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#I know it's hard to see but ali is there too!
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pausing your regularly scheduled drama to announce that camp tensions are finally relaxing ~
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camptw1nk · 1 year
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I log into my other blogs multiple times every day and yet. Nothing Happens on them
#if we want to get ultra specific its because i want to revamp my multi but i refuse to work on it bc im scared of losing all my mutuals 🤪#and i Know thats not likely but i will lose a lot it happens every time i move blogs and i move too often i know i do#i havent moved that blog in like 4 months? at least but i. i have made new blogs and i think people are. tired of it#ive never done anything on ali bc im scared people will see how i write her as Wrong not the canon divergence but like. How /I/ Write Her#like i havent seen so much of pll and im scared to write mean characters bc in the past ive faced a lot of people who.#cant really separate mean muse and nice mun and just kinda assume im mean#and its really hard to write a muse like ali without people who know and understand them#but i cant write w people who know and understand her bc a) i dont even know and understand her and#b) i don't feel like i can enter the fandom bc of how much of pll i havent seen#i am in a constant state of 🧍‍♂️ and it doesnt matter who i have muse for bc Ultimately kurt is the one i end up on#bc hes easy and people have come to know him and so people are actually interested and excited here#and i think people are still running on the hype of him on a solo blog rather than the multi so its all exciting#i wanted to move jason to a solo for the same reason just hoping people would. care#but uh. i think i just need to lower my muse count and find more people who will interact with whoever i write instead of trying to please#people who only have interest in one person#idk this became a rant i didnt mean it to long story short im everywhere always i just don't have motivation
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shekilledherself · 2 years
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fioiswriting · 5 months
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Reunion | oneshot
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Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...
[Part 2]
Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI
Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3
TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.
Words count : 7600
Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever
Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!
Enjoy 🖤
I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron
The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.
For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.
It had been the best solution, you knew. 
For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded.  He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.
So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.
The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.
You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt.  It sill fucking hurt.
Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation.  A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges.  And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled.  Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.
Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.
During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger. 
Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.
And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders.  Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.
But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it.  He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.
First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own. 
And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.
You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.
You loved him.
So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.
Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?
Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.
But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.
Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.
It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell.  Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost.  King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.
But above all, it was haunted by him.
The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.
You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you.  Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.
But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.
Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.
On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.
When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.
"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you." 
You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor.  You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.
"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.
It felt good to be back.  It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you. 
Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.
The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead.  It must have been your imagination.  You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.
Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest.  Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.
At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.
But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.
You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.
One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.
The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.
And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.
You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.
"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen. 
That voice. It couldn't be.
Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.
It can’t be.
That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.
"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."
The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.
It is impossible.
He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.
Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?
"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.
You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.
His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears. 
The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets.  And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.
You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.
He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.
The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.
"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.
He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.
"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company. 
He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.
He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.
A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.
You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal.  You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead. 
But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.
"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly. 
There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway. 
"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"
"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him.  You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be.  You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't." 
"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.
"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."
The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs. 
"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you.  You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin.  Not a sound leaves your lips.
"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."
Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall.  Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself -  but you can't help feeling your heart clench.  You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.
"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time. 
You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.
"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him.  A bit of anger, perhaps, too.
"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly.  Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."
Everything is so confused in your mind.  A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy.  Of love too.
You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.
"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."
You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips. 
There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.
His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.
"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."
You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.
"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."
His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.
It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.
You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion.   You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you. 
The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.
"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.
His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.
Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.
"On your knees then."
The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit.  He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.
Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely. 
Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.
His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion. 
His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.
"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."
You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly. 
"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.
His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience. 
He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps. 
" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.
The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.
"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you. 
The memory was so close and yet so far away.
Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.
"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him.  He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.
"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.
"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence.  You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious. 
His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching. 
He doesn't let go of you. 
"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him.  It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.
His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his. 
Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you. 
You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him.  You had always burned for him.
In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.
There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.
His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.
He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow. 
He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other.  Your hands are buried in his long silver hair.  You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.
The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.
"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet? 
Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.
"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress. 
You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.
"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."
"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."
Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.
You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.
You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.
He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.
He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices. 
The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.
" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body. 
He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.
You feel whole again and you want to cry.  You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.
You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.
"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.
"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable. 
You need him. 
When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.
Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.
"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."
The praise is sweet music to your ears.  You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.
You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.
"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.
Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.
"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."
The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him.  It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.
I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you. 
He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.
The weight of his body on yours is comforting.  For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.
When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness. 
You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.
Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you.  You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.
And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.
You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.
"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."
When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy. 
He lets out a hm and pauses.
"Is he yours?"
You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth.  You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?
"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.
"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"
Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie.  You know you should lie.  To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years.  You only need one word.
You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.
"No, he's not." 
The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.
"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.
You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.
You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips. 
" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."
You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye.  It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.
"What did you say?"
You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words.  You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath. 
"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.
It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.
Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.
Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.
"My son," he repeats in awe.  It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity.  Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.
"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.
He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.
And this time, he makes love to you.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 
"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.
"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.
It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.
Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.
"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"
The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.
"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know." 
He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.
"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him. 
You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him.  You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.
You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up. 
Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know."  Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence.  He has always suffered from his father's indifference.
You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.
"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.
You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions. 
But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.
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adragonprinceswhore · 23 days
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Colour My Mind, Bring Me Back
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Chapter V: The Kinslayer King I Series Masterlist Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!wife
Summary: Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen returns to King’s Landing victorious after besting his uncle during The Battle Above the Gods Eye, securing his withering brother's claim to the Iron Throne. Upon his arrival, he learns that his wife was a casualty of a Black ambush, suffering a severe blow to her skull.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns (3rd person), angst, canon divergence (Aemond survives), war trauma, depictions of violence, head injury, amnesia, ableism, medieval medicinal practices, longing, yearning, major character death, smut (loss of virginity, P in V, erectile dysfunction), allusions to Aemond’s 13th name day
Word Count: 4000
A/N: Dreams, thoughts, and letters are in italics.
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Alys places his hand in her palm, slicing into the prince’s calloused skin. The cut stings, and Aemond winces as her fingers press meanly into the sides of his palm, forcing more blood to flood from the wound. 
She hums in satisfaction, catching the prince’s blood on a piece of fabric. Bringing the red-stained cloth to her lips, she whispers something unintelligible before throwing it into the fire before their eyes. 
She’d ordered his men to build a fire three times larger than what they usually made do with. After, they had all been dismissed, leaving the prince and the witch alone. 
The fire roars, shifting from orange to green before his eyes. Alys continues to mumble words he cannot understand, grabbing his hand, still leaking fresh blood, and holds it for him in front of the fire. 
“Look” 
In the green flames soot dances, forming shapes before his eyes. 
He sees himself on Vhagar, plummeting down from the sky, breaking the surface of God’s Eye with such force the water ripples to the sides and crashes around them like the waves of Blackwater Bay. 
He can clearly see the cause of his death, Dark Sister penetrating the socket where the eye he was robbed of used to be. 
“Now you know” 
The soot from the fire travels to his face, infiltrating his lungs. 
It’s hard to breathe, each inhale burning. 
Air cannot reach his lungs. 
Overcome with panic, he breathes in deeper, more forcefully, but he’s still suffocating. 
Just as Aemond thinks he’s dying from lack of air, his lungs fill up. He loudly inhales, waking himself from the memory that had felt just as vivid as the day he’d asked Alys to show him how he’d die. 
His study is still dark. As his seeing eye adjusts to the lack of light, he rises from the settee he finds infrequent sleep on. 
He scarcely remembers how it feels to sleep uninterruptedly. How it feels to have dreams. Instead, when his mind is too tired to stay awake, it chooses to remind him of the battle wounds he still carries. 
It started after Rook’s Rest. He woke most nights in panic, heart racing in his chest as visions of Aegon’s burning body flashed before him. Seeing his brother’s armour melt against his body, hearing his screams of agony, begging for futile help no one could grant him as he was stuck on Sunfyre’s back, the beast echoing his rider’s roars of pain. 
As a child, he’d found solace in sleep, preferably by Alicent’s side. After he lost his eye, he learned that sleep is a privilege not granted to those who fought for their birthright. 
Still, his night terrors had eased as his wife began to share his bed, allowing him to anchor himself to her soft flesh as they drifted off to sleep together. 
A short time after Rook’s Rest, he’d asked for the Maesters help in finding uninterrupted sleep. They’d simply suggested he drinks enough wine to quiet his mind before retiring to bed. Aemond did not enjoy the loss of control, or the unexplainable sadness that often made itself known whenever he indulged in too much wine, and therefore dismissed the advice. 
When the pain of losing his eye grew too great to disregard, his younger self used to soothe the ache by picturing the man he is today; a feared and skilled swordsman who rides the largest dragon in the world. A man worthy of respect; someone who instil fear in the weak-minded. 
He’d taken up the habit once more, only now it was her his mind’s eye visualised whenever he felt disoriented. In war, a good night’s rest was invaluable to the wellbeing of a man embarking on battle. Away from his wife, he’d ease his constant fretfulness by imagining their reunion. 
How she’d look at him with adoration and admiration as he returned victorious to King’s Landing. How she’d cordially greet him in front of masses roaring in excited delight, only to lean in and make her desire for him known in whispered High Valyrian. 
Sometimes, he’d even imagine telling her he was to be crowned king, imagining how her eyes would shimmer with contentment as he tells her she’ll be his queen. Wishing for his own brother’s demise is equal parts foolish and juvenile, but in the seclusion of his imagination, he’s allowed to indulge in any scenario able to calm his inner turmoil. 
Thinking about what’s to come doesn’t work anymore. 
She did not greet him when he came back from Harrenhal. She did not whisper any High Valyrian confessions. She was not delighted to reunite with him. 
Now, recollecting his own fantasies makes him wince with humiliation. 
How could I have been so foolish? 
His chest contracts painfully whenever he reminisces about their youth, yet that sensation is still better than the aversion he feels for his previous naive ways. 
Laying his head back on the settee, Aemond breathes slowly through his nose, reminding his body that it can still draw breath. 
He visualises one of their first meetings, only a short time after he’d returned from Driftmark, gaining a dragon and losing an eye. 
His head seemed to be in a constant state of anguish then, always pounding so loudly he was sure even the Maesters could hear it. 
All he had wanted was to escape the pain, hurtling himself head-first into reading, desperate to study any subject which could one day make him into the feared prince he knew he was destined to become. 
One day she’d just been there, waiting by the side of his bed until he awoke. 
“Were you having a bad dream?”
“Who are you?”
“You know how I am! How did you find the tome? My Septa told me to ask for it back”
“It belongs to me. Besides, it’s in High Valyrian, hardly legible to you or your Septa”
“Oh, come now, Aemond! Your sister told me your High Valyrian is far superior to that of your siblings. You could teach me!”
“You’re not of Valyrian blood”
“Yet I am a diligent student!”
“Perhaps I could teach you a few simple words. Your tongue is probably not able to pronounce the more demanding ones”
“Excellent! In return, I could teach you some manners befitting a prince”
The playful bickering they’d indulged in as children was a fond remnant of a time when they were free from the shackles of duty, teaching and teasing each other endlessly. Now, a bitter feeling spreads within the prince, tainting the memory. 
Remembering merely serves to intensify his loneliness. A memory is like a bolt of lightning, kept alive because it is bouncing between those who recollect it. A shared effort. 
Being left alone with remnants of the past serves no one. It only feeds the bottomless pit of lonesome despair remaining. 
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Dawn brings light into Aemond’s quarters, illuminating the dust-covered books, half-written correspondences, and pots of ink adorning his writing desk. 
He usually begins his duties towards the realm in the early morning, attempting routine in the hopes it will encourage normalcy to enter his life and ease his mind. 
This morning however, he feels far more disoriented than usual. He’s guided by his urges; unwilling and unable to carry out his monotonous morning routine. 
Instead, he allows himself to sink further into indulgence, slaking his unabated yearning. 
He reaches into the top drawer of his desk, just as he’d done the night before. The worn letter greets him again, his fingers careful not to ruin it further. His weak mind last night had done enough damage. 
Foolishly, he had only kept three of the letters his wife had sent him when he was away fighting for his brother’s cause. He’d made sure that each of their correspondences was hand-delivered, keeping their exchange away from the prying eyes of the Blacks. They’d also written exclusively in High Valyrian, to ensure that the young messenger boy did not steal a peek. And when he read whatever it was she needed him to know, he promptly burned the paper, ensuring that it would not end up in the hands of their enemies. 
This letter was his most treasured one, a small remnant of a loving wife no longer by his side. She’d sent it mere days before the Blacks seized King’s Landing, perhaps even the morning of the ambush. 
“My Aemond, 
I bring joyous tidings.
Your seed has quickened. I am with child. 
Do not plan your festivities yet, dear husband. 
It is still early and I have yet to tell the maesters.
But I can feel him.
If his claws are those of a lion or dragon, I do not know.
They scratch me from the inside, making me aware of his presence.
When I miss you dearly, I lay a hand on my belly and feel the warmth of our child inside of me.
Reminding me that I will never be without you, my love.
We’re waiting for you”
When Aemond returned home, he found that neither was waiting for him. 
Before melancholy bests him, there’s a loud thud against the prince’s door, followed by the harsh echoing of wood slapping against his wall. Ser Perkin the Flea looks bewildered as he rushedly pants, 
“Your grace, forgive my intrusion. Your presence is needed. Urgently”
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When he enters the small council and sees Aegon’s chair empty, Aemond knows why he’s been summoned.
The King is dead.
His mother is also absent, surely succumbing with grief yet again. This was the third child she’d outlived, each loss pushing her further and further towards madness.
We’re all slowly losing our senses. 
He moves to his usual seat, to the right of the empty chair reserved for the King. After returning victorious to King’s Landing, Aemond had assumed his brother would appoint him Hand of the King, a fitting transition from Prince Regent. Yet, his brother had stalled the task, causing Westeros to drift further away from normality.  
The meeting commences swiftly, Grand Maester Orwyle taking the lead and confirming what they all already suspect, 
“The King is dead. I have examined his body and cannot be sure what caused his demise, though his weakened state needs to be acknowledged”, he says, inhaling deeply before continuing, “It would not have taken much for him to perish”
The room is eerily quiet, no one willing to make the first assumption of what the King’s untimely death entails. 
A few silent moments pass before Lord Corlys Velaryon clears his throat, the rustling of his robes breaking the silence, “King Aegon did not leave any heirs”
Aemond tries to meet his eye, but the Sea Snake looks away.
“Except for his younger brother”
In the corner of his eye, the prince watches a smile break out across Lord Larys Strong features. 
“A Kinslayer King?”, the Clubfoot mumbles gleefully. Corlys ignores him, finally shifting to meet Aemond’s gaze,
“Two Targaryen men remain; you and the young Prince Aegon. If the boy were to be appointed, the Seven Kingdoms would still not know stability. Eleven is far too young for a regent”
Corlys voice grows louder, “The realm needs a strong leader; someone who instils respect in his subjects. Someone who is fearsome, yet fair”
The cautious eyes of the small council members move to observe the prince.
Aemond hums, pondering his reply. He’s dreamt of being crowned king more than once, yet he must consider the perils still lurking in the Seven Kingdoms. Would his coronation cause an uproar, or prompt the cheers that had greeted him when he and Vhagar returned from the battle above God’s Eye?
The Lord Commander of the King’s Guard breaks the tense silence this time, 
“The armies that had set sight on King’s Landing quickly surrendered when word of His Grace besting Prince Daemon reached the capital. I do not think many would dare to question his reign” 
The room vibrates with low hums of agreement rumbling from the lips of the small council members. 
“Still, we’ll need to convince former Black allies-”, Corlys says impatiently, 
“Traitors”, Larys corrects him. 
“Yes-”, the Sea Snake bites back, “-They need to be convinced that peace is once again secured in the realm” 
Aemond hums, “They may protest a Kinslayer sitting on the Iron throne”
“All Targaryens are kinslayers”, Larys chimes in, his tell-tale unsettling voice sending a shiver of unpleasantness down the prince’s spine. 
‘Tis true. Though Aemond slaying Prince Lucerys had instigated the Dance, war had turned each Targaryen into a murderer of kinsfolk. Only the children were spared of the ill-famed title, too young to wield a knife, or ride a dragon into battle. 
“Spare young Prince Aegon”, the Master of Ships suggests, eyes solely on Aemond, “A simple act of kindness the realm needs. Make him and Princess Jaehaera your wards. Stand before your Kingdom with your wife by your side; show them you were spared with the grace of The Seven. Chosen to survive and rule”
The room is quiet again, every member present observing the prince’s reaction. 
Corlys’ eyes are kinder than Aemond remembers them; perhaps tired from the violence they’d spent years enduring. The adventure he’d chased as a restless, young man seemed to finally have bested the weary Lord of the Tides. 
“A strong, united front with an undisputed King and his Queen. If we secure that, we have enough ammunition to convince the rest of the realm to bend the knee” 
Aemond lowers his head once, agreeing with Lord Velaryon’s assessment. He feels a rush go through his body, a mixture of fear and excitement running in his blood. He sets to leave the small council, head already overflowing with matters that need to be sorted before his coronation.
Grand Maester Orwyle rests a hand on his shoulder, asking the Prince to stay and discuss one final matter before retreating. 
He’s left with Orwyle, Corlys and Larys, the latter still faintly smirking as if the realm’s insecure succession amuses him greatly.
“One of your greatest strengths is your wife, your grace”, the Grand Maester says, “She’s been loyal to you throughout the war and survived a fierce ambush” 
Aemond feels unease spread inside his chest at the mention of his wife. He had only briefly discussed her with Orwyle since returning from Harrenhal, not keen on allowing his uncertainty of her to be known. 
“Showing the realm her fondness for you might sway the public's perception of you as a… insensitive man”, he continues, evidently choosing his words carefully. 
Larys breathes out a low snicker, “They say your heart is as black as the night you slew Prince Lucerys”
Corlys looks at the Master of Whispers with disdain, “Your grace”, he says, demanding Aemond’s attention, “One of the quickest ways to ensure stability is for your marriage to reflect the strength you will have as a leader” 
Now it is the Sea Snake’s eyes that search for the prince’s, begging for understanding, 
“The princess needs to act the part of a queen; round with babe, hand in hand with her husband. It is up to you to ensure the realm has an heir, Aemond” 
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The Seven must mock him. 
Cordially leading his wife towards their seats in the Great Hall, Aemond places his hand by the small of her back like he’s done countless times before. Each time his hand grazes the fabric of her golden gown, her back goes rigid. 
The coronation had been quick, a simple summoning of Lords and Ladies residing in the Red Keep together with a handful of delegates from the smallfolk. After they’d been informed that King Aegon II had perished due to the numerous injuries he’d suffered through the Dance, the coronation began. Corlys Velaryon announced Aemond, first of his name, as King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. 
The Lord of the Tides had also paid his wife special attention, proclaiming the “comely Lady Lannister now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Mother of the Realm”. The addition to her title hadn’t been consulted with Aemond prior to the coronation, and the young king wondered if it was a last-minute addition to appeal to the masses. They ardently cheered, seemingly pleased with their new regents. Still, ‘twas the Lords outside of King’s Landing that needed to be persuaded into supporting Aemond as king. 
The freshly appointed Queen appears disoriented, surely exhausted from the tumultuous day. Aemond takes it upon himself to guide her, pulling out her chair and whispering for her to take a seat since the celebratory feast will soon commence. She says a quiet “thank you”, mindlessly following his instructions. She seems lost.
Or empty.
The irony of thirsting for the Iron Throne, for the title of King, for so long and now dispassionately seizing it, is not lost upon him. 
He does not feel changed. He is still the same man; mind left in battle and with a broken wife by his side. Only now with the Conqueror's crown above his brow. A crown he’s worn before. 
Aemond steals a glance at her. How many times had she told him he’s the one who deserves the crown. That he was a far better choice to rule the Seven Kingdoms, instead of his drunken brother. This was the unattainable fantasy they’d whispered into each other's ears late at night, shielded by the private comfort of the other’s embrace. 
This was supposed to be a victorious occasion. 
When he’d consulted Grand Maester Orwyle on his wife’s condition, the old man said “You have to teach her how to be herself again”
The task feels impossible. 
He did not construct her. How was he expected to put her back together again? 
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Neither of them eat much, both consumed by the thoughts fighting for space inside their restless minds. He knows she’s far too exhausted to stay awake much longer, yet she makes no attempt to excuse herself, or ask him to pardon her. 
“Shall we retreat?”, he leans in to ask quietly next to her ear. She jumps at the sudden sound of his voice, pulling her from her thoughts, and unsurely nods in accordance. 
They walk back to their chambers in silence. 
“Teach her how to be herself again”
Aemond swallows the ball on unease in his throat, “If you feel weary, do not hesitate to tell me”
She doesn’t look at him, “Of course, your grace”
He opens the door to their chambers and gestures for her to enter. She rushes inside, going to the vanity to remove the lavish gold and red necklace around her neck, followed by the ruby-adorned rings in her ears. 
“Good night”, he says stiffly, cursing himself for being so utterly inept in her presence. 
“Will you not spend the night here?”, she asks, fingers moving behind her to undo the lacing of her shimmering gown. 
He does not know what to answer. 
“I-, I apologise deeply for my indiscretion last night, lord husband. I know we need an heir to placate the realm”
She tugs at her dress, pulling it down her shoulders, leaving it on the ground as she steps out of it. 
For a moment he recognises her. 
The determined look in her eyes, the assured steps she takes towards the bed. 
But as he approaches, she’s lost again. 
She’s lying on her back, clad only in her shift. Through it, he can see the contours of her thighs as the fabric gathers between her legs. 
Her heaving breasts as she takes deep breaths. 
Her plump lips. 
None of it causes arousal to stir within him. 
Offering herself to him, she resembles prey; drained of life and ready to sacrifice herself to her predator. 
“Teach her how to be herself again”
“Can I kiss you?”, he asks, voice quiet yet deafening in the silent room. 
“Whatever you desire”
He places one knee on the bed, hands balancing on each side next to her head so that he may lower himself over her, and presses a careful kiss to her lips. 
She’s cold. Her body is still stiff. She doesn’t kiss him back.
Wounded, he retreats, observing her face. Her eyes are closed and when she opens them, he cannot disregard their sadness.
“Perhaps tomorrow-”
“-No!’, she interrupts him, voice desperate, “I want to! Please, your grace”
On his 13th nameday, Aemond has also feigned bravery. He’d told the whore on the Street of Silk that he wanted to, even when his body did not comply. 
His body does not obey him now either, distress amplified by the giggles and cackles echoing in his mind, bringing him back to the overcrowded whorehouse he was humiliated in. 
He ducks his face again, now moving to press his lips to the tender skin of her throat. He burrows his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent and thinks of the first time they laid together, when he’d been afraid of sullying her, tainted by the brothel he was forced to visit. 
He’d been afraid of not being able to please her; not being able to show her how much he loved her, memories of spectators laughing at the one-eyed, impotent prince still burned into his mind’s eye. 
Removing each of her garments, his love had slipped under the furs of the bed, beckoning him over gently. 
Under the furs, surrounded by darkness, Aemond had only felt the soft warmth of her skin touching his, freed from the internal heckling cursing him for years, and finally finding home as he sheathed himself inside of her. 
Coming together as one felt natural; like they’d been parted in a previous life and finally brought together again. 
Everything with her had always been self-evident. 
Growing bolder, he presses more kisses down her collarbones and towards her chest. With each movement of his lips, she flinches. 
Still stiff. 
Her reluctance quenches any arousal bubbling in his belly. It only reminds him of how pitiful his life has become; a king detested by his people. By his wife. 
Left with the memory of her, forbidden from grieving her. 
Cursed to remember. 
He persists, moving down her belly to reach the tuft of hair between her legs, obscured by her chemise. 
He brings one hand lower to caress her leg, letting it travel up under the fabric towards her centre. 
She’s even stiffer now, breathing rapidly in anticipation. 
I cannot. 
He removes his hand from her thigh, sighs and moves back to observe her. He cannot bear the look in her eyes.
Fear. 
If he thought that seeing disgust reflect in her eyes pricked his heart, fear broke it into two. 
Exhaustion, grief and loneliness consumes him, causing his throat to close up. 
He cannot see her like this; take her like this. 
He moves to stand, gaze avoiding her spread out silhouette. “I have a matter to attend to”, he mutters in panic, mind not vigorous enough to produce a proper excuse.
“Please, let us not stall the inevitable any further”, she interjects, voice no different from a plea, “I-, I want you to take me”
“P-, please. I am yours, Lord Husband”
Liar. 
“AEMOND!”, he roars, unable to take her exclusion any longer. His outburst startles both himself and his wife, who twitches in fright on the bed, “You call me Aemond!”
Spinning around, he walks towards the door in long, quick steps. His hands are tingling with bloodthirst; itching to wield a sword, preferably stabbing something with such force it falls apart.
Just like he just did. 
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Everything taglist: @humanpurposes @theoneeyedprince @valeskafics
Aemond taglist: @moonlightfoxx @iloveallmyboys @violetletovi @ietss
HotD taglist: @xcinnamonmalfoyx
408 notes · View notes
dumbseee · 10 months
Text
moving on.
f1 au: in which y/n breaks up with her longtime boyfriend who also happens to be a footballer. she finds comfort in her brother’s best friend: lando norris.
lando norris x sainz!singer!reader
fc: cindy kimberly.
note: english isn’t my first language!
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liked by sainzz55, fairyyn, jaimeebellfort and 1 008 others.
footwags: y/n sainz and dele ali have broke up after two years. the footballer apparently cheated on the singer.
_
fan1: noooo i loved them together
fan2: ooop carlos isn’t going to be happy with that
fan3: he fumbled so hard
fan4: cheating on THEE y/n sainz??
fan5: the break up album is going to be FIIIIRE
fan6: what a dick
fan7: he didn’t know how to handle a baddie like her that’s why
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liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, francisca.cgomes and 6 799 098 others.
y/nsainz: ‘exile’ is out now on every platform 🕊
_
fan1: y/n we love you!
fan2: ‘you ripped my heart out to play soccer with it.’ :(
carlossainz55: i love you corazón, you’re so strong
liked by y/n.
landonorris: the strongest woman i know ❤️
liked by y/n.
lilymhe: your voice never fails to make me cry y/n.
liked by y/n.
fan4: these lyrics are so heartbreaking srs
fan5: so he cheated on her and made fun of her in his friends groupchat? wtf is wrong with that dude
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liked by carlossainz55, y/nsainz, maxfewtrell and 356 997 others.
lando.jpg: y/n through my camera because i miss her.
_
y/nsainz: missing you too pretty boy <3
fan1: lando trying to cheer her up :(
fan2: that’s so cute omg
fan3: brother’s best friend trope coming to life or…?
carlossainz55: how come you capture my sister in such a beautiful way and my pictures all look like shit?
landonorris: @.carlossainz55 y/n is a natural and you’re not.
fan4: i love them
fan5: missing the besties
landonorris just posted a story!
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tagged: @.y/nsainz.
lando norris just posted a story!
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liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, gigihadid and 3 789 997 others.
y/nsainz: needed that xx
_
landonorris: when did you took the first one? i don’t remember seeing you around wtf
y/nsainz: @.landonorris you’re always behind the camera and you looked pretty
fan1: okay i ship that
fan2: cuties omg
fan3: lando taking her on vacation 🥹
carlossainz55: why wasn’t i invited?
danielricciardo: @.carlossainz55 you wanted to be the third wheel?
landonorris:@.danielricciardo DANIEL
y/nsainz: @.danielricciardo JOSEPH GET OFF MY COMMENT SECTION
fan4: not daniel exposing the lovebirds
fan5: awww
fan6: we need more pictures of these two
fan7: i missed their friendship so much
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liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, maxfewtrell and 3 799 008 others.
y/nsainz: he always take pictures of everyone and everything but hardly has any pictures of himself, so here’s a compilation of all the pictures i took when pretty boy wasn’t looking <3
_
fan1: ‘pretty boy’ 🥹🥹
landonorris: i prefer the word handsome but i’ll take it
fan2: he’s so pretty wtf
danielricciardo just posted a story!
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tagged: @.landonorris / @.y/nsainz.
this story isn’t available.
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liked by y/nsainz, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 4 789 678 others.
landonorris: since daniel is too old to know how to use instagram correctly, me and y/n have been outed, before anyone starts speculating we’re taking things slowly and i want her to heal her heart before loving anyone else after what she went through a few months ago. i’ll wait for you and your heart to be ready to welcome me in it. mine is ready for you, it’s always have been. to my muse, i’ll always treasure you.
_
y/nsainz: i don’t know what i’d do without you, thank you for being so patient and loving with me pretty boy <3
liked by landonorris.
carlossainz55: even if i still can’t believe what my eyes witnessed these past few days, you’re the only one i actually trust to love my sister the way she deserves to be loved (but be careful muppet)
liked by landonorris.
fan1: this is TOO cute
fan2: lando being a patient boyfriend we love to see it
fan3: this is what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like, seriously y/n deserves all the love
fan4: we haven’t heard from daniel since the ig story is he alive?
danielricciardo: @.fan4 they locked me in my OWN basement for a WEEK with only water and bread to stay alive call the police.
y/nsainz: @.danielricciardo you’re such a liar joseph
carlossainz55: @.danielricciardo don’t give me ideas.
2K notes · View notes
pitchsidestories · 5 months
Text
You can be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare II Ali Krieger x Mewis!Reader
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masterlist I word count: 2599
The heat of the day was gone, and it started to cool down in New Jersey. The breeze made you shiver, so did the words of Ali Krieger with whom you had a love affair for the past weeks: “Y/n, you’re 13 years younger than me and I just go through a separation from my wife.” “Ali.”, you tried to soothe her doubting face. Sadness lay in the eyes of the defender while she was looking at you: “I can’t do that.” “But you kissed me first and you said that it meant something to you.”, the hurt in your voice was undeniable.
Regret was shimmering through her words: “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re way too young for me.” “I’m not that young, Ali.”, you interjected. Eyerolling Ali countered: “You’re 26.” “Yes, which makes me an adult.”, you protested. Softly the older woman replied:” I know you’re.”
This didn’t change the fact that you were 13 years younger than her, this much you both knew.  The defender made very clear that it was time to end the thing whatever you two had going on before anyone could get too hurt. So, you decided:” I should go.”
Meanwhile Ali’s daughter Sloane was standing right behind you and interrupted your talk, with big eyes she pleaded:” Don’t go, you promised me a good night story.” “No, she’s right. She should go.”, the dark-haired woman declared. The toddler looked disappointed at her mother: ”But-“ “It’s okay, Sloane. Maybe, we’ll do that another time in the future.” , you reassuringly hugged the little girl.
Audibly Ali cleared her throat: “Goodbye, I hope I’ll see you soon.” “We play in the same team, so I guess we can’t avoid seeing each other.”, you reminded her. Nervously the older woman went through her hair with one hand: “Yes, sure.” “Bye.”, you waved at them. “Goodbye.”
Were those tears shimmering in her beautiful brown eyes? But weren’t you the one who was allowed to grieve the possibility of what you two could have become when she ended it? Confused you left the home of the woman who broke your heart.
A worried Sloane looked up to her mother:” Why do you look so sad, momma?” “I’m not. I just have a hard decision to make. But it’s bad time for you now.”, Ali tried to shrug it off. “No.”, the toddler whined. “Yes, come on.”, the defender’s lips curled up into a tired smile as she knew all too well that her daughter would be soon asleep by the time her small head hit her pillow.
“Ali! Lynn! Doesn’t my little sister look super hot in this outfit?“, Kristie Mewis yelled a week later at Gothams next NWSL game. It has become kind of a ritual that the players took pictures of their outfits before the games for social media. You stood in front of the camera, rolling your eyes at your older sister; “Kristie, stop it.“ “Just admit that I picked it out for you!“, she protested with a laugh. You objected, frowning; “I picked it out. You just lend me the clothes!“ “I picked it out!“, Kristie insisted again. You could easily forget that she was the older one. “Whoever did it, I’m sure every queer woman would be happy to unpack her.“, Lynn interrupted your discussion with a wink.
Ali who stood next to her, waiting for her turn to be photographed, said flatly; “What’s there to unpack? She’s barely wearing anything.“ You could feel your cheeks heat with anger. Before you could answer, Kristie looked at the defender; “Don’t be mean, Ali. It’s a cute fit.“ She gave you a proud smile while Ali shrugged; “It’s true, Kristie.“ Your sister deliberately ignored her negative comments and walked up to you; “Come here. Let’s take some sister photos together to send to Sammy.“ “Sammy will pout forever about the fact that she wasn’t included in this picture.“, you reminded Kristie and immediately smiled at the thought of your other sister who currently played in Kansas. Kristie grinned into the camera; “Let’s be honest, she probably would have ruined it.“ “Still, you know her.“ “Yes, I do.“, she rolled her eyes.
You had taken a quick selfie with Kristie too and texted it to Sam. Now you held up your phone in Kristies face; “Told you. She’s already pouting in her text messages. We need to send her a good snack for when she’s doing her next podcast episode to make up for it.“ “Trust me, she’ll survive.“, Kristie replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. Lynn nodded in agreement; “Yeah, she’s already busy with other things. Sammy will forget about that photo by tomorrow.“ As her podcast partner, Lynn always knew what Sam was up to. “Yeah, you two are probably right.“, you shrugged but sent your sister in Kansas a heart emoji anyway. “We are. Believe us.“, Kristie winked.
After the match Ali was standing next to your locker, arms crossed in front of her chest: “Where do you think you’re going with this outfit?” “I’m going out.”, you shrugged with your shoulders. Although her reaction fuelled your anger. She did not have a right to react jealous. Curiously she asked: “Out? With whom?” “Oh, just with Kristie and some other teammates.”, you replied nonchalantly.
Bitterly the defender answered:” Go and have fun then.” Innocently smiling Kristie intervened: “Isn’t Ashlyn looking after your kids tonight? Come on, Ali. You should join us.” “I don’t think Ali is interested in partying with us.”, you told her. Much to both of your surprise the captain of the team replied:” You know what? Why not? I got nothing else to do.” “Great, this is going to be so much fun.”, your older sister chirmed. A small smile lightened up Alis whole face: “I’m sure it will be.” “We’ll see about that.”, you whispered frustrated.
The club Kristie chose was new and trendy and settled in Manhattan. The music was good, and you and your teammates enjoyed the night out. A stranger came up to you: “Hi, can I get you a drink?” She looked pretty and you could not help but to nod along: “Sure.” “No.”, Ali interrupted the talk between the two of you. “No? I think I can decide that on my own.”, you huffed. Determined the defender shook her head: “No, you can’t.” With these words she took your hand and walked off with you.
Furiously you glanced at her: “Seriously, what the fuck Ali?” “What? It’s impolite. You’re out with us.”, she pointed out. Annoyed with her actions you scoffed: We both know that’s not why you did it.” “Maybe not. But that doesn’t matter. The others don’t have to know.”, Ali admitted.  “Don’t worry, Kristie doesn’t know with whom I spent my summer.”, you disclosed. The mentioning of your older sister made the dark-haired woman smile in amusement:” “Kristie doesn’t seem to be bothered anyway. She’s on the phone with her girlfriend.” “And where are Kelley and Lynn?”, you couldn’t help but to ask. While Ali took you on to the dance floor without asking you: “At the bar.” “Oh.”
“Come on. You should have some fun.”, she smirked. As you were starting to move to the music you wanted to know from her:” Are you enjoying your parenting free night?” “I do.”, with that said you could feel her hands placed around your hips. You tried to keep your tone light: “That’s great.” “But I do miss them.”, the older woman answered. A sigh escaped your lips:“I miss them too to be honest.” “They miss you too.” Surprised you looked at her:”Really?” “Sure. You’ve met them quite a few times.”, Ali replied while her fingers touched your naked skin which made you shiver. Secretly you hated that your body still reacted to her like this.
Apparently, she had also noticed your reaction because she quickly pulled her hand away. “Yes, that’s true.“, you replied, trying to ignore what had just happened. Ali furrowed her eyebrows, looking at you intently; “Are you okay?“ “Yes, I’m fine… I think I’ll go home now.“, you explained, turning away from her. “Already?“ “Yes. Good night, Ali.“
You took your bag and were about to leave when you suddenly felt her hand close around your wrist. “Let me bring you home. Your sister obviously isn’t going to.“, Ali decided rather than offered. You followed her gaze to Kristie, who stood off to the side with her phone pressed to her ear and giggled about something her girlfriend must have said. “We should not interrupt her when she’s talking to her girlfriend.“, you had to admit. Ali finally let go of your hand; “I’m sure the others will make sure that she gets home safe. But now let me take you home.“
Your brain was constantly screaming at you while you accepted the offer and followed Ali to her car. The car ride was unusually silent but you were half expecting the awkwardness already. When the car stopped in front of your apartment building, you realized that Ali had gotten out of the car to open the passenger door for you. You gave her a tight smile; “Thanks for bringing me home.“ “You’re welcome.“, she answered politely. While pulling the keys out of your bag, you noticed that Ali hasn’t moved.
With a sigh, you turned to her, finally asking you the question that was bothering you the whole night; “Ali… did you already find someone new?“ The defender seemed taken aback by the question; “No. I’m not looking for someone right now.“ “I see.“ “It’s all a bit much right now. I thought I’d focus on myself and my children. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?“, Ali continued. You shook your head, your lips pressed together tightly; “No. I think I’ll focus on my career right now.“ “That sounds… reasonable.“ “I know.“ You were just about to turn the keys and unlock the door when Ali spoke up again; “You know I’m sorry, right? I didn’t think when we started this. Or else I wouldn’t have put us both through this mess.“ “So you regret us?“, you asked, your voice a pitch higher than you wanted it to be. “That’s not what I said.“, Ali retorted defensively.
You heaved a long sigh; “I guess it’ll be easier when the season ends.“ “Yes. I think it will be. That gives us more space.“, the defender agreed. “Right and we’ll never have to see each other again.“ Ali rolled her eyes at your remark; “You know, you can be a bit dramatic sometimes?“ “To be fair, I learned from the best. Kristie and you.“, you laughed involuntarily. “I’m not dramatic! Your sister is!“, Ali protested with a wide grin. “Yeah, she’s a little bit more drama.“
For a second, everything felt like the break-up never happened but then Alis’ face turned serious again; “See. I’m sure you’ll be alright. You’re an amazing soccer player, smart and pretty, and you have your two sister who always got your back. You don’t need me.“
“Ali, you know that’s not true. I do need you.”, you disagreed. Her expression was unchanged as she answered: “No, you don’t.” “I still don’t care about the age gap. I thought you should know that. Good night, Ali.”, you smiled disappointed. “I do know that. Good night.”
Yet she still did not move so you asked the defender:” Ali, why are you still standing here?” “What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.”, Ali blushed. “Thinking about what?” “Mistakes.”, the older woman truthfully replied. Sharply you shot back: “Well, I think you made very clear that we were a mistake.” “No. But apparently think that if you keep accusing me of saying that.”, she shook her head. You could feel your cheek turn red:” Sorry.” “ I don’t think this was a mistake. What was a mistake was the fact that I didn’t think about it before starting something with you. That would have saved us the trouble.”, Ali summed it up. Slowly you nodded:”Right.”
“But now I’m wondering if it’s a mistake to let you go.”, the defender cautiously looked into your eyes. The words left your mouth before you could think more deeply about them: “Don’t let go.” This said she closed the gap between you and pressed her lips onto yours while you replied to her kiss with an equally passion, running your hands through her dark long hair. All the emotions finally making their way out as you embraced each other. Needless to say, Ali did not leave that night.
After your now girlfriends last game where was a big party being held in her honour. All her friends were there to celebrate her long soccer career. Proudly you kissed her which made Kristie gasp out loud: “Oh. My. God!”
“Why are you yelling, Kristie?”, your other sister Sam Mewis asked amused because she was well versed in the older sibling’s talent to make everything super dramatic as if you were part of a reality show. “Our little sister is making out with Ali!”, the blonde shouted into her ear. Unimpressed the taller woman looked at her:” And?” “And seriously?!”, Kristie repeated playfully shocked.
That made Sam laugh out loud: “Yes?” “Why aren’t you freaking out about this?”, the smaller midfielder wanted to know. “Should I?” “Well, they look happy, right?”, the older sister observed as she glanced at Ali and you. Giggling the middle sibling remarked: “I don’t know. They’re about to eat each other up.”
Kristie grimaced in disgust; “Ew, gross.“ “As if you and were any better with your girlfriend.“, Megan Rapinoe interrupted the sisters, giving Kristie a smirk. Sam gasped with widened eyes, happy about the mutual understanding between her and Megan; “Don’t even get me started! You can’t even have a normal conversation without them making out!“
“Let’s try it with this new couple, shall we?“, Megans wife asked, a challenging look on their face. But before she could her plan to action, Ali took her lips off of yours for a second and yelled; “We’re busy here!“ “Get a room!“, Kristie answered. You eyed your sister with scepticism; “Coming from you?“ “Don’t talk to me in this tone, young lady.“, Kristie warned, playfully raising her finger at you. You cringed; “You’re my older sister, not my mum.“
Ali got up, taking your hand in hers; “Let’s leave, love.“ “Please.“, you answered, looking at your sisters with feigned disdain. “Bye, guys.“, Ali waved while gently leading you outside. Kristie watched you with her mouth open; “You can’t just abduct my sister.“ “This is consensual.“, you clarified with a laugh. “This better be!“, Kristie yelled after you. You smiled at her and Sam, waving them goodbye; “See you tomorrow.“ “Or not.“, Kristie added. Sam snorted; “Probably not.“ “Girls!“, you called. But Ali nudged you with her shoulder, giving you a wink; “They are not wrong though.“ “Go.“, Sam rolled her eyes, gesturing for you to finally leave. Sue smiled as she watched you two; “Seems like we don’t have to worry about Ali being bored after her retirement from soccer.“ “I was never worried about that.“, Megan replied, amused.
Kristie in the meantime had taken a step away from the group and was holding her phone to her ear. “Kristie, what are you doing?“, Sam asked. “Uhm, telling mum the news?“, her sister answered, looking at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sam shook her head at her; “Oh my god, Kristie. That’s exactly why I’m mums favorite.“
560 notes · View notes
togrowoldinv · 4 months
Text
Hot Chocolate
Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader
The family plus Yelena spends time decorating for the holidays
Note: Very soft stuff here y’all. Enjoy it!
Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist
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Soft music fills the room as Natasha watches the scene before her.
You’re at the coffee table putting toppings on everyone’s hot chocolate. Belle is right by your side, telling you how many marshmallows she wants.
Ali and Ivan are standing by the tree, arguing about what tree topper will look best. Taylor and Jack sit by the fireplace in their cozy winter clothes.
Yelena and Fanny are on the couch chilling. She only offers her input to poke fun at Natasha or if one of the kids sweettalk her into helping with the tree. Belle’s sweet words and eyes usually do the trick.
Later on, the team will be over for a late Thanksgiving and early holiday celebration.
Natasha has no idea how she ended up this lucky. She catches your eye, and you share a soft smile with her.
“Belle, can you ask Mama how many marshmallows she wants?” You ask the little girl.
She stands from beside you and waltzes over to Natasha, undoubtedly her favorite mom. Belle reaches her arms up and Nat lifts her up to settle on her hips.
“Hi printsessa,” Natasha greets her.
“Hi Mama,” Belle replies. “How many mallows do you want?”
“Hm,” Natasha pretends to think hard. “What about 100?”
“100?!” Belle asks, her mouth dropping. She turns her head to you. “Mommy, do we have enough room for 100?”
“No, we do not,” you say, a chuckle following her reaction. “Ask Mama to give you a reasonable number please.”
“You’re no fun,” Natasha pouts.
“It’s okay, Mama. I’ll get you as many as I can,” Belle says before squirming out of Nat’s arms.
Natasha grins and walks around the couch. She places a soft hand on Ali and Ivan’s shoulders as she makes her way around the room. Taylor reaches for her, and she easily brings the girl into her arms. She drops a kiss to Jack’s head before she walks to sit next to Yelena.
“What no motherly hug or kiss for me?” Yelena jokes.
“Oh, my bad,” Natasha says. She grins mischievously.
Yelena gets up from the couch quickly and Natasha follows her, leaving Taylor on the couch. The two women chase each other with no regard for the furniture or the tree.
“Hey! Both of you stop right now,” you turn on your mom voice. All of the kids’ ears perk up. Natasha halts immediately. She looks at you to see a serious face. “No horseplay in the house.”
“Sorry, detka,” Natasha says. She nudges Yelena’s shoulder.
“Oh, yes. Sorry, y/n,” Yelena says.
“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s hot chocolate time.”
“Yay!” Taylor cheers from the couch. Yelena reaches over and lifts the girl up, throwing her in the air and catching her a few times until Taylor is giggling too much to continue.
Natasha makes her way to help you pass out the drinks. She then settles next to you on the recliner. You’re practically sitting in her lap, but she isn’t complaining.
“What does everyone want to make sure we do this year for the holidays?” Natasha asks.
The kids think while Yelena speaks up first.
“Can we have a big holiday party?” Yelena asks.
“We’re literally doing that in two hours,” Nat replies.
“What? I’m not dressed!” Yelena panics. She runs upstairs and you all laugh at her.
Natasha keeps the conversation going, “Al, what about you?”
“A Christmas movie marathon,” Ali says.
“Great answer,” you reply. “Ivan?”
“A cookie decorating contest,” he says.
“Everything is a contest for you,” Ali says, huffing with annoyance.
“That’s because I’m talented as hell,” Ivan says.
“Language!” Natasha scolds him.
You can’t help but laugh as she realizes she’s turning into Steve. Belle raises her hand like she’s in school. Nat calls on her.
“I want to read Christmas bedtime stories every night,” Belle says.
“Now that’s an idea,” you say.
“Yeah, we can do that baby,” Natasha agrees. Belle grins from ear to ear. “Jack attack, what about you?”
“Um, I don’t know. Maybe go see some lights,” Jack says.
“There’s some displays in town. We could definitely go,” you say. “And that leaves Miss Taylor.”
“Yeah, what do you want to do for Christmas, Taylor?” Jack asks. The little girl shrugs.
“What about making gingerbread houses?” Ali pitches.
“Okay,” Taylor says simply. “I’ll need help.”
“We’ll do it together as a team,” Natasha says.
You kiss her cheek and listen in as the kids talk to each other about anything and everything. You need to get up and cook for the party, but being here with your family is more fun.
Natasha feels the same way. She holds you close and thinks about her wonderful family. It will be a happy holiday season, and she can’t wait.
434 notes · View notes
desperate-gay · 5 months
Note
Pls pls write for ali
Victory
Ali Krieger x fem!reader
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The game is intense. Both teams have been playing hard, leading it to be 0-0 after the full ninety minutes, causing it to head into overtime. It’s 105 minutes in and Gotham has taken control of the ball. Kristie passes it downfield and it continues to move forward as Portland’s defenders scramble to guard the ball, but because they’re a little behind, it leaves a space allowing Katie to shoot the ball and hit the back of the bet.
The whole stadium goes wild, including you standing up with Sloane on your hip, cheering with the crowd. She looks around cluelessly with noise-canceling headphones, making her look even more adorable than usual. Kyle alongside you has Ocean in his arms while pumping his fist up and down at the new lead.
Only 14 minutes later, they are advancing to the finals. Ali looks up into the stands with a bright smile, seeing her family witness her journey through her career, but she is quickly pulled aside by her teammates who continue to chant they’re not finished yet.
After a few more minutes, you and Kyle make your way onto the turf with the kids to meet up with the captain. Kelley, Kristie, and Lynn all talk with her but once she sees you approaching, she excuses herself and jogs over.
“Mama won.” Sloane slurs with a cute little grin.
“Yes, she did!” You exclaim as you continue to bounce the little girl on your hip, something she has always enjoyed for whatever reason.
Ali laughs and takes Ocean out of Kyle’s arms without her smile breaking once. “I’m so happy you’re all here. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
“We’d do anything for you, sis. Right, Y/n/n?” He wraps his arm around Ali’s shoulder before nudging you to answer. You divert your attention back to the girl and notice she’s already staring back at you.
“Of course. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
You all stand around and talk for a bit with a few of her teammates. The Portland breeze picks up, making it feel much chillier than it actually is. You’re only covered by a thin zip-up, not thinking the temperature would drop mid-game and freeze you half to death. Your shivering is noticed by Ali, so she shrugs off her coat and rests it on your shoulders before taking Sloane from your hands into her other arm.
“Ali, you’ll be cold now. I’ll be fine-“
“You’re clearly cold and you need to warm up. I’m hot anyways.” She shrugs you off and talks to both of the kids in her arms. You’re lucky that the bitter weather makes your cheeks rosy or she definitely would’ve noticed the deep blush rushing to your cheeks at the gesture.
You have been friends with Ali since forever. Your feelings for her have grown stronger and stronger as time moved on to the point where you’re now sure you’re in love with her. The only problem is that she split from Ashlyn months ago and you were her shoulder to cry on through her heartbreak. To you, it’s still too soon to even think about making a move, especially when she has more important things to think about like her retirement and her kids.
Sloane and Ocean have become important to you as well, treating them as one of your own. The little girl is a goofball and the little boy is a bit of a stinker at times, but nothing makes you love them any less. Ali sees the way you interact with them which makes her melt to the floor, knowing that you’re perfect in any way.
Long before the divorce, she knew it was over with Ashlyn for a while. They both argued constantly and Ali didn’t want the kids to grow up in a toxic environment. When Ashlyn cheated, she weirdly felt relieved. Maybe it was because it made her feel less guilty for growing feelings for you. Her best friend.
When the split happened, she ran to you. Even if she knew it was going to happen, it was still devastating. No matter what caused the divorce, she’ll still always care for her ex-wife, and knowing everything is changing with her career, love, and family, it breaks her. You’re there for it all. Her ups and downs, highs and lows. You assure her she’s stuck with you forever.
So here you are now, in Portland watching the captain survive and advance to the finals. Kyle drove you and the kids since Ali had to arrive a little earlier to get ready, but she insists her brother heads back to his hotel and she’ll take everyone back with her.
“Let me go wash off and gather my things then I’ll meet you here. Are you okay with watching them for a couple of minutes?” The taller girl asks, gesturing to the two toddlers in your arms.
You wave her off the best you can with her busied hand and say, “I’m sure I can handle these angels. Now hurry! I want to get back to the hotel.”
“Jeez, I thought I was bossy.” She snarks, walking away but not before the tip of your foot meets with her behind. “Ow! Meany.” You stick your tongue out on her which she returns, causing the kids in your arms to giggle at their Mama’s banter.
Kelley walks out with Kristie and sees the two giggling toddlers. Rushing over to you, she drops her bag, holds out her hands with a grabby gesture, and takes Ocean from your left arm. Kristie quickly follows and pulls Sloane into hers, allowing her arms to relax from the removed weight.
“I’ve missed you two.” Kelley coos at the boy while sticking her finger out for him to wrap his tiny hands around.
“I want one.” The blonde next to you frowns. “Can I keep her?”
“Mmm, I don’t think Kriegs would be happy with me if I sell her children-“
Your statement is cut off by the locker room door opening, revealing the said girl with dampened hair and a bag swung over her shoulders. “I leave you for a few minutes and you’re already auctioning off my babies?”
“Am not! Kristie is thinking about stealing Sloane!” You defend yourself while pointing to the girl.
“Hey!”
Ali chuckles and wraps her arm around your waist, pulling you into her chest. You don’t know if she realizes what she’s doing, but you’re far from complaining about the closeness. You both watch as your guys' two friends continue to mess with the children before you see them yawn.
“Alright, time to go. Gotta put these two to sleep.”
Kristie frowns but reluctantly hands Sloane over to you anyway. You smile sympathetically and pat her back with your free hand.
“I’m going to call Sam and ask for one now. I’ll see you two later.” The girl hops off on her phone, most likely already face-timing her Australian fiancé.
Kelley also bids her goodbyes, parting ways from the four of you, letting you all finally walk out to the car. You both buckle them in before you settle into the passenger seat and Ali in the driver.
The car ride remains silent besides the quiet hum of the radio in the background. You keep your gaze out the window, watching the unfamiliar buildings pass and the stars in the sky. The two toddlers in the back both fall asleep due to it being past their bedtime and the eventful day they had.
As you pull into the hotel parking lot, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn around to look at the peaceful two.
“They’re so precious.” You mumble in awe to which Ali hums in agreement, also looking with you.
You both grab their sleeping forms and head into the hotel room. You’ve been staying with Kyle at his, but since she insisted on driving you back, you follow her into her room, thinking she might want to hang out for a bit. When in the room, you both first change the kids' clothes and place them into their little cribs for the night.
Ali sighs and thumps onto the bed in the middle of the room with her hands covering her face. Her shirt rides up due to her arms lifting, exposing her muscular stomach. You sit at the edge of the mattress and admire the beauty in front of you. A clearing of a throat breaks your stare and turns your attention to the brunette who is now sat up staring at you with a ghost of a smirk.
Heat once again radiates onto your face, embarrassing you further proving you just got caught. The best moves and the sheets shuffle from her moving to sit next to you. She nudges her shoulder with hers as she continues to look at your side profile.
Breaking the silence she says, “I’m happy you came with us to Portland. It means a lot to me; you being here through everything.”
“Like I said, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
You look up back at her and your stomach twists at the sight of her gaze remaining on you. With both of your heads turned, your nose is almost hitting against hers. For a second, you swear you saw her eyes flick down to your lips, but maybe your eyes are deceiving you, feeding into your delusional mind that thinks she may feel the same.
Surprisingly, your mind wasn’t faking you out. Her hand reaches out and rests on your cheek, the soft pad of her thumb stroking your skin gently. She slowly leans in closer when she sees you look at her lips, taking it as a sign you’re not going to find her disgusting.
“Is this okay?” The brunette asks as her lips hover over yours. You nod instantly, not trusting your voice at the moment.
That’s when it finally happens. Her lips slot into yours like a missing piece to a puzzle you worked ages on. The kiss is firm, not too soft to make you think she’s unsure, but not too rough to make you think there’s no meaning behind it. As it continues, her other hand moves down and strokes your thigh which makes you crumble even more into the kiss while your hands rest lightly on her chest.
It lasts until you two need air, pulling away you rest your forehead against hers, giggling lightly in delight.
“What are you giggling about?” She smiles at the sweet sound.
“I just can’t believe this is happening. I’m really happy is all.”
Your right-hand slides itself to the back of her neck and rubs up and down, soothing the tense muscles. She sighs in relief from the feeling and pulls away slightly to be able to look at you. If she was a cartoon, hearts would appear in her eyes from seeing you smile softly at her and your doe eyes roaming her face.
Not being able to control herself, she pulls you in again and places multiple pecks on your lips, causing you to giggle at the outburst and try to lightly shove her off. She finally stops when she hears a quiet whine from the crib which makes the both of you pause and see if you woke one of the toddlers up. Lucky for you, they must have fallen back asleep as quickly as they woke up.
Ali moves to lie down on the mattress before opening her arms wide, signaling for you to lay down with her. You slot yourself comfortably into her embrace and cuddle into her chest. She presses one final peck to your head before whispering, “You are the one for me.”
You tap her waist 3 times, telling her you feel the same, something you've both done ever since you started hanging out. Both exhausted from the thrilling day, it doesn’t take long for slumber to take over your bodies, making you miss the quiet buzz from your phone.
brother kriegs<3
im hoping you finally made the move since youre not here. cant wait for you to be my sister-in-law. i have been dreaming of this day since you admitted your feelings xx
405 notes · View notes
darlingofvalyria · 7 months
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❝—Aemond, just shove your fist up my skirt!❞
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part 02 | baby, all you gotta do is trust me
chapter summary:
[ Cregan is a menace in bed (sexily), Aemond is a menace on social media (derogatory), Helaena is a menace (lovingly). ]
[ 4,715 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,
contains— smutty beginnings, a bit angsty, mostly fluff - nsfw: p & v sex, orgasm denial, degradation kink, mating press - lemme just introduce you to firefighter!cregan stark ahe - toxic alysmond but both of them are at fault, fwb situations, fake dating, slow-ish burn - sad sack aemy is a pathetic meow meow - viserys i has a spank kink, no i will not elaborate further - no use of y/n - no gods, no kings, no betas.
a/n— it's entirely my fault, i know. i made cregan too hot. aemond might be a bit op w/ his relationship with reader, but he & her have a comfortable past...soz. comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡
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There's this thing that Cregan does with his hips.
It's always that sweet spot when your legs are either over his shoulders or haphazardly splayed against his waist, wide open as he drilled into you like a miner trying to find gold (and he would argue that in fact, your orgasms are gold to him)—
There's that moment when he feels you clenching, when you're so close to the precipice of seeing heaven that the motherfucker of the North slows down, sweat-slicked and breathing hard, he slows down enough at the haze of you reaching orgasm where he just.
Produces waves across his body, keeping a slow, toe-curling momentum with his hips, body-waving his dick in and out of you in a slow but purposeful movement— and he's smirking down atyou're fucked out state growing irritated doing something for him.
And before you're truly out of that orgasmic state, about to curse his entire bloodline of ruined orgasms forever or push him off his own godsdamned bed and break his stupidly good penis, he's bracing himself against the side of your head, laughing— not meanly, just amused, the asshole —and asks, almost like he's just asking you for the weather, "Does the pretty little slut want to cum?"
And he's not really asking, because he's grasped your thighs, shoving you into a mating press, and having you see stars in seconds.
"You think my neighbours called 911?" he muses, fixing his hair while in front of the floor length mirror in his room as you lounge about lazily on his bed, already washed and dressed for your own shift at Meleys, sans your pants. That's still in the living room from where Cregan yanked it.
"Hm?" you ask idly, not really focused on the conversation as you scrolled through IG, rolling your eyes at Aegon's post; Hel's big brother was in Ibiza getting sun-tanned in the morning (as much as his pale as fuck skin could tan) and getting it down at clubs at night, liking it nevertheless.
"Your scream at the end there was so loud, I'm pretty sure you broke Mrs. Beesbury out of her coma." You look up at Cregan's menace of a grin, playful and goofy in his tight shirt and thick work pants for his shift at the fire station. "I might be expecting five jars of honey from Mr. Beesbury as thanks."
You roll your eyes at him, laughing. He always got like this post-orgasm; loose and goofy and prone to making the dumbest jokes. It's cute, and on a good day, it does it for you.
It's not like you don't find Cregan attractive. It's how you got into this FWB situation with him in the first place; the dark hair, the scruff on his face, the firefighter bod— and by the Seven, what. A. Bod — when he and his co-workers stumbled into Meleys two months back, seeing your former high school crush aged up and hot had you on your knees for him in the back alley faster than he can hold you from the roots of your hair and grunt.
On a good day, it's easy to see getting past the easy arrangement of sending emojis to alert you wanna get dicked down and him sending a tongue and a heart, sending memes just for the hell of it at random parts of the day— breaking the easy friendship, the nice arrangement, and see where it gets you two, with Stark. On a good day, you can be submerge in the what-if, cute couple-y scenarios and giggle.
But despite the orgasm that could shatter a septa's vows quicker than you can say 'Oh holy Mother', your good day was tentative, broken with a click.
Aemond had made his first social media post since breaking up (the latest one) with Alys.
A darkened bathroom with explicit, orange-glowed lights that covered most of his person but not the slick show of water, freshly showered, against his torso, his chest, his abs. Droplets clung in places one would imagine licking him all over.
You know that bathroom to be the one in his high class gym, one of his favourite places. Since the toxic cycle with Alys started, he frequented it more. Aemond Targaryen was a man of routines and sharp o'clocks, so you know this isn't particularly off-key for him. But the posing (mostly) completely bare with water on his wiry muscles?
"Oh, this whore." You can't help it, as much as it irritated you— because it is clearly a means to get it across that he is newly single without actually saying anything, you can just imagine his DMs firing up with notifs — you couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity.
Aemond Targaryen. Publicly posting a thirstrap.
As public as his social media can get, it's a private account with less than 200 people.
A call rings in your phone, Helaena's face flashing, and you're still giggling when she half-shrieks, "DID YOU SEE HIS IG STORY OH MY GOD."
Your gaze meets Cregan, his bushy, dark eyebrows firing upward upon being able to hear Hel's voice while you winced. You put her on speaker as Cregan giddily comes closer to the phone.
"Good evening to you too, Helaena," you say warmly, giving Cregan's arm a light kick, mouthing, 'Don't you have work?'
Stark had the audacity to shush you, pressing a finger against his lips. You mouth, 'Gossip.' In a mature response, he stuck his tongue out.
Truly a wonder that not twenty minutes ago, this man had you keening over an orgasm.
Helaena continues on, "— I've had enough of this. I already have one slutty brother, I cannot have another one. There can only be two sluts in this family and no more. And that backlit? Seven hells, the whorishness."
"Hel, babe, you are not a slut." You meet eyes with Cregan who waggles his eyebrows, pursing his lips in an air kiss. "Trust me."
Hel snorts. "I know that, I meant my father. The whore of Babylon got nothing on Viserys first of his name, spank king extraordinaire."
If you could simultaneously choke on air and saliva, you would. "Helaena Targaryen!"
Cregan smacked his entire face down on his bed and ate his covers to muffle his laughter, his body shuddering as he did his best. His ass did look good in this view.
"What? Stranger may have mercy on me, but I tell you, before he died and before their marriage imploded, and at times traumatically problematic, they sure did get it freaky when they could. They gave it a good run and traumatised me in the process. I shouldn't have insisted my room was that close to them, maybe I would have ended up being an upstanding citizen of the community."
Cregan flips up, giggles spilling him as he muffled it with his hands. You kicked him again, trying to keep him away from your phone lest Hel figure out where you were again.
"Helaena, my love, compared to your brothers, you are such an upstanding person of the citizenry, the mayor should be giving you an award at this point."
"Right? Maiden have mercy, how busy do you think your shift is going to be tonight?"
You bit your lip guiltily while Cregan smirked, standing up as he finished lacing his boots. Hel thought you had gone straight to work, making up excuses about trying out a new recipe for next month. "Um. Not sure? Probably not by much, it's a weekday."
You don't lie, not really. Cregan mouths 'liar' and throw a pillow at him.
"Good, I'll send Aemond to you tonight. I already told him yesterday and he kind of just made a noncommittal hum— praise hands for another traumatised child of Alicent Hightower who has his own brand of communications issues —" You can just see Helaena's hard eye roll, and you massaged your lips to keep your laughter. The first time you met Hel, you never would have thought she slapped-back self-deprecating jokes out of her pockets faster than you can think a response to the last one. She was sweet, kind, a floral, bohemian girl with her pastel lavender pants and daisy flower clips.
And then you met her, vibed, and there was a dark funny humour to Helaena Targaryen that you always fought just bursting out laughter at the most inopportune of moments.
As sweet and floaty as she appeared, she was a menace.
"— anyway, Mr. Social Whore is going there later tonight, I made him promise. I said if you don't tell me he didn't come, I'm posting every photo I have of him from his naked baby pics to pre-pubescent Teen Teeny-Weeny Aemond, I do not care."
You whistle. "Damn, Hel, okay, I'll tell you when he comes."
"Good. OPLAN Get Aemond Out of This Bad Track Before He Fully Becomes Aegon 2.0 has now commenced. I love my brothers, I truly do, but I can only handle one Aegon at a time. I cannot be scrolling through social media in fear for my life times two, bestie, I refuse." Hel's voice pitches. "I'll talk to you later, bye, babe."
"Bye, Hel!"
Before you could put the phone down, she calls out, teasing, "BYE CREGAN!"
Silence. Then Cregan laughs, calling out, "Bye, Hel!"
The last thing either of you heard is her tinkling giggle before she drops the call.
"Fuck," you mutter, call finished.
Cregan wolf-whistles. "She's good."
You throw another pillow. "It's because you kept giggling like a schoolgirl!"
"Excuse me, that was a manly schoolgirl giggle, I'll have you know." He picks up his keys, winking. "Come on, I'll drop you off at the bar before I pole dance the night away to my job."
You cracked, snorting through the mental image of Cregan Stark, Lead Firefighter of the Ice Wolves Division, shaking his ass on the pole. You pad to the living room. "I'll give you a dollar for your troubles."
"Cheap ass!" he shouts after you.
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Aemond arrives two hours into your shift, a little awkward— no doubt remembering your silent judgment of him the morning of his post-break up affair as that has also been the last interaction you've had with him before this, almost a week ago, and now here, meeting you at the insistence (and plotting) of his sister.
Your eyes meet ice water blue. He freezes, then straightens up, giving you a shrewd tilt forward. A nod. It's jerky, mechanical. You roll your eyes, mouth twitching, before you motion him over.
You are already making his favoured drink starter, Sazerac, when he slides into an empty seat on the bar. Your back is to him, refusing anymore interaction, and you know the usual comfort he finds in the eased silence you provide is nonexistent.
Out of all of Helaena's brothers, you've always liked Aemond the most. You teased him it was because the others are Aegon, duh, and Daeron, still in high school and never really around you "old people", but it's also because it's so easy to be around Aemond. When Helaena introduced you to the tall, lithe man who hummed politely at his sister's introduction of you, you found him intriguing.
It's not just the scarred eye, or the pretty, almost marble-statue visage (because by gods, seriously. The Mother took her sweet, loving time crafting the fourth Targaryen, bloody hell— like those cheekbones? With that cupid's bow lip? Okay, Mother, you have your favourites, we get it), or that he tended to keep himself in the background, let everyone else stretch into the conversation.
He often dipped in and out of the social pool like a mirage; a trick of the eye. A nod, a hum— almost, always an answer to someone else's direct question or someone— usually Aegon — dragging him into the conversation with an anecdote needing an input, not matter how inane.
And it intrigued you.
You took yourself and your drink of choice at the time— a Shirley Temple — and sat right beside him. He looked up at you, that one eye of violet widening slightly because you had just. Plopped beside him, thighs touching, before he smoothens out his expression, shifting at your direct eye contact and small smile.
"Can I... help you?" he finally asks, thoroughly waylaid but trying not to appear so.
"The scar." You nodded to his face as he froze. "Tell me about it."
His face had been so controlled, so guarded, when he tersely said, "My sister didn't tell you?"
"Nope. It's not something for her to tell me, isn't it? It's a personal thing. Most scars are." You shrugged. "Even if they aren't, I'd prefer if you tell me. It's your body. Your body your story."
He stared at you for a quarter of a minute before he asked, "Are you drunk?"
"No, why?"
"You're too... forward."
You smirked. "I've been told. So are you telling me or nah, pretty boy?"
And he stared at you for a minute longer, or two, or three— the stare flickers to emotions so fast; shock, confusion, flatter, his own intrigue — before he told you about a stupid fight between children, about a stupid reason par another, and though his words had been concise, obviously keeping a hell of a lot more between vowels and tightened jaw, you don't press him. You let him talk.
At the end, you said, "Badass. Definitely less of a lame reason than what I was imagining, but 9/10 story. Your voice really sold most of it. It's good for telling stories."
In his brain, you could just see the click when his eyes flicked to his sister and back to you. Ah, so that's how they're friends. And he hums, truly, more than anything, stumped by you. And you smiled.
"You're definitely going to be my favourite Targaryen Brother."
It's no wonder then, that you two had gotten close. You had forced a friendship out of him, and the very unattached guy to literally anything new— suspicious of offerings, angry at pity, wary of kindness — had taken into it with a white flag.
So when the whole Alys situation happened, things shifted.
"Sazerac," you announce finally, placing the drink in front of him. He thanks you with a quiet hum, having stopped fidgeting now that you've acknowledged his existence. You raise your eyebrow as his sips turns to gulp, crossing your arms.
Just because you had promised Hel you were going to help him, doesn't mean you were going to make it easy for him. He knows you're pissed; despite the calm structure he had composed himself in, you can see the twitch in his fingers, the way his eye turned away from you the moment you refused to project your normal, warm aura with him.
He settles his drink down, watching the rim of the glass for a minute before he speaks, low and steady. "You're angry with me."
You snort softly. "Wonder why you think so?"
He sighs. "I didn't mean to. To let it get this... messy." He winces at the word, hating it.
You sigh. "Aemy." He comes alive at the familiar nickname, sitting straighter, a relief on the edge of a cliff. "Honestly, I don't give a shit. You want to be trapped in this mess? You don't want to listen to other people tellign you, 'hey dude, maybe no?'"
He winces, remembering the third time he and Alys had broken up. The police car, Aegon vomitting, Hel crying. It makes you roll your eyes.
"Sure, have at it. Have fun, in fact. There's only so much sympathy I can give you for seeking out the problem that you know is a problem before I get tired. Before I stop giving a shit, because there's someone else I love that is starting to get hurt by it. I can only love you enough as much as you are willing to help yourself." Your eyes then narrow, half-glaring into him. "But what I'm truly getting angry about is how much this is affecting Helaena."
"I understand." He sighs again, calling your name but you raise a hand.
"Hold on, I have a bone to pick with you."
"Okay."
You look at him. A second. He waits. And waits.
He speaks up. "Yes?"
You sigh. It's hard to stay mad at him, you've always found so. "I don't know. I had paragraphs to say to you in front of a mirror, but now that it's you I'm looking at, everything just went away." Under your breath, you mutter, "stupid pathetic meow, meow face."
His mouth twitch. Ah. The familiar Targaryen smugness. Pinch Cocky Aemond is back. "Did my face distract you too much, ñuha riña my lady?"
You roll your eyes, unable to hide your own smile. If you called him Aemy, he called you the High Valyrian, his ancestral tongue, my lady. To tease, to establish comfort. You've always liked this better, being closer to Aemond than despising him for his stupid choices and big feelings he has a hard time unraveling, so he makes said stupid choices.
It's ease, it's familiarity, and you both fall into a high step.
"Okay, nerd, so what did Hel—" A customer calls you. "—One sec. Sorry about that, what can I get you? Ooh, nice choice, alright give me a minute." As you pulled a measuring cup and gin, you nod back to Aemond. "What did Hel tell you we're doing exactly?"
"That you're helping me... with Alys." A hesitance. "I know you don't like her—"
"— whoa, hold up, Aemy, I like her. I like her very much. I think she's a bad bitch, absolutely sexy, and clearly, she has good tastes which I respect her for." He had the good graces to blush, still sort of unused by the compliments you so freely give him. "What I don't like is how your relationship with her— here, hey, you're welcome! — has evolved. You were so good with each other, Aemy. And then..."
You mimic a sound of a crash and burn, and a tiny person screaming. He huffs out a laugh before sobering.
"I know." He sighs. "I don't... I don't understand it myself. There's a part of me that recognises I should walk away. And then there's another part that is just... it's Alys."
His palms, open and upturned, falls on the counter. Pensive. Begging. A confused, wanting penitent looking up at a god asking for direction. "I've loved her for so long." His voice quiets, like the words are sacred.
"I've loved her for so long," he repeats as if the words have worn itself out on his tongue, "it's hard to see past her. Ñuha riña, she has always been my future. It's all her. I don't know anything else outside of her."
You pour an Arbor Gold in a stemmed glass and pushes it to him. It's his favourite drink and he smiles at you, at the care, at the memories.
"I understand that," you say carefully. "And I already promised Hel I'd do it, whatever you need of me, to make her see you. But you should know that I'm doing this more for her than for you because... Aems, I believe you deserve so much more. A love that's exciting without it being harmful. A love that's pretty, as easy as breathing. One that doesn't hurt at the edges and pinches like a barbed wire."
"Is that possible for me?" he asks ironically, trying for a joke but you catch that lilt at the end. At that exhale. So much of his history had been broached by pain, borne from it. There are injuries that run so deep, they continue to bleed.
"Honestly?"
He places the wineglass down. "Yes."
You smile. "Yes."
You don't know if he believes you, or if he just indulges in your starry-eyed view of his future, but he smiles nevertheless, as best as he can and murmurs a gratitude.
It's pacifying, insecurity. You let it go for now because there's nothing you can say to a person truly down to trust your words.
"You're going to do this, then?" he asks. "For Alys and I?"
You shake your head. "I'm doing this for Hel and no chores for a month." And you, to show you that there's more past a future that you and I both know doesn't exist anymore. That if you prolong it, ignore how deep the barbed wire has gotten into your skin, it'll be too hard to untangle it when you realised you've bled out enough.
So will you just wear the pain proudly after that?
You shake another order in place, pulling ice and mint. You raise an eyebrow. "I've always known I was going to help. Are you willing to do this? Honestly Aemy, this can go two ways. One, she'll realise losing you is the worst thing that can ever happen— truly losing you to someone else, or two, she thinks you're truly moving on from her. And that's assuming she even thinks it's real, like I mean come on, it's me and you."
He arches a perfect silver eyebrow. You had already asked him if he gets his eyebrows done, and apart from Helaena messing with him back in high school, has been all natural. You think he's lying.
"And what is me and you?"
"Aemy, come on. I'm your sister's best friend. We're like... I dunno, family? She's always known that."
"Doesn't mean she's never felt jealous of you," he hums, swirling his wine with pinch fingers. It's elegant. Entrancing. The red liquid swirls and there are knots and strain in his hand, going through his arm.
And despite the bags under his eye, he still looks so good. Silvery blond hair wrapped in a low half updo, the shirt that hid nothing of his muscled chest.
His words sink in, breaking you from the hypnotizing reverie of looking at a marbled statue. "What? She felt jealous of me?"
He smiles gently, a little bit cockily. "Ñuha riña. Of course she did. Just because she understood your place in my life, in Hel's, doesn't erase the fact that you're gorgeous and we get along well. She liked you, truly, but she isn't blind. It's nothing that you've done, even she knew that. You're just too perfect."
You blink at him, unable to stop yourself from blushing. He chuckles meanly.
"Shut up."
He exhales a laugh. "I didn't say anything!"
"You know what you did." You give him the stink eye before you serve two more customers, thanking at a pretty hefty tip from one of your regulars, bidding him goodnight as he left. It is a slow night, you didn't lie to Helaena.
You almost don't catch Aemond murmuring, "I've missed this. I've missed you. I never like it when you're pissed at me."
"Good," you joke. "So you can watch yourself better. But yeah, I've missed you too. So how are we doing this?"
"I thought you had an idea, having agreed to Hel's plan before I even knew there was a plan."
You roll your eyes. "Well, I've had a few ideas here and there... it's more your comfort I'm worried about."
He frowns, pouty lips pursing. "My comfort?"
You place your palms behind the bar and hitch yourself up by your physical strength. He leans forward, confused still. You smirk. "Well, Aemy, I'm wearing a skirt."
"I... I don't know what that means, ñuha riña." He blinks his one good eye. "Nice skirt? You look pretty."
You force a pout instead of getting flustered by the compliment out of the blue. "I forgot you weren't all that popular in high school."
"No need for insults," he deadpans.
You laugh. "We're going to make Alys jealous, right? It'll be too much to hard launch my new status of existence in your life when you just broke up... but... if we can allude, at least..."
"I-" His frown deepens, the skin on his other eye, the scar, pinches as you see his mind whirr and whirr where your mind was reaching. "I'm still confused."
"Gods, alright, I'll just show you."
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"Dude, bro, just put your hand under my skirt—"
"Ñuha riña—"
"Yeah, you know what, godsfuckingdamnit, if I alienate you that bad just shove your fist up my skirt, yes, Aemond, just shove your fist up my skirt!"
He calls your name, tips of his ears beet red, as a few patrons turn to you two, bewildered and a little amused. You wave at them but you sigh noisily at him. You're sat beside him on the counter, your phone on one hand with the camera app open, and you're glaring at him.
"Are you seriously telling me you've never placed your hand on Alys' thigh?"
"Of course I have!" He lets out a strangled sigh and groan.
"What's the difference?"
"I've never done it so publicly," he explains as calmly as possible, as if he's talking to a child. "And with the idea of posting it for everyone else to ogle. I've always just done it... under a table. Or. On her knee..."
"You're blushing so hard, you look like a tomato?" You snort. "I'm your fake Alys now, and we're soft launching an intimate relationship. This is basic."
"You're not my fake Alys. You're not my fake anytihng and you're not Alys." he says seriously, frown sharpening into a point before he exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can't it just be my hand over yours?"
 You frown, forgoing the uncomfortable twinge from not my anything and not Alys. "Is this uncomfortable for you? Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"It's not that, never that." He purses his lip. "It's the opposite. I don't want to make you uncomfortable with my touch."
"Aemy," you say softly, smiling slightly. "I am giving you permission. Wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. And you touching me has never made me uncomfortable. Now, come on. Hand on my thigh, pretty boy, so I can take this pic and get the ball rolling."
There's a second more of restraint, of holding back, and before you sigh and suggest something else— maybe he is truly uncomfortable with you, with you not being anything to him, and not being Alys, but is too polite to say anything — he places his palm, warm and heavy, against your exposed thigh.
It's a... new sensation. You've held hands with Aemond before, smacked it a few times even, but it's different when it's on a more... well, when it's not on a non intimate area of your body. New skin, new nerve endings to his familiar warmth and crease.
It makes you swallow how big his hand is compared to your whole ass thigh. Thumb to pinky and he nearly swallows the gaps.
He really has pretty hands. Knotted veins twisting upward to muscled arms.
Both of you nestle in the quiet, just staring at his hand over your thigh.
"Okay," he says, voice even. He's taller than you, always taller even when you're both sat down, and he's closer to the top of your head at this distance, his breath flutters against your hair. "What now?"
"I... take the picture." You blink, shaking your head slightly, as you take his drink and add your hand within the frame so it looks like you mean to take a photo of your drink and not the glaringly obvious hand on your thigh, before you you angle it. You take one, two, three. A few different angles before you feel you've got a few nice ones. "Okay, done."
It feels cold when he takes his hand away, giving your thigh a soft tap before it's back on the counter. He hums.
You get back on the work, choosing one and posting it promptly on your stories. You place Meleys' location and a kiss mark emoji before you post it.
"It does look intimate," Aemond hums, observing the story from his own phone. "But why did you post it on your account and not mine?"
"She's your ex, Aemy," you say, hopping off the chair and moving back behind the counter. The world re-orbits. Everyone back in their positions, the lines clear. The planets move in their normal trajectory again.
"She'll know it's your hand. And if we post it on mine, it has more of an impact, don't you think? We're friends on IG. She sees it on my stories, a man's hand on her thigh, in a background that's no doubt a bar. The hand is sorta familiar. And you posted that slutty mirror pic earlier tonight."
He blushes, you smirk. Planets and moons orbit back, their pace slow, their lightyears fast. Best friend's sister. Sister's best friend.
"If she doesn't recognise your hand at first, your story will prompt it on her brain. It's not a hard connection, you've been together for years. It's a girl thing. An exes thing. Bingo bango, the brain is running. Surely it isn't Aemond's hand? Even if it is... is it truly romantic?"
He exhales. "You're... kind of an evil genius."
"Just kind of? Damn." And you smile because he laughs, the sound spreading warmth across your chest.
Yeah, this is better. It always feels good when you and Aemond are on the same team, when you're not mad at him and vice versa, no matter how stupid the reason.
Saturn rings snap, black holes sink and swim in galaxies so far, far away.
You put your phone on DND as soon as the first five notifs pop up, prompting a barrage of other notifications. When you took a glance at it, it's all a varying degree of 'WHAT THE FUCK', 'WHO THE FUCK', and 'GO GET THAT DICK, GIRL OMG!!'
Only Helaena's message matters, and it brings a smile on your lips.
 'Noice'.
Another ping.
'Also— what a bunch of harlots'.
You show it to Aemond and both of you burst in stupid laughter.
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TAGLIST (message to be added! please ensure you are able to be tagged to get notifs): @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @spinachtz @at-a-rax-ia @bespinnn @tsujifreya @moonlightfoxx @kemillyfreitas @joyouart @bananzaa @honey-on-mars @alexa4040 @cinnamonbambii @wintrr13 @wxb-slingrr
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1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back || D. Targaryen x oc (Dear Motherhood Series)
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GIF by me :) pls give cred if used DIVIDERS by @straywords
summary: After Aegon experienced a near death experience under the lack of supervision of Daemon, a heated convo between Leyla and him soon follows.
Dear Motherhood Series Masterlist
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“Stop that Baelon,” Daemon warned the young boy but still, he continues to bang his toy against the wall, creating a loud noise. Daemon was in Leyla’s solar, all three kids there with him and 2 handmaidens with the children.
The banging noise still continued as Daemon became more agitated. “I said stop it Baelon!” He yelled, slamming his hand on the table making all the kids flinch and stare at their father with wide eyes. The handmaidens too were surprised at Daemon’s loudness, especially because he rarely ever yelled at the children.
“Listen to what I tell you the first time,” He snaps as Baelon looks down, Alyssa sitting beside him rubs his shoulder in comfort. Daemon sighs, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t mean to yell at his son. His head was swarming with thoughts. Thoughts about how it was his fault that Aegon was so close to being seriously injured, or worst dead.
Leyla wasn’t feeling well in the morning so Daemon too responsibility of looking after the children during breakfast. It wasn’t hard to do and yet he still managed to fuck it up by not paying attention to Aegon who crawled his way to the descending stairs. Thank the gods Alicent was walking past and saw the young boy one step away from falling.
A knock comes from the double doors, “Come in,” Daemon calls out. It was one of Leyla’s handmaidens. “Lady Leyla wishes to see you, my Prince,” She bows before leaving. Daemon stared at the empty space where the handmaiden once stood.
He lets out a breath before standing up and walking over to where Alyssa, Baelon and Aegon sat playing with their toys. “Behave please,” He says before kissing each of their foreheads and ruffling Baelon’s hair.
Daemon knew that Leyla was beyond mad. He didn’t blame her, after all, it was his fault for not paying attention and letting Aegon come to a near death experience. Walking the familiar route to the nursery, he walked into the room without knocking.
He shut the door behind him before looking at Leyla. Their newborn, Alys, in her arms, crying. He watched as she rocked her to soothe her down. Her back facing Daemon.
“What were you thinking?” She spat, her face red. Daemon couldn’t find it in himself to say anything, so instead, he only kept his gaze to the floor. Angered at the lack of response, Leyla brings her hand up and slaps Daemon’s face, her hand tingling.
Daemon rolls his tongue against his cheek before meeting eyes with his wife. “It was a simple mistake-“ “A simple mistake?” She scoffed, “The handmaidens should have been keeping an eye on him as-“ “Do not blame the handmaidens for your mistake Daemon. I trusted you with looking after the children! How can I do that know when Aegon nearly fell down the stairs and could have died. All because of what? Rhaenyra was it?” She fumed, Leyla’s eyesight were blurred by the tears that formed in her eyes.
It pained her that her son was near close to death, thank god Alicent quickly took Aegon before he took another step. It pained her even more that Daemon was there and did not pay attention to their child.
She was told by her handmaidens that Rhaenyra had arrived, he carelessly went to greet her whilst leaving Aegon one step away from the steps that descended. “Thank the Gods that my sister was walking past,” She muttered, shaking her head.
“I would never forgive myself if something happened to Aegon, or to any of our children for that matter” Daemon quietly spoke as Leyla looked at him. “Neither would I, Husband,” She said through gritted teeth as Daemon looked at Leyla. “If you didn’t go and greet Rhaenyra, none of this would have happened in the first place!” She shouted, frustrated at her husband.
“Like I said, it was a mistake Leyla!” Daemon groaned, pulling at his hair as he starts to pace around the nursery. “A mistake that could have cost us our child!” She fired back, this time, hot tears had managed to cascade down her rosy cheeks. “I know, I know, hey- listen to me Leyla,” Daemon takes ahold of Leyla’s face.
“I am so fucking sorry. And I love you, so so much, and our beautiful children,” He softly says, his forehead against hers as he looks down at Alys before making eye contact with Leyla. “You can’t just push your children aside when Rhaenyra appears, Daemon.” He moves away from him and to the crib to lay Alys down.
“I know you haven’t seen her in some time, but do not forget your children whenever she’s there,” She bites her lips softly, looking down at Alys who’s looking right up at her. “I know that and I am so sorry,” He engulfs her in a hug from behind, his arms protectively wrapping themselves around her small figure.
Leyla lets out a sigh before caving in and leaning her head against Daemon’s chest.
~
taglist
@writtingforfun @bellstwd @sesamepancakes @bunbunbl0gs @ajthefujoshi @mxtokko @xcinnamonmalfoyx
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youraverageaemondsimp · 6 months
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DÉPAYSEMENT // ix.
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Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader
warnings: 18+ mdni, blowjob, oral m receiving, cum play, cum eating, fluff. + not proofread.
A/N: this chapter is short but this is basically the calm before the storm before shit will finally hits the fan!!
<- prev // next ->
masterlist.
“I'll marry you on one condition.” you say laying next to him and he uses his elbow to prop himself up, “what condition?” he asks, caressing your face, “do not take in a lover, please.” your voice croaks at the please.
Aemond chuckles, “Why would I do that? I love you–”
“Alys rivers.” you cut him off, her name rolling off your tongue bitterly.
Frankly you shouldn't be jealous, cause Aemond was always supposed to end up with her, she was his lover in the history books, one that bore him a son, she was a witch, and you remember looking up to her as a woman in history who was a complete badass. Which was rare.
But now? You feel jealous, because you love Aemond, and the possibility that the same fate might repeat is setting you on the edge, you know you can't stop it if it's what the gods desire. You cannot go against divine power, so you can at least try to talk about it with Aemond.
“Who?” he asks, genuinely confused as his head tilts.
Right, he doesn't know who she is.
“Your lover.” you say and he raises an eye brow, “Alys rivers? a rivers. Which means she is a bastard, why would I take in a bastard as my lover?” he asks and you shrug.
“You took her as your bedmate and a spoil of war in the history books, some sources believe you loved her, she gave birth to your son.” you try to explain without shaking, the thought of him being with her making you sick.
He seems even more confused.
“You see- back then, you took more than half the men to reclaim harrenhal from the blacks, however that caused the fall of King's Landing, in the hands of Rhaenyra and Daemon, the gold cloaks still listen to Daemon Targaryen since he is their commander, there are many spies in the city as well, though there are no names mentioned.” you dump it all at once and he clenched his fists in anger and you noticed.
“With the same anger and fury, you killed off house strong, taking out your rage on them, but spared her, alys rivers, for she was a witch and was rumoured to have bewitched you, if I remember correctly.” you finish.
“Alys rivers.” he says in thought, and you wince at the way her name rolls off his tongue so delicately and making you feel heartbroken for an odd reason.
“I shall do no such thing.” he says and you look at him, “Are you not planning on marching to harrenhal?” you ask and he shakes his head, “I do, but we need to take care of the spies in the city first, do not let them suspect anything.” he whispers and places a small kiss on your forehead.
He pulled you close and you felt his hard cock against your thigh, you smirked at it before your hands trailed down his abdomen, tracing his abs before you gripped his cock gently and he gasped, looking down.
You slowly pumped up and down, thumb rubbing against his silt causing him to groan sensitively, you pushed him on his back before getting in between his legs, about to take him in your mouth when you felt him pull you away by your hair with a furrowed brow.
“Why are you doing?” he questions, “I want to taste you.” you reply, “You shall do no such thing, you are not a whore, only whores do such things” he says so seriously that it makes you chuckle, “Giving head to the person you love isn't whoring, and it's quite common for couples to engage in such sexual acts to show love for one another.” you reply back, and he let goes of your hair.
“But it is not proper for a lady—”
“I want to taste you, my dragon.” you say sternly, you watch as he gulps, before he slowly nods and you shoot him a smile before descending your lips onto his cock, mouth wrapped around it tightly, before you start moving your head up and down, he was too much to fit in your mouth but you tried to take all of him anyway, and then you gagged when you him hit the back of your throat.
You pulled away and placed kisses at his tip, giving it kitten licks, lips moving down side to his stones to give them a kiss as well before you sucked on them slightly, which made Aemond grip your hair, moaning.
You kissed up his length again, and then took him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him off, hands playing with his balls, giving them a tight squeeze from time to time, Aemond was controlling himself extremely hard, trying not to fuck your mouth into oblivion, letting you do this at your own pace, and soon he felt warm erupting in abdomen, a fire licking at him before he spilled himself.
You pulled away the moment he came, continuing to pump him with your hand, you watched as his spend spurted out, leaking down his cock and pooling on to his stomach, you bent down and tasted it, and moaned at the taste before you licked him clean, swallowing all his remnants.
“F-fuck that was so good.” he breathes heavily, as he processes his orgasm, he pulls you up and kisses you again, before he presses you flush against him and cuddling you to sleep.
He had not forgotten what you said, dealing with the city spies in one of the main things he has to do now, knowing the threat that Daemon and Rhaenyra can pretty much invade the city and ruin it is enough to set him a paranoia high, and so he orders commands, to take note of any odd behavior exhibited by anyone, he dismissed almost all the city watch guards, sending them away before appointing new ones, the ones he trusted.
It took him well over two weeks to do this, remove and reappoint based on suspicion, and it seemed to have worked perfectly, considering how the intel the blacks were receiving has been significantly weakened, and Aemond went as far as to make up fake intel, give them fake leads, which wasted their time.
The entire two weeks passed by quickly and there was another problem at hand.
How in the seven hells was he supposed to announce your betrothal, he had realised that you are from no notable family at all, and your last name was extremely foreign.
He gathered the small council, and had invited you, you had noticed the confused looks the other members had given you, and some even looked at you in disgust, you simply put your head down, that was until alicent walked in, she gave you a warm smile and you smiled back.
“I intend on marrying Lady Y/N.” Aemond announces, earning gasps from everyone.
“But my prince- she is from no notable house and on top of your whor-” before one can protest, he shot them a glare which shut them up.
“Is that what you truly want, son?” Alicent asks, she was against this idea as well, but seeing her son like this, was so rare, he looked so happy with you.
In protecting her kids, Alicent had completely forgotten about their happiness or needs, she just wanted them to survive, they used to be bright when they were younger, the childhood innocence which wasn't tainted by the world, until they had to be involved in this game for the throne.
She had never seen any of them the same again.
Until you, Aemond was happy with you.
She cannot rob her son of happiness again.
“Yes, mother.” he says and she nods, “I understand, I approve.” she gives him a smile and he was visibly shocked at that, but he regained his composure, nodding.
Everyone gasped at the Dowager Queen's decision, but kept silent nonetheless, they knew they cannot say anything now that the decision has been made.
So you stood there, happy and elevated, trying to contain yourself, you felt lightheaded, happy, joyous, you felt like jumping around but you remained calm.
It felt like receiving a good score on your test again.
Weird comparison but it checks out.
And soon, the meeting turned to discuss other matters of the realm before everyone was dismissed, they all left, bowing to Aemond.
And then you were left alone with him.
You immediately faced him and jumped on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug, his hands held your waist to keep your balance and you hugged him so tight to the point it was suffocating, you heard him struggle to breathe and you pulled away quickly, sheepishly looking down.
“Sorry- I didn't mean to choke you.” you apologize shyly, and he smirks before he pulls you into a hug as well.
And then he presses a kiss to your forehead.
You both go to his chambers that night, and cuddle each other to sleep, you go to sleep basking in the comfort of his warmth, hoping things will be like this forever.
———
TAGLIST ;
@sassysaxsolo @jaime-in-flannel @namelesslosers @itsabby15 @snh96 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonlightazriel @beado05 @ajourneytobeweightless @hannaeditzs @joyouart @nitimurinvetitumsposts @hufflepuff1700 @loserwithnofriends @noemienakamoto @smolnuggie911 @happinessinthebeing @teamstorybooks @drewstarkeyluver @nealeart @aelora-a @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @wxb-slingrr @lyn07 @anehkael @t0uch-starved-h0e @sleepy-time-dreamy @minthermie @diiickbrainn @backyardfolklore @dixieelocin @queenofshinigamis @blogg-100 @clairacassidy @lexwolfhale @persephonerinyes @nockerin @watercolorskyy @azaleapotterblack @heavenly1927 @americanprometheuss @cl-0-vr @alexa4040 @goldyfishsstuff
DM TO BE REMOVED! BOLD IS WHO I CANNOT TAG
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animehideout · 4 months
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Jujutsu Kaisen Men And The Songs They Would Play In The Bg While Doing it ♪🔞
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Ps: In this case Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro are over 18.
Gojo Satoru:
Chase Atlantic - SlowDown
♪ Push a little further on the edge Crawl a little further on the bed, babe I'm burning up, yeah, all I see is red She said, "Fuck me like I'm famous", I said, "Okay"♪
Geto Suguru:
Lloyd - All I Need.
♪ As long as you say my name every time I break you off, girl I'll Give you what you want, 'cause your love is all I need I'ma turn you on with all the things I do. Girl you're made for me 'cause your love is all I need And you gon' make that sound from all the things you do♪
Sukuna Ryomen :
Maroon 5 - Animals.
♪ Baby I'm preying on you tonight, haunt you down eat you alive just like animals, animals like animals maybe you think you can hide, i can smell your scent from miles♪
Choso:
The Weeknd - Lost In The Fire.
♪I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on You're the only one I've got my sights on Type of sex you could never put a price on I'll take it off, you're the one I'll roll the dice on And I just want a baby with the right one 'Cause I could never be the one to hide one♪
Toji Fushiguro:
Maejor Ali - Lolly.
♪And don't stop in the lobby I hope I hope you massage me I hope you can take it when I make you call me Papi The club about to close, come up out them clothes I'm about to give you what you asking for♪
Nanami Kento:
Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know
♪ That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day Crawling back to you Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new Now I've thought it through Crawling back to you♪
Ino Takuma:
The Weeknd - Often.
♪She asked me if I do this every day, I said, "Often" Asked how many times she rode the wave, not so often Bitches down to do it either way, often Baby, I can make that pussy rain, often Often, often, girl, I do this often Make that pussy poppin', do it how I want it♪
Yuji Itadori :
JustineSkye - Collide.
♪ We can go all the time We can move fast, then rewind When you put your body on mine And collide, collide It could be one of those nights Where we don't turn off the lights Wanna see your body on mine And collide ♪
Megumi Fushiguro:
Chase Atlantic - Swim.
♪ The water's getting colder, let me in your ocean, swim Out in California, I'll be forward stroking, swim So hard to ignore ya, 'specially when I'm smoking, swim World is on my shoulders, keep your body open, swim♪
Mahito:
Aaryan Shah - Renegade.
♪I told you what it is, you chose to stay, oh Baby, you chose the pain 'Cause you don't know me, you just know my name, oh Oh, should've listened to them Oh, don't you know what I am?♪
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deadsnothere · 7 months
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Gunslinger Girl!
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Synopsis - After getting a call from Garp, Alias made her way to the Baratie for a nice bite to eat and a long needed reunion.
Part 2
WARNINGS!! - READER HAS A NAME!!
Request - no, not taking them sorry.
Word count - 2.8k
Speak Ali! - Both parts together make 5,340 words, this Fic has literally taken up my brain.
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Monkey D. Luffy.
Garp was a cheeky bastard.
I, Alias Foreman, Swore to be on Monkey D. Luffy's pirate crew when we both turned sixteen and fled to the sea together. I had a dream of becoming one of the most versatile people known to man. I want to learn as much as I can, to cook, to clean, to navigate boats and ships, anything you can teach me I will try my hardest to understand and learn. Now I'm not saying that I want to be the best at everything, there will always be people better. But I want to at least understand the basics of as much as possible. But for all of my life I've been known as a Gunslinger.
I'm ‘The Cheshire Cat’. Cool name with a stupid job. I hate being a Warlord of the Sea, it's the stupidest job on this side of the east blue, and they wouldn't even give me a proper crew. Just a few bumbling idiots who don't know what being a pirate really means.
Luffy always understood what being a pirate meant. I remember watching Garp train him day in and day out. Parts of me understand why Garp was so hard on him, I mean people say he takes after Gold Roger. Imagine your grandson taking after someone you helped execute. I don't think I'd be fond of it either. I’ve never thought Garp nor Luffy were wrong for what they want but, I think one knows what he's doing and the other doesn't.
-
It's always quite bothersome when halfway through my delicious dinner, I get interrupted by a soggy mean fishman running in here and trying to take my table for dinner. If he had waited a few minutes I would've gladly given it up, I just wanted to finish my meal. But the inpatient idiot just had to have it now.
“I'm afraid there are no more tables.” Arlong and two of his crew members were walking down the stairs of the Baratie. They’re bodies are still wet and leaving water as they walk, which is just plain disrespectful. “I see a bunch of tables.” I couldn't help but roll my eyes, to think I would have a peaceful dinner, just hopeful dreaming. People started to whisper and get up from their tables but I stayed in my seat, intending to finish the nice meal served to me. Plus it's not as if they got far, Arlong was yelling at them as soon as he got to the middle of the staircase. “Sit down!” he yelled in his degrading, chalkboard scratching voice. I continued to cut my steak in pieces to eat, they over cooked it a bit but a fine job was done anyways. Seasoned almost perfectly. A little too much oregano, but I'm just too picky with my food. Arlong went around as if he owned the place. “No one leaves.”
He looked at me with malice in his smile. “Except you.” His webbed hand went to grab the collar of my shirt but I stopped it with my own, barely even looking back. “I only have a bite or two left, I'll give it up when I'm done.” I took another drink from my wine and let go of his hand, continuing on with my meal. I could tell it pissed him off from the way he growled close to my ear. A stupid amount of spit landing on my dinner plate and shoulder. I shivered in disgust and stood up from my table. “You know what- take it.” I grabbed my plate and wine and stood up, leaving the small round table for the fishmen to sit at. I felt bad not eating the steak so I got a to-go box from the reservations desk and put it in there to give to someone later. Deciding that maybe i'll get a nice drink from the bar instead.
I was a wine kind of gal so I got a nice glass of Merlot, it was tasty. Had lots of flavor, some of which I enjoyed and some I didn't. I was enjoying the peace. I always knew it wouldn't last long but god was i sad when it was over. “Which one of you is Arlong?” Oh shit. I knew his voice anywhere, the voice I was sent for by his grandfather, the voice of a new age. I got a refill on my wine, and bought the whole bottle while I was at it, due to the lingering feeling that this wasn't going to look pretty.
When I got back into the restaurant I decided to just rest a little under the staircase, hidden by the shadows hopefully. Seeing Luffy again made me nervous. Something about it..something about how he’d be even a little bit different. When I assessed the situation in front of me it confused me a bit. I could hear that Arlong was yelling from the bar but he's an idiot so I tuned it out and tried to enjoy the bit of ‘quiet’ I had. Arlong has an older gentleman by his shirt collar, while Luffy was halfway down the main staircase. He had two men behind him, one named Usopp the other Sanji. I heard about them both, one from a customer here and the other, from a bartender. “So this is the pirate I've heard so much about.” Arlong was starting to circle around some of the tables, pacing I guess. “You know, I was expecting someone… bigger.”
Sounds like my cue. I came out of the shady area setting the wine glass and bottle on the table and grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from a pocket in my shorts, picking the lucky one and placing it in my mouth delicately. “Tell me about it..I've had someone in my ear all day. ‘Find that dumbass.’ I have a headache at this point.” I laughed and leant on the chair. Luffy looks away from Arlong for a millisecond, to look at me but I don't think it registered in his brain. He couldn't have forgotten me. Luffy spoke, in his normal, nonchalant, Luffy way. “So was I.” I was puffing from my cigarette as I laughed. The snicker making smoke pour out of my nose. That got Luffy's attention. His head snapped to look at me, his eyes didn’t leave me, it looked like he was inspecting every part of my body. Probably looking for the one sign it was me. The small skull shaped scar just above my left knee. I wore shorts today just so he would see it.
His eyes were as wide as the plates they were using to serve that delicious soup I had for an appetizer. “ALIAS?!-” internally I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Externally, all I could do was smile. Luffy had a bright smile on his cheeks and I couldn't help but smile back. It was a smile I yearned for, for so long. I knew with even a bit of it, I was going to be addicted again.
I could see how excited luffy was that I was here (which made me VERY happy), but Arlong being himself did not like that attention wasn't on him for those few seconds so he cleared his throat obnoxiously. “Do you know who I am, boy?” Luffy's attention went to him but came right back when I spoke up. “Arlong the Saw.” There was a moment of silence, I taped the ash away from my cigarette into an empty glass off the table of people in front of me, and took another drag from it. “And just who are you-” - “I’m The Cheshire Cat.” I undid two of the buttons on my button up shirt with one hand, letting my collar fall back to show off the cat like scratches that laid on my collar bone (If those cats were lions that scratched almost all the way down my torso and arm). I did a stupid little bow. A few people reacted but I enjoyed the way Luffy looked so wowed. Arlongs eyes widened but they just went right back to a dumb smug smile. “You, Arlong, go for 20 million berrys.” I took another drag, exhaling calmly. “Which is impressive for the east blue but..Not so much other places.” He laughed from his chest, his friends going along with it. “What does the sell out have to say about it?” I sighed softly.
A part of me wished I was a sell out, instead of a kidnapped child forced to do the government's dirty work. The other part knew I would never do that, knew I would never betray my own crew like that. “Oh nothing honestly, I don't care about you.” I looked over to Luffy who still had a smile on his face. When we made eye contact he started to beam. I've only visited him once since I became a warlord, it makes me happy to see him so full of joy just from a moment of eye contact with me. “I'm here for him.” Luffy's hands started to shake, it was something small he always did around me. Blurted it out one day, said when I was excited sometimes I gave him a look, a glint in my eye that made him so happy his entire body shook. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever said to me. Arlong growled once again, leaving spit in someone's food. Those poor people.
He was circling the tables to get to me, circling around me slowly as if I was fish bait he was waiting to snap on. “Well I was here first.” I thought about correcting him, telling him that I was in fact here first. But Luffy interrupted the thought anyway. “How’d you find me anyway?” Luffy sounded completely confident in himself, Arlong just let out another horrid chuckle and made his way back to where he originally stood. “Old friend helped me track you down.” At first Luffy looked over to me, but I was drinking a sip of wine, just listening to what was happening in front of me. Arlong clicked his tongue and one of the other fish men grabbed the clown pirate's head out of a bag. “Heya, Straw hat. Did you miss me?” Luffy looked extremely confused, Sanji looked exhausted and Usopp looked terrified. “Burpy?” The name he called him almost made me spit out my wine from laughter (Which made Luffy happy, I could tell because he glanced at me. Even just for a second.) “What are you doing here?”
The fact that there was only a clown head confused and disturbed me, but I looked past it. “Believe me, it wasn't my first choice either.” He looked a bit nervous as he spoke. “But these fine fishy folk persuaded me to point them in the right direction, which ain't easy when you don't have any hands!” The joke made me raise my eyebrows and laugh a bit, it was funny i'll give him that. But Luffy still looked confused. “How’d you even know where to find me?” Suddenly the clown had the most serious expression I've ever seen him in. “I told you, I've got eyes and ears everywhere.” I noticed an ear start to climb out of the red band of Luffys hat. It was quite strange. The ear went back to the clown and popped right back in place, laughing. Luffy took the hat off his head inspecting it, while the two men behind him shared a look. “Stereo!” Luffy looked shocked. “You were listening all along? You heard everything?” The clown was quite happy. “Everything! and that old quick. 'Cause you shi-diots have no idea what you're doing.” The mashup word made me giggle a bit, it sounded so stupid, but it was kinda funny. (But luffy frowned a bit when he saw I laughed so i stopped as quick as i started).
The clown's head jumped towards the fishman with the huge lips. “Hey lips? How about a scratch behind the old ear, huh?” That made me roll my eyes, he was stupid enough to ask his captors that? The fishmen put him back in the bag. Buggy complaining about how sandy and wet it was.
“Listen here. I want my map.” It was so stupid. Watching them fight over the map to the entrance to the grand line, I understand why Luffy wanted it, but Arlong has a giant crew of thieves who could easily take it from another marine base. “Along with half of whatever you plunder as tribute.” Tribute? for getting a map, does he want tribute for his own existence now? “And if you bow down to me, I might even let you serve in my kingdom.” Stupid men. All of them were the same. Well not all, but most were extremely similar. “I don't bow down to any man.” Luffy stood tall, his head held up high as usual. That's my boy. “I'm no man.” Luffy continued. “Or fish.” That made Arlong growl and made me laugh. “And you’re no king.” There was a certain feeling in the air, the aggression that at any moment, one or the other would attack. Everyone was on high alert, my wine made that hard. It was just so delicate. Hard to enjoy in this environment but perfect in others.
“I will be, when I get my grand line map.” Luffy just smiled, which was a little bit attractive. “Then” He placed his hat back on his head. “You’re gonna have to fight me for it.” I take the attractive comment back, he's stupid. “Then let the fighting begin.” A bullet bounced off the fishmans skin. My hands almost drew closer to my own guns but instead I decided to pour another glass of wine. The old man that cooked my food was standing with a gun in his hand, the trigger pulled in his fingers clutches.
The thing about fishmen (I had learned the hard way) is that regular bullets don't affect them. I have very special bullets, made from some weird unmeltable ice, something about them coming from a town inside the grand line called drum town, from the deepest parts of frozen lakes. They're so sharp they even pierce fishman skin but don't go as deep as I would like.
Arlong turned to the old man, one of his crew members kicking him away and down before punching him into a pillar. Sanji called out his name and ran over, jumping on the table and kicking the fishman in the face. Which just pissed him off more. He got a few good kicks to the face and arms, even the legs but Luffy distracted him. “Really good fighter.” By the time he went to do a quite nice spinning kick to the face again, he caught his foot in his arm. I reached for both guns in my holsters, Checking that they had the correct bullets and shot multiple rounds from Alice, all of them making a trail up his arm and letting Sanji get away. The fishman looked back at me, anger and confusion in his eyes. “These bullets are made of ice, so sharp they even pierce fishman skin. I got them specially made.” There was a delicate smile on my lips, blowing the smoke out of my mouth and away from my guns. Normally i wouldn't touch these but i had a feeling about bringing them today, i'm glad i did. they may be expensive but Luffy was worth it anyways.
Everything was happening so quickly, Luffy's gum gum pistol, Arlong grabbing and pulling him closer. “Uh-” I could tell there was panic in his voice, but I couldn't tell if helping would really be helping at all. He was thrown at a pillar, landing on the floor with a thud. “Get up!” Arlong yelled, if i was him i would've stayed on the floor in spite, but he got up regardless. He kept stretching his arms three punches, one to each shoulder and one to the face. “Not bad for a human.”
I lifted my pistol to shoot Arlong but luffy put his hand up, his middle and ring finger were intertwined and the other three fingers touched. That was our sign when we were kids to stay out of it. It was our secret signal, not even Ace or Sabo or Dadan knew what it meant. I lowered my pistol, spinning it and putting it back in its holster. I grabbed the wine bottle taking a nice big gulp. Glad i’d gotten the entire bottle because this in fact, was not going to be pretty.
Part 2!!
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finelinevogue · 1 year
Text
birthday boy
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summary - harry’s birthday party ends up with cake frosting in his hair and your eyes
warnings: twinge of sadness but like it’s barely even there tbh, swearing, kissing, lots n lots of frosting
word count: +2.3k
pairing: fiancé!harry x reader
“Anyone need a top up?”
You were laughing with Glenne as she finished telling a funny story about her new intern. You couldn’t really hear what the story had been about, due to the obscene amount of noise in the room, but you laughed anyway.
“Yes please!” Glenne slurred, drunk on her birthday alcohol.
You were just as drunk, not because it was your birthday but because it was your fiancé’s birthday.
“Me too, please!” You held out your glass flute as the kind server poured more champagne into it, after topping up Glenne’s first.
“Me too, please!” You held out your glass flute as the kind server poured more champagne into it, after topping up Glenne’s first.
After you’d both thanked the server politely, you both returned to your conversations with each other. You’d both just needed a moment away from crowds to catch up on the evening gossip so far, so you’d come to sit on the velvet sofas in the corner of the room.
“Y/N, I have to say, you did a fabulous job on decorations this year.” Glenne cheered.
“I did?”
You looked around the room and evaluated what you had achieved. The mirrorball in the middle of the room shone a thousand diamonds down onto the dance floor, which was a black and white chessboard set up. There were fairy lights hung up around the walls. A balloon arch was in another corner of the room, where there was a rose wall behind it, for photo opportunities.
“Yeah! I love it!” Glenne looked around the room too, taking in all your hard work. “Jeff could never pull off something like this.”
It had taken you a couple of hours to set up the decorations and Harry had been all pouty that you had to leave him for so long on his birthday, but when you’d showed him what you’d been up to he fell in love with you a little bit more.
“I would’ve said neither could Harry, but something tells me he actually could.” You laughed, Glenne laughing along with you.
“Speaking of Harry… Have you two decided on a date yet?” Glenne nudged your leg with her heeled foot.
“Maybe May? I… We don’t know yet.” You sighed, shoulders slumping thinking about how you and Harry couldn’t agree on the perfect date for your wedding. “I mean, my dad can’t make any time in April, but Harry’s dad can’t make any time in June and we definitely want to be married before July, but…”
“Babe, woah, slow down. Y/N, this wedding, no matter how much you don’t want to upset anyone, is about you and Harry. It’s the one day in your life, apart from your birthday, where you get to be selfish. Take it as an opportunity to build a wedding day that you want, not anyone else.”
“Yeah you’re right.” You said so quietly not even Glenne heard.
“H’s version of a perfect wedding will be a day where you’re nothing short of perfectly happy.” Glenne shot back the rest of her champagne and placed it on the table in front of you two. “So, really, plan whatever you want.”
“Yeah” You nodded and placed your half full glass on the table too. “Alright, excuse me, I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”
“Sure.” She nodded and stood up herself, pulling down her short skirt and tottling off to find Jeff.
You walked past flurries of people, waving hello to people across the room who caught your eye. A lot of people you didn’t know, but Jeff had told you to send invites to because Harry and Glenne would know them. They were mainly Hollywood people that worked in the music industry, but there were a couple of faces you did know.
Gemma Chan was there and you made sure she knew you’d come and steal her away later for a catch up. Asif Ali was also there and you would have to go see him too, in order to bring some more smiles to your face.
After you’d finished in the toilets you walked back into the room to see a congregation in the middle of the room. Since you had organised the event and had no additional entertainment booked other than the live band, you were curious to see what was going on.
When you got to the back of the circle, trying to peer over the tall people at the back, you noticed Glenne sat on a chair with her back to Harry who was sat on another chair.
You could tell by the look in your fiancés eyes that he was very tipsy. His hair was messy on the top of his head from all the dancing around he had been doing this evening. He still hadn’t pulled you for a dance yet, but you two had been separated ever since you’d walked inside the venue. Harry was whisked away by Jeff to meet people, having a drink each time he came across someone new, and before you knew it he was dancing to Gloria Gaynor with the chief executive of Columbia.
You missed him.
When it came to events like these, even though it was actually his birthday, he was always so whisked up in the business side of it that you had to entertain yourself. It was never that Harry abandoned you, but you would rather not have to over-socialise. You put it down to your social anxiety and fear of social burnout.
“Now, a little surprise for my two best friends.” Jeff spoke into a microphone so he could be heard by everyone.
Some sensual music started playing and you automatically assumed that it was strippers. Your heart sunk at the thought of Harry having a gorgeous girl straddle him and perform intimate positions with him. It would be unkind of Jeff if he had planned something like that. Your heart lightened when you saw Jeff stand in front of Glenne and start pulling off his jacket sexily, before rounding to Harry’s side and wiggling his bum in Harry’s face. Harry’s drunk self slapped Jeff’s bum and everyone laughed. Even you.
Harry looked around the crowd, his eyes not pausing their movement until they met yours. The mischievous glint in his eyes made you wonder what he was thinking. No doubt it was something to do with wanting you as his lap dance, rather than Jeff. Jeff was doing a good job though, making everyone laugh and making his wife embarrassed that she ever married him. Luckily everyone was too drunk to care.
After Jeff buttoned his shirt back up and put his jacket on, he was handed back the microphone, nodded at you and you knew that was your queue to go and get the cake. They were sharing a cake, as they often did, so you picked it up from the kitchen with its candles and sparklers in before carrying it back carefully.
When you returned to the room, the lights went dim and the birthday tune started to play. People made way for you to squeeze through the crowd as you walked towards the birthday kids.
You smiled when Harry’s gaze caught yours. He mouthed ‘wow’ at you, but you knew he wasn’t saying it about the cake. As you stopped short in front of both Glenne and Harry, they stood together whilst people finished the song. You sang out too, looking at Harry the entire time and watched his smile remain constant as he watched you sing out.
The cake was heavy and Harry must have noticed because he picked up the side closest to him and took the weight off you slightly. As the song finished Harry and Glenne both shared the job of blowing out the candles.
Jeff helped take off the candles and sparkler to clear the cake so it was just a plain cake remaining. Harry took the opportunity to try and smash Glenne’s face into the cake, but she restrained enough to resist the force of his hand. Harry wasn’t paying attention to Jeff though and missed him coming behind him and pushed his head down into the cake, until it was too late. The side of his face and a loose curl of hair got caught up in the frosting and people cheered as he made a mess of his face.
You laughed as he stood back up and licked the frosting from the corner of his mouth, as if that was all there was to clean up. You stood still holding the cake and looking at Harry with endearment. He looked so soft and cuddly, and maybe a little delicious too.
“What are you laughing at?” Harry asked, as he lifted the strand of hair back onto his head even when it was still full of vanilla frosting.
You shook your head and laughed at him, knowing he would be a mess to clean up later. It wasn’t a second later after that thought that Harry used his own hand to push your face into the cake this time. He also pulled your head back, using your hair, so you didn’t suffocate inside the sponge. You managed to get more on your face, looking like you were wearing a face mask. So much so you couldn’t open your eyes.
“Fucking dickhead.” You muttered, but it turned into a chuckle because you were drunk and didn’t care.
Harry must have asked someone else to get a hand on the cake so it wasn’t your responsibility anymore. It wasn’t like it was very edible to anyone, considering it now had to face impressions in it.
You felt Harry take your hands, your eyes still closed from the frosting, and you could feel him guiding you through the crowds of people. His hands were warm and even though you couldn’t see whether it was him that was leading you off, you could feel it in your hands that it was Harry.
No one else's hands felt like home other than his.
His hands cupped perfectly in yours and you tailed him like a bind and lovesick puppy. His polite excuses to get through the crowd made him feel closer to you also, his voice so comforting.
When the crowd noise disappeared you assumed you must have been in a quieter room now.
“Harry where are…”
You couldn’t ask him more than that because his lips were on yours. And they were his because no one else's lips felt like home other than his. They were perfect against yours, moving over yours with such delicate precision that only came with knowing how best to kiss you. Harry knew exactly how you liked to be kissed and he was doing everything you wanted. His hands were even cupped in the right places under your jaw.
“You taste like frosting.” He chuckled.
You laughed with him, probably looking silly with frosting in your eyes. Harry had frosting in his hair though and there was no one that you’d rather be in this situation in rather than him.
“Happy birthday, H.”
“Thank you.” He said softly.
You felt Harry’s fingers wipe carefully over your eyes and relieve them of frosting. You opened your eyes carefully to watch Harry lick the frosting off his fingers with his tongue. He then brought his other finger to your lips to allow you to lick it clean, which he watched with beady eyes as you did.
“Good frosting.” You hummed in delight, knowing you had made the right call with the vanilla, not strawberry, frosting.
“Mm. Tasted better off your face.”
You laughed, hitting him softly over his ribs, “Oh, stop it you.”
“Never.” He shook his head and smiled at how he managed to make you laugh.
“I hope you had a good night tonight.”
Harry had looked like he had had a good night, but you could never be too sure until you asked him. He was very good at putting on a front, especially in show business , but with you he was nothing but honest.
“I loved it, baby, I really did. Just wish I got to spend more time with you. I mean, I love my friends and, y’know, all of them other people… but they’re not you.”
You pouted, somehow wishing you could’ve spent more time with him. You tried your hardest to finish all the decorations as quickly as possible, but you were a perfectionist so it did take longer than originally planned. As for the party itself, you couldn’t stop him from talking to people, no matter how badly you did want him all to yourself.
“Sorry.”
“No, baby, there’s nothing you need to be sorry for. Just one of those things, where too many people want my attention and yet I only want yours.” He shrugged his shoulders and he made you smile.
“You always have my attention.” You promised him, cupping his cheek softly.
“And I’ll try to give you more of mine this year. In fact, come my next birthday you’ll be sick of me.” He chuckled and stepped closer to you, not liking the 10cm of space between you.
“Could never get sick of you, H. Never.”
“Feelings mutual, lovie.”
He leant down to kiss you again, kissing your bottom lip with his and sucking on it lightly. His lips grounded you and reminded you that he was right here and he was all yours. You kissed back with force, wanting to show how much you really did love him, pushing into his lips with your own.
A minute later and your lips both raw from such loving kissing, you gave each other one last peck.
“More of that later, baby. For now, let’s go the chippy? I’m fucking starving.” Harry whined.
“Alright, birthday boy, let’s go.” And the rest of the evening was filled with chips, gravy and lots and lots of love.
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sapphire-writes · 9 months
Text
Just Friends ~ modern!Aemond x Reader
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summary: You and Aemond are just friends.....right?
word count: 3.6k
note: a request for some friends to lovers 🩷
rating: Explicit (see more descriptive warnings under the cut)
warnings: fingering, titty sucking, slight praise, semi-public, language, alcohol use
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A group project with Sara, Jace, and Aliandra was perfect. All three of you had chosen History of the First Men as an elective this term for that very reason. Professor Karstark was known for his heinous group project that ran the entire semester. The four of you were great friends already, so when Professor Karstark announced you’d be picking your own groups, your heart leaped with joy.
Until he mentioned needing groups of five. 
You had no choice but to add another person to your tight-knit group. Luckily, Jace’s cousin was also in the class. You’d seen him around campus before, but Aemond Targaryen often kept to himself. When he wasn’t studying in the library he could be found keeping his frat boy elder brother out of trouble.
The Targaryens shared a house on King’s Ave; a notorious strip of off-campus housing for those attending Westeros University. All four siblings attended currently, Daeron just starting his freshman year. You’d thought it was cute that they all lived together, and you’d told Aemond as much upon first meeting him.
After spending time together on the project, you and Aemond became fast friends. He now knew your coffee order by heart, often bringing you a steaming cup before class. You’d camp out with him in the library, show him new music, order your favorite takeaway and binge shows together. And when you couldn’t do that together, you’d be texting about it, like you were right now.
You giggle at your phone, and Ali lifts her head from her computer screen. 
You’d been in Jace’s apartment, waiting for him to return with coffee for your group to continue working on the project.
“Texting loverboy?” she teases, pulling her dark curls into a messy bun on top of her head. 
Sara walks into the room at that moment, a bowl of popcorn in her hands, her lips parting in shock.
“What did I miss?” she cries, hurrying forward. 
You place your phone down, rolling your eyes.
“Nothing! He’s just funny, that’s all,” you tell them, trying to ignore the blush you know is blooming on your cheeks. Maybe if you concentrate hard enough, it’ll go away.
“Nothing my ass,” Sara says with a smirk, “That boy is sooo into you.”
“Will you stop it,” you tell her, “We’re just friends.”
“Friends don’t look at friends the way Aemond looks at you,” Ali argues, as the door to the apartment opens.
You shush your two friends as Jace walks in, his younger brother Luke trailing behind him. Jace holds a tray of iced coffees in his hand, causing Sara to squeal and press a kiss to his cheek before taking one. 
“Sorry I’m late, had to pick Luke up from practice,” Jace says, throwing his bag down on the floor. 
“Sup ladies,” Luke says with a grin.
“You smell like a wet dog,” Sara accuses, wrinkling her nose.
“Lacrosse season, baby!” Luke says, holding his arms wide. You and Ali pretend to gag and he lowers them.
“You guys are mean,” he pouts, heading towards the bathroom. 
“Did you pick Aemond up too?” you ask, curious where the silver-haired boy is. Ali mouths the word subtle to you and you stick your tongue out. 
“Don’t think he’s coming,” Luke calls from the bathroom, “Looked pretty busy on his date!”
It’s like someone slapped you. Ali meets your eyes, her own wide with shock.
“Date?” you ask, mouth suddenly very dry.
“We don’t know-” Jace begins, but Luke cuts him off, running shirtless out of the bathroom.
“He was at Stormy’s,” Luke begins, referring to the local coffee shop, “In a corner booth. You don’t sit with just anyone in a corner booth.”
“Okay Mr. Never-Had-A-Girlfriend,” Jace scoffs, sitting on the couch.
“I know what’s up!” Luke insists, though the tips of his ears turn red, “You sit in the back corner, that way if you want to put your hand-”
“Ew ew ew!” Sara says, covering her ears as she sits next to Jace, “Future brother-in-law, I’m begging you to shut up!”
“I know what’s up!” Luke insists, again, “I do!”
“Go shower!” Jace tells him, tossing a pillow at him. Luke mumbles something under his breath before heading back down the hall toward the bathroom.
“Who was he with?” Ali asks, sparing you the embarrassment of asking. Jace is clueless about your innocent little crush.
“Maris Baratheon,” Jace tells you all. 
Shit. Maris Baratheon makes total sense. Another girl in your year who takes her studies very seriously, much like Aemond. It doesn’t ease your nerves knowing she’s stunning as well. Long dark curls, and sapphire blue eyes. It would only make sense that they get together.  
“There’s a party at the soccer house tomorrow night,” Jace says, suddenly changing the subject, “I think we should go.”
“I’m in,” you answer, causing Ali and Sara to exchange a look.
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“Jacey boy!” Aegon says, throwing an arm around his nephew, “So glad you could make it.”
Jace pulls Aegon’s arm off of him as you enter the soccer house. The music is blasting through the speakers, some trashy remix of No Hands. Aegon hands you a cup which Sara snatches from your hands immediately. 
“First rule of uni, don’t accept a drink from Egg,” Sara says with a sneer. Aegon presses a hand to his chest pretending to be shocked.
“You’ve got me all wrong, love,” he teases, taking the cup back and taking a sip, “See? All clear.”
Sara takes it back, eying it suspiciously before taking a sip. You laugh and Aegon turns to you, a small smile on his face.
“My brother’s been waiting for you,” he tells you, fixing the backward baseball cap that rests on his head. 
Your stomach flip-flops, though you try to ignore it. Aegon hands you another drink, which you sip gratefully.
“Oh yeah?” you ask nonchalantly, and Aegon nods. 
“Haven’t seen you at the house in a while,” he says, as someone increases the volume of the music. 
“What?” you call but Aegon waves you off, before disappearing into the crowd. 
You take another sip from your drink, as Ali pulls you toward the center of the dancefloor. You don’t see Aemond, though Aegon said he must be here. You decide to spend some time dancing, trying to calm your nerves. You shouldn’t be feeling this way anyhow. Aemond is your friend.
Just friends.
You spot him across the room after a few songs play. He’s leaning against the doorframe talking to Cregan Stark. You can’t help the butterflies that fill your belly as he raises his eyes to meet yours. A soft smile appears on his handsome face at the sight of you, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up with attention. He looks good, though it's hard not to with that bone structure of his. Those pouty lips. 
“I’m going to go say hi!” you tell Ali, nodding towards Aemond.
She gives you a look of warning.
“You sure?” she asks and you nod, “Okay girl, I’ll be here!”
You move through the crowd of people making your way toward him. You smile politely at Cregan before hugging Aemond.
“Hey Aem,” you say, the scent of his cologne making you dizzy as you press your face against his firm chest.
“Hey,” he answers, the vibrations from his chest making you close your eyes. 
You wish you could just curl up with him here, leave the party and watch one of your shows together. You open your eyes. Can’t think like that, not if he’s seeing Maris. 
You pull away from him a little too quickly, the beer in your cup sloshing out the sides and onto your hand. You force a smile on your face.
“Where’s Maris?” you ask, making a point to look around.
“What?” Aemond asks with a chuckle.
“Maris! Your date!” you yell over the music. 
Aemond pouts, tilting his head to the side, confused at what you’ve just said.
“Maris is my mate!” Aemond calls over the pounding sound of the bass. 
You can barely hear him above the loud house music, the floor vibrates with how loud it is. The liquid in the red solo cup you hold wobblies, waves rippling across the surface. It’s so loud, you confuse about what Aemond has said, though you’re watching his lips carefully. 
“Maris is great!” is what you hear, causing your heart to drop slightly. 
You force a smile on your face, nodding at him. 
“I’m really happy for you two!” you yell back, taking a sip from the warming beer. Aemond’s eyebrows concave together in confusion and he shakes his head.
“Did you hear me?” he loudly asks, but of course, you can’t.
“What?” you yell, and Aemond sighs in frustration. 
Suddenly, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, gently directing you down the hallway. You let him guide you, careful not to spill your drink as you trail behind him. You catch Sara’s eye from across the room and she purses her lips at you. Whenever she does that you can’t help but think of Florence Pugh. 
He checks several doors until one to the bathroom opens, and pulls you inside with him. You enter the small space as he closes the door behind him. The music is muffled, making your ears ring as they adjust to the lower levels of sound. 
Aemond stands in front of the door momentarily, before moving further into the bathroom, as though not to make you uncomfortable by blocking it with his tall frame. You lean against the sink as he places one hand on his hip, dragging the other through his pale hair. 
“Why d’you think me and Maris are a thing?” he asks, faces scrunched in confusion. 
You can feel your heart beating frantically in your chest, and you try to ignore the nausea that churns in your stomach, the sour taste that fills your mouth at the thought of their date. 
“Um, Luke told me?” you tell him, as though it should be obvious, “Sorry if he put his foot in his mouth, but you were out in public! If you were trying to keep it on the low, you should’ve gone somewhere private.”
The corner of Aemond’s mouth ticks upwards into a slight smirk. 
“On the low?” he asks, standing up a little straighter. 
You place your cup on the edge of the sink. 
“Well, it sounds like you were surprised I knew,” you tell him, feeling your face flush. You hope Aemond can’t tell, and if he can, that he simply thinks it's because of your drinking, not the feelings you’re holding back. 
His eyes, blue and violet, roam your face, ceaselessly searching for any hint of jealousy or distaste. He’s been your friend for a while now, he can tell when you’re holding something in. 
“Maris and I are just mates,” he tells you so you can hear him this time, “She’s been thinking of studying in Oldtown next term. She wanted some advice.”
Your lips part, shocked at what he’s saying before you feel the fire return to your cheeks with a vengeance. Fucking Luke, starting drama for no reason. 
“Oh,” you say softly, curling your fingers against the lip of the counter, “Oh that makes sense.”
“Yeah, it does,” Aemond says, with a chuckle. He clears his throat suddenly, averting his eyes, “I um..sort of have a thing for someone else anyway.”
“Oh,” you repeat, “That’s cool.”
“But I’m kind of…nervous,” he admits, meeting your eyes once more, “I don’t want to ruin the friendship we have. But I can’t really ignore how I feel.”
You hold his gaze. He can’t be talking about you. Can he? 
“What should I do?” Aemond asks, “What do you think?”
“I think…well..” you nervously wet your lips, “I think….you should tell her.”
Aemond takes a step closer, placing one hand on the sink next to yours. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, his tall frame leaning towards you.
“Yeah?” he says in a gruff voice, “You really think so?”
You nod, and he brings his opposite hand to rest on the counter on the other side of you, caging you against it with his lean form. He’s so close you can almost feel his body pressing against you. You can smell his cologne, as he leans his face closer to your height. 
“I think you might be pleasantly surprised,” you tell him. 
Aemond’s eyes widen slightly before they fall to your lips. Pushing up onto your tiptoes, you bring your lips to his, kissing him gently. You pull away for a moment, gauging his reaction, but Aemond chases your lips with his own, capturing them in another kiss. His hands slide along the counter, finding purchase on your hips. He lets them rest there a moment, squeezing your hip bones before lifting underneath your ass to place you on the counter. 
You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss with a slight turn of your head as Aemond strokes the sides of your thighs. You can feel your arousal pooling in your underwear, and you clench your thighs together to no avail. 
Aemond’s hands caress the skin of your hips that was exposed as your tank top rides up. His hands dance to your belt and you drop your hands to begin unbuckling it. Aemond’s eyes drop to your quickly working hands. 
“Holy fuck… can I?” Aemond says between a kiss, “Can I touch you, please?”
“Yes, please, fuck,” you nearly beg while unbuttoning your jeans, “Please touch me Aemond.”
You slide the zipper down and feel Aemond’s hands on yours, hastily moving them out of the way. You wrap them around his neck as his slender fingers dip below the hem of the lacey thong you’d decided to wear. Sara has a very strict policy on party panties and demanded you wear your sexiest set. 
“Just in case,” she’d told you with a wink.
You could kiss her, with the expression on Aemond’s face as he looks between your legs.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whimpers, the pads of his fingers rubbing circles around your clit.
You bite your lip, holding back a whimper of your own as he dips his fingers lower, gathering your arousal on his fingertips before going back to circling your clit. 
“Fuck-” you cry out as he lowers his palm, slipping a finger inside your clenching hole. Aemond swallows your cry with a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. 
He experimentally curls the long digit against your walls, preening with the sounds this elicits from you, and the way you claw at the back of his neck. His cock is straining against the confines of his jeans, but he can’t find it in him to care at the moment; completely focused on your pleasure. 
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you hungrily. 
“Me too,” you whine, sucking on his lower lip. 
Aemond pulls away slightly, a half smile decorating his face.
“How long?” he asks, a second finger teasing at your entrance ready to join the first. You buck your hips, desperate for him to fill you up. 
“Since game night at Baela’s,” you gasp, as he sinks the second digit into your tight, wet heat. 
“I remember. You’re such a sore loser,” Aemond teases, curling his fingers against the rough patch of your walls that has you seeing stars.
Your head lolls, tapping against the mirror before Aemond brings his free hand to rest on the back of your neck, propping your head up.
“I’ve liked you, ever since you met Vhagar,” he tells you, letting his hand trail from the back of your neck to your shoulder.
Warmth floods your chest at the memory. It was one of the first times you’d hung out with Aemond actually. You’d come to the house after class and met the grumpy old tabby cat. Aemond had been thoroughly impressed at how you were able to coax her from her hiding place under the sofa.
She’d only hissed at you once, before sniffing the tips of your fingers and rubbing her head against them.
Aemond brings his thumb to rest on your clit, circling the button in tandem with the thrusts of his fingers, tearing you from the memory and bringing you back to the present. The added clit stimulation has you clenching around his fingers, the small bathroom filling with the squelching sounds of your soaked pussy. 
Your lower abdomen tenses, and you can feel the precipice of your orgasm creeping up on you, tingling up your spine. 
“God you’re so tight,” Aemond moans, and you grab the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging harshly. 
A whine leaves his lips as you do so, and you bring your lips to kiss his neck, sucking a purple lovebite onto the pale flesh. Aemond’s breathing is ragged as you do so, his fingers tugging at the spaghetti straps of your top, pulling it down to reveal your matching lace bralette. Aemond quickly works the front clip, letting your breasts spill free. Your nipples harden in the cool air.
He eyes them hungrily, as you pull away from kissing his neck, connecting your lips once more. Aemond’s hand moves to the side of your left breast, massaging the soft mound, just as someone knocks on the bathroom door. Aemond breaks away from your lips. 
“Just a second!” Aemond yells, before latching his mouth to your tender nipple and suckling harshly. 
Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against you as he swirls his hot tongue around the sensitive nub. Legs locked around his slender waist, you pull him closer to you, arching your back to press yourself harder against his mouth, against his fingers. 
“Aemond?” Aegon’s voice calls from outside the bathroom. The door handle jiggles. “You bastard open up!” 
Aemond releases your breast with a wet pop, dragging his lips up toward your neck to kiss the sensitive spot beneath your ear. His fingers never stop curling into you, the pads of his fingers dragging against your sweet spot while his thumb plays with your clit. He drags his teeth along your earlobe, biting down as Aegon knocks again.
“I have to piss!” Aegon yells, banging on the door causing it to shake on its hinges.
“He said just a second!” you snap, voice several pitches higher than normal as Aemond tugs harshly your slippery, wet nipple. 
“The fuck?” Aegon’s angry tone turns to one of confusion, “Yo is that Y/N?”
Aemond’s fingers slow as he pulls away from your neck, his hand still gripping your breast. The actions cause your imminent orgasm to begin to fizzle out and you whine in annoyance. You were so close. 
Aemond’s eyes meet yours, pupils dilated as yours must be. His jaw is slack, face flushed as Aegon laughs from outside the bathroom.
“I didn’t know you had it in you!” Aegon calls, “That’s my bro, finally getting the girl! Sara is going to lose her shit when she knows I found out first!”
You stifle a laugh, bringing your hand to cover your mouth at Aegon’s words. Aemond’s cheeks are red as he smiles bashfully, as though he’s not knuckle-deep in your pussy at the moment. 
“Have fun you lovebirds, I’ll piss outside,” Aegon calls, giving a final rapid fire of knocking before presumably leaving the door. 
“Do you think he’s really gone?” you ask through a giggle.
“Honestly, I don’t even care,” Aemond says, kissing you once more and resuming the movement of his fingers thrusting and curling in and out.
“Fuckfuckfuck!” you cry, as Aemond works you towards orgasm once more. Your legs shake around him and he brings his mouth to your opposite breast, lavishing it with the same attention he did the other. 
“Take my fingers so fucking well,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your breast, “Bet you’ll take my cock perfectly.”
“Yes-fuck yes!” you cry, nails digging into his shoulder blades through the soft fabric of his t-shirt. 
You can feel how hard he is, how big his cock is concealed under his jeans. Your mouth waters at the thought of it replacing his fingers, pussy tightly clenching around him. Aemond feels you tighten, a smug smile creeping onto his face.
“You like that idea? Want me to fill you with my cock?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” you whine, looking up at him through your lashes, “Please I need it so bad.”
“You’ll get it, pretty girl,” he promises, “Come for me, darling, that’s it.”
“Oh oh- oh!”
With a strangled cry your orgasm crashes over you as you clench around his fingers. A rush of arousal drips down his fingers and between your thighs as he fucks you through it, prolonging your pleasure. As you come down from your high, Aemond’s mouth is on yours in another passionate kiss. You moan into his mouth, whimpering at the overstimulation. 
Your hands drop to his belt and he chuckles, placing kisses down your neck.
“Can we go back to mine?” he asks, as you attempt to do the first loop. You pause looking up at him. 
“I’d love to,” you tell him, as he kisses you again. 
You spend the next several minutes reclipping your bra and fixing yourselves before opening the door. Aegon nearly falls on top of you both as he tries to pretend he wasn’t listening. Aemond smacks him on the shoulder as he tries to run away. 
“Couldn’t hear anything over this fucking music!” Aegon calls, as he smiles cheekily and disappears down the hall. 
Covering your face with embarrassment, Aemond loops his arm around you, placing a kiss on top of your head and leading you out of the party.
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note: hope you liked it!!
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