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wifeofasith · 7 months

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Warnings — SEX POLLEN, dub-con, Master x Padawan, power imbalance, intoxication, abuse of authority, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of pain, brief nipple play, brief fingering, degrading if you squint, pet names, praise, swearing...

Word count — 3.3k

Notes — Thank you, Anon for the request! This is the first time I write a fic this length, I hope it's enjoyable! I truly hope I didn't miss any warnings; it's currently past 3am and my head is fried.

“You know this is completely unnecessary; you are overexaggerating…” Anakin complains as you wrap a thick linen rope around his wrists, securing your master in place. “I swear, I’m fine. Look,” He leans forward, putting his face on display. So close, you could feel his soft breath on the tip of your nose.

You inspect his eyes, deep blue eyes with slightly dilated pupils; if it were somebody else, they wouldn’t have seen a difference, but you… Oh, you were different. You knew his eyes a little bit too well for just a Padawan, and you were certain: something was wrong. You could sense his heart pumping blood through his veins a little bit too fast, his irregular breathing, you spotted things he failed to notice about himself. Maybe all those stolen glances at his undeniably gorgeous face and broad body will pay off, giving you something else than just fantasy material for all the lonely nights.

“No.” You reply bluntly. “I’m sorry, master.” You tie a last knot around his wrists. You wanted to explain; tell him all the things you sensed were different: the way his gaze twisted when landing on your body, the way he squirmed just slightly as you bind his limbs together, the way he… Smelled. It wasn’t just a regular Anakin scent, no. It was sweeter, almost milky, and it made you want to burry your face into his skin, so naturally, you could never reveal your reasoning.

Anakin sighed, leaning his back against the remains of your spaceship, his tied hands resting on top of his lap, hiding the slowly-forming tightness you both failed to notice. He could swear everything was perfect. Well, aside from the fact that you both were left stranded on an unknown planet and after hours of wandering in search of life and help, you ended up back at the crash site.

“You realize I would never hurt you, right?” He stares at you, visible annoyance present on his features. “There is nothing wrong with me, I didn’t even touch anything unknown.”

He was right; he touched nothing. He… Inhaled it. And (un)fortunately neither of you knew.

“I know….” You look into his eyes pleadingly, trying to convince him to stay put in case he goes on some kind of rampage that your whole body senses is coming. You wanted to deny your gut feeling, but the gleam in his eyes told you it was a bad idea.

Time passes slowly, and Anakin is growing more and more impatient as he watches your failing attempts to fix the transmitter and possibly reach someone.

“Give me that.”

You stare at him from a short distance, thinking whether it’s smart to approach him, but your doubts are quickly wiped away when that sweet scent reaches the inside of your lungs with the help of a soft breeze. You stand up and bring him the broken device.

Anakin grabs your hand instead and pulls you down to your knees in front of him. Your face meets his with a surprised stare, and before you can complain about the invasion of your space, he speaks.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. Fast.” His stare is intense, and he holds your hand tightly in his restricted grip. “Got it?”

“Yes, M-master.” You stutter, stunned by his sudden change of demeanor; you can’t even move. And the worst part is that he smells even better this close.

“Good girl.” He keeps staring into your eyes, grasping your hand as if he doesn’t intend to let it go. “Maker, you are such a pretty thing, I could tear you apart…” He contemplates out loud, his words surprising the last part of his sane mind as he’s becoming more and more vulnerable to foreign planet’s drugs.

“What?”

He slowly frees your hand, swallowing a lump in his throat. He’s starting to feel it — pants failing to hide a very prominent arousal, mouth watering at the sight of your cleavage, you look fucking scrumptious; and he needs to devour you. He snaps his head to the side.

“Sorry.” Anakin mutters, seemingly regaining some of his senses. He shifts on the ground as you stare at him dumbfounded, not only because of his sudden vulgarity but also because the outline of his dick was now very visible and your eyes couldn’t help but glance.

“Master?”

He groans. “Don’t say that.” He shamelessly palms himself in front of your eyes as if he were in pain from how tight his underwear was. “Don’t call me master. Not now, sweetheart.” His voice softens just for a moment.

“Master, are you okay?” You deny his request. Involuntary. Maybe because it was a habit, or maybe because some part of you really wanted him to get unbearably hard for you.

He yanks you towards himself with his sluggish grip. Tied hands wrap around your throat, and he hisses. “I fucking mean it. You call me that again. I’m going to bend you over this wreck of a spaceship and bruise your insides until someone finally comes and gets us off this forsaken planet.”

If you weren’t surprised before, you are now absolutely bewildered. You pushed him away, landing on your butt and quickly crawling reversely to create some space between yourself and the animal that possessed your master’s body.

Anakin stood up and leaned himself against the wreckage as if trying to fight something that’s been trying to claw its way out of his body. His back turned to you, shoulders rising up and down repeatedly as he struggled to speak.

“Go. Now.” He groans, trying to hold his panting in.

“Anakin?” You rise yourself from the ground and take a step towards him, hesitating to move or speak more.

“Fucking RUN.” A growl slips from his throat; you’ve never heard such an animalistic sound coming from him. It wasn’t an order; it was a warning, a head start for you. And if there was a perfect time to listen to his advice about doing everything he’s telling you — that was it.

So you do.

You feel the wind blowing through your ears and burning your throat as you try to get away as far from Anakin as possible. Your pulse is thudding rapidly, your limbs are shaking, and yet your insides are throbbing, aching to have relief from the extreme arousal created by your master’s primal behavior and the image of his hardening cock imprinted in your head.

You turn your head slightly, glancing behind you, expecting to see Anakin making his way towards you, but instead you are greeted with the sight of nobody. Anakin’s nowhere to be seen. You look around, panting heavily, trying to spot movement somewhere between the trees. You fear him and what he could do to you, but the fact that he’s gone frightens you even more. Your master could never hurt you, right?

“Master?!” Your voice echoes through what seems to be an empty grove of an unrecognized planet. The only sound you can hear is your own breathing, and you realize how loud it is, how easy it is for any predator to hear you. Anakin's hunt was simple when his prey served herself on the plate before him.

A gust of wind passed through your ears at the same moment as Anakin’s hands gripped you from behind and harshly pushed your quivering body against a tree nearby. His wrists bruised red from the rope, which he seems to have torn apart. Your vision blurs for a moment from the force he’s grabbed you with. His lips press on your ear.

“I told you not to call me that, you stupid girl. Now look what you’ve done.” He whispers into your ear as his bulge presses against your ass.

“A-Anakin-” You whimper, miserably trying to push him off you but instead just creating more friction on his already painful core.

His hand snakes into your robes, grasping your breast roughly, making your back arch. It’s hot and desperate to tear your flesh apart. And it feels so so good. So pathetically good that you almost feel like you’re the one taking advantage of him and not the other way around. He toys with your nipple, rubbing it between his fingers as his free hand grabs onto your thigh and presses your body onto his clothed cock.

“S’ alright, sweetheart… Your body’s so perfect…” He sinks his teeth into your neck and pulls on your delicate skin. “I’m so sorry—fuck—Sweetheart… I can’t stop-” His soft voice was a complete contrast to his forceful grip on your curves. His hands boldly groped you, kneading every bit of your body he could reach — all while grinding himself against you like an animal in heat.

“No- You can’t,” You whimper, trying to fight him and your own desire. “Anakin!” You gasp in pain when he presses your body into the tree, bruising your cheek.

“Shhhh… ‘s alright, just let me—” He pulls your robes, his hand making its way down your stomach, cupping your dripping heat. He inhales into your neck. “Don’t be scared.” He shushes your whines.

And it’s not like you’ve never imagined Anakin fucking you; you have. Way more than you should have, and yet you were shaking in fear, especially knowing that he was under the influence of something wicked.

“No, master-” You gasp as he inserts a finger inside you, wasting no time before fucking you with his hand. “S-stop-”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” He whimpers into your shoulder as your walls clenches around his digit. He slips another in. “What a perfect cunt… I’ll fucking ruin it." It was almost as if Anakin’s alter ego was overtaking his normal self — the one who would never dare to touch his Padawan like that, to taint her precious body with his pathetic touch.

“Ah!” Your back arched into him involuntarily. It was wrong. So so wrong and yet deep inside you never wanted him to stop, not when your walls spasmed around him for a sweet release.

“That’s it, good girl, come here.” He pulls his fingers out, making you pulse and whimper at the lack of pleasure. He quickly lands you both on the ground, spreading your thighs apart for himself. “Look at that,” He bites his lower lip. “And you say you don’t want it? You’re fucking soaked.”

“We can’t-” You whimper yet again. “You wouldn’t- Ah!”

He grins as he slaps his cock against your clit, rubbing it up and down your entrance as the wet, slippery sound reaches your ears.

“I’m going to fuck you one way or another, so you just might as well enjoy it, after all…” He leans on top of you, lining the crown of his cock with your hole. “…master knows best.”

He slides in with one swift movement, filling you to the brim as you claw his back with your nails. He’s big, way bigger than his fingers, forcing your walls to stretch wide open to welcome both his length and girth. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust much when he pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, earning a loud whimper from you.

“Pretty girl…” He coos, stroking your cheek as he repeats the movement more urgently. “Master’s cock feels good, hm?”

It did, Maker; it felt amazing. Every vein bruised your gushing hole just right as he thrusted into you, long and powerful strokes, head hitting your cervix at the perfect angle to make your toes curl. Each time his sack slapped against your ass, an electric sting flashed through your cunt, forcing a pathetic moan out of your mouth. Your vision is so blurry from how hard you are rolling your eyes back, you don’t even see how Anakin comes forward and presses his lips onto yours.

His kiss is starving, depraved of you. He tries to say something, but it’s pretty incoherent, muffled by your saliva mixing with his. He tugs on your lips, sticking his tongue far up your mouth, smearing spit over your chin. His teeth clash against yours every time he attempts to reach into you deeper, as if trying to devour you from the inside out.

“Fuck,”—thrust—”So…”—thrust—”Fucking…”—thrust—-”Tight-” He moans into your mouth, and you swear you can feel his whimpers inside your body.

Anakin props himself up on his forearms — each on the other side of your face. He snakes his fingers into your hair, making you look at him.

“Look at me, baby. Look at me, and tell me you love it. Beg me to fuck you, come on, baby…”

He’s a mess, and he’s messing you up too; he wants you to plead, but there is no reason to; he’s already balls deep in you, abusing parts of your body nothing and nobody has ever reached before.

“M-master…” A feeble whimper is all your body can muster when your whole lower half twitches from pleasure. “…Stop...” You claw on his chest, trying to push him off, maybe because you know how sick it is to allow him to turn you into a drooling cockslut, or maybe because you don’t want to cum so fucking soon.

“What’s the matter, angel? You wanna cum, yeah?” A wicked smile spreads across his face, as if he were listening to all of your thoughts while you laid there spread open. “Yeah? Your little cunt can’t take master’s cock at all, hmmm?” He mocks you, and you know you deserve it, for one reason or another.

His filthy words and a couple of powerful strokes are enough to have your juices coating his whole shaft as your back arches and hardened nipples rub against his chest. The orgasm he’s giving you blinds your mind; it drowns out every other noise that’s not his moans of pleasure or your wetness spurting around him.

“Thought so.” He laughs in your face, gripping the backs of your thighs and pushing them up — his cock still inside you, soaking up all you had to give it. “That’s alright, angel, it’ll hurt less now that you’re all stretched out and drenched.”

“N-no…” You cry when he adjusts your position to reach deeper into you, seemingly not even caring that your soaked walls are still aching from him fucking you over the edge just moments ago. “A-Ani…” It’s a bittersweet pleasure — the way he keeps going through your body desperately, trying to push him out and stop the ache inside of you.

“Look,” He releases his grip on your thigh and grabs your chin. “Look how perfect your little cunt is…” He slides all the way out and slowly pushes back in, his pubic hair tickling your skin. “As if it’s made to take me.” He forces your head to look down between your bodies and admire the mess he’s creating.

The more he sees you struggle to look without squirming, the more precise his movements are. He angles his painfully thick cock to scratch your spongy insides, your throbbing cunt squeezing him enough to force delicious grunts out of his mouth.

Your eyes are blurry from the tears you didn’t know formed; you blink rapidly, attempting to catch a glimpse of Anakin’s face. You were self-evident about the desperate mess he’s turned you into, drenched in sweat and cum, your body sore and bruised, it was obvious, however, you didn’t expect Anakin to be as disheveled as well. His lips were apart, soaked in spit, the blue of his eyes barely visible from the expansion of the pupils, dirty locks sticking to his forehead, your master looked and, quite obviously, behaved like a brute beast devouring his prey. And yet, he was angelic.

Your idealization of Anakin was the root reason why you resisted digging his eyes out with your nails and putting up a violent fight against him for corrupting your body inside and out. Because, essentially, Anakin is still your master. The one who teaches you, the one who tends your wounds, the one who is now currently fucking you over your second orgasm with no mercy in his bloodshot orbs. And honestly, you are starting to genuinely enjoy it.

“Just like that, pretty girl, keep squeezing me…” Anakin presses his lips against yours, forcing his tongue in and making you answer his desperate kiss. One of your legs is stretched up painfully, foot dangling over his shoulder, while the other almost involuntary wraps around him and makes sure he’s plunging deep into you with no chance of escaping. “Good girl, that’s it,” He moans into your mouth, “I’m going to cum, yeah, s’ like that, let me fill that tight cunt.”

“P-please…” You reach for his head, grabbing him by the roots of his hair to lock your lips back together. “Master- fuuuuuck!” There it is again — you are cumming all over his cock, slurping onto his tongue while milking him to his own orgasm. You can barely see or make sense of your surroundings; all you know is that he’s pounding you into oblivion, and you love every second of being stretched out for your master to use.

Anakin is grabbing your body, toying with your flesh. Even when his dick starts to fuck long threads of his thick cum into you, he can’t stop frantically abusing your body in every way possible; grabbing, biting, kissing, and fucking all come at the same time, sending your body into a sensory overload, and you can swear you are about to lose your mind and die right there and then.

But there is no time for dying, not when you realize Anakin has emptied himself deep inside you and yet is nowhere close to stopping. His cock, still hard, surrounded by the mix of your and his cum, is slamming into you with sensual yet forcible strokes, making it seem like you can taste the sourness of his release in your mouth.

“So needy, going to make sure to fuck it deep in you, angel.” He whispers into your neck, you can’t help but whimper and dig your nails into his shoulder blades in hopes of him easing up on you, but he only pulls his face off your shoulder and greets you with a filthy grin. “If I knew how beautiful your fucked-out expressions and little whimpers were, I would have devoured this pretty pussy much earlier…”

“M-master…” You cry out for help, for pleasure, for him. Everything ceases to exist except Anakin. His expression softens just for a moment. He settles his cock inside of you and reaches out to wipe the mess of drool and tears from your cheek.

“It’s okay, my sweet Padawan." He whispers, his hands gently caresses your hipbones in a subconscious attempt to soothe your aching muscles. Anakin leans down to kiss your lips one more time. You can feel his whole length throbbing and begging for friction while the wetness of your releases seeps down your cunt. “I know you can take more, yeah? Just like when we train, alright? You want to stop…”—Thrust—”But I’m the Master…”

Your eyes roll back when your sex is rewarded with a glimpse of more pleasure, a little promise of what he can give you if you just enjoy it like he’s commanded you. So you buck your hips into him, seeking yet another release.

“There she is…” Anakin’s deranged expression makes its way back between his perfect features. To your surprise, he swiftly pulls himself out of you, which makes you whine from the lack of fullness and feeling of the mix of liquids trickling down your body. “Let’s see how useful your other holes are, mmm?”

And with that, you know — whatever he’s infested with still has yet to wear off.

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ao3topshipsbracket · 17 days

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Bonus statistics: the Really Funny Graph Awards

As I've pointed out before, it's often hard to notice voter fraud— even in large quantities— if you can't see, not just how many votes came in, but when and in what patterns. Accusations of fraud don't track fraud, they track controversy; the most fraud often happens in polls that nobody particularly objects to, because nobody was paying attention.

Unless you have a graph in front of you. Fortunately, we do! So here's a brief review of the graphs that made it very, very clear to the mod team group chat that someone was playing silly buggers.

Round 1:

Davekat vs Zolu would almost even look natural, if it weren't for that enormous spike at the day 4 mark. But what a spike! And Akeshu vs Supercorp has those spikes in the middle, but the beginning stages of the graph look maybe fine... if you weren't watching for the first two days, and didn't get to see the progression:

Round 2:

This, on the other hand, couldn't be mistaken for natural by anyone. Look at this nonsense. The stairstep lines! The sharpness of the peaks! The sharpness of the dropoffs, which is how you can tell that this isn't just the poll being reblogged by large accounts, it is one person putting in truly insane amounts of effort! The fraud continuing long after Hualian had a significant lead, apparently just to make sure Buddie couldn't possibly launch a counteroffensive! Isn't it beautiful!

Round 4-5:

And once again, Hualian voters— or, well, some particular Hualian voter— goes nuts. Usually in 1-day polls, the votes come in fast enough that even with a graph it's hard to see if anything's gone wonky. Not so here; that bend in both graphs at around the same time, where I can only assume our frauder stopped for the night and went to bed, is a work of art.

Round 6:

No visible irregularities in the graphs (I assume they were just happy with getting to the semifinals?) but I did see this ask pop up:

I didn't see responses from anyone who took them up on it.

Real talk: This sort of thing is the reason I run poll brackets. This is proof that one person with insane dedication and a lot of time really can be the backbone of a fandom. This is, and I know this is melodramatic but I am being entirely sincere here, a chart of human passion.

Davekat, Akeshu, and especially Hualian— someone loves you very, very much.

#not a poll #statistics #voter fraud

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trafltr · 1 year

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i’m your national anthem | eren jaeger

the note ☆ this is part two of my lana coded!eren ‘series’, see part one here. once again my soft spoken and older eren (drooling) spoiling his lovely little wife with everything he can but this time it’s at his place of work after she pays him a visit. it’s not as “cinematic” as the first part but i like this one a lot and it’s a birthday gift for myself lmao. inspired by national anthem (demo), lana del rey.

contains ☆ nsfw, fem!reader, stupidlyrich!eren, soft husband!eren, established relationship, semi-public sex (there are cameras), office sex, eren in a yummy suit, lotta praise, oral (m. receiving), handjobs, facefucking, vaginal, sex on a desk, backshots, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, panty stealing (kind of), possessive eren, he likes you in a sundress, use of pet names. black reader as always but it’s all subjective so read if you like it my loves <3

wc ☆ 4k words (it was meant to be much shorter lmao)

eren jaeger is a successful man.

many would even stretch out as to say that he's almost won in life. he's made it on the forbes list, attended every exclusive gathering to be thrown in society, racked up hundreds of thousands of dollars in his chequing account; he's a well deserved ceo—not from start up connections, not from nepotism—eren jaeger has worked his way to the top from down below. and while he's considered to have everything a mortal man could ever dream of, eren believes his true fortune lies within you.

"mr. jaeger?" a timid voice calls from the entryway to the conference room, where a suit clad eren stands at the table's apex, which holds a stack of printed papers, with two other shareholders seated at the sides listening in on his presentation.

another thing about eren is that he likes rules—he has rules. there are rules employees know not to break; no bribes, no in house disputes, and certainly no entering his boardroom when having a meeting with his shareholders without his request. so when one of his brightest interns shifts uncomfortably under his gaze with a look of fear morphing his facial features, eren knows he’s been asked to do so by someone with more power than even him.

"i take it that my wife is here?" eren breathes, mindlessly running a hand through messy growing hair but still refusing to acknowledge the fact that you came at such an inconvenient time. "could she wait for another twenty minutes? we've almost concluded the contracts."

the sorry smile given by the intern is enough of an answer for him, "i don't think it would be appropriate for me to repeat the words she said, but she didn't give off the impression of wanting to wait long, sir."

so…spoiled.

he could already imagine how you would be waiting there; making yourself comfortable up on his desk, legs dangling in your four inch heels and tapping your nails against the glass whilst admiring the photo of the two of you on your honeymoon situated at the desks edge. of course, you would be doing this all with a small pout on your face, ready for you scold him for how long it's taken him to head back to you.

nursing an apologetic smile, he glances towards the man and woman on each side as if silently asking to resume this another time. they wave him off with small laughter, going on about keeping you happy and all the unimportant other things; eren's too preoccupied with going to see you to register their words.

he's quick making his way to the elevator, but not before swiping a single champagne coloured rose from a vase nearby; eren knows he can't show up empty handed, not with you. it's not irregular for you to come to his work so unannounced; at a random time on any given day. you strut around the office like it's yours, you make friends with the secretaries and listen to office gossip like you're one of them, and you tell his assistant all about the plans the two of you have like he doesn't already know. at this point his employees hold you in higher regard than they do him.

it's expected though; seeing how you have their boss contorted around your pretty finger.

your face lights up from it's bored expression when you hear the elevator chime. it takes four of eren's long strides to reach his office doors, and he opens it to a carbon copy of what he'd imagined only minutes ago.

"'ren!" smiling at his tall frame, you open up your arms for him to take. the smell of his rosewood cologne pronounces itself through the hug, which shortly turns into intertwined lips. "missed you." you mutter against his now gloss stained mouth, taking hold of his stubbled chin with long nails to deepen your kiss.

"i missed you too baby, got you this," he mumbles, handing you the flower before steadying his hands on both your sides, essentially baring you to his warm body, "how was your hair appointment?"

"thank you," you soften, casually dipping your nose into the welts of the rose to take in it's scent before continuing, "it was good, didn't take as long as i thought so i wanted to come say hi!" your eyes dilate to black expanses as you properly take him in. eren left early today, so you couldn't get a glimpse of him leaving the house. but seeing him now, with his hair pulled up into it's signature messy ponytail and the blue armani suit you told him buy—you could quite literally drool.

"it looks good." he takes a piece of your hair before leaving it alone. "and your dress looks real pretty on you."

grinning at his words, you shimmy out of his hold; intentionally ignoring the way his eyes follow the dips, curves and pudge highlighted by the sundress you wear. "so, i thought we could eat some food together."

for the first time since entering the room, his eyes shift from you over to the wicker basket on the nearby sofa.

you're sitting on his lap as he rests in his chair, putting some radish on the cucumber roll before feeding it to your husband, "hope i didn't pull you from anything..."

ah…

eren is a calculated man; he doesn't act irrationally. instead, he thinks—thinks for just a few seconds of possible outcomes depending on what he does. but with you? there's no need for that; you probably knew there was a high chance of him being in a meeting, if you weren't already told that by his assistant—so, as always, he chooses the answer that'll ultimately keep you happy.

"hm? nope, nothing important enough."

"oh, mkay." you nod, taking a mini donut from its cute package and popping it into your mouth. after dusting off your hands, you fiddle with the strands of hair that frame his face, “you coming home early today? we can watch that movie i was talking about—and i’ve been dying to get to properly use the theater with you.”

“let me think about it, princess—but i’ll try.” he sports a boyish smile, accepting the water bottle you hand him before watching you clean up the empty trays and takeout boxes. his words are most definitely for show, that man will be home by six instead of eight—hell, make it five.

perhaps eren jaeger truly has won at life; god…you look alluring, walking around his space with your heels like the place is your own, fragrancing the room with the scent of your lotion mixed with the perfume he gifted you. his wandering eye is fixed to your legs, catching how your dress rides up with every step taken.

“can feel you starin’ at me.” you tease in a sing-song voice, wiggling your hips as you bend down to pick up fallen trash.

“good.” his long legs aid him in striding towards your frame, large hands come to rest on your hips from behind. his thumbs begin to rub soft circles on them as he plants a kiss on your forehead, “did my employees see you in this?”

“duh—i had to see them to see you,” you laugh.

you know damn well what this is about, and you find it amusing. for the most part, your husband is a calm man; slow to anger, leans towards calmly solving disputes as opposed to growing aggressive, and when he gets agitated, he takes a break. but at the mere mention of his wife, eren seems to abandon all sensical thoughts of zen he once had.

“any of ‘em stare?”

“dunno.” you respond with a shrug and turn to face eren, smoothing down the collars of his outfit with your hands, “i don’t pay attention to any of them. they’re not you.”

“okay.” he makes his way back to his seat, gesturing to you to follow along. “i really do mean it when i say you look nice in that dress—well, i always mean it but…”

you’re giggling, standing in between his spread legs while looking down at him, “thanks ‘ren.”

“mhm, i’m the luckiest man in the world.”

oh…he has that tone in his voice again; the rasped one that has your legs pressing together when he speaks. it’s the kind that happens when he gets a lustful glint in his eyes—when he wants to fuck you. his hands wander up the fabric of your dress, the feeling of his cold wedding band makes you gasp and steady your hands onto his shoulders for support.

“h-hold on.”

“something wrong?” he stills, “if it’s the cameras, i’ll get the footage removed—or maybe you want me to get a copy of it?”

“nothing’s wrong.” you shake your head, but make a mental note to ask him to indeed grab a copy before deleting it, “just want you to relax for a moment—i know i took you out of that meeting.” you speak as slowly and your fingers move down his arms, keeping his eye contact as you lower your knees to the ground. “‘m sorry love, i wanted to see you for a bit.”

why are you apologizing? there’s no need for you to, there’s never been a need for you to, and eren doesn’t think he would ever make you either.

“let me make it up to you.”

you don’t let him get much of a word out before you’re unzipping his slacks and palming the prominent bulge that greets your eyes. his body shows it’s gratitude by sinking into your ghostly touch. eren can only breath in sharp inhales as you free his dick from it’s confinement, straightening itself out as translucent pre stumbles from the tip. you shouldn’t be shy but eren is big in every sense. and your brain seems to struggle with object permanence; eyes almost blowing open in surprise of how thick he is despite you practically owning it. the phantom ache in your jaw seems to be a warning—you shouldn’t try anything.

but eren’s presence alone overrides all alarms and commands in your brain, and the hazy look he gives you from his seat has you subconsciously wrapping your hand around his base, shifting across the length and tracing the roads and ridges of his veins with your tongue.

he sucks his teeth when you pucker your lips at the slightly pinkish tip, feathering a little kiss before letting spit fall from your mouth and onto his cock. the dribble doesn’t make it past the head before you’re meeting it with your lips, steadily taking him into your stretched walls. the feeling of the burn from your mouth molding in indecent ways would make you wince if not for the effects eren’s soft groans and breaths have on your cloudy mind.

“such a pretty sight. p-pretty fuckin’ view.” a sigh escapes him when you hollow your cheeks. admittedly, it’s nothing like the home he knows your cunt as, but when you bottom out and his tip punches the back of your throat, it seems like the closest thing. it surely is a sight to see: a sweet woman like you, doing something so damn nasty.

your throat tightens with each bob, trying its best to prevent a gag but failing every now and then. still, you plant a hand on his knee for stability to lessen the slight burn in your knees given by the nylon carpet beneath them, and allow the mixture of precum and saliva escape your mouth and dribble everywhere.

“oh, fuck—yeah, you got it.” he’s amazed, seeing you take him like a fucking champion, choking all over him without a single complaint. “that’s my girl.”

despite going nice and slow, you get messy—his dick fucks up your sensory system. glittery tears breach your water line, threatening to drop and roll as you sniffle away.

eren is pulled out of his trance when your mouth escapes him, watching you with a slight furrow in his brow. you gaze at him through your pretty lash extensions, tongue unfurling out for you to tap him on. “tastes so good eren.”

“shit—don’t say that to me.” his whimpers are loud, as loud as his heaves for the same air that seems to avoid him. conscious of the chance that sound could somehow transfer, he drapes his hand across the lower half of his face and captures the guttural groan from his chest.

“you don’t need to be quiet,” your hand grabs hold of his own, carefully guiding it from his mouth to the back of your head. silently, you watch him with admirable and expectant eyes that could make him cum from the sight alone, “don’t you own this place?”

my god… you want him to face fuck you, you’re outwardly asking him to do so without a drop of shame. right until your makeup is ruined and a crying mess from how full your mouth is. he doesn’t do it often—he’s too scared of watching you cough up spit and develop a sore throat the next day for it to happen regularly. besides, eren is a pleaser—very rarely did he have you like this unless you openly wanted it. but with the look of expectation you have, sniffling and pleading for him to help you like a dutiful husband he promised to be, it’s difficult to him to do anything other than comply.

eren wants to give you a standing ovation watching you submissively relax in his tender hold. with eyes full of love, he steadily lines you up with his tip, counting you to three before guiding you down the length of his cock. your husband starts off slow, keeping a nice pace that makes it easy to inhale enough to go back down. but like all things, it grows—grows faster. hands tangle in your hair, driving your head down to meet him halfway; you gag and choke and drool out the corners of your mouth, you dig and scratch with your nails, you savour quick inhales that are quickly consumed and leave you with even less air than before.

the tip of your nose tickles the pubic hair at his pelvis as he holds your head steady at his base. the cut off of circulation has your eyes going spotty, but the lightheadedness just feels so so so good.

upon seeing the twitch in his brow and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, your breath hitches—he’s going to cum if you continue. whatever words you attempt to speak translates to vibration that makes his dick jump, so twice, you pat his arm.

there’s a look of panic on his features, ignoring the mess left on his lower body and he releases you from his grasp. almost subconsciously, he pushes all traces of hair from your face, cupping you cheeks and forcing you to look at him, “did something happen? are you alright? was it too much—i’m sorry, love.”

“no.” you shake your head, moving from the position in front of him that made your knees ache and buckle. quietly, you turn your back to him, hazardly pressing your body into his desk while your hands tease up the back of your thighs, dragging the dress’s fabric along with it. “just want you to cum inside, it doesn’t feel as good when you don’t.”

symphonies ring through his head: eren is sure he’s won at life—and he’s going to be selfish with it. you’re his freedom—your pussy is his national anthem, not the fucking two minute song that rings monotonely in his mind after hearing it. he can’t rip his eyes away when your dress climbs up and over your ass; it exposes your thong and it’s practically swallowed by the folds of your pussy, which leaves a damp spot right near its entrance.

“oh, eren…” you sigh in relief at the feeling of your hand fumbling to pull your panties to the side for your husband to see just how wet you get on the mere thought of him. your fingers are met with no friction as you slowly rub your clit, nails clacking against each other and you spread the slick that coats your cunt.

you pull away from yourself with a string connecting your fingers to your pussy, all before giving it a few love taps once more. “‘s all yours.”

it’s all his…what a fucking lucky man. your scent has commanding control over him, clinging to his body and moving him towards you like a puppeteer and he’s the woodwork. hands rounding over the fat of your ass, he makes quick work of pulling your thong off one leg and letting it pool at your ankle. he’s not afraid to admit it: eren jaeger will die for this pussy—his wife’s pussy.

he makes quick work of you, slotting his dick within your folds, fucking himself up against your clit a few times before convening at your hole. he sheaths himself inch by inch, reveling in the soul snatching grip you welcome him with. the pulsation of your spongy walls almost bites at him—cause a stuttered moan to fall from him as he bottoms out into you.

“fuck!” you squeal at the feeling of his tip budding up against your cervix. frantically, you try to inch forward to build some space between you two.

“nuh-uh, no fucking running,” he sucks his teeth, digging his dull nails in your hips to keep you flush against his body, “take it whole, didn’t i teach you better than that?”

“mm—mhm!” baring your eyes shut, you allow your upper body to relax into the glass surface of the desk while he finds his rhythm. but you’re at a loss for words, mouth hanging open as he drags out to the hilt and buries himself back in until he’s trying to bypass your ass. his repeated strokes strikes against the soft spot at the roof of your cunt, “you’re going so fast.”

“am i—shit—am i supposed to go slow?” he asks knowingly, to which you frantically shake your head no to. had he gone any second slower, you’d be throwing a damn fit, whining about his talking too much time in teasing you and throwing yourself back into his hips instead. “yeah, that’s what i thought.”

each thrust drags out more of the milky white slick that forms a nasty ring around the base of his cock. “r-ren, you’re kissin’ me…” you whine, wiggling and writhing as you feel him reach your cervix—‘n it hurts, hurts real good and eren knows you don’t want him to stop.

your sobs fog up the glass below, and with tear stained eyes you turn your head to look back at your husband. his pace falters when he locks your gaze—it’s hazy and pretty, your once neat waterline is now smudged against your lower eyelids, and your plump lips are in a pout to suppress what would be breathy moans to quick whimpers—all which reach his dick just the same.

eren wastes no time grabbing a hold of your leg and hoisting it up to meet your torso on the table. the new angle gives him leeway to hit deeper—rub against his favourite spot that has you seeing stars.

“fuck, yeah—p-please eren.” you’re babbling incoherently, eyes gluing shut to give yourself some peace of mind as you shift your hips backwards to meet him halfway, “give it to me, jus’ like that!”

oh, shit.

your eagerness messes up his pace, making him curse at the feeling of his cock slipping out of you and instead slipping up against your neglected clit.

“c’mon…put it back in.” you’re whining, rubbing your cunt all over him like the neediest thing he’s ever seen—but you’re so molded to eren; there is undoubtedly nothing else in the world that makes you feel better than the way he does.

“calm down, be patient.” his voice is smooth—firm. it pulls you down into a sense of docility; security. it almost makes you forget how you’re being defiled on the desk where he earns a living so you can wear the pearls on your neck. “you’re so good to me.” he’s mumbling, fucking himself through your folds.

you can hear the sounds of your juices mixing, and eren giving a low groan before bottoming back into your sweet pussy that welcomes him back like a man once at war.

“baby…gonna—i’m gonna cum.” you shake your head at the inevitable—you’re already whimpering and your legs are buckling under the pressurizing buildup in your bottom torso.

and eren? he would never deny you of anything you wanted—in fact, he loves when you cum; your body goes rigid and develops an ironclad grip on him, and your mouth hangs open in the most obscene, yet pretty, way. so he encourages you, coaxes you on by keeping steady, hitting harder.

“f-fuckfuckfuck—fuck!” when your hand shoots down to rub and fuss and your clit, you’re done for.

eren’s strokes don’t stop when you do. instead, he lets you ride out your high right on his dick—and you…your walls are fluttering around him. uncontrolled sobs leave your mouth as you grip onto the table for some sort of stability, “that’s it.”

“you feel good?” he asks, moving your leg from the tabling and bringing you up to meet his body.

your mind is so gone, you can only mirror the words of your husband, “mhm—feels good.”

his hands grab your waist, pulling you down into the chair with him. there’s little time for you to process your surroundings before eren’s got your back flush against him, arms hooked around the back of your legs, bringing them back towards your chest.

“you can take a little more for me, right?” he huffs, blindly navigating himself back into your hole before receiving extra aid from your fucked out self.

truth be told, you’d take anything for eren—even when you’re crying from the sheer overstimulation you feel as he sloppily bounces you on his cock. you can only pray he cums quick, all before you truly start to get messy in his place of work.

“give it to me ‘ren.” moaning sweetly, your hands make their way to the nape of his neck and tug at the hair found in your fist, “c’mon—give me what i came here for.”

and eren…he doesn’t like to keep you waiting.

“fuck—you’re just the most spoiled thing aren’t you?” he moans—truly, he knows there is no one to blame but himself. and when you give him pussy this good, what else can he do?

your heeled feet clack together as eren fucks up into you with little regard for decency. his breathing is erratic, either heavy or almost laboured and still. your name is stuck on his lips—rolling around on his tongue like candy—he says it like a chant, rambling on about how only you can get him like this. shallow groans and grunts as he stills in your cunt—making sure you feel every rope of him by keeping you right on him despite your squirms.

“feel full?”

you scoff playfully, moving from your position once eren lets you, only to see a coy grin settling on his face. he’s not expecting an answer—especially when you return his smile while tugging your dress back down your legs. his eyes follow your movements, watching as you gather the picnic basket, keys to your pink porsche, and lace thong within your hands before making your way back to him.

slotting the underwear into the pocket of his blazer jacket, you whisper, “you’d better be home early, mr. jaeger.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot x reader #eren jaeger smut #aot smut #eren jaeger x black reader #aot x black reader #eren x black reader #snk x reader #snk smut

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winterarmyy · 9 months

Text

Must Be Fate

Prequel to And You're Mine. This is the story of how Y/N first met her cute, chubby alpha!bucky.

Summary: Y/N has been crossing paths with this particularly sweet alpha all day long; this must be fate right?

Note: There was a mention of this event in 《 And You're Mine 》 so, it's only canon for me to write it.

Pairing: chubby alpha!bucky x omega!female!reader

Words: 4.2k++

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. fluffy stuff. sort of fated mate themed because... love at first scent(?). instant love. the reader was just smitten without even knowing bucky's name, alpine making her appearance, 99.9% reader's pov because she's the one who fell in love and remembers him. Dialogue? almost little to none (I AM SO SORRY FOR THAT). And I little shout out to one of my favourite book.

P/S: Been busy these few days, i just graduated my bachelor's degree, then went through the whole job hunting process and somehow managed to land an offer (in another state btw), then went on a stressful house hunting journey and managed to get decent place. Yknow, all those "adulting" stuff (that i am not ready to face). But yeah, here's a little something from my wip that I managed to finish. Happy reading! 🤍

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N herself might not notice it, but she had been stealing glances through the pretense of the book she was supposed to be reading for quite some time now. Not that she wanted to be distracted anyway; she was rather enjoying her current read, especially the banter between main characters, Liesel and Rudy.

Yet for some reason, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the particular alpha sitting on the park bench, right across from her.

It seemed that the man was also distracted with his own personal dilemma as his thoughts were lost within the arrangement of peonies in his hand. There was this deep frown decorating his features yet his eyes translates a different type of emotion. More gloomy, more somber. And Y/N knew exactly why.

She never meant to follow Bucky around, in fact, she didn’t. It just happened that his paths were fated to intertwined with hers; and it all started that afternoon.

The bus was packed full, albeit it was Saturday, but thankfully she managed to find herself a seat.

Since Y/N was getting closer to her heat, in about a week or so, and her scent blockers were nearly out. She just got back from a nearby clinic to restock and now she had a full day for herself.

The thing about her pre-heat condition is that she was fortunate to not experience the normally unpleasant symptoms like any omega would; she doesn't get irritated easily and she didn't have to go through those random aches and fever.

However, she had a particular symptom that differs from the other omega; which involve the irregular increase of her scent.

During pre-heat and all throughout the actual heat, Y/N’s scent tripled the amount of a normal omega in heat. And since, she refused to take suppressants, the doctor prescribed her with a high dosage of scent blockers instead; to mask her scent completely during pre-heat.

Besides her own scent thickens and heighten, her sense of smell was also affected. It will become so senstive that she can smell everything and everyone, all at the same time.

Unfortunately for her, there weren’t any medication to combat that issue and the only solution she could do was wearing a mask to lessen affect of other people’s scents. But of course, the mask can only do so much especially when she was in a tight confinement of a bus with – what feels like – 2000 people crammed into it.

Too many potent scents coming from every direction, that her head spun into nausea.

Sure, she might be a little bit exaggerating about the amount of people in the bus, but it felt awfully like it when the bus stopped in every bus stop in its route; she can physically feel the inertia of the force pushing her to lean forward.

Thank god, she was sitting down; she managed to hold on the seat in front of her for support. Often times she would whisper her apologies to the man sitting in front for the sudden push of her hand, And most times he only nodded without looking back.

But at one of those stops, unfortunately, the teenager standing next to her bumped his head right onto the metal pole. Poor thing quickly scurried out of the bus in pain and embarrassment.

The density of people became lesser at that stop, but not enough to empty any seat in the bus. Though it worked well for her that most of the strong scents were fading into a much more bearable capacity for her to endure.

While streams of people exited the bus, only one came aboard; a sweet old lady. The moment Y/N saw her, she was already thinking of giving up her seat, but the man sitting in front of her beat her to it as he swiftly stood on his feet and help the old lady to his seat.

The old lady gushed and thanked the man, dearly patted his cheeks like any grandmother would do to their grandchildren.

And in that brief moment of time, when he moved, Y/N picked up a particularly sweet scent trailing behind him and when he came back, it hits her like a train. At first, she can sense some sort of floral; roses and jasmine but with time the smoky sandalwood and spicy cinnamon seeped through. The combination of sweet and woody notes made such a warm and captivating scent.

She never knew an alpha can smell this good.

Her eyes fluttered close as the alluring scent flooded her brain, letting his scent creates the dreamy images of his fingers lacing between hers as they walk in the rain, or him cuddling her in the heat of the fireplace during the winter, or his body trapping her by the back as she takes his huge delicious kno—whoa.

That was way too vivid and a tad too far.

She was so enthralled by his scent that she forgot to even look at the man’s face. And a mistake it was for her to take a peek because he is absolutely gorgeous. The brown locks on his head was neat and clean that she just wanted to make a mess out of it. His eyes were pretty in steel-blue and his plush lips was simply a sin to look at.

Though some would argue about the lack of shape in his jawline, the same one that was hidden between his chin; she didn’t care at all, rather she was particularly fond of the softness on his chubby cheeks. Shaved so clean and smooth that she couldn't find a single razor cut on his skin.

They look so cute and kissable. She want to kiss his cheeks, his lips, and every part of his ridiculously handsome face. She wanted kiss him so badly.

And those intrusive thoughts made her almost missed her stop.

Y/N panicked when she scurried out of the bus that she didn't even thought to ask him for his name or number; anything.

But then again, she wasn't the type to be so bold in the first place; she knew wouldn't have the courage to even speak a word to him. His scent alone almost pushed her into a frenzy, so imagine if he would look at her with those beautiful eyes of his, smile at her, talk to her?

She'd simply die. She was sure of it.

So, with regrets Y/N walked towards the familiar road right into the local bookstore that she often visits. Thinking that this encounter would probably be forgotten by the end of the day.

Then she spent hours in that shop trying to find the perfect book to put her out of the miserable reading slump she was currently in. While her eyes skim over the covers of the book in display, in the back of her head, Y/N was almost certain of how unlikely it was for her to see the alpha ever again.

Couple of turns later, her footsteps trailed back to the space in between the bookshelves next to the huge glass window of the store. Still glancing absentmindedly at the book covers particular on the historical fiction isle. She halted when she saw it, the book that people had been recommending to her, 'The Book Thief'.

After reading the summary behind the book, she felt drawn to it almost instantly. Thinking that maybe this would be the book that will replenish her interest of reading back to its utmost glory.

But when she lifted her head up, she froze yet again. This time, not because the sight of a book. But it was the silhouette of the alpha she saw in the bus. Instinctively, her feet step closer to the glass window, to have a better look at the man across the road.

The alpha had just exited the flower shop opposite from where she was standing, with a gorgeous bouquet of peonies in his hands. Now that she looked closely, his hands were covered with black leather gloves; it intrigued her and she wondered about the story behind it.

Y/N wasn't that dense; she could see it right away from the way he dressed, to the choice of gift he went for. She knew instantly that the alpha was probably going out on a date.

And that stung her a little bit. How nice it must be to be his date, his girl, his omega.

Funny of her to think so when she never really talked to the guy. Let alone know him well enough to decided whether he's a good alpha or not. But something about him felt right to her.

But, sometimes it'll be like that. Falling in love so strongly, so instantly. And there's nothing wrong with it, as long as you know how to protect yourself; your body, your heart.

When her gaze moved upwards to his face; and her heart almost escaped her body. It was so quick, so faint. But, she saw his smile. It wasn't for her but it was so pretty. Y/N felt like a bow just struck her chest and the cupid was trying to pull it back out.

She knew full well how she probably need to move on from this delusional crush of hers yet her eyes still longingly lingered at his moving figure, walking farther away from her sight.

When she thought that would be the last time she saw him, she was utterly wrong. Now, it felt like devilish cupid was toying with her heart as their path crossed yet again, this time at a nearby cafe.

She didn't notice him at first, at least until she placed her orders and saw him sitting alone at the far corner of the cafe. He seemed to be waiting for his date; the flowers laid perfectly on the seat next to him.

In contrast of the few looks of his that she had witness before, the alpha's demeanour indicates anxiousness.

His heel keeps tapping the floor, causing his knees to jump up and down, as he fiddled with his phone. Occasionally, he would look at the time and put it down. Just to do the same thing over again only seconds later.

And that made her wondered if this was his first date with whomever the person he was supposed to be seeing. She knew those feelings all too well. It was only canon that he felt the jitters on his first date, she'd been there too.

When her drink was served, Y/N decided to stay awhile longer. She didn't know what she was expecting from this but she wanted to make sure he was okay. Or maybe she just wanted to see who was the lucky girl. So she found herself a seat, a little bit discrete yet enough to see him from where she sat.

Pulling out her new purchase, she decided to pass the time with some light reading, maybe getting herself comfortable with the world building in the book and get to know the main characters in the process. In between those moments, Y/N would peek above the book, particularly at the sight of that beautiful stranger from across the room.

Pages upon pages she drowned herself to the words of the author that she didn't notice how time flies passing the half an hour mark; and the cafe started to get more crowded and rowdier. Certainly, the amount of potent scents had were floating around her were slowly getting to her.

Y/N knew if she stayed a longer, she'd surely throw up whatever drink she just had. So, she decided to leave. But not before glancing at the alpha – who was still waiting for his date – for one last time, then she pulled the door open and walked away.

Certainly, that was supposed to be the last time she see him right? Nope. The universe proved her wrong when the man found a seat on the bench opposite her. With the same bouquet of flowers in his hands.

And at this point, she thought that this must be fate. There's no other explanation than this.

When she lowered her book again, she saw a white feline rubbing its head on Bucky's legs. It was too far to hear its voice but considering the amount of time its mouth open, Y/N figured it was meowing at him.

Probably to get his attention, or just wanted to comfort the alpha because just from the look of it, she knew he was stood up by his date. And Y/N was unexpectedly mad about it; maybe it was from personal experience or maybe it was just because she couldn't accept the fact that this fine, gorgeous, sweet alpha was being stood up.

Y/N watched how Bucky put away the flowers and scooped the cat onto his lap. He squinted his eyes at the ball of fur and spoke something. She hadn't had a clue what he said but it was probably along the lines, "Are you lost, little one?" He scratched its chin and neck while trying to see if it has a collar.

After so long of seeing that deep grumpy-looking frown on his face, Bucky finally graced her with another smile when the cat tried to rub its nose on his cheeks. Its whiskers tickled his nose and had trigger a laugh out of him.

God, Y/N had never been so desperate to be a cat in her life. She wanted to be that cat; sitting on his lap like she owns that place, making him smile and laugh like that. She wanted nothing more that to do so; to please him in a way that would make her own heart full.

Her daydream was cut short though, when a heavy scent of cigarettes and rum invaded her space. In fact it was so thick and potent, but considering the lanky alpha was sitting right next to her it was inevitable.

Y/N didn't want to be rude; because if she just walk away to find a different spot to sit at, then it would seem rude to the man. Her heighten sense of smell was to be blamed, not the man who was simply sitting next to her, enjoying the park as much as everybody else does.

So, she stayed.

But in those few minutes that she stayed, she might have re-adjust her mask a few times, as if it would help to lessen the scent. But, she did it anyway. And that was all she did. Yet somehow, it managed to rub the alpha in a wrong way.

"Ya got a problem with my scent, beta?" He snarled, clearly he was drunk. And a drunk alpha in the middle of the day was never a good sign.

Though she was relieved to know that the scent blockers worked just fine. Otherwise, she might push the alpha into a rut if he got even a single whiff of her scent.

The alpha growled as she put some space between them instead of answering his question. "Are you even listening to me?! Answer me, you dumb bitch!" His aggressiveness went from zero to hundred real quick when he yanked her by the hand, pulling her closer towards him.

Y/N's book fell from the force of his strength and she yelped in pain and fear. Though she usually know how to put up a brave face and fight back, but the sudden change of his action and emotion didn't gave her time to prepare her; mentally, physically.

With her omega tendencies on default, her body coward to his force and her voice tremble, "L-let me go!" She tried to twist her hand to escape but his grasp only grew stronger.

He pulled her to stand up, "You think a beta like you can look down on me? You and that omega are the same! Bunch of good for thing bitches. Gonna teach you a good lesson for disrespecting an alpha like me!" He roared with words of his drunken concerns, truth of his wounded ego.

Her blood pumped faster through her veins and her breaths increases behind her mask. When she saw his hand rose, Y/N shut her eyes, whimpering in fear as she turned her head away, waiting for the pain strike her but it never happened.

It between those short heavy breaths, she caught a whiff of Bucky's scent. And surely, it gave her the comfort she needed to calm down, guiding her to open her eyes and witness her saviour stopping the unhinged alpha's strike.

Then what happend next was so fast; the way Bucky forced him to release her, and the way the left of his gloved hand wrapped around the alpha's neck, choking the air out of his wind pipe.

Bucky growled something in the alpha's ear, but Y/N couldn't hear it over her own beating heart. She didn't need to, not when the pale look of the man's face says it all. As soon as Bucky loosen his grip, the other alpha stumbled backwards and made a run for his life.

That does tend to happened when Bucky was literally threatened to tear his limbs apart if he touch the woman ever again.

When the panic didn't die like Y/N hoped for, Bucky quickly came to her side; respectfully close while avoiding any sort of skinship. He whispered words of comfort and sweet nothings, "It's okay, you're okay. You're safe now."

His voice was like magic, especially when it managed to calm her so easily. Y/N can feel herself melting, like a marshmallow hovering over the flames; like an ice cream under the summer sun. She took a deep breath of his sweet scent and exhaled a long sigh, "Thank you. Thank you for that." she said.

Bucky bent down to pick up her book and patted the dust off, "It's no big deal, here." He handed the book. She gladly took it from his hand, gripping it tight to her chest.

Her head was still fuzzy from the rush of adrenaline, she couldn't think of a single coherent thought other than gratitude towards her saviour, "Yeah, thank you." She probably didn't even notice that she was talking to the alpha she was crushing on the whole day.

Looking at her shaken state, Bucky was worried of her, "Are you going to be okay?" He asked.

Y/N's mind didn't process his question fast enough to for a confident reply to form, "Huh? Yeah, of course. I'll be fine. Couple of deep breaths should do the trick."

"Are you sure?" Bucky was sceptical but she quickly assured him, "Absolutely!"

He nodded slowly as if she failed to convince him, yet he didn't want to push her too much, "If you say so..."

She let out a another long sigh and said, "Thank you again, really. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Bucky simply chuckled at her words, "You know, you've said 'thank you' way too many times now, doll. Plus, it is an utmost honor of an alpha to save a damsel in distress." He jest.

Which was quickly agreed by a mewl coming from his chest, "Meow!" Y/N didn't even notice the white cat nestling comfortably in his leather jacket, albeit it was zipped up until only its' head peeking out of the dark fabric.

"See? She agrees." Bucky shrugged as if the cat's opinion was the only valid opinion in this situation.

"I did say it a lot, did I?" Y/N cooed as she pet the cat on its' head, smiling at the softness of its' fur against her skin before looking back at the blue eyes of his, "Sorry." She instinctively apologized.

Bucky shook his head and reminded her, "Don't be."

That was when Bucky's phone rang, a call from Steve, "Hey, you're here? Where are you? Oh there. Yeah, I can see you, punk. You don't need wave at me like that. Yeah, I'll be right there. Please don't let Sam join you. God stop that is fucking embarrassing." He muttered as he looked over how his friends were literally halfway out of the car window, waving at him like a bunch of kids.

Bucky snuck his phone back into his pocket and said, "I'd offer you a ride but the car's full with dumbasses and I wouldn't recommend a sweet thing like you to associate with them in any way."

He managed to pull a short laugh out of her, "Oh, no need to do so. I live close by. Don't need to worry about me just..." her trails stopped mid way.

Only for Bucky to continue with a question, "...Just??"

"Do you mind giving those to me?" Y/N pointed at the flowers in his hand. She knew he was contemplating to throw it away because he had been glancing at the trash way too many times at the first couple of minutes when he sat on that bench across from her.

Y/N noticed how his expression changed, he looked confused but didn't frown upon the idea. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she waited patiently for his respond. But he just continued to stare at her, almost blankly but not quite lost. It was as if he was mesmerized by something.

The silence was getting louder than the crowds surrounding them so she decided to explain, "You see, I've never received flowers from anybody before. So, I'm curious how it feels like to receive one." She tried to come up with excuses, though she was still telling the truth. No one she dated had ever gave her flower before, probably deeming it as old-fashioned.

But, she loves those old fashioned gesture the most.

Y/N saw how he hesitated when he stared at the bouquet, his face getting tense by the seconds. She recognize that expression, she knew right away he was holding back his feelings.

But it quickly shifted into a gentle smile, "Pretty flowers for the pretty lady." He whispered under his breath. Bucky didn't waste his time hesitating this time and handed the bouquet to her.

Though she was asking for it but she didn't expect him to really give it to her. This was the first time she ever got flowers from a man. An alpha that she was pretty much head over heels for nonetheless.

Letting her emotions unfiltered, "Thank you!" she squealed as she reach out her hand. As she brought the bouquet closer to her face, she pulled down her mask, inhaling the sweet fragrant of the soft pastel peonies.

Even if her lower face hidden behind the flowers, Bucky swore he saw a burst of sparkles beamed from her upon receiving those flowers. It fascinated him because he never knew that someone could be this happy just from getting such small gift, from a complete stranger he might add.

For a second there, he thought that he would've give her a whole garden of flowers just to see her shine like that again. It felt so good and somehow fulfilling to see her happy like this.

Y/N unknowingly smiled as she let herself lost in the intoxicating scent. And when her eyes fluttered open, a deep chuckle distracted her from the trance. Looking up, as he eyes peeking through the blooming flowers, she finally saw that endearing smile that she wanted to see.

But that wonderful fleeting moment didn't last long as she was hoping for when she heard a group of man shouting for the alpha, "Hey, loverboy! We have a birthday party to get to. Natasha would be pissed if we're late. Again!"

As Bucky shouted back his own sassy counter, Y/N's head was filled with thoughts of kissing him. She didn't particularly know why but she had the need to do it.

Why would she ever do this to a man – who probably currently thinking that she was a creep – that she barely knew?

Even with those unconscious questions, she found her body moved on its own.

When he turned around, Y/N was already on her tip toe, her face was so close to his, while her hand softly cupped his chubby cheeks. She pressed a tender kiss on one of the side soft sides and prayed to God that he couldn't hear how her heart was desprete to escape the confinement of her ribcage.

Y/N placed her mask back before pulling away, only to preen at how she managed to stun him into a red mess of shock, "Thank you for saving me, alpha." Her eyes curved as a sign of a smile before she turn around, almost running away.

She certainly didn't give him a chance to at least know her name, let alone get to know her.

Midway through her path, Y/N abruptly stopped and turned around, her eyes met his curious ones and her heart fluttered, "Thank you for the flowers! I love them!" she shouted with a wide smile on her lips and brightest expression of her face, even if it was blocked by the mask.

Though Bucky could probably translate her eagerness and sincerity from how animatedly joyful she was waving at him. He smiled as he watched the girl ran away with her small steps, almost resembling a hopping bunny.

As Y/N skipped her way home, her lips aches for more of the alpha's softness, her heart yearned for his comforting presense and her glands certainly burned for his mark. And even though she went home not knowing his name, or his contact number. She believed that if he was truly her fated mate, then they will surely meet again someday.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for loving this couple as much as I do, guys. I noticed a lot of you have been requesting chubby alpha!bucky ever since I first published the first one. So I hope you enjoyed this one. More to come from them. But meanwhile, drop your thoughts?

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #alpha!bucky #chubby!bucky

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jeraliey · 6 months

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So I saw a video on a technique for patching sweater holes, and I really wanted to try it.

Fortunately (unfortunately?) I had an old sweater that got chewed up when it accidentally took an unprotected ride through the laundry. It had PLENTY of holes to practice on, of various sizes.

I decided to start on some of the smaller holes:

It went......okay? I guess? It's a new technique. You can probably see which hole I tried first and what progress I made doing it a second time....

I ended up getting myself a new toy to continue (a latch hook, because my crochet hook was doing well-enough-I-guess but I figured I could neaten it up a little if I was less likely to drop loops). So I decided to go after one of the bigger, more irregular holes:

(this picture actually has the most accurate portrayal of the real-life color of the repair yarn. I don't know why it's so grass-green in the other pictures. It's even a little darker than it looks in this picture, and blends in better with the rest of the sweater colors.)

Which also went....okay........I'm new-technique satisfied......and there are a lot fewer holes in the sweater now, anyway. (I did a weave-darning on the spot on the very right, but that was only to try it out to see how it looked.)

So it got me brave enough to try some of the really big holes:

The first of which went okay:

but I'm still clearly struggling with how much working slack to leave on the loops, which you can see with the increasing tension as I worked from right to left.

But you know what?

This monster is next. We'll see how it goes! Regardless, I'm enjoying the technique and learning a LOT. Plus....I'll be able to wear this sweater again!

#visible mending #mending #fiber crafts #sweater #upcycling #upcycle #textiles #repair

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doctorbeth · 1 year

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New Year, Clean Slate!

This is a continuing entry in the irregular series of "Just a spa". :-)

This teddy bear had been washed in the past, when his person was a child, but even then he never looked brand new. And today, years later, Mr. Huggy (that's his name) was definitely looking a bit worse for wear after all his hugs and adventures. Here are his diagnosis photos:

Fortunately, Mr. Huggy's fur was in good shape. He had velcro on his hands (so he could hug) that was worn though. So his person and I agreed on a treatment plan of a gentle spa and velcro replacement. Here he is in his bubble bath (you can see he's already brightening up):

Here's his heart being made and installed with a bit of his original stuffing:

And here he is, all better! Clean, stuffed, fur fluffed, and with new velcro so he can hug again!

His person's reaction when he flew home? "He's absolutely perfect!"

#teddy bear repair #teddy bear hospital #teddy bear cleaning #stuffed animal repair #stuffed animal cleaning #stuffed animals #teddy bears #teddy bear #toys

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aemonds-sapphire · 1 year

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Knowledge

Summary: You arrive at King’s Landing and Prince Aemond Targaryen shows you that some knowledge doesn’t come from books.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW. Bickering. Aegon being a cockblock.

A/N: I like to imagine that Aemond would feel this natural pull towards someone who takes an interest in books, so this is my attempt at exploring that. Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: The books mentioned are actual existing works in the universe GRRM has created: The Fires of the Freehold and A Caution for Young Girls.

Word count: 1.5k

The first thought that crossed your mind once your stepped foot inside the Red Keep was that illustrations and vague descriptions from visitors didn’t do it justice. It was most definitely a place fit for kings and queens, no doubt.

You had come with your mother and father as guests to King Viserys, but it had been Queen Alicent who greeted you upon arrival.

Aegon Targaryen was introduced first, promptly taking your hand in his with a dashing smile and planting a soft kiss to it, vaguely mumbling he was at your service should you require anything, earning a glare from his mother.

Next was Helaena Targaryen whose kind smile warmed your heart, but whose words took you by surprised when she asked if you had many spiders back home, earning a compassionate smile from her mother.

Last, but not least, was Aemond Targaryen who was ever observant and not quite inclined to introducing himself until his mother asked him to. Twice. Even then, it he uttered not a single word and merely bowed his head at you. His eyeptach was neatly kept in place over the eye he had once lost.

Queen Alicent had a fourth child who was away in Oldtown with the rest of the Hightowers, Daeron.

But as excited as your parents were, you yerned to wander the long corridors that held so many secrets and richness.

So by the time you exited the throne room, you told your parents you were out for a walk.

It wasn’t a lie.

You needed to see it.

Your inner child beamed in anticipation as you strode along the vast halls that led to your destination. Fortunately, your maester had provided you with the exact location.

Heart drumming fast, you halted before a closed door before taking a deep shaky breath.

You gripped the handle and pushed inside with ease.

And there it was.

Sitting atop a vast stone surface, that was framed by countless burning candles, lay the skull of Balerion.

Your eyes took in the overwhelming sight of such an imposing piece of history.

Reaching the edge of the stone slate, you felt the dense warmth that radiated from the candles, wax sliding down and hardening across the surface, creating beautiful and irregular sculptures.

Balerion’s skull was enormous. His teeth stood upright as sharp knives and you wondered how many had met their demise impaled on them.

“What are you doing here?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, immediately whipping around to see Aemond Targaryen standing a few feet away to your left, arms laced behind his back. “Prince Aemond,” you gasped, stepping away from Balerion’s skull. “I apologise… I… lost my way while trying to find my bedchambers.”

His face was hard to read and silent fell for a brief moment before he narrowed his exposed eye. “It is not wise to roam the castle halls by yourself.”

You nodded, bowing curtly. “Of course, my prince.”

Aemond gave you a long, penetrating look that made you feel extremely bare. “There are seveal trapdoors. You wouldn’t want to end up somewhere… unpleasant,” he drawled out that last word in a low tone.

“I apologise.”

“You do not have to,” he said. “You are our guest.”

His reassurance eased frantic beating of your heart and you felt your chest heave, as you allowed yourself to breathe freely once more.

Aemond Targaryen was undoubtedly intense. You reckoned he would have no trouble having men cower before him with little to no effort.

Tense moments rolled by and as neither of you were inclined to further the conversation, you shifted to face the dragon skull.

Just when you thought the two of you had settled for a comfortable silence, his soft voice was heard, “Balerion.”

“The black dread,” you added with a nod. “It is said that whenever he took flight his wings would swallow entire cities in shadow as he passed overhead,” you paused briefly to see Aemond sliding a hooded look at you. “His fire was as black as his scales and wings, burning so hot it’d turn sand to glass.”

Your passion for dragons and Old Valyria suddenly took over you like a tidal wave. There weren’t many people who’d share the same enthusiasm in discussing such topics, but you figured a Targaryen prince might.

Especially one who had claimed Vhagar. The word had spread like wildfire back then. Even in your young years, you could tell it was a great deed. Prince Aemond Targaryen had bonded with the largest dragon alive. The dragon who had fought alonside the very dragon whose very skull lay in front of you.

But Aemond didn’t look impressed.

In fact, he seemed positively uninterested… bored even.

Feeling overwhelmed by the weight of his unmoving glare and deafening silence, you reached out to touch some of the scalding wax that had pooled around one flickering candle.

“Zaldrīzes iā kraj.”

A powerful dragon.

That caught his attention and his eyebrow arched lightly with newfound interest. “You speak High Valyrian?”

You let out a low chuckle, breaking eye contact with him. “I am not knowledgeable enough to speak it fluently save for a few words I picked here and there.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Aemond take slow steps in your direction. “And how did you come across such words?” the curiosity in his voice was palpable.

You cleared your throat. “Merchants from the east would share them with my maester,” you replied. “And books.”

It was barely noticeable, but you watched as his eye widened every so slightly at the latter.

You were so entranced with the sudden proximity, you’d allowed droplets of wax to scorch your thumb, causing you to wince in both pain and surprise.

Aemond extended his own hand to toy with the molten wax that ran down in rivers of yellowish white. Unlike you, he was perfectly able to endure the heat as it was expected from Targaryens.

“What books?”

You brought the pad of your thumb to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss in an attempt to ease the burning sensation. “The Fires of the Freehold.”

His eye followed your motion. “You read history books?”

“Why so surprised?”

A side-smile curled his lips. “Have you read the entire book?”

Oh. He was testing you.

“That would be impossible,” you said, inwardly grinning as his eye widened yet again. “Many scrolls are missing, but I have had the opportunity to visit Oldtown and read the ones available.”

“Hmm,” he said, his smile dropping slightly. “My younger brother has provided me with some copies of the scrolls.”

“Daeron, is it? He’s in Oldtown, correct?”

A glimmer of impatience crossed his eye. “What do you make of that book?” he asked instead.

Was he testing you again?

“Well, it is always interesting to take a look at the past and try to understand what might have led to certain events.”

Aemond cracked the hardened wax on the tip of his fingers and nodded. “Indeed. Books feed the mind and provide unmatched knowledge.”

“What books do you read?”

“Mainly history and philosophy.”

Aemond seemed deeply invested in the conversation now and that did wonders to your ego. History holds Targaryens in high regards and whether it’s through fear, respect, or both, the people of Westeros would bend their knee to them.

So having this young prince, whose reputation preceded him, indulge in your interests was surely unexpected, but welcomed.

“It is my understanding that theoretical knowledge must be balanced out with a practical approach,” he said in a low voice.. “If you’re to read a book and not apply that knowledge, then it just stays stagnant in your head, rendering it useless. Would you agree?”

“To an extent,” you said, enjoying how the low flames flickered and were casting orange and yellow streaks along the side of his face. “But I believe certain books are more prone to such approach than others. You cannot take a history book and approach it as you approach a tactical one. Would you agree?”

Aemond snapped a surprised look on you, as if you had uttered a complete string of nonsense. His visible eye never left your face and you kept on glaring at him, wishing you were able to know his thoughts.

“Did I say something wrong?” you asked carefully.

“Not at all,” he said, clearing his throat, and to your relied he sounded amused. “And have you read such a book?”

You shook your head. “There is one I’d very much like to get my hands on.”

His eyebrows shot up as he waited for you to carry on.

“A Caution for Young Girls.”

You spotted a very notorious disapproving look twist his handsome features, which didn’t surprise you. After all, erotic books did get a bad reputation across the realm and would often be banished.

“You’ve heard of it,” you concluded.

“Of course, but I would not indulge in reading such depravity,” he said as a matter of fact.

“It is a book written by a woman,” you said, unable to hide the amusement in your voice. “How depraved can it be?”

“Depraved enough to have lords burning copies across the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond replied readily.

You shrugged. “Then Lady Coryanne Wylde must have done something right when she wrote that book,” you then turned to him. “If her tales warrant such reaction from men, then it makes it all the more interesting.”

Aemond made a sound that was halfway between a chuckle and a cough. “Surely, you don’t think there is any valuable knowledge to take from that book.”

“I disagree. The practical approach you speak of would definitely benefit from the theoretical one provided in its pages.”

“And what knowledge might that be, my lady?”

“I have only heard rumours, of course,” you said, shrugging once again. “But matters of the body — specifically a woman’s body — are worth diving into.”

Aemond seemed slightly taken aback by your bluntness and you vaguely wondered if you had maybe overstepped the line.

“As much as I agree,” he began, tilting his head a fraction. “I highly doubt a young lady such as yourself would find any use in it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How can you be so sure? You told me yourself you haven’t read it.”

Aemond stared down at your face. “I haven’t, but my elder brother has definitely flicked through a few pages,” he said with a hint of disdain. “If he finds it entertaining, then I’m certain of the level of perversion.”

“For someone who indulges in the knowledge books can offer, you sound awfully judgmental, prince Aemond,” the words left your mouth faster than your brain could process.

“Not all knowledge comes from books.”

“I disagree.”

He tilted his head and gave you a measured look. “Do you, now?”

“I believe there is always something to be learned,” you said with a nod. “Unless you believe yourself above such knowledge…”

Oh.

Maybe you had done it this time.

But your worry soon vanished as Aemond gave you a curt smile. “Do you think I’d need to read that book if I were to court you, my lady?”

You immediately stiffened and felt a lump form in your throat.

“Do you think you would need to read that book if you were to accept my advances?”

Oh…

The conversation had taken an unexpected turn to say the least and your mouth just hung open.

Aemond had the nerve to chuckle, visibly amused. “What’s the matter, my lady?” his voice was low, but the teasing spoke volumes. “Should I find you a book from our library, so you can seek knowledge to formulate your answers?” he finished with a curt smile as his eye dropped to your lips.

He was standing close. Too close. From that distance, you were able to make out the intricate details of the dragon brooches that lined the length of his leather coat.

Collecting yourself, you gazed up at him and returned a smile. “And what advances would those be?”

He had probably hoped his mocking words were enough to silence you, but two could play this game and Aemond Targaryen would soon get a taste of his own venom.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would,” you said, tilting your chin up to face him dead on. “Unless you’re all talk and no action, my prince.”

Aemond pinched his eyebrows together, creating two deep furrows between them as he kept his gaze on your lips.

You rode on instict and decided to press him further. “What is it, my prince? Should I fetch you a book so I may have a reply from you?”

He closed the gap between you two in a heartbeat, and then you felt him press his body lightly into yours.

But something else caught your attention through the delicate fabric of your dress.

Oh.

“Prince Aemond?”

You weren’t imagining things.

Oh.

Aemond Targaryen was hard.

You could barely feel it through your dress, but it was definitely there.

“I can see that this conversation is pleasing you,” you said, empowered by the sudden revelation.

Aemond shifted lightly, his head lowering to meet yours, hot breath fanning your skin. “I find it most invigorating, indeed.”

“Are you courting me?” your voice was but a whisper and your chest heaved, pressing into his own.

“Do you need a book to be able to tell that?” Aemond mocked before grazing his lips along your cheek. “Do you reckon that book would inform you how a Targaryen prince courts?”

Your hand snagged his left arm seeking urgent support, eyes fluttering shut as you suddenly felt scared to just breathe.

His lips never fully touched your skin and it was torturous to hold back from the urge to taste him.

“Would it tell you how to get a Targaryen prince hard?” he whispered in your ear, making a point by pressing his lower half further into you.

You truly wanted to succumb to his velvety teases, but suspected he wasn’t yerning for that.

“I got you hard with just words, prince Aemond?”

He said nothing. He only brought one hand to cup your chin, thumb brushing across your lips. There was allure in his silent ministrations, the only sounds you could hear being your thumping heart and his heavy breathing.

The throbbing between your legs was nearly unbearable, specially when you could feel him so willing for you.

“I’m not interrupting something, am I?” an amused voice rang out.

Even though Aemond remained perfectly calm, you sharply turned your head to spot prince Aegon standing across the room, looking positively entertained by what he had just run into.

As if scalded by fire, you tore yourself away from Aemond, straightening the fabric of your dress before bowing. “Prince Aegon.”

When you straightened back, you watched as his eyes roamed the length of your body before shifting to Aemond.

“Oh, brother,” Aegon said, not even trying to hold back his laughter. “Seems like our guest is giving you a hard time.”

Your eyes widened as your mouth dropped open in disbelief, embarrassment gripping you hard.

“Careful, brother,” Aemond said, adjusting his eyepatch. “I will not entertain your idiocy.”

But Aegon’s attention had long since left his younger brother and his gaze was fixed on you, an ear-to-ear smile crossing his face.

“Was it the other way around, my lady?” he asked, still keeping his distance. “Was my brother giving you a hard time?”

Before you could bring yourself to reply, you watched Aemond shift beside you, sending his dagger streaking off in Aegon’s direction in one smooth motion.

The dagger lodged in the wooden wall with a clunk only mere inches away from where Aegon stood.

“You missed,” he gloated with a grin, far too amused for someone who just had a blade flung at them.

Was he… drunk?

“Deliberately,” he said with a wry smile, shifting his weight onto his other leg. “You know I never miss.”

“You can try to deflect as hard as you wish, little brother,” Aegon chuckled, slowly but surely taking a few steps towards the door. “But it still won’t be as hard as your cock is right now,” he finished before slipping through the entrance at lightning bolt speed.

Aemond bolted from your side, chasing after his brother.

In the back of your head you vaguely wondered what historians would make of this and what books they might write on these two Targaryen siblings.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond imagine

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sprout-fics · 5 months

Text

Hellebore

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Five of Snowblind

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 5.5k Tags: Slow Burn, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Reunions, Fluff, Slow Build, Team Bonding, Jealous Ghost, Protective Ghost, Soft Ghost, Crushes Warnings: None A/N: (See Ao3 for full author's notes)

It’s a snowy Tuesday night in November when you come back to the team.

Ghost and the others arrive at the group’s usual haunt well before you do, and Price chuffs a little amused sound when he reads your message about being held up because of a baggage issue upon arrival. It’s not a worry. The team is in no rush. It just so happens that Laswell is chasing leads following the team’s most recent deployment, which means the task force has a rare week of tranquility between grueling deployments.

The pub is lively in the way only local places are- filled with familiar faces of neighbors and friends from the next town over. There’s no soldiers here besides themselves, and Ghost prefers it that way. Most of the younger gents from base tend to frequent the rowdier, louder bars- getting into brawls that spill out onto the streets and singing drunkenly along to the radio. The pub owner here refuses to entertain that type of behavior. Fortunately for the team, Price knows the fellow, and as a result the five of you are allowed an almost private sanctuary well away from the riotous demeanor of the younger recruits in their spare time.

It’s the perfect place to welcome you back into the fold.

It’s been three and a half long months.

Three and a half months of deployments, of irregular schedules, of sleeping in mice infested safe houses or camped out on desert bluffs. Evil never sleeps, Ghost had been told once when he was a younger man, and it meant neither did the 141. In the weeks they weren’t on mission, buried deep behind enemy lines or radio dark, the team had been training new troops to assist them on assignment. It had been a long, slow grind, one Ghost was accustomed too. Yet he, like the others, was grateful for a well deserved reprieve- even if it meant tackling the paperwork leftover from their time away from base.

He did notice, however, the silence in between him and the other three men on the team. Ghost often found himself checking his six, feeling the phantom absence of someone who was supposed to be in front of him. At least once a week he would step into a room with the others and pause, feeling the instinctual twinge of something missing- a presence that he’d never realized had ingrained itself into his awareness.

He noticed it in the way Soap seemed to come bother him more often these days, needing a listening ear, someone to impishly pester when Gaz tired of him. Ghost took note of the way Gaz hesitated on a fifth MRE pack when distributing food on mission. He saw it in the way Price turned just as he did, mouth halfway open to speak to someone who wasn’t there before remembering himself.

In the silence, the shadow of you lingered in them all.

Ghost remembered. He remembered from the first second he had last seen you- the way that your eyes had found his from your hospital bed as he’d lingered in the doorway. He remembered from the strangled call of his name he couldn’t answer, and the deafening boom of your voice as your chest emptied itself at Price, screaming for a recognition you would never give yourself. He remembered the uncomfortable squirming sensation in his stomach, like earthworms digging through graveyard dirt as he tried to absolve himself of the regret for letting you go without saying so much as a goodbye.

“There’s our lady of the hour!” Soap crows as you finally step inside from the winter chill, shrugging off a small smattering of flurries from your jacket. Ghost blinks under his mask as he takes you in, noticing instantly the way the coloring of your face has improved since your gaunt appearance trapped in his memory, the way you’ve added a little bit of weight that speaks of a good diet. Your hair is longer than he remembers, but as you turn your eyes to him he feels a recognition simmer to the surface.

It’s still you.

Simon is the last to rise with the others, hovering back as Soap and Gaz quickly embrace you, smothering you with their larger frames. You instantly return the gesture with a pleased laugh, eyes glimmering. Soap makes a point to squeeze you just a little too tight, and Simon feels an inward curl of amusement as you bat at the Scot’s back, wheezing for reprieve.

“You look good, Fix.” Price offers, quieter than the two sergeants, and something shines in your gaze as you turn towards the captain with a murmur of thanks. Simon observes the look in Price’s eyes as the captain smiles down at you. There’s trust there, in the same way he holds for the rest of his team. The ever-present sternness is gentled, somehow, eyes forever focused but gaze warm in a way that speaks of fondness.

Then you turn to Ghost.

“Fix.” He offers, and despite the curtness there’s a relief there that he allows to bleed through into his voice.

“Long time no see, LT.” You tell him, grinning ear to ear, and Ghost feels the remainder of...something tug distantly in his chest, long forgotten but not yet erased.

It’s gone before he can question it as Gaz tugs you over towards the group’s usual table and Price enlists Ghost’s help in ferrying a round of drinks back towards the booth. Soap distributes them easily, knowing each of the team’s preferences by heart. A whiskey neat for Price and Ghost each, a Guinness for him, a rum and coke for Gaz, and something suspiciously colorful and fruity for you. Ghost watches as Soap teases your choice of beverage, going so far as to taste it and make a face that has you shoving playfully at his shoulder.

“They didn’t push you out of the plane then.” Ghost offers when you turn to him expectantly, leg crossed and one arm slung around the corner of the booth comfortably.

Soaps rolls his eyes. “What Ghost means is that he’s happy to see you, hen.” The Scot supplies, and you only grin.

“You’re the one that oversaw my HALO training, Ghost. Pretty sure it was you that pushed me out of an airplane.”

Ghost shrugs. “You survived.”

You laugh, and once more that strange flickering feeling flutters in Ghost’s chest.

He studiously ignores it, instead opting to observe you as you turn to chatter to Price. There’s a weariness to your shoulders that speaks of jet-lag, and your clothes are slightly rumpled from being contained to your duffle for the long flight, but your smile is warm and your eyes are bright as you laugh at something Gaz says.

The conversation goes on, and Soap gets up for several long minutes, only to arrive back with several carefully balanced plates of snacks that are quickly set upon by the table. Ghost refrains, watching instead as you devour the food in front of you, adding something about how the military plane you were on didn’t have first class service.

“Getting spoiled back in the states, eh?” Soap nudges you.

You pause. Something flickers in your gaze. It’s gone before the others can notice, but Ghost pauses, mulling over the flash of whatever it was in his mind’s eye.

He’s seen that look before.

Ghost observes you idly as the rest of the team focuses on you, blinking slowly and letting his thoughts churn like the slow, amber haze of the whiskey in his tumbler. If you notice his unwavering stare you give no indication, and it allows Ghost to dip into the recesses of his mind, consider the woman before him now, trying to find the thread of memory that speaks of the something he saw for briefest of moments when you were confronted with the thought of home.

So, he starts from the beginning.

It had been two months before the Nepal mission, the one with the proximity of your freezing form forming a memory that itches under Ghost’s skin. He’d been surprised at first at Price’s introduction of you to the team, biting down on a comment of why Laswell would send a goddamn rookie out into the field alongside trained killers with years of experience. He’d withheld the comment, focusing instead on Price’s approval and Laswell’s recommendation, both of which lent weight to his respect for someone who he couldn’t help but think looked so young.

It’d been the eyes he noticed first.

Ghost knows the eyes of soldiers who have killed, and knows that something bright dies inside them at the act of taking a life. He’s spent enough years in the military to discern those who kill enemies, and those who kill for sport. Yet your eyes, facing forward, as if gazing expectantly into an unknown future, were somehow neither of those things. It was a strange paradox, one Ghost chalked immediately up to inexperience and naivety. He’d been half right of course, though neither of those things were any fault of your own. As a medic you’d seen less active combat than some of your comrades, but it didn’t extinguish the impressive set of skills that came with your file. A well- trained sniper, skilled in intelligence analysis, used to operating in areas of high conflict under less than ideal conditions. A note from Laswell stated you’d not only helped save the survivors of a suicide attack on Camp Lemonnier, but had been able to parse clues about the specifics of the attack in the process. Young, promising, with a very good career in the CIA ahead of you should you choose to pursue it.

Yet there was something about your eyes Ghost couldn’t shake in the weeks following meeting you. It wasn’t the lingering innocence there that would soon change, nor was it the focus and drive he had witnessed in your stare. Instead, Ghost wondered if, in your expectant and ready stare into the future, if you had ever dared to look behind you.

As if you couldn’t stand the thought of your own shadow.

Ghost couldn’t help but wonder what was hiding there, the things you refused to speak of.

He wondered, distantly, if they somehow mirrored his own.

Ghost had watched you adjust to your new surroundings with determination yet trepidation- straddling an aleatory balance between pure ambition and fatalistic doubt in your own abilities and self worth. Ghost watched you catalog your own mistakes, swallow down the acrid, bitter taste of failure and replace it with a resolve so deep it cracked at the marrow of your bones. You never complained, never tried to avoid the tasks before you, never expressed an inch of doubt in the team- only in yourself.

Ghost fully expected it to break you, the pressure of your own expectations on top of the crushing weight of responsibility that came with your new assignment to the 141. He’d watched you from afar with an admitted amount of disdain for the first few weeks you had settled in, waiting for the breakdown that would have you confess you weren’t cut out for this, that you were leaving. Yet you refused to speak of your doubts for a single moment, as if voicing your own fears was a failure in of itself. Instead you buried it deep inside, allowing the earth underneath your feet to drag you down with the force of gravity, swallowing you whole in hopes the blinding pressure would someday yield not broken bones, but diamond dust.

There was a small amount of sympathy Ghost held for you, reminded in some ways of the once wounded thing he was long ago, after the thing he’d long since tried to forget. Grave dirt filling his mouth and choking his airway, and the thing that had crawled out from hell had been broken just as well. Yet where you held sorrow, grief, for the secrets inside you, Simon held only fury for the things of which he was robbed.

Why you weren’t furious, blazing bright for all to see, remains a mystery in of itself.

Tightly coiled, shoulders tense, fists clenched at your sides as you’d raised yourself from the dirt of the sparring ring in the glorious temperance of mid September. Dirt under your fingernails, shoulders shaking, and in your eyes then too there had been grief. Ghost had put you on your back again and again on purpose, he’ll admit that. A test to see if you’d stay down after being tossed there one too many times by him- the man you looked towards in the thick of gunfire, of battle, as if he was somehow your northern star that you could align yourself with when you didn’t trust yourself.

Yet bruised, scuffed, you’d stood again with those same eyes. Looking forward instead of inward, a righteous fury tamed only by the reflexive disbelief in yourself.

He couldn’t stand it.

If you could see, if only you could see the things you were capable of, the things Ghost knew you could accomplish, then the shadow you refused to look at wouldn’t nip at your heels and send you hurtling into catastrophic, paralyzing doubt. Maybe you wouldn’t look to Ghost to find the way forward and instead trust yourself to forge ahead without the guidance of your team- emblazoning a trail ahead for them to follow.

If only you could see yourself in the way Ghost saw you.

Never your failures. Never anything else but you.

Just you.

Ghost had allowed you the victory of winning the match in hopes it would bolster your confidence, chip away at the thing inside you that festered doubt like a macabre bloom rotting inside the hollow of your chest. He’d hoped it would have been enough to allow you to see your worth for what it is.

For a while, it seemed it had. You trusted yourself more often, listened to your own intuition, didn’t hesitate as much in the field. Though you still looked to Ghost, your eyes had shifted from the gaze of someone who looked to the future in anticipation of the worst, and into that of a soldier learning to shape the future to your will. Ghost could see the way the team, who had long since adopted you as one of their own, watched your slow journey with pride, remaining by your side if you were to fall.

Would they, if only you would have allowed yourself to be caught.

Catch you he did, as he’d watched your legs crumple beneath your wounded figure, arms cradling you even as you protested his attention to the injury you’d tried to conceal. Biting down all complaints in your paralytic fear of failure, compressing down until you’d shaken and trembled in his arms- begging him to look away from the thing you saw yourself as.

“I didn’t want you to see.”

Him, who had been able to see you since the very beginning.

By all accounts, that should have been the end of it. Terminated from the task force due to pure negligence- an inoperable failure by the soldier designated as their medic. Price had been ready to do so, as he sat by your bedside in the hospital, eyes heavy as they rested on your comatose form.

“We can’t do this to her, Simon.” He’d murmured to his lieutenant, hovering near the door, arms crossed and observing the ashen pallor of your face with a bitter, sour sort of emotion he couldn’t quite place.

Simon listening silently, eyes focused entirely on you. Your shallow breathing had become ingrained in his memories twice now. The first in Venezuela, when a bullet had pierced you through and Simon himself had handed you to the medics with a small, scant prayer to a God he stopped believing in long ago.

Not this one. Not yet.

You’d fought then, pulled through despite the blood, the gore, the desperate lack of air your injury had rendered you. Constantly fighting despite your doubts, trying to claw your way out of a grave of your own design even as earth tumbled downwards onto your striving form.

“She’s doing it to herself.” Ghost told his friend and captain, and Price had looked at him for the first time, suddenly seeing the thing Ghost had witnessed all this time.

Right he had been, for as he stood outside the hospital room listening to Price’s conversation with you, the blazing fury Simon felt inside himself had spilled from your lips as well.

“I HAVE EVERYTHING TO PROVE!!”

Hiding behind the excuse of trying to appease them because you hated yourself, trying to prove your worth to the team even though you were just trying to find reasons to justify your own existence to your fractured soul.

There had been a moment after Soap and Gaz had arrived back to Price and Ghost, despondent and despairing at your rejection, where Ghost had considered the possibility that this time you would stay down.

Yet, in some ways a miracle, and in some way entirely expected, here you are.

Ghost allows himself to take in all the tiny details as you preoccupy yourself with showing off photos to Gaz on your phone. The sergeant crowds in close, and on your other side Soap cranes his head to see properly, complaining about the lack of attention until you reveal the photos to him as well. You’re smiling in a way Ghost has never seen before, and it makes something inside his stomach flip in that strange, foreign sort of flutter he can’t understand.

“Do you want to see, LT?” You ask, and Ghost blinks, nods mutely as he leans in to look at a landscape picture of autumn colors from Virginia. You look at him expectantly, and it takes effort for Ghost to not blink in surprise at the new, glimmering light in your eyes. Honest, yes, focused, but...happy.

He nods again silently, offering a little hum, and it seems to be enough for you as you lean across the table to show Price as well. The captain says something Ghost doesn’t make out beyond the odd thump of his heartbeat in his ears.

That flutter again. The one that makes his chest go strangely warm and tight.

Maybe he’s finally developing a heart murmur. Wouldn’t surprise him, given his line of work.

Yet the more he dwells on it, the more he realizes this isn’t the first time this sort of reaction has happened. No, as Ghost considers, he can recall a dozen different instances of something vaguely similar- an unnamed sort of self consciousness that began from the moment he met your eyes for the first time.

In training, when you’d looked at him after that first successful HALO-jump, hair wild, eyes wide, chest heaving with exhilaration but pride showing through for the first time he’d ever seen it. You’d looked to him for praise at your perfect performance, and Ghost had scarcely managed a ‘That’ll do’ before turning away from you with his chest clenching oddly.

In the field, propped alongside him flat against a rooftop staring through your rifle scope. Completely still, unmoving, scarcely breathing as you’d watched the target from a distance, not even flinching when Ghost instructed you to drop him. A single shot, and the slow exhale you’d released told multitudes of your own uncertainty at succeeding.

In a dim safehouse, where you’d dressed after your shower but your hair had clung damp to your exposed shoulders- an odd sort of sight that Ghost felt almost voyeuristic in witnessing. Vulnerable as you’d tugged a jacket over your sports bra, not seeming to notice the gaze trained on the sloping panes of your back.

Back at base, with your exhausted form crumpling into your bunk without even bothering to remove your gear. Ghost, who should have ignored you, chose instead to methodically remove your knee braces, your helmet, vest, your boots as you’d slept unaware. He’d meant to chew you out for not checking in your gear before falling asleep, but he never got the chance.

When you’d stood beside him after the sparring match, gazing towards the future as you were informed of your next assignment, Ghost had watched those eyes once more alight with something that pulled dangerously inside him. When he’d landed a hand on your shoulder, had offered a rare instance of praise, the strangeness inside him only grew warmer by the way your expression had changed into that of pride.

In Nepal, in the midnight darkness, when your trembling voice had whispered to him in the dark, only to grow pliant in his arms as his rumbling voice had echoed the truth he’d kept tightly concealed since the moment you first turned your gaze on him.

“I see you. Just you.”

Just you.

Ghost realizes he’s been silent for some time in his musings, which garners him a few sideways glances from the rest of the team. When Soap huffs a laugh and spouts some sort of Scottish gibberish, Ghost levels a look at him and reminds him with a small “English, MacTavish.” Which makes the Scot grumble further until you nudge an arm into his side.

“Tired?” Price murmurs, leaning imperceptibly closer to Ghost to question him in a tone the others can’t hear, and Ghost shrugs noncommittally. He could say yes as a means of covering his vaguely odd behavior, but then he’d hear some sort of remark from Price about sleeping properly- of which he doesn’t need a reminder.

“Blackball.” Gaz states solidly as he stands from the table a minute or so later.

“Pass.” Ghost states blandly, and adjusts in the space Gaz has left, spreading his legs wider so he’s more comfortable. Gaz shoots him an almost pouting look, and Ghost only blinks blankly back at him, to which the sergeant shrugs and looks at you.

“I’m rusty.” You confess sheepishly under his gaze, and before you can say anything else Soap is slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“We’ll teach ya.” The Scot offers, and Ghost can tell from the slight sway in his balance as he rises that the Scot is pleasantly tipsy- surprising, given his tolerance.

The three of you shuffle off towards the back end of the pub, and in your absence Price rises with a small groan from his chair.

“I’ll be heading out then.” He announces, gathering himself before placing a card down on the table. “My treat. Keep an eye on them, won’t you Simon?”

Ghost shoots his captain a withering look.

“No promises.” He tells him after a long pause, but he knows just by looking at Price’s smug expression that the captain knows it’s a lie. His second in command, asshole by design yet unable to not watch the six of his teammates.

“If you say so.” Price calls over his shoulder, and Ghost watches as he shrugs on his coat, the door chiming as he steps into the coming snow.

Ghost huffs, turns his attention towards the back of the pub where the younger trio has wandered off. Gaz, with his seemingly endless charm and amicability, has managed to snag the lone pool table out from under one of the other parties, who instead wander past Ghost towards the bar in search of another round. In their wake, Soap rambles the game’s rules to you, demonstrating his long reach with one of the billiard sticks as you nod studiously. There’s a slight scrunch to your brow that speaks of focus.

Loathe as he is to admit it, it’s...disarmingly charming.

He needs another drink.

Rather than rising for the bar, however, Ghost abandons the table and makes for the toilet. It’s only after he’s washing his hands that he pauses, looks up to the mirror placed on the wall and into his reflection.

He chose a simple balaclava tonight, dark eye paint not entirely smudged away from his time on base earlier. Yet it’s gone enough that he can make out the blonde of his eyelashes, the rims of his eyes that speak of pale skin.

Once there’d been a man there, in the mirror. Not much older than you, he thinks. Proud, arrogant, but dedicated and loyal to his duty.

Innocent, unknowing of the things that were to become of him.

Distantly, Simon wonders if maybe one day you’ll wear a mask too.

and silently, he realizes you already do.

Yet the thing hiding underneath your smile, your laughter, the blazing look in your eyes is not the shell of a broken man who has lost everything but has chosen to soldier on for the sake of doing something worth fighting for. No, the thing beneath your mask strives to claw out from the grave of grief you’ve found yourself in, dirt caught under your fingernails and voice choked of air as you fight to become the person you present yourself as. As someone who is free. Happy.

Like watching hellebore unfurl from the frost of a snowy mountain you can never seem to find the summit of.

and Ghost watches from below as the ascending shadow of you eclipses the rising sun.

When he makes his way back to the main room he finds the pub has begun to empty, the late hour beckoning folks home, and the incoming snowstorm hurrying those left behind. Gaz and Soap seem to pay the worsening weather no mind, if the clack of billiard balls is any indication. They talk in comfortable, slurring words, and Ghost distantly wonders if they’ll be hungover tomorrow. Maybe he should have them oversee the rookie drills. Just to be an ass about it.

Yet Ghost instantly notices you’ve wandered from the pool table back towards the bar, perched on a barstool and chatting to some young fellow beside you as the bartender makes more drinks.

Ghost feels his eyes narrow.

The bloke seems younger than you by a spring and then some, confident in the way of men his age. He seems to be doing most of the talking, and while to an outsider it may seem friendly enough, Ghost notices the way the man’s eyes dip to your lips as you politely smile and sip your drink, listening to him make small talk.

Ghost observes your eyes, the ease of your shoulders. You don’t seem uncomfortable, not with the way you smile back at him as Ghost passes behind you back in the direction of the booth. The fellow you’re talking to briefly glances over his shoulder, and does a double take at the skull mask wearing shadow behind his back before turning his attention back to you. Yet there’s a rigidity to his spine now, the sensation that he’s being watched.

Which, he shouldn’t be really. Ghost isn’t entirely sure himself why he’s observing the scene so closely, and even makes a point to tear his gaze away and pull out his phone for a bit. Yet he can’t stop the odd itchiness under his skin, the same instinct he has on the field. Sidelong glances at the bar reveal your conversation partner leaning in, his voice dipping an octave, how he barks a laugh at something you say.

You don’t seem to notice the gent’s clear interest in you, and that makes Ghost’s awareness itch with an odd sensation he can’t completely place. For his credit, the fellow doesn’t set off actual alarm bells in Ghost’s acutely tuned threat perception. In any other context, Ghost wouldn’t spare him a second glance. Yet now, with the way he tilts his head at you and smiles as you talk, Simon feels an odd discomfort brewing in the center of his stomach, like an inky pool of emotion he shouldn’t allow himself.

He should leave well enough alone.

Instead, he surprises himself by rising from his chair and trying to not stalk over to the bar so much as ease by catching your conversation partner’s eyes and murmuring something about an ID dropped in the bathroom.

The man pales, and Simon isn’t entirely sure if he truly believes the lie, or is simply intimidated by the hulking masked soldier grumbling at him. Either way he excuses himself, and Ghost makes a point to lean down into your ear as you watch him vanish.

“He’s bad news.” Ghost lies through his teeth.

You blink, gaze up at him in surprise with parted lips. “You really think so? He seemed nice.”

Ghost is silent, trying to ignore how that pit in his stomach seems to ease with the man’s absence. You seem to take his silence for an affirmation, nodding to yourself and sighing.

“I guess I should probably clear out before he comes back then.” You remark, finishing the remainder of your drink and catching Soap’s eye to gesture your exit. Soap makes a pout, but gives you a thumbs up.

“I’ll see you back at base, Ghost.” You tell him, easing off your stool and swaying only slightly. “Don’t stay out too late, it’s bad for your health.”

Says the woman that works alongside trained killers. Ghost thinks wryly.

Yet before you can make it five steps, Ghost surprises himself again.

“I’ll drive you back.”

You pause, blink at him, before a smile crawls across your face and you nod eagerly.

“Won’t leave me to the elements?” You ask, and Ghost wonders if you too are thinking of your shivering form caught in his arms in Nepal.

“No.” He responds quietly, sliding Price’s card across the bar to clear the team’s tab before following you out into the snow.

The bloke from before rounds the corner to the toilet just as Ghost hovers on the threshold, waiting for you to shrug on your jacket just outside. Ghost catches a single glimpse of recognition, of realization in the man’s eyes before the door jingles behind the two of you as it closes.

Ghost tries to ignore what this clearly looks like. What it actually is.

Snowflakes chase you into the car as you sidle into the passenger seat, catching on your hair. You shiver a little and tuck your jacket tighter around you.

“You should wear something warmer next time.” He finds himself saying over the start of the engine, and you offer him a bemused look.

“Looking out for me, Ghost?”

More than you know.

Yet Ghost doesn’t offer anything, shrugging noncommittally and turning on the radio to fill the silence. Cheery Christmas music instantly echoes through the tinny speakers and Simon reflexively shuts it off as soon as it starts, before the bitter taste of memory can poison his mouth. He expects you to call him on it, but instead you huff, shake your head.

“It’s not even Thanksgiving back in the states yet.” You complain. “I swear they start earlier every year.”

Simon hums as he turns onto the road. “Holiday plans?” He asks mildly, and notices the way you stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

That grief again.

“Probably some mice infested safehouse in a far corner of the world.” You reply after a beat. “Away in a manger and all that.”

That startles a snort from him. You turn to Ghost at the sound, eyes wide.

“You laughed.” You observe in awe, and Ghost gives you a momentary glance before shaking his head.

“Did not.”

“You did!”

“Had a snowflake in my nose.”

“Under the mask?”

“Mm.”

You huff, slumping in your seat a bit, but when Ghost glances at you out of the corner of his eye, he can see you smiling.

The silence lapses, fortunately, and Ghost is relieved to find you don’t try to fill the void. Instead you watch the snowy road ahead with drooping eyes, head nodding with the weight of a long journey and energetic evening. Eventually, he watches your eyes shutter close, and feels himself relaxing in response.

It would be frustrating, how much you trust him. Trusting him to get you back safe, to fall asleep beside him, believing him when he chases off a man with pure intentions only for the transgression of getting too close. You trust him to watch your six, to keep you alive, to drag you to safety. You trust him enough to push you out of airplanes only so he can catch you.

If it were anyone else, Ghost would be furious at you for being so blindingly accepting of them. Yet Ghost, in his seemingly infinite selfishness, soaks it in like the warmth of a rising sun. Like he himself emerges gingerly from the frost.

The lights of the town go by quietly, and in the lingering sound of festive lullabies Ghost is reminded of things passed- of the deadly cold and the searing heat of flames. He’s reminded of the grief he recognizes in your own eyes, wondering silently how it is you’ve found the strength to accomplish it despite it all and to keep smiling.

Silently, in the frost of his own heart, Simon tucks away a quiet warmth that’s begun to unfurl.

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neptuneiris · 9 months

Text

brooklyn baby (02/?)

we can go back to New York

pairing: rockstar!aemond × fem!reader

summary: you finally see the sexy guitarist again and after going through a disappointing time, things get interesting at a party where the whole band has been invited by Baela.

word count: 8.2k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

hi besties! here's the second chapter i'm so excited for you to read:) can't wait to read your comments, thanks for the amazing reception to the story, i love you guys! enjoy!

warnings: alcohol, smoking, kissing.

If there's anyone who hates the period a lot, it's you.

In desperate times many girls are relieved when it finally happens to them, fortunately you've never had a scare. But you feel completely sick and can't do anything when those days come every month.

Being irregular, you don't know exactly when it will happen, you've tried calculating, assuming and so on, you've even installed period apps, but nothing works. However, you should have known it was coming since you felt slight cramps this morning and since you started getting pimples two days ago.

But with so much to do from college, you didn't have time to prepare. And also a certain guitarist from a certain band wouldn't leave your thoughts alone sometimes.

Since that kiss almost happened, the next morning you were stalking him on Instagram, which is the only social media he has, compared to the remaining members who have Instagram, Twitter and TikTok.

But he's not even active.

The photos he has are only of the band promoting the tour, albums and songs, or also photos of some cities he has visited. He only has two posts with his brothers and cousins, where they are more like random photos before concerts. He has very few pictures of him and you can't even see his face since he doesn't see the camera, in all of them he plays the guitar and nothing else.

There is nothing about his day to day life really, just music. Also you notice that he posts photos every few months, although lately he has been posting more consistently due to the concerts, but it's all about the band.

You go into Aegon's account, trying to find Aemond in his pictures where he's not doing anything related to his guitar, but there's nothing of him if it's not that way. You see how Aegon takes funny pictures and uploads videos with his brother and cousins where they laugh and make jokes, but none of it shows him.

The same on Jace, Luke and Daeron's account, there's nothing from Aemond if it's not band related.

Instantly this catches your attention more, guessing that he most likely doesn't really like social media and keeps himself as private as possible, seeming so different to you, so mysterious and appealing in a ridiculous way simply because of that.

And yet he has many followers, which is understandable, it is obvious why in addition to his music, when he follows at most three hundred accounts, all of them music accounts, he also follows his siblings, his cousins and other people who must belong to his team.

You let out a groan and finally leave Aemond's account in peace, sinking your face into your pillow, feeling the cramps stronger than before, so you try to calm down and seek to feel more comfortable so you can let the pills take effect.

And even when the cramps are less, you still don't feel energetic or up for anything, entertaining yourself on your phone or watching TV, not wanting to leave the warmth of your bed because you really feel terrible.

So when you least expect it, you fall asleep. When suddenly, someone's scream wakes you up.

"Y/N!"

You raise your gaze instantly, startled, as you see frightened and confused Rhaena at the door of your room, entering, watching you in horror.

"W-what... what are you doing here?" you stare at her between irritated and confused now, still sleepy.

"What are you doing like that?" she asks you incredulously and on the verge of collapse to then watch as she looks down the hallway, "Baela, hurry up! She looks awful!"

You watch her seriously.

"Wow, thanks."

"What? What happe-oh shit," Baela also appears, watching you instantly in horror and shock, "W-what... what are you doing?" she looks at you blankly.

"What are you guys doing?" you ask back, irritated, "How did you get in?"

"It can't be, have you forgotten?" Rhaena looks at you incredulously, "Tonight is the concert of your sexy guitarist."

"Yes," says Baela, "Tonight," she repeats terribly serious, "Now can you explain why you're not ready? We have to go now."

"I'm not going," you say grumpily, laying your head back down on your pillow lazily.

"What do you mean you won't going? Are you crazy?"

"You better be kidding me."

"You guys... I'm having a horrible headache right now and I feel like if I get up now I'm going to throw up, not to mention that every breath I take I feel more blood coming out, so could you please leave my room quietly and let me continue sleeping in peace?"

The room falls silent for a moment.

"Oh no, don't tell me that," you hear Rhaena say disappointedly.

And then you listen as Baela complains, also disappointed.

"And you feel very bad?"

"Very," you answer her without hesitation.

"It's your first day?"

"Yes and I feel like shit."

"But Y/N... you can't miss it," Rhaena says worriedly.

"The sexy guitarist gave you the free tickets to see you again," Baela insists too, "I understand you're sick but wouldn't it be rude if you didn't go?"

You let out a huge groan against your pillow and then look at them with a pained expression.

"You think I haven't thought about it too? Of course I have," you let them know sadly, "I'm just as upset as you are, but what am I supposed to do? Everything hurts, I feel awful and besides you want me to let him see me like this with all my greasy, zitty face?"

Baela and Rhaena exchange a look.

"She's right," Rhaena tells her with a look of pity.

And again they both focus on you.

"Okay, we get it," Baela says resignedly, "So is there anything you want to send the sexy guitarist to say?"

"No," you tell her instantly, confused, "I already feel bad enough about not going. I don't want to be so cynical as to tell him I couldn't go but still thank him for the tickets."

And without saying anything else, your cousins don't insist but they are still disappointed since they will have to go to the concert without you.

You really wanted to go, you wanted to see him again and you wanted to spend time with him again like last time, to get to know him a little more and maybe... just maybe, to find out what else could happen between the two of you.

But now, once your cousins leave, you can only go back to trying to sleep, wanting to forget about the world for a while and not think about him or the concert that will happen in another hour that you couldn't attend.

So the hours pass, the sun in New York begins to set and the nightlife in the city begins, which is what characterizes it so much. And yet by the time severe hours have passed, you are still asleep, very tired and your period is not helping you to have any energy, submerged in a deep sleep.

When around two o'clock in the morning, you are again awakened and your peace of mind is interrupted by feeling absolutely nothing. And those responsible? Your cousins again, of course.

"What?" you say completely sleepy, closing your eyes tightly as the light hits you directly when are turned on.

"Wake up, you have to hear this!" squeals Rhaena excitedly, followed by Baela, both invading your bed, each lying on your sides, while you grunt and groan, sinking your face back into your pillow.

"Leave me alone," you plead weakly.

"Stop sleeping already," Rhaena shakes you, "I bet you've slept all day!"

"As I should."

"Y/N, seriously, you must know this," Baela insists as well.

"What? What thing? Talk now so you can leave me alone," you say irritably, still with your eyes closed.

"How mean you are," Rhaena says with a pout

"Let her, she's on her period, it's understandable."

"Then tell her!"

"The sexy guitarist asked us about you."

And that's more than enough for sleep to leave your system and you open your eyes, so you instantly turn to watch your cousins carefully, brushing your hair out of your face and looking completely surprised and now very interested.

"What?" you inquire, watching them intently.

"Yes!" squeals Rhaena excitedly, nodding, "And Baela made out with Jace," she adds innocently.

You open your eyes wide.

"What!?"

"It just happened," Baela shrugs, with a look of superiority, amused, "It was amazing, by the way. We exchanged numbers, too."

"And Aemond?" you ask more than attentively.

"Well, we were talking to Jace and Luke already by the time the after party was over. We were at the bar when Aegon joined us and he was coming with Aemond, so..." Rhaena laughs excitedly, "Jace and Luke were called I think by their manager, so we stayed with the two of them."

"He didn't talk at all, he was just ordering drinks," Baela clarifies.

"Yes and... when Aegon also ordered a drink, he did talk to us, but to ask us about you."

"He asked us where you were and we told him you couldn't come because you were sick."

"And he just nodded and continued drinking," Rhaena finished.

You avert your gaze from both of them for a moment, focusing on your TV, and then dropping your head back onto your pillow, your gaze resigned, so you let out a long sigh and go back to blaming your period for not being able to go tonight.

"But he looked disappointed, we know," Baela assures you with a small smile, "I even felt bad for him."

"Are you sure?" you ask her not really convinced about that.

"Yes, very. If he wanted to hide it, it didn't come out."

You let out a long breath again, bringing your hands to your face, wanting to let go of the frustration somehow, but you can't.

"Oh Y/N, come on, cheer up," Rhaena tells you without wiping off her smile.

"Yes, this is not the end," Baela adds.

"It's not the end?" you repeat confused, "This was literally my last chance to see him again and I couldn't go."

"Stop it, drama queen," Baela says to you again amused, "You've already forgotten Jace?"

"What about him?"

"That he and I are in contact now, silly."

"So?"

"God, I can't handle her," you hear her say to Rhaena.

"Just tell her. That way we'll make her feel better."

"Yeah, just tell me so i can keep sleeping," you tell her too.

You listen as she lets out a long breath.

"The band will be taking a short break. Their last concert will be next Saturday here in Manhattan and Jace has invited us."

She finally tells you and even though you don't show it, you feel interested to hear such news.

"So now you get to see your sexy guitarist," Rhaena tells you with a mischievous tone.

After an exhaustive search through your closet, making combinations with a lot of shirts, skirts, pants and shoes, you finally put together your perfect outfit.

Thank God your period is over and another horrible week of stress, frustration, worry and this time pain is over, until it's finally time to have a good time. And since you're going to the concert, you decide to choose your all black outfit.

You choose a black skirt, a black sleeveless shirt that exposes part of your stomach, black high boots and a black blazer on top. The only colored thing you bring with you is your small white hanging bag. (click)

Your make-up is not too much, but it is elaborate, because you really want to look good. So at the end you apply a matte red lipstick and style your hair in light waves, leaving it completely loose.

You choose silver jewelry and in the end you love the result, seeing yourself with a little smile in your full-length mirror, happy and excited. Then you head to Baela's apartment, which is actually in the same building and in the same hallway as yours.

You both go to NYU, only she studies fashion and you study business management. You always wanted to live alone, you love your privacy and having a place to yourself, so you got your apartment with the help of your parents and Baela joined you shortly after, although it's really like you both live together.

Rhaena just started college months ago and lives with her roomie, Sara, in the dorms provided by the university.

"Wow."

That's the first thing Baela says to you when she opens the door to her apartment and looks as ready as you do.

"Yeah, wow to you too," you tell her laughing.

"Oh my god-you look so hot," Rhaena says to you, appearing behind Baela.

"Thanks, you too, both," you assure them, "So are we leaving or what?"

"In a moment, I'm waiting for Jason to answer my messages," Baela tells you with her phone in her hand.

"Jason?"

"Lannister."

"Jason Lannister?" you repeat confused, "Your friend the rich guy who lives in that huge, fancy apartment in Upper East Side?"

"That same one. He's having an party tonight and I asked him if I could bring the band after the concert is over. The after party will only last an hour and Jace had said that after that they wanted to go out and celebrate."

"Oh," you nod, "Well, that sounds great," you say, as inevitably a wave of excitement washes over you.

"Oh-he has replied!" she says excitedly, her gaze fixed on her screen, "And he said yes!"

"Great! Now let's go, I want to see Luke," Rhaena says desperately, ushering you both out of the apartment.

Driving doesn't take as long as last time, as you literally crossed half of Manhattan in order to get to Brooklyn and also half of Brooklyn in order to get to the club where the concert was.

And once you get to the club, finding parking is a bit difficult but you make it and finally Baela hands the three tickets to the security man to let you in. Once inside, you get the feeling that there are more people than there were in Brooklyn, seeing all the girls very excited and rushing into the club to get to the front of the stage.

You see Baela texting with Jace and the three of them make it to the front, in a seemingly exclusive section with a great view of the entire stage where they are allowed in after she shows security her phone screen.

"What did you show them?" you ask confused and curious.

"Some messages from Jace," she says with a certain superiority, making you laugh and shake your head at the same time.

Rhaena insists that the three of you take selfies and so you do, killing time as the concert begins. The minutes go by, the place slowly starts to fill up, security brings order, everything is ready on stage and after the lights are turned off for a moment, calling everyone's attention, the concert finally starts.

The first to come out is Aegon, clearly, greeting the whole audience and the other guys follow him, causing the excited and euphoric screams of all the girls.

Instantly your gaze focuses on him, on Aemond, making you smile a little as you watch him focus totally on the music, not even looking much towards the audience, taking a seat at one of the speakers, completely focused on his guitar. And again you become totally absorbed in him.

He looks so handsome, like it's not an everyday thing, with his black pants and a plain white t-shirt, making his black electric guitar stand out, while his hair looks as good as ever.

And the way he plays his notes, the way his face concentrates and the way he lights up the occasional cigarette during the concert, he looks completely sexy.

And you are not the only one who notices these details, you see how some girls around you focus the camera of their phones on him, you also hear how some of them scream his name or go crazy in his solos, all wanting to get his attention.

But then again… Aemond doesn't react much with his audience and only gives head gestures, that being enough for him and stay focused on the music. This especially catches your attention a lot, as his behavior is totally different from Aegon or Daeron.

In fact you were hoping that he will manage to see you in the whole audience, as Jace and Baela although they are not far away but not too close either, both still exchange glances and he especially focuses a lot on your cousin most of the time.

Then comes another solo from Aemond, looking extremely sexy in the way he focuses on hitting his notes perfectly, filling the place with more screams. And you watch in admiration, because even if you wanted to, you couldn't play guitar like that.

You see how there is a man with a camera taking pictures of everyone and him especially at that moment on stage, probably being the band's photographer. There are lots of lighting effects, the whole club looks great and they all put on an amazing show, since it's the last one.

You sing and dance along with your cousins, really enjoying the moment, since even though you were suffering all the week before because of your period, you still started listening to their songs and learned them.

You take more videos together, you also take several videos of everything and you may have focused on recording him a little bit more sometimes, unable to help it.

When it's time to finish.

Aegon again takes charge of dismissing the whole band, causing screams and applause from the whole audience towards them, all the girls screaming and throwing bracelets and necklaces on stage. The five of them say goodbye at the same time, Aemond again without showing much emotion and it's all over.

The after party takes place right there, as the club has its own separate pub-like bar section, so the girls with tickets to meet the band are guided, among them you too with your cousins, by security guards to a huge door that will take them there directly.

Upon entering the pub, everything is empty except for the bartender and more security people. The bar is also free and all the girls start getting ready with their t-shirts, caps and posters more than ready.

"I'll meet Jace before he comes out. I'll be right back," Baela says to Rhaena and you, visibly excited.

It's not as if she can be stopped, as she quickly heads down a hallway where you assume must be those break rooms where everyone in the band keeps their stuff while they tend to the fans and where they must all be now.

"Do you think Baela will take him to his apartment when Jason's party is over?" asks you Rhaena with a knowing look.

"Don't even doubt it," you assure her.

Then finally the band starts to come out, causing the screams of all the excited girls, quickly wanting to head towards them, but security instantly starts to bring order, controlling everything and asking all the girls to line up and wait their turn without scandal.

You don't move from where you are, but watch everything carefully, wanting to find Aemond. But it's just like last time… everyone shows up but him.

"Done," Baela suddenly appears with a small smile, "Jace sends his greetings."

"Wow sis, you didn't even sweat," Rhaena tells her amused and you let out a loud laugh which makes Baela look at her serious.

"Very funny."

"And what else did he tell you? Everyone is going to Jason's party?" you ask her interested.

"Everyone or Aemond?"

"Aemond," you answer reluctantly.

"Yes, everyone is going."

"And where is he?" asks Rhaena confused, watching the guys with all the fans, "They are all except him."

"I don't know, he was in that room with everyone, he looked… serious and bored."

"He's hiding, like last time," you say, "Eventually he'll have to come out."

"And you're going to talk to him?" says Rhaena excitedly to you.

"I think so," you nod to her.

"She's going to talk to him," Baela says in affirmative mode, serious and threatening.

Then Rhaena is the one who wants to approach Luke, so she asks you to go with her, while Baela takes the opportunity to order something from the bar, so when you start to wait in line, the wait is long.

Rhaena suddenly starts talking to some girls who are behind you both, also waiting, so you entertain yourself on your phone, killing a little more time, although from time to time you participate in Rhaena's conversation with those girls about the band, their favorite songs and so on.

When you briefly inspect the pub, you notice a platinum-haired person starting to join in, catching your attention. You step aside, as Rhaena obstructs your view a bit, and then finally there he is.

As soon as he leaves the hallway, a bunch of girls rush towards him, all smiling and excited, clearly happy to finally see him, to which the security guys instantly bring order and he starts signing and taking pictures with them.

You watch everything with a small smile, inevitably starting to feel nervous and you don't understand why, since he hasn't even seen you and doesn't even know you are here, but his presence in the same place as you already makes you feel that way.

At that moment your mind starts to plan what exactly you will do to get closer to him, telling yourself that you can choose a poster this time and have him sign it for you, but just thinking about it and such a simple action already makes you terribly nervous.

You think that Rhaena or Baela might come with you, but you don't even have the slightest idea how to start the conversation or what exactly to talk to him about, fearing that your nerves will betray you and you'll act like a fool.

So you also think you might as well do nothing and wait for a miracle to happen and he will notice you.

You let out a long breath, since of course you can't decide to do nothing if the man gave you free tickets and you didn't go to the concert, so this is the least you can do, however, you feel very nervous and you also start to get frustrated.

"There's finally your sexy guitarist," Rhaena says to you suddenly, excited, looking in the same direction as you, "Are you going to go to him?"

"Later, I'm just feeling nervous," you confess to her.

"Relax. When he sees you, he'll probably feel as nervous as you do, too, so you won't be the only one."

You frown.

Aemond nervous? You don't think he's nervous at all.

You can't focus on him anymore because the line starts to move faster, so now you focus on helping Rhaena with the pictures and also to want to see her shyly flirting with Luke, who is also shyly flirting with her.

Rhaena and Luke's moment unfortunately passes quickly, but he still tells her that he will see her at the party, in a whisper obviously, and then the following girls come by to meet him and talk to him.

Then again you focus on Aemond, but you are surprised to see that he is no longer with all the fans around him, he has simply disappeared.

Confused, you start looking around, not understanding where he has gone, bewildered, as it was only a brief moment when he was attending to fans and he should stay longer or not? When you are directing your gaze in all directions, you finally focus on that hallway where he had come out before, finding him.

However, what you see is definitely not what you expected.

You see how he heads to the men's restroom, which is normal, but what catches your attention is how a girl or rather a fan goes after him, not hesitating to follow him. And then they enter the restroom together, as he closes the door behind him.

And it's clear what they both went to do, you're not stupid.

You continue to stand there for a few more moments, staring at the closed door, feeling slightly surprised as you really didn't expect to see him like this and you also begin to feel disappointed.

Unable to help it, sadness and anger come over you, as you also feel discouraged now.

With a sad and disappointed look, also a bit serious, you avert your gaze to head towards the bar, all the while biting the inside of your cheek and trying not to let your emotions show too much on your face, but you cannot.

As you take a seat on the stool, you watch as your cousins are with Aegon, so when you inevitably start to think more about it, disappointment washes over you as well along with everything else you're feeling.

You had expectations of him, but you never expected him to be that kind of guy, that's why you feel so disappointed and you can't help it, not even having the energy to be here anymore.

That's why he offered to give me his merch inside that room in Brooklyn.

You think, since that's why you feel angry, not because you saw him with another girl, but because he wanted the two of them to be alone that one nigh and it happened, the two of them kissed, but what would have happened if Aegon hadn't interrupted you? Probably you two would have fucked, as was his purpose.

You start to feel really bad about that and get frustrated with yourself, because even this you should have expected, yet you didn't even though it was too obvious.

He is absolutely handsome and plays in a band, so he meets a lot of girls almost every day and every single one of them he has at his feet, so… who would be fool enough to say no to him? No one.

You were just going to be another one of the crowd.

You say to yourself, really sad, disappointed and upset.

You want to get out of here but you continue to wait for your cousins at the bar, order a drink just to kill time and try not to think about him, knowing perfectly well that you must have a very cold face.

You let out a long breath, continuing to wait, wait and wait, until Baela and Rhaena appear.

"Hey, did you talk to the sexy guitarist?" asks Baela, excited and interested.

"Yes," you lie, trying to put on your best possible face.

"And what happened?" asks you now Rhaena, also excited.

"I'll tell you later."

Luckily they don't insist and Baela again turns to Jace, so Rhaena stays with you, showing you the photos and videos she took of the concert, also the ones from a few moments ago with Luke, asking her which one is the best to post on her Instagram stories.

You're with her for a while, when you raise your gaze to observe the whole pub for a second, although you unconsciously look towards that hallway as well, when then your breath is cut short and you see how Aemond comes out of there to join the inside of the pub again, with Aegon by his side.

You must have averted your gaze the second you saw him come out, for suddenly Aemond casually glances over to where you are, both of your gazes crossing at that moment.

You don't manage to read his gaze, as again nerves and disappointment wash over you, so you instantly avert your eyes from him and focus back on Rhaena, trying to not let his gaze on you affect you.

However, you can feel how he continues to watch you, his burning gaze completely on you, but you don't respond to him anymore, in fact you feel more the need to get out of here now that he has already noticed your presence.

Out of the corner of your eye you watch as he attends to more fans, while at the same time talking to Aegon, who also attends to fans, but every now and then… you feel his gaze on you again, one that was screaming for you to watch him as well, but you didn't.

"The girls are already leaving."

Rhaena tells you, pointing to the doors and watching as the guards ask the fans who have already had their moment with each member of the band to leave.

"I'll go talk to Luke, I'll be right back," she tells you, starting to get up from her stool.

"Actually," you get up too, stopping her, "I'll go ahead to the party. You and Baela are going with Jace and Luke right?"

She frowns.

"Yes, but…

"Great. I'll see you guys over there then, you tell Baela please."

You start to walk past her, heading towards the doors.

"Wait, Y/N," Rhaena stops you, grabbing your arm, "Are you okay? What happened?" she asks you softly, confused, "I thought you wanted to be near Aemond, did something happen with him?"

You bite your lips, hesitant, as you really don't want to lie to your cousin, but you also don't want to tell her and look so dramatic about it, as it has nothing to do with you but you still feel disappointed and like a fool.

"Yes," you finally tell her, in a whisper "But I'll tell you later."

"You promise?" she looks at you, not entirely convinced.

"I promise," you assure her, "I'll see you there."

She has no choice but to let you go, telling you to call her in case of anything, so you nod and are finally able to walk away, starting to walk out of there with your car keys in hand, not letting go of that burning stare on you until you leave the pub.

At first you thought about deciding not to go to the party, sounding like a good plan for you, however, you were well aware that Baela would kill you and probably never forgive you if you decided such a thing, so now you are here, in Jason Lannister's luxurious apartment and with a bunch of other college students enjoying the party.

As you walk in, you greet a few people you know and also Jason, who asks you about Baela, Rhaena and those guys in that band she told him she was bringing.

You catch up with him, telling him they shouldn't be long and then you notice how all the people here are Baela's friends and also studying fashion, except Jason is studying law, so there are more people from that faculty as well.

You decide to help set up the beer pong tables, just to entertain yourself and start enjoying the party, while you talk to Jason and his friends, when not too long after, a half hour maybe, your cousins with them finally arrive.

You watch them almost from the other side of the huge apartment, watching as Baela greets her friends and introduces the band, where Aegon, Daeron and Jace look more than ready to start enjoying themselves, while Luke stays more calm and relaxed with Rhaena.

And even though you didn't want to, you still inevitably focus on him.

He closes the door behind him with a completely relaxed and unconcerned expression and posture, to your bad luck already having a cigarette on his lips, as he watches the whole party around him, now wearing a different black t-shirt.

And of course, his arrival starts to draw the attention of all the girls at the party and not only on him, on all of them, seeing them with a few small smiles and more than interested.

You avert your gaze, deciding not to make a big deal out of it, continuing to place the plastic cups on the table, though really, it's only a matter of time before Baela finds you, bringing them all with her.

With Jason at your side, she introduces them to him and he starts talking to them, while you continue to set everything up, deliberately ignoring his burning gaze when he sees you, not letting it get to you.

And after that it's only a matter of time before the real party starts.

People start dancing and your cousins along with all of them take a seat on some couches, starting to drink, so it's only a matter of time before Aegon gets up and now he's in a corner making out with a girl mercilessly, just like Jace and Baela, this surprising you but you're very excited for her.

Rhaena and Luke are also in a corner close together, but they're both talking, both with shy but willing little smiles, so you're sure that by the end of the night, something will have happened between them.

And at the end, Daeron and Aemond are still sitting on the couches, both drinking, with one girl already talking to Daeron, both very flirtatious, but you don't approach him.

Wherever you move in the apartment, you feel his gaze on you, always. However, you drink and enjoy yourself, although you don't go over one beer either, since you have to drive. But you admit that his gaze on you makes you very nervous and as much as you don't want to give it any importance, you can't.

Until one moment when you are talking to Jason, just for once you decide to return his gaze, and that's what happens, you look at him and he is already watching you so intensely and with a look between serious and curious.

But the moment doesn't last long, because just when you both exchange glances for two seconds, suddenly a girl appears and takes a seat next to him, starting to talk to him, her intentions clear, so he looks away from you to her.

You look away, finishing what's left of your bottle of beer with just one gulp, then you leave the empty bottle on the kitchen island and decide to go out to the balcony for some fresh air, as the place is getting more and more crowded and it's starting to feel suffocating.

Once outside, you enjoy a bit of the quiet, even though you can still hear some music although this doesn't bother you, as you observe the view offered by some New York skyscrapers around you, looking beautiful and eye-catching.

You don't know how long you last there, but you enjoy it, wanting to take another moment before going back to the party. When suddenly… you must have expected that the moment of the night would come for you and Aemond.

The doors open letting in more music and you turn around, this getting your attention, when again nerves and shame come over you, seeing that it's Aemond. But he is not alone… he enters the balcony along with Aegon, who laughs along with…. Cregan?

"Man, all this stuff I missed if I had gone to college," Aegon says, smiling.

Cregan laughs, giving him a friendly tap on his shoulder.

"Oh dude, you don't know what you're talking about."

When then both of their gazes focus on you, to which you wave your hand and smile a bit apologetically, but not for them, but for him, who continues to stare at you like that.

"Y/N?" inquires Cregan, approaching you, watching you incredulously.

"Hi," you smile at him.

"My godness, I haven't seen you in ages!" he exclaims happily, then locks you in a tight hug.

"Please, it's only been months," you tell him amused, reciprocating his hug.

"It's been years for me," he tells you melancholy, pulling away.

And you both laugh.

"So you know Baela's cousin," Aegon says without wiping away his smile, stepping closer, watching you and Cregan continuously.

"Yes," Cregan says, "You know them?" he asks you, pointing at him and Aemond, who stands apart.

"Baela and Rhaena are hanging out with their cousins," you tell him, nodding.

"Oh yes, the drummer and the bass player."

And you nod.

"And how do you two know each other?" asks Aegon, interested.

"We were classmates in business management," Cregan explains to him, "But I decided to change careers to law."

"At NYU?"

You both nod, as does he, now understanding, while Aemond still continues to stand apart, but at no point do you fail to feel his gaze on you, making you still very nervous but distracting with Cregan at your side.

"I didn't know the three of you knew each other," you decide to say, confused and slightly interested.

"Oh, we didn't know each other," Aegon says.

"We only just met a few moments ago when we played beer pong together," Cregan tells you with a small smile.

And you don't say anything else, that being so random, since the two of them barely met and apparently are now best friends, Cregan and Aegon more than anything, since Aemond continues to be just as serious.

"Anyway, have you seen Alysanne?" asks you Cregan, interested and hopeful.

"Yes, a while ago," you nod to him.

"Great. I'm going to go look for her, I haven't seen her in years either."

"Good luck," you smile at him.

"I'm coming with you," Aegon says instantly following suit, "Maybe your girl has a hot friend she can introduce me to."

Cregan laughs and just as they arrived together laughing and as best friends, they leave, only now you're left alone... with Aemond.

So there it is again… that tense air, but not a bad one somehow, as the both of you are left alone and there is an appropriate distance between the two, but again, you can't help but feel terribly nervous.

And even though you don't want to, still that moment of him going into the restroom with that girl keeps replaying in your mind, unable to help it. And that's why you look everywhere but at him, trying to distract yourself with the view.

Then he starts smoking, both of you without saying a word, just listening to the music and the sound of the city around you, which makes you feel a little uneasy, since you can't just leave like that, it would be too rude.

And again… that almost kiss invades your mind and doesn't leave you in peace, while you bite your lips and try to control your nerves, not having the slightest idea of what to do or what to say.

The slight smell of cigarette reaches your nostrils and you try to act as nothing, just like him, whom you see out of the corner of your eye and apparently, compared to you, he is comfortable and unconcerned.

Until he speaks.

"Are you always this quiet?"

He asks you and you bite your lips again, this making you feel more nervous, as you feel him watching you, but you don't look back at him.

"No," you reply, trying to act just as unconcerned as he does, "I'm just… relaxing."

"Hm," he says and you watch just for a second as he takes a drag on his cigarette, " You don't like parties?"

"Yes, I do," you reply softly.

And there you finally dare to look him in the eye, but you regret it the second you do, as he is already watching you and in that way, again as if he wants to see right through you, so burning and intense. So you steel yourself and continue firm, not letting him weaken you.

"I actually thought you didn't like parties," you decide to say, just to create a topic of conversation.

"I don't like them," he says and exhales smoke through his lips, looking away from you for a moment, "But I wanted to come," he says to return to watching you with such intensity.

And God, all you can think about is how ridiculously handsome he looks tonight, from his clothes, his face, his posture, the way he's looking at you, even the way he's smoking, basically everything about him.

There is a brief silence between the two of you, not uncomfortable fortunately, when suddenly he says to you:

"You didn't go to the concert."

Shit.

And there it is again, the nerves, which makes you look away from him for a moment and bite your lips.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry," you tell him softly, "I got sick."

"Yeah," he nods, "Your cousins said something like that. But don't apologize, it's fine."

"But I wanted to go," you clarify.

He places a small grin on his face, watching you intently.

"Did you?"

And you nod.

"At this concert you didn't even stay until the end."

Fuck.

You curse, thinking fast, again with that moment of him and that girl going into the restroom replaying in your mind, which was the reason you decided to leave early and why you decided to ignore him.

But ignoring him didn't work for you anymore since now you're here with him… alone.

"Of course I did, I saw the whole concert," you play dumb.

"I mean the after party."

He tells you softly and you again avert your gaze, terribly nervous, having no idea what to say to him now, since you can't tell him you left because you saw him that way with one of his fans. So instead, you lie, making an excuse about the party.

"I had to come here earlier to help set everything up," you explain, looking at him again, trying to sound convincing.

At this, he lets out a long breath, averting his gaze, bringing his cigarette to his lips.

"What a shame," he says in a sigh, then takes a drag.

This catches your attention, but you say nothing more, only until after you think clearly about what you are going to say before you speak.

"Baela said you're not giving any concerts until about a month," you say and he looks at you again.

"Yes, that's true," he says and you watch as he casually slides further towards you, beginning to close the distance between you, "But you could still come."

You frown.

"To where?"

"To rehearsals and then to the concerts."

At this you say nothing, you just continue to watch him, beginning to have a dilemma in mind about it and also beginning to be affected by how he is gradually moving closer to you, doing it so casually and so calculatingly, without stopping smoking, that you hate that he is already starting to make you feel that way.

You don't want to be another one of the crowd, remember?

Your serious mind tells you, since that's why you were crying before and why you decided to avoid him and get to this party earlier.

But God, you think, since he, everything about him, affects you and so much, so much so that you can't even avoid him anymore, starting little by little to let yourself be carried away by him.

And well says Baela that the flesh is weak.

You think grumpily.

"Or what? You really don't want to see me anymore?"

He asks you with that grin, weakening you more completely and making you more nervous, averting your gaze from him for a moment, really not being able to because of the way he's looking at you and making you react.

"N-no, I mean, yeah," you reply foolishly, "Yeah, okay," you look at him, "I'll go."

Then a small satisfied smile appears on his lips.

"Very well, but if you don't go…"

He begins to say, leaving his sentence in suspense and completely stealing your breath when he finally shortens the remaining distance between the two of you, at the same time as he tosses his now non-existent cigarette away, watching you attentively and determinedly.

You tense up completely and watch him completely attentive and nervous, unable to move, your legs and mind not reacting at all at that moment, starting to feel your heart beating too fast.

"If I don't go what?"

You can formulate in the midst of your nervousness in a mumble, as a distraction, as you inevitably look between his face and his lips with your lips parted.

"If you don't go like last time I'm going to be very angry and very disappointed."

You watch him in complete surprise, just at that instant also realizing how incredibly close the two of you are, the two of you completely invading each other's personal space, his entire presence and essence enveloping you completely.

And then this whole scene, it's just like when you both were about to kiss like last time, close to each other and with that tense air. When Aemond says something to you that steals your breath away.

"It was very rude to leave me waiting, you know that?" he says to you in a hoarse voice, his whole gaze determined and his eye dilated, full of desire.

"Did you really want to see me?" you ask him in a whisper.

"What do you think?"

Again your breath catches, as you focus entirely on him, watching or rather admiring the closeness of his face to yours, not being able to help it anymore, not wanting to pull away and wanting more of him.

Then you know there is no turning back when he raises his hand and places it on your cheek gently, caressing your skin with his thumb, continuing to watch you with that attention and with that desire at the same time that he sticks your chest with his, pulling you to him.

Again you watch his lips, completely absorbed in him, feeling your heart still beating too fast and completely enjoying this moment.

"If I don't see you again Y/N…"

He says again, not letting you go, with that direct, firm and challenging tone from before, but leaves his sentence in suspense again.

"What?" you ask him, wanting to know what's going to happen if he doesn't see you again.

But he doesn't say anything more to you, on the contrary, he starts leaning towards you, making you feel like your heart will jump out of your chest at any moment, when his other hand places it on your waist and the atmosphere changes completely.

And then you close your eyes, letting yourself be completely carried away and finally… you feel his lips touch yours.

And as soon as you feel the contact, you are enveloped by a sensation you haven't felt for a long time and you lift your face a little more towards him, pressing your lips more firmly with his.

A slow but completely purposeful and deep kiss begins, as he moves closer towards you, clinging and you let him, beginning to move your lips more constantly, as does he, as you bring your hands up and place them on his chest.

The kiss is perfect and with exact timing, as you feel him cling to you completely, not wanting to let you go, feeling him pull away an inch to take another angle and kiss you again, as you grab his shirt in a fist and pull him closer to you if possible.

You feel perfectly as he gently bites your upper lip in a way you haven't experienced before but firmly enough to make you gasp into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to enter your mouth, making you gasp in the middle of the kiss and bring one of your hands up to his hair, caressing it.

Now it's a fight, as you feel and hear the sound of saliva every time you move your mouths, being a wet kiss in which neither he nor you want it to end.

Everything about him is completely addictive, he is definitely an excellent kisser and you don't want him to stop, ever, enjoying the faint taste of cigarette and mint in his mouth.

"You're so beautiful, did you know that?"

He pulls away to tell you in a husky murmur, instantly attacking your lips again, never stopping caressing your cheek, at the same time he starts to pull you back until your back hits a table out here, now being trapped between it and his body.

You smile in the middle of the kiss, continuing to caress his neck and cheeks.

"You are so beautiful too, Aemond."

You manage to say between his lips, to again both resume the kiss, while you feel how he holds your waist tightly, which will probably leave marks on your skin since it's too firm, but you don't care.

Then his caresses start to be taken further, bringing his hand dangerously close to your ass, but you don't mind this either. When he suddenly lifts you up and sits you on the table behind you, making his way between your legs and caressing your thigh with one of his hands.

The mood changes completely, the whole air feeling too hot and with a need starting to appear in your lower abdomen.

Aemond caresses your thigh firmly and gently, which begins to bring waves of arousal to your core, especially as he grinds very gently against you, but pressing his hips right there as you hold him between your legs.

You gasp into his mouth, feeling too good and starting to drive you crazy, not only by his movements but also by the way he continues to kiss you, having you perfectly where he wants you.

You begin to feel his clear arousal against your center, as he grunts and continues to kiss you, bringing both hands to both of your thighs, caressing you and grinding himself more firmly and steadily against you, seeking relief, as you do, beginning to feel everything about you pulsing in an achingly delicious way.

However, the good things can't last forever.

Suddenly the doors to the balcony open again unexpectedly and this catches the attention of both of you, breaking the kiss and the moment instantly, seeing that it is a group of apparently already drunk friends, starting to make room for themselves on the balcony as well.

They notice you both but say nothing, going back to their own thing, to which you turn your focus back to Aemond, looking just as disappointed as he does at the interruption of the moment.

His lips are red and swollen, just as you must also look, so you try to get off the table, but he instantly won't let you, pressing his hips right back down there firmly, causing you to watch him in surprise and in alert.

"This is what I'll do the next time I see you if you don't go to the rehearsals and concerts," he tells you again with that determination and that honesty, his voice completely low and hoarse, not letting you go.

And at first you don't understand what he's talking about, still very overwhelmed and shocked by what happened, but mostly because he keeps pressing his hips right against your center.

But you remember what you were talking about earlier.

"W-what?"

Then that grin reappears, her gaze still full of desire and completely stealing your breath.

"I'll kiss you again without permission."

taglist:

@melsunshine @fan-goddess @toodlesxcuddles @helaenaluvr @tsujifreya @queenofshinigamis @manonmccrory @nockerin @iloveallmyboys @at-a-rax-ia

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond

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finoalcielo · 10 months

Text

PICTURE

☆ IRREGULAR FORTUNE ☆

SHUN: Today's lucky one is November, January be careful ▷ During a shoot HAJIME: Shun, there's something on your bangs... SHUN: Take it, take it♪ HAJIME: Stay still. SHUN: ... HAJIME: ... SHUN: Take it, take it♪ 📸 < Okay~! (click click) HAJIME: You.. left it there on purpose SHUN: I was found out~

#I want to see your eyes up close

#tsukiuta #tsukiuta twitter #tsukiutass #irregular fortune #six gravity #mutsuki hajime #procellarum #shimotsuki shun

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crosshairlovebot · 9 days

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falling for mr. batchbury / hunter x f!reader

pairing: hunter x f!reader

description: your feelings for Mr. Batchbury blossom as he and his brothers train on your father's estate before they go off to war. During his stay, you realise just how deep your feelings for him go, and maybe, just how much he feels for you too.

REGENCY AU

word count: 6,767

warnings: none. kissing. pining. secret crushes. love confessions.

i have loved the regency romance genre for such a long time, and i was struck with this idea and simply needed to realise it. this was SO fun to write. a good challenge, but mostly just an absolute delight. i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

PART ONE

Naval Officer Lieutenant Hugo ‘Hunter’ Batchbury had always been the kind of man who stood out in a crowd – whether he liked it or not. Not only did he sport a unique birthmark the rich colour of port wine across one side of his face, but his roguish handsomeness coupled with his taciturn air had every debutante of the ton vying for his attentions and hand in marriage.

It was vexing.

It was vexing for you, at least, to watch society fawn over the man who had held your heart for more than half a decade. He had been your secret – no one knew of Mr. Batchbury until after the Napoleonic Wars when he and his band of misfit brothers returned from sea.

Society relished in the gossip that the Batchbury family had made their fortune in the war. The tale of their enlisting was scintillating and circled the ton’s social circles like wildfire, whispers in every ballroom and gentleman’s club. Having initially enlisted in the Royal Navy to support their younger sister and save her from a life of destitution, Mr. Batchbury and his brothers moved through the ranks swiftly with the acquisition of prizemoney – their ship infamous for capturing many enemy ships, never losing a battle.

They were heroes in every sense of the word.

But you knew it before anyone else.

Your first encounter with the Batchbury family was when they arrived at your father’s estate for training with nearly nothing but the clothes on their backs. It was a highly irregular practice, but your empathetic father, a commodore of the Royal Navy, had allowed the Batchbury Brothers and their sister to stay with your family as they trained so they would not be separated from their younger sibling, who was but 13 years old with no other known family.

You and your mother had greeted them all upon arrival, politely welcoming them.

They’d stepped out of the carriage one by one, the tallest and broadest of them first. You wondered how he’d fit inside the coach. Then the spectacled one, then the grey-haired one and then Mr. Batchbury, with his long hair and facial birthmark. You remembered taking in a breath at the sight of him in all his glory. With his brown skin and dark curls blowing in the morning breeze, you were already taken with him, but that only increased tenfold when you watched him turn to help his sister down from the carriage, lifting her from under her armpits and setting her down next to him. You’d been unable to hide your smile when you watched him take his sister's hand in his.

“Hello,” was all he’d said, inclining his head politely before his eyes moved across your mother and then met yours, lingering there.

You were smitten.

You barely remember what words were exchanged between your father and mother and the Batchburys. Just their names. William, Thomas, Carlisle, Hugo, and Meg. You remember curtsying politely when you were introduced, your face hot as you met Mr. Batchbury’s gaze with a small smile. You also remember the whole interaction was slightly awkward and stilted; the Batchbury Brothers unsure of how to accept your family’s generosity.

Meg, however, was eager and talkative. You liked her.

Once they started their training, you spent the coming weeks watching them from afar with Meg, who longed to join them. And boy, were they quite a sight.

The Batchbury brothers were a healthy mix of brash, loud, clever and cunning. All close in age, they drew the eye in both looks and temperament, but they impressed your father astronomically. The four of them were his finest officers.

Finest in more ways than one, you often thought. Every single one of them was handsome in their own way, but the handsomeness of Mr. Hugo Batchbury had drawn your attentions immediately, and they have not strayed since.

You often spent hours looking out your drawing room window at the garden below, watching him train with his brothers and your father. He would grow sweaty and would end up wrapping a tie around his forehead to keep his collarbone length hair out of his face. Sometimes he would look up at the window, seeming to always know when someone was near, and wave at his sister before nodding at you. You’d flush every time.

You lost count of the number of times you had been scalded for daydreaming, thinking only of the way his ivory shirt billowed in the wind as he sparred with his brothers, a determined look on his face. But who could blame you? Daydreaming of Mr. Batchbury was, in fact, a better use of your time than embroidery.

In the evenings, the Batchbury family dined with your family. The thought thrilled you, knowing you would end every day in the company of Mr. Batchbury. He was often seated diagonally from you, giving you the perfect line of sight of his dark brown-grey eyes, his hooked nose, and his full lips. His face was truly sculpted by the Gods. You wished those dinners lasted all night, just so you could stare at him longer.

He would only engage in conversation when spoken to directly, otherwise, he remained quiet, only humming in agreement or nodding. Sometimes, you felt his eyes on you, but you were most likely imagining such things.

His brothers were the same, quiet bar a few snide remarks from Carlisle towards William, who often pouted in response. Meg would giggle until she received a chiding look from Mr. Batchbury. His spectacled brother, Thomas, could chatter on about everything and anything. You rather liked all of them.

You also enjoyed the way Mr. Batchbury’s mouth would quirk upwards at his brother’s ramblings. He truly was the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your life.

There was one morning, early in his stay at your estate, where you encountered Mr. Batchbury outside of these timetabled activities, and from there began your tumbling down into love.

You walked through the gardens, taking the air after a morning of lessons. Meg was a quick learner, but she bored easily of learning tedious hobbies like pianoforte, and so did you. While she snuck down to the kitchens for more food, you decided to go for a walk.

Your mother had these gardens landscaped to include a small hedge maze in the south corner. No one entered it anymore, except for you, which meant there were no chances of being bothered until you reemerged. But as you followed the familiar pathway towards the centre of the maze, you were surprised to find Mr. Batchbury sitting sideways on the stone bench you usually occupied, his legs stretched across as he hunched over something.

“Oh!” you gasped in surprise, stopping in the entrance to the maze’s centre.

Mr. Batchbury startled uncharacteristically and twisted to see you, his strange-coloured eyes wide and curly hair lifting in the gentle breeze. He wore his training gear, sans the tie around his head. The strings of his shirt were open to reveal his deep brown skin with a smattering of dark curly hair right on his sternum. You felt heat grow in your cheeks and tingle between your thighs. You averted your eyes. It was one thing to view it from your window, but another to see it mere metres from you.

“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Batchbury,” you apologised. “I did not expect to find anyone here.”

Mr. Batchbury inclined his head and turned his body towards you. “It’s quite alright.”

His voice was smoky and deep, and you felt it right down to the core of you. You flushed again.

“Please excuse me, I’ll let you get back to your…” You peered down to his lap which held a sketchbook, with a portrait of a woman you couldn’t completely make out. You watched as Mr. Batchbury swiftly covered the sketch with his forearm. Your face burned at the embarrassment of encroaching on his private work.

“I’m sorry. Good day, Mr. Batchbury.”

You turned on your heel, desperately wanting to get out of there, walk into the lake and act out Ophelia’s death when his voice called out.

“Wait. Stay. I will go,” Mr. Batchbury closed his sketchbook and stood.

“That is not necessary, Mr. Batchbury. You were here first; I will find someplace else to hide from my mama.”

Mr. Batchbury’s mouth lifted in amusement, his entire face brightening at the show of delight. “In that case, we both must stay. I am also hiding...but from my brothers.”

You smiled and took a tentative step towards him. “Is that so? I can’t imagine why you would hide from them.”

Mr. Batchbury shook his head. “You would if you were permitted to spend an afternoon with them.”

You laughed lightly and when Mr. Batchbury gestured to the stone bench for you to sit down, you obliged. Your whole body alighted when you felt him sit down next to you, hyperaware of his strong arms inches from yours as he placed his sketchbook on the other side of him. After a moment of silence, you spoke up again.

“Are you quite certain that I am not intruding?” you asked, turning towards him.

Mr. Batchbury nodded. “I am quite sure. It is nice to have polite and quiet company.”

You smiled. “Your brothers do not often speak at dinner. Except for Thomas, of course.”

Mr. Batchbury took in a breath as he stared out towards the hedge. “My brothers and I are not used to high-born life. And I have told them to be on their best behaviour at dinner. In private, my brothers talk and argue often.”

You studied his profile. Up close, you could see the way the edges of his birthmark were not exact lines and instead seemed to fade into the skin around it. You wanted to reach out and touch it, trace the imperfect lines with the tip of your finger softly and feel the roughness of his stubble as you moved across his face gently. But it would be extremely improper, so you curled your fingers into your palm tightly to suppress the urge.

“I imagine it has been an adjustment staying here whilst you train with my father.”

Mr. Batchbury linked his own hands together. “He is a great man. But yes, it has. I believe my brothers are anxious to go to war, just to escape the expectations of being guests. My sister, on the other hand, is quite enjoying her time. She was very pleased to hear your father will be allowing her to stay whilst we go abroad to fight.”

A warm smile danced on his face at the mention of his sister. You knew he was the eldest, and so the care of her fell mostly onto him. But he did not seem burdened by it. In fact, he seemed to enjoy being the parental figure for his sister. And Meg spoke of him often, telling you stories of how he would stay with her at night in their old cottage, curling around her to keep warm when they ran out of coals. Or how he would give her at least half of his food, even if it was their only meal of the day and he was starving. These tales not only solidified how much he loved his sister and what he was willing to sacrifice for her, but stoked the flaming crush you had on him.

He was already a hero to his sister, and he hadn’t even gone to war yet.

“I will be glad to continue to have her company,” you told him honestly.

Mr. Batchbury met your eyes and smiled at you, and you felt the air leave your lungs. He left you breathless, and to receive such a smile from him…one so unfiltered, warm, and so genuine, you felt lucky. His whole face lit up, his eyes bright as they creased at the sides. The feelings bubbling inside your stomach only grew. You averted your gaze, face heating.

You quickly moved the conversation on. “Are you anxious to leave as well?”

“In some ways. But in others…” Mr. Batchbury trailed off, gaze lingering in your periphery before he shook his head and continued. “I will miss Meg terribly. But we have to protect her, do what we can to ensure she is safe.”

You felt your heart squeeze at his words. His devotion was unmatched, and you had the sudden wish to be included in it; for him to be so devoted to you. What would it be like to be loved by Mr. Batchbury? You imagined it would be rather wonderful.

“It was very admirable, what you are doing for her,” you said, smoothing the fabric of your gown.

Mr. Batchbury only shrugged. “Anyone would do such a thing for their family.”

You looked at him with a smirk. “I would not be so certain.”

He sounded genuinely surprised by this, blinking at you as he placed a hand on his rather muscular thigh and turned his body to you. “No?”

“I’m sure there are many out there who would simply send their siblings off to school,” you told him. “I know of men who do that now, who are not at war, so they do not have the responsibility of caring for a child beyond sending tuition money.”

Mr. Batchbury shook his head. “I can’t imagine leaving any of my siblings behind like that, let alone Meg. I don’t even want to leave her behind at all, but war is no place for a child.”

You gazed at him, and you could not hide your admiration. How could a man like this exist and not be a figment of your imaginings? He must have been sent from heaven, for a man on Earth could never be so exceptional, so lovely.

“You are a good man, Mr. Batchbury.”

Mr. Batchbury met your gaze and watched you with an expression you could not recognise. No matter how much you wished, no matter how much you could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, you could not look away from him. His brown-grey eyes bore into you, like they were seeing into your soul, and giving you a window into his. When you looked at him, you saw someone so kind and so unselfish, so devoted to his family and to keeping his sister safe. Someone willing to put himself in danger in the hope that she would be taken care of in his absence. His heart was huge, and he downplayed all of it, acting like it was not a choice, but something he simply did because he loved.

When Mr. Batchbury loved, you'd learnt, he loved faithfully and unwaveringly. His heart found a place to belong, and then never moved. It was a mountainous kind of heart, that stalled and weathered storms for those it loved and shielded them from harm, that remained strong for eternity.

Oh, how you longed to experience it.

You absently parted your lips and watched as Mr. Batchbury’s eyes darted towards the movement. He gazed there, zeroing in on your mouth for a moment too long before he cleared his throat and abruptly looked away.

“I should find my brothers; ensure they have not caused any trouble while I’ve been hiding.” He stood up, gathering his sketchbook and pencils, sounding a little breathless.

“Yes, o-of course.” You could barely string a sentence together, overcome with how much you felt for this man, and how he just looked like he had wanted to kiss you.

“Thank you for the company,” Mr. Batchbury inclined his head before quickly walking away, back through where you came from, his footsteps light against the gravel.

You took a deep breath and attempted to calm your racing heart. But you feared your heart would forever be hurried as long as Mr. Batchbury continued to exist in the same time as you.

In the several weeks that followed, you would have unplanned meetings with Mr. Batchbury in the maze. At least, they began as unplanned, before you both found excuses to meet each other there. It was so easy being with him, to talk to him and laugh with him. Some days you would regale him with tales of your childhood, and then beg him to tell you of his, no matter how fleeting it had been due to their circumstance and his position as eldest sibling. On others, you both did not talk at all, only sat beside each other, you with a book, and him with his sketchbook aimed away from your eyes.

One day, after many meetings in which your feelings for him grew beyond your known capacity, you taught him several dances. By his request, surprisingly.

“I did not take you as one to dance,” you teased him, standing up and walking several metres to where there was a space for you both to dance unobstructed.

You watched as the port wine stain across Mr. Batchbury’s face deepened slightly in colour. Was he blushing? “I am not. I think it will help with…my training.”

You gave him a strange look before you began teaching him.

“Now half turn, and pass by my shoulder,” you told him, and he followed your instruction. He was a fast learner, and as it turns out, a fine dancer. Perhaps the entire Batchbury clan were quick studies.

“Hold my hands, and we turn together,” you instructed.

You felt his hands encircle yours and through the barely there lace of your gloves, you felt the heat of his palms on yours. You hitched a breath as his fingers curled to hold yours firmly; securely. You met his eyes, which were on yours in an intense gaze that left you breathless. You dared not look away from his eyes, one side surrounded by his birthmark, as he turned with you. You forgot what choreography came next as you both turned slowly around each other, moving closer and closer, hands intertwined.

Eventually, you slowed to a stop, but neither of you moved to break apart. Your noses nearly touched, and you’d never been so close to a man in your life. You could feel his breath on your skin, and you were sure he could hear just how fast your heart was beating. Mr Batchbury’s hold on your hands was the only thing that tethered you to the Earth, nothing else could be comprehended but his touch and his eyes. You felt the pad of this thumb gently move across your knuckles in a gesture you’d only read about in books. You inhaled softly, heart expanding in your chest.

“Mr. Batchbury,” you breathed.

“Yes,” he breathed back.

“I…I don’t remember what comes next,” you whispered, not sure what else to say.

Mr. Batchbury blinked several times, as if he suddenly realised where he was and how intimate their position had been, and took a step back, placing distance between you both. He then looked down at your hands and then gently let them go.

“I’m very sorry. That wasn’t…” He paused before he settled on, “Right.”

You quickly shook your head, wishing he would come closer once again. “No, it’s quite alright. Really.”

Mr. Batchbury shook his head. “No. It’s not. Your father would not be pleased.”

“I care little of what my father thinks. And we were only dancing.”

“Dancing,” he repeated like he was unsure himself.

“Dancing,” you confirmed. You held out your hand, desperate for him to take it again. “Please, let us continue.”

Mr. Batchbury looked at your hand hesitantly before he took it again, this time his hold loose and non-committal and you longed for the way he held you just minutes ago.

You raced through the rest of the dance, and when you had finished, Mr. Batchbury thanked you before making an excuse and leaving swiftly. You sighed and sat on the bench, thinking back to the way he had looked at you; the hold he’d had on your hand and the way he’d moved his thumbs across your knuckles. He had been so close…surely…surely he had wanted to kiss you? No one looked at someone like that, held someone like that in a dance without the hope that their lips would meet their partners…right? You put your head in your hands. You did not know, and there was no one you could ask.

You wished he had. You wished he had pressed his lips to yours, and ended your misery. You imagined it endlessly. You thought of the way he would hold you close against him as he moved his lips against yours. His looked so soft, you imagined they’d feel soft too. They’d be gentle, coaxing, teaching yours. You’d place your fingers into his hair, tangling them in the curly locks hoping they’d get trapped in there, chaining you to him forever. He was so proficient in everything else he did, surely he would be when it came to kissing too.

Oh, yes, you thought. To kiss Mr. Batchury would be heavenly indeed.

The next day, you weren’t sure you would find Mr. Batchbury in the maze. As much as you wished differently, you suspected that after yesterday afternoon’s dance lesson, you would not see him again until the evening.

But you reached the centre of the maze and saw him sitting there with his back to you, no doubt his sketchbook on his lap. He had tilted his head slightly at the sound of your footsteps – his hearing was exceptional.

You swallowed and began to walk towards him. He turned to face you, swivelling his body as he made room for you on the bench. He pulled his sketchbook to his chest, hiding the pages from your eyes.

“I apologise for yesterday,” he said. “I should not have been so…”

“We were only dancing,” you were quick to reassure.

He did not say anything, he only looked at you, something indiscernible passing over his face as you watched his hands tighten on his sketchbook, the pages squeezing under his fingertips. You watched him curiously, trying to decipher the crease of his brow. If you were brave enough, and were sure your actions would not scare him away yet again, you would push the pad of your thumb into the lines formed between his brow, flatten them gently until they were gone. Your need to touch him only intensified after how close you’d been to him yesterday. To feel the tickle of his breath on your cheeks tease how easy it would’ve been to close the distance was a cruel twist of the knife into your feelings for Mr. Batchbury, knowing you would not get that close again.

After several beats of silence that seemed to feel endless in your agony, he said, “My brothers and I will be departing tomorrow at dawn. Your father says we are ready.”

Your breath hitched in surprise. “Oh.”

You felt your throat close up. You knew it was coming, but did it have to be so soon? You had grown so used to his presence these several weeks, to seeing him training, to dining with him, to spending these precious hours with him in the maze…how would you do without him? And he was going to war no less…the thought that he might never return was so violent you felt it proverbially slam into you, and you had to grip the edge of the stone bench to steady yourself.

And even if–when, when he came back, so much could change while he was away. Your mother would surely take you to London for another tedious season, desperate for you to make a match. Only none would live up to Mr. Batchbury. And if you did marry at your mother’s behest, he would return, and your feelings would come back stronger than ever, only now there was no chance of anything to come of you both. He would surely find someone else, and marry them instead.

You felt like crying. You wanted him to stay. But he never would, and it would be selfish and foolish to ask.

It seemed as though Mr. Batchbury would be someone you were only meant to know for a short time.

“I’m sure you and your brothers will be missed by your sister,” you managed to choke out. And by me. I will miss you so terribly I fear my chest will break open with the ache of it.

Mr. Batchbury gave a pained expression. “I feel sick at the thought of leaving her.”

You didn’t stop yourself this time, placing a hand on his forearm. “I will look after her. She will be okay. I promise you, Mr. Batchbury,”

He looked at you, brows slanted in a way that broke your heart and mouth stretched into the saddest of smiles. “That is my only comfort, knowing you will be there for her.”

“It is the least I can do,” you strained out, forcing a tight-lipped smile you only hoped fooled him into thinking you did not feel as much as you did.

He looked at you, eyes darting over your face for several moments before looking away, his knuckles white with their hold on his sketchbook. You traced your gaze across his profile, outlining the hook of his nose against the overcast sky. You had already memorised it, but you allowed yourself one last look. If you were accomplished at drawing, you would’ve filled sketchbooks with his face, a visual ode to his beauty, and a eulogy of your love.

“I should go,” he cleared his throat. “Ensure we are ready, spend as much time with Meg as I can.”

You blinked away tears. “Of course.” Would he really say nothing more to you? After all this time spent together?

Mr. Batchbury stood up and in the movement, his sketchbook dropped on the ground in front of you, page splayed open to his drawings. You looked down and inhaled a sharp breath when you finally laid your eyes upon the sketches that had evaded you.

The drawings…they were all of you.

Mr. Batchbury bent to hastily pick up the book and close it roughly and caged the book against his chest, concealing the drawings of you once again. You looked up at him, mouth parted in shock as he pointedly avoided your eyes the port wine stain on his face growing darker as he blushed.

“Mr. Batchbury–”

“I must go,” he strangled out and started to walk.

You couldn’t let him leave like this. Not now. Not when you’d just discovered this; his sketches of you. You stood abruptly and blocked his path, your hand raised in a stop motion which he bumped into. “Wait, please.”

His expression was full of anguish as he finally met your eyes. But you needed to know, even if he wished you didn’t.

You turned your palm up between you slowly, your brows slanted as you looked towards him. You watched his eyes move down to look at your waiting hand and then back to your eyes.

“May I…?” you breathed.

You watched his arms flex as he hesitated, his chest rising and falling behind the sketchbook. After a moment, he reluctantly handed it over. You opened it gingerly and began to slowly comb through the pages.

The book started with florals, landscapes, and portraits of his brothers and sister before they slowly became interpolated with the sketches of you. Your heart raced as you looked through them. There were so many. You knew he had little money at all, let alone for something as frivolous as an art book, and yet he’d filled so many pages with you. With you sitting at dinner, of you laughing, you from the drawing room window, you on the bench reading.

He'd filled a sketchbook with you.

All these weeks, he’d been looking at you as you looked at him? This whole time?

You then landed on the most striking of all – your eyes yesterday, up close as he’d stared into them as you danced.

They were remarkable, and all done by memory – you hadn’t sat for a single one.

You looked up at him, and his eyes flicked to yours, an expression a combination of pain and embarrassment as his port wine stain was still darkened with blush.

Your voice was but a whisper. “They’re all of me.”

“Yes,” he rasped, but his eyes never left yours.

“W-Why?”

“Because you are bewitching to me,” he told you, his voice stronger now. He’d answered it like he could not believe you had to ask, like he was shocked it was not obvious to you. Like it was fueled with the truth. Mr. Batchbury did not lie, and his words were spoken with conviction, as sure as the mountains his heart mirrored. “Because I am unable to go a single moment without you in my thoughts, and I’m not sure I ever want to be free of such notions.”

You gaped at him. “Mr. Batchbury–”

“I apologise if I overstepped.” He spoke directly, as though he had embraced his truth; his actions. Like he was no longer embarrassed, but rather empowered and confident in how he felt. “I should have asked. But how could I?”

You did not know. Maybe if you weren’t reeling from his confession, you would have an answer for him. But even then, perhaps there was no right way to say you wished to capture someone’s likeness tens of times over.

You wanted to speak, but you were shocked. You were bewitching to him ? He could not stop thinking about you ? You could hardly believe it to be true. You could hardly believe that a man like Mr. Batchbury had been occupied with thoughts of you . You, a mere earthling to an ethereal angel such as him.

But Mr. Batchbury did not lie. He was as faithful as the mountains, after all.

At your growing silence, he perceived this as your disapproval of his actions; of his feelings. He took a shaky breath as he slowly took the book from you and closed it.

“I…I have upset you,” he deduced, dejected. “I–”

You cut him off, desperate to tell him of your own feelings. Desperate to say you thought of him the same. “You have not upset me.”

Mr. Batchbury’s brows raised and his eyes widened in surprise. You swallowed as he gazed upon you. If he had been brave enough to tell you, you could tell him. But how? What words? What arrangement of phrases could you string together to fully convey the extent of what you felt for this man? You feared you could not. But you would try.

You blinked at him before shaking your head. “You…are so incredibly cruel for telling me this now, when you cannot stay.”

You watched his expression as he registered your words and what they implied, as they sunk into his bones. You watched his mouth part with a breath and his shoulders relax – you had not even been able to tell how truly anxious he had been waiting to know how you felt.

He shook his head, his voice quiet once again, but still held the strength of his truth. “I know.”

“And yet,” you took a breath as you smiled at him, eyes stinging at the bittersweet moment of the truths you were unveiling. “I cannot be angry with you, not when my heart is completely and utterly yours.”

Mr. Batchbury sucked in a breath at your words. You watched his eyes soften around the edges as the breeze blew through his curls, lifting them off his shoulders at the same time the corners of his mouth lifted slightly too. His grip on the sketchbook slackened. Your heart warmed at the expression on his face, the look of disbelief mixed with joy.

His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it, that smokiness only highlighting the vulnerability of his words. “You truly mean that?”

You let out a breathy laugh, smiling. “I do.”

He dropped his sketchbook, falling to the side of you both as he stepped forward and took your hands in his, squeezing them gently and securely. His palms pressed into yours, the warmth travelling under your skin and igniting your insides. His chest brushed against yours and you looked up into his brown-grey eyes, watching the way light seemed to dance in them when he was happy.

“Tell me again.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you squeezed his hands as the words fell out of your mouth earnestly and easily. “My heart is yours.”

Mr. Batchbury sighed, closing his eyes and pulling you flush against him, pressing his forehead to yours, his arms now encircling your waist. You gasped, placing your hands on his chest. You let your eyes fall closed as your noses touched. You were even closer than you had been yesterday – though now you couldn’t believe you thought that had been close, not when you were pressed against him like this.

You catalogued every detail of his body against yours. Even through your corset, you felt the hardness of his chest. He was so warm and solid, and under your hands, you could feel the steady beat of his heart moving rapidly, matching yours. His breath tickled your skin, and you breathed it in, his hot breath filling your lungs. He smelt of soap and cedar and it was entirely intoxicating. You had to find a way to bottle this smell up, and keep it under your pillow to breathe in. He had completely engulfed you, physically and emotionally.

And you never wanted him to stop.

You felt his throat vibrate, the deep tenor of his voice trembling under your hands. It was like he was speaking inside you. His voice was husky and you felt the breath of his words on your lips.

“One more time.”

You did not hesitate. “I am yours.”

He kissed you then, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that felt like your entire body was on fire. You drew in a breath as you felt his hold on you tighten, his head tilting as he moved his lips against yours. You had never been kissed before, but something told you that kissing did not always feel like this. Just as he engulfed you before, he overwhelmed you now. His mouth was hot, and passionate, his kisses deep as one hand cradled your head to his. He kissed like he loved; faithfully, strongly. You could never guess what was in his heart when he kissed like this. It was obvious.

You had imagined kissing Mr. Batchbury would be heavenly. But it was better than that. His full lips were soft, as you thought, and though his kiss was passionate, it was never controlling or taking without permission. His kisses coaxed you, draw you further into him.

You moaned into the kiss and you felt his hold on your body tighten again. Your mouths opened for air, but you did not end this embrace. You moved your hands into his hair and fisted his curls as you'd always wished to, and drew him in closer again, kissing him once again. You could not get enough. How could you stop? It was dizzying. You felt his groan against your hands and lips as he deepened the kiss once more before pulling back.

He did not go far, and neither did you. He pressed his forehead into yours once again, noses against each other and you both caught your breath.

“Am I dreaming?” You spoke without thinking.

Mr. Batchbury’s chuckle sent every nerve ending in your body tingle. “I hope not.”

You laughed lightly and drew back a little to see Mr. Batchbury’s smile. What a sight to behold, the way his cheeks stretched to accommodate such joy on his features. His eyes seemed to sparkle too. You felt dazed, like you’d just seen heaven on Earth.

You allowed yourself to trace the outline of his birthmark with your finger, just as you’d always imagined doing. You felt Mr. Batchbury’s arms encircle your waist, his eyes never leaving your face as you performed your featherlight ministrations down his forehead, across his cheek and all the way to his chin.

“You have to come back,” you whispered, your voice breaking a little.

He blinked at you, and you felt his face move under your fingers as he spoke, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “You’re willing to wait for me?”

You frowned at him. “How could you ask that when I just told you I am yours?”

Mr. Batchbury shook his head and leaned in again to kiss you once more. This kiss was much shorter than the one that preceded it. And it was sweeter too. You smiled into the kiss before he pulled away. The expression on his face one of uncertainty.

“What about your father? He will not approve.”

You shook your head, fingers moving to his curls, pushing them back and tucking them behind his ear. “He likes you a great deal.”

“Maybe. But I am…” He trailed off and you frowned and cradled his face in your hand. He kissed your palm as if it was instinct.

“You are what?”

Mr Batchbury bit his lips as lifted a hand from your waist and cupped your jaw, his thumb running across your cheekbone as he looked at you with such devotion you thought you might cry.

“Poor. I have nothing to offer you, my love. And I am going to war.”

Your heart squeezed. Had this been the source of his hesitation all along? You shook your head. “I do not need anything but this–”

You placed the hand that held his face on his heart. You felt it pick up under your palm as you gazed into his eyes. You watched his face cycle through several emotions before it seemed to land on adoration. His eyes softened, and his birthmark deepened in colour before he shook his head.

“Bewitching,” he whispered before he leaned in to kiss you again. You felt his every emotion in this kiss as if you truly had fused together, feeling each other's emotions as your own. You felt his love, his devotion, his agony. You wished he did not have to go. But he had his duty to his family. It was cruel that you had managed to know the tiniest feeling of what it would be like to be loved by Mr. Batchbury, and now had to give it up. How could the stars be so vicious? To pull you both together, only to rip you apart again.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you moved your mouth against his, deepening the kiss until tears fell down your cheeks and he pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours, a strangled sound coming from his throat.

You opened your eyes to see his full of anguish and pain. When he saw the tears that stained your cheeks, he brought the backs of his fingers to your cheek and brushed them away gently. You sniffled as he cradled your face with both hands before pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead. When he met your eyes again, his expression was determined.

“I will come back.” He meant it and believed it.

“Promise me,” was all your voice was strong enough for.

“I promise.” His voice was smokey and hard. Immovable devotion – that was Mr. Batchbury. A mountainous heart that loved fiercely. That loved you fiercely. “I will come back and marry you so I can love you forever.”

You could no longer speak in fear of sobbing in his arms. So you kissed him once more, doing everything you could to memorise the feel of him, so when you woke the next morning and he was nowhere to be found, you could fall back into your daydreams, this time knowing what he felt like and that you would feel it again one day.

He promised you.

Now, almost half a decade, an earned nickname, and a conclusion of a war later, you watched him from the other side of the ballroom. And when Mr. Batchbury – Hunter, as he was now known, met your gaze, he smiled at you knowingly, his eyes soft with the same love you remembered from the maze. You returned it before excusing yourself from the conversation you were not listening to, and disappeared from the ballroom towards the gardens.

banner art by @vimse i hope you enjoyed this FIRST installment. yes, FIRST, bc what is a regency romance without a steamy encounter...hehehe ANYWAY stay tuned!!

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TAGLIST FORM

#larissa writes #hunter x reader #hunter x reader fic #hunter bad batch fic #hunter bad batch #the bad batch hunter fic #tbb x reader #tbb hunter #the bad batch fic au #regency au fic

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