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buckets-and-trees · 7 months

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Devour: ACID

Fandom: MCU Collection: Devour Title: ACID Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!Bucky x f!Chef!Reader Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: A month since SALT and three weeks since FAT, your situation with the mob boss who bought your restaurant is still evolving in unexpected ways - including an unexpected episode after work tonight.

Content Warnings: explicit smut, oral: female receiving, analingus: female receiving, vaginal penetration/fucking, some light drinking, mob boss Bucky is kind of dom

Logistical Notes: I had planned for this to punch the ticket for week 10 of my Hot Bucky Summer 2023 collection for the prompt "Long day at work?" and so this is late for the @buckybarnesevents event itself, but I'm a completionist and am marking it off on my personal list for my own satisfaction. Also ticking off the U3: "Kink: Concubine" square of my Bucky Barnes Bingo, Round Five card for @buckybarnesbingo.

Additional Notes: @mlibbydp and @goldylions were so benevolent in doing some beta work on this so HUGE AMOUNTS OF LOVE TO THEM for what they both contributed to the piece and to me personally. This chapter is much longer than the previous two and just as part two evolved their relationship, part three makes some more significant moves and ... I needed the notes on making sure this still felt like Devour. Also... @biteofcherry you might see something interesting in here that's definitely included because of a throwaway comment you made earlier this summer.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

When you walked out into the garage, there was a black luxury SUV idling near the exit with Sam Wilson leaned up against it. Seeing you, he slipped his phone into his pocket and pushed off the side of the vehicle.

“Hey, Chef,” he greeted you with a grin.

“Really?” you sighed. “Now?”

He shrugged. “Please?”

“And is that you asking nicely, or him?”

“You know I just do what he says.”

You huffed. “You don’t always do what he says, but he knows you’re the most charming one and I wouldn’t refuse you.”

Sam laughed as he opened the door to the backseat. “Don’t let the charm fool you, honey, if you said no, I’d throw you in the back regardless, it would just be less fun for you.”

You knew that, too, which is why you simply got in without a fuss. Bucky, Sam, the rest of his men? They were all mobsters running mob business, dangerous beneath the surface.

As the door closed behind you, you looked to the front to see who was driving, then clucked your tongue. “He sent both of you?”

Steve smirked. “Buckle up. And of course he sent us. You don’t think he trusts just anyone with his girl, do you?”

Oh. You bit your bottom lip and looked away and out the window, a small warmth stirring in your belly. As inconveniently annoying as this ordeal seemed to you in this moment, there was that piece. Being his. You were starting to feel it.

You had told Bucky that second night in the restaurant that you needed more than gifts and sex.

He had taken your word seriously.

There had been walks in the park, an auction, brunch on his yacht, a gallery opening, a rooftop wine tasting, even a dinner party at Sam’s place where he ended up proposing to his girl. You had enjoyed all of them, but except for the night at Sam’s, the time with Bucky had been last minute – sometimes there was a text, but most times it was him showing up or – like tonight – someone sent to fetch you without notice. He seemed all too aware of your schedule, so none of these instances were logistically inconvenient, but with it happening once more again tonight, you couldn’t help but notice this pattern of behavior was clearly becoming a habit – being summoned. In general, you didn’t mind, you saw that he was demonstrating that he wanted to spend time with you, but if you were his girl, you didn’t want to be treated like one of the droves of people who were at his beck and call and certainly not like a concubine kept solely for his whims.

The SUV slowed and pulled up to the curb of an incredibly unremarkable building that spoke to money for how unremarkable it was – the kind of money that demanded magnificence but privacy. You’d never stepped in a place of residence quite like this before – you hadn’t even stepped out of the car yet, but even in the darkness you already knew.

Both men slipped out of the front seat. Sam opened your door and offered his hand to pull you to the sidewalk. “No frowns needed tonight,” he said.

“Says you.” You didn’t realize you were frowning.

Sam grinned, then headed around to take the driver’s seat just as Steve appeared at your side.

“I’ll walk you up,” Steve gestured for you to enter the building with him.

“This is his place?”

“One of them,” Steve responded.

You took a deep breath and followed him in.

Sharp looking doormen, green marble floors, golden elevators.

Chatting with Steve was always easy, and it was no different on the fifteen-floor ride up to the penthouse at the top of the building. However, you did feel a touch of nerves as this was your first time at Bucky’s place. You weren’t quite sure what to expect but were keen to learn more about this enigma of a man by seeing where he lived.

And there he was, ready to meet you as the doors of the elevator opened, hands in his pockets, tired smile on his face, but his blue eyes dancing with excitement, and that stirred the storm of butterflies immediately in your stomach. He reached out a hand to pull you into him.

“Thanks, Steve,” he said, though he didn’t take his eyes off you.

“Sure thing, Buck.”

Once the elevator closed, Bucky brushed his fingers over your cheek, cradled your head in his hand to tilt your jaw up, and then his lips were on yours, your back pressed up against the wall. Within moments you were breathless.

In the intervening weeks since seeing him at the restaurant he’d also kept his physical contact minimal, only a few light touches, an arm around you when it seemed natural for the occasion, except for two lingering kisses. One of those instances was after a walk in the park when he’d kissed you full on in the afternoon daylight, then deposited you into the car he’d arranged to take you directly to work, where his heated kiss had distracted you throughout your shift. The second was three nights ago, the last time you saw him, and that had been only a ghosting of his lips against your ear, along your jaw, and then a soft kiss pressed to your mouth before withdrawing and leaving you at your door, but it had gotten your whole body humming for him and haunted you as you went to sleep and in your dreams.

This, after so long, so much wanting, was like a wave crashing over you. You moaned softly, you let him pull you in, melting against him, and you nearly let him sweep you away, but then you pressed insistently against his chest.

“James.”

“Yes?” he did move back, but only enough to look into your face fully.

“What is this?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“So, you just summon me?”

You knew he didn’t miss the tenor of agitation in your tone because he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, and you could feel the smirk before he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture at your shoulder. “I was hungry for you,” he said, completely undeterred. And as his lips moved solely along your throat, your core begged you to forget the conversation you were attempting to have.

“Why?” you barely managed to ask.

“You know why.”

“Do I?”

Bucky pulled back again, frowning this time, but you put your hand on his face to soften his reaction. “Steve and Sam said I’m your girl, but…”

“I told you you were mine. Surely over the past few weeks, you can’t doubt that.” His stare into your eyes was steady, straight.

You didn’t doubt him.

You did need to hear those words said just that way though. You didn’t know how much you had needed to hear them.

It gave you the surety to say what you needed to say to him. “I’m not just another girl. No more summoning me, Barnes. I’m not one of your people, I’m not your plaything.” With your hand now resting on his chest, you let your fingers brush soft strokes up and down over his heart. “If you want me, want all of me.”

He hadn’t interrupted your statement. He’d let you finish without argument. You could see the way his face changed, and the shift of the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch. He drew you in closer, encircling his arms around your waist. “Oh, I want everything, don’t doubt that.” He brushed his lips softly on your forehead. “I was only waiting for you to want this.”

Your chest tightened at those words, but the next moment you couldn’t think because then he kissed you again.

And that kiss, though brief, was thick with heat, and when he pulled back he said, “I see your point about the summoning. Just know that I was eager to have you around at any opportunity.”

You smiled because he smiled. “I can forgive you for that – I guess I can be a bit irresistible,” you teased. Somehow his confidence made you feel steady enough with him to be direct, to be flirtatious, to simply be around him.

He brought a hand to your cheek again. “I’ll mend my ways, but let’s be honest… a little bit of you likes it – the spontaneity of it.” His smile turned to a truly wolfish grin.

You sighed but rolled your eyes playfully. “Maybe a little.”

He stepped away, taking your hand. “Come. You can have a tour later.”

Rather than asking where you were going, you simply let him lead you through the grand apartment. You didn’t take in every detail, but it was big without being too big. Rich and luxurious without being cold or opulent. There were sleek lines, but also elements of warm and comfort folded into the power that was also clearly on display. But your focus was on the way he held your hand and led you through his domain. He had no question that you would follow.

Were you so easily his?

No.

Your mind wasn’t made up.

You weren’t all in, but you weren’t reeling to run away.

He stopped in front of a mahogany door and looked over his shoulder at you. You arched your brow.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

“Alright.” And you did.

He opened it, and you let him lead you inside, through a room, clearly walking you past some furniture. You heard the sound of a fire in a fireplace, then you heard another door opening, and he ushered you in front of him and through that door. “Take your time,” he said softly, lips against your ear. “I’ll be waiting.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, and then he was gone, shutting the door behind you.

You opened your eyes to the sight of a large jade green-tiled shower enclosed with glass and four gleaming gold showerheads. Turning around, you couldn’t help a soft giggle falling from your lips. The lavish bathroom was sheer perfection. Showering after your shifts at the restaurant was ritual for you. You toed off your shoes and began peeling off your clothes. Off to the side of the palatial shower, there was a gorgeous clawfoot tub, and next to that a plush navy settee with what looked like some silky things set out for you. After inspecting the knobs and heads of the shower, you got them running, adjusting them to the perfect water temperature easily, and stepped under the streams, a sigh falling immediately from your lips.

One of the shelves was stocked with some of the skin and haircare products you used, some you hadn’t but certainly knew the name and reputation of (but hadn’t indulged in for yourself), and the other shelf was stocked with men’s products. It reminded you of the significance of where you were – in his home – and the element of intimacy it evoked, being naked where he had been and would frequently be again. Where he likely would be naked with you. You bit your lip. You pulled down the bottle of his shower gel, popped the top open, and inhaled. You hated how much you already loved that smell.

No, you didn’t.

You inhaled deeply again, then set it back on the shelf.

After that, you set to reveling in the flow of the water over your body, and got to washing, unsure of the time, only focused on the smooth feel of the soap and textures over your skin, feeling more and more relaxed, and ultimately refreshed and clean.

Once you had shut off all four showerheads, you reached for towels more plush than any you had ever used in your life and dried yourself off before wrapping the large bath sheet around your torso. You padded over to the settee to discover a short black silk robe waiting for you.

And nothing else.

You shook your head but grinned. “Audacious bastard,” you whispered.

But you didn’t bother with anything else.

At the vanity there were more hair, face, and body care products and tools clearly stocked for you – again some familiar and some you’d only dreamed of, none of this really a shock given your experience with this man. You weren’t certain how long you’d taken in the shower, having lost track of time, but here you suddenly did find yourself trying to take more time, a small fluttering of nerves in your stomach, because though he'd had his way with you in the kitchen of the restaurant and discreetly pulled an orgasm from you at the table in the dining room, this would be different.

Tonight, your body would be his, no restrictions. There was no worry for privacy, no limited amount of time.

There were also emotions now.

You had set the terms – that you needed to be more than a body to him – and he’d met them, courting the rest of you these past weeks, and putting the physical on the back burner.

He had made his intentions for tonight expressly clear.

And you wanted him, too.

But you were still nervous.

When you put your hand on the doorknob, you closed your eyes for a moment, taking one deep breath to steady yourself. Then you stepped out and into the next room, which – to no surprise – was a grand and spacious bedroom. Bucky was sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace you’d heard earlier, but immediately set a book aside and stood when he heard you. You were happy – and feeling a little more heat in your core – to see he was out of his earlier clothes and down to only a pair of silk pajama bottoms.

“How was your shower?” he asked, standing up and beckoning you over.

“The shower was glorious. You’re a bit wicked to only leave me a robe, though, aren’t you?”

He placed a kiss to your forehead and motioned to get comfortable on the couch while he moved over to a small bar cart nearby to get you a drink. He shot a smug over his shoulder. “I plan to get lucky.”

You snorted. “You brought me here late at night, kissed me like you did earlier, sent me to shower, left me only a very slinky silk robe to wear, and then greet me again looking like this,” you gesture at him, “fixing me a drink, and you call that ‘planning to get lucky?’”

He shrugged, his smug grin only growing. “Do you think there’s any way in hell I’d be where I am if I hadn’t strategically hedged my bets? Absolutely I plan to get lucky. I make sure I don’t give luck any reason not to go my way.”

You didn’t need alcohol. He was beyond intoxicating. He had been from that first night.

“And I’m assuming I don’t get a choice of drink tonight, either?”

He looked at you again. “I let you choose a lot of things, but I want you to try this. I think you’ll like it.”

You bit your lip and tucked your legs up under you, draping an arm over the back of the couch and facing him as well as where he would return to sit once finished mixing your drinks. His back was to you now, and you were not surprised he seemed to want to keep his preparation a mystery at least for a few more moments.

“Long day at work?”

“Work?” You weren’t expecting such a normal inquiry about it.

“Yes,” he chuckled, “work, my beautiful, talented chef.”

He handed you a wine glass with clear liquids over ice, garnished with fresh mint and slices of lemon, while he had what looked to be a whiskey smash in his other hand. You took an experimental sip as he sat close to you, angling his body to face you, resting his arm over the back of the couch as well. The citrus and mint blended with something floral and…

You swished the contents of your drink in your glass before taking another sip. It was bright and refreshing and not quite the evening night cap you would have expected.

He watched your face, gaging your assessment as he sipped his own drink.

“What is this?” you asked.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you countered, “but what is it, James?”

Your name on his lips ticked the corner up in a half smile. “It’s a Hugo cocktail.”

“It’s not a predictable choice for the middle of the night.”

“It wasn’t my intention to bring you hear and tuck you in straight away.”

You laughed. “There’s no question what your intentions were. We established that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You’re not picking up on all my intentions.”

Your brow furrowed. Then you let out a little yip of surprise as he pulled you closer, you clutching your wine glass to keep from spilling the drink.

He had already positioned himself close to you, but this was even more intimate. You were nearly in his lap, and he did pull your legs up to drape across his thighs.

“Now tell me about your day.”

“Oh, you were serious.”

His hand settled on one of your bare thighs, just next to your knee.

“If I didn’t want all of you, I would’ve fucked you in the foyer and let you go home. I want this, too. Now talk.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you smiled. This really was him – demanding but not inflexible, and certainly giving you more than you expected.

So, you did talk, just as you had been really starting to the more he had brought you around to spend the time with him these last weeks. However, there was no getting around that this was more intimate. No others around, no distractions, no functionality of a thing you were doing together, only the two of you.

His line of inquiry was genuine, and he listened intently.

Almost too intently.

You were his singular fixation, and you knew he was thinking of nothing but you as you spoke.

And his fingers brushed idly over your thigh as you conversed.

The soft, repetitive motion wasn’t distracting at first, but it wasn’t long before it was an overwhelming tease of what wasn’t happening.

The physical touch you hadn’t experienced at his hand in weeks.

He was asking questions about how some of the new members of your kitchen staff were integrating, and all you wanted him to do was glide that hand down between your thighs.

You sipped at your drink, and as you continued to talk, you let your other hand drift to rest on his arm still draped over the back of the couch, and your fingers traced along a vein on his forearm. Although it was difficult not to let your eyes drop to his bare chest, you kept his gaze. If he was going to continue talking like this proximity and the lack of clothing between you both wasn’t affecting him, you were determined to match him.

Finally, he moved his hand from your thigh, but it went straight to your waist to curl just above your hip. “Kiss me,” he said.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips hungrily to his without hesitation. He set his drink to the side, then grabbed yours to do the same. With both your hands free, neither of you wasted another moment. Your hands went to his neck while one of his hands traveled slowly up your spine, the other holding your face. As impatient as you were for him, both of you kissed to savor, but there was no rush to it. His lips moved against yours, your tongues explored together, tracing, memorizing, exploring. It wasn’t enough, the tenor moving from savoring to consuming, and you shifted, moving into his lap.

He broke off the kiss briefly, turning his head to the side, but his left hand remained firmly against your back, keeping you close, and you rested your forehead against his temple. His other hand reached to the side table, and he plucked one of the slices of lemon and some mint from your drink. Curious, you lifted your head away. He brought the mint leaf to your mouth first, pressing it along your bottom lip. Then he pinched the fruit against your lip. The mint played with the acid of the citrus deliciously as he kissed you again, this time each of you nipping and licking intermittently through the kisses. Your hands explored the broad planes of his chest now, and his hands raked up and down your sides, thumbs skimming over the side swells of your breasts.

Keen for more, you pressed your body closer to him, pushing your core directly against the hardness of his cock. Rocking your hips, you drew a debauched moan from him that made you swell with pride and made your pussy ache even more for him. You needed him, each moment driving that need exponentially now.

The thick arms and broad chest you were getting to explore freely for the first time held only some of the rippling muscles that made it seemingly easy to push up off the couch while still holding you close with one arm, and it made a broken whine escape the back of your throat. You wrapped your legs around his torso, and his other hand squeezed and held your ass against him as he moved you from the seating area across the room to the bed. He tossed you down on the mattress, then pushed the silky robe – which was naturally already askew – off your body and flung it away. You pushed yourself back a bit more on the bed, and he was only a half second behind crawling up after you.

He pushed your legs wide open, and dove immediately for your dripping cunt. You laughed, a little flushed, but also more than ready for him to bury his face between your thighs. You let your head fall back against the soft bedding, closing your eyes. Then you yelped as there was a sharp slap to your pussy instead of his lips on your folds. You jerked up to look at him, and the devilish grin on his face, the darkening of his eyes made your heart stutter.

“Don’t laugh, Chef, I told you I was hungry for you. Keep your eyes on me,” he said.

You took a deep breath, leaned back on your elbows, and gave him a solemn nod.

He pressed kisses slowly along your inner thigh, his deep blue eyes locked on yours. The fluttering in your stomach rose steadily, your pussy desperate for his attention. When he planted his lips in the crease of your thigh, he left his mouth there. A broken whimper leapt from your throat, and you pushed your hips up.

He pushed your hips back down with one of his large hands and moved his mouth the opposite direction and bit at the tender flesh of your inner thigh, making you yelp.

“Please,” you murmured.

“Eager for me?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation.

“Good.”

And then he worshiped your cunt, kissing it with as much fervor as he had kissed your mouth, and you moaned openly, no worries over anyone but him hearing you here. You didn’t look away, completely captivated because this was also a new level of intimacy that you felt both ready and unprepared for. Receiving oral sex from other partners had never felt so purposeful. This man in this moment was so avid in the way he was pleasing you, making you watch him, you brain was having a hard time recalling if sex with anyone before him had ever been so intense. You didn’t think it had – that first night when he’d demanded it from you in the kitchen, the next time he’d coaxed you into a few moments of pleasure in the dining room, and now inviting you here to have you without restraint – each encounter had been unlike anything before.

The pleasure was overwhelming as his lips and tongue licked, sucked, flicked your clit, delved into your folds, and he kept a keen eye on your every reaction. You began to feel lightheaded with the mounting waves of bliss, your toes curling, breaths coming in short gasps until your head fell back because you simply couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t do anything but feel, ready to fall over the edge because of him again.

But then he pulled his face away, jerking you back from that edge of ecstasy and you would have whined, but he was already manhandling your hips to flip you over. One of his rough palms smoothed slowly and firmly up your spine, applying delicious pressure, but you still felt the lack from the orgasm he’d dangled then withdrawn. “James,” you moaned. “James, please.”

He drew his palm slowly back down your spine. “You’ll have me, Chef, don’t doubt that.”

You whined again, but he pushed your thighs apart and slotted himself again between them, holding you splayed open for him with his broad shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable, stretching your legs, but you settled and breathed through it anticipating what was coming next.

His tongue teased at your clit for a moment, then slowly licked up and between your folds to dive into your cunt, lapping inside, and you shivered. But then one of his hands pushed at your ass cheek and his tongue continued moving up, and you gasped and tried to move away when the tip of his tongue teased your tight, puckered hole.

“Easy,” he said softly but firmly, his other hand moving beneath you and hooking at the juncture of your thigh to pull your hips back flush against him. He pressed a kiss to your round ass cheek.

“I’ve never,” you admitted enough, he knew what you meant. He kissed the same spot on your ass cheek, but then he shifted, and you felt him moving up over your back, his body pressing lightly against you until he was up at your shoulder. He pressed a kiss there, and then looked at you.

“Then I won’t give you more than my tongue tonight, but you know I’ll make you feel good, don’t you?”

You nodded.

He smiled, then left the ghost of a kiss to your temple and slipped back down behind you.

Resuming his exact same positioning, his left hand curling under to anchor at the juncture of your leg, his right pressing you open to expose your ass, you pressed your cheek into the pillow and took a deep breath. You reached your left hand down to meet his, and he twined his fingers reassuringly with yours as they sought him. Then his mouth pressed in, and his tongue darted out, swiping over the tight ring of muscle.

“Just relax and feel,” he instructed.

You concentrated on breathing and then the new sensation. Unexpected. Then a different kind of pressure, then pleasure. It wasn’t awful as had always been insinuated. It was debauched more than anything else, and he soon had you moaning and panting and wriggling back against his tongue which alternated between lapping at the hole and teasing in and out. It was when you pushed hard back against him that he pressed a kiss again there and pulled back.

“I know what you like.”

It wasn’t a brag; it was a statement of possession that sent a shiver through your body. Because he was right, and you couldn’t deny that.

“Now come here,” he said, pulling you by your hips up to kneel, presenting for him. “Such a pretty folds.” His fingers circled your clit, then slipped briefly inside your cunt, drawing a happy gasp from you.

He grabbed his thick member and brushed the tip up and down over your sensitive parts a few times as you pushed up on your elbows, your back arched in a beautiful bow for him. When you looked over your shoulder at him, he finally sunk his cock into you. His hips pushed forward against you slowly until he was completely buried inside you, filling you, pressing so intimately into you. Fully sheathed, he stayed there for a moment, and he ran his hands over your hips and your lower back, caressing, relishing in the fill. He pulled back slowly, but only a couple of inches, then pushed back in, clearly wanting to relish in this for a moment. You had no desire to rush him either.

When his hands gripped your hips, you dropped your forehead to rest your forearm on the mattress, and then he began to fuck you, building a steady rhythm. He built up bit by bit, and you both let words and sounds fall out of your mouths as the physical feelings increased in intensity. Having been so close twice, when he finally moved a hand to rub expert circles into your throbbing clit, your body quickly responded in releasing your orgasm, and your spasming walls pulled him right along with you, and he came with a shout over your moans, a stuttered thrust, and then he continued a few more pushes, his hot spend coating your walls.

He wrapped an arm around your stomach and pressed kisses into your back, and you curled up into him with a hum of contentment.

When he pulled out, he reached over to the bedside table to retrieve a waiting damp hand towel – you shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d prepared to this detail – and then cleaned you up and then him before tossing it away. He stroked your back once more, then scooped you to your side, and pulled your naked and spent body to him so he could spoon up against you. You put your arm over his, and he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Stay?” he murmured simply into your ear.

This you didn’t answer immediately. You let your chest fill and empty with a few breaths, weighing your answer between your head and your heart. But neither of them fought to leave.

“Okay,” you finally breathed.

He settled in even closer, then reached for the sheets to pull up over the both of you. “I told you that first night that you would warm my bed.”

“Don’t be smug,” you protested.

“I’m not,” he insisted, and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, “I’m only pleased I’ve finally got you here.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #mob boss!bucky barnes x reader #mob au #bucky barnes x you #devour au #aspen wrote something #bbb2023 #buckybarnesbingo2023 #female reader

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sapphire-writes · 9 months

Text

Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 8 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: The Kingsroad Country Club hosts its annual gala and auction. An unwelcome guest causes trouble for you and the gang.

word count: 6.2k

rating: Mature/Explicit/18+

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, fighting, and mentions of violence, slight exhibitionism, oral (male-receiving, ball play), reader domming a lil bit, dirty talk, praise, cum eating, kissing

note: went a lil crazy with this one pls forgive my feral nature

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected ❤️

“Torture,” Helaena says, her lips in a deep pout, “This is actual torture.”

You glance over at her as you all exit the car that dropped you off at the Kingsroad Country Club. It had just been you, Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena; Alicent had been driven separately several hours earlier to help prepare.

Helaena smoothes the silver blue dress, looking rather uncomfortable yet stunning. You can’t imagine any of the Targaryens looking bad ever; they’re all blessed with angelic good looks. But Helaena is clearly out of her element in the silk dress and heels. You’d helped her with her makeup, though it was hard to get her to sit still.

You’d gotten ready with Helaena, as Baela was summoned to Dragonstone earlier in the day. The whole family was arriving together, to make an entrance.

Aegon and Aemond are dressed similarly in suits and ties; the boys truly had it easiest. Though Aemond wore a black tie whereas Aegon wore a deep green one.

You smooth your own dress, feeling a little self-conscious around the Targaryens. You’d chosen a silky black dress when you’d gone shopping a few weeks ago; it hugs every curve, falling to the middle of your thighs. You’d paired it with some hoops and a layered necklace (borrowed from Helaena).

“You look incredible, Hel,” you assured her, and she rolled her eyes.

“I mean, I know,” she tells you, “I’m a hot person. You too! Very sexy chic,” she teases, grabbing your hand and twirling you.

Aemond smirks, watching the display. Your cheeks warm as you focus on not tripping in your heels. Helaena stops spinning you, pulling your back against her front.

“Careful, Aemond,” she teases, “I just might steal your girl.”

“Alright, enough,” Aemond says, reaching forward and taking your hand, pulling you from Helaena’s embrace.

She laughs as Aemond pulls you close before closing the car door. Aegon has propped himself against the hood of the car, attempting to light a cigarette. Helaena moves past him, smacking him on the back of the head. The cigarette falls to the ground and Aegon groans.

“Bitch,” he mutters.

“Watch it,” Helaena warns, heading up the steps, “Let’s go find Mom.”

Aegon trails behind her, flicking his lighter shut and shoving it into his pocket.

Aemond’s fingers are still intertwined with yours as he moves to follow his siblings; you can feel the coolness of the rings that adorn his slender fingers. He stops just at the front of the car, leaning against it until he’s face to face with you. He holds your hand the whole time, pulling you forward gently.

“Shouldn’t we head in?” you ask, now standing between his legs. He drags your hand up, letting it go when it rests on his shoulder.

“In a minute,” he murmurs, bringing his hands to your waist, “First I want to tell you how beautiful you look.”

Your face warms and you blink rapidly, eyes downcast. For someone you originally thought was just a fuckboy, Aemond Targaryen was turning out to be quite the romantic. He somehow knew all the things to say that would send your heart fluttering in your chest, and turn your legs to jelly.

Aemond watches your reaction, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. You wet your lips, looking up at him.

“Tell me then,” you tease, and he gently tugs you forward capturing your lips in a kiss.

It’s slow and passionate; heat curls in your belly along with a desperate ache between your legs. It trickles through your veins, flooding your entire body with euphoria. You’ve never felt this feeling before; this almost painful need for another person. Aemond deepens the kiss, letting his tongue slip into your waiting mouth. He tastes of spearmint, and something spicy; the rum Aegon had insisted you all try before heading over.

Aemond pulls away, the slight smile still on his face as he rubs circles on your hips with his thumbs.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, so close you can feel his lips moving with the words he speaks.

You smile at his words, tilting your head to bump the tip of your nose against his. Aemond releases a breath as you do so, cupping your cheek with one large hand and pressing a softer kiss to your lips.

“Let’s go,” he tells you, and you head inside.

The Kingsroad Country Club is nothing short of extravagant when you make your way into the main ballroom. You’d deposited your coat in a room down the hall for safekeeping. Your eyes are wide as saucers as you take in the gorgeous arrangement of colorful flowers throughout the room, and cream-colored silk streamers that hang from the ceiling.

Ice sculptures of various mythical creatures are scattered throughout the room, several of them dragons you can’t help but notice. Everyone is dressed to the nines; you’ve never been to such a fancy event. You spot Sara, clad in a deep purple dress and she waves at you, nudging Cregan who stands beside her. He gives you a friendly wave as well.

Floris is here; you spot her helping explain something to an older woman. She smiles at you brightly and mouths talk later, before returning to her task. Your chest warms as you scout the crowd for Baela and Rhaena. You know they’d arrived before you as you received a frantic text from Baela as you were getting ready. Help me, followed by a skull emoji.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Aemond murmurs, leaning down to speak in your ear. You nod, continuing to look for the twins, and he walks over to the bar.

Helaena’s silver head comes into view; she’s standing next to Alicent who is speaking rapidly. Helaena’s expression is pained and she tugs her shoulder away from her mother’s reaching hand. The dynamics of this family are throwing you through loops.

You hear a familiar voice call your name, and turn to see Will Tyrell accompanied by someone you don’t recognize. You give him a friendly smile as he approaches. Will had been more than understanding when you’d reached out to him earlier in the week; you’d told him while you had a lovely time, you thought it would be best to remain friends.

Will, being the total sweetheart he is, agreed without hesitation. He makes his way over to you, wearing a white button-down shirt with an open dark navy jacket with matching slacks. His brown curls are slicked back against his skull. His friend is dressed similarly; clad in a deep maroon jacket and slacks.

His features are sharp, almost fox-like. You notice he has rather large ears, hidden behind strawberry-blonde curls and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Good to see you,” you tell Will, pulling him into a friendly hug. You glance awkwardly at his friend, waiting to be introduced when Aegon joins you.

“Hughie!” Aegon says, pulling in the stranger with his hand and clasping him on the shoulder, “Been a while man.”

“Yeah, good to see you,” he answers with a grin, “Been in Highgarden for most of the summer.”

His eyes drift over to you, “Hugh Florent.”

He holds his hand out which you shake, and smiles politely. Hugh’s eyebrow raises as you tell him your name, gaze flickering to Will who is lost in conversation with Aegon. Something about sharks from what you can hear.

“You’ve been hanging with Will this summer, yeah?” Hugh asks, lips curving into a slight smirk.

“We’ve been out a couple of times, yeah,” you tell him, as Aemond returns to your side. You feel him slide an arm around your waist, gently tugging you closer to his warm body.

Hugh’s eyes flicker between you both as Aemond hands you a glass of champagne. You thank him, taking a small sip; the bubbles leave a tingling sensation on your tongue.

“Aemond,” Hugh says with a grin, “You’ve decided to make an appearance.”

“My mother organized the gala and auction,” Aemond answers, his voice rather cold, “Important to support her.”

“Are you bidding on anything?” Hugh asks, placing his hands in his pockets.

“If something catches my eye,” Aemond answers, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

Hugh’s eyes slide over to you once more.

“Seems like something already did,” Hugh comments, as Will hands him a beer, “Thanks, man.”

You feel Aemond’s arm tighten around you, and he gives Hugh a tight smile, eye narrowing slightly. You glance up at him, feeling the tension rolling off his lean, muscular form. Aemond tilts down to your height, his lips beside your ear.

“Have you seen Baela yet?” he asks softly, and you shake your head, “I saw her while I was getting your drink; I’ll take you to her.”

And with that, Aemond leads you away from Hugh, giving him a polite nod as you exit. Aemond keeps his arm around you as you move through the crowd and onto the large patio where some guests have begun mingling.

“Who is he?” you ask, keeping your voice low.

“One of Aegon’s fraternity brothers,” Aemond answers, jaw clenched, “Best to stay away from him.”

You couldn’t agree more. The uneasy feeling in your stomach from the interaction with Hugh doesn’t last long, as you spot Baela and Rhaena, along with Daemon and Rhaenyra. Luke is seated next to his mother fiddling with his tie. Rhaenyra scolds him before running her hand over the back of his head.

Baela tilts her wine glass upwards, finishing the dregs before abandoning the glass on the table. Her eyes widen as she sees you and she uses the moment to pull away from her father and stepmother. Daemon makes a face but you watch Rhaenyra slide her hand into his, shaking her head gently.

Baela’s arms sling around your shoulders pulling you into a tight hug. She smells like the perfume you got her for her last birthday; light and floral.

“Holy shit you smoke show!” she comments, admiring your look, “Damn Aemond, you’re a lucky guy.”

“Insanely,” Aemond agrees.

“You look stunning Baela, holy fuck,” you tell her. Baela is a goddess in her aquamarine-colored dress that clings to every curve.

Some of her curls are pulled back from her face by silver pins adorned with seahorses with pale blue gemstones for eyes. The rest of her curls hang freely down her back. Glitter shimmers on her chest and arms, matching the highlighter atop her cheekbones. Baela looks the part of a sea enchantress, ready to drag those who cross her to a watery grave.

Rhaena’s dress is similar, though a shade of pale pink. She waves at you, but stays close to her father’s side, standing between him and Rhaenyra. Her locs hang freely and you can see gemstones sparkling around her eyes.

Baela preens at your praise, giving you a little twirl.

“I mean, it was nothing really,” she says, “Thank god you’re here though, it’s been so boring.”

“How’s your dad?” you ask.

“Fine, I guess,” she says with a sigh, “He got what he wanted. The happy little family all together.” She crosses her arms in front of her.

“No Jace?”

“He said he didn’t think he’d be back in time,” she reminds you, “Regatta is still 2 weeks away, he’ll be back for Luke.”

“That’s good,” you tell her. Luke looks lost without his brother. Smaller.

Baela sighs, looking back at her family. Rhaena jerks her chin, motioning for Baela to rejoin.

“Gods,” Baela grumbles, “Probably another picture. I had to take one with Rhaenyra earlier.”

“Sorry,” you tell her, wincing.

“It’s whatever at this point,” Baela says, rolling her eyes, “Catch you in a bit? The fireworks are supposed to be really cool this year.”

You nod, giving her hand a squeeze.

“You got this,” you tell her and she smiles, her eyes sad.

“Thank you,” she says, turning to Aemond, “Take care of my girl.”

“Will do,” Aemond promises.

Baela turns back suddenly.

“Shoot, will you do me a favor?” she asks, and you quickly nod, “Grab my phone? It's in the coat room. It’s my black one with the seahorse buttons.”

“Of course,” you tell her as Rhaena calls her name, “Go, go I’ll grab it and be right back.”

Baela thanks you again, heading back over to Rhaena and the others. You glance up at Aemond, handing him your glass.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell him.

“Want me to come with you?” he asks.

“It’s alright, I’ll only be a moment,” you assure him, “Besides, maybe check on Hel? She looks like she’s in pain.”

Aemond chuckles slightly but agrees as you head out of the ballroom and down the hall. The music dies as you make your way further to the uninhabited side of the country club, pushing open the glass doors that lead to the smaller room where all the coats have been kept.

There are other things present as well, some auction items to be revealed later in the night. You make your way to the women’s coats, fingering through them for Baela’s. It’s easy to spot with the buttons and you grab her phone, sliding it between your breasts. You remove your phone, as that’s where you’d been stashing it, and check your notifications.

“Hiding from someone?” a voice calls and you turn around, startled.

Your phone drops from your hand, landing on the ground with a loud thump. Hugh Florent winces apologetically, leaning forward to grab it. He holds it out to you.

“Thanks,” you tell him, taking your phone with a tight smile.

“No problem,” he says, moving deeper into the room before throwing himself down onto a nearby chaise lounge, “I always try to escape these things too, they’re terribly boring.”

He pulls out a cigarette from his suit pocket, placing it between his lips before lighting it. The sweet smell of smoke fills the air, making your nose wrinkle.

“You’re not hiding from Will, I hope?” he asks, before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I’m not hiding from anyone,” you tell him, “I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke in here.”

A smile forms on his face around the cigarette that dangles from his lips.

“Our little secret then,” he says, causing the hair on your arms to stand on edge, “Want one?”

“No,” you tell him, “I should be getting back.”

“Stay a minute,” he insists.

“I really-”

“Stay,” he says, his tone more commanding this time, “Keep me company. Don’t be rude.”

Your face warms, the hair on the back of your neck stands up, and a lump begins to form in your throat. You hate feeling like this. Like you want to tell him to go fuck himself and leave the room. But your feet are glued to the floor and you stand, frozen in place.

Hugh smiles at his victory and your obvious discomfort. You just need a minute, then you’ll go. C’mon, leave the room. Aemond is waiting.

“You getting on with Will then?” he asks, and your stomach lurches.

“We’ve gone out,” you tell him.

“But you’re with Targaryen now?” Hugh clarifies and you nod.

If it's one thing men respect, it's another man having some sort of claim to you. The thought sours your stomach and causes tears to prickle in the back of your eyes. Your heart is beating against your ribs like a rabbit’s foot.

You don’t suppose men ever feel this way. Like prey.

“Well, if one-eye gets boring,” he drones, and you flinch at the cruel nickname, “You’re welcome to my bed anytime.”

Your lips curl in disgust.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just down the way a bit,” he says with a shrug, “Since you’re keen to give it up for King’s Landing residents.”

Your jaw drops at his insult, and suddenly adrenaline floods through you, your feet unstuck. The fear that was trickling through your veins moments ago is replaced with white-hot anger.

“Go fuck yourself,” you tell him, through gritted teeth.

Hugh leaps from the chaise as you go to leave, reaching out and grabbing your forearm, holding you in place.

“Just teasing, that’s all,” he insists, tightening his grip as you attempt to pull away.

“Get off me!” you yell, turning and slapping Hugh across the face.

“Hey!” a deep voice echoes through the room and the pressure disappears from your forearm. A few tears slip past your lower lids as you meet the eyes of Cregan Stark.

He walks forward into the room, his eyes locked on Hugh, who has backed up several paces.

“Everything's al-”

“Shut the fuck up man,” Cregan snaps at him, before turning to face you.

You release a shaky breath, wiping your hands over your cheeks, drying the tears that escaped.

“Are you alright?” Cregan asks, ducking to meet your height. He places one hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles on your flesh.

You nod, struggling to find the words to thank him.

“Yeah….I’m okay…just a little shaken up,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. Hugh straightens up, dusting his dress pants and running a hand over his gelled hair.

“Let’s get you back to the party,” Cregan says softly, using his body to shield you from Hugh’s view.

You let Cregan lead you toward the door, stopping briefly to whisper, “Please don’t say anything; I don’t want to make this a thing.”

Cregan’s expression is pained but he gives you a curt nod as the door opens.

“You guys find any coolers in here?” Aegon asks, trying to squeeze by, “Waiters aren’t filling me up fast enough and the bar cut me off-”

Aegon’s sentence dies as he looks at you, his eyebrows concaving together in confusion. You watch as the gears whirl in his head as his eyes flicker between you and Hugh; your tear-stained cheeks, his tense posture, Cregan’s protective stance.

“Aegon don’t-”

Cregan’s words fall on deaf ears as Aegon pushes by you both and slams his hands into Hugh Florent’s chest.

“AEGON!” you call.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, huh?” Aegon growls, grabbing Hugh by his shirt, “That’s my brother’s girl you’re messing with.”

“Relax bro,” Hugh says, that sly smirk still plastered on his face, “We were just talking, she didn’t have to get all upset-”

“I’m sure Aemond will love to hear that,” Aegon says roughly, “Go be a sleazeball somewhere else- not at my family’s fucking club.” Aegon releases him with a shove, straightening up and looking at you.

“You alright?” he asks, and you nod, lips parted in shock. You’d hardly expected Aegon of all people to come to your defense.

He moves forward ushering you and Cregan back down the hallways towards the main ballroom.

“Let’s not mention this to Aemond right now,” Aegon says, on the opposite side of you, “I don’t think that-”

A whistle comes from behind you, as you’re heading out of the ballroom and onto the lit porch where most of the patrons have retired to watch the fireworks. You catch Aemond’s eye from across the sea of people, watching the corner of his mouth twitch into his familiar smirk. Your heart leaps into your throat, eyes wide. Aemond reads your upset expression instantly and begins moving forward toward you.

You turn as Hugh enters, his tongue held between his teeth. It seems he’s not eager to end this.

“You’re one to fucking talk, Egg,” Hugh says through a laugh.

“Hugh, I swear to-”

“I didn’t know she was spoken for,” Hugh continues, “Must be a real ego boost for your bro, to be hitting Tyrell’s sloppy seconds.”

Aegon surges forward, but Cregan blocks him with his chest. You raise your eyebrows, cheeks hot with humiliation. Will has overheard and makes his way over to you as well.

“Is this guy for real?” you ask, not believing what you’re hearing, “Aegon just leave it!”

Aegon gives an exasperated chuckle, holding both hands out in front of him. Will frowns, shaking his head at his friend. Several guests have started to watch the scene unfold.

“Not cool dude,” he says, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just standing up for you, bro,” Hugh insists.

“Well don’t,” Will says, before turning and giving you an apologetic look.

Aemond is weaving his way closer, still moving through the crowd as Aegon insists to Cregan he’s fine. Cregan reluctantly steps in front of you and Aegon, pushing open the glass doors leading outside. He holds them open for you both, standing on the deck letting in the warm night air and music that plays from the live band.

You think you’re in the clear as Aemond squeezes by Cregan into the room. His hands find yours and you press yourself closer to him. He releases one of your hands to cup your cheek, violet eye flickering over your face taking in every inch. He holds your cheek carefully, as though you may shatter in his palm.

“What happened?” he murmurs, gaze moving to rest on Hugh. You cover his hand with your own.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you assure him, feeling your anxiety calm in his presence.

“If she’s not putting out, maybe Helaena is,” Hugh calls to Aegon, “She’s been looking pretty hot lately-”

Everything happens very fast after that. Will tells Hugh off, pushing his shoulder lightly as Aegon lurches forward once more. This time, he’s quicker than Cregan and he sends Hugh Florent tumbling to the ground.

“Asshole!” you yell at Hugh, just as Aegon collides with him, “Oh shit, shit shit!”

“Aegon!” Aemond calls, pulling his brother from Hugh.

“Keep my family’s name out of your fucking mouth!” Aegon snarls as Aemond drags him backward through the door and onto the outdoor space.

The scuffle has been noticed at this point, with several people leaning over one another to see what all the ruckus is. Hugh laughs from behind you, wiping some blood that trickles from the corner of his mouth.

“Still fiery as ever, Egg,” Hugh teases, eyes alight with mischief, “Wondered where that went.”

It’s Aemond who turns to him now, his gaze cold as ice. He doesn’t say anything, just stares him down until Hugh swallows, and breaks away from his gaze. Hugh coughs, before heading back inside, finally retreating.

“I’m good, I’m good!” Aegon says to Cregan who is still attempting to corral him.

Helaena pushes through the crowd, a concerned expression on her face.

“What the fuck happened?” Helaena asks, but Aegon shakes his head.

“He’s a prick, he deserved to be called out that’s all.”

“Now? You think now was the best time to do that?” Helaena growls, raising a brow.

Aegon clicks his tongue, sharply inhaling through his nose. He could tell her what Hugh said, but he stays quiet instead.

“Great,” Hel says, exasperated, “Mom is going to skin us alive.”

She’s probably right. If you’ve learned anything about Alicent Hightower-Tarageyn, it’s that events like these are important to her. Image is everything. Aegon shrugs, but you can tell the thought of his mother being angry with him makes him anxious; his hands have begun to tremble.

“Mr. Targaryen,” a security guard says approaching, “My apologies sir but we’ve received several complaints and are going to have to escort you from the party-”

“What?” you ask incredulously, “He didn’t do anything.”

“Ma’am-”

“He was helping me, you can’t kick him out,” you tell them, “If anything Hugh should leave!”

“It’s all good, no no, I’ll go,” Aegon assures them, reaching into the ice bucket on top of the outdoor bar and grabbing a bottle of champagne, “Party’s getting lame anyway.”

He begins walking down the steps and onto the grass that extends off into the golf courses in the distance.

“Hel? You got a j with you? Wanna blow this place?” he calls, looking back with a lopsided grin.

Helaena smiles at her brother, rolling her eyes.

“Night’s going to hell anyway,” she says with a sigh, “Fuck it I guess.”

She hurries after Aegon, down the steps.

“C’mon Aem! Live a little!” Aegon calls, walking backward toward the golf course.

Aemond glances at you and you slip your hand into his, tugging him forward.

“Let’s go,” you tell him, grinning.

You turn suddenly, spotting Baela with Rhaena. Daemon stands behind her, observing the scene along with Rhaenyra who sits beside him. His hand rests on her shoulder as she strokes her protruding pregnant belly.

“Bae!” you call, motioning to her.

Her eyes are sad and she wets her lips looking back at her father.

“C’mon Baela!” Aegon calls, echoed by Helaena.

You can see Daemon’s brows knit together, see him mouthing to Baela trying to get her to stay. But Baela rushes forward with a smile on her face, holding her skirts as she runs down the steps and across the field. You hold your arms open as she barrels into you, embracing you in a spinning hug as you continue further away from the party.

“Jackpot!” Aegon says, finding a row of golf carts. He jumps in the driver's seat and Helaena sits beside him. Aegon reaches back to pat the backseat, “My lady,” he says motioning for Baela to sit.

She does with a laugh, just as Rhaena tumbles down the hill, with Sara in tow; their fingers laced together.

They grab the next one just as Aegon revs the engine, taking off down the green hills. You can hear Helaena cheering as you watch them bob and weave through the grassy hills. Rhaena and Sara take off moments later.

You and Aemond start the next one, driving it slower than the rest at a more leisurely pace. You lean your head back, looking up at the stairs, and letting the warm summer night air pass over you.

You can hear the laughter of your friends growing louder as the sounds of the gala begin to die in the distance.

You trail behind them for a while, before taking a detour down a more secluded part of the golf course. Aemond throws the golf cart in park, looking over at you. You reach in between your boobs, pulling out Baela’s phone and placing it on the dashboard with your own on top of it.

“What happened?” Aemond asks, his fingers stroking your arm.

“Nothing important,” you assure him, “Just Hugh being a douchebag. Aegon really helped me out, I’ll have to thank him.”

Aemond hums to acknowledge your comment.

“Aegon’s nothing if not loyal,” Aemond agrees, “Like a golden retriever.”

You snort at the comparison.

“It was really nice,” you tell him, “How do you get asked to leave your own club?”

“Our family is just one of many donors,” Aemond tells you, “It’s not like we truly own the place.”

You nod, turning in the seat to face him.

“Where have they gone?” you ask, listening closely for the sound of your friends.

They must have gone pretty far ahead, all you can hear is the crickets chirping and the gentle sounds of waves crashing against the rocks in the distance.

“Don’t know,” Aemond comments, “Here, let's sit here,” He motions to the rather spacious backward-facing rear seats, “Bet we can see the bay.”

You exit, sitting down on the rear seats. Sure enough, you can just make out Blackwater Bay in the distance. You lean into Aemond as he sits beside you.

You reach forward, placing your hand on his upper thigh beginning to stroke smooth circles. You mean it innocently enough to begin with; just wanting to be touching him in some capacity. But his breathing turns shallow, and you can soon feel his cock hardening, straining through his slacks.

You move your hand over his bulge, squeezing gently, before letting your hands fiddle with the zipper. Aemond remains very still beside you.

“Can I?” you ask, heart, pounding with anticipation as you glance up at him.

“Fuck, of course, you can,” he tells you as you continue to palm his bulge, “Anything you want.”

You ease the zipper down and dip your hands in to remove his half-hard cock from his slacks; running your hand up and down at a leisurely pace. Aemond hisses as you squeeze him; you can feel him pulsating in your palm. It sends warmth pooling in between your thighs and you wet your lips in anticipation.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask, innocently tilting your head to the side.

“Don’t tease me,” he says through gritted teeth.

You slide off the seat, positioning yourself in the space between his legs. He widens his stance, letting his knees fall open. Kneeling in front of him you give his cock a tug.

“I don’t really think you’re not in a position to make demands,” you tease, ignoring his command.

Aemond releases a throaty moan as you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the swollen head. You hum in appreciation, looking up at him through your lashes as you suckle at the tip.

“Fuck,” he whispers, as you widen your mouth letting your tongue taste the underside of his shaft, paying special attention to the vein that travels up his length.

You drag your tongue up slowly, removing your lips and letting your tongue slide over his slit gathering the precum that leaks from it.

You swallow what your tongue collected, pumping him a few more times with just your hand. He’s so big. The perfect girth where your fingers struggle to touch each other when your hand is wrapped around him.

Long, hard, and heavy; always demandingly pressed against you, eager to be buried inside you in whichever way you preferred. Such a pretty cock Aemond has it drives you fucking insane. You haven’t had the time yet to appreciate it the way you’d like to. But now is your opportunity.

“You’re so pretty,” you comment, eyes wide as you watch your hand engulf him.

Aemond lets out a breathy laugh.

“Stop it,” he begs, his voice breaking into a slight whine; it makes you smile.

You lean forward, engulfing him fully in your mouth- at least as much as you can before you’re forced to pump the rest with your hand. Aemond’s hand flies to the back of your head keeping your mouth securely on him. You begin to move, dragging your mouth up and down along his length, and swirling your tongue around him.

You hum at the feeling of his hand tightening on the back of your head as you continue.

“Gods,” he groans, “So fucking perfect.”

Your lips tug upwards in what you can manage of a smile with his cock stuffed to the hilt down your throat. You gag slightly as he rocks his hips, pressing further down your throat. Aemond’s head tilts back, his chest rising and falling with his uneven, shaky breath.

You hollow your cheeks creating more suction as you try to take him deeper in your throat. Your heart is pounding and you try to even your breathing through your nose as you focus on not gagging on his thick length.

“Fucking hell,” he whines, “Oh gods--- fuck that mouth.” His hips lurch forward and you moan around him, drool dribbling out the corner of your mouth and onto your chin.

Aemond’s hand grips the back of your head, holding on for dear life as your hand joins your mouth in its efforts. Lewd, wet noises fill the summer air and you pull off him with a gasp.

“Seven hells,” he whimpers, as you lean forward, mouthing at his balls.

You eagerly press your tongue against them, rolling them against your mouth as you continue to jerk him off with your hand. Aemond’s a mess, head falling back, eye squeezing shut in pleasure. You suckle at the soft skin between his balls, alternating your attention between the pair of them.

“You like that baby?” you murmur, kissing up his shaft, “Like when I play with your balls?”

“Fuck yes,” he whimpers, “Oh fuck, feels so good-” his sentence ends in a desperate whimper as you take him fully in your mouth once more.

You bring your hand to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you suck him off. You love the feeling of having Aemond at your mercy; pride sears through your veins like fire at the messy state of him. The hand that isn’t on your head clutches the back of the seat, digging into the soft tan leather.

You release him with a pop, tapping the head of his cock on your outstretched tongue. Aemond watches you, eye wide, as you kiss the swollen head of his cock, before smiling up at him.

“Are you gonna cum?” you ask, as innocently as you can, eyes wide, “Want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Holy fucking--,” Aemond whines, as you suckle at the tip before dragging your lips down the side of his shaft, “Fuck yes, yes I’m gonna cum-” You lick a path up his shaft, engulfing him in your mouth once more.

You know he’s close, you can feel him pulsating in your mouth, but you want to drag this out as long as you can. You know from experience that Aemond isn’t usually the submissive type, and having him like this is a real treat.

“Fuck, gods you’re such a good girl,” Aemond praises as you move your head faster, “Shit..I fucking love this…like you so much..” Your cheeks warm at his praise, and pleasant butterflies flutter in your belly.

You release him one final time, pumping him with your hand. You’re a drooling mess, hand and face covered in saliva as you grin up at him.

“Let me taste your cum,” you tell him, “Please, give it to me, I want it so bad.”

“Fucking, yeah fuck I’ll give it to you,” Aemond whines, “So good, so fucking good, oh fuuuck.” His words die with a whimper as his dick twitches in your mouth and his warm, salty release hits the back of your throat.

You moan, taking it all, making sure to keep some in your mouth as you pull off of him. Aemond’s hand finds your chin, angling it upwards.

“Show me,” he asks, and you present your tongue to him before swallowing, “Such a fucking good girl.”

He drags you upwards onto his lap, kissing you harshly tasting his release on your tongue. He moans into your mouth and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“My good girl,” he murmurs between kisses, “Gods you’re perfect. My girl is so perfect.”

You’re preening at his praise, moaning happily against him as he continues to kiss you, moving to press his lips against your neck.

His fingers move beneath your dress, just as the sound of tires can be heard in the distance, along with yelling. Aemond growls, biting down against your shoulder causing you to cry out at the mixture of pleasure and pain. You lift your hips as Aemond moves his semi-hard cock back into his pants, zipping them.

“This isn’t finished,” he promises, cupping his hand around the back of your neck and kissing you once more, “Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that.”

Anticipation tingles down your spine and you giggle against his mouth.

“What’re you going to do?”

“Oh just you fucking wait,” he murmurs, hands grabbing the meat of your ass. You can feel his smile against your mouth as he kisses you.

“Yo! Lovebirds! Yoo-hoo!” Aegon calls, bringing the golf cart to a screeching stop beside you.

Helaena lurches forward as it stops, giggling maniacally. You can smell the weed from here, and laugh, pulling yourself from Aemond’s lap.

Aegon dramatically frowns, leaning against the steering wheel, as Sara and Rhaena pull up beside them. His eyes narrow.

“Are we interrupting something?” Aegon asks, tapping his finger against his chin.

“No,” you answer.

“Yes,” Aemond says, not missing a beat.

You slap him playfully on the chest.

“Too bad, we missed you losers,” Helaena sneers, but she gives you a happy smile.

“Dude, look at the moon!” Rhaena says, stepping out of the cart and laying on the grass. Sara joins her, laying beside her.

Baela gets out as well, and soon you’re all lying down facing the clear night sky. Sara points out different constellations, which Aegon struggles to identify until Sara is practically holding his hand, pointing to each star.

Suddenly some sprinklers begin to go off in the distance and Baela chuckles, mentioning you’ll have to leave soon to avoid getting soaked. Aemond’s arm is draped underneath your head, and you curl into him, listening to the sound of his heart beating.

“Come back to mine?” Aemond asks, his voice a low murmur.

You hum, nuzzling against him.

“What about no sleepovers?” you tease and he pulls you closer.

“The rules are null and void,” he says firmly, pressing his lips against your forehead. Warmth floods through you and your chest swells with emotion.

As you listen to the sound of crickets echoing around you a sharp pain pierces your chest. The month of August has always felt melancholic to you.

A month of endings.

The music of the sprinklers and the crickets suddenly changes into the sound of summer coming to an inevitable end.

Of you and Aemond coming to an end.

You pull him closer, throwing your leg over his and tucking your head deeper into the crook of his neck. Breathing in his cologne, relishing the feeling of the kiss he places on the top of your head.

You don’t want to think about that now. August is here, but it’s not over yet.

This moment here in this field, wrapped up in his arms, is endless.

note: thank you so much for reading!! we've got 2 parts left besties!!

OLS Taglist 1: @talesofoldandnew, @aemondslefteyeball, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @castellomargot, @high-on-darren-criss, @diosademuerte, @padfooteyes, @tempo-rary-fix, @amirawritespoorly, @chainsawsangel, @toodlesxcuddles, @tssf-imagines, @malfoytargaryen, @nina2697, @glame, @joliettes, @yentroucnagol

@grungegrrrl, @melsunshine, @helaenaluvr

bold means tumblr would not let me tag!

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abnerkrill · 1 year

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fandom participation in the 2007 wga strike: some notes

fans4writers.com (a website that is still live, though most links are broken!) was a fandom grassroots organization, originating primarily in Firefly/Whedonverse fandom

fans4writers emphasizes cross-fandom solidarity (all fans of all writers) with the very catchy logo "don't write until it's right"!

that group was responsible for pizza deliveries to picket lines, joining in picketing efforts, mass mailing pencils to studios, and sky writing in support of the wga during the tournament of roses parade. (reportedly, universal studios called the cops on a pencil delivery.)

the website had these (honestly still very good) FAQ for joining in picketing. [I'm currently aware (may 5) that the WGA is open to non-members picketing as well, and some "pre-WGA" (aka aspiring writers) are even organizing carpools on Twitter!]

fans4writers also had forums for organizing purposes (that are now dead, that I wish I could view and archive) and a still-existing but unused Twitter account with updates.

I ask again: who in the 2023 fandom landscape has the balls to organize fandom in support of the WGA?? Whedonverse and Battlestar Galactica fans were crowdsourcing pizza funds, creating auctions, putting together this website and all its outreaches and mf'ing official press releases... where can we find that energy now?

note: I was 10 years old when the 2007 strike happened; I just like digging on the Internet and may have gotten things wrong about these organizations and am open to corrections from anyone who was present and in the trenches. In fact, if you were a part of the aforementioned organizing efforts, I would LOVE to chat with you!

[read the WGA's official statement on the strike here and always get your strike news from official WGA sources. Don't trust the biased trade sources or social media.]

#wga #wga strike #2007 writers strike #am i little crazy about the lack of inter-fandom solidarity these days? tumblr has made us all so partitioned.#yeah. yeah maybe i am

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littlejuicebox · 5 months

Text

LittleJuicebox Masterlist

Click here for my AO3 account. (Converting is a WiP).

If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please DM me and I can send you the google doc link. I have decided to keep tag lists for each individual series so you only get tagged in the ones you want.

My personal favorites are denoted by a +.

GN reader is denoted by a * otherwise assume Fem reader/OC.

Titles colored red are smut or other mature themes, 18+ only.

AstarionxWren Series:

This is a canon-adjacent passion project which focuses on Astarion and Wren, a ranger half-elf with her own backstory. She is based off my first Tav. Do you like angsty slow burns where two broken people find one another and learn to love again? Then this one is for you.

Chapter 1 / Chasing birds to get high (PG) + Chapter 2 / Between comfort and chaos (PG) Chapter 3 / Sunshine and midnight rain (PG13) + Chapter 4 / Protect the flames (M/Gore) Chapter 5 / Blue and silver bonded (PG13) Chapter 6 / Remember how it feels to have a heartbeat (PG13) Chapter 7 / Give peace a chance (M/Smut) + Chapter 8 / Dancing in a burning room (M/Gore) Chapter 9 / Lavender haze (PG-PG13?) Chapter 10 / I want to hold your hand (PG13)

Midnight Chimes Series:

Your parents own a tavern in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion was somewhat of a regular when you worked at the bar in your younger years. You don’t exactly trust him. Now you’re an apothecary owner based in Waterdeep, and when the two of you crash on the beach, you aren’t exactly thrilled to see him there, too. But things aren’t always what they seem.

1 / The Prologue +

2 / Three years

3 / Luck +

4/ Ringleader

Midwinter Carol Series:

Eirianwen and Astarion were in love before the Ascension ritual changed his behavior toward her. She refused to become a spawn, and they went their separate ways. The story starts when they run into one another fifteen years later; Eirianwen returned to the city to deliver some news to the pale elf. Meanwhile, the Ascendant had a night time visitor that convinced him to change his ways, and he believes his ex-lover might be the key. Will he be able to change after fifteen years of living life as a debauched degenerate?

1 / The Prologue +

2 / The Barrier

3 / The Carriage

4 / The Auction +

5/ The Repeat

6/ The Affliction

7/ The Interrogation

8/ The Scheme

9/ The Snake

AstarionxReader One Shots and Mini-Stories:

Mini-Stories are grouped together in order and denoted by a “Part X” in sequential order after the title. These are in general "timeline" order and follow my (admittedly self-indulgent) headcanon for Spawn Astarion x Tav but can definitely be read as OneShots. All stories are AstarionxReader, some allusions to reader having spellcaster ability but otherwise no real description apart from being female in about 3/4 of the fics.

Act 1-2:

The little things.

Before someone steals your queen

Act 3:

Drunken nights*+

The nail salon

You'll stay still, won't you, little love? +

Post-BG3:

Mermaid whiskey+

Baking Cookies*

Astarion talks in his sleep Part 1*+

My Sun, My Moon Part 2+

Glowing in the Underdark+

Reflections on one year of marriage

Highharvestide Part 1

Highharvestide Part 2

Handmade+

Dadstarion:

The wish spell worked.+

Daddy?

Little bump.

Labor and joy

Skin to skin.

Milk.+

Little lockpick.

Beach babies.+

A growing brood.

Puppy love.

Stuck.

Pre-BG3 / Random / Ascended Astarion OneShots

Midnight chimes / The Original One Shot

Pre-BG3. You’ve known Astarion for years… or at least, you’ve known of him. You think he’s a rake, but one night he changes your mind. The series "Midnight Chimes" started based off this "prologue."

A Midwinter Carol / The Original One Shot

“A Christmas Carol” but Ascended Astarion is Scrooge. He sees you after your break up 15 years ago, and then has an unexpected nighttime visitor showing him past, present, and future. Will he be convinced to change his ways? The series "Midwinter Carol" started based off this "prologue."

Naughty or Nice?

You’re Ascended Astarion’s little toy in the middle of a party. TLDR; he’s tease and a BDSM dom.

Dancing on my own

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syoddeye · 27 days

Text

useless, part three

Part three (and the finale!) of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. I finally used my third prompt.

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

66. Price or Reader is auctioned off for a date as part of a fundraiser

cw: one pregnancy mention (Reader does not get pregnant, has never been pregnant)

Read Part One, Part Two. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~4.2k words, Price x f!Reader. This is the most self-indulgent shit I've written in awhile. Please enjoy.

It's past midnight when you limp through the front door of your flat, dropping belongings and articles of clothing alike, shedding both the weight of personhood and your eighteen-hour day. You set your keys down on the end of the counter, ignoring the thin folder for the umpteenth time. James will undoubtedly text about it in the morning, his patronizing messages more reliable than any alarm clock. A half-hour commute home, and you didn't even glance at your phone in fear of accidentally seeing another email from his lawyer. Solicitor. Whatever.

Hamhock slinks out from his lair beneath the bed, weaving between your ankles when you drag yourself into the bathroom.

"Hello Hammy," You whisper, eyeing the newer crop of gray hairs near your roots with a weary neutrality. Definitely the fundraiser's fault. Your hair started to change long before this year's planning began, but this is the longest period you've gone without dyeing it. One thing to thank James for. Not only did his departure give you a crystal clear focus, it freed you from his ridiculous expectations. He'd've commented the moment he spotted the wisps of silver, then casually worked something like anti-aging cream into the conversation.

The prick poisoned the well, and now the only man in the world for you currently lies at your feet. How it should've been from the start, really.

After checking the orange menace's automatic feeder, you slip into bed, allow him to assume his nocturnal throne—your armpit—and plug your phone in one-handed. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of notifications, thumb swiping by muscle memory, and set an alarm. With two weeks left until the big day and more than a hundred unsold tickets, you need every moment you can get. You sigh, counting the tasks of the day ahead instead of sheep.

You'll sign the divorce papers tomorrow.

Naomi practically forces the granola bar into your hands. The assistant stage manager and the props lead—the younger woman is the glue to your glue. A newer fixture at the Bramble Theatre, she was you to an extent, maybe a decade ago: fresh-faced, eager, and optimistic.

"I didn't like how you were looking at the wax fruit."

"We should swap the oranges for plums. Or pears."

"We've been through this. The oranges fit the palette, from the paintings to Dotty's–oh, quit pulling my leg."

You grin, then jut your chin at the stack of slips in her hand. "Are those the waivers? Did all the volunteers sign?"

"Yes, I can post headshots today on socials, so that should boost sales."

"Good. That's one fire extinguished," Rubbing your temple, you lean back in your chair. "I feel gross about it, though. I mean, we run shows that are hundreds of years old, but a date auction? Why don't we raise a guillotine out front and sacrifice effigies to raise money?"

Naomi blinks and whips out her phone. "...Okay, one, I'm noting the effigy idea for next year, but two, the auction won the vote, and everyone participating volunteered."

You grimace. "I know, it's just–"

The sudden opening of the door to your shoebox office interrupts. Theodore, business manager, director, and occasional movement coach, bursts in. Everybody's a multi-hyphenate.

"Terrible news!"

Wonderful. A new fire. You squint, chewing, and watch Naomi try to stifle a laugh valiantly. "Whatever could this be about?"

The older man slams his palms onto your desk, his layered pendants tinkling. "I've punched the numbers, including a best scenario, stars aligning–"

"Teddy. Out with it."

"–we're going to be £40,000 short. Even if we sell out, even if we raffle off the company like cattle, we are circling the drain!"

The tired amusement leaves your body, and in its wake sits a five-digit number and the distant idea to schedule a salon appointment.

The annual fundraiser for the theater, your hard-won home, is a dramatic, demanding, and near-disastrous event every year. The theater has continuously operated a hair above the red, but the laundry list of expenses from the last year cannot be ignored. The new light rig, the stage flooring replacement, the curtain repairs—they never stop. Sponsors and grants only go so far.

Originally, you took this job for its laughable but slightly higher pay and because running around like a madwoman between four gigs at a time wasn't as thrilling or charmingly bohemian as it was in your twenties. Your livelihood depends on the playhouse's success. And the economy. And the general public's attitude toward the arts. All wildly variable. It made you resourceful, and already, you were composing a mental list of people to politely bully for pledges promised in years past. You need time and a phone charger.

"Teddy," you set the half-eaten granola bar down. "Go get ready for afternoon rehearsal. Naomi, cover for me today?"

"'Course."

Theodore swipes his spindly fingers over his brow, nodding fervently at your resolve. "If anyone can pull it off, it's you. Do tell if there is anything yours truly can do." With a flourish, the director departs your office, but Naomi lingers.

"You know if it's donations we need…"

You shake your head, immediately knowing what she intends to suggest. "Out of the question."

"But think of her–"

"I'd rather debase myself and resort to dinner theatre."

"I'm just saying–"

"Naomi," You stress. "I am not calling my mother."

She frowns. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Are you really so proud you wouldn't leverage your family's connections to save the Bramble?"

It makes you pause. As usual, she's right. Irritatingly so. You could take another salary cut, but you'd need to find a flatshare, a humiliating idea. Hammy wouldn't survive it, the sensitive thing. You sigh and dismiss her with a wave.

"Fine I won't rule it out. But I'm going to shake down half the city first."

An hour later, you've managed to secure a percentage. Not too shabby, but far from the goal. You take a break to read James's team's latest, vaguely threatening missives and entertain the idea of withholding your signature until he makes a donation. What's a little extortion in the name of art?

You know it's wrong to delay this ugly process. How close relief is should you simply sign the papers. But it's another failure, another black spot in your life's ledger. Another dream crushed beneath the boot of reality. With a wave of bitterness, you type out a curt reply, ensuring you will sign the papers and ask them to arrange for a courier tomorrow.

Naomi's suggestion takes advantage of your mind's lethargy, testing the strength of your will and stubbornness. The last time you phoned your mother was months ago, on the anniversary of dad's death. The old man took his last bow five years back, and it destroyed the last bridge between you and your formidable mother. In retirement, she still holds court with major political players stateside…and across the pond.

Before you let your loathing catch up, you pull up her contact card and dial. It's after noon in D.C., the middle of the week. You might get lucky and reach her voice–

"Is everything alright? You're not in the hospital, are you?" Her donnish, sharp voice hurtles you through time and space to your teenage years.

"No," You answer with gritted teeth. A headache waits in the wings. "No, I'm fine, mom."

"Then why are you calling?"

This is why dad handled conversations. You stand, swiftly shutting the door to your office and locking it. "Can't I just call my mom?"

"Of course. Historically, you do not," There's a low murmur of chatter in the background. She's at a luncheon or at the club. "So I assume there is a reason."

Having an ex-ambassador for a mother is a joke. All that practised charm for everyone else in the world, none of it reserved for you. "Okay, yes, there is a reason."

"Thought so. Well, darling, what is it? Is it James? Don't tell me you're pregnant."

You return to your desk and eye the bottle of bourbon on the corner. "No. James and I are divorcing, remember? This is about my work."

There is no acknowledgement of the separation. Instead, your mother pulls the phone away from her mouth, excuses herself from wherever she is, and the background noise dissipates.

"Your work."

"Yes, the Bramble? Look, we're two weeks out from our big annual fundraiser, and–"

"Oh, you need me to write a check." The clicking of her heels halts abruptly, and if you didn't know any better, she wilts. "Fine. How much do you want?"

Your face heats with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "I am not asking for money. If you would stop interrupting me…Ugh, mom, I need help contacting some of your old friends here. If there's anyone you know looking for tax deductions or a pet project to brag about, the Bramble is in a bad spot financially."

In the past, whenever the theatre and, by extension, your chosen profession came up, your mother took the opportunity to lecture. She reminded you of the wasted opportunities she afforded you. She brought up your old schoolmates and their current positions. And most insulting of all, she always, always compared you to a certain soldier. Bracing yourself for her monologuing, you reached for the bottle.

"Why didn't you open with that, darling?"

Your fingers close around empty air, and you nearly pitch out of your seat in surprise. "What?"

"Send me the information. I've been meaning to reconnect with some old friends. When is the fundraiser?"

"In two weeks," You repeat, scrambling to pull up your email on the ancient desktop. "Tickets are–"

"Email it. I'll book my flights today and let you know when I'm getting in."

Your hands hover over the keyboard, and your neck protests the angle it bends to keep your phone lodged between ear and shoulder. "Oh, no, mom, you don't need to come."

"Nonsense. I'll, of course, make my own donation, and as a donor, I ought to see where my money is going."

Christ. For the Bramble, you remind yourself and exhale. "Okay. You do that. Listen, I have to get going…but mom?" It kills you to say it. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Oh, this will be so much fun. I haven't visited since before your father. You know, on the topic of reconnecting, I happened get an email from the Prices the other day, and John–"

There it is. You kick into fourth gear, rattling off your exit. "I've really got to run. Thanks again mom, send me your flight info. Love you. Bye!"

You feel like you've run a marathon and dodged a bullet. And yet, as you send the email and file the waivers, your mind snags on your mother's words. On a name. His name. It's not the first time your unhelpful brain's waylaid you with a trip down memory lane. Admittedly, it's happened more since James asked for the divorce. Most nights, if it isn't life's stresses hounding you, it's an endless parade of what-ifs behind your eyelids.

What if you studied economics instead? What if you stayed in America? What if you hadn't gone to that stupid New Year's party? What if you hadn't kissed John? If you didn't get on the train?

The people in your circle frequently speak about living life without regrets. It's a romantic notion and a highly unrealistic one.

Your phone buzzes—Naomi. You're needed. Pushing the past where it belongs, back on a dark shelf, and head out to put out another fire.

Three days before the fundraiser, your mother lands in London and hosts you at her hotel for dinner. Playing catch-up is a professional sport with a whirlwind of names you barely remember and memories you remember very differently.

You pick at dessert, listening to another story.

"–and he was so insistent that that school of yours was a breeding ground for monsters, and I told him, isn't that what's needed in today's society? People need thick skin in politics and business. You'll be happy to know, though, he bought four tickets to the fundraiser."

You don't remember who you're talking about but smile and nod. It's a tough pill to swallow, your mother's success at rallying old friends with deep pockets. Teddy's practically in love with her despite having never met her, popping his bald head into your office to sing her praises whenever another pledge arrives.

Your response is rote. "That's wonderful, mom. Thank you."

She prattles on for another half hour before you decide it's time to return home to Hamhock and burn the midnight oil on the fundraiser's date auction. You asked the company for fifty-word bios and actors, bless them, struggle to contain their self-praises. When she finally pauses to take a sip of wine, you rise. "I should head home, lots to do–"

Ignoring you outright, her head turns, and she grins. "There you are!"

Following her gaze, your brow lowers in confusion until you clap eyes on a trio headed in your direction in the company of a server. Very briefly, you consider the melodramatics of matricide. You've been set up.

Mr. and Mrs. Price look well for their age, puttering toward your mother. They are greyer and a little shorter, but the warmth is there.

John, however…

The universe is intent on humbling you.

The hair is the first thing you notice. Short, kempt, and annoyingly a dark shade of brown. It's crept southward onto his face in a beard of a choice style. There is comfort in the finer details that clarify as he nears. He hasn't escaped time's passing with a face marked by crow's feet, frown lines, and forehead furrows. Beneath his shirt, there's a slight suggestion of a belly, though, with his thick arms and the narrowing of his waist, he's clearly a wall of muscle.

The worst part is how infuriatingly kind his smile looks. It's the beard. Softens him. Once an arrogant prick, always an arrogant prick.

John rumbles your name in a whisper, reeling you in for a polite peck on the cheek. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

You're years beyond fifteen and twenty-five, but how swiftly the impulse to snark resurfaces is alarming. Maturity tempers you. "You look good, too."

After a few minutes of greetings, the two of you are tasked with heading to the bar to fetch drinks. Wholly unnecessary what with a server, but it's a clear command to let the 'adults' talk for a spell. Nevermind being shy of forty. John's quick to try conversation when the order's in.

"You haven't changed a bit," He observes, leaning against the bar beside you.

"Now there's something a woman wants to hear after a decade." You huff, casting your eyes across the restaurant, finding it difficult to look at him. The dark blue of his sweater makes his eyes pop.

"Fourteen years, actually," He corrects. "Drinking martinis, actin'…"

You snort. "You're half right. The Martini half."

His elbow gently knocks into yours atop the bar. "Apologies. My mother told me you'd been in My Fair Lady last summer."

That draws your attention. "No. The theater put it on, but I'm the stage manager. I haven't been on stage in ages." Your eyes flicker to the table, then back to him. Heat crawls up your collar. What other information has your mother passed along? Glancing down at your bare ring finger, you turn the conversation. "Not so different from a Captain, I reckon. How's that going?"

John squints a little, and his mouth pulls into a familiar smirk, tugging at old strings in your stomach. "Can't complain."

"Riveting stuff," He chuckles at that, a deep rasping sound, and you find yourself grinning. "Don't suppose that bit of clandestine, secret agent-type shit your mom's talked about?"

"Secret agent?"

"Yeah. Mentioned it in a Christmas card maybe three years ago?" You smile triumphantly into your glass. Seems both your mothers have a penchant for dressing up the truth.

His jaw works a tick, and something heavy passes behind his eyes. "Well, 'm not. Not exactly."

"Let me guess. If you told me, you'd have to kill me?"

He refocuses some, and a short laugh leaves him. "Something like that."

It's all painfully familiar, but it feels different with a little more life under your belt. His mere presence keeps you on your toes, yet you haven't felt this comfortable in months. For all the history and tension, talking to him is easy. A silence passes, the drinks arrive, and you ferry them to the table.

The night passes better than you expected when you first saw the Prices. They express belated condolences over your father, you chat about the fundraiser, and John politely navigates questions about his work. It frightens you when he briefly mentions Piccadilly to know he'd been there in the carnage. Part and parcel of military life, you guess.

"John, be a gentleman and walk her to the station," His mother chides as the five of you congregate in the hotel lobby.

"He doesn't need to do that," You hastily say. Not again.

"'Course."

There is something dreadfully giddy to how your parents wish you both goodnight.

At least you do not need to take his arm this time. Still, there is no way John isn't thinking about that night. Not when that look of quiet desperation he wore is seared within your memory. It's silly, but you peeked at his hands earlier, and like yours, they're naked.

You break the silence to fish. "How long are you on leave?"

"A week. Got in yesterday."

"Do you normally visit your parents?"

"Often."

Doesn't mean there isn't a woman in his life. 'Often' is not 'always'.

"Visit anyone else? Friends?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes."

You roll your eyes. "You know, you haven't changed much either. Aside from the beard and smoker's lung. Still a stunning conversationalist."

John smirks down at you. "Picked it up in the army."

Oh, yes. He remembers.

The conversation lulls, and the walk is short. You figure John's keen on a repeat when he wordlessly escorts you to the platform. But today's not a holiday, and the station is reasonably busy. He watches like a hawk, nonetheless, when you check the time.

"Brings back memories," He quietly comments.

Nodding, your thumb rubs where your wedding band used to rest. "Sure does." You respond and meet his gaze.

You studied theater, moved back to London, went to the party, and kissed John. You didn't regret those choices—only one.

The invitation flies out of you as your train emerges from the tunnel.

"Do you want to meet Hamhock?"

"He's…certainly orange."

"Don't rush to spend all your compliments at once," You glare, arms full of Ham, then coo at the cat. "John's jealous because he's going grey in the beard."

"I am not."

"Saw them on the Tube. Can't those from me," You tease and set the cat down, giving your kitchen a quick glance. A silver lining of work eating up your schedule is that you last cleaned two weeks ago, and it's held.

"What're those on your head then?" He gestures with a finger and toes off his shoes.

"Details of a person ageing gracefully." You play it confidently, but part of you holds a breath.

He hums and sidesteps Hamhock. "Suits you. It's pretty."

Maybe inviting him over is a mistake. The bolt that runs through you from the compliment pokes at something you thought buried. "What a gentleman," You try to inject as much sarcasm as possible, but your voice quivers. "I'll be right back. Sit tight?"

You leave John in the kitchen to retreat to the bathroom to regroup. Come on, you scold yourself over the basin for getting worked up. It's just John.

And yet, what remains of your confidence perches on a cliffside at the sight of John pointedly staring at the folder of your copies of the divorce papers on the counter. Fantastic.

His small smile is genuinely sympathetic. It's enraging.

"Y'know, I knew you were married…When I didn't see a ring at the hotel, though, I wondered."

Your chest tightens, and you shove the folder into a bookshelf. "Yep. Finalized the divorce two-ish weeks ago."

You're not in the mood to be reminded of your failures.

"Sorry it didn't work out," John murmurs.

"That's life. That's how it works sometimes," You exhale, then force a smile. "Want a drink? Bourbon? Wine?"

He lets you change the subject, and you let him have a glass of whiskey.

You sit on opposite ends of your short couch, Hamhock acting as a gentlemanly barrier. The conversation rekindles itself after a few fingers of liquor, and eventually, John migrates to the floor, idly playing with the cat. You confide in him about your worries about the event and whether the funds raised will be enough, and he listens. There is no condescension, no bulldozing. Not a trace of smugness at all when he makes suggestions. You don't realize how you've slipped into an old, practically ancient formation until he peers back, eyes creasing from laughter. You're fifteen again, and it is useless to deny it – you are regrettably in love with John Price.

"Can I confess something?" He suddenly asks as your cat waddles off with a catnip toy in his mouth.

Your heart lurches. "If it's a crime, I'm a terrible conspirator."

"No. Nothin' like that, but I lied earlier." He chuckles, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. "My mother didn't tell me about My Fair Lady."

"What do you mean?"

John turns sheepish. "I came an' saw it when I was on leave last summer. Thought I'd surprise you, but I got to the theater and lost my nerve."

Instantly, you pick through scraps of memories from the production. There is no way you would have known he was in attendance, not with how hellishly busy you are.

"You, Captain John Price, lost your nerve?"

Color blooms high on his cheeks, and he turns on the floor, rubbing his neck. "I knew you're not acting but I didn't know how to mention it without soundin' like a prick." His eyes look soft. Different from how they looked that night in his parent's garden. Steady, unwavering, but soft. "I know I'm not good with words. I seem to have a talent for making you angry. But I really am happy to see you. Didn't think I'd get another chance after how I bungled it all those years ago at the train–"

At your grown ages, the angle of the kiss is inadvisable. The two of you fix it without parting, and his hands cup your face when you're finally standing toe-to-toe.

He touches your foreheads together when breathing becomes necessary. "Change anything?"

You don't answer. You lead him to your bedroom and exile the cat.

The fundraiser goes off with a predictable amount of hitches. The caterer is an hour late and forgets half the hors d'oeuvres. The bar runs out of red wine early. Two actors from the children's company slap-fight on stage. Nothing you, Naomi, and Teddy can't fix with elbow grease and stage magic. The caterers re-course. Naomi calls in a favor from her bartender girlfriend. And the children forget their quarrel when they're called upon to defeat Captain Hook.

What you are not prepared for is one of the actors calling out sick, leaving you one date short for the auction. You waste an hour trying to convince one of your fellow techies to step in.

Naomi corners you when you stress-eat a comically tiny piece of toast swiped from a tray.

"You know, if one person is all we need…"

"Your girlfriend won't be mad?"

"Ha-ha, don't get cheeky. C'mon, isn't it time you got back out there?"

You suppress a smug smile. Naomi has no idea. Nobody does. You've gotten back out there and then some.

"Did I not tell you I was grossed out by the auction?"

She's relentless. "Are you really so proud you wouldn't debase yourself a little for the Bramble?"

"Absolutely not."

You'd said it with such conviction, so it's a puzzle when you find yourself waiting in the stage wing, makeup hurriedly refreshed. It takes all your courage and grace not to stumble to Teddy's side when he calls your name. He improvises an introduction on the fly, and you nearly laugh when you realize this is the first time you've been on the stage, under a spotlight, in years.

The bidding opens, and you hold your breath, letting it go when a few unfamiliar voices call out numbers. A humbling embarrassment clutches you by the throat. But then a paddle raises more confidently in the front row. The light is bright, but you know whose hand hoists it high.

He collects you at the end of the night as you lock up.

"There's my prize."

You can't stop the grin that splits your face. "It's just a date, John."

"Yeah, doin' things a bit out of order, aren't we?" A glimmer of his younger, puffed-up self shines through, and his hand envelops yours.

As you walk, your elbow digs into his ribs, "What will our mothers say?"

"That a big deal to you?"

"To some people."

"Well, love, you're not 'some people'."

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #cw alcohol #i love love #i love corny shit #i needed to write something soft okay?#lightly edited bc i don't think i'll have time to write tomorrow and the deadline is tomorrow!

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oliversrarebooks · 9 months

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The Rare Bookseller and the Vampire Auction: Masterlist

The story of Oliver, a seller of rare books who is kidnapped and sold at a high-end auction for vampires to purchase thralls.

18+. Contains vampires, mind control, hypnotic inductions, captivity / gilded cage, blood drinking, abuse, violence, torture, Stockholm syndrome, slavery / human auction, psychological whump.

1. Alexander's Warning

2. Oliver's Kidnapping

3. Oliver's Car Ride

4. Oliver's Exam

5. Oliver's Shower

6. Oliver's Cell

7. Oliver's Neighbors

8. Joe's Story

9. Oliver's Anticipation

10. Oliver's Conditioning

11. Emily's Despair

12. Oliver's Grade

13. Oliver's Fears

14. Lily's Hard Work

15. Emily's Last Meal

16. Emily's Defiance

17. Oliver's Long Shot

18. Oliver's Fancy Dress

19. Oliver's Price Tag

20. Alexander's Temptation

21. Jameson's Threat

22. Oliver's Auction

23. Alexander's Purchase

24. Alexander's Troubles

25. Fitz's Magic Show

26. Lily's Favorite Thrall

27. Oliver's Delivery

28. Fitz's Capture

29. Oliver's Welcome

30. Alexander's Rules

31. Fitz's Showtime

32. Oliver's New Life

33. Alexander's Feeding

34. Fitz's Curtain Call

35. Oliver's Walk

36. Alexander's Desire

37. Alexander's Housekeeper

38. Alexander's Sire

39. Fitz's Rose

40. The Maestro's Mark

41. Alexander's Mark

42. Fitz's Cold Comfort

43. Katherine's Advice

44. Alexander's Vain Hope

45. Fitz's Reflection

46. Oliver's Ballet

47. The Maestro's Diversion

AUs and Extra Material

Fitz's Volunteer Part One Part Two

Oliver's Songbird AU Part One Part Two

Alexander's Sweet Dream AU Part One Part Two Part Three

Fitz: Sleepy Fitz || Fitz in the Snow || Fitz's Waking Nightmare

Roger: Fitz's Alarm Clock

Emily: Emily's Crayons

Jameson: Jameson's Insult

Riana (Fanfiction): Riana's Determination

Auction House Worldbuilding

Picrews: Oliver || Alexander & Lily || Fitz || Emily

Hunting Dog

A side story about a vampire hunter captured and turned into an obedient hunting dog.

Lowell's Mistake

Please ask if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #vampire #vampire whumpee #mind control

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hanafubukki · 7 months

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OT3 Masterlist

Knight of Dawn x Reader x Lilia Vanrouge

Fanfics/Scenarios (can be read together or each a standalone; each part is after some time has past)

Part 1 (YN gets transported to the past)

Part 2 (YN treats an injured Lilia)

Part 3 (YN returns home)

Ficlets

Meleanor & Reader

Meleanor & Reader and The Senate

Twst Playful Land Scenarios

Asks/Drabbles

Ask 1 (Ways to become Silver's Mom)

Ask 2, (Domestic life with OT3)

Ask 3, (More domestic moments and Baby Silver saves Dada Lilia)

Ask 4, (YN returns to the future and shenanigans with Twst cast)

Ask 5, (More shenanigans with Twst cast)

Ask 6, (Vil, Silver, and Dawn)

Ask7, (Dawn's role in the future and Twst cast shenanigans)

Ask 8, (Lilia, Meleanor, and Levan shenanigans)

Ask 9, (Silver has an internal crisis in a fun way)

Ask 10, (YN and Lilia Drabble; Reunion between YN and Lilia in the future)

Ask 11, (YN pregnant again)

Ask 12, (Author breaks a few hearts)

Ask 13 (Author is thanked for the pain)

Ask 14 (Meleanor and Lilia squabble)

Ask 15 (drabble: you get kidnapped by a dragon on your wedding day)

Ask 16 (nrc learns about your legend)

Ask 17 (Lilia runs away from Meleanor)

Ask 18 (Lilia uses YN against Meleanor)

Ask 19 (Dawn wins a bet)

Ask 20 (family tree)

Ask 21 (Family eating naan and curry)

Ask 22 (OT3 reaction to the events of Glorious Masquerade)

Ask 23 (the Left General)

Ask 24 (Pregnancy and the Apple)

Ask 25 (Family Shenanigans: Lilia and Levan rebel, while Dawn is confused)

Ask 26 (Meleanor kidnappings continues)

Ask 27 (Time Wimey and Age Shenanigans)

Ask 28 (part 4 excerpt)

Ask 29 (YN pregnant with Lilia’s child/questionable eating habits)

Ask 30 (Auction for a date with YN, bidding chaos)

Ask 31 (the Accountant’s Woes)

Ask 32 (tattoos)

Ask 33 (Spider fae accountant)

Ask 34 (Lilia meets YN, who just arrived at Twisted Wonderland)

Ask 35 (Lilia oversleeps)

Ask 36 (the adventures of the Spider Fae Accountant)

Ask 37 (Anonie’s Soldier!Yuu)

Ask 38 (Peter the Spider Fae talk)

Ask 39 (thanking Peter the Spider Fae)

Ask 40 (YN has a nightmare and is comforted)

Ask 41 (Hana rambles about OT3)

Ask 42 (Plans against the Senate)

Ask 43 (Peter goes on vacation)

Ask 44 (the special dinner)

Ask 45 (lovely message from anon)

Ask 46 (YN and Silver relationship)

Ask 47 (Milf!Reader thoughts)

Ask 48 (Your future daughter visits you)

Other AUs

Coffee Shop AU

Malleus Draconia x Reader x Lilia Vanrouge

To Be Theirs

The One Most Loved

WIP Excerpt

#masterlist #Twst Knight of Dawn x Reader x Lilia Vanrouge #Malleus Draconia x Reader x Lilia Vanrouge #OT3 Masterlist #meleanor draconia #levan draconia #twst knight of dawn x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #baul zigvolt

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phoen1xr0se · 2 months

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[EDIT: LAST CHANCE TO BID!!] Very excited to announce that I am taking part in the Fandom Trumps Hate charity auction this year!

The highest bidder will receive a 10-20k bespoke Good Omens fanfic written by me - you choose the pairing(s), setting, theme, and we can discuss exactly what you're hoping for before I get to work. If you're unsure about something you might want, drop me a DM before bidding closes and I'll let you know if I'm open to it.

All proceeds will go to my chosen charity, Sherlock's Homes, who provide housing, employment opportunities and a loving support system for LGBTQIA+ young adults.

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚

The link above will take you to my offering page, you can find the link to bid on my work there.

If you'd like to take a look at an example of my writing, you can find me on AO3.

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚

[Reblog pls - its for charity!]

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whywishesarehorses · 9 months

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BLM Mustang Mares for Sale - Bruneau Holding

These girls are from a variety of HMAs and are part of the August 2023 auction. Some are in their second or third round.

3 YEAR OLD ROANRED FEMALE HORSE (0055) 14.3hh

10 YEAR OLD ROANRED FEMALE HORSE (0319) 15hh

8 YEAR OLD OTHER FEMALE HORSE (0551) 14.1hh

7 YEAR OLD ROANSTRAWBERRY FEMALE HORSE (0558) 14.2hh

5 YEAR OLD PALOMINO FEMALE HORSE (0639) 14.3hh

7 YEAR OLD SORREL FEMALE HORSE (0640) 15hh

6 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (0672) 14hh

4 YEAR OLD DUN FEMALE HORSE (1653) 14.1hh

4 YEAR OLD GRULLA FEMALE HORSE (1665) 14.1hh - gaming horse, anyone?

4 YEAR OLD DUN FEMALE HORSE (1672) 14.1hh

4 YEAR OLD BLACK FEMALE HORSE (1722) 14.3hh

6 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (1723) 14.2hh

5 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (1750) 14.2hh

6 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (1754) 14.2hh

5 YEAR OLD GRAY FEMALE HORSE (1856) 14.2hh

4 YEAR OLD ROANSTRAWBERRY FEMALE HORSE (1858) 14hh

4 YEAR OLD SORREL FEMALE HORSE (1864) 14.1hh

6 YEAR OLD GRAY FEMALE HORSE (1875) 14hh

4 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (1922) 14.3hh

4 YEAR OLD GRAY FEMALE HORSE (1938) 14.1hh

6 YEAR OLD BLACK FEMALE HORSE (1952) 14.2hh

4 YEAR OLD GRAY FEMALE HORSE (1953) 14.2hh

4 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (1975) 14.3hh

6 YEAR OLD GRAY FEMALE HORSE (2034) 14.1 (hello miss arab)

4 YEAR OLD GRAY FEMALE HORSE (3247) 14.1hh

6 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (3259) 14.2hh

6 YEAR OLD BLACK FEMALE HORSE (3391) 15.3hh

#blm mustang #mustang horse #horse #equestrian #photo #horse for sale #horseblr #mustang

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s-i-n-i-s-i-n · 8 months

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Carmen Sandiego

Outfit Ranking. Season 1

Here is Part 2

Here is my very own ranking for Carmen Sandiego outfits in season 1.

I feel it is necessary to mention that she is so fucking hot and wicked-awesome that she looks amazing in everything. She would look beautiful in a potato sack.

Warning: this is a long post that may contain my bad resolution images and poorly made gifs.

13. Gray Vile Uniform.

It is weird that having Countess Cleo on the very faculty, the students' uniforms are so ugly. 0/10 Ugly crap. Even the cleaners look better.

12. Dark Vile Uniform.

It is an upgrade. Still not very stylish. Kinda neutral, but at least black and green get along fine enough. But it is a uniform... her personality doesn't shine through this one.

11. Overalls.

She still hasn't grown into her own style but at least I believe it is a personal choice. And green is so not her color.

10. Lab Coat.

She looks so sexy with glasses. She looks classy and smart. But at the end of the day, it is just a lab coat. We know she can rock anything she puts on, but there is no much effort in this, since it is a disguise, a quite simple one at that. Still, baby you look great!

9. The jammies!

So cozy. We get a glimpse at her everyday life. Still very practical and very red. She seems to wear her make up to bed and leave her clothes on the floor.

We are not only seeing a superthief here, but a beautiful woman that just woke up... literally.

8. Diver suit.

Red, red all over. Completely in character. It is obvious the effort in making this piece useful efficient and stylish all in one. Probably one of Ivy's best works.

7. Duchess disguise.

How did Devineaux didn't recognize that beautiful gray eye! Black suits her just fine. Mysterious and fancy. Shows her figure well and the pantsuit compliments her nice strong legs. Looks good with straight hair (that's the only straight thing that suits her).

You can see here she likes chokers. They are part of most of her outfits.

6. Denim shorts.

Wow talking about nice strong legs! Girl you're just showing off. Don't blame you, keep it up. Sporty look here appropriate for the weather. How can she make a short and a t-shirt look so good is beyond me.

With a matching hoodie when it gets cold.

5. Bikini.

Sadly we could not get a good look at this piece. She was on a bad mood at that particular time and didn't want to get off the chair. Too much sun, she said I've had enough tropical beach to last me a lifetime, she said.

Despite how awesome she probably looks in this swimsuit, I think it does not deserve to be in the top 3.

We know she likes wide hats :)

4. Auction Dress.

Hot hot hot hot! Oh boy it's burning baby! No words for this. My brain just melted when I saw her in this dress for the first time. Red and gold combine so well.

The gloves! so elegant!!!

Did you see her back?! asdjkwashgdfhf!!!! Also I told you she likes chokers.

Bonus! We get a closer look at her shoes! And so does Devineaux :)

Now the next is the Top 3. I believe the next ones really look good on her. Not only because she looks pretty but also because it shows her personality. She feels so confident and comfortable wearing them that she puts them on regularly. Therefore it may not be a surprise they are the top 3.

But before that, the 3 honorable mentions.

Honorable mention # 1.

A cute dress for a cute girl.

Honorable mention #2.

Olé!

Honorable mention #3.

Black sheep.

3. Mumbai outfit.

She wears this the first time in Mumbai. Where she meets Jules. Perfect for hot weather. Nice and casual. Little red belt and unavoidable chocker. Love it. I don't know what else to tell you. Simply fabulous.

She is just so unbelievably cool.

2. The RED COAT.

This is the most recognizable of all. The signature. The trademark. This one is what earns her the nick names. La femme rouge! The crimson ghost! Fedora the explorah!

The agility, the sneakiness, the skillfulness!

This coat represents the path she chose. This is the person she has become. Where the world is in danger of loosing its history she's made her mission to preserve it.

Iconic. Just iconic.

So resourceful! She makes me weak in the knees.

NUMBER 1.

Red Hoodie.

Where the Red Coat dresses the thief, the Red Hoodie warms up the woman. This is Carmen, the girl in her comfy everyday clothes. If she had had a normal life, this is what she would wear.

You know that shirt that you barely take off? The one pair of pants that you wear so often it gets holes at the knees? This is it for Carmen.

This is what she feels most comfortable wearing on a daily basis. It is my opinion that this is the more genuine expression of Carmen Sandiego when it comes to clothes. And for that I give this outfit the first place.

Gorgeous!

Thank you for coming!

Here is Part 2

#Carmen Sandiego 2019 #Carmen Sandiego season 1 #I'm just a sucker for her #simping #simpin hard #absolutely infatuated #Carmen Sandiego #ay carmencita!

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nyoomerr · 1 month

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FTH bidding is open - donate to a good cause and receive a gift fic from me!

@fandomtrumpshate is a fanworks auction to raise money for progressive nonprofit organizations, and bidding for this year's event is now open!

i'm one of over 30 svsss creators offering up a gift to top bidders - that's so much incredible talent being volunteered to help raise money for a good cause! make sure to check out that whole svsss tag; there's offers up for art, fic, podfic, and fanlabor such as betaing!

i'm super excited to be a part of this event. my offer is mixed in with the other svsss ones, but here's a direct link to it, too. that official post has the full details of where to bid, what i won't write, and etc, but here's the TLDR of what i'm offering:

⭐ 1 svsss fic ⭐ 5-10k word minimum ⭐ max rating of mature ⭐ $10 minimum bid!

bidding ends in just a few days on March 9th, so don't hesitate!

let’s all have fun raising some money for a good cause!! ヾ(•ω•`)o

#let's go let's go let's go let's go!!!#i have to figure out where i'll be placing my bids too 👀#fandom trumps hate #fth #svsss #nyoomerr rambles

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sapphire-writes · 10 months

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Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 2 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Your first full day in King's Landing, and you get the lay of the land at the Kingsroad Country Club.

word count: 3.8k

detailed warning under the cut

warnings: language

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

note: as always, likes, comments, reblogs are greatly appreciated! Let me know what you think, if you'd like to be tagged, etc. 💙

A sharp knock on your door wakes you from the deepest sleep of your life. Baela has a way of knocking, but not knocking. By the second rap of her knuckles, she’s already opening the door and entering the room, clad in a baby blue tennis skirt and a matching top.

Her silver curls are held away from her face in a high ponytail as she sits on the edge of your bed.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” she tells you as you groan, pressing your face back into the softness of your pillow.

“This is the comfiest bed….I’ve ever slept in….in my whole life,” you tell her, your voice muffled by the pillow.

“That’s because you’ve been sleeping on a twin xl for the past five months,” she says snickering, poking your sides.

You try to roll away from her, burrowing deeper into the soft plush comforter.

“Whaaaa,” you moan, pushing her hands away.

“Come on, we have things to do,” she tells you.

With a groan, you roll over to face her.

“Where are we going?” you ask, sitting up and stretching your arms above your head.

“Kingsroad Country Club,” she tells you, “We’ll grab breakfast there with Rhae.”

She stands up moving to your closet.

“Bring a bathing suit,” she tells you, “The pool is amazing, we can see if anyone interested has come home for the summer.”

You raise an eyebrow at her as she paws through your clothes. You’d only just started to unpack the previous night, before giving in to the temptation of sleep. You couldn’t stop thinking about Baela’s stupid uncle either, which only made completing your task of unpacking more frustrating.

“Interesting?” you ask and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“A summer fling never hurt anyone,” Baela teases.

“Okay, let’s do it,” you agree, and she shuts your closet door.

“Meet me downstairs!” she calls, closing the door behind her.

You quickly get dressed in a simple sundress and after a quick trip across the bay in Baela’s skiff, you dock outside of the Kingsroad Country Club.

You follow Baela’s lead after you make sure Moondancer is safely roped so she won’t drift back into Blackwater Bay. The country club is just as extravagant as everything else appears to be in King’s Landing. A woman smiles at you as you pass in front of the signup booth for the regatta. Baela leads you past the massive pool and toward the balcony as you arrive; it’s filled with white and blue umbrellas on glass tables, surrounded by white linen chairs.

The balcony overlooks several tennis courts, with several people engaged in singles and doubles matches. Further out you spot a golf course, acres of green grass as far as you can see.

“Breakfast here is bomb,” Baela tells you, “Seriously, the best Eggs Benedict I’ve ever had.”

As you sit for breakfast examining the menu, Baela continues to talk about all the fun things she has planned for this summer, while putting in an order of mimosas for the table. Rhaena joins a few moments later, in a heated conversation with Helaena.

“There’s no rush, right?” Helaena says to Rhaena as they sit.

“It’s a month away, of course, there’s a rush!” Rhaena says, taking a sip of the water provided.

“For what?” Baela asks.

“The auction? The gala?” Rhaena answers, “Please tell me you told Y/N about the gala.”

Baela glances at you sideways and Rhaena rolls her eyes.

“Okay perfect, so Hel and Y/N need outfits,” Rhaena sighs, “The club hosts a gala and an auction each year for the regatta, it's really fun! Families donate artifacts, art, stuff like that and spend a shit ton of money.”

A waiter stops by, delivering mimosas and taking your breakfast orders.

“It was fun maybe when we were like twelve,” Baela tells her, “It’s a fashion show. A night for our family to pretend they’re perfect.”

“You’re just mad Dad wants us to go together,” Rhaena scolds, frowning.

Baela clenches her jaw, narrowing her eyes at her twin.

“Exactly,” she answers, to Rhaena’s surprise, “Alicent doesn’t make her kids go, why should I be forced?”

“Oh my Mom forces us alright,” Helaena says smiling, “She was beyond pissed when Aegon and I skipped last year, I thought her head was going to explode. I’m going.”

“Why though?” Baela asks, groaning dramatically and slumping in her seat, “It’s medieval.”

“Because I want to wear a dress and look pretty,” Helaena says grinning, “Come on Bae, you’ll look like such a pretty princess.”

Helaena stretches her hand, poking Baela’s cheek causing you to chuckle. Helaena keeps sing-songing ‘pretty princess’ until Baela swats her hand away.

“Remember when we all wore those matching dresses? Talk about medieval,” Helaena snorted.

Rhaena spares a laugh then, biting her lip at the memory.

“Please, Bae?” she asks, “Plus, you have to let Y/N experience it, it’s a magical night.”

Baela glances at you and you shrug nonchalantly.

“I polish up real nice,” you tell her.

“Don’t quote Taylor Swift to me,” she groans, but a smile appears on her lips, “Okay fine.”

Rhaena squeals and claps her hands together.

“So…no to the matching dresses or….?” Helaena asks, answered by a unanimous chorus of no.

A whistle startles you from your conversation as Aegon jogs over to your table, sunglasses dangling off his nose, violet eyes peering over the edge. He arrives just as the waiter returns with your food, distributing your plates.

“Ladies,” he muses, placing his hands on the back of Helaena’s chair and leaning forward.

“Go away,” Baela tells him, causing him to pout, “You’re ruining my meal.”

“I come bearing gifts,” he says, pulling a joint from where it was hidden in his hair.

He holds it out between his fingers before Helaena reaches up, snatching it from him and placing it behind her own ear.

“Thanks,” she tells him, and he hums.

“Happy to be of service,” he says, snatching a triangle of toast from her plate.

“Fucking vulture!” she hisses, swatting him as he hurries away.

“Where’s he off to?” Rhaena muses.

“Probably skulking around the pool looking for an unsuspecting girl with low self-esteem,” Helaena says, rolling her eyes.

Your eyes follow Aegon who does not head toward the pool but instead down the steps toward the tennis courts. As you see who’s waiting for him you can’t help but roll your eyes. Aemond twirls a racket in his hand, clad in three-quarter-length green tennis shorts accentuating the muscles of his thighs.

He wears a simple white t-shirt molded to his torso. You assume he’s already played a set, as a man with dark hair leaves the court, patting Aegon on the shoulder as he takes his place. Aemond takes a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, revealing the v-line that disappears down his shorts. He runs a hand through his silver hair; it's kept shorter on the sides, and a bit longer on the top accentuating his sharp features.

Aegon says something to his brother, and Aemond meets your gaze. You scowl before looking away, not missing the satisfied smirk that appears on Aemond’s face at your reaction. Your cheeks flush and you take a sip of your mimosa trying to hide your annoyance.

“What is his problem?” you mumble, as Baela sips her mimosa.

“Who?” Rhaena asks, following your gaze, “Oh-”

“You got off on the wrong foot, that’s all,” Helaena tells you, “But he’ll warm up. Aemond takes a while to defrost.”

“A while? Try years,” Baela says chuckling, “Seriously you’re good, Y/N. Don’t even worry about it.”

You chew on your lower lip, anxiety swirling in your stomach.

“I feel like I said something wrong last night,” you tell them, “I pissed him off somehow.”

The cousins exchange glances before Rhaena sighs, accepting that she’ll be the person to spill the dirty details. You raise your eyebrows at her, expectantly.

“So your sailor comment, about Luke?” Rhaena says, jogging your memory.

You nod, wordlessly encouraging her to continue.

“Luke and Aemond have history,” she begins, somewhat beating around the bush, “It’s kind of complicated-”

“It’s not,” Baela interrupts, “Look, our family is a soap opera, right? Well for the longest time, they tried to make us all get along, force us to do like ‘family bonding activities’ and it came back to bite them in the ass.”

Tension hangs in the air as she speaks, and you sense they haven’t told you an essential piece of information.

“I’m not following,” you tell them.

The twins glance at Helaena, who sighs while running a hand through her hair.

“There was an accident. A boating accident, Luke didn’t do what he was supposed to, and…” she trails off, “Aemond lost his eye because of it.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe, your heart falling into your stomach.

“It wasn’t his fault, I mean we were all kids, and my dad, he never thought things through, ever,” Helaena says sighing, “We were just kids. If it's anyone’s fault it was his.”

Panic bubbles in your throat, heat rising to your face as you glance back at the tennis court. You hear the smack of the tennis ball against his racket as Aemond swings, making Aegon sprint to the opposite side to try and catch the ball.

“I had no idea, fuck,” you begin, “Shit, I should say something.”

Helaena shakes her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” she tells you, “I mean, you can try, but Aemond’s pretty closed off.”

“Aemond’s been a dick since we were kids,” Baela tells you.

But you feel like you have to. Aemond had been a dick to you, but you hadn’t meant to poke at a wound. You’d say something.

Daeron and Luke run by quickly, both clad in swim trunks, speaking rapidly about something while hunched around Daeron’s iPhone. Rhaena frowns, taking a sip from her mimosa as they make a beeline toward the regatta sign-up booth.

“Daeron!” Helaena calls, waving them over.

The boys stop, not looking up, but head toward the table.

“What’re you doing?” Helaena asks, rising from her seat and reaching for her brother’s phone.

“Give it Hel!” Daeron says, but Helaena is quicker, with years of practice being surrounded by brothers.

She glances at the screen, eyebrows furrowing together before she rolls her violet eyes.

“Not this again,” she comments as Daeron snatches the phone, his ears turning red.

“We need it!”

“You say that every year!” Helaena teases.

“Need what?” you ask.

“Every year, they go on a treasure hunt, for Aegon the Conqueror's lost ruby crown,” Helaena tells you.

“Who’s Aegon the Conqueror?” you ask.

“Some dickhead who thought he was discovering King’s Landing but instead ruined the lives of the indigenous people who were here before him,” Baela tells you.

“He had a cool crown though,” Luke comments, “And if we find it, it’s good luck for the regatta.”

“You don’t need luck,” Rhaena tells him, “You’ve spent nearly all your free time on Arrax, you have this in the bag.”

Luke gives her a pained expression, his cheeks turning pink at her praise.

“I guess so,” he tells her.

Baela blows a raspberry, ruffling Luke’s hair. He makes a noise of protest, quickly trying to fix the mess she’s made.

“You know Arrax like the back of your hand,” she confirms, “You got this.”

“They’re right, dude,” Daeron comments, “It’s all good.”

“Says the person who doesn’t have to do it,” Luke says.

Daeron shrugs.

“Blame my mom. I don’t get why I have to visit Uncle Ormund,” Daeron groans, “Oldtown is so fucking boring.”

“Why doesn’t she make Aemond go?” Luke asks.

“Because he’s mom’s favorite,” Daeron answers immediately, earning a slap on the back of the head from Helaena, “OW!”

“Mom doesn’t have favorites,” Helaena insists as Daeron punches her in the arm.

He flinches as Helaena smacks him again, yelling and scrambling away from her. Luke laughs at the sight and you can’t help but giggle as well. Helaena seems so dreamy, with her head in the clouds, but she’s tough having grown up among three brothers.

Rhaena grabs Helaena’s glass, moving it out of the way as Daeron twists her arm, causing her to bump into the table.

“You little shit!” she yelps, stomping on his foot.

Daeron releases her with a pained gasp, hopping out of reach. Luke tugs his shoulder, directing him toward the sign-up booth.

“Assholes,” Helaena mutters, falling back into her seat.

You can’t help but giggle at their antics. You watch as they make it to the sign-ups, crouching over the sheet to write their names. You smile at the boys. If there is still tension between the sides of the family, at least Luke and Daeron seem to get along. And you’re really liking Helaena.

“You provoked him,” Rhaena teases and Helaena’s mouth drops open, “Kidding!”

Helaena puts on her sunglasses before taking a bite of her eggs.

“What are your plans for the day?” she asks, through a mouthful.

Baela makes a face before answering.

“I’m thinking we will keep today pretty chill. Drinks by the pool, maybe visit the spa. Oh! And we have to rent you a racket,” Baela says smiling.

“For what?” you ask.

“Tennis, dummy!” Baela says, rolling her eyes, “Rich kid special, I’m going to teach you the sport we were all forced to.”

“Five summers of tennis camp,” Rhaena says grimacing, “Another family bonding experience where we all nearly murdered each other.”

“This family is strangely fucking competitive,” Helaena agrees, nodding.

You laugh and continue eating your breakfast. Helaena and Rhaena promise to join you later on but disappear as you make your way to the pool.

“Baela!” the woman at the regatta sign-up calls as you and Baela walk past.

Baela stops, smiling begrudgingly at the woman. Though she’s wearing a sun hat, the bridge of her nose is red from the sun. She smiles as you and Baela approach.

“Hey Mrs. Redwyne,” Baela says politely.

“I was curious if you’re planning on entering this year?” Mrs. Redwyne asks, motioning to the sign-up sheet.

“Oh no, not this year,” Baela says, shaking her head, “I think my dad might, but I’m just trying to have a relaxing summer.”

“I see,” Mrs. Redyne says, eyes flickering to someone else who approaches.

“Are you signing up?” Luke says, panting as though he booked it back over to the booth.

“Chill,” Baela tells him, “No I’m just looking.”

It seems Mrs. Redwyne lost interest after Baela told her she wasn’t competing. Baela nudges your arm, nodding towards the pool, just as a group of guys joins you at the booth.

“Hey Bae,” a curly-haired boy says, leaning down to the sign-ups.

He wets his lips, signing his name in a quick flourish.

“Didn’t realize you were home,” he says, handing the pen back to Mrs. Redwyne.

He stands straight and smiles, flashing rows of pearly white teeth.

“Who’s your friend?” the curly-haired boy asks, peering around Baela to look at you.

You meet his warm, brown eyes, blushing at his stare. Whoever he is, he’s handsome.

“My roommate, best friend,” Baela says, introducing you, “She’s staying for the summer.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking your hand and smiling, “I’m Will.”

“Y/N,” you tell him, returning his smile.

He smiles like a politician trying to win votes; it’s sweet, disarming. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and your stomach does flip-flops. Not a totally unpleasant feeling.

“You gonna compete?” he asks, nodding to the sign-ups.

“Me? No, I don’t really sail. I’ll be cheering Luke from the sidelines,” you tell him.

“Damn, already chosen a side, I respect that,” he says, crossing his arms, “Though I bet I can change your mind.”

“How so?” you ask, surprised at your flirtatious tone.

It’s easy, here in King’s Landing. You don’t really know anyone, you’ve got nothing to lose.

“Reigning champs, last three years,” he not so subtly brags, “The Golden Rose is undefeated.”

“Impressive,” you tell him, nodding in appreciation.

“Hardly,” a familiar voice drolls from behind you.

Aemond walks by, Aegon by his side. They’d finished their set, both sweaty and glistening in the morning sun. A shame they’re dicks. They’re undoubtfully hot as fuck. It seems the worst guys always are. Aemond’s eye flickers between you and Will, lip curling upwards in a sneer.

“Are you finally competing?” Will asked, eyes widening, “If I remember correctly, you’re not that fond of sailing.”

Aemond shrugs, and Will chuckles nervously.

“Dude, do you even have a boat?” he asks, causing his friends to chuckle in response.

“We’ve got Sunfyre,” Aegon tells him, “Beautiful, my girl is.”

“Bro,” Will says, placing a hand over his heart, “You’d compete against me?”

“We’re not competing,” Aemond says before Aegon can answer, “Though if we were, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge.”

Aemond’s gaze travels to Luke when he says the last part. Luke shies away from his uncle’s gaze, the tips of his ears reddening. You bite your tongue, turning back to Will.

“I’d like to see your boat,” you tell him, desperate to release some of the tension.

Will smiles, brown eyes returning to yours.

“It’s a date,” he tells you, “Can I get your number?”

You nod and he hands you his phone. You quickly plug in the digits.

“Just so you know, my loyalties still lie with Luke,” you tell him cheekily.

Will laughs at that.

“We’ll see,” he says, taking his phone, “Nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“Likewise,” you tell him.

Will and his friends leave toward the golf course, several of them clasping him on the back. You can’t help but blush. A little summer fling could go a long way. And he is cute.

Aegon shakes his head, moving towards the bar, but Aemond stays put. Baela juts out her lower lip, humming appreciatively.

“Y’know, for once I think Aegon has the right idea,” she muses, “I’ll grab drinks and meet you by the pool?”

“Sounds good,” you tell her, and she’s off.

You figure now is as good a time as any to apologize for the previous night. You steady yourself, pulling back your shoulders, but Aemond speaks first.

“Will Tyrell,” he says, shaking his head, “Figures.”

You arch an eyebrow at him.

“The fuck does that mean?” you ask, crossing your arms.

Aemond smirks.

“Figures you’d be into pretty boys,” he says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

“If that were true I’d be into you,” you snap, eyes widening realizing what you’ve said.

Aemond raises his brows, his smirk only growing.

“Which I’m not,” you anxiously clarify.

His seeing eye narrows and suddenly he’s looking at you differently, his head tilting to the side slightly as he looks you up and down. You turn your head, looking towards the bar. Baela’s still there, leaning forward and chatting with the bartender as he starts the blender.

“Course,” Aemond says, beginning to walk away.

You bite your lip. Fucking always putting your foot in your mouth.

“Wait!” you call and he turns, “I just…about last night.”

Aemond purses his lips, holding a hand up to stop you.

“Don’t,” he says, beginning to turn away.

“But-”

“Seriously,” he warns and continues walking before disappearing into the clubhouse.

But you’re determined, and you follow him inside despite your feet wanting to take you in the opposite direction. You walk into a ballroom, and see Aemond across the room grabbing a water bottle from a fully stocked table.

You head towards him but are stopped by a familiar face.

“Hi!” Floris says smiling, ear to ear, “Are you signing anything up for the auction?”

Your breath leaves your lungs seeing her and you struggle to find your words.

“Um…I…no,” you tell her, shaking your head.

Floris looks at you questioningly.

“Okay, well if you change your mind, we’re here to register items daily from 11-3,” she says, motioning to a table beside her.

“Thanks,” you tell her, moving toward Aemond.

“Hey!” you call, catching his attention.

Aemond looks at you, releasing a deep, exasperated sigh.

This motherfucker.

“Look, I’m sorry if I said something to offend you,” you begin, “Not my intention, and you don’t have to worry about ever interacting with me again.”

“Sounds far-fetched,” he comments, sipping his water.

“What?” you ask incredulously.

This man is giving you a headache.

“You’re staying with my family, we’re bound to run into each other,” he tells you, violet eyes aglow as if he’s enjoying the argument.

“Well I’ll do my best to stay out of your way,” you tell him, “You should do the same.”

“Should I?” he ponders, “You’re awfully demanding.”

You squint at him, jaw slacking in shock. Aemond’s lip curls into a smirk. You breathe in, ready to retaliate, but release a breathy laugh instead.

“You know what? Okay,” you tell him, pressing your lips together in a tight line.

You turn away from him, retreating the way you came. Floris watches you depart, her eyes flickering from Aemond to you, a sour expression on her pretty face. You smile politely at her as you pass, which she does not return.

You frown. Even trying to be nice comes back to bite you. Sheesh. You hear Baela call your name as you return to the outside deck and she holds two glasses filled with a pink slush and decorated with little umbrellas. You sigh, before putting on your sunglasses and making your way over to her.

After you head back to Driftmark for an afternoon nap, you plan to grab dinner at Dragonstone, but the weather does not cooperate (much to Baela’s delight).

“Oh no,” she dramatically pouts, watching the rain splash against the glass of her window.

Rhaenys frowns at her, and Baela smiles innocently.

“Call your father,” she tells Baela, “It’s not safe to be out on the water in this weather.”

“Tell them that,” you say, nodding to the lights you see in the bay.

Someone thinks it’s a good idea to be sailing. You can’t really see who it is, can’t make out anything except one larger sailboat, barely rocked by the choppy surf, while a smaller counterpart is being jolted around by the waves.

“Unwise to be out in this weather,” Rhaenyrs murmurs, as lightning cracks through the sky, illuminating the bay.

“That kind of looks like…” Baela’s sentence trails off, softly.

Baela squints and then shrugs, giving up on trying to identify the boats. The loud sounds of thunder shake the very foundations of High Tide, the splatter of rain lulling you into a dreamless sleep later that night.

The destroyed remains of Luke Velaryon’s ship would not be discovered until early the following morning.

note: what is it about me and cliffhangers?? I just like to keep you guessing, I suppose 😘 LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU ALL!

OLS Taglist: @talesofoldandnew, @diannnnsss, @aemondslefteyeball, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @castellomargot, @atherverybest, @high-on-darren-criss, @diosademuerte, @padfooteyes, @tempo-rary-fix, @amirawritespoorly, @chainsawsangel, @toodlesxcuddles, @tssf-imagines, @malfoytargaryen, @nina2697, @glame, @joliettes, @yentroucnagol

@grungegrrrl, @moonlightfoxx

bold means tumblr would not let me tag!

#aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #modern!aemond #modern!hotd #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x female reader #modern!aemond x reader #modern!aemond targaryen #aemond/reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen/reader #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fic

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matchagator · 1 year

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Matchagator Masterlist

Readers

{Summary:} You're a new resident in your very first apartment excited to enjoy the simple life of adulthood. Unfortunately for you, you continue to run into unruly neighbors no matter how much you try to keep to yourself. Currently being released in parts.

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

After a year of countless car repairs, a nasty breakup, and a change in careers, you hope a night out with your best friends will be the perfect remedy to start the new year. You weren’t expecting to end up in bed with your best friend that you’ve secretly had a crush on all this time. Fully Released One Shot!

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

Read Here

Constant late hours in the office lead to turmoil in your relationship and growing suspicions of infidelity. How does it play out when confrontations lead to a night out in a hidden speakeasy? Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Part 1 Part 2

There is nothing better than relaxing at home on Christmas morning cuddled up to the man you love, especially if that man is the embodiment of Santa himself. Fully Released One Shot!

{Main Pairings:} Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Read Here

An annual office banquet has some of your coworkers glorified while you sit lacking the recognition you know you deserve. When your best friend convinces you to let loose, you end up falling into bed with a handsome stranger for a night of drunk sex. Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Kim Seokjin x Female Reader

Read Here

Original Characters

A stormy night leads to three strays sneaking into the back of Lily's truck to find shelter from the storm. Little did she realize they would turn into three naked men. Follow Lily and her sister as they adjust to suddenly owning three troublesome hybrids. Complete on AO3

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character, Choi Soobin/Original Female Character, Kim Taehyung/Original Female Character(s)

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |Chapter 9 | Chapter 10|

AO3 Link:

Read Sheltered Here

Read Sheltered: Complete Dysfunction Here

Follow our favorite pirate captain on his quest to rid the oceans of perilous beasts and catastrophic storms. Everything seems to be going smoothly until his crew kidnaps an unsuspecting royal with a twin brother ready to risk his life to bring her home. Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Pirate Kim Hongjoong/Original Female Character, Prince Kim Taehyung/Original Female Character

Read Star-Crossed Here

Read Star-Crossed: Entropy Here

Follow the seven founding families of Lamont as they fend off creatures from disturbing their town. Will their traditions uphold when one of their own proves to be just as terrifying as the creatures they hunt? New Chapter Released Every Week.

{Main Pairings:} Wolf Hybrid Min Yoongi/Original Female Character, Wolf Hybrid Kim Namjoon/Original Female Character

Read Luna Aliud Here

Jungkook never expected a typical night out on the town would lead to his sudden death. Find out what happens when the shy boy next door suddenly becomes a bloodthirsty Vampire. Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Vampire Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character, Kim Seokjin/Original Female Character

Read Ravenous Here

What a perfect scene of sin! Isn't the Vegas Strip the ideal place to indulge in lust and greed? The perfect playground for our group of hustlers eager to make a pretty penny off of the poor unsuspecting souls. The series is a work in progress.

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character, Park Jimin/Original Female Character, Kim Taehyung/Original Female Character(s)

Episode 1: Sin City

Episode 2: Pink Diamond

Episode 3: Cyber Flight

Episode 4: Wine Country

Episode 5: Art Auction

Episode 6: Magic Men

Episode 7: Unwind

Episode 8: Snow Retreat

College, Fuck Boys, and Pregnancies, Oh my! Find out what happens when an accidental pregnancy causes relationships to shift amongst they chaos of college life. Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Fuck Boy Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character, Kim Taehyung/Original Female Character, Kim Namjoon/Original Female Characters.

Read Picture Perfect Here

What happens when the affairs of vengeful demons and prideful angels intermix? Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Demon Jeon Jungkook/Original Angel Female Character, Angel Kim Taehyung/Original Angel Female Character, Demon Jung Hoseok/Original Demon Female Character

Read Twisted Halos Here

#bts fanfic #txt fanfic #ateez fanfic #smut #bts x reader #original character #bts one shot #one shot #masterlist #txt smut #ateez smut #bts smut

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alwaysshallow · 2 months

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coffee at midnight, part 10

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

Some peace before mission. (3,1k)

READ ON AO3

previous part

Task Force 141.

Elite, a group of soldiers—the best of the best—to serve the country in cases that need certain types of expertise and espionage to succeed, instead of simple military or the marines. True leaders who saw things that made them who they are right now, things that are imprinted in their memory probably for the rest of their life. Handpicked by John Price, veteran in the military who’s been probably everywhere on his missions, saw probably everything too.

His friends are everywhere over the world, making it a bit easier for him whenever he needs something; either legal or not. The job just needs to be done, he doesn’t exactly care how he’s gonna get it in the end.

A man of his words with multiple achievements on his account, respected. His team too, considering that no one is allowed in here, if they wanted to be recruited. There’s not a casting or anything.

Only professionals that know how to do their job correctly, better than anyone because of the experience.

“You fuckin’ cheating—”

Yeah, professionals—except the times you play games with them. Then, they’re acting worse than ever.

No matter if you play cards, Monopoly or anything else; the competitiveness sinks right through them, making it hard to let go in such childish cases. Right then, all the “professionalism” and the thought of being a highly specialized soldier is completely gone like it was never there in the first place. Bunch of highschoolers behave better than them, when it’s time to relax.

You fight, when you’re supposed to relax because someone didn’t say “Uno” on the last card they had.

It’s hard enough before the mission to do anything for yourself, hard to get your thoughts off the cruel world, so you’re happy at least to see their dumb faces like that. Arguing with each other, accusing of cheating, slamming the door in dramatic manner when someone’s losing at poker or—what’s even funnier—if someone’s gonna take Soap’s favorite place to rent in Monopoly. It’s worse than being in a crossfire, circled by enemy’s soldiers. He’s just insufferable, naming people names just because they took his spot, knowing that it’s his favorite. “A crime worse than murder”, he says.

If someone wants to see kids, they could go to the military instead of kindergarten; your base, to be exact. They’re just a bit overgrown, but besides that, they’re not really different.

From time to time, you look at them. You’d maybe consider joining, if they were a little bit more calm.

And, if you wouldn’t have files from Price about the next mission. He gave you them a while ago, intel that could help you prepare for the mission, centered on espionage more than on anything else. “Perfect mission for you,” he said, at which you just rolled your eyes, taking the documents; he was right in some way, considering that comeback to straight up crossfire wouldn’t be smart for the first activity.

At a first look of your eye, it looks almost too simple. A simple gala, where you act as an auctioneer, you engage in some auctions and then sneak around to find an office of an old man that you need to gather information from. Virus his computer and then come back, like nothing happened and if someone saw you around, you just act dumb. You’ve done it a couple of times in the past with quick success.

Taking things from a way too rich businessman is like a Robin Hood type of shit, always pleasuring, always something that you enjoy. Especially after long field missions, rescuing hostages and et cetera. That’s why it seems simple.

At least, it feels that way, before you read the rest and a sigh comes out of you easily.

This time, it’s a mission with Russians involved, as you read it further; so, it’s not that easy after all. You even happen to recognize some of their names, and those people are known with their tricks on every step of the way, always on high alert, no matter what. Eyes everywhere so it’s always hard to establish how many guards they have, where they are.

A real mission, that’s why it’s for the military—because if something will come down, it’s your skills that can rescue you from the shitty situation considering that the backup can only be outside the building.

You can only count on yourself and, as you read in the document, one, maybe two people of your choice.

“You’re getting into your head too much.” You look up; Kyle lowers your documents, so you can see his face properly, lips curved into a small smile. Encouraging, trying to get you into his side, as always when he wanted something, he knew how to use his pretty privileges. “You know you got it, Birdie. No need to get deeper into this.”

“I have to be ready for everything here, Gaz. Kinda need to do it.” You nudge him with your elbow, file going on a table beside you. He briefly looks at it, then, back at you. “And it’s way more interesting than men whining about a board game.”

Kyle laughs, shaking his head. “I think we’d disagree with you.”

“That’s one of the issues, though. You being all delusional,” you joke, sticking your tongue. Your friend dramatically sighs and you chuckle. “Gonna be there in a second. Alright?”

“Right. Better before Soap will chop Simon’s head off. Join us on UNO later,” he says.

So casually, that you first nod your head. Then, the meaning of words occurs to you, and you shift in the chair, confused. “Before Soap will do what?” you ask.

Kyle nods, like the thing he said is the most basic in the whole world. “Mmm, he lost in poker. Lost some money. And dignity.”

“Dignity?” Your eyes wander to Soap and Simon. Scot is actively gesticulating, almost hitting his friend with how briskly he does it, while he just stands there with a mocking expression on his face. You have no idea what happened there; you even don’t know if you want to know, but it’s evident that something upset your best friend. What’s more to it, something that Riley said, which is odd enough.

Odd because Johnny usually doesn’t give a shit about what he says. He either flips him off and continues blabbering, or just ignores him and then continues. Nothing in between, so you look once again at Garrick, looking for an answer in his eyes.

“‘Fraid I can’t tell you,” he chuckled, “I was joking. Partially. About that chopping head, it’s not that bad, but—”

“Gaz—”

“Join us on UNO later, Birdie,” he repeats. Gaz ruffles your hair, making a beeline to the guys after that.

You’re sure that he says something to them, as they look at you seconds after—Soap, grinning like a devil, Ghost even more amused, while Alejandro laughs about something in the background. Confused, you look down, back at your documents, deciding that you have to finish that instead of trying to get what is inside their head.

Private circus has nothing against these guys. If they would want to change professions someday, you’d suggest being a clown and riding around the world to show what they are capable of.

It would be easy money, you’re pretty sure about that. And their natural habitat, so it shouldn't be too hard for them to act in front of a larger audience.

You join them forty minutes later, taking a seat next to Soap.

Not like you have other choice, really—it feels almost like they planned it somehow. Price sits on that damn, uncomfortable chair, way too small for him. Kyle and Alejandro on the couch; Ghost just looms over everyone, as he’s way too caught up in his phone to care about the game.

You brush that thought away, though, as it seems ridiculous in a way. It’s not high school to reserve seats for people that aren't there.

Or is it? They often have weird ideas.

It takes some time, but you finally cave in and join the game. Not the way you’d like to, as the boys are already ten minutes into the next round, but you’re trying your ways as a strategist. Pointing what card Soap should use and when, doing it discreetly like it’s a crime, and your best friend is just encouraging you to do so, nudging you there and there, or casually squeezing your thigh, causing you to jump a little.

Not because you’re surprised with it, but you feel way too hot after the gesture itself, like his touch leaves permanent marks on your skin.

“Use this one,” you mutter; as quietly as possible you can be. There’s no such thing as cheating in UNO if you don’t even play, but you want to help somehow.

“Using your girl to win? That’s weak, MacTavish.”

Your girl.

Your heart skips a beat, electricity going through your body, as you hear that. It’s an instinct to open your mouth to correct Alejandro, but you close it as quickly, puzzled. It would be petty to do it in a small matter like this, where it’s probably mindlessly throwed without any meaning to it.

It would be petty and wrong because you feel good when he named you like this. Like you were his in a slightly different way, not a friend. More intimate, a lover's way.

“At least he has someone to help him,” you say instead, missing how smug Soap looks right now, as you look at his opponent. Maybe it’s for the better though; if you’d see his face, a scarlet red would appear on yours.

And then, everything would be clear to them. Not really a way to announce your feelings; growing ones, where you just started to not deny them, but to… accept, if that’s even an option in the military. Besides the policy that you can’t date your comrade—in most cases—you’re scared of ruining your friendship. Doing something that he won’t like. Which is completely valid, but with every day on the base, you think that he wouldn’t really be opposed to the idea. Of even sleeping together to try some things.

It’s harder and harder to explain his behavior lately with “he’s your best friend” card. Hard to explain him grabbing your waist whenever someone else was around, touching once in a while. Kisses in the temple or right on the top of your head, if he was in a rush, once or twice in the cheek, but you thought it was just a mistake or something.

Right now, you don’t really know what it is. You could find excuses before, but now there was nothing to excuse him with. Not a thing, especially when you kind of liked how he was behaving, even if he didn’t want to explain it when you asked why he acts like this. “Jus’ missed ye, lassie,” he said, and you had no other choice but accept the explanation; because you knew, for a fact, that you’re not gonna get any other one. Just this and a quick hug to distract you, so you’ll drop the subject.

You won’t admit it to him, but you grew familiar with it. His touch, his hands, craving it on you at some point. Sighing silently with a feeling of content, whenever he touches a part of you. It’s good, it feels like he wants to touch you, soothe the problems on your mind, knowing how physical touch works for you.

He throws an arm around you, when he drops the last card on the table. Proud, like he almost won it by himself, but the hug that he gives you proves otherwise, like he wants to silently thank you for this. Ignoring the fluttering feeling in your stomach, you just give him a smile.

You can tell that boys are irritated by him showing off this way, so loud and unbearable, but they’re amused as well. They poke him around about being a cheater and how they’d want the help you gave Johnny not anyone else; you just take a sip of water, while Kyle suggests that you have way more cards in your sleeve than anyone might expect.

“Cards in my sleeve… yeah. Annoy me even more, then I’ll hack your phone to post embarrassing shit,” you say, pointing at them. Jokingly, you don’t actually mean that (or do you?), but you want them to understand that the threat is there.

“Very funny.”

“Not funny, if it’s just the truth.” You shrug. “It’s part of my job, after all. Phones are literally… one of the easiest options, I think.”

“So you say,” Soap leans over you, curious, “that you can literally hack my phone. Right here, right now, no password and shite?”

“Yeah. I can and I will, if you may?” You raise your eyebrow playfully. Your best friend barks a laugh, then, he hands you his phone. “Don’t need it. You can just keep it in your pocket.”

“Gettin’ cheeky, are we?” he taunts. You roll your eyes with a small smile, as you tilt your head. The electric feeling when he touches your hand shoots right through you, it’s hard to keep a straight face. “No need for my phone around, if yer so smart, that right?”

“Kind of,” you say, shoving him a little with your elbow. Making your distance, so you won’t be so close to him. “You need to know your place.”

“I dinnae mind my place. Can be under, can be on top,” he murmurs.

You do not look at him after that, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Hot is already flowing all over your face—God only knows what would happen if you’d cross his gaze.

It’s like he wants to see your reaction these days. He’s more untamed than he usually is, speaking his mind, tilting his head like a puppy when you don’t want to answer something or you just straight up ignore his taunts. Pouts like a kid, nudges you in hope it changes something.

Because if he wants something, he gets it. You’ve put up with his attitude too many times to not notice that, but the irritation on it doesn’t really change, no matter what time it is. And you’re not quite ready to start continuing the banter, not in the public space like that because with him? With him, it would be like driving on ice with a car without brakes—thrilling, exciting, but the possible consequences are in your head as well.

If he’d do something in your apartment, when the two of you were alone, you’d probably go with it, no doubt.

It takes you a few minutes—too many minutes, but Soap is so close, breathing into your neck, so it’s a bit harder to focus—but you’re in his phone. The wallpaper and apps are visible on the screen of your laptop, so you show it to him and everyone else, a sense of pride in your heart. It’s always like that when you do something besides the typical military stuff, the stuff that they wouldn’t do so easily, if at all.

You want to prove that it’s not all what you can do, so you also shut down his phone for a second, which makes them all gasp with surprise. A few little tricks and there they are, amazed with your skills.

“Yer so smart, bonnie,” he mutters. Lips stretched in a wide smile, eyes not necessarily on a screen, but on you; he seems so proud even if you just logged into his phone, no password needed. If you wanted to, you could even do more, like decoding other things on his phone, but it would be an invasion of privacy.

“Studies do the work.” You shrug, locking your eyes with him. Royal blue, sparkling in the dim light that is currently in the base. Curious, maybe because of your skills. Maybe because he wonders what else you can do. “It’s one of the easiest things. Especially that you only have a password with numbers.”

“Look at it, miss Knows-It-All,” Soap says, an amused look on his face. “What are those numbers, then? Did you look, lassie?”

“Not really,” you lie. He cocks an eyebrow, probably sensing that lie, considering how well he knows you. How well he knows that you’re curious about things like this, he just seems sure that you would look.

And you did. It’s either a coincidence or a planned action, but numbers weirdly match with your birthday. Not in the order though, but they’re all here and you wonder a bit if it has anything to do with you. Would be nice, sure, but knowing your best friend, it could also be a simple coincidence.

You want it to be your birthday. Hidden, a combination, but you want it to be connected to you.

“Ye should try with Ghost’s phone. Maybe we’ll know who he misses that much,” he snides, glancing at Simon. He texts in the corner of the room, not even caring about making eye contact with you two.

Simon is glued to his phone the entire night; you don’t say it out loud, but he seems moderately happy with whoever he writes with. You suspect your vet best friend, considering how close they got along the way. How Riley asks about her from time to time, if she’s good or if you heard anything from her lately. “She’s smarter than you, Johnny. And she doesn’t have a death wish on her back, unlike you,” he finally says.

Scot huffs, almost offended. “Death wish? If ye had a bonnie, talented bird like me, you’d encourage her to improve,” he muses, grinning, when you send him a look. “C’mon, don’t look at me like tha’, ye know it’s true.”

You want to protest, but as he locks you close to yourself, his forearm around your middle, he makes it hard for you to speak. So close that it’s actually suffocating when he nuzzles his nose against your jawline, laughing, when Alejandro shouts at both of you to get a room. You have to bite your tongue a little to not say “with pleasure”.

“He’d be insufferable, if we’d have a room.” You stick your tongue out, amused—then, you press a haste kiss against Soap’s cheek. Distraction that works because he actually loosens his grip, which allows you to get some distance. “Now, I’m gonna hop in the shower and read some files. Night, boys.”

You have to ignore Soap’s voice, when he calls after you.

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