family carries me out kicking and screaming. Well, aside from my brother who hides his amusement behind a mask of irreverence. He knows I love the rainbow.

Of course, Rhys has been gone on courtly business for weeks and I am dying to see him. My brother, the one person who truly understands me. Well, as much as one’s older brother can understand their sister.

I miss him.

“Sorry, mother.” I sigh. “I’m just excited to see my brother tomorrow on our travels.”

A pause of the brush strokes gliding through my hair shoots worry through me. I grit my teeth, bracing for her next words. “What is it?” I inquire, turning to see Mother’s lovely face downcast before her warm gaze meets mine. “He’s been held up and cannot travel with us tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I sigh. Hurt running through me. It’s not his fault, he’s busy and a far more benevolent leader than our father is a ruler, though he plays the game quite well.

An hour later as I lay in bed my heart races, my thoughts spiraling into the places I do my best to forget. The males of this court always let me down. Oh the perils of being the second born heir, younger than those surrounding me, female, and never taken seriously.

The goddess of timing, once found us beguiling.

A note appears at my bedside.

“Night’s truest bloom, there is no starlight without you. Won’t you cast thy gaze upon my room? Xx, Peter”

I smile at the flirtatious note, biting my lip. “You know I can’t but think of me as you bask in sunlight while mother and I trudge through the Illyrian forests tomorrow. Rhys bailed.”

“I don’t like that you’re traveling alone. Shall I come escort you?”

I blush at the thought of walking arm-in-arm with him. Gods, I’m so totally enamored. How did it end up like this?

“You High Fae, so territorial.” I write back.

“You are partly High Fae yourself, my lady. In fact, I’m pretty sure you offered to kill the last female who got too close for your liking.”

My stomach turns. I would. The female’s a lech.

“Semantics. I’ll see you when I get back. Dream filthy dreams of me.” I press a kiss to the letter and send it off.

“Only the filthiest, my sweet Felina.”

She said she was trying. Peter, was she lying? My ribs get the feeling she did.

—————-

Felina

“Y/N?” A cautious voice stirs me from my dream. I wake to find myself in a very large bed, surrounded by luxurious blankets that likely cost twenty-fold the standard linens I’d become accustomed to - the ornate room around me more spacious than anywhere I could recall resting my head.

My body is sore, lethargic. I stretch my arms and - ouch - stiff as well.

“Take it, easy, okay? Your body was under a lot of stress.” I blink my bleary eyes to see Azriel’s concerned gaze fixed upon me.

My body feels weighed down from exhaustion but my heart, it feels heaviest of all - a feeling I’ve continued to carry since Azriel found me at the Inn. Shouldn’t I be happy to have a piece of my life in place? I have a mate - and from what I can recall, a damn good one as well.

I open my mouth to speak but his eyes go distant, a look I’m familiar with but trying to place.

An urgent knock intrudes upon the silence, a look of irritation crossing Azriel’s features before he mutters an apology to me. “He couldn’t wait for me to speak with you apparently.”

My gut clenches, dread overtaking it as the door opens. In walks a male with a face so familiar that my heart’s pace rushes. My brother, Rhys.

“Y/N.” He chokes out, love and longing written all over his beautiful face. “You’re home.”

The name. Y/N. So familiar and so foreign. I remember it now but Felina brings me comfort. “Felina, please call me Felina.” Pain flickers across his features before giving a subtle nod. “Okay, Felina.”

His eyes sparkle as tears form in his eyes. “How? How are you here? Where have you been?”

I reach a hand to touch his face, the scruff beneath itching my palm, his hand instantly finding it and leaning in. It feels so warm and familiar and yet, I yank my hand away like lightning. “I don’t know.” My breaths quicken. Flashes of centuries of lies and manipulation rush into my head and it’s all too much. I can’t process this. I can’t relive it.

My hands find my torso, wrapping myself tightly, I can’t catch my breath. The hot blur of tears fill my eyes as I screw them shut. “I’m sorry- I- I“ can’t finish the sentence as I heave, trying my best to even out my breathing and failing miserably. The inky feel of power seeps from my skin and I can’t process the male voices speaking beside me. My name; a cold, icy voice giving a command; a broken voice of night giving in to whatever was commanded as heavy footsteps pace away, and then -

Darkness. Warmth. A heartbeat in my ear. A brush of lips against my hair. Azriel.

I stay there, sobbing as the emotions crash into me like the surf to rocky shores. The pain doesn’t alleviate for what feels like an hour, the rhythm of my mate’s chest finally bringing me back to the present.

When my eyes open, Azriel is draped over me, wings cocooning protectively around my body, his heartbeat the steady constant in my ear. “I’ve got you.” He whispers. I give into his warmth and drift off again.

————————

Said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

Lovers in a field. Brushed hands at balls. Green eyes meeting violet. Shared smiles.

Words from the mouths of babes

Tears cried into a broad shoulder. Whispers of “It’s not fair”, drunken chants of “fuck the cauldron!”, late nights and long dances beside reflections of starlight.

Promises oceans deep

Young lovers questioning eternity, the forces of fate. Letters signed with pen names.

But never to keep

————————-

“Brother, you need to sleep.” Rhysand stressed into Azriel’s mind.

The stubborn bastard had refused to leave Y/N’s side for the days she’d been unconscious. A huge part of Rhys beamed at that. Who was he to question the bonds forged by fate? Was Azriel being his sister’s mate ideal? In a sense, no. As an older brother, he’d always felt protective over her. But Y/N had always gravitated to Azriel, even as a child his shadows could calm her when she was fussy, his patient demeanor had always been a soothing balm to her inquisitive mind. He’d listen carefully as she pondered the great mysteries of life out loud long after the rest of the family had tuned her out.

“I’m fine.” Azriel’s conscious growled in return.

He sure as hell didn’t sound it.

“Let me send darkness to soothe her, just long enough for you to eat and get some sun.”

A pause and then the mirthful reply of “Is it an order?”

Maintaining composure the High Lord replied, “Is it necessary for me to do so?”

Ten minutes later, Azriel appeared at the bottom of the stairs, the light of the foyer emphasizing his hallowed eyes and drained skin. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” Azriel muttered.

Rhys knew he sounded like a prick but it was true. “How about you go sun your wings in the garden?”

The energy of the room shifted as Azriel’s eyes rolled, caught between humor and bitterness as he reminded his brother for the fifth time that week of the current circumstances. “Despite your good intentions, you seem to forget that prolonged exposure to the sun is exactly what I do not need.”

“Shit! I am never going to get used to this.” Rhys placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Fine, sit. Amren brought a fresh blood supply this morning. She says it’s goat from Sevenda’s but she was in a mood, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the blood of whatever poor souls had the nerve to cross her path on the way here.”

Azriel wanted to grin at the attempted humor but didn’t have it in him. What a strange turn of the tables, Amren no longer the bloodthirsty one.

The males sat in silence, Azriel nursing the goblet of blood Nuala had kindly brought in to him. Soft footsteps padded into the space, a familiar floral scent wafting through the room, as Elain entered.

“Oh.” the middle Archeron sister gasped. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She gave a wary smile, sad eyes falling on Azriel before flicking back to Rhys.

“Not interrupting, Elain. What do you have there?” Rhys glanced to a piece of paper in her clutched in her grasp. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she spoke too quickly, her pulse fluttering. “Writing secret love letters, Elain?”

She shook her head, glancing to Azriel once again. It grated Rhys to know the recent history, or whatever it was, that transpired between Azriel and Elain. With his sister being thrown into the mix now, he was battling that instinct to protect her at all costs.

Elain blushed a soft shade of pink, nearly matching that of her pastel dress. One hand grasping the delicate wrist of the opposite. “I’ve been writing to Lucien.”

“Ah, and how is dear Little Lucien?” Rhys raised an eyebrow, lip quirking upward.

“He’s fine.” Her words were clipped. “I have to go now. Cerridwen is waiting for me in the gardens. We’re planting a new variant of night-blooming jasmine.” She gave a nod and scurried from the room.

Azriel’s lips remained in a firm line as Rhys nursed the whiskey he’d poured himself.

Months ago, her words would have hurt, sliced like a dagger at Azriel’s own lack of a bond. Now, well, he still felt jaded toward Rhys for the solstice that he essentially banned him from pursuing a relationship with Elain. But- it worked for the best. There was nothing in this world he wanted more than his own mate, his Y/N, his Felina - as she insisted she be called.

Guilt tugged at him, he should be up with her, not downstairs. What if she needed him? What if she woke with a night terror and he wasn’t there?

“She’s fine, brother.” Rhys broke him from his thoughts. “Your shadows will alert you the moment she wakes, and I have darkness soothing her.”

Shaking his head, Azriel rested his face in his own palms as if he’d rub his face hard enough and all concerns would fade away.

Finally, he looked up. “How do you do it, Rhys? How do you stay away when there are so many questions that need answered?”

Sitting his glass down onto a coaster, Rhys leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “I know she is in good hands. You brought her back to me. And I know, a mate can help her right now far more than an older brother.”

The thought warmed the icy chill that had settled into Azriel’s bones, he reveled in the moment before replying. “There’s so much we don’t know- So much we need to know.”

“You’re the spymaster, Az, and she’s your mate. I know you need answers. And gods, don’t think for a moment that I don’t want answers too. It takes every ounce of will not to just dive in to see what I can find, but…. It’s her story to tell. And, when I send my darkness to soother her, her shields, there’s something about them that my own darkness recoils from.”

Digesting the words, Azriel took another swig from his goblet. “I need to go back upstairs.”

Rhys only gave a knowing nod.

—————————

Love’s never lost when perspective is earned

Dreams shifted from young love and light to pain and darkness plague my sleep state with visions of bloodshed on pristine snow. Brutal hands of power-hungry males. Sharpened blades. A mother’s scream. Shredded wings falling to the earth.

Lost to the Lost Boys chapter of your life

And then, warm hands and a familiar face. Love and terror in emerald eyes. Strong arms carrying a broken body. Cries of “Please just hold on for me.”

A promise of “Stay right here. I’m getting help.” The back of a lupine creature running toward the distance.

Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold on.

The effort of holding on is growing too hard. My head slumps as blood trickles from my wingless back. An unheard plea of “Peter!” falls from frozen lips.

Then there is darkness. Void. Impending death.

A cold, pale hand chills my skin. A cruel, beautiful face promises eternity. Unfamiliar arms drag me away and I do not fight.

But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light.

———————————

Azriel

Azriel had finally settled in beside a sleeping Felina, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and never let go.

His shadows alerted him to the breach in the wards first, shock running through him at the intrusion. Apparating to the entryway, he found Rhys at the front door, baring his teeth at the intruder, waves of night rolling off of him in a way that would send most running.

Icy rage shot through Azriel’s veins at the audacity of the male to show up at their door. The urge first, ask questions later pulling him toward the intruder. His lunged was interrupted by a sharp inhale behind him behind, diverting him from his war path.

His mate had walked down the stairs, her first time out of bed since arriving to the River House. Her slim form trembled, those otherworldly eyes swirling with emotions he couldn’t comprehend.

“Peter.” She whispered through rapid breaths. Azriel ran to her, bracing an arm around her back to steady her uneven footing as she climbed down the grand staircase.

The blonde male fell to his knees, his tears falling ricocheting off the marble floors.

Azriel has no time to ponder the incorrect name she’d used, focusing on her steps, observing the sight before him. He’d only ever seen the male solemn or filled with rage. Never this.

And Felina, there was no fear or hate in her eyes, no wariness, as she took in the male. No, the only emotion he could now read was one his heart wasn’t prepared to face.

So, Azriel watched as his mate’s eyes lined with tears, her slow steps increasing and filling with purpose as she reached the entryway, stepping out of his brace and flinging herself into the arms of the High Lord of the Spring Court.

—————————

Tamlin

Are you still a mind reader? A natural scene stealer?

He didn’t believe it when Lucien wrote to him sending word that Elain mentioned that Y/N was in Velaris. That she was alive. There was no way and getting his hopes up would kill him.

How many nights had he spent plagued by the memories of the day it all came crashing down? The ruination of a beautiful friendship, of a love forged from two kindred souls damned by fate, and the role he played in it.

They were both so jaded at an early age, he and Y/N. And for whatever reason he couldn’t fathom, the princess of night found the youngest heir of spring to be worthy of her presence. She was everything and he was just, a lost male. Everyone wanted her time but she wanted his, and so began the affair of sneaking off at parties, stolen kisses under starry nights, long rolls in soft grasses, love notes written with pen names.

He was Peter, the lost boy forced to grow up too soon - who wanted nothing more than a life of music and poetry but doomed to strengthen ties to Hybern, to be married off like seed stock to a mate that he hated, Hybern’s wicked general.

And Felina, feline, curious and sleek as a cat. She’d been heartbroken by a one-sided mating bond, by a mate who only saw her as the child she once was, a mate too busy pining over her cousin to notice the gem he had right in front of him.

They’d found comfort and peace with eachother, two young adults who could be whomever they wished in their stolen moments.

They were careful to avoid being caught. So careful, until the day he snuck off to watch as she traveled through the Illyrian forests with her mother, that instinct to protect those he cared for surfacing at such an early age. He thought he’d lost her forever. He’d tried so desperately to save her. By the time he returned with a healer, she had disappeared. To this day, Felina had been his greatest loss.

And moments ago when her cry called into his mind, “Peter!”. There was nothing that could hold him back from her, no wards too strong, no distance too far to winnow. There was only he and his need to see her for himself.

And now, here she was in his arms. Repeating over and over how sorry she was for not holding on, for not having faith that he’d return.

All he could choke out was, “Felina.”

We both did the best we could do, underneath the same moon in different galaxies.

—————————————

Tags:

General ACOTAR: @lilah-asteria

Series tag list: @saltedcoffeescotch @julesofvolterra @glittervame @nocasdatsgay

SPOILER FOR THIS STORY (in case you need to know who is end game) : click here

#acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #vampyr #vamp!azriel #vamp!reader #Tamlin #soft Tamlin #azriel x rhysand’s sister #tamlin x rhysand’s sister #Rhysand #acotar angst #Azriel angst #peter taylor swift #ttpd #inspired by taylor swift #Spotify

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 13 - Issa Jorrāelagon

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

You’re not sure Aemond will be in the library so early in the day but there's a familiar face waiting by the door. 

“Lady Baratheon,” Aemond’s guard says and, though part of you is relieved, you almost turn back. 

Last night, when you’d received the invite to meet him here, you hadn’t intended to take him up on the offer. But that had been easy to say when your anger had been fresh, and your clothes were not drenched with rainwater.  

“You never told me your name, Ser,” you say, teeth chattering as the cold of the storm seeps into your bones. 

The guard looks you up and down, no doubt thinking you look more like a stray dragged in from the street than a high-born lady of house Baratheon, but he answers you just the same.  

“Ser Willis Fell, if it pleases you, My Lady,” he says, opening the door to permit your entry despite the state of your appearance.

“Thank you, Ser Willis,” you smile, and before the door shuts behind you, you’re struck by the sheer majesty of the room, and gasp, your head tilting to take it all in.  

The vaulted ceiling is so high, it's impossible to imagine how anyone could have painted the giant dragons which command its dome, and they are so striking. One black, one bronze, one silver.  

From their colouring alone you know they must be the dragons of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives. Which means one of them is Vhagar, the bronze one, ridden by Visenya and so fierce it was hard to imagine a small boy could ever dare to tame her. Then again, that boy had been Aemond, and he was nothing if not extraordinarily arrogant.  

You laugh softly at the thought, your gaze slipping down the dark oak walls to where the panels merge with the bookcases. There are so many, all so tall they need a ladder to reach their highest shelves, and stretching so far back you can’t even count the rows. 

It's hard to believe there could be so many books. But there must be thousands, and you can smell the comforting scent of musk and leather which seeps from all the bindings while the warmth of a fire crackles somewhere out of sight. 

Inching into the candlelight offered by the brass sconces which flank the first row, you hear distant footsteps quickening on the stone floor.

"I was wondering when you might arrive,” Aemond says, appearing five rows down, with a book in each hand. 

Sighing, you scrape your fingers across your forehead to push the wet tendrils of hair from your eyes. “Even your company cannot dissuade me from books."

“Then I shall carry them with me always,” he says solemnly, his hand reaching to push back a piece of hair which you have missed, and you’d be annoyed by the intrusion, if his fingers were not so deliriously warm compared to your skin.  

“I trust my lady did not take a dip in any bodies of water before she arrived?” he says, eyeing you with both intrigue and delight.  

Now you do push his hand away, “it's raining.” Though you cannot hear the downpour from within these sturdy walls, “ and... if you must know, I was trying to escape from Tyland Lannister.” 

“Hmm , ” his eyebrow raises with amusement instead of surprise, confirming a suspicion which had begun to fester in your mind as you walked in the rain.  

The letter to Maris and your conversation with Tyland Lannister could be no coincidence. They were both related to things you had complained of last night. But did Aemond really think he could rectify all his mistakes in a single morning? 

"You said something to him,” you say, wanting to be certain. 

A smile plays at his lips, “you are not pleased by his renewed interest?” 

“I was never pleased by his interest to begin with,” you scoff, annoyed that Aemond could hold so much sway over another man, “now I also think him weak and a little pathetic, which I'm sure you will find amusing.” 

He doesn’t hide his delight, “ good , now you see him as I do... but does that make me even more repugnant to my lady?” 

“No ,” you pause, narrowing your eyes, “the smug look on your face does that all by itself.” 

Aemond bites back his smile, and you begin to wring out your hair though the water has nowhere to go but the skirts of your dress.  

Still, it's better than nothing and Aemond watches you with some strange fascination, his books clutched in front of him with the long fingers on a single hand enough to support both volumes.  

“Did your sister get my letter?” he says after a time.  

“Yes ,” you glare at him, still annoyed, “and she thinks I’ve been hatching some ridiculous plot to win your favour!” 

His smug look returns, his eye so animated as he teases, “have you?”  

“Be sensible!” you say tartly, pushing past him towards the fire. 

“There was no mention of your name in my letter,” he calls from behind, as though it occurs to him that you might think he’s placed all the blame for his actions squarely on your shoulders. 

“I know,” you admit, standing close enough to the flames to feel the heat seeping into the fabric of your dress. “She was upset that we played Cyvasse,” you tilt your head to meet his eye, “though if she knew what a loathsome player you were, she would not be quite so jealous.” 

He moves closer, the gold buttons on his doublet glinting in the firelight. 

“I'd say Cyvasse should be the least of her worries... and I promise my lady will find me far less loathsome in our next game.” 

"Then I am lucky we are here to read,” you retort, deciding you will never play another game with him so long as you live, “though I wish I had not walked so long in the rain first.” 

“You could take off your clothes and let them dry by the fire?” he suggests, his eye gleaming wickedly. 

You glare at him yet again, but you don't find nearly as much embarrassment in his words as you would have done a few weeks ago. “And if your mother joins us, as she is so apt to do whenever we are in conversation? What will she think then?” you counter, brow raised. 

Aemond snorts out an unexpected laugh, bracing his ribs, “that I am finally submitting to giving her a grandchild?” 

You laugh too, but your laughter is made up entirely of nerves, “in that case, I shall be certain I allow my clothes to dry on.”  

He tuts, disapproving of your choice and you turn away, your cheeks flushed.  

“You seem to be feeling much better today,” you say as though it is an accusation, before you move towards the bookcase which is stacked with the thickest books you’ve ever seen.  

"It’s merely a bruise,” he replies but you know he's downplaying the truth, not that you say anything more. You're not a Maester or his mother, so he can do as he pleases as far as you’re concerned. 

Pulling one of the volumes from the middle of the shelf, the dust threatens a sneeze as you inspect its sturdy black cover without any understanding of the words printed on the front. 

“It’s High Valyrian,” Aemond says, standing beside you. “Do you read it?”  

You huff softly, “in Storms End we are lucky we learn to read at all, anything more would be considered a complete waste of time, especially for a girl.”  

“Udrizi Valyrio ȳdrā?” he says, the strange words rolling like silk from his tongue.  

Your eyes snap to meet his, surprised. Though you knew he must speak High Valyrian, you’d never really imagined what it would sound like or how it would elicit a tickle of warmth right into the centre of your chest. 

“What did you say?” you ask, curiosity peaking beyond any dislike you want to harbour for the one-eyed dragon.   

A slow smile inches into his cheeks, as though he relishes every drop of your undivided attention. “I asked if you spoke Valyrian and I’m surmising your answer should be ‘daor’ .”  

“Daor ,” you repeat, liking the way it feels on the tongue even if it doesn't spark the same sensation in your chest as when Aemond says it. “And how do I say ‘yes’?”  

“Kessa.”  

“Kessa ,” you slide the book back onto the shelf, repeating the words again, committing them to memory. “Kessa, Doar.” Yes, No.    

“I can teach you more if you like, issa jorrāelagon? ” he suggests, gesturing to the chaise by the fire. 

“Issa jorr... a-”  

“Jorrāelagon.” 

“What does that mean?” 

He considers you for a moment, his finger tapping on his book, “it means... my lady .” 

“Issa jorrāelagon,” you say, and his expression, though it had never been hard, still softens like ice in the sun. Leaving you to wonder how much more difficult he would be to hate, if he had two eyes looking at you with such devotion.  

You turn away, heart pounding as you force your attention back to the shelf, but all the books are the same. Thick, black, unreadable.  

“As much as I would enjoy learning a new language, what use have I with High Valyrian when you are the only one I know who speaks it?”  

“You know Helaena.” 

“Barely ,” you reach for a book on a different shelf, brushing your finger across the ribbed edge of its dark green spine, “but I’ve wanted to explore this library since I arrived in Kings Landing, and I may never get another chance.”  

Aemond leans in, and you don’t just smell the scent of the books, you smell the soap on his skin. Cedar and sage, so clean and masculine, as the heat of his words caress your ear with an unexpected whisper. 

“Skori ao issi issa ābrazȳrys , ao shall māzigon se jikagon hae ao kostilus, issa jorrāelagon .”  

You have no idea what he’s saying but you cannot ignore the tone, sensuous, commanding. As though he’s making you a promise, yet you dare not know it, and couldn’t ask even if you wanted to.  

Words seem to have fled your brain. Your breath hitching in your throat while your fingers grip tightly onto the shelf as though it is the only thing keeping you upright. But Aemond doesn’t seem to notice any of those things, and how could he? 

He does not feel that same spark of warmth which begins in your chest before flickering outwards, its progress licking through your veins until it lands in the pit of your stomach and a thousand butterflies spark into life. 

Instead, he turns back towards the fire as though nothing is amiss, when everything feels wrong .  

You're still holding your breath and the swirl of butterflies are beginning to make you feel as though you might burst at the seams. But the worst part is, though you have never found anyone more infuriating in your entire life, you seem to have forgotten all Aemond’s previous misdeeds and almost trail after him. 

In fact, the only thing stopping you, is how tightly you’re holding onto the shelf, as you watch him settle into the chaise with the company of his books, his eye sliding to meet yours as though he’s wondering why you’re still standing there.  

It’s a good question. Why aren't you moving?  

Cheeks flushing again, you kick your legs into action as you disappear into the safety of the giant stacks.  

What was wrong with you?  You wonder, squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath, but you don’t really want to know the answer to that .  

So, you push the question away, thankful the library is large enough for you to avoid Aemond for the rest of the morning.  

Yet that doesn’t stop you feeling his presence in the room as you walk along the rows, trying to ignore him, and focusing all your attention on devouring as many first pages as possible.  

Some good, some terrible, some intriguing, but nothing singing to your soul in the way Queen Nymeria had from the first instance. You’re desperate to find a book you can love as much as that, but the choice is overwhelming, and it would take years to work through even the tiniest corner of the library. 

Still, you’re determined and you're not sure how much time passes, but it must be quite a while, before Aemond finds you sitting on the stone floor between the rows, with books by your side, books resting on your knee, and one in your hand. 

“Are you lost, or do you always do your reading on the floor?” he says, leaning against the shelves with his arms crossed and a small huff of laughter rolling from his chest. 

“I simply cannot decide what to read first, there’s too much choice,” you reply with some urgency, as though it might be the worst problem in the entire world, and he laughs again before stalking towards you and offering his hand.  

Sliding the book from your knee, you know you really shouldn’t accept his help, you can stand on your own. Yet you take it anyway, surprised by his strength as he pulls you to your feet. Then surprised again when he does not let go. 

He holds you securely, pulling you through the stacks and picking up books here and there, which you carry in the crook of your arm before he deposits you on his chaise, though there are plenty of other seats dotted around the fire. Seats which would not have his knee pressed with yours. 

“Read this first,” he says, and you look at the cover, realising it's the second volume to the book of songs you’d enjoyed so much. 

Already you know this is an excellent choice, and you’re annoyed to think you should have asked him to pick for you all along.  

“Have you a favourite in this one?” you say, flicking lightly through the pages and regretting your question the moment you said it. 

Aemond smiles when he steals the book back from your hands and returns it opened a third of the way through. 

“A Song of Storms,” you read out loud, meeting the teasing look in his eye before your gaze returns to the page.  

Then you recite the rest, and Aemond is a captive audience as much as the song is very beautiful. Too beautiful, and far too melancholy to be chosen by a dragon prince. 

In fact, his love of songs almost lulls you into thinking he might not be entirely repugnant after all. Yet he is. He must be.  

“What is the word for storm?” you say, deciding you would have been far safer with a book on history or science. Safer still if you were sitting on your own chair. 

“Jelmāzma.” 

“Jelmāzma,” you repeat atrociously enough to make him laugh, but you laugh too and then your stomach growls so loudly you both laugh again. 

Him out of amusement, you out of embarrassment.  

“If you must know, I was forced to abandon my breakfast this morning after your scroll arrived for Maris,” you say, ensuring he’s aware of the part he’s played in yet another humiliation. 

“How repugnant of me,” Aemond says with the twitch of another smile as he stands, his hand bracing against his rib. 

He moves to a cord by the fire, pulling it three times before a servant arrives at a door hidden in the panelling.  

You cannot hear the whispered list of instructions and pretend not to be watching his every movement. But you are watching.  

The way he saunters, so cocky. The way he looks back at you, half teasing smile, half breathtaking intensity. The way his leg stretches out as he sits down, so it just touches yours. 

Fresh nerves flutter in your stomach where the butterflies had lived, and you swallow, staring down at your book but finding you can only pretend to read.  

Luckily, it does not take very long before the food arrives and there’s tea, wine and delicate little pastries, but it's the fruit which catches your eye. So colourful and perfectly prepared into bitesize pieces.  

There was hardly any fruit at Storms End. Only apples at harvest time and blackberries in the summer.  

Your stomach threatens to growl again as you pick up a strawberry, careful not to let the juice drip onto the pages of the book before popping it in your mouth.  

Aemond reaches for a piece of fruit you've never seen before, telling you its name in High Valyrian before he throws it up and catches it in his mouth.  

Such an unbelievable show off, yet you can’t help but smile, because the only person he’s trying to impress is you, and though it makes you nervous, its intoxicating too.  

You both reach for more fruit and he tells you the High Valyrian for all the items on the tray. Cup, plate, wine and, though you know you’ll never remember them, you let him teach you anyway, melting a little with every word, until you’ve had your fill, and return your attention to the book. 

You recite another song, this one about a lark, then you find yourself asking him about the book he’s reading, then about his trips to Dorne, if he as ever seen The Wall, if he has ever sailed on one of the ships bobbing in the bay, and just about a thousand other things. 

Talk comes easy and Aemond is a natural storyteller. His stories all seem to contain so much excitement and vibrancy, and you consume them as though they are more delectable than the fruit on the tray. Barely noticing your clothes have long since dried, or the three times the maid arrives to add more logs to the fire. 

You certainly don’t have as many exciting stories as Aemond, since your entire life has been contained to Storms End. But the subject doesn’t seem to matter as much as the sharing. 

You’re telling him about the time when you were eleven, and had fallen from a tree, fracturing your arm. You still have a scar, its faded path hidden beneath the sleeve of your gown. But Aemond has your arm in his hand as though he can see it, and you’re laughing as you admit how pleased you were that the injury meant you didn’t have to practice embroidery for several months.  

He laughs too, and you imagine he’s thinking of those wonky cornflowers when Ser Willis walks in, his entrance masked by the laughter which has been echoing around the giant room all afternoon.  

"I’m sorry to disturb you, Prince Aemond,” he bows, “but there is a Ser Maurin Selmy at the door, looking for your lady.” 

Only now, under Ser Willis’ gaze, do you realise that, on this chaise made for two, you’ve crept close enough to Aemond to allow room for a third, a little fortress of books surrounding you, the fire ready for another log. 

You jump up, snatching your arm from his grasp, and feeling a little flustered at the way Ser Willis’ head is bowed, as though the scene is far too intimate for prying eyes.  

“Excuse me,” you say, hurrying towards the door with Aemond’s long legs catching your escape but not blocking it.  

Outside of the library, Ser Maurin gives you a shake of his head, his eyes filled with the concern of a man who’s known you all his life. Not a father, but close enough. 

"We’ve had all the men scouring the keep for you, my Lady,” he says, and you glance to a nearby window to see that the afternoon sun has faded towards dusk. 

When had that happened?  

How had you spent all day with Aemond?  

Past lunch, past tea, and well past the realms of propriety. 

You swallow hard, heart drumming in your chest in anticipation of your father's fury, while Ser Maurin looks to the prince. 

His old eyes are fierce with warning, but he doesn’t offer a word to his grace before turning on his heel, his arm held out to escort you home. 

“Your books,” Aemond says, handing you the three he had selected as though he had not a concern in the world for anyone's disapproval. 

“Thank you,” you say stiffly, careful not to meet his eye. 

“You will return tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful .  

Tightening your arms around the books, you hold them to your chest as though they are a shield, “these books shall keep me busy until I leave in three days time, and I shall return them then, your grace.” 

At that, you turn, taking Ser Maurin’s arm, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts before it lands on one . 

“Please don’t tell them you found me with the prince.” 

“May I ask why?” his old stare fixes on the side of your face, and your cheeks begin to heat before you pause, remembering how upset Maris had been this morning. 

“They will get the wrong idea.”  

He gives you a pointed look, “and what is the right idea?” 

You turn to him, eyes wide, words like dust on your tongue. Honestly, you didn’t know. You could hardly even comprehend how you’d spent the entire day in Aemond’s company without feeling the need to kill him or run away. 

“Just tell them I was alone, ” you decide. 

Alone was easy to explain and even easier to believe than the alternative. But you knew the truth. That you’d spent an entire day with a dragon and enjoyed every moment.

~~~

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you're enjoying this story :)

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #romance #female reader #enemies to lovers #aemond targaryen x oc #prince aemond #slow burn

[lipglossanon]

Little Whispers

Prince!Chris Redfield x Lady-In-Waiting!reader (one shot)

Takes place in the Fairy Tale AU, A Dozen Roses

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, power dynamics, flirting, kissing, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✌️

“Brother, am I to believe you did not come away with a bride?”

You hide your smile, helping your lady pin her long fiery hair into place. Prince Redfield snorts and crosses his arms. 

“You are correct, dear sister,” he glares at her through her looking glass, brown eyes locking onto her blue ones, “she seemed to be spoken for.”

“By whom?”

He shifts uneasily, dropping his hands as he runs one through his messy brown hair. 

“I cannot say only that it seemed to be more of a social call,” he answers cagily.

His gaze flickers around the room until he meets yours, making you quickly drop your eyes back down to the Princess. 

“Did you hire yourself a new lass?” He asks humorously. 

“If you must know, Lord Burnside sent her from his estate,” Princess Claire huffs out, letting you place the last pin in her hair before standing up, “she is to stay with me and be my lady-in-waiting.”

Prince Chris nods, “Welcome to our home.”

You curtsy and bow your head, “Thank you, my lord.”

When you stand up straight, his brown eyes are staring at you, lips lifted in a grin. Attention shifting to his sister, he offers her a lazy salute. 

“I shall see you at dinner later. I’m taking the dogs out hunting,” he turns back to you, sending you a wink, “my lady.”

As he slips out the door, the Princess rolls her eyes. 

“Pay him no mind, he’s but an oaf,” she brushes her skirts down, “now, let us join the other ladies.”

After an extremely long, and quite boring, social call with the other ladies in the castle, the kitchen boy enters to announce supper is ready. Falling in step behind your mistress, you follow her into the grand dining hall where other lords and ladies have gathered. 

“Chris told me he asked these cretins to leave,” she whispers to you angrily, “they only sup at our table to try and garner his attention.”

You hum and nod, “Maybe he wishes to keep an eye on them, my lady?”

She frowns and lets you help her into her seat near the head of the table, catching the Prince’s attention. 

“And what gossip are you two lasses whispering about?” His brown eyes shift between you two, a smile playing across his lips. 

“Just that you have poor taste in company,” the Princess sniffs haughtily, “how goes the hunt?”

Prince Redfield laughs, voice loud and boisterous, “If not for my company, you would not have a little lord of your own would you, dear sister?”

His amusement turns to you, “What say you, lady?”

“It is not my place to judge, my lord,” you bow, stepping back from Princess Claire’s seat to stand with the other servants. 

“Aye, tis good you know your place,” he chuckles a little lower and it makes your body feel warm. 

As they dig into the feast before them, you sneak glances of the Prince. He’s tall and broad, his dark hair and brown eyes striking with his bearded face. A small scar cuts across his eyebrow, but it only enhances his looks. He catches you staring once and grins rakishly making you drops your eyes, shyness creating a warmth in your body. 

After dinner is finished, various manservants move the tables out of the way for that evening’s entertainment. The Prince and Princess welcome the band of musicians and dancers, sitting atop their thrones to oversee all. Being beckoned by your lady, she sends you off to prepare her rooms with the other maids so you may learn the routine. 

Once her chambers have been made ready, you bid the others goodnight and walk along the corridor to wait upon the Princess once more. A large shadow moves away from an alcove and you gasp, clutching the neck of your gown. 

“Didn’t mean to frighten you,” Prince Chris steps further into the light given from the sconces on the wall. 

“Apologies, Prince,” you quickly curtsy, “I am not used to the castle just yet.”

“How does it fair to Lord Burnside’s?” He steps closer, slowly corralling you into another alcove— unseen from prying eyes. 

“Oh it is much more impressive, my lord,” you smile, “such an honor to be here and serve his beloved Princess.”

“An honor?”

He hums and draws closer to you until you step away to keep some distance only for your back to press against cold stone.  Heat pools low in your stomach, knowing exactly what kind of intimate position this places you in with the Prince. 

“Is it an honor to serve me? Tis my castle you live in now,” he murmurs, hand brushing across your cheek to trace your jaw and down your neck. 

“O-of course, my lord.”

Shivering, you wet your lips, hands falling to your side. You won’t deny that you have thought the Prince a handsome man from the times he and his sister have visited Lord Burnside. You never dreamt you would catch his eye in such a way; it’s thrilling and illicit, arousal pulsing through your body. 

He braces a forearm against the wall next to your head, his other hand gripping your waist before trailing down your hip. Gasp hitching in your chest, your eyes flutter as he pets down your gown and begins to pull it up your legs. With a warm hum, he slips a hand under your skirts to cup your leaking sex. 

“Such a wet mess betwixt your legs, my pretty lass,” he coos in your ear, thick fingers petting across your clit before spreading your lips to tease against your dripping hole, “are you going to let your lord have a taste?”

“Whatever you wish,” you whimper, nipples tightening as he laughs and kneels down at your feet.

“Lift these skirts,” he directs, hands sliding up your calves to grip your thighs. 

A soft gasp falls from your mouth as you grab the bottom of your gown and drag it up, baring your lower body to Prince Redfield. With a wicked grin, he kisses your mound. 

“Think I’ll eat this fat cunt,” he noses at your clit, tongue parting your lips, “don’t be too loud.”

With those words ringing in your ears, the Prince laps at your hole, tongue spearing into your cunt with eagerness. Your fingers grip your skirts so tightly your knuckles hurt. Biting your lip, you keen in your throat as the Prince grinds his face up into your wet heat. His beard scratches at your sensitive skin and increases the pleasure to the point of pain. 

“Oh,” a soft whispering moan escapes your mouth when Prince Redfield flattens his tongue and drags it up to your swollen bundle of nerves. 

His tongue flutters wildly, lapping at your pudgy bud until your hips rock into his mouth. With a low chuckle, he slips his middle and ring finger into your leaking hole. 

“Such a dirty whore,” he pulls back and spits on your cunt, “letting me ruin you like this. What would your mistress think?”

Whimpering, you clench your eyes shut, trying to hold back any noise. Your body burns hot like an ember as the Prince laughs and goes back to licking and kissing your dripping cunt. Pleasure overrides your senses, the only thing you’re aware of is the mouth latched to the apex of your thighs; of the stillness in the empty corridor of the castle; of the utter mess leaking down your legs and dripping onto the stone floor. 

The Prince pulls away, his brown eyes nearly black in the torchlight, “Shall I use my cock so that we both feel good?”

“We shouldn’t,” you whimper while he stands up to his full height, hands undoing the lacing on his trousers. 

He pulls his stiff cock free and your lips part with a sigh. He’s thick and long, swollen tip dripping with seed as he strokes the length. With a low laugh, he presses you against the wall harder, hand gripping the base of his cock and dragging it against your soft folds. 

Whimpering softly, you cover your mouth while he taps the head against your swollen bundle before parting your cunt to dip into your hole.

“Shall I take you as a husband takes a wife?” He rumbles, dragging his cock back up to rub and bump against your clit, “shall I fill you with my royal seed til you’re dripping and staining the floor?”

You know you should say no, should beg his forgiveness and deny him any claim to your body. But you’ve only had a few fumbles in the hay with men no more knowledgeable than boys. Price Redfield is offering you a chance to experience something you’ve only dreamt about. 

Nodding, you dare not move your hands away from your mouth. He smiles crookedly and notches his cock at your entrance. 

“Good girl,” he whispers as he slowly presses inside your wet heat.

Your eyes roll back as he presses deeper and deeper inside your body, cunt sucking him in eagerly, inner walls fluttering and pulsing around his thick cock. 

“Greedy girl,” he rasps against your ear once he bottoms out, balls lightly smacking against your skin. 

He pulls out halfway before sinking back in to the hilt, your chest heaving in silence. 

“How does it feel?” He drops one hand away from the wall to ghost across your swollen bud, “how does a Prince’s cock feel in your fat cunt?” 

You gasp weakly, hands falling away from your mouth to scratch at his broad shoulders. He chuckles and dips down to kiss you, beard rough against your cheeks as his tongue delves into your mouth much how he ate your cunt earlier. 

He pulls away with a wet kiss, “Answer me, lass.”

Your mind feels like an empty pool of pleasure, body singing with it as he thrusts his cock into your squelching hole. 

“It feels good, my lord,” you mewl quietly, eyes fluttering as he rubs your clit in slow circles, “it feels so good.”

He groans and grasps your thighs, dragging your back up the wall and hoisting you higher. His next thrust makes you cry out shamelessly as his cock fills you completely, hole stretching to take all of him at a new angle. 

“That’s it, pretty maid,” he grunts in your ear, “scream for me. Let everyone know the Prince is fucking your soft wet cunt where anyone can see.”

Your blood feels like it’s on fire, the pressure and pleasure builds in your core until you teeter over an edge you’ve only heard whispers of between the other maids. 

“Aye,” he laughs, brown eyes crinkling with warmth, “you’ll gift me with your sweet slick as I in turn give you my seed.”

You gasp and he bites your bottom lip. 

He whispers against your mouth, “Let me ruin you, my pretty lass.”

His fingers thrum across your swollen bud at the same time he bottoms out inside your cunt and it snaps the tension coiled inside your body.  With another low cry, your nails dig into his shoulders as your cunt bears down on his cock, inner walls milking him for his royal seed. He groans, hips flexing as he grips you tightly, thrusting hard and fast to chase his own end. 

Leaning forward, he sinks his teeth into the skin where your neck and shoulder meet as he pumps your cunt full of his spend. You moan weakly, feeling the sticky heat of his cum breeding your hole until it spills out to drip down your thighs. He pulls away with a grunt, more of his spend spattering onto the floor as your used cunt throbs. 

“Your mistress will not miss you for one night,” his blown out gaze slowly moves from your swollen cunt up to your hazy eyes, “shall I show you my quarters?”

With your nod, he gently places you back down onto your feet and drops your gown to cover the mess he made of your cunt. He presses a quick kiss to your temple and grasps your wrist. 

“Then follow me, my pretty lass.”

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